#n e ways i have more thoughts about it but these tags are long enough lol

[maxillness]

Ocean Eyes || SV5 x Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, implied age gap, bisexual!seb, Seb used to have (romantic) feelings for Lewis

Wordcount: 2.2k

Don’t ask me why this is set during Christmas break. I don’t even have the excuse I wrote it in December; I wrote it in February

Can we also just take a second to appreciate how cute this gif😭🫶

Tag list: @e-nonsense @babyprofessorsharkpalace @aexitizen-ln4

It was snowing. Quite a lot actually. But it was expected when you were this close to Christmas

She hated the snow. It wasn’t really her, but she had to go out with the dog anyway

She stood on the porch, watching the dog play in the snow, trying to catch the snow flakes

She had been at her parents house for about a week now, and she knew they were close with the neighbour, but she had yet to see him

She figured that maybe he was visiting family and wasn’t home, but she couldn’t know for sure

Just as she thought about what he might look like, she heard a door open to her right. She looked over. When you talk about the devil

“Oh, hey” He smiled over at her “You must be Y/N” He said walking closer to the fence separating the two yards

“Yeah, I am. You must be Sebastian” She answered, walking over to him

“I am. Nice to finally meet you” They shook hands “You’re parents has spoken so much about you”

He was pretty. His smile was bright, making small wrinkles appear in the corner of his eyes- his eyes. They were the most drop dead, gorgeous, ocean blue eyes. Never had she seen such pretty eyes

“They have? Hope it’s only the good stuff” She chuckled nervously, slightly embarrassed

“They say it in a way where can only think it’s good, if that’s any relief” He said, smiling back at her

His ears and nose, as well as his cheeks had started turning red from the coldness of the air, but it only made him so much prettier

A loud bark cut her out of her trance “Are you done?” She asked as she had turned around “Alright” She sighed “I better go. Nice meeting you”

“Nice meeting you too” He said before they parted and she went into the house again

“Saw you were talking with Sebastian” Her mother said, sipping her tea when she walked into the house

“Oh. Um, yeah” She said, taking off her coat and shoes and placed them neatly on their spot

“What’d you think?” She said, trying to hide her smirk behind her cup

“He’s… Nice. Don’t know enough about him” She went into the living room, slumping down on the couch and returned to her phone

“Good to know” Her mother whispered, taking a place in the living room as well

“I think I baked too much” She said, looking at the verity of cookies on the kitchen counter

“I promised Sebastian you would come over with some” Her father said passing her in the kitchen

“What? Why?” She asked, looking confused at him

“Because he doesn’t have anyone to bake for him” He answered before walking out of the kitchen

“Maybe he’ll invite you in for a cup of tea” Her mother said not looking away from her book

“Mom! Have you realised how much older than me he is?” She said, drawing her mom’s attention to her

“So what? Age is just a number, beside he thinks you’re pretty” She said, closing her book and putting it on the counter

“I’ll walk over with some cookies, but I won’t stay for long, okay? Deal?” She said, looking directly into her mother eyes

“Okay. Deal. Give him some of each, okay?” She said before leaving the kitchen

“Cookies?” She said the moment the door opened

“Hello to you too, miss y/n” Sebastian said, quite startled by the sudden words

“Sorry… Hi” She said, her cheeks lightly heating up

“Thank you” He said, putting his hand under the box of she had in her hands “Wanna come in?” He asked, opening the door more

She thought about the deal she made with her mom but decided to screw it

“Sure. Thank you” She said, taking a step into the small hallway

She took off her coat and boots as Sebastian walked to the kitchen to put the cookies away “Tea or coffee?” He asked when she stepped in the kitchen

“Whatever you’re having” She smiled, fidgeting with her fingers behind her back

“Okay. Just go to the living room and I’ll be in in a minute” She did as she was told

She looked around the pictures around her. They were pretty. It was mostly of mountains. Some where with who she assumed to be family or friends

One sparked her interest. She walked over to the shelf where it sat. It was an old picture. 2010 maybe. It was Sebastian and another guy

“That was a long time ago” He said walking up beside her “Here” He gave her the cup. Honey

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have-“ “No, it’s fine” She looked at the picture a moment longer before she opened her mouth again

“Who is he?” She sipped on her tea, hissing slightly at the burning water “You look like good friends”

“Lewis. We’re still friends” He sighed sipping his own tea

“Why’d you say it like that?” She asked confused, eyebrows knitted together

“The day that picture was taken, I told myself I was gonna tell him about my feelings towards him. I never did, but sometimes I wonder what would’ve happen if I did” He chuckled the last part, turning around and sat on the couch

She didn’t say anything, but she sat down on the couch turning her body slightly towards him

“I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re assuming” He said, turning his head towards her

God, were his eyes beautiful like this

“No, no. I’m not assuming anything, not against it either” That seamed to relieve some anxiety off his shoulders

It wasn’t an awkward silence they were left in

“Tell me about yourself” She said, sipping on her tea “You know practically everything about me, thank you parents, but I know nothing about you”

He agreed, and he seamed like he hated talking about himself, but he didn’t tell her that, she could see it in his eyes as he spoke

“It really isn’t that interesting” He chuckled, looking into his lost empty cup

“Not that interesting? You used to be in a sport where you risked your life every time you went. That seems interesting for a few lifetimes” They had somehow both ended up on the floor during their conversation

“A few lifetimes? That seems like a lot” He chuckled

“It’s a life risking Sport, of course it’s a lot” She said, scooting closer to him if that was even possible at this point

“You’re life is interesting too” He said, trying to get the topic off of him

“Not as much as yours” At this point, they were practically sitting in each others laps

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. She was lost in the blues of his eyes

“You’re eyes are so pretty” She said, not expecting the deep blush that landed on his cheeks

“T-thank you” He said flustered, looking into his hands in his lap “You’re p-pretty, too”

It was cute when he stuttered. She hooked her finger under his chin, lifting his head upwards again

“Thank you” She loved the way she made him blush like he did “You’re even more pretty like this”

That set off something inside of him. He pushed her hand away, pulling her in by her neck, smashing their lips together

He pulled her into his lap when she kissed back. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer

She pulled away, almost gasping for air. His blow pupils ruined the view she had of the ocean in his eyes

She drove back to his lips, but a little softer. She flicked her tongue over his bottom lip and he parted his lips immediately, letting her tongue into him

Maybe it was because it still lingered on her own tongue, but he tasted like honey. Sweet honey. Not like the shit kind you can buy at any grocery store, but a good one

He groaned into her mouth, feeling the way she was exploring every corner of his mouth. His hands were tighter on her hips, sensing shivers over her body

“It’s getting late” She mumbled into his mouth “I should probably go home” But she didn’t pull away from the kiss

“Mhm… You probably should” Neither did he pull away, he instead pulled her sweater over her head, throwing it on the ground

“Bedroom” The kiss had started getting sloppy and out of rhythm

He only shortly nodded while picked her up without problems, her legs hanging around his waist

He effortlessly carried her into his bedroom, softly placing her on the bed without breaking the kiss

He only broke the kiss to start trailing over her jaw and down to her neck, drawing out a string of whimpers from her

“Off” She barely said anything as she started tugging at his shirt “Please” He finally obliged and pulled his shirt off

Her hands went to his chest the second she could, feeling his skin under her palms. Her hands started wandering as he went back to sucking on her skin

She started bucking her hips upwards, wanting to feel him against her. His hands went to her back, unhooking her bra, pulling it off of her

He looked into her eyes as he placed a gentle kiss between her breasts. He pulled away before his hands went to her pants

He unbuttoned and zipped them down before slowly pulling them down her legs, pulling her socks with them

His fingertips felt like feathers when he pulled down her panties, kissing her legs on the way

He went up, spreading her legs before placing light kisses on the inside of her thighs. She whined when he passed the spot she needed him

“Sebastian, please” She bucked her hips, hoping to get closer to his mouth

He gave into her, pushing his tongue through her wet folds, grazing over her clit, earning him a moan

“Fuck, please! Keep going!” She threaded her hand in his long curls, pulling him closer again

He chuckled, but obliged. Bending her knees, holding around her thighs, he drove his tongue back over her clit, flickering it

She tried squeezing her legs together, but he managed to hold the outwards before she squeezed around his head

“Keep them apart, sweetheart” She whimpered at the nickname, trying so hard to spread her legs to give him access “Good girl”

One of his hands went towards her entrance, teasing her before pushing two of his fingers inside

She whimpered as her back arched off of the bed and he eyes rolled into the back of her head behind closed eyes

He started pumping in and out of her with a slow pace before finding a good rhythm he could work with

He curled his fingers, hitting just the right spot inside her making her almost screw out in pleasure

“At this volume, I think your parents might hear” He smirked, sucking lightly on her inner thighs

Her body started shaking slightly “Sebastian… Fuck. Feels so good” Her back started hurting from the position she was in

“God, you sounds so good for me. Fucking pretty moans” His tongue went back to her clit, putting pressure on the bundle of nerves

“Seb-fuck! Stop, stop” He immediately pulled out of her, looking with worry up at her

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his thumbs circling the skin on her hips

“Felt too good. Wouldn’t… Wouldn’t want to come without you” He chuckled at her words, but happily got out of his pants and boxers

He got in between her legs, pulling them around his hips, lining himself up with her entrance

He pushed in just the tip before slowly pushing all the way in, letting her slowly adjust to his size

“Move, please” He did so, holding her hips as he slowly moved in and out of her

“Fuck, you feel so good around me” He breathed out, sounding almost like a moan, but not quite

“Filling me up so good” She whimpered, looking up into his eyes, her hands clasped around his forearms, holding herself steady

If she knew that those fucking pretty ocean blue eyes would be looking at her like this, she would’ve visited her parents sooner

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, please” She moaned loud when he started hitting the spot that made her see stars over and over again

He could feel his own orgasm growing in the pit of his stomach “Come for me, Schatzi”

His accent sent her over the edge, her whole body trembling with such force that just looking at her sent him over the edge as well, filling her up with his cum

“Fuck, you’re even prettier like this” He chuckled, seeing her fucked out state as he pulled out of her

He got them both cleaned up before he tugged them both under the sheets

They barely got a moment of silence before her phone rang. It was tugged into her jeans somewhere on the floor

“I’ll get it” He said, seeing her exhausted state “It’s your mom” He chuckled

“Just let it ring through” She said, turning over onto her stomach

[maschotch]

You mentioning the fact that they're profilers is so real bc like it honest to god ASTOUNDS me how badly they all read hotch like he so so so so clearly cares for every member of the Bau WAAYYY more than he cares for him self and he's literally never shown otherwise??? Like even the whole drill boss stuff or whatever tf he said he's never aggressive with the group if they mess up he's always understanding but fair and most is pretty much the first one to comfort them (if the script allows) UNLESS he's going through some shit IE the whole divorce plot and foyet AND IT BAFFLES ME HOW EVERYONE FUCKING MISSES IT CONSIDERING ITS THEIR J O B

they’re all kinda bad at profiling each other but istg they have to TRY to understand hotch so poorly… i’m trying to think of a moment where he yells at them when they’re not directly putting themselves in danger or in the immediate aftermath of him getting attacked in his fucking home, but i cant think of anything?? he doesnt like being harsh with them and he learns the hard way with the elle situation that it doesnt get them anywhere. the only time he was unduly upset w someone was with emily in the beginning and that’s only bc he thought she was either a nepotism hire (which she kinda was) or a plant for strauss (which she kinda was)

he’s “strict” but like?? is he?? he does half their paperwork for them and they dont even know it. instead of doing things by the book and getting reid fired, he turned the other way and let him work through his drug problem. maybe he says “no” sometimes, but he usually relents anyway—like when jj has a feeling ab a case or when he calls the fucking vatican for emily. if he was a drill sergeant, would he let garcia keep a bunch of clutter on her desk and dress in bright clothing?? he doesnt coddle them or anything bc that’s not really his personality, but he’s gentle w them and even praises them when he knows they need it. he doesnt always step in and help when he should (i think that honestly has more to do w him being self conscious than anything—he doesnt want a drill sergeant/bully to make things worse), but he keeps a close eye on each of their wellbeing and will quietly urge one of the others to help out if someone’s in a tough spot

sure he doesn’t smile a whole lot and he’s known for his perpetually neutral face, but at the same time it’s not very hard to tell how he’s feeling. he’s effective at his job, he’s good at playing the tough guy, but tbh he let’s things get to him easily. he takes their criticism to heart and does his best to be better. he HATES seeing any of them hurt: ever notice how after what happened with elle he never uses his own agents as bait like that again? he either uses himself (like the fight club episode) or one of the team volunteers and he relents (like emily in the omegaverse swingers episode). they misread his social awkwardness as being cold when really i think he’s just mildly uncomfortable being the center of attention in an unprofessional setting.

it’s wild to me how frequently they misjudge him. i think he kinda knows and almost encourages it?? while still considering their judgements genuine?? morgan is a great example: of all his subordinates, morgan has worked with him the longest, since before he was in charge of the team. so you’d think morgan would have the best insight. but morgan has a complicated relationship w authority figures and tends to be automatically defensive out of habit. essentially, he’s been projecting on hotch since day one and has been blinded by the convoluted series of lenses he sees hotch through: as a constantly rotating mixture of buford, stilinski, and his father. it’s prevented him for actually seeing hotch for who he is, and hotch seems to make no real effort to correct any of those presumptions. but hotch still takes it personally when morgan criticizes him (prob bc it feeds his own negative view of his self worth and uses it as justification for whatever self loathing bullshit he’s on)

basically, hotch knows everyone has skewed perceptions of him and is fine letting their delusions continue uninterrupted—encourages it, even. he’s more comfortable receiving scathing remarks, even if they’re inaccurate, bc it allows him to continue his own delusion ab his place in the world. if they hate him (or if he thinks they hate him), it gives him a reason to hate himself. which is why i think he kinda likes that they’re bad at profiling him. it’s a way to receive that negative attention without actually being vulnerable. it’s a very very passive manipulation—more like he’s allowing them to manipulate themselves—that feeds his self loathing. i think he does it on purpose, so i cant necessarily fault the others for so drastically misunderstanding hotch. especially since they do get better at it over the seasons: they’re able to see through his defense mechanisms a little more, even if they still cant see him clearly

[cupid-styles]

daisy 3 - the epilogue (english profrry x quiet TA!yn)

the final part!! sorry it took forever for me to finish this series. I really hope you guys enjoyed it and like this little part that wraps everything up :)

part one | part two

word count: 2.9k

content warnings: inappropriate relationship, minor age gap (4 years), not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N and Harry shift into a relationship — or what feels like one — faster than either could have ever anticipated. 

In hindsight, Y/N supposes it makes sense. They’d been suppressing romantic and intimate feelings for each other and now that it’d all come to a peak (no pun intended), tangled between Y/N’s cotton sheets, it felt oddly… natural.

The entire thing made her warm with happiness, a busy kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering through her tummy every time she even thought of waking up next to Harry. They hadn’t had another sleepover since that evening, and admittedly, she’d been a bit scared that she would wake up to rushed apologies and explanations of “I need to get out of here, this was a mistake”, but it had been quite the opposite. 

The following morning, when her sleepy eyes cracked open, she felt a warm weight pressed up against her back. It took her a moment to come to, but when she did, she remembered the strenuous activities from the night prior, and blushed and rolled over to find the object of her affection waking up from his own deep sleep. 

“Morning,” he’d croaked before smiling through puffy eyes. “Can I make you breakfast?”

That had been two weeks ago, and it seemed like the cotton candy cloud they were floating on had yet to touch the ground.

It went without saying that they were still extremely careful on campus — however, now that the temperatures were shifting into a more comfortable number, jackets were being shed and bright tulip bulbs and crocuses were beginning to pop up from the moist soil. They were telltale signs that spring was steadily bolting their way, which meant that the end of the semester was, too. Between the hopeful weather and the pastel-hued beginnings of a relationship between the two, it was enough to pull Y/N from the inklings of her seasonal depression and Harry from his own existential dread. 

In short: It was good. Things were finally good, even if they hadn’t talked things through or officially decided on what they were doing yet. Y/N thinks she was okay with that, as long as it meant she was on the receiving end of Harry’s gentle kisses or his sweet goodnight texts. 

Yeah. She could most definitely live with that.

. . .

“I found a kitten last night.”

The words make Y/N blink her eyes open. Their lips hadn’t even been fully disconnected by the time his words were ghosting over the seam of her mouth, an apparent eagerness to verbalize this new development from the past 24 hours. 

“Oh?” Y/N asks with a quirked brow, fingertips focused on the feeling of his soft knit cardigan. 

“When I was taking the garbage out,” he quickly explains. “She was hiding behind the trash cans.”

“She?”

Harry shifts from foot to foot and Y/N immediately identifies his body language as nervousness — he’s nervous to tell her about this cat he found near his building complex, and the thought, for some reason, makes her body bubble with giggles. 

“I looked to see if she had a collar or tag or anything and she doesn’t. I took her in and washed her off. She was starving, but I was thinking of taking her to the vet when I leave campus today.”

Y/N hums, “Well if she was starving and dirty, it’s a good thing she found you.”

A pinkish flush flowers over Harry’s cheeks and he shrugs his shoulders. “The vet in town is always swamped with college kids impulsively adopting animals. I was thinking of taking her to the one a bit further away.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” Y/N nods, tugging the strap of her tote bag a little closer to her body. Harry normally isn’t so slow in his goodbyes to her, and she really needs to get to the library to work on an essay outline. 

“Will you come with me?”

Her eyebrows nearly fly up to the ceiling. They’ve never done anything in public together — not since they saw each other at Target a few months back, and that doesn’t even count because they weren’t seeing each other back then. It was something that made Y/N toss and turn at night. She knew that in the eyes of the university, their relationship was forbidden — neither of them were that dim to understand that — but in any other context, there was no reason why a couple of their age couldn’t be together. It sometimes made her wish that they did meet under different circumstances, like at a bar or even swiping right on a dating app. 

“I was thinking maybe you could stay over afterwards, because the only appointment they had available for this evening was at 7 pm and I’m not sure how late we would get back,” Harry tacks on, and the addition only makes her stomach continue to swarm with nervous butterflies. “You can say no. I just thought it would be nice. A stay-at-home date, maybe.”

She’s nodding like a robot before her brain even allows her the opportunity to think it over. And yeah, call her childish, maybe, but the thought of him calling it a date — she supposes this is the closest they can get to one in the near future — makes her heart skip a beat.

“That does sound nice,” she agrees with a smile. “Do you want to pick me up at 6? I’ll… I can pack a bag and we’ll go from the vet to yours later on?”

He nods, mirroring her own enthusiastic grin. “Okay.”

. . .

After a marathon at the library (she was in the beginning stages of doing research on a comparative essay on Emily Brontë’s work), Y/N trekked back to her apartment, stuffed some food down her throat, showered, and packed a bag for Harry’s. 

She was a little nervous — okay, maybe fairly nervous, considering the last time they did anything close to this, it had all been very spur of the moment. Things weren’t awkward because of it (it was the opposite, actually), but the rest of their relationship had been spent in Harry’s tiny office. They played footsies while they graded, ordered takeout to the English building while they spoke about their days, and snuck loved-up smiles when they passed each other on campus, but this felt more… finite, maybe. Real. Like they could exist outside the confines of their university.

Harry texts her when he’s on his way and then when he’s downstairs at 6 o’clock on the dot (here xx, which makes Y/N’s heart flutter). She has her usual purse on one shoulder and a tote bag on the other, where she’s packed pajamas for the night, an outfit for tomorrow, and all of her toiletries. She swallows as she locks the front door and turns to see the familiar navy sedan parked right outside, biting her lip when she sees the curly haired brunette in the driver’s seat. 

“Hey,” he greets the second she gets in the car. She flashes him a smile, though his own facial expression exudes an air of nervousness, “Do you know much about cats?” 

“Um, my sister brought a stray in when we were kids. We only kept her for a few days, but I guess I know a little.”

Harry nods, “I’m scared she’s anxious back there. I tried to make the carrier as comfortable as possible for her, but she’s probably nervous, right? She’s in a weird guy’s car and she doesn’t know where she’s going.”

Y/N breathes out a laugh as she twists her body to look in the backseat. Low and behold, there’s a brand new carrier with a small kitten inside. She coos at its salt and pepper fur as she unlocks the gate, gently reaching in to grab the cat. She can’t be larger than a few pounds, and Harry’s right about her being nervous — she’s trembling, whether it be from the confusion of the situation or an issue the vet will likely tell them about. 

“Here, I’ll hold her for the ride,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of her head, “She just needs some love, hm?” 

“She kept slipping on the hardwood floors in my apartment last night. I felt so bad.” Harry replies as he puts the car in drive, a slight pout on his lips. Y/N laughs lightly at the thought, stroking her forefinger over the kitten’s back. 

“Poor baby,” she glances up at Harry, blinking when she realizes he’d been glimpsing down between them and the road, “Did you think of any names for her?”

He coughs and flicks his right signal on, “Um, yeah. I thought of a few. Haven’t really decided on anything yet, though. I guess it depends on whether or not the vet thinks it’s a good idea to keep her.”

“Sure,” Y/N hums, though she can already tell from her brief knowledge of pets that the likelihood of this little kitten having a home is slim. She’s tiny and underweight and doesn’t have a collar, which means she probably isn’t chipped, either. “I think you’d do well as a cat dad. Maybe you can adopt if this little one doesn’t work out.”

“You think so?”

A small smile cracks at the edges of Y/N lips. It’s apparent that Harry’s scared and needs some sort of reassurance from someone, and she’s happy to be the provider. “Of course I do. I think you have a lot of love to give, Harry.”

She watches as his throat bobs before his own lips form a gentle smile. 

“Yeah. I think I do, too.” 

He reaches over and carefully intertwines their fingers together. When she gives his hand a small squeeze, she thinks she sees his body visibly relax. 

. . .

As Y/N anticipated, the kitten Harry found doesn’t belong to anyone. 

The vet does a thorough check-up and the results are relatively positive; she’s just on the malnourished side and will need a lot of food, love, and care to get her to a place where she’s considered to be healthy. She advises Harry to bring the cat back in a month to do another weigh-in just to make sure her diet is nutritionally-dense enough, and he has no problem agreeing. 

Y/N scoops the kitten up and gently scratches and pets at the back of her head as Harry talks to the receptionist, supplying information about his name and phone number for the follow-up appointment. It’s only when he’s asked for the kitten’s name that he somewhat freezes. Y/N peers up, assuming he’s just nervous because he hasn’t settled on anything yet. It’s understandable, she supposes — if her parents had let her and her sister keep that kitten from their childhood, they probably would have named it “Princess Muffins” or “Little Lady Kisses”, which Y/N just thinks is embarrassing for the cat.

“Ophelia,” he murmurs lowly before coughing into his hand. The receptionist doesn’t question it as she quickly types it in, but it makes Y/N’s eyebrows raise. She continues scratching at Harry’s newly named cat, using her blunt fingernails to slowly rub the patches of fur behind her ears. She’s not sure if she’s being too fussy and self-centered, but if she remembers correctly, the first time she and Harry met, they talked about how Ophelia from Hamlet was a big inspiration for Y/N’s capstone project. She shrugs it off, especially when they’re done at the vet and they step into the low light of the evening. Silently, they walk side-by-side and back to Harry’s car. 

Daylight savings, despite being a stupid concept, arrived just a few weeks prior, which means they’re now privy to a few more hours of daylight before night stretches over the sky. It’s nice — spring hasn’t completely sprung up yet, but there are little reminders here and there that it’s coming. It isn’t freezing tonight but there’s a slight chill in the air, so both she and Harry are bundled up beneath cozy crewneck sweatshirts. He pulls the sleeves of his over his knuckles and the small action makes Y/N’s heart squeeze.

“Are you fine to hold her on the drive back?” Harry asks once they’re back in his car. She nods happily, content with having a small, cuddly kitten curl up on her lap for the next 30 minutes. The evening sunlight bathes the interior of the vehicle as Harry pulls out of his parking spot, flicking on his left blinker to take them back to his place. 

“D’you wanna get Thai for dinner?” Y/N asks, suppressing a yawn as she turns her head to look at the male beside her. Again, she watches as his muscles melt a bit, less rigid than they were just a moment or two before, and a smile edges at his lips as he nods his head. 

“That sounds great. Could go for some pad thai.”

“Mm, me too,” she agrees, taking her phone out to pull up the ordering app, “Can we split some dumplings, too?”

“I’d love that.”

She smiles to herself and they chat aimlessly and quietly about their respective orders, each of them deciding on noodle dishes (Harry opts for a veggie-only option while Y/N picks shrimp) and an order of mushroom dumplings. She asks if he’s vegetarian or trying to be — she presumes it’d be a rather important thing to know about the person she’s… dating? Casually seeing? What were they doing? — but he shrugs noncommittally, as he does for many questions she asks. It’s almost as if he’s not used to people asking him about his likes and preferences, and she thinks that’s dumb. She wants to know everything there is to know about him. 

When she prods him about his vegetable forward habits, he finally explains that no, he’s not a vegetarian, but he likes to eat meat-free when he can. This prompts her to ask him about his other tastes: His favorite ice cream flavor (Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food, which she approves of), his favorite flowers (pink tulips because his mom used to grow them), and his go-to drink when he goes out (“I never go out, I’m an old man, but I am partial to a tequila soda”). 

Her time playing 20 Questions is finally up after he picks up their food and they arrive back at his place. By now, the sun has fully retreated and Ophelia is sound asleep in Y/N’s lap. When he puts the car in park, he stops her before they go inside. 

“Why are you asking me all these things?” he asks with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. She resists the urge to reach out and smooth it with her thumb.

“I just wanna know. I’m curious.” she replies, shrugging.

“You wanna know about the first album I ever bought and how old I was when I had my first kiss?”

“Of course I do,” she pauses, confused. “Why? Do you not want me to know those things?”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I just… I don’t know. I’m surprised.”

“I don’t know how much more forward I can be with my feelings,” she says softly, nibbling on her bottom lip, “I know this is technically against the rules or whatever, but… I like you. You know that, right? That what I feel for you goes beyond sex and some silly fantasy.”

She watches as he swallows tightly. 

“I like you too,” he murmurs, reaching out to take her free hand into his. “I’m sorry I let my insecurities get the best of me but it’s just… odd, I guess, to imagine that you really, truly like me. I sound like a middle schooler, god—”

“Don’t do that.” she quickly shakes her head. If it weren’t for Ophelia still perched atop her thighs, she’d reach forward and take his face between her hands. “Don’t belittle yourself. I like you, Harry. So much that I’m willing to risk my status as a student. You get that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he nods swiftly, “And you understand what I’m risking, right?”

It’s not meant to be a one-up — it’s genuine and it’s real, and she nods her head and swallows the small lump of tears that’s developed in her throat. It’s the reality of their relationship and it’s necessary to address, especially if either one of them wants to go any further. 

With Harry, he has more to lose. He’d be fired, of course, but his degrees could be taken into question, too. His license as a professor. Everything he’s worked for, all potentially wasted on Y/N.

It’s a heavy weight for her to wear.

But, as if he can read her mind (or maybe he can just read her facial expression), he gives her hand a squeeze. 

“And you’re more than worth it, Y/N.” he says with soft eyes. 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” she blurts out without thinking. Her eyes immediately widen while Harry’s crease with happiness, and she’d contemplate taking back if not for the massive grin that stretches across his face. 

“Truly, I thought you’d never ask,” he replies cheekily, and Y/N responds with a gentle swat to the chest. He laughs. “I did name my cat after you, after all.”

. . .

That night, when Harry has Ophelia tucked into one side and Y/N into the other, and she’s half-asleep as they watch another episode of whatever docuseries she convinced him to turn on, after they’ve eaten themselves into a Thai food coma and talked about the latest books they’ve read with promises to exchange them, he realizes he’s never been so happy in his life. 

Y/N can comfortably say the same. 

[angelltheninth]

Jing Yuan NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Jing Yuan x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, aftercare, cunnilingus, marking, cum eating, toy use, masturbation, boob appreciation, kissing, cuddles, wall sex, blowjob, hallways sex, begging, quickie

A/N: This is so damn long lmao. Written for @hellolavendarsky.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jing Yuan lets you have a few minutes to settle down before he pulls his cock out of you. His aftercare usually includes carrying you to the bath to help you wash yourself and wrapping you up in a really thick, soft and fluffy towel afterwards, making you feel safe and comfy. He loves to lay you on his chest, letting you be on top while you talk to him about the things you enjoyed.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you his favorite is your stomach, he's a big enjoyer of that, no matter what your body type if. As long as there's enough of you to kiss, maybe nibble and lay his head on to rest he really couldn't care less. One of his favorite body parts are his shoulders. They're always like a place for his badges of honor, and by that he means all the bites and nail marks you leave on him while's fucking you into the surface you're having sex on.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Almost addicted to the taste of your cum. His doesn't really interest him that much unless it's inside your holes. But your cum needs to be on his tongue at least once every time he has sex with you. Drinking it down, lapping it up like he hasn't drank anything all day and making a show of licking it off his lips and swallowing it, humming at your taste right before he goes in for more.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He keeps sex toys in a secret box in his office. They're not always for him to use on you, sometimes he's feeling so pent up and he needs the release to function normally for the rest of the day. Thank god he's never been caught using them or that no one has found his stash cause he's been slowly adding onto it since he met you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Could find his way around your body with his eyes closed. There aren't many things he hasn't tried yet in his many years. He's hot, famous, a good person, very well respected so he's had many partners in his time. Not one to compare the experience levels unless it's necessary to do so, like if you're hesitant to try something and he's tried it before, he'll tell you all about it, how to be safe during it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything that can give him a nice view of your tits or ass jiggling is great. If he's within boob grabbing or sucking reach that's even better. Reverse cowgirl is really good when he wants to feel and see your ass smacking against his abs but in this position he can't see your face so he would rather have you on your side, one leg over his shoulder and fucking his cock in you that way. He can see your face, touch your boobs and your ass all in one.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Keeps things pretty lighthearted even when he's playing up the more dominant aspect of his personality. Is serious only if he needs to reassure you of something or explain something to you. Otherwise he would much rather keep things cheerful and teasing for the both of you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jing Yuan is extremely well groomed and keeps all his body hair neatly trimmed at all times. His hair is of course one of his selling points so he would be stupid not to maintain it. Actually has more hair-care products then you do and thought it was hilarious when you asked if you could borrow his shampoo. Sure you can, he likes smelling his scent on you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy is a big deal to him. Even when you were only having sex in his office and weren't official yet he always put a lot of emphasis on intimacy. Touching your face, kissing your fingers, keeping your bodies close so you can feel each other's orgasm everywhere, inside and out, kissing you until your lungs hurt, it was always, always a big part of sex for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Masturbates in the morning and in the noon when he's at work. Doing it at work always brought a bit of a risk with it but when he's got to do it he's just got to do it. He's been caught by you before, with his pants fully down and your picture in his hand. Who else would he think about while handling his cock? Always tries to be quick about it, but is slow when it comes to making love.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Very much into ropes and leashes, specifically on you. He would love to treat you as his little pet, his bitch that's always, always in heat and ready to suck his cock the moment he feels him tug on your leash. It's also good for control, when you're riding him, no matter of you're facing him or not he can pull you back, control your pace. He can also tie you up, completely or partially, or if you want you can tie him up and only have him able to thrust into you and endure your mouth edging him until he can break free.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The hallway. Any kind of a hallway will do. When he fucks you in the hallway it's a dead give away that you're both so god damn horny for each other that you can't possibly wait to be in a proper enclosed space. Hell lift you up, pin you to the wall, hold you by your thighs and watch as his cock plummets in and out of your pussy, your panties held to the side by you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Usually when you're being shy about it. He needs to coax it out of you, he needs to make you say you want him or else he's not doing it. It's such a fun game of cat and mouse, you have no idea how much he likes it. When you can't say it and he denies you, when he's almost out the door and you yell at him to wait and throw your arms around him, your voice barely above a whisper as you beg, pretty please can he fuck you, can he make you come.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Really rough play. Slapping you and manhandling you from time to time is okay but he is very away of how strong he is. He would never want to risk making you bleed or seeing you in tears from the pain he's caused. Painplay is a huge no for him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ideally he would like both at the same time. He likes giving a little more because that way he can hear your moans a little more clearly but having you struggling to talk while choking on his cock is a good sound too. Oral sex is almost always part of your love making session, weather before or after penetration for clean up.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Really depends on the amount of time you have. He likes taking it slow but whenever he does he prolongs the foreplay a little too long and ends up overstimulating your poor pussy before his cock even gets in. And he can lose control very easily when it comes to his speed, when you give him the green light he will fuck you so hard you're scared he's gonna break you. Never, but he can get you close, as long as you're enjoying it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

At least a few times a week, most often when you visit him in his office. There have been many meetings delayed by him because visited unexpectedly and instead of going over papers he ended up balls deep inside of you while you're bent over his desk. Good thing that he's the boss so no one can fire him for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He wouldn't be nearly as experianced if he didn't take risks in his sex life. If there's something, anything that you would like to try with him please tell him. He'll try anything once, as long as he can ensure your safety during it. If it's something really risky then he'll make sure to talk to someone who's already tried it to make it the safest it can be.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

What you would call a stamina monster. The recovery period is also a bit shorter then most men, which he doesn't attribute to his stamina but rather having sex with such a hot woman with a great pussy. How could his cock stay soft when there are so many more orgasms to give you and more holes of yours to fill? But he can also use his fingers and mouth too, until he's hard again. Keep moaning, it helps a lot.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Owns a lot of toys and his collection only grows. For his pleasure he always keeps a cocksleeve in his office, which can vibrate and suck. Vibrators can be for you both, and bullet vibrators too. He really likes keeping a tiny one against your clit while you suck him off so you have constant stimulation.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It's one of his favorite types of foreplay. Teasing has also been a big part of him winning you over and making you fall in love with him. There's never a bad time to lean in and bite on your ear or give you a little slap on the ass. He's not nearly as easy to tease back, almost impossible, the only time you can do so is if he's drunk.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Depends on if you're at home or somewhere more public. He's pretty vocal either way but the volume will vary. You swear he was raised by lions because he's always growling and humming and grunting and sighing against you. It's hot when you're alone and he floods your pussy with hot cum, screaming, roaring his release into the heavens but when you could get caught you have to be kissing him almost all the time to stop all of his noises.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Insanely turned on when you call him 'sir' or 'boss'. Thankfully this only happens when you call him these things and not the people that actually work for him cause that would be really awkward. If you say these things as a joke he'll get really pouty because his brain associates them with sex, and therefore he will get an erection. Which is why you use these words when you have sex or when you want to have sex with him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

No surprise that he's is in very, very good shape. Muscles all over his body, a six pact that you can grind and come all over, legs for days and a cock to match. His cock is both long and girthy, which took a lot out of you the first time you had sex. He's pretty veiny as well but that ads a little bit to the texture and the pressure, not to mention you can always feel him pulsing nicely in your hand or mouth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jing Yuan has a pretty high sex drive, which is hard to match with most of his previous partners. You had some trouble too, at first but he's never put any pressure on you to match him. He can control himself just fine and if he's really pent up there's always his hand and the toy collection he has.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He never falls asleep right after sex, nor do you because he always has a bath ready for the two of you to properly relax in. Only after that is he ready to sleep and even then it takes him a while. He really likes to watch your eyes close, your body press against his and your breathing slow down. When he's sure you're in a deep sleep he can finally let himself sleep too.

[cinnbar-bun]

Affinity (Various OP Characters x Reader)

Characters: Brook, Buggy, Beckman, Crocodile, Zoro, Mihawk, Corazon, Shanks, Law

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~4k

A/n: Reader is GN! I kinda made this after hearing about a special thing in my religion, and decided I wanted to do this. I of course made it more romantic in nature than the original idea goes, but hey, romance! I had my followers choose 7 originally but it went to 9, which is a very lucky number in my religion so maybe it was a sign? Who knows! Please enjoy <3

Tagging: @fanaticsnail @gingernut1314 @undeadeurydice @i-am-vita @kiribuchi @therosietoesy (sorry, I forgot who asked for Law my bad)

———————————————————————

There is a belief that before you are born, you were once a soul that had existed with other souls. Souls who had an affinity for each other would find that affinity carried in their time as a human. Souls who repelled each other would find that distaste carried over as well. Perhaps it was preordained, fate, destiny- whatever you’d call it. Regardless, it seems your soul has met with someone who once had an affinity for you…

Brook

Being an undead figure unable to pass on was not what Brook had in mind. In some ways, he was grateful for another chance at life, another chance to do what he previously was too dead to finish. Albeit, being a pile of bones did have its drawbacks.

While he could still function and do things many humans did, fact was, he was anything but. One look at him would easily make him stand out as something like a freak of nature.

Skeletons cannot love and be loved like a human. He could hold, but could not be held like a human. Admittedly, it had bothered him on occasion, but he always tried to brush it off with a simple hum or shrug. After all, he had his friends and crewmates- and he had a promise to continue fighting for. That should be enough.

But he couldn’t stop his eyes (if he had any) from wandering… couldn’t stop the way his mind wondered…

Just what could it be like if I too could fall in love?

Ah, but that’s such a silly thing for a skeleton to consider. Who could ever love the undead remains of someone long forgotten?

He’d practically given up on such silly notions like love or a relationship- it didn’t fit his current predicament.

So Brook focused on his music and his performances instead. He held up his violin and decided to waste some time on this sunny day playing for his audience of a few blue birds chirping at this green park. It was beautiful and reminded him of his day with the Rumbar Pirates- agh, nostalgia was always his weakest attribute, he thinks.

His fingers drift along the strings of the instrument, peacefully playing his weary heart away. He doesn’t recognize he has another guest until he hears slow clapping.

“What?” He turns his head, surprised to see you on the bench, smiling and clapping.

“That was lovely,” you comment. Time slows still and your eyes meet, shining (e/c) eyes with hollow black sockets.

If he had skin, perhaps he would’ve been red or sweating buckets. As a skeleton, he was not able to do things. But Brook was still a man through and through, and he couldn’t help but freeze at seeing the way your eyes were soft and full of admiration.

“I’m glad you thought so. Music is my pride and joy.”

“I can tell,” you reply. “I felt like I forgot to breathe for a moment when I heard that. I’m sorry for watching, though, if you weren’t looking for an audience.”

“N-no, actually it was…” he was too caught up in the way his soul was resonating and burning within him. “I appreciate it actually. Would you like me to play a song for you?”

“Would you? I’d love to hear more!”

Buggy

Buggy never believed in things like soulmates or fairy tales or blah blah blah- it was all junk! The only thing he ever could trust was treasure- shiny, bright, treasure! What else did a pirate need or want?

Is what he would say out loud- Buggy, even at a young age, was secretly a romantic who refused to let himself be swept up in the sentiment. When him and Shanks would sail together on Roger’s ship, Shanks would often ask what he thought about love.

Unlike Buggy, Shanks was pretty honest and confident about his assertions. Buggy would stumble and try to keep the bravado up, pretending as if he didn’t secretly yearn for a person who could look past his red nose and maybe possibly sorta kinda like him? Was that too much to ask? If you were Buggy, the answer was yes, because he would never allow himself the chance to be soft or vulnerable with someone. Especially not when he was already so sensitive about his looks and attitude. The thought of letting his guard down to be loved terrified him- what if they left? What if they made fun of him, too?

It was just too much for his fragile ego, so he brushed it aside and continued his hunt for treasure.

“Now where the hell am I?” He yelled, tilting the map in his hand left and right, as if that would somehow make his destination clearer. “Kinda crappy treasure map is this?”

He glared and shoved the map back in his pocket as he stomped around this town. He hadn’t ever bothered to come to this place before, so everything was new for him. He glared at the kids who were pointing at his nose to scare them off (mission accomplished), but his foul attitude still didn’t lessen.

As Buggy turned a corner, he accidentally rammed into someone. They shrieked, and his hat fell off his face and covered his eyes.

“Watch it, will ya? I’m walkin’ he…” he pushed his hat back up and came face to face with perhaps the most gorgeous person he’s ever met. His mouth was wide open, gawking at you as you gave an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you there,” you said sheepishly.

“Y-yeah it’s… it’s cool. No biggie,” he mumbled in a daze.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he returned to normal. “I mean, yeah, totally.”

You chuckle at his behavior, and something within Buggy’s chest makes it feel like there’s a million butterflies flapping inside his ribcage. He can’t help the dumb grin on his face as he laughs along.

“Sorry again, sir. I’ll keep an eye out for you next time,” you wink and begin walking away, making Buggy flabbergasted. N-next time? Was that a promise? He didn’t even realize what he was thinking before he turned around and tried to jog back to you.

“H-hey, wait up-!”

Beckman

Beckman was fairly ambivalent to the idea of a “soulmate” or “affinity”. Sure, he humored his often childish captain with those notions, but the fact was, Beckman was simply a sailor at heart. He didn’t think being “stuck” to someone was the life he wanted, and he was fairly sure a sane, rational person would not want to be the lover of a first mate to perhaps one of the most infamous pirate crews on the sea.

Now, this would imply you were sane and rational, and this would also imply that he was also not a sucker for you. Perhaps that was what made him attracted to you in the first place, or maybe it was something that gave him the idea that his captain wasn’t so off base.

When it came to you, Beckman was eager, a bit too eager, the others would joke. Whenever you called, he came running and answering like a loyal servant. Whenever you wrote, his lips would form a large smile while he refused to let the others look at the letter you sent. Whenever he was away from you for long periods of time, he drank a bit too much.

It was common place enough for the others to notice and tease him about, even if Beckman was adamant there was nothing there. You guys were just… friends, or something ambiguous like that. You didn’t need a label for your relationship. This was completely normal, you were normal, he was normal- nothing was out of the ordinary, so if they would please stop asking and make him confront those pesky feelings he-

Maybe he had a problem. He never felt this way for anyone else he encountered. You knew of his philandering, not seeming to care all that much, but damn it, even he couldn’t continue that streak because his mind would get occupied with you, you, you. Love was too complicated. Maybe this was the alcohol talking. Or Shanks getting in his head about “souls being attuned” or whatever spiritual jazz the red-haired captain would spout.

No, it really made sense, all things considered. There was no one else but you to make him quit fooling around with others on the islands he stopped at. There was no one else but you who invaded his thoughts, who plagued him day and night with those eyes, that smile, the way you hated that red cologne he once bought and-

Oh dear god, he was deep into this, wasn’t he?

Crocodile

Love? Spirits? Souls? Soulmates?

Yeah right, add that to the list of stupid things weak poets say to make their miserable lives have some meaning. You could jump through a million hoops to try and blame encounters and relationships on things like “destiny” or “fate”. To a man like Crocodile, however, “destiny” was just something he could control. Whether through bribes of money or through making them submit with his fearsome powers, “destiny” was nothing but another means of his affluence.

Only those who were weak and had nothing could not control their lives.

Something like love was a crutch used by those who had nothing to pretend they did. What was love to power? What was love to wealth? To fame? To greatness?

Love was the longest-running scam that Crocodile almost could be impressed with, if not for the fact that the sentiment around love made him want to gag.

Except, now he was actively looking for jewelry to buy you, flowers to deliver to your doorstep, and outfits to clothe you in for when you visited him.

It was almost disgusting how Crocodile was eagerly awaiting for your next arrival, for when he could be able to see you on the street or at his casino so he could see that face he adored so much. Those eyes that made him want to melt, that voice that echoed in his head, that smile that made him want to have an image of you adorned on his wall so he could always see it.

Something, he could never place what it was, drew him to you. Something made you seem to stand out to him in ways that no other could. He was Crocodile- world famous business man and pirate- he had no shortage of people throwing themselves at him or fearing him. Only to you was he trying his luck attempting to woo you to give him that look he loved. Only for you was he making excuse after excuse to continue seeing you, lying over and over that he had a reason to use you, that it was just a part of some master plan.

He exhaled another puff of his cigar and rubbed his temples.

Gods, why was he acting this way? He was Crocodile. Not a lovesick teenage boy, not some lonely man, not some simpering-

“Sir, (Y/n) has arrived.” His ears perked up as he quickly slicked back his hair.

“Is that so? Send them up,” he orders, grabbing his expensive cologne to spray onto him again.

Zoro

Zoro had never heard of the idea of soulmates or anything like that. When one lives, breathes, and dies by the sword, something like “soulmates” is just comical. He doesn’t need love to become the best swordsman. He didn’t need love to teach him how to pick up a sword and kill another with it. That was, in fact, the complete opposite of love.

Survival of the fittest, he thought. Nothing more, nothing less. You kill for bounties, bounties that pay, pay that gives you a chance to eat food. Nothing more to it. He never did more than he needed to, never worked harder for anything outside of his sword training and hunting. What else did a swordsman need to live?

He was currently drinking his fill at a local tavern of some random village he washed out upon. He didn’t care to get names, not when he was always moving, always killing, always leaving. “Zoro” was a passing chance encounter few got to ever meet or understand. He was fine with that. A bounty hunter didn’t need attachments. A bounty hunter definitely didn’t need someone weighing him down.

At the tavern, a few rowdy pirates were acting up. Yelling obscenities, throwing food and liquor at one another, making rude gestures- nothing out of the ordinary for drunk pirates. Zoro had no business with them, so he ignored them, continuing to order pint after pint.

It wasn’t until he heard a crash that he looked up. You were angrily yelling at one of the pirates who threw a drink at you, and his mates were drawing their weapons. It was clear you were outnumbered, so you looked around the bar for anyone that would help.

Normally, Zoro wouldn’t bother, figuring you dug your own grave by messing with pirates like that. However, when he glanced to your eyes, he found himself… staring. Lost. Entranced?

He didn’t know why he felt like he should protect you, but he always had a good intuition when it came to these sorts of things. He sighed, placed his mug down, then stood up, drawing his swords from their sheathes.

“Zoro,” he stated. A rare thing for him to admit so casually to a normal person. The pirates heard his name and shriveled up in fear. Zoro didn’t pay them any mind, instead tapping his sword against his shoulder impatiently. “Need me to shut these guys up?”

Mihawk

If you had asked a young Mihawk about love, he would have most certainly called you a fool for daring to think of such illogical things instead of focusing on one’s own strength and potential. While he had heard of the sentiments about love and soulmates before, he didn’t place much value into it. Love was a distraction from the training he could have done. Love was a waste of time. Love was just for weak-minded people who let themselves be vulnerable or gentle with another. Love wasn’t for people like him.

Which was why he was now trying to instill the opposite into his foolhardy protege, Zoro. Yes, yes, unfortunately, Mihawk was proven wrong from his earlier ways of thinking, and ever since then, he’s been doing his best to be a good man for you.

“I didn’t think a guy like you would have a partner…” Zoro would mumble.

“Of course I would. Do I not look like a suitable husband?” Mihawk replied as he was sipping his wine. “A marriage is only an aspect of your training and power.”

“How does cooking dinner help you train?” Zoro raised a brow, not believing a word.

“If you cannot handle a routine for even the most mundane and domestic of tasks, you cannot expect to be disciplined enough to train. If you think something like making your love a cup of tea or folding laundry is too hard or not worthy enough, you are not worthy enough to hold a sword.”

Zoro nodded, impressed by Mihawk’s reasoning (or maybe impressed at how you somehow made the world’s greatest swordsman so whipped and happy to make you dinner).

“Well, when you put it like that,” Zoro scratched his cheek, looking back at his mentor to see him staring at you longingly from the window. You and Perona were outside picking some of the vegetables at the garden, an activity you insisted upon doing despite Mihawk’s protests. You and the young lady were joking and laughing about something Perona said, and Mihawk sighed.

“Something wrong?” Zoro asked, unsure what Mihawk was thinking with his stoic appearance.

“No, not at all,” Mihawk shook his head, taking another sip.

“Then why did you sigh like that?” Zoro questioned. A smirk grew on Mihawk’s lips as he chuckled, continuing to look at you. You… you who were so special, who had become the apple of his eye, his strength, his joy, his passion.

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand it right now, my student,” Mihawk closed his eyes. “Fate is… it’s simply a humorous thing.”

Corazon

He always was a sensitive soul, despite his outer appearance and harsh exterior. But even as a child, Law could tell something was up with Corazon.

“Why are you always looking at them?” Law grumpily asked, folding his arms and raising a brow at his benefactor.

“Hm? At who?” Corazon dumbly responded, cigarette in his lips.

“You know who I mean! Don’t act stupid!” Law shouted. Corazon chuckled and exhaled the smoke.

“Sorry, gotta be more specific.”

Of course, Corazon knew who Law was referring to. It wasn’t like Corazon had hidden his affection for you, but that was for another time. You were something special, something that Corazon yearned for but could never have. Not when Doflamingo’s influence was so large and looming over his life. But even if Corazon himself could not love you so freely, he always did like to tell the young boy stories. Of course, Law, being a jaded little boy, had never really given thought to such things like “soulmates” or “souls knowing each other”. That was stupid and impossible.

Corazon liked to believe, though. It comforted him. It made him feel happy that, hey, even if this life perhaps didn’t work out for him and you, at least he had known you before. At least he was able to see you again. At least he got you in his life for a moment, even if it would end in nothing but heartache and pain. At he least, for just a bit, he got to see that smile, those eyes, and feel your hands over his.

It made his life a little less hard, a little less dull. The romanticism that despite Doffy meddling in his life, Corazon still had a chance with you, was meant to know and be with you… well, that was plenty enough for him. It made him happier, too, knowing Law was perhaps a soul he was acquainted with before. It made him feel like he was always going to be guaranteed love and kindness with you and Law, even if the world was unkind to him.

Yes, this new family he had found was perhaps where he belonged the most. With you and Law by his side, there was nothing more he could ask for.

Shanks

“You’re obsessed.”

“Am not!” Shanks yelled childishly at Beckman, before turning back to face the island they were planning on docking at soon. The wide smile on his face made it clear he was beyond excited to be there, and the other men chuckled.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on running off to see em?” Yassop asked, knowing the answer.

“Oh, stop bugging about it! It’s just a little reunion with (Y/n), not anything crazy,” Shanks waved off. He breathed into his palm and winced at the smell of his breath. “Crap, does anyone have any mouthwash?”

“I don’t think anything can get that stench out. If they hadn’t run away cuz of your smell before, I think you’re good now!”

“Haha, very funny guys. Besides, it’s just between friends. Nothing weird.”

Of course, that was a bit of a fib, but who doesn’t tell little white lies? Surely he’d be forgiven for saying that by whomever was possibly in charge of making this happen?

Shanks, even with his overwhelming power and influence, did believe in superstition. It would be foolish not to, especially in such a dangerous world that a pirate inhabits. Sure, some of them were old wive’s tales from scared-straight sailors, but he did find them having some merit. He didn’t like to discount the seemingly impossible, not when it made even the most outlandish things possible.

He believed it was fate he got to meet Buggy and be a part of Roger’s crew. He believed it fate he met little Luffy in Foosha Village. He also believed it was fate he saved you that day. Some things just “made sense” like that to Shanks. It certainly made his life more interesting while also giving him a chance to bother you as always.

“Oh, come on, you can’t really kick out your soulmate, can you?” Shanks would tease.

“Soulmate?” You laugh. “Is this your attempt at proposing to me?”

“Hey, if you’d like it to be, I can absolutely make it happen,” Shanks replied, an earnest look in his eyes. You smile at him- crap, how do you always manage to make him ache and miss you? It’s gotta be fate, because no way could anyone have his heart in tight vice like this.

“Well… if you’re insisting, Captain,” you begin, smirking at him. “Why not take me with you? As your soulmate.”

Shanks’s eyes widened and the look on his face was a mixture of bewilderment and excitement.

“You know I can always make room for you,” he answered, trying to steady himself.

“Good. Although, we could share a room.”

“You drive a hard bargain, dear,” he chugs his rum. “Cheers to us!”

Law

Since he was a young boy, Law always tried to remain by himself. You couldn’t really trust anyone in a world of piracy and violence like that. Corazon, of course, always recommended otherwise. He even shared stories about a place where souls all were together.

It didn’t sound plausible or even remotely make sense. How would you even know if your soul was supposedly affiliated with someone?

It had been years since those days and the loss of Corazon, and even though he tried his hardest not to, Law still kept those stories in his mind. They were pointless and silly, but they were something Corazon believed wholeheartedly, even saying it was a miracle he got to meet a young Law. In some ways, Law felt somewhat similarly.

Love wasn’t for someone like Law. Too damaged, too cold, too logical, too afraid to ever let that feeling grow. It was how he stayed and remained for his life, and how he was planning on operating for the rest of time.

Until you, quite literally, crashed into him.

Jeez, you had to be a pest. Or a virus. Or a parasite. Something like that, but gosh, you were contagious. When you smiled, he found himself wanting to smile back. When you talked, he found himself thinking over every word you spoke in great detail. Maybe he was overthinking things, maybe when you said you were happy to have met him that was just you being friendly. Or something.

Almost always his mind drifted to you, feeling a certain way for you that he didn’t feel with the others in his crew or from the Straw Hats. You were different.

Perfect? Maybe. Definitely too good for someone like him, he’d think. But even with that self-loathing and apprehension, he found himself being drawn to you like a magnet.

Cora, if this is what you meant before…

Damn it, now he was letting things like soulmates and affinity cloud his judgment. He was a grown man, not a young boy, he didn’t need those silly delusions and ideas growing in his head and making him think he had a chance with you.

“Tora-o!” Luffy called. “Come here!!”

“No,” Law grumbled.

“Law,” you asked right after. “Do you mind helping me with this?”

“...yes,” he replied, stoically walking up to you to see what your problem was. Luffy gawked and pouted from the side, while a few of the others chuckled at Law.

[yearning-for-autumn]

Eris NSFW Alphabet

A/N: Ok, this is very self-indulgent...leave in the comments who you would like next! Also any other headcanons you have for Eris. I literally live for comments.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Eris loves aftercare because A. deep down he’s an exhausted mother hen and B. he’s touch starved. Basically it’s more for him than it is for you. Just let him fuss over you and he’ll be happy. After a particularly intense session, he has a deep need to know you are ok, that you feel safe and cared for. He can’t bear the thought of you not feeling like the princess you are, and if you ever experience subdrop he would absolutely panic and be very much not chill about it.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Eris is fond of his hands, he has long fingers (wink wink). He likes to compare his hands with yours to see the size difference. 

On you, Eris is a tits guy through and through. He’s never really grown out of the teenage obsession, and thinks any and all boobs are great. Small boobs, perfect to hold. Big boobs, perfect to fuck. All boobs are good to suck on. I’m not going to say anything about Mummy issues but I’m sure you can catch my drift. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

On the subject of tits, Eris loves to cum on them. There’s something about claiming you with his seed that gets him worked up. Whenever he cums anywhere on your body you know you’re about to go for round two, he can’t help it. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Eris has this fantasy of dressing you up in a collar and having you act like his little pet all day. He keeps this under wraps and probably always will unless you’re down to clown. But there’s something that gets him so worked up about the thought of having you down on all fours, a collar with a tag that says his name on it, lapping at his thighs for a taste of his cock whilst he coos, talking about how sweet you are, what a cute puppy…yeah…

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think Eris is probably quite experienced. He had an adventurous youth, behind his fathers back of course, and he definitely knows how to fuck you right. When he’s finally free of his father though, and is able to have a proper relationship with someone he loves, I can imagine him getting nervous that he’s not experienced enough with anything long term, but this is his inner critic talking, I don’t think you would be complaining.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Eris wants you on your knees, whether that’s all-fours, on the floor, riding him, etc. He’s a big big fan of reverse cowgirl because he can watch his cock driving into you in exquisite detail, and he can pull out and paint the small of your back with his cum so easily. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Eris isn’t really a goofy guy, his humour is more dry and sarcastic which doesn’t translate great to sex. He tends to be pretty serious, and the only humour involved is one sided, with him amusing himself, degrading and teasing you (but let’s be honest, you love it).

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes, 100 percent. He has a happy trail down his perfect v-line and keeps things well-groomed, he’s a male that values his appearance. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Eris doesn’t really go in for romance, he swings one of two ways, hard dom or super soft dom. Depending on his (and your) mood, he can be an arrogant, degrading ass, or sweet and gentle yet teasing. He’s very good at reading your mood and always knows exactly how to play things, this man is an expert in body language. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Eris prefers if you’re the one getting him off, honestly he would ask for a handjob everyday if he could (he probably does). But if either of you are away, he’s not exactly going to not masturbate to the memories of you, cock drunk and drooling as he fists your hair and takes you in his chair right in front of the window so all of Autumn can see. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

DDLG - When you’re both in a certain mood, I think Eris likes to baby you a lot. He wants to look after you, in the small things as well as during sex. He loves it when you act all shy and innocent, it only makes him want you more.

Innocence - More on that topic, I feel like Eris has a bit of a virginity kink. He would definitely want to be the one to take your virginity if possible, and if not don’t worry because he’s down to role-play. 

Pet-play - Eris wants to own you. He wants a collar around your neck, and he wants you to obey his every command. He also thinks you look absolutely adorable with little puppy ears clipped into your hair, it makes him want to absolutely ruin you. Call him Master, better yet call him your King.

This is going to come up later as well, but I don’t think Eris would want to switch with anyone other than someone he was extremely comfortable with, so before you he would have never tried it. That being said, he does have a bit of a Mummy kink (yes im british sorry) and I think he would be down to explore this, but he’s definitely more comfortable in the dominant role. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Eris is a bit of a fan of public sex but only when you are involved. He doesn’t really want to put himself in a compromising position, but he’s more than happy to show you off. More than anything he wants people to see your submission to him, not necessarily sexual, but imagine sitting next to him in a meeting and all of a sudden you’re pulled onto his lap so that he can kiss your neck whilst listening to some boring courtier.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. You get him going. Because he’s horny. No but he’s sooo turned on if you sink to your knees, bat your eyelashes, ask him if you can make him feel good. He’s so going to cum all over your face. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Eris likes to degrade you, but if he ever gets comfortable enough to sub for you he can and will cry if you try it. Don’t degrade him. His self-esteem is on the ground as it is, there’s no need for that. 

He also doesn’t really want to do anything involving feet, I just have a silly headcanon that he really dislikes them. Like it’s bordering on a phobia for him. He hates seeing them. Who knows why, I definitely don’t and I just made it up. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man can make shoving his cock in your mouth feel like he’s the one giving you a treat. Like is it really giving, no, but do you appreciate it, yes.

He is an all-star pussy eater though, he’ll probably eat you out quickly and efficiently as part of foreplay most days to make sure you are thoroughly soaked and open for him. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Eris fucks rough. Let’s be real. He fucks with fire in his veins, I doubt that means slow and romantic. On your anniversary though, he’s going to light candles, and he’s going to drive you absolutely out of your mind, fucking you slow and hard, whispering praise and cruel teasing as he fucks you into the bed.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Eris loves a quickie honestly. Oh, he’s got a meeting at 10? Time for a quick fuck. Oh you’re late for work? But you have 15 minutes for a blowjob right? 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is down to experiment, I mean he’s quite kinky really and has experimented in the past, but he’ll be a bit nervous to scare you off or go too far when you’re early in your relationship. He has some trust issues he’s working through, but he really does want to try everything with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Mmm Eris lasts a long time, and he wants to go multiple rounds. He just has so many positions he wants you in that he can’t just choose one, he has to try a few out right?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Eris love love loves to dress you up, i’m talking collar, garters, lingerie. He’s very much into toys, for both of you, and thinks anything that enhances your pleasure is worth it. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s a tease, he’s a degrading tease. ‘Aw baby you like that? Stupid slut, drooling around my cock, does my pretty baby want more? Hm? Well you’re not getting it.’ 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I think at first he would stick to dirty talk, and try not to moan too loudly. But after you express your interest he lets go completely. He’s feral, he’s loud and he doesn’t stop talking. You could probably cum from just his words to be honest, he has a filthy mouth. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I think the first time you ever try pegging Eris he cums literally immediately. He won’t let you bring it up ever, and he’s insanely embarrassed by it, but deep down he knows you only care about making him feel good and would never tease him in bad faith. It takes him a little while to try it again though, because our poor baby is repressed. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Eris has such a pretty cock. It curves upwards in just the right way, it’s the prettiest shade of pink at the tip and blushes deep red when he’s needy and desperate. He’s longer than he is thick, and it hits all the right spots.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Eris is a horny horny boy, but he’s quite good at hiding it. He tries his best not to overwhelm you with how much he wants you, but realistically you want him just as much, I mean how could you not.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Eris physically cannot fall asleep until you are asleep. He will fuss over you for as long as it takes, and no matter how much his eyes are drooping shut, he needs to know you are tucked up and comfy first.

[targaryenluvs]

MAKE YOU STAY / EDDIE DIAZ

PAIRING: Dark!Eddie Diaz x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Your attempt to leave Eddie won’t work, because he won’t let them, or you.

WARNINGS: Obsession, guilt trip, jealousy, possessiveness, sexual content, manipulation gaslighting & entrapment.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3K Words

A/N: Happy season 7 launch!! I got inspired slightly by @megalony and her new Dark Evan series go check it out!!

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

Life with Eddie use to be everything you could ever dream of. Whether it be slow mornings getting ready together, sharing a shower and helping Chris get ready. Or an absolute hurricane ripping through your home whilst the three of you stumble over each other to get ready after a sleep in.

No matter the time of day, you loved whatever you were doing, as long as they were by your side.

And Eddie’s protectiveness use to be just another aspect of your relationship you loved, until you opened your eyes.

It use to be small, his anger.

An incessant colleague reaching out for tips and aid in a new project, you being a senior member meaning it wasn’t uncommon for people to reach out to you. You were one of the best workers at the company, well respected and loved as well as brilliant. And always willing to help someone in need.

He use to love that about you. Until it followed you home.

Chris was currently at a friends house, leaving the two of you to an inside date night, “Now on what planet would I ever sit and watch four movies with the title ‘Die Hard’. You sure as hell can’t die that many times.” Eddie shook his head as you refilled each of your respective glasses.

“Sure you can, just ask Chimney.” You gasped before swatting Eddies arm, “Be nice! And put on our show.” The murmuring voices of your favourite characters was more than enough to lull you into his arms, content washing over you. Your ringing phone however, was ready to disturb the peace Eddie had longed for all day.

“Let me just grab this.” His hand scooped your phone up before you could, “Just get it later.” His dismissive tone made you frown, “Give me my phone, please.” You leaned over to snatch it, walking into the hallway. Eddie couldn’t help but massage his temple, did you seriously chose a phone call over peace and quiet in his arms?

He hadn’t noticed how often you picked up your phone, until it interrupted him. It happened often. When the two of you were cooking together, soft music and ambience long forgotten. Almost falling asleep, cuddling, and out of the blue the world was falling apart without you. Eddie thought he could handle it, you were needed, that wasn’t your fault, right? But what he also couldn’t handle was the secretive nature.

Why did you always walk away? Were you hiding something?

And now you were coming home later, clanging into the house at 11, or 12. Sometimes even later. “Where were you?” Eddie stood by the door as you hung your jacket, “Jesus, you scared me E.” His arms were crossed, shoulders tense as you made your way to him, a smile too wide for his liking. “Work ran late, m’ sorry.” As you walked away, his hand caught onto your wrist.

“Ow, let go.” Eddies grip loosened as you retracted your arm, soothing it, “What is your problem?” You looked up to view a sweet smile, “Nothing, just worried about you. When you didn’t call, I got so scared. This world, it’s scary Y/n, you know that, especially during these times.”

Your eyes watered involuntarily at his saddened demeanour, “Oh Eddie, I’m so sorry, I should’ve called. That’s my fault, forgive me?” Your arms came around his neck, before trailing down to his chest, playing with his name tag. “I forgive you, I can also think of a way you can make it up to me.”

His smile was mischievous, and intentions impure. “Oh? And what would that be Mr Diaz?” His hand was heavy on your back and slithering lower by the second, “I think we have an appointment with a bed tonight.”

“I have work tomorrow, so do you.”

“Cmon, for me?” His eyes were pure evil, and you were more than happy to give in, even if you were tired. Really damn tired, but he wanted you, so you should give in right? You did give him a fright. “Take me away Diaz.”

If you’d noticed the signs earlier, maybe you could’ve gotten away. His jealousy, when it did rear its head, was an ugly shade of green.

A late night, again.

Eddie had been by the door for 10, sitting for 20, pacing the kitchen and stress-eating for another 10 before he finally settled into bed. Wide awake of course. The opening of his bedroom door caused him to stir. He watched as you slowly moved around, placing your stuff away, putting your phone on charge and then changing.

He sat upright as you yelped, “Eddie! You scared me, again! Why are you sitting in the dark?” His face was drained of warmth, skin cold to the touch. “Was waiting for you, again.” You frowned at his words, “Baby, you know I’m late these days. Better for you to go to sleep than wait up.” He shook his head, burying his head into your stomach as his body relaxed. Your hands raked through his hair gently, “I think you should consider working from home.”

Your hands stopped in their tracks, working from home? The last time you worked from home was during lockdown, and you’d driven yourself half mad. “Why is that?” Eddie glanced up at you, “You’re barely home, Chris misses you, I miss you. Don’t you want to be with us?” You took a deep breath in before smiling, “Of course I do. I- I’ll see what I can do baby.”

His hands quickly dragged you into bed, “Knew you’d understand amor.” Eddie rested his head in the crook of your neck, his hands slowly making their way underneath your shirt.

“Sweetie, I’m tried.”

“I missed you.” You relented, letting him continue. It seemed to be all you were doing these days, bending backwards and over to please him, literally.

The first time you noticed his behaviour was also when you realised you needed space. Not that he’d give it to you. A new coworker, Harry, had invited not only yourself, but your friend Aleya and Jack out to lunch.

He was a nice guy, very eager to learn and never scared by a little constructive criticism. The only problem was probably his overbearing cologne, very pungent? Intense?

You’d also been driven to work that day, courtesy of your boyfriend. You were working shorter days now, completing about an hour or two of work at home now. It had taken some adjusting, after a few forgetful days and about a million texts from Carla with an impatient Chris at home waiting for you.

You spotted Eddies truck pull up as you wrapped up your conversation with the your three lunch goers, “And that’s me, I’ll see you guys on Monday. Thank you so much for lunch!” You reached out to Aleya for a side hug, the same for Jack and a normal hug for Harry. “Tell Eddie there’ll be a fire at my house later tonight, and he better bring Evan!” Jack joked as you waved him off.

Jack may or may not have a huge crush on Evan.

You hopped in, quickly chucking your purse and files into the back seat before kissing Eddie on the cheek. “Hi! How was Chris’s school?” Eddie shrugged his shoulders, “Fine.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his shortness, “Something wrong?” He turned onto the highway, knuckles tightly gripping the wheel, “You smell like him.”

“Like who? Harry?”

“That his name?”

You rolled your eyes, “No, it’s actually his father’s, middle name Jesus. Care for some wine Eddie?” Not once, had Eddie ever been physical. But raising his voice? Oh that was fair game.

“You think you’re funny huh? Having lunch with other guys and taking the piss outta me?”

“Nothing happened baby, it was lunch. He’s new and trying to fit in and I’m being nice. There’s nothing to worry about I swear.” The silence permeated in the truck, causing the hair on your arms to raise. You hated the silent treatment wholeheartedly.

“Whatever.”

His change in demeanour could flip like a switch, you always assumed it was him putting up a front. But when Eddie showed up the next day, flowers in hand and looking his sharpest, you were forced to reevaluate. “God I wish my boyfriend was that sweet.” Your project partner whispered as you sighed, “That’s Eddie.”

Even your boss wanted you to go with him, “Take the day off sweetie, you deserve it.” And with a pat on the back and a million swooning interns drooling over Eddie, you were sent on your way.

“I got these for you Y/n/n.” Your favourite flowers, arranged perfectly and smelling divine. Your hands wrapped around the bouquet, “Thank you Eddie, they’re perfect.” His smile caused your heart to race, he looked amazing. The Eddie with you that day was incredible.

His infectious laughter, perfect smile and the sweet nothings he whispered into your ear. That, was the Eddie Diaz you knew and loved. A gentleman, who had eyes for only you. Which is why you couldn’t help but wonder, what made him change? How was it possible to go from absolutely furious and unnecessarily jealous to an angel?

You didn’t want to know, and you didn’t want to stay around long enough to find out.

Maybe it was the date, or the fact that you felt as if he deserved an explanation face to face. Either way, if you’d known better, you would have made it away.

“Eddie, we have to talk.” The two of you were currently sitting on the couch, favourite show playing in the background. Eddie hummed along, a slight acknowledgment to your words. “It’s, about us.” Eddie turned the volume down, your sentence piquing his interest.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think, we should break up.”

And with six words, Eddies entire world came crashing down in front of him. What on earth were you talking about? “What did you say?” The smile on Eddies face was anything but sweet or reassuring, a bad attempt at keeping his composure. “You’ve been acting, odd, to say the least.” You stood from the couch as he followed in pursuit, all the way to the kitchen.

“I feel like, all that we’re doing lately is either fighting or sleeping. Every time I come home, you have something to say. Whether it’s about my later nights, about who I was with or what I’m doing on the phone. It’s like I have no privacy at all. I cannot keep a single thing to myself. And if I try to? You blow up at me. I mean last week for example, I tried my hardest to not argue with you by walking away. And all you did was follow me around the house, it drove me crazy. Showing up to my workspace when I tell you I can get more done without random lunch dates. I’m a grown adult but you treat me like a child. And if I stand up for myself I’m cheating. It makes no sense at all Eddie. And I tried to make it work, but I feel like you’re controlling me. I even reduced my hours, because you asked. I moved in even when I wasn’t ready, because you asked. I need a break.” You took a deep breath after your monologue, needing a second.

Turning towards Eddie, he stared straight at you. “I had no idea you felt that way baby. I’m so sorry, I never meant to do any of it. I love you so much, I can’t help but worry. After everything we’ve been through with Shannon,” And there it was, the guilt. It was blinding, clawing its way through you. Shannon. He’d already lost someone he loved, and Chris lost his mother. No wonder he was always to protective over you.

“Hey, I’m not leaving like Shannon okay? What happened was a tragic accident, and I promise nothing like that is going to happen again Eddie.” You immediately engulfed in a hug, his head resting against yours, “I don’t want to loose you, I don’t want Chris to loose you.” Eddie muttered repeatedly as you closed your eyes.

Chris walked into the room, thirsty, tired and curious, “Is something wrong?” You immediately detached yourself from Eddie, wiping away your tears, “Nothings wrong sweetie, did you need something?” He nodded before turning around and walking to his room, “We’ll talk later yeah?” Eddie whispered into your ear before moving ahead.

Sniffles came from underneath Christopher’s blanket, “You alright buddy?” Eddie asked, patting his hair down, “Water.” You watched as Eddie swiftly made his way to the kitchen whilst you sat down, “You need anything else?” Chris’s hand slowly lowered the blanket before smiling your way, “No thanks mum.”

And as quickly as he spoke, he turned over to sleep again. Your eyes were probably protruding out of your head, shock filling your senses. “Mum?” The word sounded foreign on your lips, but apparently comfortable enough on Chris’s.

“He called you mum.” Eddies voice was low, most likely as astounded as you based on the look on his face. You got up slowly, aware of the sleeping boy. You couldn’t help but smile, and kiss his forehead before making your way to Eddie. “I can’t believe it.” Eddies hand came up to wipe away the stray tears before pulling you in and kissing your forehead, “I can.”

“You’re apart of this family baby, always have been.” His words seeped in as he guided you to your bed, whilst you were stuck on autopilot. Chris viewed you as a parent to him, that’s how common you were in his life now, a constant for him to fall back on. He loved you, almost as much as you loved him. Your words weren’t forgotten just swirling in your head, how the hell could you ask for a break now? With this new huge responsibility?

Eddie knew, of course he knew. He was the one encouraging Chris to call you by your new name. Because if there’s one thing Eddie knew he needed, besides Chris?

It’s you, and he’d do anything to make you stay.

[a-spes]

T H E D O G ' S F A L L - One shot.

Words count - 5,2k.

Tags & Warnings - mob boss!Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader, angst, harm/comfort, manipulation, mentions of blood/past abuses, human trafficking.

Summary - Anyone that can beat her in a fight will earn her, and Natasha intends to be the one, working hard to get what she thinks is hers. A dog can't fight for eternity, can it?

Moodboard here.

N/A - It's the longest os I've wrote so far, took me a lot of time but it's enventually here so I really hope you'll enjoy it! If it's the case, don't hesitate to let me know by interacting with the post :)

It is at the back of that popular night club that everything is happening, where no one can see your distress except the one that enjoys it, where everyone is too busy having fun to pay attention to the veritable purpose of this building. On a dark corner that light never reaches, a man is guarding the most important secret of that place, and very few are the people he lets through; only rich and influential men and women get their ticket for this special spectacle that takes place here every night.

Down there, the loud music is replaced by the shouts of excited men that makes her sigh; why do they have to scream like animals? If she gets a few glances, no one dares to say anything as the infamous Black Widow is walking through the crowd to get to her place. She has blood on her back, people are whispering, some from admiration, others from fear, but no one stays indifferent - how could they? One of the most important mafia bosses of the city, but also one of the most discreet, is here. She has her reputation and, even if she is rarely seen, she is well-known, so none of the men dares to protest when she decides to take place in their lodge, chasing them out of the room. 

From here, she has a perfect view of the cage and, most importantly, of the Dog.

It is obvious that there is no way out of the ring, that you are trapped in that cage until one of these men’s victory - or your last breath - but, somehow, you still believe that defeating them will lead you out of that basement. So, not caring about how many of them are daring to step in your cage, you beat them, one by one. You watch the man you just defeated being escorted out of the cage so the next one could take his place - it gives you a few seconds to catch your breath. 

The world is spinning, you can’t even see the faces of your opponents, but you don’t give up. Even if the only thing you want is to curl up in the corner, crying for your mom, you can’t. You can’t because it will mean giving them your life. No, you need to be stronger than them, to pretend that you don’t feel the pain inflicted by their blows, to pretend that you are not bothered by the metallic taste of the blood in your mouth, they need to believe you could do that all night. But you are not foolish and you know damn well that you won’t last long. 

It is hard to focus on anything, even on breathing, because you are overwhelmed by a crew you can't even see, blinded by the lights; you are the spectacle. They all came to see the Dog fighting, hoping to witness its fall. They are shouting, mostly insults in Russian, whistling and clapping everytime something exciting is happening during a fight, but it won’t be enough to save you from that place. 

Oh, at first, they were cheering for you, but it slowly changed, people getting tired of seeing your pretty face every night. They thought you would be easy to break and hated to be proven wrong, and you perfectly know that the stakes have changed. It is no longer about giving them what they want, entertainment, it is purely about surviving and you noticed how the attitude of your opponents changed over the weeks, becoming more aggressive.

You were a champion, now you are just a little bitch they need to get rid of. 

The organization that threw you in that rat hole understood that as much as you did and, tonight, they changed the rules. Tonight, it'll be only you against the world, until they are tired of it. No break, no help, everytime one leaves, the next one is already stepping in the ring, as an endless torture. 

Tonight, she will be one of them. She has been looking at you hungrily since the first time she came here, and she knows that you will be hers by the end of the night, after all she came just for that, to take you home.

Even if she is here every night, you never had a chance to notice the woman. She was always sitting in the last row, observing you from her balcony, where she is hidden by the shadow, but she noticed you for sure. The time she came, it was only because of one of her associates that wanted to meet here specifically, she never left since. From the moment her eyes landed on you, she was unable to think about anything else, the way you were looking so innocent but so feroce at the same time got her heart. 

She sent a few of her best men, knowing they would lose, as a test, waiting for the moment it would be her turn to enter the cage. She never expected them to win and she would have killed them if they had the audacity to: she is the one that is supposed to defeat you, the only one that has the right to own you. The urge to possess you only grew stronger over the weeks, being deeper every time she came here, she wants to see you as you are breaking under her effect, to control every aspect of your life. 

So she patiently waited for the right time to come, she always liked a bit of challenge anyway, having a soft spot for things that are hard to get. She worked hard to get you, spending weeks observing every of your movements: she learned how you are fighting and your habits, she learned to read your body and face as if she was on your mind, and that’s the difference with the others: if you are a game for them, for her, you are a goal she must reach at all costs. 

As soon as your eyes laid on her, you knew she wouldn’t back up, somehing in the way she stepped in the cage already made all the difference. It is her confidence. It is the smirk on her face, a cocky one. It is the way her hands are stuck in her pockets while she is observing you. It is the slight sigh as she gets rid of her leather jacket. It is all these details that give the impression that she is just here to settle a formality, already certain of her victory.

Even the way she is moving has something unrealist. Every step, every look, is calculated and almost imperceptible. Usually, you would step forward, ready to fight even before they entered the cage to show them you are not afraid, but this time? You can’t help but instinctively step back when she enters. The movement was slight, as you were already leaning the grid but she noticed it, the way her aura is pressuring you, and she loves it.

As soon as the door was closed, your fate was sealed.

It all happened really fast because she knew exactly what to do, she prepared for that moment. You quickly realized that you were right: the woman had nothing in common with the men you were fighting against earlier, you never stood a chance to win that fight. The realization is more painful than the blows she is currently throwing at you. Every punch you try to land, she knows exactly how to dodge it. As if she was on your mind, she knows exactly where to hit to get you weak, stealing your breath and your strenght, having you on your knees then laying on the floor in less than a few minutes. 

At first, you tried to get up, to fight, but she is faster than you are, and wiser, and stronger, and more trained. She is being pretty much better in everything. Soon your vision is so blurry that you can’t see anything, you are feeling so weak that even moving your fingers or keeping your eyes open is just too much. 

"Stay still,” she quietly ordered when she noticed you were struggling against her grip - she had you pinned down on the ground by pressing her foot on your back and grabbed your hair to lift a bit your head. "You're going to be mine no matter what, so don't make things harder for yourself, honey." 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

You hear the countdown but, this time, it is not your victory that is announced, it is hers. As soon as her name is shouted by the crew, her grip releases your hair but you simply don't have the strength to move, the news leaves a void in your chest. The pain, but mostly this feeling of emptiness, is keeping you frozen in place. She owns you, and this simple idea is sending shivers through your whole body. You don't realize yet what is happening, thinking that, maybe, it is just a cruel joke on you, and it explains the lack of reaction when she asks you to get up; she needs to grab your arm and lift to get you on your feet. 

You stumble, fighting the urge to vomit. Your brain can barely process what is happening, especially when you realize that your feet are not touching the ground anymore. In her arms, you are nothing more than a rag doll, silent and motionless, barely having the energy to keep your eyes open. 

"She is not for sale,” she coldly said, her voice bringing you back to reality. As she was on her way to get out of the night club, some men were offering the woman outrageous amounts of money in the hope of getting you, they all backed up once she coldly glanced at them. "No one will ever take you away from me, do you hear that, love? You are safe as long as you’re with me," she then whispered in your ears. 

You drift into unconsciousness as soon as the car starts, despite the woman that kept begging you to keep your eyes open, the way she was cadling you not helping. You just had enough time to notice the men sitting at the front of the black van, both armed and intimidating, before falling into darkness. 

You opened your eyes again when the car stopped in an alley. It is late, the sun gave its throne to the moon a long time ago and, even if you can't tell what time it is, you know it is the middle of the night. How many hours did you spend down there, fighting for your life? The question makes you sick because the only answer is too many. All these hours for nothing because, no matter how hard you triee, you loose. You were never supposed to win their twisted game, you never got a chance and you slowly realize that the promised freedom was just a lure. For weeks you believed them, you played along their rules, thinking it was the only way to get your life back.

And here you are, in the arms of your new owner, a woman you know nothing about but that now has every rights on you, even if you will live depends exclusively on the redhead's choices. The fear twists your stomach, the humiliation clenches your throat and the exhaustion makes your eyes burning, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, you repeat in your head, but you don't know for how long you will be able to keep your tears for yourself.  

The woman is not looking at you at all, she is concentrating on not falling as she is walking to the house, barely seeing where her feet are landing. You, however, can't help but observe every detail of her face, noticing how serious her expression is. You are trying to guess how your life is going to be by her side, but you can't, she is a complete mystery and you hate that.

A part of you wants to go back in that basement. It may have been a living hell, but you had your habits, you knew how to survive, now you will have to learn everything again. 

You notice that two armed persons are guarding the front door and, when you pass by them, they exchange a few words in Russian. You can't understand a word of what they are saying, but you guess they are greeting the woman, beside some insults, you don't know a lot and only because that's how they used to call you.

The inside of the penthouse is exactly as you imagined it: expensive, tidy and minimalist. You never felt comfortable in that kind of environment, it always reminded you that you will never have a place in that sphere, you are nothing more than their animal, a dog that does everything they want. 

Once inside, you almost expected her to drop you on the floor but she didn't. Her grip is strong, as if she doesn't want to let you go, that's because she is scared too. She exchanged a few words in Russian with a woman before heading upstairs. 

Your eyes closed because of the light, you don't see much more of the house, nor of where you are going. You can feel that she climbs the stairs, takes a few turns and walks through a door before she eventually lets you go. It is with care that she sits you on the floor of the bathroom. 

"Here we are," she whispered, "you can open your eyes, love," she added when she noticed they were still closed. If you can't see her smile, you can feel her hand brushing your cheek. 

For weeks you didn't see anything else than pitch darkness and the dimmed light of the basement where you were fighting, it is great to eventually be able to see something else. She even made sure to not turn the big light on, only a small one in the corner that diffuses a subdued light. Somehow, she knows exactly what to do to make you feel comfortable. 

"Let me help you," she said, coming closer to kneel in front of you when she realized you couldn't take your bath alone.

On the way home, she sent a message for one of her maids to run a bath for you to enjoy when you arrived. The mirrors fog up and a scent of jasmine fills the room, but even if the idea of taking a bath sounds good, you don't move. You are curled at the exact place she left you in, your knees against your chest.

You are like a dog, but nothing like a fighting one, she thought when she saw how you tried to back up when she reached for your shirt.

"I am not going to do anything," she quietly said, trying to sooth you by using a gentle tone and caressing your cheek with her thumb. "I am going to help you to get rid of those rags so you can get a bath, okay? Then, we can clean your wounds and have a good meal, does this sound good?" she asked and you slowly nodded. 

She helps you to get rid of your clothes that are closer to rags honestly as they have holes in them, the fabric being soaked in dirt, blood and sweat, sticking to your skin. You never felt so vulnerable than right now, under her serious gaze, what is she thinking about? It is impossible to guess but you can feel her eyes on your body as she looks you up and down. A quick glance which allows her to take a mental note about all your injuries.

"What are you doing?" she chuckled, when her eyes didn’t land on your chest but on your crossed arms - you were trying to hide, how cute. "How silly you are,” she whispered when noticing you didn't seem to understand what she was talking about, "thinking you can hide like that."

Her tone sounded too sweet for it to genuinely be and there is something behind her gentle tone that is rigging alarms in your head. You can't tell what it is exactly, but there is that weird feeling, your instinct screaming at you to be careful when your body just wants to give up and be in her arms, ‘cause what could go wrong?

She takes your hands to pull them away from your chest so you can’t hide from her anymore. Her grip is firm, just a little too strong so you understand that, despite her sweet smile, she won't hesitate to be harsh with you if you don’t behave. However, she still seems to be extra careful while moving you, as if you were a porcelain doll, because for nothing in the world she would hurt her fragile princess. She  slowly takes your arms away so she can give a glance at all your injuries. What she sees makes her sigh, she seems about to say something but keeps her words for herself ; you should have been more careful. 

She helped you to get in the bath and it was a nice moment, a few minutes you got for yourself because, surprisingly, she let you bathe yourself alone. Oh, she wasn’t far away, just at the other end of the room, keeping a close eye on you at every time, but dealing with something on her phone. She would occasionally comment on the way you were doing things, talking you throught it so you can shower the proper way, her way. Once you are done, she wraps you on a soft towel, bandages your wounds and gives you clothes that are hers, a hoodie and a short, and you can’t help but notice how good they are smelling, how comfortable you are feeling in these.

"Did you say something?" she genuinely asked, turning to you because she was sure she heard you mumbling a few words. 

She was talking about your life here, talking almost alone as you weren’t really talkative, but thinking she would miss the words you whisepered was a mistake because she never misses anything.

"Nothing important," you replied, but this answer doesn't seem to please the woman, something twitching in her eyes, coming from soft to sharp.

"When I ask you a question, you reply to it, am I clear?” she said, immediately leaving what she was doing to come close to you and grab your chin.  “You are not the one that gets to decide what’s important, your small brain can't handle big decisions and that's why I am here. I mean, see how it got you to be by yourself …" she continued, looking at you with disdain, as if she was thinking that it is only your fault if you ended up in that rat hole, caught in human trafficking. “I am here to give you a second chance and you better take it ‘cause it may be the last… so don't talk to me like that ever again, did I make myself clear enough?"

The only answer you are able to give her is a whining accompanied by a sniffle and she obviously doesn’t like that. Even if you tried your hardest to not let those tears rolling down your cheeks, you can’t help it, her harsh words only making things worse because you are already hating to disapoint the woman. 

"If I knew you would cry, I would've sold you ..", she sighed in annoyance, her nails digging into your skin, "I hate cry-babies, understand?" she asked, but it wasn’t not a question: it was a warning. "The fighter I saw in that ring must be here when I am back," she coldly added before releasing the pressure she was exerting on your face.

She leaves, slamming the door shut so you easily understand that she is upset with you reacting that way. She has done everything she could in order to help you to be comfortable here : she gave you a bath and clothes, cleaned your wounds, promised you a meal and a bed, even gave you comfort but it still doesn't seem to be enough because you were crying as if she was some sort of monster, and she can't bear that vision. She tried to repeat to herself that you are just tired, that things are going to get better with time but it doesn’t calm her down. Whether you want it or not, she will make sure that, one way or another, you will accept her and she won't hesitate to use the hard way if she has to. 

When she comes back, she notices that didn't move an inch, scared by what the woman could say and impressed by the bedroom. But it didn’t prevent your eyes from wandering around the room. It is really minimalist, there is nothing that could give you a hint about the person she is, everything is exactly where it should be, not a speck of dust and no personal objects. It feels like a hotel room more than hers.

When you hear the door, your gaze settles on the woman. Your knees are bent against your chest as if it could protect you from all the dangers of the world. She probably left you for only five minutes, but they felt like hours. Your thoughts had time to run while waiting for her : what about trying to escape? But it never worked, it’s always a dead end, a path to regrets because they always find you, making sure you won’t even think about doing it again and, if they do not find you, it's someone else. You learned that there is no escape and gave up on going back to your old life a long time ago. It is not even the fear of the armed men that is keeping you here, it's the void in you when you think about what you would do if you were free again, nothing. Nothing because you forgot how to live on your own. So you didn't move, not even a finger because she didn't ask you to do it, only being a dog that lives for its masters' will.

But what piques your curiosity is more the tray in her hands than anything else. As soon as she enters the room, closing the door behind her with her foot, a pleasant smell spreads through the room. You can see many things on the tray she brought back : a glass of water, some pills, a bowl of steaming soup with bread and a plate with rice, vegetables and chicken. When was the last time you ate a real meal? Long enough for you to not remember what it was.

"Eat." she said as she put the tray on your knees.

It smells good. That's the first thought that crossed your mind when you saw the plate. For a moment, you forget about the past hours; when was the last time you got a real meal? You can't remember, not even a fragment of a memory. 

You would eat what your owners give you, eat quickly before they come back, never knowing what you are eating nor when the next meal would be; you learned to not ask too many questions. At first, it was difficult to accept such a fate: you would refuse to even taste the food they were giving to you, but it didn't last long. Eventually, you started to eat - inhale - anything you were given without thinking twice about it.

Tonight, for the first time in years, you are going to eat something else than the leftovers of someone you don't even know. Tonight, you won't have to be scared about your food being stolen. Tonight, you can even see the smoke, a sign that your meal is still hot, freshly cooked and maybe homemade.

"I-," you started, but she didn't let you finish your sentence, your lips barely had time to move that she already cut you, leaving no place for an argument.

I am not hungry, you were about to say, and she somehow knew it. She also knew it was a lie, your stomach has been painfully twisted because of that sick feeling for days, but the knot is also caused by your fears. 

It all feels a bit too perfect. It feels like a trap, a way to encourage you to let your guard down only to break you after, making the fall harder. Some did that in the past, why not her? She doesn't look less cruel than the others. Yet, when she is talking, she seems more genuine, you could believe her when she says she only wants what's best for you, that she cares, she just has a twisted way to show it. 

"Yes, you are, so eat, now," she ordered you with such a cold tone that you don't dare to argue. There are all these warnings she doesn't say out loud but you can read in her eyes: just do whatever I tell you, pretty girl, they say. 

And, for sure, you don't want to face the consequences of your insubordination. So you slowly take the fork, not glancing away for one second, your eyes into hers. You are looking at every detail of her expression as if it would change, telling you that it is a trap, except it doesn't and her expression stays stern. It is impossible to read anything on her face, not even a hint of how she is feeling.

You take the first bit, carefully swallowing and… nothing happens. You don't feel weird, it doesn't taste bad and she doesn't snap at you for a small imaginary mistake you would have made. It is the complete opposite. The food is really good, melting on your tongue, and you start to eat quickly, not because you have to, but because you want to. For the first time in years, eating is a pleasure. 

She sighed when she noticed that you were inhaling your food, but she didn't say anything; she will have all the time later to change that habit of you. So she just stood there for a few seconds, observing you in silence, with her arms crossed, before sitting next to you - that's when you broke eye contact, once she was sure you would eat everything. 

As you are eating, she is barely paying attention to you, at least that's the impression she is giving. One of her arms wrapped around your shoulder, her hand is absently drawing circles on your skin while she is on her phone, dealing with something serious - you can hear her frustrated sighs from time to time.

Except she sees everything and your mistake was to not be careful enough around the woman. A little because of your clumsiness, mainly because of how fast you were eating, you dropped a bit of your food on the floor. You didn't think it was a big deal, picking it up to put it back on the plate. Three seconds rules, dropped on a clean floor, you don't have very high standards anyway - but she does. She turned to you the moment she felt you were moving, a curious, but disgusted, look on her face.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her hand grabbing your wrist before you could drop the bit of food on your plate. She moves your hand on the side of the tray, far from your plate, before you even get a chance to reply. "Drop it," she ordered to you, "that's gross, hope you weren't going to eat that." 

You shake your head, too scared to do anything else, but she knows you are lying; of course you were about to eat it. You spent the past years living like a fighting dog, you would eat anything she would give you, you might even eat directly from the dirty floor if she asked you to. She winces in disgust, not letting your hand go.

"Give me that," she snarled and you can feel how her grip tightened on your wrist to force you to give the fork away.

She then takes the tray that was in front of you to put it on her side of the bed, you are looking at her, scared she would definitely take your meal away. You are about to protest when she notices it and glances at you, daring you to say a word, you don't. 

"Come here," she said, gesturing you to come closer, she even grabbed your arm to guide you when she noticed you were hesitant to move.

She sits you between her legs and you are clearly uncomfortable, wiggling, but if she notices it, she doesn't seem to care. She is so close to you that you can feel her breath tickling your skin, but she keeps acting like nothing is weird here. When she leans to cut your food, you can feel her chest pressing against your back, the contact making your heart races. Too focused on how close you are to the woman, you barely noticed when she approached the fork from your mouth, waiting for you to open. It takes one more second for you to understand what she is waiting for and, when you do, you blush in embarrassment. She takes advantage of you opening your mouth to say something to feed you, and you don't dare to push her away. 

"Can't even eat alone, hm?" she whispered in your ear while you were chewing the bit of food she just gave you, "but that's fine, I am here now," she added, and there is something in her tone that makes you shiver.

Once she made sure you ate everything, she wrapped her arms around you, laying a kiss on your temple. It is strange how safe you are feeling in her embrace: for a few seconds you forget she is the one that beat you earlier. Right now, she is just someone that cares for you, with whom you feel at peace. You can't remember the last time someone made you feel that way, you can barely remember your life before entering the human trafficking circuit.

You don’t really know when you fell asleep, but your eyes were quick to close under the effects of her fingers running on your hair and of her voice whispering sweet words in your ears. At some point, a maid came to take the empty tray away and the woman layed the both of you in the bed, under the covers, trying her best to not wake you up. This night, you slept in a comfy bed, feeling protected in the arms of the woman despite the things she did, not even thinking one second about pushing away her hands that found their way under your sweatshirt, resting on your stomach. 

The Dog fell right into the Black Widow’s web.

[hugshughes]

seven E. Edwards

Ethan Edwards x fem!reader

synopsis - you and Ethan, your best friend since you were seven, finally admit you're in love with each other.

wc - 5.7k :O

contains - so much fluff LORDDDDDDDD. curse words, eating/drinking, kissing, making out, reader has long enough hair for a braided ponytail, a little suggestiveness (twenty year old boy has dirty thoughts about his best friend sigh), underage drinking. oh reader has a late summer birthday (end of July-August), and two older brothers sorryyyyy. LMK!!!!

an - EDIT - that one paragraph that was in first person... why didn't u guys tell me. are we even friends anymore???? unedited. i'll do it tomorrow i promise. hey guys.... sorry it's been like almost 3 weeks, I love you I swear. there were midterms then halloweek so like I had to be studious then I had to be slutty so it was a long two weeks. also i wanna be fr friends with more fic writers on here yall r so cute. ANYWAY THIS WAS PROBABLY MY FAV SO FAR. i am an ethan girl to my core and it shows in this. people keep requesting behind my back pt.2 and i promise it's coming guys im just grinding this celebration then i'll be doing other stuff! may or may not have given Ethan and reader the same costume me and my man wore this weekend🤭. ANYWAYS ENJOYYYYYYYY!

-

please picture me in the trees. i hit my peak at seven. feet in the swing over the creek.

Lake Moraine, Alberta, Canada. Summer, 2009

You were freshly seven years old as you ran around the backyard of your family's summer house with your best friend, Ethan. It was the first summer you ever spent with the Edwards family, but it was perfect.

Your parents got along great, you both had older brothers who quickly became good friends. And you got your best friend for 3 whole weeks to ride on the boat, play tag, swim, make s'mores, and do anything else you wanted to with.

Your moms loved joking about how you two were destined to be married from the beginning. They saw the way Ethan was completely mesmerized by you even as a seven-year-old boy. He followed you around like a puppy and did everything he could for you. You wanted to play hide 'n seek? He was already counting to 40. You got scared of the summer fireworks? He held your hand and convinced you they were exciting and fun.

Your moms also saw the way you were obsessed with him. It was always 'Where's Ethan?', or 'Is Ethan awake yet?' all summer long. You didn't go anywhere without him. You pouted like crazy whenever he would go to play street hockey in the driveway with the older boys while you sat on the porch with your parents.

i was too scared to jump in. but i, i was high in the sky, with pennsylvania under me.

That summer was something you thought of often, it was perfection. Running around playing with your best friend all summer as a seven-year-old was the best thing you could've ever asked for.

When you guys were double your previous age, fourteen years old, you were still as close as ever. You went through it all together. The summer of 2016 was the summer when Ethan realized he had a crush on you. It was also, the summer you got boobs, but the two things were only semi-related.

Ethan found himself being insanely flustered by you and everything you did. When your hand brushed his while walking down the dock to the boat, when you kissed him on the cheek after he'd given you your birthday present, a silver necklace with a small solid heart pendant. It was a necklace you still wore today.

It wasn't until the next summer though that you realized you were heavily infatuated with the brunette. Something about him had changed, instead of him being this seven-year-old boy in your mind, he was fifteen, he had gotten muscles, and his hair was shaggy, and your hormones went crazy over it.

You and Ethan had a lot of fun that summer, you drank for the first time, which both of you ended up throwing up from in the backyard while your parents and siblings slept. Ethan had broken your heart for the first time the next year. He left the summer house 2 weeks early to go to a camp his new girlfriend begged him to go to. And him leaving 2 weeks early had him leaving days before your birthday, which hurt the worst.

You broke his heart even worse the next year when you brought your new boyfriend to the house. The house he fell in love with you in, the house you fell for him in. He hated that summer, he and the girl from the summer before had only lasted until the fall of that year, and Ethan realized he really was in love with you. But then your family drove up and you got out of the car with him, the guy that Ethan immediately made his enemy.

That summer was okay for you, and it sucked for Ethan. Your boyfriend left you unimpressed that summer, he wasn't the most polite guy, and was very much uninterested in the fun stuff you loved doing every summer. You remember how he went to sleep and left you alone watching the fireworks you had grown to love so much. You broke up with him over text the day you got back home. You weren't heartbroken after that, not like you were the summer before.

Neither of you had gotten into relationships since then. You'd both been too consumed by each other, you both knew no one else would fulfill you like the other would.

And so you were best friends, you hung out whenever you could, you went to all of his games, you went to proms and homecomings together, as friends. When Ethan committed to the University of Michigan, it became a school you were obsessed with getting into. Your application and essay had the most detail and took you the longest. You remember when you got an email in your inbox from the umich admissions office.

are there still beautiful things?

You couldn't open it. Not without Ethan. You grabbed your phone and moved your laptop off your lap and back onto your desk. You called him, your leg bouncing anxiously as it rang. He picked up after five rings.

"Hey Angel,"

Angel. He'd called you it since when you broke up with your first boyfriend, he told you that you were an angel and that guy didn't deserve you. And then it just stuck with him.

"My response for umich is here. Can you come over? I don't think I can open it without you here."

"Fuck yeah, give me like ten minutes."

You let out a deep breath, you were scared. You didn't think you would get in. You had the grades for it, and the extracurriculars, but you just had a pit in your stomach over it.

"It's gonna be okay Angel, alright? You're getting in. I love you, I'll be there in a little."

"Okay, I love you."

He hung up, you sat anxious at your desk, before closing your laptop and moving to sit on your bed. You heard his car pull in, the black jeep that brought you two to school every day, the jeep that drove you guys to the drive-in movies once every month, the jeep that you two drove to the lake last summer.

Your brother let him in, you heard him take his shoes off and run up the stairs, taking two at a time. He opened your door, smiling big at you before closing it behind him. You couldn't even smile at him, you felt like you were gonna be sick.

"Don't look at me like that. You need to stop acting like you won't get in."

"You don't know that though, Ethe. Tons of kids wanna go to Michigan, and tons of kids aren't gonna get in."

"Well we don't care about those kids, do we? 'Cause you aren't them, you're you, and you're perfect."

You just stared at him, you couldn't do anything else. All you wanted to do was kiss him, but again, you couldn't do that.

"Now where's this acceptance email at?"

You pointed to your closed laptop. He grinned and turned to grab it, climbing over you with his free hand to get onto your bed. He opened your laptop, typing in your password, and seeing the email at the top of your inbox. He turned and looked at you, his hand finding yours.

"You know it's gonna be okay no matter what, right? Even if you don't get in, which you will, but even if you don't that won't change anything. You'll go to Iowa and you'll love it."

You took a deep breath and nodded, squeezing his hand. You nodded towards your laptop, gesturing for him to click the email. You lean your head on his shoulder, heart racing as he moves your mouse to the email. He clicks the email, then the link included in it. He reads a sentence under his breath before stopping. You weren't reading it, you had your eyes closed. Ethan jumps, shouting and burying you in a hug, resulting in your laptop falling off your bed.

"You did it! We're going to Michigan together!"

You just hugged him so tight. You were so thankful for the admissions officer who had read your essay, which may have included Ethan's name a few times. Not because he was going for hockey, but because he was your best friend. You two both hugged for a moment, before running downstairs to tell your family.

sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart won't tell no other.

That was one of your favorite memories with Ethan. Now it was over three years later, you guys were juniors in college and you were still just best friends.

Tonight was the first night of Halloweekend, as you call it. You had a duo costume with Ethan, you were a referee and he was a hockey player. It was basic, you both knew that, but it was fun, and Ethan had no problem with how good you looked in your black little Lululemon skirt when you had tried your costume on for him. You guys had barely any time to get ready because of the game against Lindenwood earlier in the day. You were both getting ready in your apartment, so you could go to the party together.

You had only had your skirt and black sports bra on when Ethan knocked on your door, calling your name to let him in. You ran over to the door, excited to see Ethan and congratulate him on the huge win. When you opened the door Ethan's heart jumped, the sight of you in your incomplete outfit made his teenage boy hormones go crazy.

"Hi Ethe! I see you aren't ready yet."

You gave him an annoyed look, because he said he would be dressed when he got to yours.

"Well you aren't exactly in your full outfit either."

You blushed when you really realized you hadn't even thought about not having your shirt on when getting the door. You waved your hand and quickly turned away from the brunette, going back to your room, Ethan hot on your heels.

You quickly grabbed your shirt and sat back at your vanity, pulling it over your head and tucking it with your skirt letting it sag out a little bit. You quickly did your makeup, while Ethan sat on your bed and watched his phone.

"Ethe, if you don't start getting ready I will literally hurt you."

He looked up and let out a wannabe innocent gasp, claiming he "literally doesn't have to do anything but change his shirt". You shout at him again and he calls you by your mother's name, to which you gasped and threw your eyelash curler at him.

He finally gave in and started getting ready. Your eyes were practically stuck to him when you watched him pull his t-shirt off, his toned upper body on full display in your mirror. Your pupils were dilating while you stared at him.

Ethan wore his own navy Michigan jersey over a white sweatshirt, it was basic but he was happy he didn't have to do much. He laid back down on your bed once he was finished and watched as you put your hair back.

You'd gotten your hair in the ponytail, but you'd done the braid multiple times and it still just didn't look right. You sighed then looked at Ethan in the mirror, finding him already staring at you, then asked him the big question.

"Ethey, baby, can you please braid my hair?"

Baby. You'd called Ethan baby and he couldn't handle it. He quickly nodded, stuttering out a yes and jumping up from your bed to stand behind you at your vanity. He quickly separated your hair into three, looking at you for approval, like you hadn't taught him to braid your hair at 11 years old.

and though i can't recall your face, i still got love for you.

You smiled at him and slightly nodded, not shaking your head too much. He smiled a little bit back at you but was too focused on twisting your hair into itself to look in your eyes.

"Hair tie."

You smiled to yourself when he mumbled it to you, so incredibly focused on his work in your hair. Like it was the most detrimental thing he'd had to do today, like he hadn't played a big hockey game hours earlier.

"And... You're perfect."

He mumbled this as he tied off your braid, turning your head to show you in the mirror. You smiled at him grabbing his hand behind your back and rubbing your thumb over his, thanking him physically, since it was his love language.

your braids like a pattern, love you to the Moon, and to Saturn.

You stood from your vanity, sliding your sneakers on and grabbing your whistle to hang around your neck. You and Ethan both went out of your room and stood in front of the large mirror you had set up in the hallway. You deemed it time to take photos, but not before you unzipped the quarter-zip of your top so you could see your cleavage on pretty full display. The second you did so Ethan knew he was done for the night.

You guys took some photos and then you guys started walking to the party because it was only a six-minute walk from your place. When you arrived at the party, you guys were immediately pulled into a group of hockey players.

Ethan went to get you both drinks once he knew you were safe with his friends. You stood between Luca and Mark as you watched Ethan head off into the crowd.

"So, when are you two gonna admit you wanna fuck?"

Your eyes bulged out of your head. You turned and slapped Mark's chest, hard. He snickered along with the other boys around you.

"One, there's freshie ears around us, and two, we are never gonna do that, so shut the actual fuck up."

Mark shook his head, another laugh leaving his mouth as he pointed at Ethan, who was talking to one of his friends on the way back to your group.

"That kid is obsessed with you. Don't you think it's weird he literally hasn't gotten a girl yet, when he's got hundreds of girls here that would drop dead if he even said a word to them? He only likes you."

It was your turn to laugh, you knew that couldn't be true. You looked at Mark and rolled your eyes, it was honestly irritating hearing him say stuff like that at this point.

"Please, Mark. No chance. He's been my best friend since I was seven, if he liked me, he would've said so by now.

"Well you've liked him for forever and you haven't said anything, have you?"

You couldn't respond because Ethan was back, handing you a can of something. You thanked him and rubbed his hand, like always. He always received physical touch the best, especially as a thank you, it was funny to you because it was so incredibly similar to the golden retriever all of his fans called him online.

passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long.

You didn't stray far from Ethan for the first hour and a half, watching Rutger and Luca demolish in pong for a while. Then you saw some girls from your classes who you loved so you went to say hey to them and ended up talking for awhile.

After a little bit you and one of the girls you were with both had empty drinks so y'all got up to head to the kitchen.

"Oh my God babe, I saw your Insta story of you and your man, y'all are so hot together, and your costume is top tier."

You laughed at her, blushing madly.

"He's not my man! He's just my best friend, but thank you I picked our costume out."

She gasped at you, stopping abruptly.

"No way he isn't your man! He looks at you like he wants to tear your clothes off every fucking second!"

"Shut up! No he doesn't! He does not like me like that."

You both turned the corner laughing and you almost halted in your steps when you realized what you were seeing. It was Ethan, standing and laughing with this one bitch you knew, her name was like Diana or something. She had her hand on his chest as her head flew back at one of his jokes. All you knew is you'd seen her try to talk to all of the hockey players at parties since your freshman year, even though most of them were 3+ years younger than her because she was a grad student and at least 25. Then you realized what she was wearing, she was dressed as the fucking Stanley Cup. You wanted to die.

"See, not my man."

and i've been meaning to tell you, i think your house is haunted. your dad is always mad and that must be why.

Your voice got quieter as you said it, your stomach now had a pit and your eyes looked so disappointed. You don't know why you let Mark's word get to your head, because obviously there was never gonna be anything between the two of you. You left and told Bri you were going to the bathroom, trying to find an empty one.

Ethan saw as you quickly turned into the kitchen, disappearing into the crowd with your friend. He'd also seen the terrible look on your face. He was immediately worried, not even thinking for half a second about the, in his opinion, annoying fake blonde, practically pawing at him, that he ended up being intercepted by on his way to find you.

He quickly tried to follow you but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist. He pulled his hand from her grasp roughly and gave her a bewildered look.

"Wait Ethey! Where are you going? I wanna take a picture with you, we're matching so cute!"

He didn't even look at her, trying to find the back of your head in the crowd.

"No, don't call me that."

"Ugh, okay Ethan. Well, come here let me take a picture of our matching costumes."

"No thanks I'm already matching with my girl, and we're not even matching. A college player wouldn't have a Stanley Cup, doesn't even make sense"

He mumbled it to her, still pushing away from her as he finally got her to get her hands off of him. He immediately pushed into the crowd of the kitchen, desperately looking for you. He finally spotted the black and white stripes of your shirt and the braid he had done swerving in between people. He followed you, knowing calling your name would do nothing in the loud house. He watched you walk into the bathroom of probably the only empty hallway of the house, and he waited outside the door for almost 10 minutes before knocking.

"Sorry! I'll be out in just a second."

Your voice sounded dull, he was definitely worried about you.

"No it's just me, just wanted to know if you were okay. Are you?"

"Oh Ethe,"

You opened the door from your spot sitting on the counter, letting him walk in.

"hey, sorry didn't mean for you to be worried about me."

You tried to smile at him, but he could tell something was wrong. He sat by you on the counter, your thighs pressed against each other as he looked at you, concern filling his face. You wouldn't look at him, your face would give it all away if you did, and you knew it.

i think you should come live with me, and we can be pirates.

"I can tell something's off. What is it? Did someone say somethin' to you?"

You laughed a little, and it confused him even further.

"You'd be surprised at what's got me upset. It's stupid anyway so don't worry your pretty little head, alright?"

Ethan planted his hand on your knee firmly, urging you to look at him with a 'Hey.' You looked up at him for a few seconds before looking around the dim bathroom to distract yourself.

"Just tell me, Angel. Nothing you say is stupid to me."

Of course, he pulled out the Angel card, he knew you would do whatever he asked if he called you Angel. You looked up at him with an unamused face raising your eyebrows for a second before sighing, looking anywhere but his brown eyes.

then you won't have to cry,

"Mark was just saying stuff earlier and then-"

"What did he say? Did he make you upset? I know he's my teammate but I don't care I'll-"

"Ethan Edwards! No, Mark didn't make me upset. It's different than that, it's a whole big thing, and I just don't know how to talk to you about it."

Ethan thought the worst immediately. Well, it probably wasn't the actual worst, but it was the worst thing that could've happened to him.

"Does Mark like you? Did he tell you that?"

Your eyes went wide, and you could've laughed at Ethan's obliviousness.

"No, Ethe. That is definitely not what he said."

He looked at you helplessly, he was so confused. He didn't know how to do the one thing he wanted to, comfort you. He sighed shrugging and shaking his head, he was getting irritable. He stood up from the counter, exasperated.

"Then what is it? Why are you so upset? Can you just please tell me Angel? We tell each other everything baby."

You were gonna scream, he called you baby. He called you baby and you were about to tell him you were head over heels in love with him. You took a deep breath, looking away from where he'd stationed himself directly in front of you, hands on either side of your thighs as he leaned close to you, still worried.

or hide in the closet.

"I just, I'm like, Ethan you're my best friend and I know it's terrible of me to do this but I really fucking love you, like more than that like I'm in love with you and I know I'm a horrible best friend-"

Ethan cut you off by kissing you. Ethan Edwards was kissing you. Ethan Edwards had his hands cupping your jaw, was tilting his head, and kissing you. You were stunned, you didn't kiss him back for a few seconds out of pure shock, and then you realized what was happening. Your hands were gripping his wrists as he held your face. Your legs opened so he could step in between them to be closer to you. His hands moved from your face to your hips as yours went to his neck when you deepened the kiss, it turning into a full-on makeout.

You pulled away, heavy breathing as you stared at Ethan, eyes wide and exasperated.

and just like a folk song,

"That was fuckin' great, Goddamn."

You closed your eyes and let your head fall to Ethan's chest when he said that, laughing at his stupidity. His arms quickly wrapped you into a hug, squeezing you tightly as he laid a kiss on your exposed neck.

"I love you 'like that' too if it wasn't clear before."

our love will be passed on.

"Really? I didn't notice."

He poked your sides at your sass, laughing as you wiggled and squirmed in his grip. Ethan then had a thought come to his head that peaked his curiosity.

"Wait, if that's what you were all stuck on then why were you so upset?"

You brought your arms down from their place around his neck, ready to talk through your annoyance with your hands.

"Ethey, seriously? I was walking with Bri and she was literally telling me we look like a hot couple and that you look at me like you wanted to tear my clothes off and then we turn the corner and I see you with that mega bitch with her hands all over you, acting like you're a fucking comedian."

please picture me, in the weeds. before i learned civility.

His eyes widened at your confession, his cheeks were dusted red when you told him about how Bri thinks he looks at you. He started laughing as you let your green monster out over the girl he didn't even know’s name.

i used to scream ferociously, any time i wanted.

"Angel, that got you all upset? That is crazy because that girl was the most uninteresting, fake, batshit person I've ever had to speak to. She kept trying to say that me and her were matching but we literally aren't, 'cause like why would a college player have a Stanley Cup? Doesn't make any sense. But, I told her I was already matching with my girl anyways, so."

"Your girl?"

You raised your eyebrows at him faking ignorance. He rolled his eyes at you and shook his head, his large warm hands rubbing back and forth over your hips and thighs.

"Well, now you're officially my girl. But baby, you've always been my girl, c'mon now."

i, i.

Your face was so hot and you literally couldn't even speak. You opened your mouth to speak but promptly closed it sucking in a deep breath. Your heartbeat was so fast. That was the sexiest thing you'd ever heard anyone say, and it had an effect on you.

You couldn't look into his eyes anymore, the mix between what he'd just said and the feeling of his hands rubbing over the tops of your thighs, sometimes 'accidentally' hitting the hem of your little skirt was too much. You hid your head in his neck while he smiled so big, it was almost annoying.

"Christ, Ethan."

"What baby? What's got you all hot 'n bothered?"

"Shut the actual fuck up."

He was laughing, hard, which made you blush even more. You pulled your head from his neck and brought your arms around his shoulders to kiss him again, a little bit needier than the first one. His hands stopped their movements, their placement underneath the edges of your skirt making you go crazy.

"Fuck, you're perfect Angel."

His words went straight to the pit forming in your stomach. You moaned into his mouth in response, and Ethan promised himself he would do whatever he had to do to make you make that noise again. Ethan was two seconds from pulling your shirt off of you when there was a bang on the door, causing you to jump, squeezing around Ethan's shoulders.

"Hun, are you alright? You've been in there awhile!"

It was Bri, you let out a sigh of relief, loosening your grip on Ethan and nudging him to the side, sliding off of the bathroom counter.

"Um, yeah I'm alright! Uh I'll be out in a sec!"

"Kay-kay!"

You turned around and gave Ethan a wide-eyed look, while he laughed at you. You turned from him and looked into the mirror, flattening your baby hairs and straightening out your outfit. You gave Ethan a 'you ready?' look to which he nodded and you unlocked and opened the door, halting when you saw Bri standing near the door waiting for you. Ethan bumped into you at your abrupt stop and when Bri looked up and saw two of you, she squealed.

"Oh em gee! Girl, I knew it!"

sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart won't tell no other.

She ran away from you two back to the house, most likely to tell your girlfriends. You two giggled at her and then turned to walk back into the party.

Ethan pressed his hand against your lower back as he guided you through the crowd and back to the group of hockey players now in a different spot than you remember. When Mark noticed you two, when he noticed Ethan's hand, he immediately lit up smiling.

"Hey guys, long time no see, huh?"

and though i can't recall your face, i still got love for you.

You immediately went red as Ethan smirked annoyingly. You both sat down next to each other, Ethan's hand lingering on your thigh while you guys conversed with your friends for another half hour or so.

Eventually, Ethan was getting bored and wanted you all to himself again. He leaned over and layed his head on your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

"You wanna head out baby?"

You turned to look at him, nodding and wrapping your hand in his. Ethan stood up first, pulling you up with him.

"I think we're gonna head out. I'll see you guys tomorrow, alright?"

The guys nodded, bidding you guys goodbyes and waving. Mark shouts an extra loud goodbye to you, teasing you about your conversation earlier, to which you stuck up your middle finger to him behind Ethan's back.

Once you guys stepped outside you immediately started shivering, dropping Ethan's hand to rub your hands over your arms. You were cursing yourself 3 hours ago for not taking a jacket. You didn't even think about the fact that it would probably be almost freezing when you left the party, and your referee shirt and little skirt weren't helping at all.

Obviously Ethan noticed, he always did. He immediately started stripping on the front porch of the house, and you were bewildered.

"Ethan! What the fuck are you doing?"

He was shirtless on the street, he tossed you his hoodie before putting his jersey back on, smiling at you.

"Gotta keep my girl warm."

pack your doll and a sweater, we'll move to India forever.

You gratefully put the warm sweatshirt on, snuggling up into the soft material. Then, you snuggled up into the side of your boyfriend. Your boyfriend. Seven-year-old you wouldn't believe you, she'd be so confused. Fourteen-year-old you wouldn't believe it either, saying you never had feelings for Ethan, he was just your best friend. But sixteen-year-old you? Well she would be squealing and kicking her feet because you were dating him, the only boy you'd ever really liked, loved. The one boy that made you happy. He was so perfect, and you'd known he was perfect since you were seven.

passed down like folk songs, our love lasts so long.

[somnambulic-thing]

Eddie Munson x gn!reader with vagina&boobs

Rating: E, nsfw, 18+ Words: 3.9k read on ao3

smoke and cherry pop rocks Summary: You’ve been silently in love with Eddie for years and he’s leaving Hawkins soon. You want one kiss before he does. He gives you more than that.

CW/tags: no upside-down, angst, fluff, first times, grief, open end, reader has regrets, coming of age (everybody is over 18 though), smut, piv penetration, oral for everybody, lovemarks/bruises, rough sex, sex in public places, nicknames

A/N: In case: Pop Rocks are candy that pops and fizzes in your mouth. I hurt myself with this one, but growing pain is what it is.

If you like and enjoy this little story, let me know. I’d love to hear from you.

It had been dry the past few weeks. So dry that your feet are kicking up small clouds of dirt where the paved roads of Forest Hills trailer park turn into gravelled paths, making your throat itchy and the inside of your mouth feel just as dry.

You’ve been to the trailer park before but never figured out which trailer was home to Eddie Munson. Had, in fact, avoided finding out. You have a rule when it comes to Eddie and you are about to break it.

The rule was simple enough: Don’t.

Don’t get too close.

Don’t get lost in those eyes, that wit, that kaleidoscope mind.

Don’t let him get too close.

Don’t.

He had been a Senior and you a Sophomore when you created that rule, your crush at first nothing more than a light tickling on the back of your neck and some innocent thoughts about a kiss from those ever-smirking lips. He’d been prickly, snapped at you more than once when he caught you casting not-so-secret glances across hallways until one day, he didn’t. Until one day, he said hi.

And then he had been a Senior and you a Junior and he had given you a ride home, picking you off the street with sweet words and gentle hands after your bike betrayed you and the asphalt scraped the skin off your knees and palm. He walked you to your door to make sure you wouldn’t faint or something even though you clearly felt alright, insisting on taking care of your bike.

“I know what I’m doing. That way I’m sure it won’t give up on you again. Don’t want this to keep me up at night.”

His graduation had been only a few months away that day - or so you‘d thought - and as he stood there, so close, smiling at you, arms crossed over his chest and unable to stand still your whole body had screamed Don’t. He’ll be gone and it will rip you apart.

And then he had been a Senior and so had you and Eddie slipped you pieces of paper during class; little silly drawings to make you smile on days you didn’t feel like it. He held doors for you when you were still half a hallway away and remembered your birthday without you ever telling him the date, singing for you in the school parking lot.

Despite your best efforts to stay away, there had been many and many small moments that had felt like lurking avalanches - a few close calls - but one way or the other, you had walked away unscathed. Right?

You had both graduated three days ago.

Eddie had walked the stage, snatched his diploma and raised two of the happiest middle fingers you had ever seen into the air and bolted like the devil was behind him. You wanted to kiss him. Kiss him so badly. While you still could.

But you didn’t.

Eddie would leave Hawkins soon. He’d found a spot as a roadie, hoisting equipment for a thrash metal band. “Not even a bad one,” he had smirked, radiating excitement. You remember the afternoon he told you about it with painful clarity. He was going to make connections, be a good sport, flex his skills on the guitar whenever an opportunity revealed itself. He had a whole plan.

Eddie would leave soon and you would go to college and so you had said so long tohim with a straight face that felt like it was on fire and that finally was the end of your ordeal. Right?

You already miss him.

So now you’re at the trailer park and your mouth is dry and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s just the dust or the unusual heat or the fact that you had walked here for almost an hour without so much as a sip of water, you knew the real reason was Eddie.

You spot his van first.

And then you spot him. Stretching out on his back on the floor of the small deck in front of the trailer. One arm under his head, his feet bopping to a tune in his mind, tendrils of smoke rising up from his face like ephemeral poems. Golden hour was only minutes away and already the sun tinted everything in this light that had the color of bittersweet memories.

You place your feet carefully, eager to stay unnoticed as long as you can, not ready to leave this limbo yet. He was just beautiful like this; even in inertia, Eddie was a wild thing.

He turns his head at last; you don’t stop, don’t falter even though inside of you everything screams Don’t.

You see him squint, the low and glaring sun behind you shrouding you just a little longer giving you a few more precious seconds to clear your mind, to prepare your words.

Except it doesn’t. He recognizes you anyway.

Over the distance, you hear your name spoken in that voice that had made you jump on your first day in High School; he’d been running late and barged into the wrong classroom. His hair had been shorter, sticking out in every direction like he was electric, made of storm. The voice is deeper now, rougher, but you would recognize it underwater. You hear it in your dreams.

“Hi, Eddie,” says your mouth while your mind says Don’t.

“You, uh, got lost or something?

“No,” you say and come to a halt. With you, you bring your shadow and you cast it over his face. His features relax, the squint disappears and you look down into pitch-black eyes. “I was looking for you.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

“You, like, wanna… buy something green or…?”

“For you.”

Where once sleeves had been on his shirt were now big holes reaching down to his waist, the fabric rolling in slightly at the raw edges where he’d cut along. You can see the pale skin spanning over his ribcage, can see the rise and fall, can see the ink.

Eddie looks at you in silence. You even like the way he doesn’t talk.

Don’t.

He starts to move, eyes fixed on you as he sits up, places his palms on the floor, rings click-clacking softly, cigarette butt coughing bitter tufts of smoke from between his fingers. He pushes himself around in one swift motion, crossing his legs, bare feet covered in dust, and faces you.

Your mouth is dry, is arid, is a desert.

“What do you mean for me?”

DON’T, it screams.

Ah, shut the fuck up, you answer.

“Have you ever heard of anticipatory grief?”

He blinks, fast, tilts his head, tilts the corners of his mouth down.

“Hmm, nope,” he shakes his head, “but I think I… get the gist. Why? You came to ask me this?”

“I came to kiss you.”

“What?”

“That is, if you want me to... To kiss you.”

The cigarette has snuffed out between his fingers and he throws it away into an unseen distance, his eyes searching your face for clues. You give him a smile.

“Are you for— for real?”

You nod.

“You’re not messing with me? Because that would be a fucked up thing to do.”

Your heart rushes the blood through your veins like a torrent, you feel it pool on your cheeks.

“Eddie,” you say the way you always wanted to. Soft and longing. “I had a crush on you for so long…” You close your eyes. “Years... Still have.”

“Shit! I… uh, shit.” You hear only crickets and a lawn mower in the distance and you wonder if he has vanished into thin air. “Could you, like, look at me?”

 It takes effort, but you do.

“You… you never...”

“I know.”

“Why now? Why—“ You can see him think, putting crooked pieces together. “Anticipatory grief?”

“Fuck, you’re clever.”

His head draws back, his brows draw together; it looks like he’s drawing the wrong conclusion. “So you, what? Expected me to be an ass about it? To mess with you?”

“Not all that clever then,” you smirk and Eddie looks confused.

“Well, fuck you, milady,” he says with a tense smile and waves a hand through the air. You want to evaporate, flow through those fingers. “But you’re making no sense to me right now. Help me out?”

“You’re leaving soon.”

“Wait, wait, wait: you said years.”

A laugh is tickling you to let it out, you hold it back and sigh. “I thought for years you’d be leaving soon.”

“Shit,” he almost barks, fingers stilling an itch on his temple. Then he laughs and you do too.

You step closer, leaving only a few feet between you while the laughter is softly running out. And then he breathes in deep into his lungs; holds it holds it holds it. Oh to envy the air so much, it was embarrassing.

“Why now?”

“I don’t know—”

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie…”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

His chest expands again, you see him clenching his fists before he rests his hands on his thighs, ringed fingers splayed wide on black denim.

“Say my name like that—”

“I’m sorry—“

“Answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Don’t do that.”

It’s like a dance somehow, no, not quite, but you’re feeling out of breath and the rhythm is addictive.

“Answer my question…” and then he smiles, pulls his hands to his face, palms pressed together like in prayer, “…sweetheart.”

Asshole, you think losing the fight against a shiver.

“Because,” he says, propping his sharp yaw against his knuckles, “I would have been in on it in a heartbeat. On a date. Or something. Anything, really.”

You say his name like that again and hide your face inside your palms, seeking refuge from your past decisions. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Yeah, fuck that. You started this. I’m just, ahm, levelling the playing field,” he laughs a little bitterly. “T’s not like I won’t think about some if’s and could have been’s now, ya know?”

You can’t look up. You want to ask him if he heard of spontaneous self-combustion before but then he holds the match that sets you on fire.

“I always liked you.”

The groan escaping you is muffled by your palms. “So why did you never say something?”

There is a tap on your shoulder, the sudden touch startling you out of your stupor, and when you come up his warm palms almost feel cool on your heated face.

And Eddie kisses you.

A high-pitched noise escapes your throat, your hands fly to his wrists, holding on like vices because he tastes like smoke and cherry pop rocks and like endless summer skies and the world is spinning as much as his lips are soft and he sighs a little and—

Eddie is kissing you!

You take a step forward, your stomach hits the deck and you wind your fingers through his hair. The roots are damp with sweat and he sighs again when you pull. He opens his mouth to welcome you in, to lick at you with his cherry tongue and steal your breath right from your lungs and—

And then it ends. Time has never passed so fast.

The dissonance of your laboured breathing hangs between you like a chance, a peek, a warning; Eddie won’t let go of your face and you won’t let go of his.

And then he smiles. “Was good?”

You nod. “Too short.”

“Wanna come up here for more?”

Eddie’s laugh echoes through the trailer park as you scramble to climb up the deck. You knock him over, or maybe you don’t, because his hands are already on your arms and pull you with him to the floor. It doesn’t matter one way or the other. What matters is his tongue in your mouth, the hard edge of his teeth against yours and his skin under your wandering fingertips.

The sun is setting.

Eddie is still kissing you when it leaves this day for good.

Wedged between your thighs he now and then whispers little secrets to your skin.

        You are so pretty.

        You smell so good.

      You’re making me so hard.

Eddie’s throat tastes like salt and summer dust; he likes it when you bite him.

      I never said a thing because I thought you wouldn’t want me.

      Because wanting you scares me.

      Because you always were so distant—

      when I came close.

“I’m so stupid,” you confess.

“Not stupid, sweetheart.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.” He speaks those words into your mouth as if to share the bitterness.

     I’m glad you came.

          I’m glad you’re here.

          I want you to stay.

         I want you to stay.

         I want you to stay. And if it’s only for one night…

Eddie’s room is a mess but his bed is soft. So is the light, illuminating chaos you had imagined countless times before but it’s no match for the chaos inside you. There’s so much you want to say, but so much skin to kiss. You fill the spaces in between.

“Sometimes,” you pant, his lips against your throat, “I sneak into your concerts.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” he says, almost ripping your shirt, sucking on your breasts.

“I love the sound of your voice.”

“You mean that?”

You nod, straddling his thighs, unbuttoning his pants. “I wanna hear you moan.”

Eddie moans for you when you sink down on his cock.

     You feel so good.

            I can’t believe it.

Neither can you. For the day began with a dragging sense of emptiness and now you are so full of him it’s driving you insane. He moans your name while you ride him, while you show him how you feel in a way words can’t.

            You’re so warm.

            So soft.

            I wanna taste your pussy.

The secrets stop as he licks at you with fervour; but not the moans. Eddie is spoiling you with those and you’re spoiling him with praises.

He’s careful with his fingers, almost like he’s scared. You tell him where to touch, how to move and he thanks you with his eyes; shining and wide and full of pride and wonder as you tense around his fingers, twitch under his tongue.

“Fuck me, Eddie, please…”

Eddie is rough. You want him to wreck you.

           I want you to remember this with your whole body.

           I wanna make you breakfast.

           I’m leaving in two weeks. Two weeks. Gimme those two weeks.

“Yeah,” you moan against his neck. “I’ll give you anything.”

“Don’t— don’t do that.”

 “For two weeks,” you shove your hand under his chin, you make him look at you. He’s so deep inside of you it’s hard to think but this is easy: “For two weeks, I’ll give you anything.”

Eddie kisses you; he tastes like you, like you, like you and nothing else. With one hand he pins your wrists above your head and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow.

When he falls asleep on your chest, you whisper little secrets of your own.

                 I’m sorry.

                 I’m so sorry.

                 I’m so in love with you.

Eddie makes you breakfast. His uncle looks happy and confused; he wants you to call him Wayne. Dramatic eyes seem to be a Munson thing. Wayne makes you laugh with stories about Eddie, Eddie makes you laugh with being flustered and shy. When it’s just you and Wayne for a moment, he slips you a picture of a younger Eddie. Hair short, guitar too big for him. You hide it away like a treasure.

You promised each other two weeks so he gives the car shop an early notice to make time.

“But you need the money, Eddie.”

“I can’t buy this with money, sweetheart.”

“But—“

Eddie likes to shut you up with kisses. It’s not fair, you tell him. He doesn’t give a fuck, he tells you.

You have fourteen days and Eddie’s head is in your lap, a guitar on his chest and he plays for you; melody soft and sad, smile sharp and wide under your adoration. Even little quarrels feel like blessings because the make up is so sweet. Later, he takes you downtown where he never lets go of your hand and licks ice cream off your face.

            I wrote this the day you scraped your knees.

            I don’t mind you being stubborn when you kiss me like that.

            You taste better without it.

Twelve days and you wake up in his arms; he keeps you in bed for hours. Soft kisses, roaming hands and never a moment of silence, you and Eddie sharing everything your minds provide, making every second count. In the evening, Eddie takes you to see a movie. He makes you come twice. You walk back to the trailer park, barefooted.

            I still can’t believe you’re here.

            I could listen to your thoughts for hours.

            I want to fuck you in weird places.

Ten days and Eddie rolls a joint for you to share. You smoke on the roof of the trailer, making up silly names for constellations, laughing till your stomachs hurt. Then you fuck him, palms pressed to his chest, keeping him down. You draw it out till the sun comes up behind you, leaving him a mumbling mess, the corrugated metal of the roof leaving bruises on his back. You kiss them all; they are your favorite color.

            I don’t want to leave anymore.

“But I’m leaving too.”

“I know.”

Seven days and Eddie packs you a picnic. It’s mostly junk food and you both feel full and lazy, like turned-over beetles, giggling like children in the high grass at the shore of Lovers Lake. You find clouds that look like dicks and whales and guitars and it’s all a bit of the same, really, and you bully Eddie out of his clothes because the water looks so nice and cool.

            I used to come here with my mother.

            It’s good to leave here laughing.

            I’ll miss your laugh. So much.

Four days and Corroded Coffin play their last show. You are the first row in a crowd of twenty people; you cheer for twenty more. After, you give the band space, watching the end from the sidelines. There are tears, there are hugs, there are stories of days past and promises for those to come. In his van, Eddie falls into your arms and clings to you for twenty minutes. Then he kisses you, pulls you greedily into his lap and almost breaks his window when there’s no condom to be found.

            I didn’t think all of this would be so hard.

            I’m crazy about you.

            It’s not fair.

            I want to make you come with my fingers, please.

Three days and you take Eddie to your house. He needs to see where you live from the inside. Your mother loves him, like you knew she would. He pokes around your room, inspecting everything he can. Sadly, it’s not much; you already started packing. He gets quiet.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate to see those boxes with your stuff.”

“You wanna sleep at your place?” you caress his cheekbones with your thumbs.

“No.”

Eddie can’t fall asleep. You find him wide awake at three in the morning, staring at boxes and crying silent tears. He hates it that you see them.

“Come on, get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Tough shit,” he huffs. “You said you’ll give me anything. Give me this. I wanna feel this.”

So neither of you sleep. The sun comes up when Eddie pushes your face into the mattress, your wrists in his hand on your back. He’s not gentle. You don’t want him to be. He’s everywhere. By noon he kisses the bruises on the back of your thighs. They are his favorite color, he says. He wants to leave the boxes now. So you leave.

      Maybe you were right. Maybe you are stupid.

            I don’t mean it!

            I’m sorry.

            I just want years of this.

Two days and you just stay in bed. Eddie reads to you. Lord of The Rings and he’s doing different voices, and sound effects; narrates the rain, the hooves of pony’s and everything in between with gentle fingertips on the back of your hand. And it makes you cry. Makes you cry so hard that Eddie’s shirt is soaked where he holds you to his shoulder.

“Anticipatory grief. I get it now,” he says into your hair. There is something he doesn’t say. You can feel it, but you don’t ask.

This time when he fucks you, Eddie is nothing but gentle. You almost can’t stand it. You never want him to stop. Keep him inside of you forever.

            I’m in love with you.

            No, I mean it.

            I always liked you, remember?

“I’m in love with you too, Eddie.”

“Say that again.”

Eddie’s van is packed. He’s leaving in two hours.

Your lips are swollen from kissing, biting, sucking his cock and bruises into his skin.

“How can you be so perfect?” you ask him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t let me leave.”

“Eddie…”

Eddie slides from your arms, slides from his room, out the porch door and flees into the forest behind the trailer.

You look after him, stunned.

Wayne sits on the deck, smoking.

“M’ sorry, kid. Really sorry.”

You know what he means. You’re sorry too.

“If he’s not back in twenty, you go after him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. He’s my boy,” Wayne chuckles. There are tears in his voice.

You find Eddie sitting on a low branch, staring into the distance.

“You found me.”

“You’re leaving.”

“So are you.”

There are some nettles stinging your calves as you walk over, but the look on his face stings more.

It’s like the day you found him two weeks ago: you looking up at him, his eyes brimming with confusion. Except it’s nothing like two weeks ago.

“If this isn’t a pretty fucking case of self-fulfilling prophecy then I don’t know what is.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brushing hair out of his face.

“You know what I mean.”

Of course, you do. It was you who made that prophecy.

“Do you regret it? That you gave me that kiss?” you ask in fear, a tear fleeing down your cheek.

Eddie kisses it away. “Don’t be stupid.”

Ten minutes and you lean against his van. His arms are crushing you, your nails leave red trails on his back and shoulders. You want him to remember.

“M’ going to miss you,” you sob.

“Gonna miss you too, sweetheart.”

            I’ll call you every day I can.

            I’ll let you know when I’m in the area.

            M’ gonna visit you. I promise.

Eddie kisses you. He tastes like smoke and cherry pop rocks and plain old sadness.

            You made me so happy.

            It’s almost cruel.

            I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

Your mouth is dry as you watch him drive away, clouds of dirt rising from the dusty tires. Wayne holds you while you sob; he’s crying too. “Stop by for coffee b’fore you leave,” he says and you promise you will as you wave him goodbye.

The sun is low and golden as you start your way home. No. To the place where your boxes are waiting. You feel uprooted.

Two days later and the phone is ringing. You trip over a bag of clothes and bump your knee on the coffee table. You don’t feel the pain.

“Eddie?”

[nicoline1998enilocin]

So... I was thinking...

Tony and reader are a recent couple and they always used condoms... but one day, in the middle of a delicious sex, she interrupts Tony's thrusts and asks him to take his dick out of her. Momentarily, he doesn't understand why but he pulls out, and then she sensually removes the condom from his dick, smirking at him and she says "I want to feel you... I want to feel all of you... give me your cum"

Of course he will fuck her senseless after this and he will give her his cum 🙃 and he'll never use a condom again 🙃

Good morning/afternoon/night and thank you for listening my horny thoughts (and using if you want)

Bare it all

PAIRING ⇒ Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Avenger!Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT ⇒ 2K

SUMMARY ⇒ You're on an undercover mission with Tony, and you two have the entire night to yourselves. When you two end up in bed together, you're looking to spice things up a little, much to Tony's surprise. When he finds out your plan, he can't help but fall even more in love with you, and he's not afraid to tell you exactly that.

RATING ⇒ Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS ⇒ Established relationship, unspecified age gap

SMUT ⇒ Porn with little/no plot, choking, daddy kink, oral (M receiving), face fucking, (un)protected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), squirting, cream pie.

A/N ⇒ Nonnie, dear, sweet, amazing Nonnie, I cannot thank you enough for planting this idea in my brain because I am in love with this request! If you ever have more of these horny thoughts, please don't hesitate to let me know about them! This is proofread and drooled over by my lovely best friend @ccbsrmsf1, and I cannot thank you enough! Eu to amo 💚

EVENTS Masterlist ⇒ @anyfandomkinkbingo ⇒ Cream pie Masterlist ⇒ @sweetspicybingo Sweethearts ⇒ Talk dirty

Banners: Yours truly ⇒ Divider: @firefly-graphics ⇒ Photo: Source

Main Masterlist ⇒ Tony Stark Masterlist ⇒ Part 2

''C'mon, Babygirl, you look like you could use a little stress relief,'' Tony says as he stands behind you, helping you strip out of your tactical gear. You're both on an undercover mission for another week and tonight, you'll have the night to yourselves, which both of you plan to use. No one who can interrupt, not having to hide from anyone or everyone, just being yourselves and making sweet love for hours on end. Exactly like the two of you have dreamt about ever since you started dating.

''Sounds good to me,'' you tell him when your entire tac gear is on the floor and you're bare in front of your boyfriend. You turn around to find him already naked, too, his cock standing at attention against his abdomen. You slowly sink to your knees, your nails softly gliding over his chest and stomach before you find your place on the floor, his cock now at your eye level.

''Look at you, Babygirl, you look gorgeous when you're on your knees like my good girl,'' Tony praises you, and you preen under his words, your arousal only growing between your thighs as you're close to dripping onto the carpet you're kneeling on.

Your hand slides to his cock, the index finger on your right hand tracing the long, prominent vein along the shaft, your left hand softly rolling and tugging on his balls exactly the way he likes. With a loud groan, he lets his head fall back as he can already feel the pleasure building. You know exactly what to do to get him riled up - both inside and outside the bedroom - and you enjoy using that well.

You decide not to tease him any longer, instead gripping him at the base of the shaft, your hand barely fitting around the girth of it. Your tongue feels warm against the coolness of his tip, tiny beads of pre-cum gathering at the tip that you'll happily lick off before taking him into your mouth.

''That's it, Babygirl, doin' so good for Daddy,'' he praises you, your thighs squeezing together to give yourself a little relief from the arousal that's building between them. Slowly but surely, you'll take more of him into your mouth, working your mouth around his length inch by inch until you can feel him deep in your throat as you moan around him, sending shivers up his spine.

His large hands weave their way into your hair before gripping it, thrusting into your mouth and throat carefully so as not to overwhelm you. Your nails are buried in his muscular, hairy thighs to ground yourself, and it earns you a loud groan as he picks up the pace, his chest heaving from the exercise he's getting.

You look up at him with tears in your eyes from the pleasure you're experiencing, and he looks down with lust-filled eyes that look like he wants to devour you whole. Based on how his demeanor changes - his brows knitting together, his chest heaving more, his moans and groans getting louder and more irregular - you can tell he's on the edge of his orgasm, and you can't wait to swallow every last drop he's going to give you.

You pull off his cock long enough to coax him to his orgasm, not wanting to leave the taste of him for too long as you can't get enough of it.

''Wan' you to cum for me, Daddy, wanna swallow all of your cum,'' you tell him with a slight whine, and he can't say no to you, especially when you beg like this for him.

"Course, Babygirl, you can have it, fuck, take it! 'S so much cum for you-'' he says with a deep groan as he picks up the pace, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly until you swallow around him, the tightness of your throat pushing him over the edge. 

''Fucking fuck! Take it all, Babygirl, 'm cumming so much for you, so much cum for my perfect little slut! You like being on your knees for Daddy, don't you? Letting Daddy have his way with your mouth, just being the perfect fucktoy for Daddy to use? God, I fucking love you so much, Babygirl, FUCK!'' he exclaims, and it doesn't go unnoticed by you that he just said his first I love you.

Hearing that makes a wave of warmth and love flood through your veins, and you're all the more eager to have his cum, and swallow every last drop. There's no need to wait long because not even seconds later, you feel his warm seed shooting out of his pink tip and into your throat before pulling back and sticking out your tongue. You jerk his cock until every last drop of cum is milked from it, licking the last drops off to clean him.

''Good girl,'' he whispers as he helps you up, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

Tony has carefully placed you on the bed for some cuddles, as he needs a little while to go through his refractory period. He's not the youngest anymore, but you don't mind, as it is the perfect opportunity to have a leisurely make-out session and some much-needed cuddles together. It's at that moment you remember what he said not too long ago, and you can't refrain from bringing it up.

''You know, I couldn't help but hear that you told me you loved me, but... do you mean it? Or was it just a spur-of-the-moment thing? Because that's okay too-'' is all you can say before Tony puts his hand on your face to calm your thoughts down.

''I mean every word I said, Babygirl, I love you so much. I love your beautiful smile, the way your eyes light up when you tell a joke, from your determination on the battlefield to the kindness you spread everywhere you go. I love it all, and I love you so much,'' he says, sealing his promise with a kiss that leaves you breathless once again.

''I love you too, Tony, more than I can ever tell you,'' you tell him, a broad smile adorning both your faces as you let the words fall from your lips. You've been thinking of saying them for a while now, but how they came to light is so remarkable you wouldn't change it for the world. And now you're sure you can't stop saying them.

''Shall we go for round two, Babygirl?'' Tony asks, and you nod before letting him grab a condom from the nightstand, where he had conveniently put a strip of them. However, he wouldn't need them after today if you'll have your way with him. The package is quickly ripped open, and his expertly skilled fingers roll it onto his hard cock, ready to slide into you and fuck you completely senseless.

''Lay on your back for me, Babygirl; I want to see you fall apart on my cock when I fuck you completely stupid,'' he whispers in your ear, and you feel the goosebumps on your neck where his breath ghosted over it. You do as he says before spreading your thighs, making room for him to slot between them. Soon, he has found his place as he lines up with your entrance, gathering some of the slick dripping out of your pussy to use as lube.

''Are you ready for me, Babygirl? Take a deep breath for me,'' he tells you, and you do as he slides in, the stretch still catching you off guard. You breathe through it as he carefully slides in, the burning feeling soon making room for nothing but pleasure as a long moan falls from your lips. Your arms are slung around his neck, his nose nuzzled into your neck as he lets you adjust to his cock inside you, and he never wants to leave.

''Feels so good, Babygirl, such a perfect, tight pussy for me to fuck,'' he breathes against your neck as he starts to set a slow pace, your tighs walls clinging onto every inch of his cock as you feel them against your walls, his tip hitting your cervix each time he slides back in.

''I love it when you make love to me, Daddy; it makes me feel special,'' you tell him, and he gives you a love-filled smirk in return.

''Good, you're my special girl,'' Tony tells you as his hips get a faster pace, thrusting into you at a regular rhythm that has you seeing stars within no time, but it isn't enough for you; you need to feel him everywhere, you want him bare inside you.

"D-Daddy, stop,'' you tell him, and he immediately does, stilling inside you as he looks for any discomfort or pain on your features, but he doesn't find any. Regardless, he sits back on his haunches as he still has his cock inside you, giving you more room to move.

''I want to feel you cum inside me, Daddy; need all of your cum,'' you tell him as your shyness starts taking over, your voice trailing off near the end. You've rarely been this forward about what you want; when you are, it always makes you nervous for his reaction.

You don't have to ask him twice because, before you know it, the condom has found its way into the trash can. You're manhandled onto all fours, his hips snapping against your ass in loud, harsh thrusts that have you crying from overwhelming pleasure, his bare cock inside you making your mind reel from pure excitement.

''F-fuck, Daddy! Feels s-so g-good!" you tell him between thrusts, your moans coming out broken and your whines coming out louder, your pleasure building up every second he drives his bare monster of a cock into your tight pussy, stretching it beyond the limits you've ever thought to be possible.

''Yeah? Does it feel good to have Daddy fuck you raw, Babygirl?'' he asks as he pulls you up with your back against his chest, one of his hands around your throat, the other one around your waist to keep you in place as he fucks you with an unrelenting pace. He squeezes your throat so that your air is cut off enough to make your mind fuzzy around the edges, but there's still room for air. Your hands desperately hold on to his arms as your orgasm builds quickly, and before you know it, you're falling apart on his cock, your juices squirting out in a hot rush of liquid that soaks the sheets beneath you.

''Jesus, Babygirl! You squirted all over the bed like a little slut! You deserve a reward for being such a good girl, don't you think?'' he asks, but he gives you no room to nod, instead fucking into you even faster as he feels how heavy his balls are with cum, desperately wanting to fill your pussy until it drips out.

''Y-Yes!'' you croak out, and with a long, deep groan, Tony cums inside you as he stills, his arms letting you go as you fall forward onto the bed, unable to hold yourself up.

''That's what you wanted. Needed Daddy's cum inside your tight pussy, huh? My perfect cumslut, just needs to be filled with Daddy's cum everywhere,'' he pants out before pulling out and lying down to inspect what he has done, his cum leaking out as it's too much for your pussy to hold in.

''You did perfectly for me, Babygirl, but from now on, I'm only fucking you bare, you understand that?'' he asks you, and you let out a broken yes before you collapse onto the bed, not caring about the wet sheets underneath you. That evening he pulls you apart and puts you back together about three more times after, each time pumping you full of his cum.

Now that he's had a taste of paradise, he never wants anything else, and you're not one to deny him that. All you want is to be filled by the man you love more than anything and start a family with him. The family you've always dreamt of with the love of your life.

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part iv

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 4k

haunted hoedown: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+2 secrets!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, shared memories, light angst, din is dracula (castlevania)-coded, realizations and confessions, flash-backs/multiple pov, canon-typical violence and death, revenge

a/n: a massive and heartfelt thank you to @friskynotebook and @againstacecilia who beta’d this chapter and helped me out - you are the best! 🥺💕

It's all white noise. Her voice fading out to nothing, as the word repeats in your mind.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

You think you mumble an excuse. Her hand outstretched, expression worried as you turn - dazed. A tightness in your chest, leaving her sitting as the panic rises, as you all but flee the room.

It's muscle memory that gets you to your room. Your back pressing against the heavy wooden door, as if that alone could keep you safe.

You couldn't be his mate. His soulmate.

There wasn't a mark. The skin on your wrist is bare - that spot of first contact. Where he had touched the night you had arrived, before pulling you to his mouth.

You'd have noticed if his palm bore marks when it had curled around, for they would be reflected on yours, too.

This much you know, at least.

Soulmates were an ancient magic that even the humans knew. Growing more rare, as the years passed. As wars raged and couples were split before they were ever joined.

Your grandparents were soulmates. A chance meeting at a market. Fingers clasped in greeting - the shock when they came back different. Changed, forever.

You used to pull their hands into your laps - to trace the matching, mirrored marks on their skin, when you were a child. Filled with silent thoughts about how lucky they were, to have found each other.

They had been happy.

But how could you be, after everything?

Fennec must be wrong. Perhaps vampire mates were different.

Perhaps it was just the name of your partnership. Perhaps the time that had passed had made you mates of some kind, enough of your blood shared to forge some sort of lasting connection.

You cling to this denial like it's some form of salvation. Of protection.

Time passes, and your breathing slows. You lean into these thoughts. How would Fennec know, if even you didn't? Yes, it had to be no more than a misunderstanding.

If he was really your mate, there'd be a sign. He never would have wanted to hurt you.

But deep, deep down - you know that there's something.

A reason you hadn't felt that urge to flee, when you first saw him. How your hand has stayed, when you could have finished things. Why you can't keep him out of your thoughts and mind.

Why you've softened. It had felt so natural, like winter changing into spring. Something tender blooming in your chest, in spite of the frost.

It frightens you.

There's not much time to contemplate further, before you hear the sounds of boots on stairs. The gait one you've come to know - something sharp and acidic spiking in your chest as you push yourself up.

Rushing across the room to wrench the drawer open - the scrolls scattering across the floor as you rip the hidden dagger and stake free. Holding them defensively against your chest, just as the door opens.

He's there.

It's as if he only just arrived - boots still splattered with mud. His armor streaked with weathered grime and a weariness in the way his forearm braces against the doorframe.

"Cyar'ika." Din rasps, "I'm sorry, I didn't want-"

The words peter off. He seems unsurprised to see you armed, as if his only thoughts are of you. Not what you hold, what you've been hiding.

A long second as he considers something - before his hands are lifting to his helmet. Palms pressing against the curved metal, until it's lifting from his head.

You can't look away, in spite of your distress.

He's achingly handsome, beneath. A puzzle, finally completed with the full curve of his nose. The shape of his cheekbones, where dark hair curls above. And his eyes.

Eyes that seem familiar, eyes that you've seen before-

Finishing his thought, his gaze a heavy weight, "I didn't want you to find out like this."

Your head shakes, "You can't be. We haven't, there isn't a mark-"

He takes a cautious step forward, and you take a large one back. Your hip colliding painfully on the edge of the desk, the chair scraping against the floor as you try to move away from him.

"There is a mark." Din's fingers lift, finding the fastenings of his armor - those maroon eyes still fixed on your face.

Removing his gloves, his gauntlets. Unlatching his shoulder plate, leaving them to rest on the ottoman. Pulling at the knots that attach his sleeves to the tunic beneath.

Baring his shoulder.

He wears a scar like yours. The one that you had gotten that day - when you had thought it had been from when you fell. Patched up with magic, before you had awoken.

It’s a reflection from what you're used to looking down and seeing, curving up his bicep. A smaller, splotchy shape next to it.

It's familiar. You've seen the shape before, etched into the silver pauldron he wears. The design is stylized, but it’s there - you’re not sure how you missed it, before.

"When?" You whisper, eyes fixed on the curve of muscle and skin.

"That morning you've been thinking of." He answers. His voice is different without his mask. Softer, still rich in tone, "When I feed. You go back to it so often."

It twists your stomach, turning you stone-still.

It was real, it was real, it was real-

"Why did you do it?" Your voice breaks over the words, "That town. My home-"

He takes another step closer, and you react like a feral cat. Spitting and hissing to keep away from him, that dagger brandished like a sword. His face is all angles and shadows, sorrow and confusion and so matching yours.

"I was there to help. I was there for you."

Your head shakes, not understanding, "No. You started the fire in the inn. They told me you killed all those people, that vampires ripped apart the houses-"

Nothing was making sense.

"I am strong, but not that strong cyare." His head shakes, "If I wanted to, I could have hurt the townspeople. But there's no reason for me to. I’d never-”

His expression changes into something that tips towards self-loathing, as his words halt. The next comes more slowly.

"I was there, looking for you. I had sensed something when I was nearby-" Din's head shakes, "Your heart. I could hear it. I wanted to see what you were."

Your grip on the stake loosens, drawn in by his words. Another proof of your connection.

"I stayed in the village for two days." He sighs, "And then, I saw you in the marketplace. You were so beautiful and so happy, and it became so clear that this was your home. So I left, instead."

As he moves, there's a clear shot through the doorway. A few minutes ago you would have bolted, but now - now, you find yourself sinking into the chair. Back where this all began.

Remembering that prickle, the hairs on your neck rising, those days before. That feeling of being watched. Nothing more than a brushed-aside moment.

"I left that night. But then, I found myself called back." His eyes fix on yours then - bright, in spite of the long hours away, the days without eating, "I heard your fear and I came."

It feels like you're seeing, for the first time. Bits and pieces through a filtered lens, slowly coming together. But still blurry, enough out of focus that you still can't see the subject.

But how could his story be true? They had warned you not to trust him, didn't they?

You had spent a year fighting with your anger and your grief. You had braved the journey here and lived among the vampires for weeks. All with one goal in mind, and to hear that you've had it wrong is-

It leaves you adrift. A moment where you're more unsure that ever, even though you know more than you ever did.

But deep down, you realize you want to trust him. To believe that he was as good as he seemed. As just - a true ruler, that the way he’s treated you wasn’t simply a ruse.

That he hasn't been playing with you, feigning that kindness for all these weeks.

But where did that leave you? Who could you believe?

"I wish that was true." Your head shakes, voice no more than a whisper, "I really do, Din."

He's silent for a long moment. The creak of his gloves as they curl into fists, as you're both left to your own thoughts. Yours tug at you - curling around your legs, threatening to pull you under and into the abyss.

"I could show you." Din offers, then.

“I could show you what I remember."

His hand extends then, palm facing upright. Reaching out for you to take.

You stare at it for a long moment. Gaze flitting to his shoulder. Across the mark, up the curve of his shoulder, to his face.

"You can see for yourself." He coaxes, and you're able to look into his eyes this time.

To truly see, like you had tried to, so many times before. They're clear, and sorrow swims in them.

Not a monster. Not lying.

You can see for yourself.

Your eyes drop back down to his outstretched hand. And after a long moment… you reach out and take it.

With a jerk of his arm, he pulls you close.

And then - he's biting down.

There's a hunger. A deep ache that gnaws at your bones. You don't know how someone can live like this. Your limited vision filtered through shades of greys and reds and browns.

A flinch as you shield away from the rising sun, even through your layers. It curls into your joints, searing the thin sliver of skin at your neck as you crouch.

Something like an echo rattling through you, as the ground flickers beneath your feet. Faster than you've moved before, the smoke and the buildings and the flames distorting as they suddenly loom into view.

The growl that rips from your throat comes from deep in your chest. It's jagged against your teeth as your senses heighten, as you move through the streets on pure instinct.

Ducking into the shadows as they pass by, in their leathers and the dark cloaks and the strings of garlic that you can smell from here.

If there wasn't such a tugging in your chest you'd wonder at their appearance. The pure coincidence of this convergence. But there's no time, not now.

Time skips, and then you're crouching down. The human that you had watched, now slumped against the low stone fence.

Rubble strewn around her, scattered beneath the collapsed overhand she had tried to dart beneath - just barely making it to the other side.

Skin sticky and red at the temple and the sight of it makes your stomach clench. An urge to catch the drip with your finger, to bring it between your lips and see if it tastes as sweet as you know it does, deep down.

Instead, your hand reaches out - curling around her bare shoulder. Your touch like a brand, as your body flushes with heat.

So strange, with how cold your skin has become. For a second you almost feel as you used to - watching as the the shade of her skin changes before your eyes.

As the small curls of thought in your mind suddenly flourish. That reason you can been drawn, why her pulse had seemed to call to you.

Your chest aches. Again, you wish for more time.

There's none right now. It's easy to lift them, with the strength that came with your transformation. Her head lolling against your shoulder, cheek pressing to the beskar of your chestplate.

Right above your still heart.

Shoulders curl inwards to shield her from the heat as you move through the wooden arch, the beams above in flame.

It licks at you, almost causing you to stumble. Only determination keeps you afoot. Just enough to get you out - down the path again, and into the forest.

You've become fiercely protective.

Something had lingered after your eyes had first landed, but that small spark is nothing compared to the inferno that rages, now.

It takes all your strength to leave her there, in the grove. Where she's safe - the trees so old and twisting and the weeping branches so thick that surely, she'd be undetected.

But it's not all you must do.

Another flicker of images, passing so quickly you can’t catch them.

Bodies in the streets. Homes collapsed, caved in as if struck by a canon. Left shattered, in ruins.

There’s an echoing shout, a shadow as you flit back in between buildings, looking for any survivors.

A weight in your chest at this sight, repeated far too often. Your heart was too tender before now to tear this thorn bush out at the root.

But town is small, and there are none left. Everyone who could had already fled, and those behind were now gone. Left to linger as ghosts, or to move on.

Another flicker, another small leap in time.

A shadow that you don't see, as you move through down the main road. A pain like you've never known erupting in the small space between your pauldron and the curve of your gauntlet.

So close to your new mark that you're striking out, snarling. Your arm weighed down from the slice from the silver dagger - if you had blood to spill your clothes would be stained with crimson.

A stranger looms in front of you now. Flanked by another. Torches in their hand - the glint of the dagger catching in the light, stained with a black ichor from where it bit into your skin.

The second, smaller - hands wrapped around an ancient, gnarled staff.

Vampire Slayers. You can smell their stench. The acrid taste of magic on your tongue, something you ignored in your search.

“We knew you'd come."

The whisper is low, taunting.

“You always do.”

Fury licks at you. Giving you the strength to draw your blade, the black sword a heavy weigh in your hand. A growl in your throat as you lunge at the first - the dagger held in two hands as it collides with your downward swing.

Another, and then another.

The ache is ignored with your dance, the slow circling of footsteps. The second Slayer murmurs an incantation, but is battered away by the first.

“I shall do this." She hisses, with the turn of her head.

The distraction is all you need - a hand fisting in her robes, the sound of ripping cloth. A burst of strength to pull them forward, as your blade pushes in, and then sweeps.

With a rattling gasp, her cloven body crumples.

Your vision swims then - blooming with a light that arcs across the cobbled street, all but blinding you.

Flames burn against your chest, with the collision of the blast. Your armor takes the brunt, as you shake it off. The tilt of your helmet as you face the witch - a step as your blade rises, ready to strike again.

She flees, then. With another swoop of her hand as words slip from her tongue. Bringing the building down, blocking the path with fallen stone and wooden beams.

Trapping you on the other side of the town. Amongst the ruins and the lives that had been ripped apart, in their quest to hunt you down.

Your thoughts swirl, as the edges of your vision go hazy.

It's calculated. It's too much.

There's too many - their footsteps overlapping as they circle around to box you in.

At your full strength you'd survive a battle like this - but even as your grip adjusts on the hilt, you know you can't last under the rising sun and with the burn of the silver.

You can't save them all, but you can save her. Your mate, someone you never thought existed, and now. And now-

You have to.

It's a promise, an sworn oath that sears into your skin. You'll come back-

But when you do... she's gone.

The stake and the dagger clatter to the floor.

It's more than you've ever processed. It leaves you weak, wobbly-limbed when he pulls back. An arm curls around your waist as he holds you against his chest, your fingers clinging onto his armor for support.

You see him in a new light. It’s clear now, you had watched that mark bloom across your own skin.

Captured by the swirl of emotions at the end, that desperation - the way it courses through you like an echo. There had been no animosity towards you, in his thoughts. Only... only...

But something eclipses this tender realization - another repetition, a tightness in your chest as you piece things together. Dread creeping in as the last missing piece clicks into place.

Because you knew those whispers. The tones had been in your own ears, those weeks ago. You knew the faces, the ones that flickered in and out of frame as Din had slipped from the city.

The witch. She had trained you. Had told you she passed down all she knew about the monster that had slain their sister.

"It was them," You breathe. "All along."

"Yes." He answers, simply.

Your eyes drop to the mark on his shoulder. Fingers tracing the edge, before they tug at where the fabric pools - revealing the edge of the swooping scar above his elbow. A deep mark, carved into knitted flesh. A final assurance.

"They told me..." The weight grows heavier, the words hard to speak, "They told me it was you. For over a year they told me all the awful things you did."

The fury that courses through you has you trembling - a firm hand guides you to the edge of the bed, letting you collapse against it.

They had been wrong. They had lied.

It leaves you wondering - just how far did those lies go? Your chest is tight as you suck in a breath, preparing to ask the question with an answer you’re afraid to know.

But you must.

“They said they knew you’d come.” You try to make your voice sound firm. It comes out quiet, in the silent room, “Do you think they knew I was your mate?”

Did they know, and yet still they convinced you? Twisting you, when it became clear you didn’t remember? The thought was cruel, something truly vile.

“No. We are more alike than you know.” His voice is hard, a grit of his jaw, “I am a foundling. I lost my parents to raiders when I was young. Brought up by the Mandalorians, before I was changed.”

You breathe out a sound of sympathy, some of your anger waning at his words. The thought of his loss, how it still so clings to him.

“I wasn’t always a good man, but swore that I would protect others when I became the Mand’alor.”

His words grow quiet, “They used that against me. They must have known I was there, and tried to draw me out. You were just caught in the middle. I am sorry.”

Your head shakes.

It’s not his fault. It’s not yours, either.

“We were both manipulated.”

His head turns, his eyes meetings yours for a long moment. There’s a slow nod of his head, the creak of leather and armor as he shifts, as you make room on the bed next to you.

He close now, enough that you can see the fan of his dark lashes as his eyes shut. A deep inhale, taken by instinct and habit, before they open again.

"I searched for you. For a long time. I just needed to know that you were safe.” Din’s jaw works, lost in thought, “But I wasn't able to track you down.”

Before he’s exhaling that sharp breath - coming back, “It was Fennec’s idea to announce that I was looking for a Companion. She picked people from the area, trying to find out news. I never realized-"

Never realized you had been with them, until your memories flickered in his mind.

"We were hidden." Your words are hollow - remembering the days spent travelling.

They had told you that it was for safety. Incantations murmured to keep the caves and abandoned houses near invisible. Always on the move, never staying for too long.

Sacrifices made for the greater good. They had told you, knowingly. You had thought it meant their lifestyle. The crushing weight of revenge, the awareness of what you must do.

Never telling you just how deep that went. How far they were willing to go to rid the world of their own perceived evil.

Unnatural and vile creatures of the undead, in their eyes. The sacrifice of a few was worth it, to take down a creature with infinite lifetimes. But with their obsession, their hands had become soaked in red. Swimming in it. Drowning.

They'd tried to make you kill the other half of your soul.

And you would have destroyed others with it. Ones that had treated you with nothing but kindness, Boba and Fennec and-

"Din." Your eyes are bright, meeting his. Tears of anger pricking at the betrayal - the force of their actions finally sinking in, "They told me to kill you. I almost did, I wanted to-"

He makes a soothing sound, "It wasn't your fault."

"But what if I had? You're my mate, what if-" The full force of the lies are hitting you now, panic rising in your chest at the thought of the loss.

He had looked for you. He had saved you. Din was your soulmate, and in your anger you had almost-

"Cyare," His voice grows firm, "Your thoughts are so open. I could not make sense of your memories until recently, but I could always feel your doubt."

He absolves you, as he reaches for your hand. Your own fingers curling around, entwining in a perfect fit.

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

His words, his touch, brings comfort. Your grip tightens in his and he meets it with the sweeping of his thumb over your skin. Soothing you, like he always had.

Leaving you both to your thoughts, for a moment longer. For you to focus on the weight in your heart, with just how deeply you have been fooled. As the anger begins to fester, in your long-opened wound. Poisoned down to the marrow.

He had known the beginning, but you knew the end. And together, as the pieces weave together - you think you finally understand.

That picture of deception, now crystal clear.

And you finally believe.

“What happens now?” You hear yourself ask.

Where do you go, from here? Is it too late to start again?

His hand slips from yours, as he stands. The look he gives you is long and solemn, as if he’s committing every detail of your face to memory.

“Now?” Din rasps, a sharp edge to his voice, “Now, I keep you safe. I should have left already.”

He looms above you now, as your hands press against the bedspread. The tilt of his head as his hands brace on his hips, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword.

His anger finally unmasked, with your final realization. Those feelings of protection breaking their way to the surface, sinking it’s claws into his skin.

“Left?” You echo - and you can see it, then - the change in his eyes.

The way your blood, your lifeforce, had infused him - the warm maroon shade shifting towards a bright, blazing crimson.

His lips part in a snarl, baring the points of his sharp canines. As an energy emanates, the room seeming to darken and close in around you.

As he sinks to a knee, all but swearing fealty. Bringing himself down to your level, as his voice drops, each world coming slowly.

“I want to rip them apart. Do you understand? I would burn the world for you, ner runi.”

It’s a confession, his voice so low and so sure. Like this was the only thing that matters, the thudding echo of his emotions jolting through you as you remember his grief at finding you gone.

In this moment, he is the Mand'alor. Beautiful and terrible, and you suddenly understand that fear that the name brings.

And for a second - it thrills you.

Because he is yours.

Because you are his and you never have to be afraid, again.

You nod mutely, and he softens. The ferocity still lingers but the snarl fades - fingers reaching out. Gentle against your skin as he cradles your jaw, mapping the curve of your cheek.

"Tell me that is what you want." His thumb brushes against your skin, achingly gentle. Asking for the permission to protect you, like he had promised.

You know he’d struggle, if you said no. Swallowing down the bloodlust, the guilt at turning a blind eye until it was almost too late.

But he would, for you.

If that is what you wanted. But your anger now has a conduit now, and it burns in your veins.

You know they won't stop, for how many times have they told you that exact thing? Twisted into monsters by their own obsession.

Your chin tips up, as you answer.

“Yes."

Sorry I mixed up the posting dates on this! I was so sure that today was the 28th! 😵‍💫 The finale (and the smut - thank you for your patience!) will be out on Thurs the 31st! Thank you for reading and I hope you liked the reveal! 💖

cyar’ika - darling/sweetheart | cyare - beloved/loved

ner runi - my soul

(Tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella, @spaceydragons, @-ohsolovely-, @survivingandenduring, @queenquazar, @alitaar, @dindjarinsslut, @creatureoftheunderworldd, @margowritesthings, @your-slutty-gf, @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl, @lovers-liability )

[passmethatcokezero]

ok now i need dino in bed…..

So I got two of this ask...👀👀 this has been loooooooooong overdue but here we go~~

tags: mommy/noona kink and mentions of overstimulation, pleading etc

Dino, in his blooming youth, would be very experimental when it comes to bed

Not only of different positions, but also in what other things may add spice on steamy nights

And given his lifelong background in dancing, his thighs and hips surely NEVER LIE

His fast thrusting is I N S A N E 🤯🤯🤯 makes you go ballistic

And how he clenches his thighs in every rides welcomes you to utopia

You two were making out soon as he arrived at your place. He was ranting about his worries, his insecurities that have been consuming his sleep, and you know just how to address it. He confessed it himself: kissing you, feeling your warmth, and making you his was like a drug to him (not that he has ever tried it) that takes all his pains away and takes him to a world he only dreamed he would inhibit alone with you if he could.

"Feeling better?" You murmured as you traced his cheek with your thumb, head nodding to respond. He was straddled between your bare thighs where his hands were comfortably rested. "You needed more, don't you?" His hard thigh under your already pooling core clenched to your sultry voice, a soft moan then escaped his shiny lips as you began rocking your hips.

Your hand went straight to his growing bulge inside his trainer shorts as he kisses you deeper than earlier. Your lungs, as if catching his filthy sounds, produces its own, creating a lullaby that soothes his mind.

"Noona..." He was catching his breath as he presses you harder against his thigh. Sweat forms on both your foreheads as tension rises and kisses went sloppy.

You won't ever confess it to him, but him calling you noona drowns you in a spiral of feelings. "Hmm?"

He was unresponsive, as he rests his head back against the wall. Eyebrows meeting in pleasure with his mouth wide open.

"Say it baby," you whispered, making him look at you as you take of your shirt, erect nipples out in the free at last. "Say you want me and you'll gonna get it."

"I... I want you, noona." As soon as he said it, your damp mound found its way to his released cock, humping its length. The friction against your soaked undies was enough to get you two moaning in chorus.

"T-there's... ahhh... there's something in the way..."

You smirked at his impatience. "Oh baby, i know. It's because you forgot something."

It didn't take him long to realize it, and with his desperation the word rattled out his lips like a verse. "Please, please please... noona please..."

And him being your baby just makes it all perfect

He is probably a switch, but likes to be your love little boy most of the time

He wants your attention all to himself

He can make you cum just as how fast he learns choreography

Would even be so mischievous or boastful about it (be it in the open hinting some innuendos or in private when he is teasing you about how confident you look outside but folds underneath him)

And you have no idea what your squirming underneath his release does to him

He is also good with his tongue (he is an all rounder all right)

Airy giggles during sex (and a very sexy one at that)

Seeks praises like how he asks for cuddles

Which you are very generous of as he is to you

Once confessed that he practices at the restroom (with his hand to the thought of you) because he wants you to have the best sex yet every single time

"Why don't you just ask me?"

"Like what... have sex with you every single day?"

"You what!? You pervy little—"

He smirks as he flips a pancake for him after serving you two pieces on a plate, topped with banana slices drizzled with honey and cinnamon, and a bit of soft butter just as how you liked it.

"You see, that's how I improved my dancing. Practising each day." he then looks at you intently after a playful wink, with sincerity you only see when he dances on stage. "Well, it's not like I can do that with you regularly. You're not just some toy or a thing."

(((he has an enormous respect for you okay? a no is a no for him. no more pleading and all that. that's why you two have agreed to be vocal and straightforward when it comes to it.)))

Feels powerful when he's dominant

And yet succumbs to your majestic touches and lustrous whispers

SUB with a dominating mask if I should say

can be really funny too when he is in a bright, casual mood, cracking jokes here and there

you cant believe you’re addicted to laughing at his punchlines while on top of him

clenching around him as you roll your hips is a bonus for him when he makes you cackle

actually the best sex with him are thise filled with laughters

Goes shy when you swallow his seeds

Because he believes it is not something to be ingested

(((what a pure boy)))

"Damn... I am never going to get used to your mouth..." his mouth is wide agape, drool almost pooling of his mouth. "Bbay you're so fucking good."

It was the eve of his birthday. The man was a moaning mess and you could care less about your neighbors, anyway he deserved it for a special treat on his birthday which he wont be able to spend with you as he had a prior schedule for a shoot early morning tomorrow.

"Uh... yeahhhh.... uhhh shit..." He grew quiet of words and only moans and curses and some lewd noises from your mouth echoed in the room. His pitch was getting higher, an indicator he is close to cumming.

No words still coming out as he had his release. He was panting so hard after his long gutteral moan when he paints his arousal inside your warm mouth.

"I'm... I'm sorry...." it was almost inaudible but he managed to speak of it whilst petting your head. "Spit... spit it out... noona,"

Too late, you thought. No way his cum goes to waste.

"Baby... you're too sweet I'm afraid I don't want it anywhere else but my mouth."

edging!!! gosh edging turns him on so much

so yes he might be into foreplay

or even a foreplay before the foreplay

OVERSTIMULATION is one of his kinks like!!!

he finds it too hot when he know he had to beg you to stop (which in no way he means it fully)

that's the only time he has told you that every stop he syas meant go on

cos his body wants to be consumed by YOU

and you basically would k!ll for his whimpers and begs

cos thats your baby boy right there

and you want nothing else but him begging you go harder, writhing and almost tearing up in pleas

(((he was your mommy kink awakening)))

you'll be surprised of his endurance and stamina

like boy, you had multiple rounds and yet he could go on for more unless you remind him he needs his sleep

and like nothing happened, he would walk around casually like his core was not stimulated during the whole things

(well maybe that's an advantage of being a gym rat and an active dancer)

baby boy becomes the big man when it comes to after care

you will most definitely get the princess treatment, just like outside your sex life

STREAM DINO'S WAIT!!!

[angelltheninth]

Can I make a request of Sung Jin Woo being the reader's childhood best friend?

They are so in love with each other but reader is highly insecure and believes that he is in love with Cha Hae In?

Readers gets jealous and vent it out with Jin Woo when he asked what's wrong?

If possible, can this request be NSFW?

(You can do this any time and not rush. I really love your work and this is my very first request.)

I'm very excited that this one is getting an animated adaptation next year.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, insecurity, self-doubt, reassurance, comfort sex, kissing, praise, jealousy

A/N: There are so many cool webtoones and manhwa out there I'm glad a lot of them are getting the recognition they deserve.

Jingwoo agreed to meet you at your favorite café to talk about what has been bothering you for the past few months. He's seen your performance get worse and worse but he hasn't seen the cause of it. As your long time friend however he would offer you any help he can. First it comes in the form of caffeine and sweets, then in words of encouragement but none seem to get through to you. You can see that Jingwoo is worried about you but if you told him what was bothering you you're worried it might end your friendship. But not telling him could also end your friendship because you've been avoiding him a lot lately.

"Tell me what's been bothering you. It's bad enough to make you slip up and you know that's not really an option out there. If I can help you out in any way I will. That's what best friends are for right? And it's not just me, I know any one of your friends would say the same."

You don't want him to keep worrying so you need to bite the bullet and let him know about your jealousy. You don't blame Jingwoo for falling for Cha Hae at all, she's inspiring and good looking and can be by his side in fights during battles better then you can. It's not him who is at fault here and you're sorry if you ever made him think so. This is an issue purely born out you being unable to see your childhood friend and longtime crush falling in love with someone else.

"Cha Hae? I don't have a crush on her. She's an amazing ally, she's fun to spend time with but... I've got my eyes on someone else. I have since before the System made me who I am. It's you, even when I was an E-Rank Hunter you were always supporting me, and after everything that's happened you're still by my side. You have no one to be jealous over, there's no one that can ever take your place in my heart."

He rushed you both out of the café because the tension of your confessions made the air so damn thick. You didn't last a minute with your clothes on after getting to your place, and neither did Jingwoo. He was even more impatient to get you naked. His cock began to get hard on your way here, causing him to stumble up the stairs a few times. You find yourself on your back on your bed and Jingwoo taking in every detail of your body, as well as pinning your hands so you can't hide from his eager lips leaving their marks on you.

"Don't hide, do you forget we grew up together? You don't have anything to be ashamed of. Do you have any idea how many nights I spend busting a nut to you? So many tissues gone into the trashcan because my cock couldn't go down when I thought about how wonderful and sexy you are. It makes me feel better that you couldn't keep your hands still either. Now we don't have to hide. Please, can I make love to you?"

When you cried it wasn't because Jingwoo was hurting you and being too rough, you cried because the person you loved not only loved you back but he was also kissing you, thrusting his cock in and out very gently actually, much too gently for someone of his strength. Clenching around him only served to make him push his cock in deeper but not faster, he wanted this to last for as long your hole could take his cock fucking it. He wanted to make up for all those cumshots he lost in his hand.

"How long do you think you can go for? We can take a break, I don't mind cuddling with you. In fact I think it's great idea. We can talk come more until the soreness goes away. So tell me, how long did you know you were in love with me? Cause for me it was at least a few years back now. Hm? Damn, that long huh? Actual childhood then. Sorry I left you pining for so long. Promise I'll make it all up to you."

[eupheme]

— In Bloom

Alfred Pennyworth x F!Reader

Rated E - 7.3k

Tags: sex pollen, dub-con because of sex pollen, pure pwp, mutual longing/pining/crushes, manipulation, touching, aphrodisiacs, spitting, mild oral fixation, fingering, oral sex, multiple orgasms, begging, PiV, cum eating, cum play

A/N: had a thought about polite and proper Alfred losing his filter, and wanted to see where it could go

When Alfred finds himself under the effect of a strange pollen at the hands of Poison Ivy, Bruce realizes your thinly-veiled crush might just be the balm that is needed.

A knock on your door in the middle of the night is never a good thing.

Especially when the one who is doing the knocking is none other than your employer - Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne, who likes to sneak down to Applied Sciences steal your prototypes.

Bruce Wayne, who you’ve found like to dress up like a vigilante - using said prototypes.

Bruce Wayne, who has a butler that you have a massive, massive crush on.

You’re scrubbing a palm across your eyes as you stumble towards the door, where he’s still knocking. It has to be him - no one else would stop by unannounced so late like this.

“I’m coming,” You call through the door, as you work open the deadbolt - cracking the door open. “What are you doing here?”

“Speeding up a timeline.” Bruce says cryptically - pushing his way inside as soon as it’s wide enough.

A mark carved between his eyebrows, as he paces. Shadows under his eyes, the remnants of grease enhancing them.

“What do you mean?” Your back presses against the door, worry starting to flood through you.

A sigh, then. A hand, raking through his hair - pushing the dark strands back from his forehead.

“It’s… Alfred.”

You’re wide awake now, on high alert.

“What wrong with him?”

“There’s…” There’s the huff of a strained laugh, disbelieving, “Been a situation. I think you’re the only one that can help him.”

Your stomach feels like it’s dropped down your ankles. Confused by his appearance, his words, his laugh.

Feeling so out of place in your own home, struggling to understand in a way that feels so different than when he’s three steps ahead on a project.

“He needs someone to take care of him.” He says it delicately, with a matching grimace, “We don’t have much time.”

You’d do anything to help. But still unsure of what he means, exactly.

“Why me?”

Bruce sighs - frustrated, that you haven’t caught up. The brief eye contact breaking as his hands shove into his heavy, black jacket.

“I know he’s been seeing you.” He states, “Will you come, or not?”

It had your heart freezing in its place. A soft ringing in your ears as you stare at him.

Because he’s not exactly wrong.

You been spending time together. Tinkering on fixes for Bruce - his extra set of hands and extensive knowledge more than useful.

And you think… that there is something.

Something there in the quiet way that time passes during the night. Brushing fingers and shared music and quiet murmuring.

The low timber of Alfred’s voice - murmuring praise when you work through an issue together.

That’s good. Smart girl.

A look that passes between you, when you see him off from the lab. The way he lingers, the way you can’t help but lean in.

The way you’re almost certain he’d been thinking about kissing you, just the day before.

But you never dreamed that anyone else would know.

Your words sound muted, as you ignore his question to ask your own, “How do you know that?”

“When I send him out to see you, he comes home whistling.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re burning, “So?”

“It means he’s happy. He hasn’t been in a long time.” Bruce sighs, his foot tapping, “And I’d like to keep him that way and not dead, or worse. So I’ll ask you again - will you come?”

“Wait.” You squeak, “Dead?”

A shoulder lifts, and then drops.

He tells you what happened.

The signal in the sky, his rush to the lab downtown only to find Poison Ivy already clearing it out. Dealing with her - only for Alfred to find a single, ruby-red petal in the car, when he had arrived back at the Tower. Unsticking from a cape where it had been carefully placed, a trap meant for Bruce.

One that had dissolved into a fine powder the second he picked it up. Coating his fingers and inhaled as he had coughed.

Flooding through his system, as he has swayed - Bruce guiding him up to his room to rest. To plan.

“I’m still figuring it out. I was able to save some of the powder to process.” He tells you, “So far, it’s been identified as an aphrodisiac.“

An aphrodisiac. The word rattles around in your brain, nudging at memories of a biology class - a heat rising to your cheeks.

“When I left, his heart rate was high. A rising fever, and he mentioned pain.” He rattles them off, pulling up an app on his phone, showing the readouts, “I don’t want to sedate him unless I have to.”

You can see it on the screen - the too-high heartbeat. The body temperature that ticks up a fraction of a degree, right in front of you.

There’s an uncomfortable pause, before he adds, “If it’s a biological effect, then I thought it could be eased. Naturally.”

So that is what he had meant, when he said taking care of. How it has to be you.

Bruce’s grimace tells you that you’re in the right track, as he watches you process.

“Okay.” Worry and something else - something warm and syrupy - swirl together in your chest.

“I’ll… I’ll help him.”

Your knuckles rap against the tall, heavy door. A thin silver disk shoved into the pocket of your sleep shorts - as you try not to think about it.

A fail safe, just in case. Press it if something goes wrong, and Bruce will come.

No answer comes, and your fingers curl around the handle. Unlocked, as they slowly twist, as you nudge open the door.

You’re not expecting Alfred to look furious, when you slip through the doorway. Shutting the door behind you firmly, resisting the urge to lock it.

There’s a strained look about him, clenched teeth and a pinched brow. Still a picture of elegance, even now. His hair still damp from a cleansing shower, neatly combed back.

Still slipping into dark trousers and a crisp white shirt afterwards - the buttons loosened at his throat, exposing skin.

A low curse hissed though his teeth - one that you’ve only hear him use the time you’d sliced your finger open while working together.

“It’s okay,” You’re telling him, placatingly. Moving towards him, where he’s sprung up from the bed.

A better idea of what you might need to do - the thought like a flame in your chest, creeping up to your ears. Too late to turn back, now that you know how dire the situation was.

Not that you wanted to.

Not that you would.

“I want you to turn around, and go back through that door.” Alfred all but growls - stepping further away from you.

Back against the side table, then over to the desk, tucked against the wall. A rattle of metal and wood, as he grasps at the edge.

“I’m here to help you.” You frown, still moving closer.

He’s started to eye the open doorway to the left - leading to the en-suite. Wordlessly you shift in front of it to block him, as something flickers across his flushed face.

Before his eyes close - his jaw ticks.

“You’re here because Bruce asked you to be.” He manages, “I’m not going to let you make a mistake.”

That has you halting, your hands moving to brace against your hips.

“He wants to help you.”

Alfred’s head shakes minutely.

“He’s trying to solve a problem. He’s pragmatic, and he’s compromised by emotion,” The words are labored, and from the closer distance you can see the shine of those bright, blue eyes. Can smell him, even - clean linen and cologne barely masking the scent of him.

“He doesn’t care about using you.” He insists, “But I won’t let that happen. Not even if…”

Alfred trembles, his hand tightening against the chair that he’s backed himself against, “Even if I wish for it. Desperately.”

The words linger like his scent, wrapping around you. Bruce’s comment making more sense, as something seems to bloom in your own chest at his admission.

Speeding up a timeline.

That maybe, you were right. About that something that sparks between the two of you.

The way he leaned last time - how your face had tipped up. Wishing and hoping, before the shrill rhythm of the ringtone had him stepping back.

Retreating.

“Is it the pollen, that has you saying that?”

You need to know.

The frown softens, as he sighs.

“It weaponizes desire. It pushes those feelings up to the surface, and renders you incapable of any other thought.” He tells you.

“But, they are mine.”

The tension in the room is palpable. The heave of his chest as he find himself unable to push himself further away.

As you step closer, and then closer. Your own heart in your throat and desire sparking to life and curling in your belly.

Trying desperately not to look down, to there the fabric pulls tight on his trousers. The hand that unconsciously cups himself, to ease some of that ache.

“Let me help you.” You beg.

He makes a low sound in his throat. The smallest shake of his head.

Still resisting, still so put-together. Utterly convinced that he’s cornered you into something you will regret.

Your tongue wets your lips and his eyes drop greedily. Longingly.

“Bruce said…” You begin, trying to explain, “He said it would hurt, if you couldn’t. That you might…”

You skip the words. Swallowing them down with a shake of your head, “I won’t let that happen.”

His chin juts forward, “If that’s what I must do to protect you-”

That has your teeth clenching as you move closer. Stopping just in front of him, as his fingers grasp at the chair, knuckles going white. All those years of self-control still clinging to him, even as his eyes widen.

“I thought I was your smart girl?” You ask him, watching how he shudders at that. Panic starting to flutter at his words, what he seems to be willing to do.

How his eyes seem to darken then, lips parting as he inhales.

“You are.” He rasps.

Slowly, you reach out towards him. How he stiffens, as your hands hover - just for a second, before cupping his jaw. The bristles of his beard tickling against your palm as he leans into your touch, his eyes closing.

“Then trust me.” You coax. His look is sharp when they open, “I wanted you to kiss me. I want you. I always have. I know this isn’t what I imagined, but you can’t leave me-”

He can’t. Not Alfred.

Alfred, who comes by just to check on you. Who makes sure you remember to eat. Who smiles, when he sees you. That soft voice humming along to the music you pick, as those hours pass. Exchanging quiet confessions at night, that no one else knows.

Who you look forward to seeing, more than anyone else.

Who you are so certain you were in love with, if the prospect wasn’t so goddamn terrifying.

You’re still pleading, as he lets go.

Leaning into the desire like he leant into your touch. Halting your words as his head tilts, his nose skimming against your cheek before his mouth is pressing hungrily against yours.

Your hand drops from his jaw to press against his neck. His heart thudding against your palm as it wraps around, fingers brushing the shorn-short hair.

The kiss soft for only a second, before it turns searing. An arm curling around your side, the hand pressed between your shoulder blades. He groans into your mouth before he’s tracing the seam of your lips, as his other hand grasps at your hip.

Drawing you in, as your own moan buzzes in your throat. Parting eagerly for him, as his tongue strokes yours, then licks into your mouth. It’s easy then, to spin you around.

Your shoulders knocking against that high-backed chair, as he steps into you. His body melding to yours, as he helplessly grinds himself against you. Rocking the hard curve where he strains - rutting himself against your hip, the kiss breaking so he can inhale a sharp breath.

“My smart girl.” He groans, his voice like gravel. Fingers pinching, as his cheek presses against yours, “Figuring out how to fix me.”

“I will,” You promise. Breathless, as your heart hammers in your chest, thudding between your thighs, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

His grip tightens, hips jerking forward and grinding into the curve where your hip meets thigh, “I know, darling. Know you will-”

“Let me take you to bed,” You coax, shoved between him and the back of the chair. “Come on, baby.”

You don’t know where that soft name comes from. Pushed out from your heart, affection melding with worry and desire. But he shivers when you say it - needing the tenderness, the gentle direction.

Not used to either. Helpless, against it.

Reluctantly stepping back as your reach for his hand. Large and warm in yours as you cross that short distance. A nudge to his shoulders has his back pressing against the mattress - scooting up to headboard as you follow.

Stern eyes softened and fixed on yours, pupils blown wide with the pollen. Half-pushed up on elbows, the unbuttoned shirt pulling open at his chest, watching as you kneel next to him. Shrugging off your jacket - draping it over the divan at the foot of the bed.

As his hands find you, like before. Catching you before you’re settled - gasping with surprise as they slide under a knee and around your waist and hoisting you onto his lap.

The part of your thighs framing where he’s aching, a rumbling groan as your weight settles on him. As your hands splay across his chest, knees pressing into the mattress.

His eyes dragging over you then, as if you were something precious. A priceless piece of art.

As if you were dressed in something other than your pajamas- an oversized Wayne Enterprises t-shirt, patterned sleep shorts.

Not wasting time to change, as you followed Bruce down to his car. Grabbing your jacket, and not much else.

His fingers reach out, skimming from knee to thigh. A finger toying with the hem of your shorts, tracing against your skin.

“You look beautiful,” He tells you, voice strained as his other palm presses flat against his abdomen. Teeth gritting as he suppressed a groan - a red-hot cramp in his guts.

He’d endure it, if he had to. It would be nothing, compared to what he’s had to before.

But that was before you had arrived, before things had turned so complicated and so crystal clear, all at once.

Your face twists with worry, a hand covering his and squeezing. The other hovering where his splay wide to press against his shirt.

“H-Have you tried?” You venture, feeling embarrassed at having to voice your question. Shy, in spite of everything.

His hand is hot in yours. A sign of his body working overtime to fight off the effects. Something that Bruce said will lead to his ruin.

“In the shower.” Alfred managed, an intake of air hissed through his teeth. An upward flex of his hips, into the air as he remembers.

Working his fist over, again and again. Thinking about you even then, shame burning as bright as the fever.

“It didn’t work. I couldn’t-”

The words die off. Teeth grit as his muscles string tight, sweat dotting across his brow.

You swallow, trying not to picture it. Trying to resist the urge to shift forward - trying to stay focused on him, to fix this like you said you would.

“Do you want to try again?” It comes out as a waver, and you have to clear your throat, “I could kiss you. Or…”

The burn in your cheeks rival his - your eyes dropping to the neat line of buttons.

He huffs a laugh, despite it all. Humor twisting into the pain, “Or you’ll give me a hand, darling?”

You want to tell him you would. That you’d do anything, for him. Bruce could have called you for any reason - you would have come.

Instead, you lean down to kiss him. How he relaxes when there’s something to take the edge off the pain. Catching the hands that roam across your hips, dragging one down to where he strains.

You’ll keep you eyes shut. You’ll be good.

His gasp is swallowed by the press of your mouth. Shifting in his lap as he works the button open on his trousers. Shoving down the elastic waistband to free himself.

Your tongue traces his lower lip. His free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, to hold you there - hovering over him. Feeling the jerk of a fist between your thighs, how his body moves as he flexes into the touch.

Trying to quell the fire that burns in his veins. That’s only seemed to become hotter since you’ve arrived. Desire twisting into his guts like a knife, making his own touch feel slow and muted.

Not nearly enough.

Frustration tinges his low groan, as his hips jerk angrily into his fist.

“I can’t. I need you, please-” He pants in your mouth, and in desperation - your hand covers his.

The kiss breaking as his moan turns sharp, as you glance down between you. To where he curves, thick and leaking above coarse, grey-flecked curls. The tip flushed red and glossy.

His hand loosens to make room for yours. Achingly hard and hot in your grip, as you mimic his strokes.

Letting go for just a second as he whines, saliva swirling on your tongue before you’re lifting off him. Settling next to him on the bed as your head dips, catching the spit on your palm before you’re slicking up further. Each jerk of your fist loud and filthy in the quiet room.

Concentrating on the pressure and your rhythm as you stroke him, risking a sideways glance up to see him watching - a flex of his hips into your fist when your eyes meet.

You’re sure yours look worried, “Does this feel good?”

The hand on his stomach drops to the bed, twisting in the sheet.

“Darling.” He rasps - his eyes drifting shut then, as your other hand comes to cup him. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve wished it was your hand instead of my own.”

His words make you throb, his cock jerking with this admission. Unsure if you can keep up the pace he needs, as your head dips again to give him more.

The pink point of your tongue tracing the seam of his sack. Swollen and heavy as he snarls, his hand coming to cup the back of your head.

“Oh god, please-”

Guiding you to his cock, as he begs for you to take him into your mouth. Tasting like salt and skin as he inches inside, thigh muscles jerking under your hands as he resists the urge to bury himself in your throat.

Sucking on the tip before you take him further. Rising up on yours knees for better leverage, leaning over him with a hand braced against a thick thigh.

Bobbing your head as your take him deep, and then deeper. Swallowing him down until your eyes are pricking with tears from the effort. Leaving his cock slick and messy with spit, as the muscles in his abdomen flex.

“You feel so goddamn good, sweetheart.” He moans, unable to help his words or the shallow thrusts now. Pumping himself into your mouth as your hand slips across what won’t fit. “B-Better than I ever imagined.”

His breathing now short, labored. Fixed on watching your lips stretch around - struggling to take him. Catching the press of your thighs as you squeeze them together, your panties close to soaked through already.

His fingers drift. Up your knee again, the soft skin of your inner thigh.

Your hand pumps and pumps as your eyes flutter shut. Buzzing groans that travel down the flushed shaft to where his sack pulls tight - so close to the release he’s been aching for.

The groan pitching low and long when his fingers pet against the seam of your sleep shorts. A little buck of your hips into his hand as his fingers press the fabric against your clit.

Pulling back to slip beneath - meeting soaked, hot flesh.

You pull off him long enough to croak his name, as his fingers circle the tight bud. The jerk of your fist tight as his ministrations start to waver, his attention splintering.

“Darling, fuck-” He grits out, with the rise and fall of his chest. “Keep going, just like that. You have me so close-”

Unable to help watching his face as you stroke him. Slick pumps as his hand clutches at the sheets, the soft “oh-” of his breath coming shorter and louder.

Your head ducks, then. Taking him into your mouth as he shatters. Growling out your name as he floods your tongue with each heady pulse of his cock, almost choking as you swallow him down.

Coming hard, with his fingers still pressed against your pussy. With only thoughts of you in his mind, some of that haziness worked out of his system.

Alfred doesn’t pull away, as that tightness loosens - as he relaxes back onto the mattress. Instead, his fingers trace down.

One teasing as your opening. Waiting until your soft “yes, please” before it’s sinking inside. Fucking you with it, never leaving you wanting for anything.

A steady pump of his finger - before a second dips along your entrance, fitting in with the first. A messy swipe of his thumb against the bead of your clit, as both press deep into you.

Groaning, as you find yourself relaxing against him. A hand still wrapped around his half-swollen cock. The pollen still flooding his system, the sharp edge just barely tempered.

“I-I’m supposed to be making you feel good.”

The protest is weak. Your words not nearly as effective when you’re rocking back to meet the wet press of his fingers as you moan - cheek pressed into the whorls of salt-and-pepper hair blanketing his chest.

He hums, low and rumbling. The hand not buried in you slipping against your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

“You are, darling. God, you are.” He encourages - rough and low and earnest, “The only thing better would be if you were sitting on my face.”

A second, as he amends it, “Or, my cock.”

His fingers press deep, and you keen. Mimicking how he’d do it, curling the tips until he’s stroking a spot that as you seeing stars.

You’ve thought about his hands before.

Ever-steady and strong - scars littering his knuckles that made you wish you knew the stories behind. Tapping fingers against the table as he thinks.

Knocking against yours when you both rushed to grab a component, during the triumph of a breakthrough.

Skillful, in the way that has you jealous. Manipulating parts with dexterous fingers. Never thinking about how they could ruin you but now - you don’t know how you could have missed it.

How you’ll never be able to think of anything else, now.

The hand at your cheek twists until his thumb can press against your lower lip. You part them for him, letting it press against teeth and tongue. Lips closing around him - sucking, as your eyes roll shut, as that sweet pressure begins to bloom and swell.

“Christ I want to fuck you.”

The messy pump of his hand grows louder, slapping now against your skin. The thrust of his fingers turning fast and unrelenting, pounding and pounding against that spot.

The knot in your stomach winding tighter, tighter, tighter. Teeth grazing and pinching his thumb as you groan, but his fingers just curl around your chin to keep your head steady.

“I could make you feel so good, love.”

You’re nodding - too far gone to protest. Rocking back to meet him, your lips releasing him so you can beg.

“Please,” You whine, “Want you to.”

His fingers stroke your cheek, then - hearing the rumble of his words under your ear as it presses to his chest, washing over you.

Fully hard in your hand now. Slick and flushed like before, as your fingers stretch to encircle him. A shallow buck of his hips to ease the friction, as he warns you.

“If I fuck you, I won’t want to stop. I’ll want you like this, every day. Do you understand?”

Your answer is no more than a ragged groan. Panting and open-mouthed, as he drags you closer and closer to a blinding release.

There’s pressure on your jaw, as he tilts your face up to his. His expression wanting and lips-parted as he waits desperately for your answer.

“Tell me you that you want this.” His voice goes low - each word pointed, “That you need it.”

A little bit of clarity, coming back with the release you swallowed down so willingly. Feeling more himself in his own head, even as that pressure begins to swell in his belly. As that sharp wave of desire crashes against him, again.

Needing to hear it. Almost as much as the need to follow through with his words - burying himself deep in you.

Your voice trembles on your answer, “Yes. Please-”

He groans through gritted teeth, his words labored. Thick in your hand, a small thrust as he holds himself back.

“And what do you need, darling?”

It’s so close you can taste it. The tightness building in your guts, turning your brain to a buzzing haze. Each slick pump of his fingers sending a skittering jolt down your spine.

“I need your cock.” You whine, “I need to come, Alfred. I need you-”

His hum is pleased, each thrust of his fingers sends his thumb across your clit. The rhythm steady and almost overwhelming as he pounds against the spongey spot within your tight, clenching walls.

“And I need you to come so I can fuck you properly.” He husks, as the swipe of his thumb sends you toppling over the edge, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

It feels like your heart stops, for a second. A shaky gasp of breath, before the pleasure floods through you in bright, pulsing beats.

Moaning something that feels like words - “oh god, oh my god-” into the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you, pulling you close. But it could just be warbled sounds, to your muted ears.

His fingers slow, but they’re still pressing in you. Drawing it out, as they become wetter with your release - louder.

“Look at you, soaking my fingers.” He murmured with approval, feeling how you drip down them, damping his palm, “Christ, I wish you making a mess on my cock instead.”

A chaste kiss pressed to the side of your head, as you come back to yourself. Feeling flushed and dizzy with pleasure as your lips brush his.

His hand eases from you, to wrap around his length. Smearing yourself on him, making him throb - that ache fully back.

“Turn around for me, darling.” He demands, his eyes heavy-lidded and wanting, “Hands and knees, now.

You peek up at him as you nod. Pulling back, tugging the layers of your top off. Leaving you bare, his eyes dragging over the soft weight of your breasts, the tight peaks that he fully intends to touch later, to taste.

“Leave those on.” He growls - as your fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts. As his own work at his shirt and trousers, “I want to take them off you myself.”

His words make you shiver, a slow dance as the mattress dips. As you shift around each other - you stretching out like a cat in front of him, a sway of your ass in the air as you push up onto your knees.

The way his spread, strong and sturdy as his hips fit against your soft curves. The brush of his length against your thigh, hanging heavy.

Fingers that move faster, rougher, than he wants to. A sharp tug as they curl around the waistband and pull - pushing them down your thighs, leaving the layers to pool around your knees.

Pressing into soft flesh, then. Cupping the curves of your ass as his fingers sink in, as he tugs you open for him to see.

“Mm. Look at how wet you are.” He groans, the touch of a his thumb against your slit. Pressing against your entrance, seeing how you swallow the tip - clenching around it, “Such a pretty little pussy.”

That path between his mind and his mouth - his filter, that enduring and ever-lasting politeness - was severed, some time ago.

Replacing propriety and inhibition with baser needs. Urges that he would deny he had, on another night. Swallowing down those words that slide from a silver tongue that doesn’t quite feel like his.

Even if the thoughts are, deep down.

You’re pushing back into him, breaking this brief moment of reverie. Desperate and needy in a way that has you half-wondering if you’ve been affected yourself, in some way.

Absorbing some of the pollen, with your joining.

Or is it just the weeks of desire - crashing over you like a wave against the shore? Utterly pulling you under and surrounding your every thought, until you’re drowning in them?

He angles himself against you. Sliding against your core, then up, with the curve of his cock. Against tight and sensitive skin that has you peeking over your shoulder, still trusting.

Taking him in, then. Strong shoulders, a smattering of hair you had pressed your face against. Marks against his skin of scars long healed - across his ribs, curling around a shoulder.

A tapered waist. Flicking back up to those blue eyes. A furrowed brow as he concentrates, a face you know well. One that sends your heart tripping over itself as it threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Are you-?” He asks, unsure of how to word it. Lips parted in a pant, that pressure against his chest coming back.

“Yes,” You arch against him - knowing what he’s asking, the way he’s holding himself back, “I’m protected. Baby, please-”

“Fuck.” Alfred grits through clenched teeth.

He’s imagined you begging before. Late at night, when he’s alone - with desperate jerks his fist. Never imagining he’d hear it, sighed so prettily through your lips.

Angling himself down, as your eyes close. A sharp intake of breath as the fat head of his cock sinks into you. Stretching you out even with your orgasm - your breath caught in your throat as his hands grasp at your waist, tugging you back.

Seating him fully into you, with a low groan. Already inching back so he can rock into you, starting shallow - each one pulling back a little more, pressing deeper.

“So tight,” He moans - a hand sliding down your back, “So perfect, oh-”

Losing himself in the relief. In the heat of your pussy, unable to help grinding himself as a hand curls against the juncture of your thigh. Gripping on as he starts to fuck himself harder into you - your fingers twisting into the sheets, gasping at how much he fills you.

The hand against your back presses down. You arch more, as your cheek rests against the mattress. The discarded shirt nudging against the stiff peaks of your nipples with each of his rough thrusts, sparking pleasure down your spine.

“Feel so good,” You manage, all but drooling. Groaning into the sheets as you rock back to meet him, the best you can.

The slap of skin is louder, wetter than his fingers. Your breath growing short as his cock ghosts against the spot his fingers pounded against. Twin groans as your arm twists around, so your fingers can slip between your thighs.

“I want to fuck you all day. Four, five times.” He breathes. Eyes dropping to watch the way he disappears into you, how you take him so perfectly, “Keep you right here beneath me. Leave you covered in me each night.”

Unrealistic as it is, the rasp of his voice - his words - do something to you. Your fingers pressing intently against your clit. A soft, groaning gasp with each sharp punch, breaking your pleasure out of the plateau, sending it higher.

Clenching down around him, fueled by the groans and sweet praise that he gives so freely. It has you wondering if he’s always this generous. A twisted hope that just maybe, on another night, you might get the chance to find out.

Wishing that the root of his desire won’t slip away at the end, with the rest. That he’ll still want you.

It’s almost pathetic how close you are already easy, your fingers circling just a little harder, a little faster.

“Christ, I can feel you,” He sighs, each word drawn out, released with the stroke of his cock, “I’m not going to last, love.”

You almost miss it, with the way your heart thuds in your ears. But the little word is the beginning of your undoing - your own tiny warble as your muscles string tight.

“Don’t stop,” You whine, as he shifts - pressing more of his weight against your back as he archs over you.

The angle changing just a bit, until he’s nudging that spongy spot that has tears springing to your eyes with how good it feels.

“Fuck, baby. Please don’t stop, please-”

His lips press against your shoulder, your neck - the hand at your hip planting near your shoulder for leverage. Teeth grazing skin as he keeps going, just like you begged.

Giving it to you, until you’re reaching for him. Your fingers wrapping around his as you come, the rock of his hips slowing so he can feel how you pulse around him. How you sob his name into the sheets with little bucks of your hips, riding it out until you’re loose-limbed and content - hazy, in your afterglow.

Never fully stopping the way he presses into you. Rolling and rutting as your tight grip loosens, though your hand stays trapped in his. His mouth pressing against your neck, then higher.

“Please tell me I can come in you,” His groan is filthy in your ear, “Tell me you’ll take it.”

The rough timber of his voice, the thought, as your own thoughts flowing freely.

“Please. I’ll take it,” You beg, “I need you to come in me.”

The hand on your back shifts, sliding beneath and flattening against your belly. Keeping you pressed flush against him as your begging tips him over.

You hadn’t watched, earlier. Eyes fluttering closed, concentrating on swallowing him down. Your head tilts to look, now.

Catching a clenched jaw, the scrape of his beard against your cheek. A breath pulled through those teeth before he groans your name, sounding so pretty to your ears.

Feeling the throb of his cock as he comes - the rock of his hips with each pulse. Warmth flooding inside you as he nudges it deeper.

Notching himself deep, as he relaxes. A soft sigh as his nose ghost the curve of your neck, his weight pressing you prone. Welcome, as you stretch out beneath him.

Your head tilts, smiling. His own matching, as lips start to brush. Starting soft and slowly growing needier as the minutes pass by, his cock still hard where it sits in you.

Gently easing himself out, hands coming to your waist, flipping you over. Peeling the shorts and panties from your ankles, dropping them off the edge of the bed.

Kneeling between spread thighs as his eyes drag down. Fingers tracing after - against your collarbones, your tits. Cupping and pinching as his tongue follows.

A little shift of your hips. More than satisfied, but unable to help the little flame that sparkle to life as he kisses the curves of your breasts. Then, going lower.

Shifting back on the bed, a thumb slipping over your folds. Smearing his cum against your skin, where it’s dripped down the curve of your thigh.

“May I taste you?” He’s asking, as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Wide-eyed with want, as you go to move - to clean up. His hands pressing into your hips, holding you there.

“L-like this?” You squeak, and his nod is slow, severe.

“Like this.” He tells you, simply.

You nod, leaning back against the pillows. A gasp when his tongue swirls against your skin, as he groans. Tasting his spend mixing with the salty tang of your cunt, the tip tracing from your entrance to the tight bud of your clit.

Alfred wishes that his veins weren’t still so pumped full of pollen. That his mind wasn’t fractured between want and need.

On another night, he’d take his time. Enjoy the way his fingers sunk into you - seeing how many you could take. Slowly drawing it out as his tongue teases, until your thighs are closing around him.

Until you’re begging.

Tonight, he can barely concentrate. Eyes closed as he tries to focus on your taste and not the unrelenting fire that scorches his insides. More than aware of the heat that beads at his forehead. The rapid thudding of his heart.

It’s eased, some. But it’s not enough.

You buck against his mouth. The soft, wet brush of his tongue, the way he looks - arms hooked around your thighs, strands of slicked-back hair breaking free and curling - has you insatiable.

The soft “please” is all it takes to sever his attention, blown-wide eyes lifting - finding yours. A hand passing over his jaw, smearing your slick across his beard, as he rises again.

Pulling your thighs up over his. Spreading them with strong hands, as he works himself inside you again.

Your back arching as he does, lifting off the mattress.

It’s an easier fit, this time. Still slick, as he pushes himself deep. Legs twitching in his grasp, trying to latch around his waist.

A gentle nudge, a stern look.

“Keep your legs open for me, darling.”

They fall open, for him.

You’ve never had it like this. So full as he starts fucking you again, pushing his cum out with each thrust. Coating his cock and starting to drip down your thighs.

He groans at the sight - the way he looks as you take him, again and again. The sentiments softer this time, as your soft moans fill the air.

“I want to take you out.” He rasps, eyes still locked on the way he shines with you, with his own spend, “Make you breakfast, after I’ve fucked you in my bed.”

Eyes finally meeting yours, his fingers tracing where you’re stretched wide around him. His voice dropping low, “After I’ve made all your pretty little holes mine.”

You whimper at the thought. How easily you agree, with a little nod of you head, “Yours.”

Eyes trapped in a loop from the pretty twist of his snarl - all furrowed eyebrows and concentration- down to his chest, trailing further.

Hips tilted just enough so you can see. The peek of his cock before the impact of his thrust, how it bounces you against the mattress. Making that need return, the build of something hot and twisting, low in your belly.

This time, he does it himself.

Gently batting your fingers away when they drift down. Sliding his own across your thighs, sticky and slick when they com back to press against your clit.

Building you up, and up, and up.

That ache quelled, like this. Enough where he can slow down, when he’s buried it you.

Your breathy gasps making his other hand clench against the fat of your hip, trying to keep his movements steady.

Cooing soft encouragement, as he feels the way you clench around him again.

“Make a mess for me, darling. It’s okay.”

That edge, creeping back as you moan his name, “Fuck, I want you to. Come on-”

You shatter. Stomach clenching at that pleasure ripples through you. Softer this time, coaxed from you instead of wrenched. The relief washing over sweat-dewed skin and wrapping around you.

He follows, soon after. With hands that tug you against him, meeting the lazy rock of your hips. Finding his own pleasure in yours - head tilted back as he stifles a sharp groan, pressing himself deep as he comes.

A silence settling, then.

Your arms rests over your face - teeth pressing into your lip as you grin. Chest heaving with your breath, his hands planted on either side of your hips.

That heavy fog of want almost gone now, the pollen leeched from his system. Still lingering on the edges of his mind - as his hand comes to cup himself.

Wanting it over with. Wanting to end this night with you with just himself in his head.

A twinge of overstimulation, fighting through it as his fingers wrap around his shaft. Slick and streaked with cum as he finishes himself, one more time.

His thumb smoothing across your thigh, as your arm drops. Feeling vouyeristic as you peek at him, now - the flex of his arm, of his chest.

“I know you’re tired darling.” He soothes, when his eyes pull from the place where he’s fucked you open and dripping, “Stay like that, just once more.”

Sleepy and slated, you nod - his fingers dipping down to collect more of the mess, before spreading it on his cock.

Your hand finds his and drags it up to your chest, letting him cup your skin. Ghosting over your hips and curves, his touch reverent.

Watching greedily this time, as his brows pull together. More in his head than ever, the night replaying in his mind. Your soft words and touch and how you came here, just for him.

How he hopes he can make it to you. That you’ll won’t run as soon as the night is over.

Affection swells, and then bursts. A throaty groan as he spills across his knuckles, dripping down to where he holds himself against your pussy.

Covering puffy folds with white streaks of his release, marking you in a way that burns into his chest, sears into his memory.

Coming back to himself, fully - then.

Relief brimming as he watches how you smile. Looking at home in his bed, your arms opening for him as he slowly bends, relaxes.

Needing you, thought not like before.

Needing your touch, as your arms curl around him. A tenderness, breathed out against your neck. One he doesn’t have to give, though he feels like he must.

“Thank you, darling.”

The heat of the water eases the pleasurable ache in your thighs, the space between them. A gentle swipe of a cloth as he wipes you clean, as your back presses into his chest.

Content to let your head lull against his shoulder, your hands wandering to massage his thighs, where the muscles pull tight from overuse.

Taking just another moment alone, before you fetch that little silver button in your shorts. Knowing that Bruce is waiting - worried - despite what Alfred said.

“So,” You’re the first to break the silence, “Were you serious about breakfast?”

Thinking back to what he said, in the heat of the moment. The late night hours spilling into a soft grey sky that promises a clear, beautiful morning.

A second of silence, before the words rumble in his chest, “If you’ll have me.”

His hand curling around you, possessive and comforting.

“Maybe Bruce was right. That this just sped things up.” Your fingers leave his thigh to float on the water, sending ripples across the surface.

Your confession quiet in the large room, “I meant it, when I said I wanted you.”

The grip on you tightens, his filter fully back in place. Stealing his words and his tongue, after all that has happened.

“Alright, breakfast.” He manages, “I’m yours.”

A small grin, as you tilt your head to peek at him. Seeing only affection in his eyes, and you think you understand.

Your voice pitches low, “And, what about the rest?”

The rest of what he had said. He groans at the reminder, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“That too.” A huff of a laugh, his thumb brushing against skin, “Though we might need to wait, at least a little bit.”

Then, growing serious, “I know we skipped some steps darling. But I meant it, as well.”

His hand find yours - fingers entwining. Squeezing.

“I want you. I want to do this properly. Dates, flowers, everything.” A moment, as he considers, amends, “Though perhaps… no roses. At least, not for a little while.”

“Alright,” You smile, settling back down against him. The water sloshing over the edge, but at the moment - you’re both too tired to care.

“No roses.”

(0 pressure tagging some friends that commented on the sneak peek! 💕 @the-dazzling-urbanite, @the-eyes-of-andyserkis, @celestianstars, @vellichormybeloved, @ohheyitsokay, @princessxkenobi, @avarkriss, @arthurmorganstinkydick, @proud-to-know-you, @weirdsociology, @cat-shapedgoo, @themilesgmorales, @ghotifishreads, @communism-bitches )

[xxsycamore]

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄

↬ 💜 You give Clavis a taste of his own medicine, as you mess with his thighs for a change.

Clavis Lelouch x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Thighs; Thigh kink; Light Bondage; Light Femdom; Light Dom/sub; Petnames; Dirty Talk; Not Wearing Underwear; Clothed Sex; Frottage; Dry Humping; Thigh Suspenders; Marking; Teasing; Thigh Fucking • wordcount: 2,455 • masterlist

a/n: After we gave this treatment to Jin, it's Clavis' turn. Happy Birthday, Clavis!! So let's settle it once and for all, are racks or legs better?

"Ahaha…tying my hands too, darling? Is that necessary?"

Tightening the knot as if to answer him non-verbally, you know the following hiss of pain is overdramatized, very much in Clavis' style. The knot isn't even that tight.

"Yes, it is. I'm sure I share the desire of restricting your movements for safety measures with a lot of people."

"Ah, but, none of them experience the full capabilities of those hands like you do."

You smile while you're still behind Clavis, even if you feel like he can tell you do without looking.

"So that gives me all the more reason to tie you up every once in a while, Clavis! I'll avenge them by torturing you a little in return, and the balance in the universe will be restored."

When you return in front of Clavis, you give him one long look from head to toe. You've already discarded his coat and unbuttoned his shirt all the way down, leaving his chest bare so that he's fully dressed only from the waist down. His tight white trousers remain as he sits with his legs slightly parted, unable to maintain a more presentable posture with his hands tied behind the chair's back. The same can't be said about his trademark shit-eating grin though, as stripping it off his face would require more than just that.

"My, what did I get myself into? Here I thought I was being a kind and loving partner, agreeing to be played with… too bad my wife is a pervert."

"Oh poor you. You're getting a full program centered on the one thing that gets you hard in seconds and somehow you still manage to complain."

The hand you lay on his thigh emphasizes your point. Clavis' eyes bore into it for a hot second before returning to your gaze. He can probably tell that the edge to your tone is but an act, too, but can you be blamed when he's once already stated you're hot when you're mad at him? Nothing stays hidden for long from those cunning amber eyes. But he'll play into it gladly.

"Perhaps you got it wrong - while I do strongly believe the thigh is the most erotic body part there is, I meant the one of my partner. I doubt you'll get much of a reaction out of me, being put on the other end of things, hahaha!"

So confident. That's exactly what motivated you to get this far, and you're more than eager to prove him wrong.

"Then you won't mind me taking a seat here… all that talk is seriously starting to tire me off."

You make yourself comfortable on his lap, wrapping a hand around his neck as you sit sideways. Your left leg shifts over your right.

"You should've sealed my mouth too, in that case! Ahaha!"

Being close enough to practically feel his bared chest expand with the hearty laughter, you're way too interested in noting the tiniest of reactions you can get out of him to exaggerate on how right he is. Your legs shift again as you uncross them.

"Tsk, you're not the most comfortable chair there is… I see that you're not doing a good job of keeping your legs closed for me so I'll have to sit like this instead."

Without further explanation, you briefly stand up just to resume your sitting in another second - this time straddling just one of Clavis' legs. You make sure the movement is swift but slow, your bottom floating over his leg until you finally sink down on it, hands resting on his shoulders.

There is a surprise for him. He finds out in an instant.

"Forgot to put on panties, dear?"

You've waited for this moment for too long to dwell on his scary perception and whether you're too hot or too wet to give yourself away so soon. You play coy, going as far as to act surprised, lifting the hem of your dress to "check", thus flashing him a glimpse of your pussy.

"I'm afraid yes… but surely you don't mind?"

An assuring whisper of "Not at all" is fleeting by your earlobe as Clavis nudges his chin closer to the side of your face. As if to remind him you're the one in control of the distance between you, you straighten your arms, still holding onto him as your torso tilts backward, and you smirk at him. The angle shifts again when you get close anew, this time embracing him fully on. Your clit presses firmly against the rough texture of his trousers when you're arched forwards like that, and you hold onto this position. Grind down a little.

"Ah…"

Surprisingly, Clavis is the one to vocalize the first spark of pleasure that all this tension-building back and forth led to - despite that pleasure being solely yours. Curiously, you keep the movement of your hips, using the lavage of your toes that barely touch the ground.

Clavis' thigh is the perfect width to straddle and the perfect hardness to hump. Better than any pillow in the royal palace of Rhodolite. The many years spent on horseback shaped his legs to perfection, but the cushioning is still enough to not consider him boney - and frankly, you could stay right where you are forever, wasn't it for the pulsing, demanding arousal in your core. Even if you come out of tonight's naughty game with a self-indulgent orgasm only, you'd still consider yourself a winner.

"Ahhh…haha… if you're able to use them as a tool of pleasure, then maybe I can recognize the worth of my own thighs! Though, I have to remark, any arouse that comes to me now would be directly tied to the sight that you are right now, bunny."

"Mmm…that's not good… I need to hurry up and deprive you of that sight then if I want to prove anything."

Too lost in a heaven of your own making, you ride Clavis' tight, enjoying the undisturbed flow of pleasure that would otherwise be mercilessly cut off by his usual teasing - were his hands free in this moment, that's it. Setting the pace to your liking, going at it as fast as you want, you ride his thigh to your heart's content - or at least until the pleasure suddenly peaks and your body is overtaken by sweet convulsions. Clavis is not able to hold you throughout them like usual, nor to fuck you throughout them so the stars before your eyes become fireworks, but it's more than enough.

"Ah… I stained your pants, Clavis. Oops."

Still a little shaky, you lift yourself just enough to look at the place your dripping pussy was occupying just a second prior - now with two sets of eyes glued to it. The lustful haze in Clavis' gaze is more prominent now, after watching you get yourself off and not being able to lay a single finger on your form.

"I should take these off you, then."

Without the chance to be of much help, Clavis simply smiles sweetly at you as you remove his tight, cum-drenched trousers off his beautiful legs. One strand of hair too much is falling on his face now and he attempts to blow air in order to get it off his face, in a rather un-refined manner, making a hot wave rush over your body. You're totally not helping him with that if he's going to be so sexy about it, albeit irritated.

"I see that you're wearing your thigh suspenders again today."

"I do need them to keep my button-up shirt in place. Maintaining proper toilette etiquette is a part of being a model gentleman, after all."

 Running a single finger along the length of his thigh, from knee to where the fabric of his white shirt covers his warmed flesh, you hum in approval. He's always so dedicated to his looks yet he doesn't even consider how this of all things would seduce you.

Gradually, your index finger slips under the tight strap of his suspender.

You hook your finger underneath to tug it upwards as much as the elasticity of it would allow, and then release.

"Hnn-"

The impact couldn't have been that big, yet Clavis is noticeably hissing - perhaps not an indication of pain, but something else. Interested, you do the same to his other thigh, caressing both over and under the thin leather strap afterward. Slipping the tips of your fingers underneath just to enjoy how tightly it hugs the softness of Clavis' skin, you marvel at the sexiness of this otherwise uninteresting part of a gentleman's outfit.

Clavis' legs are restless despite your firm handling of them, indicating a certain impatience. Though he looked to be armed with lots of it, in the beginning. The stimuli are never close to his erogenous zones, yet the reaction is undeniable. There's even a hint of blush coloring his cheeks.

"Let's remove those, too…"

Gently, you unclip the suspenders from his shirt, taking your sweet time undoing the little buckles next. Clavis' muscles tense a little when your fingertips ghost all over the skin during your ministrations, but soon he's freed from the tight leather straps.

"Oh… there are red marks where the suspenders were…"

Curiously, you trace the reddened skin, trying to feel for the imprint lines they left on the surface. Moving on to the sides, your suspicions are confirmed as you smirk and see similar but fainter lines left by the ridges inside his trousers.

All these marks adorning his milky thighs, yet none of them belong to you.

Delicate as ever, your hands return to the top of his thighs, barely touching the skin beneath - until you angle the tips of your fingers to point downwards; press; drag down. Harshly.

"Nnh- darling- your nails-"

By the time you lift your hands, having arrived at his knees, there's evidence of where your nails grazed his skin - new marks bloom on him, lines just like the others, but those are left by none other than you. And he looks beautiful wearing them.

Your gaze lingers a little higher, and you gasp.

"Clavis, darling, are you hard?"

Looking down as if he needs to confirm the obvious, there's no trace of Clavis' usual grin. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and the way his shoulders roll, you're wondering if he's trying his restrains.

"Is it so shameful for one to feel aroused in the hands of their beloved?"

You chuckle at Clavis' words, laying your head on one of his parted legs, dangerously close to his cock that is now visibly tenting his underwear.

"Not at all. You've taught me to be honest with my desires, and I expect the same of you."

Standing up, you take note of the changes in your lover's face - and indeed, there's this hint of relief you were looking for. He thinks it's over, and that he took the damage needed in exchange for his freedom. He's wrong.

"I bet you want release?"

Following your every movement with half-lidded eyes, Clavis picks his words to reply to you carefully, you can tell. It's not until you're caressing the hair at the back of his neck gently, standing tall between his parted legs, that he finally speaks.

"I…yes."

You cease the caressing movements of your hand, instead tracing all the way across his jaw to his chin with your thumb, and over his beauty mark. The intensity of your stare is perhaps not as strong as you wish; you're softened by his beauty, by his desperation. You want to jerk him off to a satisfying culmination. You want to sit on his dick and ride him until he whimpers. Your sweet Clavis…

"Alright then, you'll get your release. Darling."

Getting your hands on the band of his underwear, you remove it in one inpatient movement, letting his cock free from its confines as it jumps in desperation. Hiking up the skirts of your dress again so they're gathered on your waist, you keep one hand steadily on Clavis' shoulder as you lower yourself, just a little. You feel his tip grazing the inside of your thigh, hot and needy, you swear you feel the faint wetness of the precome it leaks.

Carefully positioning your legs, you trap Clavis' cock between them. And you clasp your thighs.

"Ah-"

A moan of utter desperation, if you know one. But you'll need to hear more than that to make sure.

You find out the position works out even better than you figured it would, as you circle your hips. Clavis is practically unable to contribute to the lustful dance even if he wishes, with his hands tied behind the chair's back. The tiny trusts he tries to do from his pathetic position are barely doing anything, but you feel like they're more instinctual than tactic at this point. You feel his firm hardness fucking between your thighs, the pistoning glided by the slickness escaping your dripping cunt. You didn't realize how worked up you were.

Letting your skirts fall down like a veil, you find a much better job for your left hand as you find your clit under the clothing and rub down on it. For once you keep your voice down but not out of shame with Clavis' scandalous ministrations, but because you want to hear him - he's not much different than you, if not groaning louder. You can tell he's close.

"Come for me, Clavis…"

Without having to urge him on any further, by just maintaining your steady rocking back and forth with his cock squeezed thigh between your soaked thighs, you feel the telltale pulsation accompanied by low whispers of your name. Hot pumps of cum are expelled from his aching cock until they overflow and coat your thighs, and the filthiness of it all gives you a rush that culminates in an orgasm of your own; your legs nearly buckling under the intensity of the pleasure. It indeed feels like a victory.

There's nothing left to do but to claim his lap as your throne, once again. With hair falling over his eyes, breath unsteady and escaping heavy out of his agape and dry lips, and smirk completely wiped off his pretty face, your Clavis is a masterpiece. One that only you get to see, because you worked hard to produce.

And that's without even mentioning his erotic thighs that are now covered with the aftermath of both your orgasms, and with red marks of love still not faded from his skin.

At the end of his wits, Clavis raises his head with a strained smirk.

"You're going to be the end of me, my little bunny."

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