#i can’t remember if sweat is a problem for them i don’t think it is but i also can not recall it being mentioned

[cleo-serotonin]

hear me out, since emma had to give up swimming she decided to take up ice skating ! i feel like it suits her super well, it takes a lot of discipline and grace (classic emma traits) and it could have actually given her development. instead the show shoves *sh d*ve down our throats <\3 also if the ice was uneven/melty she’d just slyly freeze it. she’s a super athletic person she would definitely need something to fill the void and this way she could stay active and sweat wouldn’t be a problem

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about. 

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes. 

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened. 

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka. 

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.  

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat. 

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense. 

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out. 

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants. 

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time. 

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again. 

Over and over and over. 

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow. 

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent. 

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass. 

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!” 

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?” 

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes. 

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness. 

New arrivals? 

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order. 

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were. 

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already. 

But back to the current interest for the night. 

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all. 

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch. 

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up. 

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy. 

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney. 

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory. 

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head. 

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here. 

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too. 

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?” 

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone. 

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed. 

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person. 

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants. 

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy. 

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights. 

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment. 

A puff of breath from his nose. 

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders. 

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’. 

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again. 

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you. 

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff. 

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava. 

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head. 

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly. 

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip. 

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?” 

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs. 

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow. 

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter. 

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth. 

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.” 

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued. 

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg. 

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were. 

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for. 

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire. 

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either. 

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away. 

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up. 

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell. 

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause. 

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly. 

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted. 

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.” 

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender? 

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him. 

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.” 

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face. 

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?” 

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice. 

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.” 

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless. 

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated. 

The glass meets the bar top. 

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl. 

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him. 

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window. 

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared. 

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath. 

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep. 

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air. 

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel. 

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly. 

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening. 

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.” 

Blank stares are sent your way. 

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more. 

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though. 

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script. 

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile. 

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.” 

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.” 

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is. 

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.” 

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.” 

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.” 

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging. 

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings. 

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you. 

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you. 

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily. 

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names. 

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed. 

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues. 

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance. 

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.” 

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie. 

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles. 

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy. 

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort. 

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff. 

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. 

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb. 

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path. 

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can. 

“A cold one.” 

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke. 

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up. 

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem. 

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all. 

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service. 

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it. 

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered. 

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out. 

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion. 

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls. 

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly. 

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.” 

That was a surprise. 

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer. 

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question. 

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?” 

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind. 

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?” 

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.” 

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting. 

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens. 

“Thank you.” 

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat. 

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt. 

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer. 

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting. 

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service. 

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you. 

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone. 

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way. 

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching. 

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm. 

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower. 

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.” 

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath. 

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt. 

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy. 

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.” 

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man. 

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was. 

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down. 

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust. 

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm. 

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking. 

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment. 

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets. 

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement. 

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer. 

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes. 

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights. 

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.” 

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.  

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[qveerthe0ry]

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect. 

He’s your dream man. 

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place. 

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees. 

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally. 

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit. 

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own. 

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it. 

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too. 

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight. 

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things. 

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him. 

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing. 

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow. 

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore. 

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training. 

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager. 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated. 

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it. 

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed. 

“What do you want?” 

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in. 

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.” 

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine. 

“You’re lying.” 

You sigh and close your eyes. 

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.” 

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty. 

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers. 

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.” 

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment. 

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?” 

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction. 

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?” 

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little. 

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs. 

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation. 

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not. 

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him. 

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?” 

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead. 

“Everyone?” 

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you. 

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up. 

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at. 

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you? 

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.” 

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze. 

“Really?”

You scoff. 

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth. 

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine. 

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment. 

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back. 

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone. 

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted. 

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again. 

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs. 

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.” 

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth. 

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you. 

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction. 

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long. 

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs. 

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt. 

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking. 

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved. 

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” 

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest. 

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?” 

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter. 

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod. 

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience. 

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt. 

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?” 

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss. 

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head. 

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you. 

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before. 

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers. 

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch. 

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck. 

“It’s just you.” 

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief. 

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans. 

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess. 

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips. 

“That’s all for me?” 

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again. 

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip. 

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?” 

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you. 

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes. 

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs. 

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face. 

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control. 

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him. 

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest. 

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels. 

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.” 

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest. 

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure. 

Oh, he’s fucking good at this. 

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else. 

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding. 

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers. 

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face. 

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side. 

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles. 

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself. 

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together. 

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing. 

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids. 

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours. 

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder. 

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?” 

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs. 

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction. 

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants. 

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.” 

You huff. 

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it. 

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours. 

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe. 

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs. 

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out. 

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation. 

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again. 

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you. 

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold. 

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs. 

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever. 

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.” 

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust. 

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there. 

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake. 

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.” 

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping. 

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue. 

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him. 

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him. 

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach. 

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers. 

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that. 

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is. 

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him. 

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat. 

“So… How’d it compare?” 

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question. 

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them. 

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?” 

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up. 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are. 

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs. 

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs. 

“Better,” you whisper. 

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back. 

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver. 

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips. 

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants. 

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension. 

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. 

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little. 

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard. 

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up. 

“Will you let me suck it?” 

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods. 

“Please.” 

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction. 

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough. 

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go. 

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you. 

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel. 

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock. 

His little cock. 

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess. 

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing. 

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this. 

You’ll make him look, one way or another. 

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention. 

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head. 

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth. 

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him. 

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show. 

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to. 

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more. 

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool. 

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere. 

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock. 

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself. 

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds. 

He says your name. 

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls. 

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked. 

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face. 

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face. 

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.” 

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question. 

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe. 

“Yeah? You still want it?” 

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. 

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.” 

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away. 

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?” 

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of  amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later. 

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body. 

He’s so hot. 

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed. 

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling. 

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time. 

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense. 

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you. 

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him. 

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles. 

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm. 

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out. 

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh. 

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up. 

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist. 

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you. 

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them. 

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit. 

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight. 

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy. 

There’s screaming. 

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts. 

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene. 

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks. 

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps. 

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again. 

“Huh?” 

God, how are you ever going to move again? 

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words? 

“What are you talking about?” 

He clears his throat. 

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly. 

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright. 

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out. 

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?” 

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver. 

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees. 

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you. 

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body. 

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high. 

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part. 

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle. 

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach. 

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do. 

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest. 

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth. 

“When can we go again?”

[iwoulddieforienzo]

Something I really appreciate about TOA that I don’t see get talked about much is that I never get the sense that Apollo finds Lester ugly.

For all that he complains about the body he’s stuck in, I never got the feeling that it came from a distaste for Lester himself. When he sees Lester’s traits reflected in others, like Meg being chunky, he is completely unaffected by it. Finds it charming, even. (In fact, the only times I can remember him having Opinions about how someone looks is when they’ve chosen something about their appearance that he either approves or disapproves of, like a tacky jacket/hair cut or when he finds someone attractive. The only time I can remember him calling anybody ugly was when he pointed out that Dionysus was choosing to look as ugly as possible to piss of Zeus, which is a statement of fact and doesn’t necessarily mean he thinks that Dionysus’ form is actually ugly. He makes no mention of finding it so before or after that line. It’s a statement of fact that Dionysus is choosing a form that either he or Zeus finds ugly to piss of their dad.)

The thing about Lester is that he is so devastatingly mortal. He has flab and acne and no upper body strength and his voice squeaks when he’s nervous and he sweats a lot and he has a silly name and messy, curly hair that’s impossible to tame. He is the Most Teenager To Ever. There is no godly blood running through his veins, no powers he can call upon. If Apollo were to run into him in the street, I don’t think he’d pay him much mind. He’d probably just think, “sweet kid”, and move on. If he got to know him, I think Apollo would adore him because that’s just who rrverse!Apollo is. He loves mortals despite himself, flaws and all. He’d argue against anything bad Lester had to say about his own appearance and mean every word.

The problem is that it’s Apollo in this body. Apollo, The Golden Child, the perfect son, a God. His distaste for this body is because Lester is so devastatingly mortal and imperfect. Apollo has to be perfect, he has to be shiny and pretty and strong because he has nothing else to offer otherwise.

And.. I dunno, there’s something about Apollo hating the things that draw him to others when it’s him. The flaws that he tears apart in himself he finds endlessly charming on others, or he thinks that they have better reasons for why they have them, or he thinks they have enough positive traits to counteract them. The positive things that he hides deep enough that even the reader can’t see right away, like his kindness and genuine desire to understand and connect with everyone around him, that he’s shocked to find directed at him in turn.

That Apollo accepting himself and reclaiming his personhood leads to him being comfortable with being Lester, imperfect and mortal as he is. That he takes that imperfection back with him to Olympus… I dunno man I’m Emotional. Also it’s just plain nice that Lester is never treated as ugly for looking like a normal ass teenager, even by the guy stuck in this body. That’s neat.

Or maybe I’m just rambling and this means nothing at all and I’m reading too far into Blorbo from my books.

[starkwlkr]

the perfect dad | lewis hamilton

warnings: child loss, depression, online hate (if these topics are sensitive to you, please don’t read, your health is much more important!!)

The day Y/n and Lewis met, it felt magical, those were her exact words. It was 2008, a year after his F1 debut. Y/n, at the time, didn’t know anything about the sport other than the cars go really fast and there’s a world champion every year. She worked as a presenter alongside Natalie Pinkham. It took one interview for Lewis Hamilton to fall in love with Y/n L/n. After their interview, Lewis asked her out and from then on, they were named the paddock’s it couple.

Their relationship was made public after Lewis won his first championship and kissed Y/n on live tv. It became a regular occurrence for them. After every race win, Lewis would be interviewed by his girlfriend and interrupt her for a kiss.

The year was 2011 and after three years of dating, Lewis had proposed to Y/n and of course she said yes. The wedding was small with only close family and friends attending. Their perfect family was slowly forming and that’s all they could ever hope for.

Five months after the wedding, Y/n and Lewis found out the incredible news. They were going to be parents to a little boy or girl. Lewis immediately started buying baby related items and asked his father and brother for help on the nursery even if Y/n had no visible bump yet.

“We’re going to be parents!” Lewis kissed Y/n’s lips as he held the pregnancy test in his hands.

“The baby is going to be so loved.” Y/n smiled.

Everything was going perfectly fine. Y/n and Lewis went to all the checkups, Y/n read any books in order to prepare while Lewis dealt with baby proofing their entire house. They were more than ready for Baby Hamilton.

When the day finally came, Y/n was scared. She held onto Lewis’ hand tightly as the doctors and nurses motivated her to push. Her body ached and sweat began to form on her face.

“You can do this, love, you’re the strongest woman I know. Think about our little baby. They’ll be here soon.” Lewis whispered in her ear then gave her a kiss.

“Lew, I’m tired.” Y/n replied, breathing heavily.

“I know and I’m so sorry I can’t take your pain away. You can do this, Y/n, just a few more pushes.” Lewis said.

It felt like forever, but Baby Hamilton had finally arrived, the only problem was that neither Y/n or Lewis heard any baby cries. Y/n looked over at Lewis, who was just as confused as his wife.

“Where’s our baby, Lewis? I can’t hear them.” Y/n started to sit up, but the nurses told her calm down and sit back down. “No, I want my baby. Where are you taking them?”

Lewis instantly knew what had happened. Baby Hamilton didn’t even take their first breath. Lewis took his wife into his arms and let her cry as the doctors took their baby away.

“Our baby. . .” Y/n sobbed as Lewis held her. His heart had broken into millions of pieces. Why did it have to happen to him and Y/n?

For six months, Y/n stayed in her and Lewis’ room. She became a stranger. She skipped out races making the media believe that her and Lewis had divorced. Everytime a friend or family member reached out to her, she would push them away. Lewis tried his hardest to talk to her, but she would either kick him out of their room or leave the house then return an hour later.

It was supposed to be Baby Hamilton’s seventh month when Lewis finally got Y/n out of the house. Y/n had apologized to her husband for pushing him away when they were both grieving the loss of their baby.

“Baby Hamilton is with us always.” Lewis showed Y/n a tattoo that he had recently gotten last weekend. It was Baby Hamilton’s birth date along with a tiny heart. The tattoo was on his wrist so whenever he missed his child, which was often, he looked down at the ink and remember them.

“I love you, Lewis.”

After their talk, Y/n and Lewis got changed and dressed to go out to a restaurant to eat. It wasn’t one of those fancy ones that Lewis took Y/n whenever it was an birthday or anniversary or just because he felt like it. It was a small restaurant that sold vegan food that both Lewis and Y/n loved so much.

“Taste this,” Y/n held up her sandwich for Lewis to taste. He took one bite and stole the sandwich from Y/n’s hands. “Hey! You ordered the wrap!”

“But this one tastes good too! I’ll order you another one, love.” Lewis got up and walked to the counter to order another sandwich. While he was gone, Y/n could hear camera clicks and saw flashing lights from the corner of her eye. Paparazzi had found them. Of course every celebrity hated paparazzi, but Y/n absolutely despised them.

She felt uncomfortable as her body had obviously changed from the pregnancy and from her not taking good care of it after. She tried to ignore it, but soon some paparazzi had yelled out her name. It was impossible to ignore now.

“Y/n! You look different! Tell Lewis to order you more food, you look skinny!”

That was all it took for her to start crying.

When Lewis returned, he saw the paparazzi outside. “Let’s go home, come on.” He said and took off his hoodie. He gave the hoodie to Y/n and as she put it on, he asked a waiter for boxes to take their food home. “Ignore them, we’ll be home soon.”

As they left the restaurant, the paparazzi got more pictures of Y/n hiding her face from the camera. It was clear that she had lost tons of weight after the pregnancy. As Lewis opened the car door for her, a man called out for Y/n once again.

“Mate, fuck off.” Lewis said and walked to his side of the car. On their way home, Y/n ranted to Lewis about how the paparazzi makes her feel and him being the best husband, he listened to every word she had to say.

When they arrived home, Y/n walked into the house, Lewis slowly followed her. He was picturing them coming home from lunch of dinner with Baby Hamilton in a stroller. That was his version of a great day.

“It’s too quiet here, Lew. I don’t like it.” Y/n sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Lewis grabbed her hand and together they walked to their shared bedroom. Baby Hamilton’s nursery was right across from their bedroom. It remained untouched ever since Lewis and his father finished painting the walls and installing the furniture.

“We are going to get through this, Lewis Hamilton. I know we are.” Y/n faced her husband.

A new year came and so did new changes. Y/n still remained with returned back to work with Sky Sports F1 and Lewis was still with Mercerdes. After every race, Lewis would look down at his wrist and see the date that belonged to Baby Hamilton.

“Well Lewis, it’s been a hectic week for you, where to start, but firstly I want to ask about something the fans noticed you’ve been doing at every race and that is you kiss your wrist before getting into your car. Is there any meaning behind that?” A lady from ESPN asked him during the Monza Grand Prix.

“There is a meaning and it’s something only my wife and I know about. It’s something to represent that my child, who is now looking down at me, is always with me. It’s to represent that no matter what, I’m always going to be their dad.” Lewis proudly stated.

Y/n watched from a tv inside the Mercedes hospitality as her husband was being interviewed. The couple had talked about announcing Baby Hamilton before since during the pregnancy, no one other than close friends and family knew. Lewis wanted to make sure Y/n was okay with announcing it before anything else.

After Lewis was done with his interview, the tv changed to another interview happening live. Y/n knew it would be a while before Lewis returned so she went onto twitter to distract her mind, which was the wrong move.

Her name was trending after the paparazzi photos of her and Lewis were finally posted. Mean twitter users were pointing out how skinny and tired she looked.

formula1facts this is hamilton’s wife?😂

paddockinsider someone give her a burger

lolurnotmichaelschumacher Lewis finds her attractive?? get this man glasses or something

Her mentions were all about her body. Every single one of them were how she had changed. Without thinking, she went to her settings and pressed the ‘delete account’ option.

Y/n and Lewis continued with their lives, occasionally having breakdowns when they remembered how their child was taken from them too soon. But that didn’t mean Y/n and Lewis stopped calling themselves parents. They were still a mom and a dad, their child was just waiting for them in the sky.

One day, Lewis had the bright idea to bring up a solution to the quietness in their house. A dog. The couple was laying in bed in a hotel since the Singapore Grand Prix was just a few days away.

“A dog? Are you sure we’re ready to have a dog? We travel like crazy and who would take care of them when you and I can’t?” Y/n asked.

“Dad could or we could just bring them on the road with us. Everyone loves dogs.” Lewis said.

“Something tells me you already have one in mind. Did you adopt a dog and didn’t tell me?” Y/n chuckled.

“Not really. But I can ask around.”

Lewis did just that. Eventually he did find the perfect dog for him and his wife. After the 2013 season ended, Lewis took a well needed vacation with Y/n where he would surprise her with their dog. When Y/n met the dog, she was in love.

“What their name?” Y/n asked as she scratched the dog’s belly.

“Roscoe.”

Roscoe became a family member. He wasn’t ‘just a dog’. He traveled with Lewis and Y/n, ate with them, slept on their bed. He was their second child. A few months after adopting Roscoe, Coco came into their lives. Both Y/n and Lewis treated the dogs as if they were their own kids because in a way, they were.

Often Lewis would show Roscoe and Coco the ultrasound pictures of Baby Hamilton and would tell them how excited he was to be a dad. Y/n would smile so much as how Lewis talked to their dogs. It didn’t matter if they were a dog or an actual baby, Lewis Hamilton was the perfect dad.

[raribella]

Love is Embarrassing | JJ Maybank

summary: although JJ had promised your brother he wouldn’t ever hurt you, you saw him kissing Kie while you were on a break.

pairing: JJ Maybank x Routledge!reader

genre: emotionally heavy anst, fluff in the end

contains: reader being a real bitch, mentions of Luke and parental abuse, inspired by some songs in the album “GUTS” by Olivia Rodrigo, kinda shitty ending but let me know.

word count: 2,7k

author’s note: alright I know I’ve been MIA and a bitch and I haven’t posted anything in months (worse if you see how much stuff is on my “upcoming works” section), but I’ve just had a lot of ideas, little time and little confidence to write. one of my best friends just showed me obx and I’m in love with this blonde and I got (I think) a spoiler about him and Kie and I just had to do something with my feelings.

This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters of Outer Banks nor any characteristic of the show. I am writing this story solely for my own entertainment and the marvel or comfort of any readers.

“If I fuck up with her that might as well be the last thing I do in my life, John B! I mean it!”

the words that JJ heatedly uttered to your twin brother the day he found out about the two of you were repeating over and over in your head right now. You remembered it all too well; John B was seething, absolutely pissed, seeing red. You and JJ Maybank knew each other for as long as he and your brother were best friends, when you turned 14, he declared to all the Pogues that you were off limits, and about two months ago, you and JJ started seeing each other. One month into it and JB discovered you, which was easy considering JJ already spent most of his time with both of you at the Chateau. JJ promised his best friend that he wouldn’t fuck up with you because two things mattered the most for him in this life; their friendship, and yourself.

But as of lately, he was having some problems with Luke and he asked for some time “out” so he could figure his shit out without involving or hurting you and you disagreed but you’d do pretty much anything in this world for this man so you decided to say yes.

To his bullshit.

Bullshit, you figured out about half an hour ago, when you heard a confusing conversation between him and Kiara – the perfect one – and when you went outside to track the noise, you saw them kissing.

You were fifteen minutes late to leave for the weekly kegger and you forced yourself to lock yourself in the bathroom and call in sick – because that you were, and you wouldn’t handle being out partying and pretending like seeing the kooks, and seeing them two wouldn’t make you feel the same type of nausea at this moment.

Sarah was the third person to try and make you get out of the bathroom. The first being your brother and the second, Pope. Although you were thankful neither JJ nor Kie had tried to talk to you, when you heard your best friend’s voice, you were actually starting to feel sick, you were having a migraine from holding tears up, and you were sweating.

“Y/n, come on! You were so excited to come not even an hour ago, we’re already late and I don’t see why wouldn’t you want to come”

Your vision was blurry as you palmed the door and laid your forehead on it. Sarah realized that you really weren’t coming when she heard your voice crack.

“Sarah please, just, go on out without me this one time, I need not to be there right now and I also need to be alone please don’t ask me questions I can’t handle to answer you this moment I promise-“

As you rambled, she frowned from the other side of the door. Making sure to get everyone to leave for the Kegger, to try and remember asking you about this later on, and to reassure John B that you were actually okay.

You’ve been successfully avoiding JJ for about two weeks now. It started with enough discretion, allegedly going to the bathroom every time he entered a room, or offering everyone any snacks you would spend too much time preparing in the kitchen. For him, it started getting obvious when you looked the other way when he looked at you at the beach, or when you refused to surf and, as of recently, started slamming the doors on him. JJ was getting pissed at this rate. He started by simply frowning and brushing it off, but you couldn’t just keep slamming doors and not even looking at him, and if everyone else noticed, they just wouldn’t budge! The worst part is that he didn’t know what had happened nor if he could fix it. You understood him when he told you he needed time to figure out some stuff with Luke, but the truth was he was still very much freaked out about that. He still loved you, and he couldn’t afford to see you like this anymore, especially when such behavior was being directed at him. JJ missed you. Even if he couldn’t really figure his shit out, he missed you screaming at the top of your lungs as you entered the sea, he missed your smile, your laidback grin that he was the only receiver of, he missed your colorful bikinis, and how they embraced your features as you would jump onto every wooden swing near the shore, your curly hair flying everywhere filled with salt spray. He just missed you, the real you. And he had to talk to you to see if there was even a chance that he could get you back.

You, on the other hand, kept avoiding the questioning looks the pogues would send you every time you were harsh or avoidant at JJ, your brother even attempted to talk to you, silently, just with glances, and figure out if his best friend had hurt you. But even if he did, it only hurt because you loved him too much, and you decided it was best to protect him from John B’s wrath. You felt embarrassed whenever Kiara questioned you with her eyes as well; you felt embarrassed to be near her. You kept crucifying yourself and both her and JJ because of everything, often zoning out of the conversation and just bitterly reminiscing about the times you consoled your boyfriend as he cried late at night in your room, being gentle with his bruises. – thinking how could you be so stupid? giving up everything, betting on him against your brother’s better judgment. You kept paying attention to Kie and how, since that day, she looked like the sweetest thing of the Cut, the fucking hell-side of the island. Her perfume lingered in the air even at the beach and made you feel sick; you saw her everywhere now, even when you looked at him. You saw the scene of them kissing. Feeling every word she would utter toward you in conversation like bullets on your skin. As it was torture how she was the greatest thing to ever exist – how everyone loved her, how she was so much better than you; poisoning everything that you do and still being the sweetest friend, making you despise how rotten your mind was; how jealous your eyes were.

You were bottled up to the brim.

It started out simple enough. JJ had noticed everyone was doing their own thing at the Chateau; John B was absent for the time being, and you were alone on the couch, fidgeting, focused on whatever. It seemed like the perfect window to try and have an actual conversation about what’s been happening. He just didn’t expect it all to escalate so quickly. He didn’t expect you to have seen a part of his conversation with Kiara about his dad – but not everything, not the ending. – He hadn’t expected a conversation with you of all people to become a bomb with a short fuse that would explode into feelings tainted crimson. watching you bleed, making him bleed all over for you.

"Pogues don't mack on pogues, y/n! this shit freaked me out, your brother finding out freaked me out, yeah, even if he’s my best friend and I was afraid that-”

“Oh, so you go ‘round and fucking get with Kiara?! this is fucking bullshit, JJ! bullshit-

“Y/n, listen to me!”

You both were screaming, Kie’s eyes went wide as she tried calling your name as well but you had already started crying and couldn’t pay attention to anyone but him. At this point, as John B arrived at the Chateau and followed the noise, the people around you calming you down couldn’t be sure if they were afraid of his arrival or actually relieved. You kept interrupting each other. JJ pulled his hair and you pointed at yourself and to your side – as if Kiara was still there – strength marking red fingertips above your chest.

“‘Cause she’s not even a real pogue, right?! that’s why you got so confident about it, huh?”

it was almost as if the room went silent. Kiara decided to step outside to give you space; to take a moment to breathe in and take notice that you didn’t mean that. She was sure you didn’t. The rest of the group started to move aside as well although they could obviously still hear the commotion. Only you, John B, and JJ were in the living room. Your brother grabbed your shoulders from behind trying to ground you in any way he could, JJ growing nervous at the rate of the conversation and his friend’s presence.

You looked into his eyes and it was as if the blue in them was slowly fading, his eyebrows shot up and his mouth twisted in a clearly upset frown. As tears stained your cheeks, pride still overpowering your shame and feelings pent up, you started with more meaningless empty jabs, which, said angrily enough, would only make JJ bleed more as he fell silent himself.

“I really loved you, you know? You gotta laugh at the stupidity.. right? Come on you were going around doing that shit and I swear JJ I used to think was really smart… I was just a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked-up little thrill for you, tho… best friend’s little twin… ridiculous.”

At that, John B diverted his attention toward his friend with stern questioning eyes. JJ gulped.

“Look, man I just really need to talk to her and explain myself, ‘aight? I didn’t do what- Things are really not what they seem right now and I need her to-“

“Fuck, JJ, that’s bullshit! How can you not even flinch when you fucking lie like that! Things are just like what they seem you never even fucking loved me! You can’t love anyone, ‘cause that would mean you had a heart, right? But you’re a fucking Maybank! And I really tried to help you out all this time but now I know that I can’t!”

You were calming down, but exploded again, as the words left your mouth though, you started regretting them, the most deeply someone could ever regret anything maybe, worsening by the second as you saw the man you still loved muttering a small “no”, cracking at your words and shedding a tear. As Kiara heard what you said from the outside, she didn’t even think before bursting into the house again, turning every head in her direction.

“Y/n you’re spiraling and you’re saying things you’ll fucking regret! I kissed him, alright?! This is my fault. He stopped me, he loves you and he wouldn’t do that, okay?”

Though the words she was muttering were calming you down, she was calling you out, she was absolutely mad at what you said about JJ’s father because she had context and it was really fucked up. You felt small.

“Kiss?!” John B asked, his eyebrows shooting up. It wasn’t his intention to aggravate the situation but it was his little sister involved. JJ tried to start talking and explain the situation – which Kiara had left him to, but he could really only think about one thing.

“I- uh… did you mean it? What you said.”

JJ rarely expressed any sign of vulnerability, so as his voice broke, you felt like your heart did too, rushing to explain yourself now, and trying to get closer to him.

“I didn’t mean it, J, I really didn’t! God, I don’t even know how you can still even look at me right now I’m so sorry I was just so fucking broken at the idea of you che- of losing you, and I- I thought you had found someone else and I damn near started world war III right now and it’s just because I love you so much and I know you don’t deserve another fucked up demonstration of love, you deserve to feel so good, Jay, and I’m really sorry, I love you so so much, and I will understand if you never-“

You were interrupted by the shock of his own body against yours. The both of you were panting, crying, completely tired sighs leaving each mouth as if this was all going on for days and you were so hurt, yet needing each other so much. John B and Kiara were ‘okay’ enough with the newfound situation to leave you both to your own devices again, and you just clung to one another, sitting on the floor for what felt like hours until he decided to speak again.

“Y/n… I asked for us to take some time because it was becoming too real, y’know? What we felt for each other.. it was, touchable- it is. And when everyone else found out, and then John B… You know I don’t talk about this usually, not with anyone but you, but I didn’t want my dad to find out about us, to find out about you. I don’t want him knowing what you are for me I don’t want him knowing that laying a single finger on you can be worse than any punch he could throw my way. And I wanted to figure this out without you knowing about it because you’d say it’s fine, and I-“

As your mind processes his words, you start to think how in the world you got a man whose the first concern about a monster of a father would be you. How could you deserve it, especially after what you had insinuated about him. “It is! It’s fine, honey, we can-“

“No, y/n it’s not fine because I don’t ever want you to even worry your pretty little head about a situation like that, y’know? And It’s not fine because the pogues are my family and the love I feel for you, if anything would happen to you because of him I’ll be damned, damned, and in jail for murder, you can trust me I will.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. All you could do was keep the hold you had on each other, slightly caressing his head.

“Since I didn’t want you to know about it, I went to Kie, that night of the Kegger, and she tried to help me and she said she loved me and I did too but then she kissed me and I assume it’s what you saw but I did step back, I promise! I told her off… Y/n I told your brother that if I intentionally hurt you, if I fucked up with you like this then that might as well be the last thing I did in my life and I mean it. I love you so much, little Routledge, and I’m all in now. We can figure shit out as we go but as long as we have each other, okay?”

As JJ spoke, he held your hands, reassuring you at the end. Hours had passed ever since you started talking, so when the pogues felt everything was calmer they decided to go back in the house slowly – figure out how you were, what were the plans for the night.

“Do you really forgive me for what I said? I will understand, J, I’m so, so sorry, I love you so much” You touched your forehead with his, and JJ sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I love you. I love you, y/n… can’t be without you.”

And as you both kissed each other as if you were making up for ages lost, Sarah smiled at the corner of the room, John B interrupting the show. “Come on with the PDA, love birds… What are we doing tonight, then?” He half-heartedly scolded as you got up, hand glued to the blonde's. You let out a big sigh again, before brushing them off with an honest, but half-assed excuse, already making the way to your room.

“I mean, you could go to Heyward’s… I think we’ll just lie down a bit.. ‘twas kinda draining…” you saw a bunch of side smiles as the group left through the door, Sarah grinned, letting out a puff of air through her nose, and when Pope went to close the door, he screamed back in the direction of your room, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” which earned a scream back from an already lying down JJ, “might as well not do anything!” and for the first time in a while, you laughed, making your way to lie on top of him, his embrace being all you needed.

“You know… we could go out to surf tomorrow,” he offered, still missing the sight of a happy you, your bikini, and the ocean.

“First thing in the morning.” You answered.

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 4 * mv1

you’re woken up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and max’s name at the tip of your tongue

pairings: max verstappen x reader

warnings: sad again :(

notes: i’m almost at 2k followers!!! i’ll be doing a sleepover event soon, so do look out for that!!!

(prev) // (next)

it feels so real, the way his hands are cupping your cheeks with his thumbs rubbing circles against the skin. “my darling.”

“max.” you come out in a whisper, your hands clutching onto his wrist. “don’t go.”

“i wouldn’t ever dare.”

wouldn’t ever dare.

that’s the words that woke you in a jolt, met by the darkness and stillness of your own bedroom. you stay in your position for a little bit, the weight on your chest making is slightly harder to breathe.

the effort to steady yourself is constant, but slow. there’s a tingling sensation where you think he last touched you, on your cheeks and by your neck. your lips are numb that you have to graze your fingers over it to make sure you’re really awake.

you exhale shakily, finally turning over to your side. you sigh and snuggle your face into the blanket. the picture frame of max kissing your cheek stands tall. it was his championship race from the 2022 season, right before he left the garage to start the race.

you couldn’t bear the thought of putting this one down. it had been a special moment with him, the thought of winning back to back championships seemed so silly in the beginning.

max doesn’t haunt your dreams often, even when you’d been pining for him. watching the championship sprint race wasn’t the best idea. you’d fallen asleep on the couch before it started and woke up with max’s face zoomed in on the screen.

it took everything in you not to send him a message, congratulating him on a win that was undisputedly his. every fibre of self control not to give him a call and ask him how everything has been.

you were curious yourself how the sprint had gone — you watched clips of him after the race looking drained. it almost brought you to his contact to call him, drowning him with questions laced with concern.

you wanted to be the one to press the cold towel to his forehead and essentially wipe him dry of his sweat.

you felt like a stranger to his life, and it’s killing you. you don’t know if he’s celebrating the championship with some other girl on his arm, sharing a tradition that only you two were aware of.

you can’t help but wonder if his champagne flavoured lips has been tasted by another woman and it makes your stomach churn at the thought of someone else having that luxury. a luxury that you seem to have dismissed too easily during your relationship.

but you realise it’s not really your problem, now that he’s just another ex-boyfriend; you’re just another ex-girlfriend.

your phone lights up on the nightstand, illuminating the picture frame. a small smile stretches your lips when you catch a glimpse of his lips smushed into your cheeks. not knowing what max is up to almost drives you crazy when you let it get to your head.

you now know nothing of the person you knew everything about.

it’s a bigger change than anyone cares to elaborate after a breakup. it’s a lot harder to deal with, but it’s something nobody ever talks about.

they tell you about the crippling pain of losing the love of your life and how empty the bed will feel without them. but nobody ever tells you how directionless and painful it will be when you feel yourself start to become a mere memory to them.

you slide your phone off your nightstand, reading the notifications that flooded your phone. you hadn’t expected anyone to be texting you so late, but you remember that half of the people you know are in another timezone.

danny ❧ not here for championship weekend? :( ❧ oh nevermind :/

the texts were 3 hours apart. you’re guessing that somewhere between those two messages, max had confessed about what happened.

alexandra ❧ did u text him?? ❧ it’s ok if u did…

but you still didn’t feel like talking to anybody. you drop the phone behind you and close your eyes.

a shaky breath passes your lips, max’s face flashing for a second — the face he makes when he’s across the room at a function and he spots you in the crowd unexpectedly. it’s very gentle and you can almost see the love oozing out of him when you’d caught it.

you open your eyes. you turn to your other side, now facing the empty half of your bed. you stretch your arm out and try to imagine the feeling of max next to you.

you try to remember what it felt like to be cuddled into his chest with his strong arm wrapped around your back. but it’s been so long since you’d been in such an intimate position with him, even before the relationship had come to its end.

sleep never came that night, the image of your love creeping up every single time you kept your eyes closed for too long. the sun had risen before you fell into a slumber, but max never left your mind even then.

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab

[bonesandchalamet]

from the shining lights, to the sandy beaches, I’ll only love you — p.mellark

masterlist | pairing: peeta mellark x fem!reader

summary: bored and facing the capitol, you give the citizens of panem some drama to spice up the games

warnings: slight mentions of 18+ ideas but nothing graphic + mentions of insecurity

hours you think. it had to have been hours layered laying in woven grass blankets with flattened bread in your pockets that’s sure to be moldy soon from the moisture.

“how long have I been out?” a grunt escapes your lips to signal your awakening to them. you attempt to sit upward, but your hands were badly blistered and your arms were weak.

peeta lunged into the makeshift tent, he gently lays you back down shushing you to not worry about taking the next shift. after all, you’d been the one to trip over rocks in the acid rain, if anyone should get sleep it’s Finnick who carried you like it was nothing.

Finnick. sweet, sexy, district four, Finnick odair. the man women are obsessed with, and you could see why. his beautiful blue eyes and cocky smile, if it weren’t for the baker beside you, you’d be all over that fine man.

there was nothing wrong with peeta. his tenderness, the warmth he provides, he was an amazing boyfriend. but the ever thought of another man seemed to spark a load of questions piling up in your brain.

the storm had been out for awhile now, leaving you with some time of peace. you flip onto your left side, facing peeta, a wicked smile lifts your lips that he can’t even read. but it gives him something to laugh at in this place, “what’s your problem?”

“if you could fuck someone in the capitol would you do it? someone dressed like Effie?”

finnick makes a repulsive noise. hes had a fair share of capitol women, and even the sight of Effie was enough for him. having ran into her with zero makeup on, and nothing but a wig, Finnick odair would rather steer clear of any women from the capitol.

“I’d really prefer we think about our game plan—“

“it’s a simple question.” johanna finally wakes, she sits up carefully, her voice draws finnicks attention briefly from looking out.

sweat thickens above his upper lips. peeta knows there’s a correct answer. being in love with you, he’d never thought of another woman, so why would you ask? he can only imagine to lighten the mood, lift the spirits of the citizens watching in boredom, so he thinks it’s not harmful to play along?

“I’ve only ever wanted intimate moments with you.” peeta extends out his hand, the roughness of his palm touching your cheek, “you know I only love you.”

“this is such a yawn.” Johanna counters, she eagerly sits forward breaking the moment, “not a single woman caught your eye on the tour? you’re going to die anyway, might as well admit it.”

peeta let’s out a light laugh, and you know he’s serious. he’s only ever had eyes for you, but to Johanna, Finnick, haymitch, and potential sponsors, he needs to play in. he needs to draw them something, so he does what he’s a natural at; story telling.

“well there was a girl,” he pauses, eyes swiftly glancing at you before back at johanna, “hard to tell how old she was under those capitol lights, but she just kept following me. every room she was there, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off her.” he looks up the makeshift tent, a sadden glow casts across his face, “I wonder if I’ll see her again.”

you can’t quite remember a woman who followed him in every room besides yourself. maybe that’s who he was discussing? but he’d bought Finnick and Johanna’s approval leaving peeta to slip out the tent.

“what about you, y/n? sleep with a capitol or finnick?”

finnicks head snaps his head in the direction of his name, a spark lights in him earning a bright cocky smile, “I don’t bite, babe.”

it’s your turn to make a repulsive noise, but you know everyone at home is inching closer to their screens: would you screw around with Finnick for a night? or would you dare head back to the capitol? Finnick it is.

“just for a night,” you pause taking a long look at peeta. he’s fixated his eyes on something with the sand, probably just to occupy his mind from this conversation that’ll haunt his last memories with you, “I’d do Finnick, on the count that peeta can be there.”

“a threesome?” Finnicks words echo across the sandy beaches practically giving away your hiding spot, “I’m not sure I’ve ever done that.”

“I’d pay to be a fly on the wall of that night.” Johanna grins.

“I’ll pass. I don’t think I’d well with sharing.” Peeta blurts out.

a wide grin takes hold of Johanna’s face, yours is covered in a deep red blush that you’re thankful no one can make out in the darkness.

“peeta, possessive? never would’ve thought of that.”

it’s a shock to everyone, even you. peeta never showed any care that you were close to other guys, like Finnick or even beetee, but maybe it’s because he always knew you’d come back to him. he always knew it was him you’d love and swear you’d never leave. it must be the insecure feeling that if you saw what Finnick had, you’d leave.

to answer his worries, you wrap your arms around peetas neck and press a long kiss to his lips, “I kind of like it.”

“I’d rather sleep with haymitch than either one of you lovebirds.” finnick answers johannas question that was slightly forgotten from you three in the tent.

“come on, it’s my turn to watch.” johanna crawls out the tent, and for a second it’s just you two alone. you slip beside him, resting your head against his bicep, “who was the girl from the capitol?” you whisper.

a smile lifts to his lips, his shoulder slightly budges you to sit up, “who do you think?”

it was you. only you.

[jobean12-blog]

Starry Starry Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,949

Summary: Some nights it’s hard to sleep but you have an idea that might help both you and Bucky. 

Author’s Note: I was thinking about glow in the dark stars the other night and then I thought about how fun it would be to have them with Bucky. This is just silly and sweet and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my sweet @firefly-graphics thank you lovely🥰

Warnings: soft sweetness, fluff and fun (problems sleeping) 

GIF NOT MINE: Credit goes to @dianaofthemyscira thank you sweets🥰

“Can’t sleep either?”

Bucky’s tired voice cuts through your racing thoughts and you look up at him with glassy eyes.

“Hey Buck,” you whisper. “Nah. Just can’t turn it off tonight.”

He nods in understanding.

“Whatcha eatin’ doll?”

“Cold pizza,” you say with a small laugh.

“Got anymore?” he asks as he slips behind you to check the fridge.

“Yep, still a half a pie in there.”

“Thanks doll face.”

You sit in comfortable silence, every so often glancing up at each other with a smile.

“I’m so tired,” Bucky sighs.

“Me too.”

“I even tried these new sheets Sam suggested. Supposed to be really soft and comfortable but I haven’t noticed a difference yet,” he shrugs.

“What color are they?” you ask.

He looks caught off guard by your question before he answers it.

“Gray.”  

“Do you like the color gray?” you giggle.

“I mean…it’s fine I guess,” he starts. “What was I going to get…light blue or yellow or…?”

“Why not?” you chime. “Mine are pink.”

Even under the dim lights you can see him blush, his cheeks matching the color you just mentioned.

“That sounds nice,” he says quietly, dipping his head.

“You should order the blue or yellow if that’s what you like,” you tell him as you get up to rinse your hands and grab a drink. “Get a color that makes you happy.”

“Maybe I will,” he answers, his smirk growing. “What if I got pink?”

“Go for it Buck! You might love it.”

You lean against the counter and yawn.

“I’m gonna try to get some sleep before the sun comes up. Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“Happy to have the company doll,” he says, his eyes on you until you disappear into the darkness of the hallway.

Forty-five minutes later you toss your pink sheets off your body with a huff of frustration and stomp out of bed. You stand in the middle of your room and exhale, deflating like a balloon.

“This sucks,” you grumble to yourself.

A thought pops into your head as you stand there and you turn on the light, open the drawer of your bedside table and rummage through it.

“Here they are!” you say with far too much excitement for 2:45 am.

You creep down the hallway and stop in front of Bucky’s door, gently pressing your ear to it and waiting. You don’t hear anything but you see a small sliver of light coming from under the door and the shadow of moving feet.

‘Knock, knock.’

The shadows come closer and you hear the doorknob turn.

“Heya doll face,” Bucky says, standing there in nothing but his sweats. “You ok?”

For a moment you forget how to talk, your mouth hanging open as you force your eyes to stay on his.

“Fine!” you say far too quickly. “I um…found something I thought you might like.”

“Come on in,” he says with a lopsided grin.

You walk in and eye his dark gray sheets, crumpled and spilling off the bed and onto the floor.

“Still no luck huh?”

He shakes his head with a quiet no and leans against the wall.

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing to your hand.

You hold up the package of glow in the dark stars and planets. He steps closer to you, taking it from your hand and reading it over.

You’re determined to stare at the package and not at his bare chest or his dog tags nestled neatly against his muscled skin.

“I love space stuff,” he smiles.

“Huh?...OH! Yea, I remembered that and then I remembered that I had these and thought maybe you would want to put them up. I have them in my room and it’s nice to look at while you’re falling asleep at night. Not as good as the real thing but in the city we don’t see them much anyway so…”

“I love them,” he says, gently interrupting your rambling. “Thanks doll.”

“Sure!”

You inwardly wince at your overly enthusiastic response and turn toward the door.

“Aren’t you gonna help me put them up?”

You stop mid step and start to slowly turn back his way but he quickly fills in the silence with, “unless you wanna go to sleep. I totally understand that. You must be exhausted. Don’t worry about it doll face. I can manage.”

He hangs his head and rubs his hand down the back of his neck, letting out an exhale.

You step into his space and rest a soft hand on his arm.

“I’d love to,” you say quietly, taking the package from his hand. “You’re going to have to do most of the ceiling stars though. I can’t really reach.”

“You got it doll.”

After brief but careful consideration Bucky decides to try a constellation on the ceiling and you’re going to simply cover the walls in an array of stars. Bucky takes out his phone to look up a star chart and you grab a sheet of stars and get to work on the wall above his bed.

You’re reaching for a far corner of the wall, bouncing lightly on the bed to get some height, when you feel the press of Bucky’s warm and hard body against yours. He takes the star from your fingers and easily secures it to the spot you couldn’t reach.

“Looked like you needed a hand,” he chuckles, still close enough that you can feel his chest expand with each breath.

“Yea couldn’t quite get that one. Thanks.”

“The jumping looked fun though,” he chuckles.

You bounce again, making him loose his footing. You laugh with another bounce, this time really getting a good jump in.

He grabs your outstretched hand and jumps with you, making the whole bed bounce. The two of you bounce up and down as the pillows roll into our feet, causing you to fall to the bed. Bucky’s laughter fills the room and it’s your favorite sound.

“I haven’t done that in too long,” he admits when he sits up. “That was fun.”

“It was! We need more of that!”

You start to get up and lean into him for balance. He stands with you and holds you against his side to steady you. You press your palm along his stomach, his abs flexing under your skin and you gently smooth your fingers over them.

“You good?” he asks as his hand slides up your back.

“Good,” you say with hard swallow.

He throws you a wink and goes back to his constellation.

“Which one are you making?” you ask him as you watch.

“Cassiopeia…I really like the love story of Perseus and Andromeda…”

His blush returns and he quickly starts to fiddle with the small star in his hand.

“I love that one too. I’m glad they got their happy ending,” you state.

“Me too,” he agrees.

He looks at his phone and then looks up at the ceiling.

“Just need this one…” he says as he stretches upward and places a star, “and…this last one right here.”

You want to pay attention to what he’s doing but you can’t drag your eyes away from his hips and how his sweatpants ride low, exposing a hint of the deep and muscular V and the trail of hair that falls between it.

“What do you think doll?”

“Wow,” you murmur. “It’s um…,” and you lick your lips. “It’s perfect.”

His eyes are bright and playful and the corners crinkle with a wide smile.

“Glad you think so,” he says.

“I hope I did ok with the walls. The corners might need some additions,” you laugh, turning to check your work.

When he doesn’t answer you look back his way and find him staring.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just perfect.”

“That’s good then,” you breathe out, feeling your heart skip a beat.

He takes a step closer, the bed dipping under his weight and making your body shift with it. His strong hands grab your waist and steady you.

“Sorry doll,” he laughs.

He doesn’t let go of you, his thumbs slipping under your shirt and pressing against your skin. Your eyelashes lower and you feel a rush of heat across your body.

The bed shifts again and when you lift your eyes his face is just inches from yours, his warm breath fanning your cheek. He dips his head, his eyes falling to your lips as he tightens his hold on you.

“We should shut the lights!” you blurt out.

His eyes widen and he steps back, making you lose balance again and plop down onto your butt.

“Sorry,” you whisper, curling your knees into your chest.

He steps off the bed and says, “it’s ok doll. Let’s try ‘em out.”

With a flick of the switch the room is bathed in a darkness that allows the stars to glow brightly.

“Wow,” Bucky whispers as he crawls back onto the bed.

He lays down flat, spreading out and nudging you with his arm.

“Come on, doll. Look.”

You stretch out next to him, your sides pressed together as you stare up at the ceiling.

“Wow is right. Cassiopeia is amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Bucky whispers, turning on his side to face you. “Thank you for doing this. I already feel better.”

You slowly turn and face him, the new angle getting you closer to his pillow and the smell of him.

Without a thought you bury your face in the softness and inhale. His laughter brings you back to reality and instead of removing your face you press it harder into the pillow and let out a mumbled, “fuck.”

He laughs harder.

“It’s not funny!” you chide as you free yourself. “I just smelled your pillow… IN FRONT OF YOU!”

“Well?” he asks with a smirk.

“Well, what?” you retort, still unamused.

“How does it smell doll?”

Your lips start to lift into a smile and before you answer you bury your face in the pillow again and inhale dramatically several times.

“Just like you.”

“Is that good…or?” he questions, suddenly looking nervous.

“Better than good,” you tell him. “I love the way you smell.”

He visibly relaxes and moves closer, sniffing the pillow.

“Hmm,” he says, raising his brows. “Not bad.”

“When do I get to smell your pillow?” he asks.

You blink at him several times before bursting into laughter.

“Ok,” he says, joining in, “why did that sound so creepy?”

When you finally catch your breath and meet his eyes, he’s staring again.

“What?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer and instead slides his metal arm under your body and tugs you into his chest. Your fingers tentatively lift to caress his cheek, brushing over the dark stubble that lines it. When you reach his lips he kisses your fingertips, sighing your name.

His flesh hand rests on your thigh and he gives it a light squeeze before he slowly slides it higher, reverently tracing the curve of your hip and waist. Your head slips lower on the pillow, closer to his, until there’s nothing but a breath of air between you.

You drop your hand to his chest, ghosting it over the chain of his dog tags. Your fingers close around the metal, tugging lightly and his eyes drop to your mouth.

The feeling of him so close is dizzying and you cling tighter to his dog tags as your nose bumps his.

“I promise I’m not going to interrupt this time,” you whisper against his lips.

He smiles before his hand cups your face and his fingers splay across your cheek.  His thumb brushes your lips and he tilts your head, closing the distance and pressing his lips to yours.

@book-dragon-13 @christywantspizza @dreamlessinparis @jhangelface0523 @goldylions @hiddles-and-skittles @hiddles-rose @jhangelface0523 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @seitmai @weekendgothgirl @breakablebarnes @late-to-the-party-81 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @rebel-stardust @getwellsoontana @lookiamtrying @justile​ @peaches1958​ 

[smoothielenny]

Body•Part 2

Ao’nung x Omatikaya!Fem!Reader

Summary: Ao’nung likes to tease you and your siblings and you had enough. Ao’nung teasing you? Why not tease him back with your ‘freaky’ body

Warning: Smut, masturbation, hand job, sub Ao’nung. Characters are aged up.

[Previous•Next]

[Masterlist]

Afternoon, you hate it. Humidity is all in the air and your throat is dryer that ever. Drinking water wasn’t enough, you aren’t use to the scorching heat. You found a dead and dry big leaf laying on the floor. You picked it up and started fanning yourself, it worked. You stay underneath a tree for some cooling shelter, surprisingly the cool air started tickling your skin soothing your heated skin.

“Great, what a freak like you doing here?” Your upper lip twitches from the word ‘freak’. You remembered the conversation from the other day about Ao’nung calling Kiri a freak and now it’s your turn to be called a freak.

“What’s your problem? I’m just relaxing here.” You glared at him. He tilt his head giving you a smug grin. Oh how you want to punch that face.

“It’s a no freak-zone, freak.” You stand up and tried to punch Ao’nung, but something stopped you. Of course one of them is being scolded by your father. This urge of something you want to mess with him, you mentally smirked.

You look at Ao’nung with an innocent smile. Slowly and seductively walking at him. He squint his eyes not knowing what you’re about to do. You look up at him with your big doe eyes. He gulped seeing you so close to him. His heart is beating fast being so close to you. You softly put your hands on his chest and smile at him.

“It could be our own little spot.” You sweetened your voice. You could feel his heartbeat, again internally smirking. Ao’nung felt like a statue, not knowing what to do, but to stand there. It’s a first time someone this bold act at him. He knows how every girls have a crush on him, usually receive gift from them, but no one ever made a move like this to him and he doesn’t know how to act.

“Ao’nung~” you whispered in his ear. Your arms are now knotted on his neck. Suddenly, you felt a hard bump on your thigh. You look down at his bulge firmly touching your thighs. Ao’nung then noticed it too and he quickly pushed you off him.

“Y-you! What are you doing to me!?” He exclaimed, covering his face currently blushing. You get close to him holding his arms and placing it on your waist.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You giggled. You were about to peck his cheeks, but he pushed you again, running away from you. You smirk satisfied at what you just did. Well you can’t wait for the next encounter.

Night has come and Ao’nung couldn’t stop thinking about what happened earlier. The way you moved, your body being close to his, how soft your thighs, your chest, your ass—his dick became hard thinking about it. He untie his loincloth, letting his hard dick stand up on its own. He stroke his shaft thinking about your body, imagining it in different position, sucking his dick or on top of him, and remembering you moaning his name. It’s making him crazy. He bit his lower lip, speeding his stroking, sweat forming, drooling from his imaginations. He really wanna fuck you so bad. He feels shameful that he feel this way towards a freak, but he couldn’t help but to start craving for your body. He wants to touch every part of you, feel it, squeeze it, grab it, kiss it, bite it.

“Ao’nung~” he finally released. Cum dripping from his dick. His body is now covered with sweat, he gasp for air, he couldn’t believe what he just did.

Few days after that, Ao’nung started to ignore you, avoid you, anything to not be near you. Though you liked it being left alone by him, you felt bored, wanting to get at him already.

The next day, you were to learned sign language. You were partnered with Ao’nung again. You couldn’t wait a new way to tease him. You both decided to go where you last met. Ao’nung suddenly felt awkward, usually he’ll start to tease and bully you or complain why he has to be with you, but you heard none of that today. He listened to you when you ask if what you’re doing is right. He is terribly quiet today.

“Ao’nung…” his ear twitched hearing you say his voice. His cheeks got warm, he look at you with a confused look. You crawl to him, as you do he look at your body, seeing you curves, cleavage, and thigh gap, it made him hard again. You sat close to him leaning your head on his chest. He look at you noticing your luscious lips, he wanted to kiss it so bad, but he has keep himself together.

“You alright?” You look at him with innocent eyes. He just glance at you and look away. He whispered a ‘no’ you just smiled. You made him look your direction and suddenly you kissed him. His eyes widen from it. You chuckled at his shocked face. He snapped, he pinned you on the ground and started kissing you. You tried to keep up with him, but he already let go.

He breathes heavily, “(y/n)…” He wants to kiss you again, but you put a finger on his lips to stop him.

“Uh uh, you can’t just do what you want.” You smirked. His ear lowered hearing that. He really want to do nasty things to you. You told him to seat down and take off his loincloth and he did without any hesitation. You were intrigued by what you see, him kneeling down with his dick out, it turned you on. His tail is wagging like crazy patiently waiting for you.

“Aww, what a pretty sight.” You kiss his neck causing him to whimper. Seeing him so vulnerable, it makes you wet. You let him kiss your neck, feeling his warm lips all over. You starts stroking his dick which cause him to moan. You like hearing him moan on your ear.

“Mmn, (y/n)…” he gasped from the sensation. He nibbled your collar bone as he moans.

“Shhh, you doing good.” You pet his head. You made your stroking faster beads of cum starting to spurt out of his tip. His moaning became louder begging for you to make it faster. In between he also moans your name here and there. It’s was like a music in your ears, you love it so much, so addicted to it.

“Cum…(y/n), I wanna cum..” he whispered. You just giggled, with your last stroke he then release his load covering half of your hand. You kissed him this time with tongue. You finally have Ao’nung wrapped around your finger.

[scoops-aboy86]

More of the love spell no go au, because of course I did. This one is a little more bittersweet, because it covers the start of Steve's reaction to both the Russian torture and creeping dread that the Upside Down stuff will keep coming back.

He and Eddie are still close! But Steve is about to make some reluctant choices about his eating and activity habits, because he views it as his duty to help keep everyone he cares about safe.

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2

The day Eddie walks up to Scoops Ahoy and it’s still shuttered, he immediately knows that something is wrong. He has Steve’s schedule memorized, and even if he’d called out Robin would still be here. Uneasy, he goes back out to the parking lot and tries casting a locator spell in his van, sweat dripping into his eyes because the AC is still on the fritz. 

According to the spell, Steve is miles below the mall. That can’t be right. And usually when Eddie’s magic is a flop he keeps getting different wrong answers, like a math problem that you know you’re forgetting a step somewhere but can’t figure out what it is no matter how many times you do it over. This is consistent: below the mall. Or, below the mall and shifting gradually towards the left at a reasonable walking pace. 

It’s so weird that Eddie speeds home and wakes Uncle Wayne, which is usually something he avoids doing but this feels important. Wayne helps him with the spell, but the result is still the same. All Wayne can do is shrug and tell Eddie to trust his intuition when it comes to magic, because making it work through the earth like that can be tricky but Eddie must have at least been casting strong to get such consistent results, and goes back to bed. 

Eddie’s confidence in his magic has frankly been shattered ever since the love spell backfired, and he’s actually woefully out of practice for that exact reason. But he drives to approximately directly above where Steve is (a field maybe a mile or two from the mall) and starts casting whatever protection spells he can think of. One of them might only protect Steve from getting cavities, or it might prevent the loss of entire teeth and/or finger and toe nails. He’s not sure. But hey, the dude works in an ice cream shop, better safe than sorry right?

The downside of being so out of practice is that Eddie wears himself out. He keeps at it for most of Wednesday night and Thursday morning, but passes out around afternoon and wakes up in the back of the van after dark drenched in sweat from laying in the van all day even with the windows cracked open, probably lucky he didn’t get heat stroke. At first he can’t figure out where he is or what woke him, but he stumbles outside and sees a plume of smoke rising from where Starcourt Mall used to be, and…

Steve is just walking over to check on Nancy and Jonathan when Eddie’s van screeches up and Eddie himself jumps the barrier that’s supposed to keep civilians out. That’s the first word that comes to Steve’s mind—civilian—because for a few months there he’d managed to forget. But his head hurts, his face hurts, he’d nearly had a fingernail pried off until Robin had blurted out about the code, and the military guys still had yet to find his car keys that the Russians had confiscated. Steve is tired and hungry and still waiting to find out how bad the car crash (which he hadn’t mentioned to the paramedics, one too many things to remember at the time) fucked up his neck, and he forgets to self-moderate. He drops his shock blanket to grab Eddie in a clingy hug, eyes shut tight as he huffs “Don’t ask what happened, just don’t” into Eddie’s shoulder. 

The scents of leather and weed have never been more comforting before. 

“Hey Munson,” Robin says tiredly, wandering over. “We’re friends-in-law now.”

“What?” Eddie manages over Steve’s disheveled, unwashed hair. 

“Steve and I threw up together and became platonic soul mates,” she explains. 

“Trauma bonded,” Steve adds, still into Eddie’s jacket. Which kind of explains it a little better. Sort of. 

“Not asking,” Eddie decides after a confused moment. “Platonic soulmates, got it. Uh…” He looks around helplessly, recognizing Nancy and Jonathan in the background but no one else in the crowd and he’s just. Standing here with a magnificent hangover and an arm full of Steve Harrington in a bloodied sailor suit. “Anyone need a ride home?”

Only Steve and Robin take him up on the ride, which is fine. He drops Robin off first, and as he’s pulling out of her driveway Steve says, “I don’t know if it’s okay to go to sleep with a concussion.”

Eddie eases the break back on and turns to stare at him. “You have a concussion?”

Steve blinks slowly back at him. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well… didn’t the EMTs tell you what to do? Like, how to tell if you should go to a hospital or something?”

He shrugs. “I don’t remember. Um… my parents aren’t home though, so I don’t know… Could I stay with you?”

Immediately Eddie thinks of Steve’s big house in Loch Nora, which he’d skulked around a time or two to sell at parties and pine from a distance, compared to the single-wide Munson trailer in Forest Hills. “I don’t know if you’d be comfortable—”

“It’s too much empty space,” Steve says, and there’s a look in his eyes that Eddie hasn’t seen since the first few times he bought weed. Like he’ll sit up all night jumping at shadows. And Eddie gets not wanting to be alone after being in a mall fire (apparently?), but what had put that look there before Starcourt?

“… My place it is.”

Medically, Steve is actually fine to stay alone. He hadn’t been the last time around, after Billy had cracked that plate on his skull, and that’s why Hopper had sent him home with Dustin once the gate was closed; Mrs. Henderson had been a nurse before turning to telemarketing as a way to stay home more with her son. As sure as Steve had been at the time that the Russians had beaten him harder than that, he’s much better then than he had been in November. 

Except he’s not. Because Hopper is dead, and even with the gate closed this shit had still managed to come back, and that makes Steve the man of the group but he’s too scared to sleep in his own house, which is full either of dark ceilings for monsters to crawl out of or light bulbs that could start flickering at any moment. So instead he’s here lying on his side, freshly showered and back to back with Eddie on a twin bed that feels like it’s seen better days. Staring at the bedroom door because the thought of sleeping with his back to it had made his throat feel tight. Maybe that was the whiplash, but he doubts it. 

Steve knows in his bones that the Upside Down isn’t done with Hawkins yet. He needs to train, to get ready… There’s Robin and Erica to think about, freshly drawn into this, one basically all his fault and the other too young to be dealing with horrors like this no matter whose fault it was. There’s Dustin (electrocuted that Russian doctor to death) and Max (watched Billy die) and the rest of the gremlins (Eleven, fuck, she just lost her dad), freshly re-traumatized and just two months out from entering the meat grinder that was freshman year at Hawkins High. If nothing else, he has to be strong for them. Which means…

Steve sighs, hugging himself tightly under the thin sheet. This whole summer he’d been leaning into doing whatever he felt like, and it hadn’t exactly prepared him for an emergency situation. He’d gotten lucky knocking out that one guard, sheer body weight leaning an extra oomph to the hit he’d landed, and that had ended the fight pretty quickly. But it hadn’t gotten him into the room with vent access fast enough to avoid getting himself and Robin captured. Being on the verge of needing to order the next size up in his work uniform hadn't lent him any protection against that Russian truth serum. All his summer of indulgences had led to was eating multiple bags of trash corn while trying to comprehend Back to the Future, which… not his proudest moment, really, but he had been drugged. 

Anyway. The point is, he needs to get back in shape. He is not going to turn into King Steve again, but maybe if he could just get some of it back. Start jogging and working out again, and not indulging his sweet tooth all the time. It’ll suck, but he’s gotta protect his friends—protect Eddie, who hopefully will never have to know about monsters and Russians and little girls with mind powers.

So Steve spends a sleepless night mourning the ice cream cones on his lunch breaks, and extra burgers or slices of pizza whenever ordering takeout, and the way Eddie watches him sometimes. And that last one… Maybe it won’t go away entirely, because they’re close now. Close enough that Steve can apparently just invite himself over and Eddie just lets him without protest, and Steve likes the trailer, likes that it’s small and cozy and actually looks lived in and loved. 

Around dawn, he rolls over and tentatively snuggles up against Eddie’s back, tucking an arm around him when Eddie moves unconsciously towards him rather than away. 

It’ll hurt to lose any of this. But he knows that Eddie will be some amount of disappointed in him for falling back into the jock mold, so… he just wants to hold on a little longer.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie

Part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

[harrywavycurly]

Okay so… how did Eddie meet Barbie!Reader? Was he all of a sudden at the beach or did Barbie!Reader go to find the girls thats playing w her in Hawkins? How!

Hiii babes!! I will happily answer this, in my head Barbie took a wrong turn somewhere trying to get to the real world and ended up in Hawkins and just decided to never leave. So I hope you enjoy this little blurb about them meeting 💖

-find all things Eddie Munson x Barbie!Reader here✨

Eddie let’s out a sigh of pure exhaustion as he closes the driver’s side door of his van. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the headrest of his seat and he honestly debates on taking a ten minute Power Nap before driving home to his small, lonely one bedroom apartment. His thoughts are interrupted by a loud squealing noise causing him to open his eyes and what he sees in front of him makes him question if he actually is asleep or not.

“Oh no.” Your voice is full of panic as your hot pink convertible begins to have black smoke billow from the engine. “No no no…don’t do that.” Eddie raises his eyebrow as he watches you talk to your car as if it’s actually going to fix the problem. “I knew I should’ve picked my bike.” You get out of your car and Eddie can’t help but feel his eyes goes wide as he sees your outfit, it’s a pink mini skirt with a white and pink crop t shirt and pink heels.

“This is clearly a dream.” He mumbles as he waits to see what you’re going to do, he knows he probably looks like a creep but he’s too tired to really care. He watches as you bend down and look at your tires and he has no clue as to why. “What the hell?” He’s unbuckling his seatbelt as he watches you walk towards your trunk and stare into it after you open it.

“Something in here must be wrong.” You state as you place a hand on your hip. “Oh maybe it’s you? You’re too heavy or something?” You ask yourself as you reach inside the trunk and pick up your hot pink suitcase that has most of your wardrobe in it.

“Uh I don’t think your suitcase is the reason your engine has smoke coming from it.” You turn your head and Eddie is taken back by how gorgeous you are, another reason he thinks he’s actually dreaming because no way someone looking like you decided to just take a trip through Hawkins. “I’m Eddie.” He adds making you smile.

“Hi! I’m Barbie!” You give him a little wave as he not so subtlety looks you up and down. “Do you like my outfit?” You ask when you see Eddie’s eyes land on your t shirt. Eddie’s cheeks go red as he clears his throat and takes a step around you so he can open the hood of your car.

“You’re overheated.” He explains as he looks at your engine, he hears the sound of your heels on the sidewalk and he’s not sure why it makes him nervous the closer it gets.

“Oh I’m fine I actually don’t even sweat.” You reassure him as you put on your pink heart shaped sunglasses. Eddie leans over so he can look at you to see if you’re just messing with him but he can tell by the smile you’re giving him that you’re being serious.

“Uh I was talking about the car.” He adds making you just tilt your head at him. “Just give me a few minutes and you should be good to go.” You smile and clap your hands together out of excitement as Eddie gets busy fixing your car.

“Do you happen to know where I’m at? I took a left turn on my snowmobile and somehow ended up back in my dream car but I think I was supposed to get in a boat.” Eddie decides right then and there that he really must be dreaming because none of that made sense minus the dream car because you had already told him you’re name is Barbie.

“You’re in Hawkins sweetheart.” You just smile as you look around and wave at the people who are looking at you as the drive by.

“It’s Barbie remember? Not sweetheart…that’s a cute name but it’s just not mine.” Eddie is happy he can hide his embarrassment behind your car’s hood. “Hawkins…I like it here.” You mumble to yourself as Eddie closes the hood making you jump a bit at the loud noise. “Can I see your dream house?” You ask making Eddie laugh and rub at the back of his neck as you look at him with big hopeful eyes.

“It’s called an apartment.” He explains as he hands you back your car keys. “You can uh follow me there if you’d like?” You take the keys and look from them back to Eddie who’s raising an eyebrow at you. “What’s wrong?” He asks as you look at your car.

“I don’t know how to drive…in the real world.” And with that Eddie just takes the keys from your hand and puts them in his pocket before turning and grabbing your suitcases from the trunk. “You’re so strong.” Eddie has to fight the urge to roll his eyes at your comment because he knows you actually mean it in a nice way and not a sarcastic way.

“Thanks Barbie.” Is all he says as you follow him across the street towards his van.

[i-heart-emos]

Life’s brighter with you around/luke castellan

authors note: In honor of my 1 year anniversary of being on tumblr yay so I thought what better than write a Luke oneshot. And also the reader is the daughter of selene the goddes of the moon cause I haven’t seen a kid of them yet on tumble

Summary:Luke’s always had nightmares ever since he can remember but that all changed when he met you

Pairing: luke castellan x Selene daughter!reader

Warning: slight angst, mentions of death, and torturing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since Luke can remember he always had terrible nightmares. Either about his mothers death,his father leaving, Thalia being tortured. He’ll wake up in a cold sweat tears running down his face looking around rapidly. It was absolutely horrible like being trapped in an old disgusting memory but he just had to watch it happen again. No moving no screaming just watching. He made a swear to himself that if anyone he loved where to get hurt he’d sacrifice himself.

Especially when he met you. You arrived at camp when you where where 13 he had barely been there a few months when he met you. You walked threw the gates looking the best way Luke can describe like you’d been hit by a bus. A bruised eye cut lip and large cut on your side bleeding threw your shirt looking like yo I where gonna pass out. It made Luke remember everything he has to go threw to get to camp.

He remembers you coming in and almost falling from the blood loss. He immediately runs up to you getting you by the shoulders. “Hey are you ok”he asked “um not really kinda bleeding out just a little bit” oh here let me get you to the infirmary” he walked you to the infirmary in the middle of camp finally settling you down in a bed. “Chiron Chiron can somebody tell Chiron we have a new camper who needs immediate medical attention” that’s all you nheard till it faded to black. But you where patched up and woke up. Looking around frantically you spotted Luke “you your the guys who helped me” he chuckles “ yea no problem you can call me Luke castellan” he states holding out his hand “ well castellan you can call me y/n l/n” after that you and Luke had become inseparable.

Luke had spent all day trying to find your godly parent and there was no luck. Till that night you where talking to Luke about how you’ve always felt some strange connection to the moon and it’s beauty. All of a sudden a crescent moon appeared above you. He looked up shocked “you your the child of Selene the moon goddess”. You laughed “guess that explains my weird moon obsession. You where the only child at camp daughter of the moon goddess there was obviously no cabin for you. Which meant your home would be in the Hermes cabin. But that was a plus meant you could be closer to Luke.One night you where trying to sleep when you where woken up to heavy breathing.

You looked around till you pinpointed the sound. Luke’s bunk You thought. You quickly make your wait over there. He sees you and calms his breathing a bit. “Oh I’m sorry did I wake you”. “No no don’t worry are you ok bad dream”. “Oh um yea” “want me to maybe stay with you I don’t have to but if it’ll make you feel better”. “That would actually make me feel a lot better” you smile and slowly crawl into bed with him. You wake up to one of Lukes half siblings Hannah looking over you too smirking. “Hey you can’t tell anyone Hannah please” you pleaded. “Fine I’ll keep your little secret” she says she walking away. After that it became a usual thing he’d get nightmares come to your bed you’d crawl into his. And Hannah would wake you before everyone else woke. But eventually Luke got tired of hiding this.

you where so devoted to helping him he felt himself truly slipping into you more and more every day. It’s like he didn’t know what to do. “Chris it’s driving me mad I just love her so much” Chris rolls his eyes sick of hearing this every day. “ then why don’t you ask her out already she clearly likes you”. “You think she really does” he says hopeful look on his face” “man look she wakes up whenever you want doesn’t get mad you interrupt her sleep gets into literal bed with you just to make you feel better after your bad dreams I don’t know but that sounds like love to me”

“oh my Gods Chris thank you for opening my eyes I gotta” he says running away. “Hah and now I’m getting some money” Chris exclaims remembering his bet with Clarissa over who would convince the other to date each-other first.

When Luke finally finds you he’s breathing heavily. “Are you ok” “ yes Amazing actually ok here goes nothing y/n l/n I love you with all my heart I love how caring you are and how you never hesitate to help out anyone” I love hearing you talk about things you love like the stars and the moon and hearing the stories while you point at constellations”. “You’ve made my life amazing and saved me will you be my girlfriend” “oh my goodness you finally ask of course I’ll be your girlfriend idiot” you exclaim grabbing his face and kissing him”. Then you here a angry

groan in the back you both look to see clarisse stomping her feet like a child. “what clarisse sad I got her first” Luke says. “No castellan Im angry I lost my bet with Chris” she says storming off. You look at Luke and say “ten bucks there gonna date next” “ten bucks I’ll get Chris to date her next”. “ oh your so on pretty boy you say”. And then started the ongoing bets at camp half-blood. Watching the sky that night with Luke you could have sworn the moon shined just a little brighter with him around

author note: this kinda went off the rails but it’s was so fun to make and now I write for clarisse cause I found my love for her also sorry the text style changed halfway threw I switched devices

[buckyscombatboots]

Monstertober Day 1:

The Big Bad Wolf

Pairing: Dark!Werewolf!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Dub con, Dead dove: Do not eat, chasing, sex in a forest, scratching, biting, belly bulge, angst, near death, dacryphilia, bruises (not the kinky kind), begging (for him to stop), apologetic Bucky, beefy!bucky, lumberjack!bucky

Nicknames: Bunny

Word count: 3.1k

Monstertober master list

Master list

Tag list🎀

Happy October 1st everyone! Nothing like a little werewolf!Bucky to get you in the spirit. See you all on the 5th of October for Orc!Bucky🎃

The setting sun cast its orange glow upon Bucky’s chiseled face, emphasising his sharp features. He’s staring out into the assortment of trees, some turning yellow, some turning a deep red and others a mix of both. His breath sent out a cloud of smoke that twirled in the air. You couldn’t focus on the picturesque landscape before you with Bucky here, your eyes scanned over his toned arms bulging out of his plaid shirt’s rolled up sleeves. His entire body was unfair, those hours of chopping wood and building things had really paid off. His slightly tanned skin glistened in the sunset. He turned towards you, smirking at the fact he caught you staring “looks like someone’s got a staring problem, Bunny.” He chuckles, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead.

You pout “I think Sam would say the same about you.” You retort, deviously. Bucky sighs rolling his eyes

“Do you have to mention that punk? I have to deal with him all week long at the lumberyard, I do not want to even think about him when I’m with you up here.” He frowns, looking back out into the distance. You giggle at his stroppiness.

Time to change the subject, you decide “It’s a full moon tonight, maybe we’ll see some wolves up here orrrrr” you stared at him intensely “a werewolf!” You giggled at your words, Bucky did not laugh, you pouted at him.

“It’s not a full moon tonight.” He stated firmly, his voice tremors slightly—to just anyone it wouldn’t be noticable, but you knew Bucky. Something was off. You stopped laughing, opening your eyes and slowly turning back towards him.

“Yeah it is, I have the moon chart right here on my phone.” You reached into your pocket and began flicking through your photo gallery “It’s fine, Bucky, werewolves aren't real if that’s what you’re worried about.” You finally found it, and sure enough you were correct; tonight was a full moon “See! Boom! Full moon, I told you it was. I remember checking, because was so excited. I’ve never been out this far from the city on a full moon, I bet it’s gonna be so beautiful. I can’t wait, especially because I’m with you.” You muttered the last part, casting your gaze down to Bucky’s rough, working hands. You’d watched him chop wood just a few hours earlier. The way his large calloused hands gripped the handle of the axe made your mind race and your body grow hot, you wanted him so badly. You stroked his knuckles, he was so warm.

“You need to go. Now.” His voice came out in almost a growl, you picked up his hand. He pulled it away “Leave. Get as far as you can.” He warned. You looked at him with pure confusion, your heart hurt at his rejection.

The sky grew darker, fading into a pale navy, the moon was bright tonight, its glow already piercing through the slowly dissipating clouds. You tried to find words to argue with him, your eyes burning with tears, you tried to blink them away. It had been going so well “Bucky? What’s up with you.” You turned back towards him, his nostrils flared out in anger. He was panting heavily, constantly moving, unable to sit still. His eyes were darker than usual and his entire face was coated in a thin sheen of sweat “Are you feeling alright? Should I call an ambulance? You don’t look well.”

Your hands grew sweaty and your stomach bubbled with nerves. Bucky let out a grunt and a skin crawling crackle rang out, his body began to grow—his shirt tearing at the seams and white tuffs of pelt spewing out of the rips. You watch, body frozen in horror as he morphs into a white beast before your eyes. Adrenaline prickles in your belly as you take in the sight before you. His hand you had just been holding were now partly paw, covered in white fur. His handsome jaw, dusted in stubble, had converted into a white furry maw with a shiny black nose on the end and rows of sharp, carnivorous teeth. His greyish blue eyes that you adored staring into were gone, replaced by reflective almond shaped yellow irises that glowered at you, sizing you up like you were an actual bunny. You shrunk in on yourself as you stumbled to your feet.

“GO!” He bellowed, letting out a pained groan as his transformation completed itself. The last of his shirt tore off him and he stood from the deck. His furious glare met your eyes as you stood dumbfounded at the literally werewolf in front of you. You fumbled in your pockets for your keys, he let out a deep hole and your hands shook, your keys fell from your hands. You had no time. You were face to face with your demise.

You set off into the thicket of trees, cursing yourself for dropping your keys. A sob caught in your throat, as you ran as fast as your legs could take you. You could hear him behind you, twigs snapping beneath his monstrous white paws; crushing them so easily, the image of you breaking beneath him just as easily flashed in your mind. Him snapping your arms under his weight. the agony. Him cracking your ribs as he tore out your trachea with his canines. The vinegary taste of vomit rose into your mouth, you reluctantly swallowed. The crisp forest air made you dizzy as you desperately drank down oxygen, shielding your face from the heaps of brambles that you sprinted through.

The towering blue firs stretched endlessly into the horizon, some thick and ancient others thin, weedy and new. It was only half an hour ago that Bucky had toured you through these woods; he had pointed out marks carved into the trees by previous wonders of this forest, before it had been sold as a plot of land. He told you about the history, he spoke of men, women and children with sepia skin and the horrors they had befallen at the hand of colonisers. But that was all behind you now. Now you were close to becoming history, you could hear his ragged breathing flitting around you as he dashed through trees, as you turned your head back you could see his white fur darting between the foliage. His coat as white as driven snow.

You smacked into the ground, head colliding with the packed, solid dirt slightly hidden by its crispy carpet of orange, yellow and brown. White hot pain ran through your forearms, you swiped your hands over the scraped skin on both. Blood slowly emerging from the pink fleshy wounds. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears

Thump

Thump

Thump

Your lungs burned as you took in gulps of air, you tried to get your feet. You couldn’t. You let out a yelp as you attempted to stand, your eyes flew to your ankle; the skin already tinged purple and red. You hesitantly stroked it, you let out an involuntary whimper and withdrew your hand, offended by your own touch.

Thump

Thump

Crack

Your fate dawned upon you. You swivelled your head around rapidly. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the low grumble that echoed through the forest. You stared up at the moon. Its buttermilk shine in full intensity, almost blinding, peering through the tree tops at your pathetic state. Mocking you with its beauty. Your vision swims as you snivel at your dejected, miserable state. Werewolves aren’t real. This has to be some sick joke, but you’d seen him turn. You heard his bones crackle and pop as he grew into a humanoid wolf.

You hoped you’d wake up soon from this nightmare.

Crunch

Your head spun to the left, but before your eyes could even focus—he was on top of you. The weight of him pushed you back into the forest floor. You began thrashing against his paws grip, could you even call them paws? They were his hands, rough and calloused but now they had thick black pads on the palms. So familiar, yet unfamiliar. The familiarity brang you reassurance, but the thick tufts of fur tickling your arms brought you unease and foreboding. One of his hands keeps you in place, shoving you painfully into the ground, the pressure making it hard to breath, his claw rips through your thin shorts with ease. His thick black claws cut through the fabric like butter. His nail catches on the globe of one of your ass cheeks, you hiss in pain and try to pull away from him. It’s futile. He warns you against moving with a growl “James. James, please, please stop, I'm begging you. Please.” You plead . He continues, disregarding your whines, shoving himself between your legs, the cold snuffling of his nose is contrasted by warm saliva dripping from his mouth onto your slit. You whimper and close your legs, but his paw grabs your thigh and holds your legs open. His rough paw pad scratched your soft skin and he sunk his claws into your thigh “Ow! Fuck! Bucky!” You yelled, kicking at him with your foot. You regret your action instantly, pain shooting through your sprained ankle. Bucky grumbles and sits on the foot, you let out a deafening scream, the agony making your vision flash white “Get off!” You demand beating your fists into the ground. To your surprise he did, his head returning in between your legs, his muzzle nudging your inner thigh. You heard him take a long inhale before pressing his cold, wet nose to your entrance. His tongue flopped out of his mouth, licking a long stripe from your clit all the way to your ass. He snarled softly and began to feast on your pussy. Despite the pain you were wet, you dug your nails into the dirt below you moaning as his tongue brushed your clit.

It’s just Bucky. You tried to assure yourself, it wasn’t working.

You couldn’t help the dread that ran through you as his thick, rough tongue unskillfully lapped at your pussy. The licks were long and slow, they were not prioritising your pleasure. Instead it was his own form of savouring you, you were a meal to him. You bit down on your bottom lip painfully, he was going to kill you, wasn’t he? Eat you, leave nothing but bone. More tears slipped down your cheeks, your hair clinging to the wet salty trails—tickling at your eyes. His tongue plunged into your hole eliciting a squeak from you in response to the intrusion, you shifted below his grip and he growled; you could feel his tongue vibrate inside of you, his teeth pressing into your lips as he shoved himself further between your legs. His tongue travels deeper into you. You could feel it graze your cervix as he swallowed all your juices. Warm pleasure grew in you belly replacing the sickness that was rising, you were going to come on this monster's tongue.

It’s just Bucky. You assured yourself, this time it helped.

You raised your hips and pressed yourself into him, he let out a happy rumbling in response as he continued to eat your pussy with vigour “gonna come! Ahh- Bucky!” You keened, the vibrations from his purring sending you over the edge. Your slick soaked his muzzle as you came harder than you ever had before. Bucky had always been skilled at eating you out, but his tongue now was unbeatable.He pulled his tongue out and you collected any remaining juices before pulling away. The frigid night breeze blew against your dripping cunt sending a shiver through you.

You felt his thick heavy cock rest against your back, it was scalding hot dripping with precum. You didn’t need to see it to know that it wasn’t going to fit. Just the feeling of the shaft alone, almost as girthy as a coke can. You were mortified “It’s not going to fit! Bucky!” You insisted, pushing on your elbows to get up. He gave a light push between your shoulder blades and you were back on the ground. The small stones and sticks digging into the red impressions already on your cheeks. Bucky let out a snarl, before lining the head of his dick up to your entrance, his hands—borderline paws— push on your shoulders as he thrusted into you. Even after your orgasm, he barely fit. He ruts himself into you with short, shallow thrusts coaxing you open. Pain shots through you with every inch that tears you open. “A-a-ahh!” Your howl. You were sure he was going to rip you in two. He groaned as he bottomed out, he was crammed uncomfortably inside. He couldn’t fit it all inside at this angle. He pulled out and let out a feral growl, that shook you to your core as he began to fuck you. He set a brutal pace, slamming his hips into your repeatedly as roughly as possible. You were so impossibly full. Despite the pain and terror, pleasure began to rise in your hips and knot forming inside you.

He leaned over you, his furry chest flush against your arching back. You felt the point of his sharp teeth glide against your skin and you felt him sniffing at your throat, his hot breath fanning at the back of your neck and the cold dampness of his nose grazing the curve of your neck. You pray he’ll realise it’s you. That he’ll pull out. It was still so painful “James…?” You question in a hushed voice. He doesn’t respond, instead he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and you screech, flailing on the ground against the crushing grip of his claws, kicking up the dirt underneath your feet. His wet, scorching tongue laps at the blood running out of the fresh wounds hungrily and you whimper from the pain that pulses through you every single time. His wolf-like ears turned at the sound he rubbed his snout into your neck, almost as if he was trying to soothe you. His blood stained tongue drinks up the tears sliding down your cheeks “Jamie?” You sob, your pussy involuntarily clenches around him as he moves hips. The bulbous head of his cock collides with your cervix painfully once again. Then he wraps one of his arms fully around your torso and pulls you up so that you are sat straddled on his lap. Your hands fly around his broad neck, grabbing at his fur so as to not fall off of him. In this position his full length fit inside you, you had thought you were full before but now you felt so stuffed, so full of him. The length of him was torturous. You look down at where you’re connected, but the sight of his cock bulging inside of you captures your attention. One of his paws moves from your hips and strokes at the protrusion. He lets out a primal growl and nips at the other side of your throat. If you survived the night you were going to be covered in bites, bruises and scars. This night was going to follow you for the rest of your life. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to face him again.

His claws cut into your hips, the marks prickling with fresh blood and he squeezes down with a bruising grip. You feel him getting larger inside of you, then reality hits. His knot. He was going to knot you. You threw your head into his shoulder, your hands flying to his head scratching desperately. Whimpering at your impending doom. He let out what sounded like a chuckle at your thrashing, the look he gave you almost as if to say “let it happen bunny.” Your lip wobbled and you shrieked as you felt your hole catch on the expanding knot at the base of his cock “no, mercy, please.” You cried, burying you head into his hairy muscular chest, he still smelt the same

It’s just Bucky. It’s just Bucky.

Your chant wasn’t working as the burning pain from your hole cleared your head of any thoughts. A scream from deep within you left your mouth, as your body made an effort to adjust to his growing size. You bit down on the skin of his coarse chest to muffle your cries, his long white fur glueing to your tongue. The texture disgusts you, but the pain overrides it. The pain overrides everything, even the brief pleasure you felt as he fucked into you was now replaced by pain. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, his fiery white glowing eyes haunting you even with your eyes closed.

Your eyes shoot open, you bare your teeth groaning at the pain as his knot catches on your hole. His pace becomes sloppy. He’s close, so very close. You throw your head back, the knot inside you snapping, sending a pulse of heat through your entire being as he finally locks inside you; his knot expanding to full size as he paints your insides with his cum, there’s so much. Too much. Your stomach swells with how much cum he pumps into you. You can feel it leaking out of you as he continues to come, moving his hips as much as he can while being trapped inside. Tears leak from your eyes and spit dribbles from your mouth, you can’t help your walls fluttering around him. So overstimulated, so much pain. It’s all become one. The world around you starts to fade away as he lays back, allowing you to be splayed out on his chest. Your body is numb as he twists you so you can bury your face into him. The heat radiating off of him brings you solace as the last bit of adrenaline fades.

“What the fuck happened last night?” He questioned groggily, tousling his hair sleepily. He shielded his eyes from the early morning sun.

Why the fuck could he see the sun?

His blood ran cold. He felt something lying on top of him, his eyes hesitantly drifted below him “Holy shit. Bunny?” He sat up, your body was limp, but warm. Then he took in the state of you. The giant bite mark on your throat, the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair, cuts and bruises adorned your skin “Y/N…?” His voice wobbled, he stroked his rough knuckles over the dark black and purple bruise circling your right eye. Bucky whimpered, his enhanced hearing allowed him to hear your heartbeat. It was weak and laboured. He picked you up in his arms and cuddled you close. Your eyes opened slowly.

“Buck?” You questioned, his heart clenched at your hoarse little voice. You sounded so innocent, so confused and a tad scared.

“I’m right here Bunny. The scary wolf is gone. Bucky’s gonna protect you. I’m gonna make this right I promise.” You smiled contently.

It’s just Bucky after all.

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[mockerycrow]

Hii here's my request if you'd like to write it; Adler x femreader w/ "I had a nightmare...can I stay with you tonight?" Thankss <3

DREAM OR REALITY? (Adler x Fem!Bell!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note: i couldn’t resist.

[WARNINGS: Black Ops Cold War Spoilers, very slight Mentions of Torture, nightmares, minor paranoia, toxic little hurt/comfort.]

YOU WAKE UP in a cold sweat, your heart pounding against your rib cage and with a voice in the back of your mind. You’re trembling as you can’t make any sense of what the voice is saying, and soon the sound of your blood rushing in your ears overtakes the incoherent voice.

You rub your eyes to ground yourself before you glance around, noting you’re still in the warehouse. You look at your watch, groaning quietly as you realize it’s quite early in the morning. Your chest feels quite heavy, and you have an odd craving for a cigarette when you don’t remember ever picking the habit up.

It’s one of those nights; you can tell you aren’t going to be able to go back to sleep anytime soon. Adler and the others wanted you to stay in the warehouse just in case you were able to decrypt any more information; you had no problem with that, as mostly everyone else also slept in the warehouse, although in different areas. Unfortunately though, your makeshift sleeping cot is not too comfortable, so you have an ache in your neck along with stirring anxiety from your nightmare. 

You push the cheap blanket off of yourself and you adjust your sleeves before swinging your legs over the side of the cot. You slip your boots on and lace them up, letting out a heavy sigh as you do so. A nervous energy remains under your skin, like you’re being watched. You know you aren’t—or do you?— but you shudder nonetheless. You grab your leather jacket, sliding it on before you exit the room you’ve been sleeping in for the past couple of days. The common area is clear except for Helen by the radios with her headphones, trying to make out Russian messages.

You rub your sternum before exiting the warehouse right in front of the garage door, the cool nighttime air filling your lungs. Goosebumps rise underneath your jacket for a moment from the fresh sensation, and you’re so caught up in your own mind you don’t even notice the man standing a few feet away. “What’re you doin’ up?” You jolt at the sound of someone’s voice and you look over, locking eyes with Adler. Lacking his usual sunglasses, his eyebrows are more visible and furrowed. A half smoked cigarette is between his fingers like usual, and he takes a drag from it.

You let out a breath and you shrug, stuffing your hands into the back pockets of your jeans, shifting your weight as you glance away. “Couldn’t sleep.” You utter. You technically aren’t lying, though you didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep. Adler doesn’t respond as he tucks a hand under his other arm as he takes another drag off of his cigarette, shifting slightly closer to you. Your eyes train on some bugs flying around under the big light overhead for a moment, the silence being filled with crickets. 

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Adler hums, his eyes never leaving your form. He notes the way you’re reluctant to share anything, your conflicted and far away gaze; he’s already thinking you’ve had a nightmare. “What was it about?”

Your gaze moves from the bugs to him—his stare feels like he sees all of you, your bare soul; your skin and bones and every sin you’ve ever committed. Adler’s gaze has always felt like that and you’ve never known what to make of it. He’s so.. vague yet so on the dot every time he talks to you, so friendly yet so cruel. You aren’t sure if you should say anything. “Bell.” You feel a nudge against your arm and you blink for a moment before looking back at Adler, your hearing returning—you aren’t sure when it left.

“I just.. I had a nightmare.” You admit with a weak laugh, looking away nervously as your hands fidget in the back pockets of your jeans. Your weight shifts as silence fills the air between you two and you kind of want to reach over to strangle him a bit—you know he’s waiting for you to elaborate. “I couldn’t make any sense of it, honestly. It was a weird horrid mixture of Vietnam and.. this room. Televisions.. hm. I don’t know.” You mumble, trailing off before you look back at him. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

There’s an unreadable look in Adler’s eyes as he drops his cigarette, stepping on it and squashing it to put it out. It takes him a moment before he nods. “Sure, Bell. You can stay with me. We can go over some files, yeah? Take your mind off of it, since we have a job to do.”

A weird sense of calm washes over you from his words and you nod, letting out a relieved breath. “Yeah, we can do that.”

[offbrandkyoya]

60 scara the widower

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Scaramouche is very lonely. He’s never felt so empty before. He misses you so much, like he’ll ever admit that. Practices were okay. It made him want to gauge his eyes out but anything for his fans.

Scaramouche turns off the music and sits on the floor while taking a sip of water. He’s sweating like crazy and he feels his head spiral. The boys trained separately for 3 hours and the rest is practicing together. Currently, Scaramouche is separated from the others. He kind of missed the loud noises.

He closes his water bottle before staring at the ceiling. He wanted to call you, see how you were doing but his phone got taken away. He wouldn’t get it back till the end of the day which was at night. He didn’t like the idea calling you at night since he cares about your health. Kind of hypocritical since he didn’t care much about his own.

Scaramouche pulls his knees up and rests his chin. “I miss yn…” He mumbled. He’s all alone so he didn’t care about speaking out loud. It’s just him and his thoughts. “Why did I sign up for this if it meant id be away from them?” He sighs before standing up. “I hope they’re okay.” He knows that people at your campus don’t like you at all and he can’t help but worry. You have Thoma and now…

“Fuck.” He says, remembering he’s keeping a secret from you. Scaramouche runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t like the idea of not telling you about Albedo and Kaeya. Obviously, it was none of your business to know their relationship but he fears something will happen to your friendship. You get along well with Albedo that he can’t help but think, if Kaeya spills the truth, Albedo would no longer want to be associated with you.

Not only him but Thoma as well. The blonde has some kind of relationship with Diluc and that can also ruin everything. Scaramouche just wants to make sure that you don’t only have him or 5WIRL. He growls, “I’m not their mom.” His face softens, “Still, I love-“ The door opens and enters his manager.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” He hated her guts. Getting special treatment is kind of annoying. Yet, he doesn’t want to cause any problems so he acts oblivious. “No, I was just relaxing.” “I see but don’t relax too much.” Scaramouche nods and his manager closes the door, walking closer to him. “Listen, Scaramouche.” She rubs her hands.

“About that concert where you…had a reaction…” Scaramouche raises a brow but says nothing. “I need you to be focused. It’s not that I’m angry at you. I’m just concerned. You need to learn how to control your emotions. We don’t want you to look bad in front of everyone.” Scaramouche felt his insides boil. How was he supposed to know his mom was gonna show up that night? He hasn’t seen that woman in years.

“Okay.” Was all he said and she smiles. “Good. Gosh, you’re a much better listener than the rest. Out of all of them you have the most potential considering-“ She paused. “Considering?” He repeats. Her smile falters but continues, “Nothing. You’re just better. So much better that, you can be the new leader.” His eyes widen and she laughs. “Just a suggestion.” “What about Venti?”

Suddenly, she frowns. “He’ll leave. He’s been here long enough and Zhongli isn’t easy to beat. I guess his time has run out. He’s pretty much a nuisance and does nothing but mistakes. Honestly, he should’ve given up long ago.” Scaramouche doesn’t say anything and she smiles again. “Well enough of that. Continue doing what you’re doing.”

She walks to the door but turns back around. “Oh right, I’ve been meaning to tell you; take off that ring. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.” Then she left. Scaramouche brings his hand up to look at the ring. “Like hell I’m taking this off.”

Scaramouche felt sour after hearing all that. Him? The new leader? He scoffs at the thought. “As if.” He’s pretty unstable, mentally and emotionally, so he wouldn’t be right for the job. Plus, Ventis a good leader. He’s confused on his relationship with Zhongli so he can’t really say much on that. Scaramouche heads to the boombox and turns the music back on to continue practicing.

- I watched Barbie

- I also started watching legend of korra after avoiding it for so long

- I love mako

- 🩷

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