#sole moving bone in the head. yeah.

[ahaura]

Allison Joseph A Constellation of Kisses “The Numerology of Kisses”

[bookyeom]

to care for you — lc

pairing: dino x reader word count: 4.4k warnings: mention of blood and injuries, mention of fainting, swearing, hurt and comfort, kissing request prompt: Okay so tumblr ate my ask 😭 but this is in response to @darkypooo’s request for Dino + “do you want to kiss?” “Yeah.”

Author’s Note: Yes, this is a Spiderman AU — but you don’t need to know much other than the bare minimum about the Spiderman universe to understand the story :) It’s set in college instead of high school, though. I’m actually so, so proud of this one, and I hope you like it!

Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I’m doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

He‘s exhausted. 

It’s an exhaustion that’s begun to seep deep into his bones lately, but it feels extra heavy tonight. After a not-so-brief brush-up with some bad guys, he’s hurting in places that he didn’t know existed — even after all of his years spent studying science. He can’t remember the last time he got this hurt — to the point where even breathing is hard. All he wants to do right now is give up. He’s not sure what good he’s doing out there, anyway.

He’s exhausted, and he’s hurting all over, and honestly? All he wants to do is see you. 

He feels like that a lot these days.

He knows he’s not supposed to want you like he does, to need you like he does — for so many reasons. First and foremost, because you’re one of his closest friends — his confidante (in everything not Spiderman related, anyway), his safe place. You’re his friend, and friends aren’t supposed to love each other the way he loves you. Besides, he’s Spiderman. He’s not supposed to need anyone at all. In this line of business, feelings are a weakness.

You, thankfully, have no clue about his alter ego… or his feelings.

Well, at least you didn’t know about the superhero part. Until now, when he drags himself into his room and you’re there, curled up in his bed. He thinks he must be hallucinating. He’s too out of it to really register it at first, but then your eyes meet his from where you’re sitting up against his headboard, duvet pulled up to your chin, and he’s frozen. You blink back at him in the dim light of his room, your face lit up solely by the lamp on his bedside table.

“Chan?”

Your voice is small — so quiet that he thinks without his heightened senses he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He can’t think straight enough to really process that his mask is off — he must have dropped it somewhere between the living room and here. All he can register before he’s stumbled back and slumped into his desk chair, eyes screwed shut from all the pain, is that you don’t look nearly as scared as he thought you would. Then everything goes black.

There’s a warm pressure against his jaw and his cheeks. 

He slowly comes to as he registers the feeling, struggling to open his eyes and find the source of the sensation. He can hear a faint voice call his name, once, twice, and when his eyes finally manage to flutter open just a little, he’s met with your concerned gaze.

“Fuck. Hi,” you mumble, and he blinks. The pure worry in your voice helps to bring him back to earth a little bit more, and he tries desperately to clear his head. How long was he out?

“Why…” He tries to speak but fails, his voice weak and his throat hoarse. 

Why are you here? 

He sees you wince when he tries to move, to shift into a more comfortable position even though he knows nothing will be comfortable right now, and your head is suddenly shaking back and forth so fast that it almost gives him whiplash.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he dazedly wonders why you don’t sound mad. Or frustrated. Or anything but concerned, really. He’s confused, his mind swirling even more as he tries to understand why your hands are holding his face like that. Hadn’t he kept things a secret from you for far too long to warrant your concern? Don’t you hate him now?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you say, and Chan fights the urge to try and speak again, to blurt out everything that he’s wanted to tell you since he met you. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you hastily continue, “but you have to tell me how to help you, Chan.”

His eyes flutter shut once more at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and he feels your thumb brush against his jaw. 

“Chan,” you say again, and you sound more panicked this time, so he does his best to calm you down. 

“Off.”

You blink at him again as he finally speaks. You’re not sure what he means, and you’re desperate to know, because you can’t look at him in pain like this any longer without doing something to help.

“Off,” he repeats hoarsely, and your eyes widen as you hastily remove your hands from his face.

“Shit, sorry!” Your eyes frantically wander across his face, searching for any damage your fingers might have caused. “I don’t know where you’re hurting, I didn’t mean to—“

As you babble on, all he can do is shake his head minutely. That’s not what he meant. The last thing he wanted right now was for you to take your hands off of him. He manages to lift a hand to press gently against his side, where a dark stain has formed. He glances down at where the material is clinging to his skin before looking back up at you. 

“Oh!” You reply, realization dawning on your face. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks. “Can you stand up to move to the bed so I can help? If not, I can—“

Already, he’s attempting to move, desperate to make any of this easier for you. He wants to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know exactly what for. For not telling you? For you having to see him like this? 

You help him stand, his arm reaching to rest on your shoulders as you do. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you with his weight, and you almost laugh — how very Chan of him. You’re grateful that in the shock of survival mode, you’ve managed to avoid for now the way you know your heart is going to break when you register seeing soft, kind, selfless Chan beaten down like this. 

Cry tomorrow, is the message your brain is sending. Figure it out tomorrow. Right now, you need to help him.

“I’m strong,” you try to joke, though it’s a weak attempt, and Chan looks at you in confusion. “You can put your weight on me,” you elaborate quietly. He understands and gives you a sheepish smile, before doing as told, though you know he doesn’t want to. 

The two of you maneuver the few steps to the edge of his bed. Chan hisses involuntarily at the pain as he sits down, and you whisper soft apologies, though he has no idea why. Once he’s down, you immediately get to work, reaching behind him to find the zipper at the top of his suit. You manage to get it down as smoothly as possible, your eyes falling to where Chan is still clutching at his side.

“This part is going to hurt like a bitch,” you tell him softly.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It always does.”

You freeze for a moment from where you were about to begin to slide the suit off of his shoulders, but Chan doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as his words replay, and you blink back tears, taking a moment to steel yourself. 

It always hurts.

You don’t respond, your fingers beginning to move again, and you’re surprised that they’re not shaking. Chan shivers when your fingers brush against his skin as you begin to slide the suit over his arms and off. You ease him out of the material on his uninjured side first, before coming around to the front of him and crouching down. You meet his eyes, his brown ones clouded over with pain, and your fingers gently reach to rest on top of his hand that’s still clutching his side. You give it a squeeze and he nods in understanding, closing his eyes tight, and you help him remove his fingers from the wound. You stand back up, and begin to pull the rest of the suit down his side and to his waist. Chan barely lets out so much as a whimper when you peel the rest of the material off of him. 

His lack of reaction is not what surprises you the most, though. The biggest surprise comes when you reach the spot on his side where you know a sickening amount of blood should be, and you find that it’s all dried — and that the wound has already begun to heal over. 

Huh?

Your brain can’t compute it. You glance up at him in complete confusion, but his head is hung low, and your heart breaks enough to distract you from all of the questions you want to ask. You force yourself to push the confusing mess of thoughts away until later. You can’t think about any of that right now. You can’t. 

“Chan?” Is what you say instead, knowing that you need to keep him awake enough to help him clean up, long enough to know he’s alright. Your hands are on his knees as you kneel between his legs and peer up at him. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to trace the newly-forming scars on his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss each mark and its associated pain away. You desperately want to know what happened, who hurt him like this, but you’re not sure you can handle it. You briefly register the older, faded scars that mark his skin, unsure of where they end and the new ones begin. 

You can’t figure it out — in front of you sits Chan, but it can’t be the Chan you know. It can’t be the one who giggles at your stupid jokes or falls asleep in your 8am lectures, or the one who remembers your coffee order every single time. The one who you swore had never fought with anyone in his life. The Chan in front of you looks so broken that you can’t put the two of them together. 

“You… okay?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his again as he speaks, voice cracking and hoarse. Your heart stutters a bit in your chest as he attempts to look down at you, his eyes hooded over and half closed with the effort. He looks like he’s about to fall over, and still, he’s asking if you’re okay.

You’re hit so hard with sudden emotion that it causes you to inhale sharply without warning. Your hand lifts involuntarily to brush his hair back from where it’s falling into his eyes, and as he continues to try and hold your gaze, you register it all. This Chan is still your Chan. It’s the same Chan that has stirred feelings inside your chest that you were certain you could never feel again. The Chan whose intelligence and kindness still astounds you every single day. This Chan and your Chan are the same.

Your head spins.

When you finally make it to the bathroom, it’s all Chan can do to slouch down onto his bathroom floor. You help him out of the rest of his suit before crouching down beside him, wracking your brain for everything you’ve ever learned about cleaning wounds. You remain numb as he gives you single-word answers to where things are in his bathroom. It’s funny — you’ve been in his apartment so many times, but you’ve never needed to know where the antiseptic was. 

Chan’s eyes remain half-open as you work. He’s fighting with all his might, you can tell, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t think his gaze leaves you even once. It becomes monotonous: you clean the cut, he winces, you apologize. And repeat. Your mind wanders in what you’re sure is an attempt to protect yourself.

You’d come over tonight for your weekly movie night, letting yourself in with the code you’d long since been given access to. When hours had passed with no sign of Chan and no texts from him either, your heart had broken a little — had he forgotten? Was he okay? It was so unlike him that you’d stayed just in case, your heart racing with every little noise as you waited. 

You hate so much that your worst fears had come true.

Chan’s pain seems to ease in record time, bruises forming on his skin faster than you’ve ever seen. You have so many questions, but you push it all down, down, down. He falls asleep on his couch and you stay up all night, blanket pulled around your shoulders as you sit on the windowsill and make sure he’s still breathing. 

He wakes as the sun is beginning to rise, and you watch as he shifts to sit up, letting out a breath of what sounds like relief when he’s able to move without much trouble. Some of the cuts on his face and chest are already scabbed over. 

How?

When his eyes finally land on you, he jumps a little.

“Hi.”

”You didn’t sleep.”

It’s an observation rather than a question. You pull your knees up and rest your chin on them. “I was worried.”

It’s quiet, and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what he expects you to do, what he expects you to say. You level him with your gaze, searching his face. Your eyes linger on the scabbed-over cut just above his brow, and you bite your lip before you speak again.

“It was…” You can feel your lower lip start to tremble in an act of betrayal, and you bite down on it to try and stop yourself from crying. “It was terrifying to see you like that, Chan,” you finally manage, and you know that after all these hours, the dam is about to break. You can tell he knows it, too, by the way his brows furrow even more, and his eyes widen just slightly.

“I know,” he murmurs, and that’s what does it.

Your hands move to cover your face as you finally let yourself cry, sobs muffled by your palms. You can hear the couch creak as Chan moves, and you can feel his presence as soon as he’s close. He whispers your name once, his voice breaking, and when he moves your hands away from your face, you don’t have the strength to stop him. He’s sitting next to you on the windowsill now. You sniffle, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Chan holds onto your wrists, rubbing gentle circles against the skin. 

“I’m so mad at you,” you finally say, and he lets go of your hands. He doesn’t retreat to his side of the window though, staying put as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he says, voice quiet. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t… but you still have every right to be pissed at me.”

It’s silent, and you stare at him in disbelief. There are so many thoughts running through your head, and it takes you a moment to settle on just one. “You think I’m mad because you didn’t tell me that you were Spiderman?” You finally say, causing him to look at you again in surprise.

“I mean, yeah? Why else—“

“I’m mad,” you emphasize, “because you’re out there getting hurt, and my heart literally can’t take the thought of that, oh my god, Chan.” Your voice breaks, and fuck, you’re about to cry again, but you can’t stop. Your eyes trace over his face, pausing where the bruise is starting to form on his cheek, and you feel frustration begin to build again as you angrily blink back tears. “What the fuck, Chan. Why the hell are you… I mean, if I hadn’t been able to help you last night, I wouldn’t — I just, I can’t even imagine—“

Your words are cut off as Chan’s hands find the side of your face. His gaze is firm as he looks at you, and his sudden boldness catches you off guard, your words dying in your throat. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to run, his thumb moves to caress your jaw, and you can’t help the shiver that spreads through you at the gentle touch. Your hands lift to rest on his arms where they’re holding you, and you’re speechless, your eyes unable to leave his. He takes in a deep breath, and you follow.

“I’m here,” he says, and you draw in another shaky breath. You don’t think he’s ever been this forward with you before, but you’re grateful for it. He’s warm, and he’s here. He’s alive.You’re torn between wanting to never leave his side again, and needing desperately to be away from him so that you can think.

“I think it might be good for me to go now that I know you’re okay,” you say softly after a moment, and you can see the hurt that briefly shadows his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and he nods, removing his hands from your face. 

“I understand.”

“And I… I probably need some time.”

He nods again, and your heart breaks at the thought of leaving him, but you have to. For now. Your feet feel leaden as you get up, going through the motions as you grab your backpack from the hook by his door. You barely register putting on your shoes, your mind on autopilot until it’s broken by his voice from just behind you.

“Y/N?”

Your name coming from his lips feels like a punch to the gut, and you almost reach out for him again, but you hold firm.

”Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can you just…” he sucks in a breath. “Can you please not tell anyone? About, you know—”

His words hit like a ton of bricks. You cut him off, expression full of silent fury at the insinuation. “Yeah. I won’t.” 

You’re pissed that he even had to ask, and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he can do. His secret is more important than anything — he just wishes it didn’t have to be more important than you. 

It takes three days for you to end up back at his door. He’s missed all of your shared college courses so far this week, and you’re worried. You’re terrified, actually, and you need to see him.

When he opens the door, you do a double take. It’s almost like nothing happened to him at all. The bruises and cuts are barely-there, and you’re reminded of the miles-long list of questions you have stored in the back of your brain. He’s surprised to see you, you can tell, and he blinks slowly before stepping aside to let you in.

“How are you?” You level him with raised eyebrows as you take off your shoes, and he nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know. I was worried that—“

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you interrupt. “Don’t worry.” You look down, your heart twisting painfully in your chest when you remember the words he’d said to you. ‘Can you please not tell anyone?’ You cross your arms as you head over to the living room, but you don’t sit down. You don’t really know what your plan had been — you’d just needed to see him. 

“Oh,” comes his soft reply before he adds, “I mean… I didn’t really think that you would.”

Your eyes briefly meet his across the room, confused, before you recover and look back down at the floor. “So then what were you worried about?”

You can feel his gaze intent on your face. “You.”

Your breath catches and your eyes swiftly meet his again. You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Chan,” you say after a moment, trying to push down the bubble of irritation you feel building in your chest. “You didn’t even text me once.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he says quietly, “You said that you needed time.”

“To process, yes! But you didn’t even text me that you were okay. I was worried about you, Chan. Why would you be worried about me? I’m not the one coming through your window and fainting from injury, now am I?”

You can see the guilt flicker across his face. “I know,” he says, and then he suddenly feels the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t message you, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He pauses. “Ever again, maybe.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and your heart breaks. You feel the anger in you start to dissipate as he looks away from you. Your eyes catch on the barely-there faded scar across his eyebrow, and your mind is filled with painful memories of the Chan you’d seen that night. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Chan.” 

He knows. But judging by the way you sit down on his couch instead of storming out again, he thinks that somehow, his stupidity has already been forgiven. 

It’s quiet as he joins you. You can feel him looking at you, and when you can’t take it anymore, you look back at him pointedly. He blushes, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. You sigh, your head falling into the back of the couch before you turn and curl up against it, your eyes drifting shut. 

"Is that my sweater?" 

Your eyes shoot open, and it's as if he's finally grown the courage to look at you directly again now. His brown eyes search yours, and he motions to the shirt you're wearing. You look down — even though you know he's right — and your cheeks are on fire. You’re wearing the sweater he’d leant you forever ago on a cold night for your walk home — the one you’d never returned. You slept in it almost every night, and he hadn’t asked for it back. 

"Keeps me warm," you mumble, tugging on the hem. It's silent for a beat before you continue, voice even quieter than before. You pause, ruminating on your next words before you take a deep breath and say, “The last few nights, wearing it kind of made me feel like you were safe.”

You can hear his intake of breath before he says, soft, “Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head, because you’re not. You’re scared, stressed, worried sick — but you’re not mad. Not anymore. “No, Chan.”

The nickname sends a flood of relief through him more than your actual reply does. 

“I’m not mad,” you continue, “because of course you’re Spiderman. Of course you’re putting yourself in danger trying to protect others. I love how selfless you are, Lee Chan — I always have. But me? I’m selfish. And I’m scared to death of losing you.”

All he says, all he can say, is, “I’m scared, too.”

You look at him again now. You search his face as you ask, “Of what?”

“Of getting hurt. Of… of losing you, too.”

Your heart is suddenly beating so fast you think it might soon break free from your rib cage. You don’t know why you say it, because you’ve already got his undivided attention, but his name comes out breathlessly anyway. “Chan?” 

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you with those beautiful, big, questioning eyes, and you can’t help it. 

“I think it might be a terrible time for me to say this,” you blurt out, “but I — Chan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Chan blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Your face flushes, and it’s your turn to look away. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“No, don’t — oh my god. What?”

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You’re embarrassed now, pulling your knees up to your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from your feelings. Your face is flushed as you turn to look out the window, and you can almost hear Chan’s brain buffering as he remains silent.

“Do you mean that?”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Your voice comes out a bit harsher than you intend it to, but you don’t take it back. 

“I…” He trails off. He doesn’t say anything more, and the quiet is almost deafening. You’re finding it a little harder to breathe as the seconds pass, and you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to fill the stifling silence.  

“I’m going to go,” is what comes out, and then you’re standing up so abruptly that you feel a little dizzy. The scene is familiar — you, running from what you’re feeling, running from him. 

“Wait,” he blurts out, and you do. You pause in spite of everything in you that’s begging you to run, and then he says, “Can I… I mean, do you want to… kiss?”

You turn back, eyes wide. It’s such a ridiculous question, such an innocent thing for him to ask in light of everything that’s happened in the last few days — but it’s so Chan that you almost forget about it all. This is probably a bad idea, you both know that — and you don’t care. You don’t know how this is going to work, but you’ll figure it out. 

Because it’s your Chan — the one who cares so much, the one who gives you hope, the one who wants nothing but for the world to be a better place.

“I mean — I love you too,” he says into the silence, and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out before he can panic. “Fuck. I have so many questions, but first, yes. Yes, I want to kiss you, Lee Chan.”

You can hardly believe the giggle and shy smile he sends your way before he kisses you breathless. 

Yeah, you think to yourself as he pulls back, as your fingers lift to gently trace the barely-there bruise on his cheek, as he leans into the warmth of your hand. As you think about how he’s been doing all of this — trying to change the world — alone.

Yeah, you think. You’ll figure it out. 

TAGLIST: @waldau @minisugakoobies @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @wqnwoos @wheeboo @christinewithluv @lvlystars @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @bewoyewo @kyeomkyeomi @mingyuscoffee @harry-the-pottypus @lightprincess-world @icyminghao @bella-l @darkypooo

[fourmoony]

oh my god. eating the chocolate that makes you really horny with james!!! plslsllslss

thank you for requesting! this is 2.2k words of pure smut. i guess it got away from me? f!reader, mdni

cw: drug use, unprotected sex, cock warming, p in v, cream pie

Your body feels like it's thrumming with energy. Skin tingling, a static in your veins that's making it impossible to sit still. But you try. You really, really try because you refuse to lose. Even if it feels like every minute you're not doing anything about the burning in your veins is a minute closer to death.

It's Sirius' fault, really. He and Remus had thought it was a wholly hilarious idea to bring back a 'special' bar of chocolate from their trip to Amsterdam. Lo and behold, it hadn't been a typical special chocolate bar, but an aphrodisiac one, instead. Ensue a bet about whether or not it actually works and now. Well, now you're eating your entirely too confident words about it being a load of bullshit. You could give in. You could admit defeat because it's not like Sirius and Remus stuck around for long after theirs kicked in.

But it's just you and James in your tiny shared flat and you really don't feel like announcing departure to your room and having him know what you're up to in there. Especially when it doesn't seem to be affecting James the way it's affecting you. His eyes are trained on the television, feet kicked up on the coffee table. He looks normal, unfazed. You try to remember if he even ate any of the chocolate but your brain is too clouded. Too foggy with the feeling of need.

You try to settle, press your thighs together and chance another look at the clock. It's not late enough to claim fatigue. You sigh, resigned to your fate.

James shifts, burrows further into the couch as his head tilts over to look at you. "You okay?" He asks.

His voice sends jolts like pure electricity down your spine. He and the boys had smoked, too, before taking the chocolate. The lazy tilt to his voice reverberates through you until you feel yourself throbbing. "Yeah, all good." You bite out.

You're the furthest thing from all good, in actuality. Sure, you've thought about screwing James before. In passing. He's your roommate, it only takes walking into the bathroom at an inopportune time to supply a weeks worth of seedy dreams that leave you feeling guilty, after. But this is different. You're genuinely concerned that if you don't get James out of your line of sight, now, you're going to proposition him and then you're going to have to move out and never show face again.

Fuck Sirius and his chocolate.

James doesn't say anything for a while. You're not sure if he believes you, by the way his eyes flick over every now and then. His gaze is burning hot, your limbs screaming out for you to move. Everything is too much; the ache, the throbbing, the wetness you can feel pressing against your panties. It only intensifies when, finally, James reaches out. Slowly, softly, fingers encircling the skin of your ankle. He holds for a while, draws lazy circles against the bone until you're practically writhing in your seat. You don'd doubt for a second that he can't hear your shallow breathing, that he doesn't know exactly what he's doing.

Or, maybe, he doesn't. Maybe he's as worked up as you and needs the touch like you do.

The desire grows, the burning grows, angry and unavoidable until you feel the welling of tears in your eyes. It should be embarrassing, should be absolutely mortifying to be crying from James' touch. A touch he gives you so often and never means anything. A touch that usually soothes you.

His eyes flick over once more, catch the tears that slip freely down your cheeks, even as your eyes focus solely on the television. James calls on you, his face soft and filled with pity. He beckons you towards him with a tug on your ankle and you go. No questions. Because it's all too much and you just need it to end.

"Hey," James shushes, ushering you to sit in his lap, warm hands cupping your head as his thumb swipes at your tears. "Whats wrong, angel?"

"It's too much, Jamie." Your voice is weak, shaky. You feel pathetic and needy and the feeling of James' strong thighs underneath you aren't helping.

He brushes the hair from your face gently, runs the pads of his fingers down your bare arms, the skin of your thighs. You shiver under his touch, eyes closing. "Okay, okay," James' voice comes barely above a placating whisper, "I'm gonna make it better, angel. Okay?"

You whine, falling face first into his shoulder, "Please."

He doesn't say anything else as he cants his hips upward. You feel the warmth of his skin against your thighs as he pulls his pyjama bottoms down, the hardness of him when he settles you both back down. The chocolate has clearly affected him, too. It feels better to know, less overwhelming that you're not having some kind of terrible reaction to it.

You clench around nothing at the mere idea of his cock against your thigh. James can't seem to help the way he bucks a few times against your skin, breaths shallow and throaty. His hands on your ass cheeks encourage you up onto your knees, your face still buried in the warmth of his shoulder. You do as he urges, practically scream when you feel James run his head along your soaked slit.

"Shh," James coos, "It's okay. You're okay."

He urges you down his cock slowly, the pressure like nothing you've ever felt before. It keeps going and going until you feel so full you can't breathe, can't move, can't do anything but fist the material of James' sleep shirt and moan brokenly into his shoulder. When you're at the hilt, James' hips cant upwards, the feeling like being hit with a blast of lightening straight from the sky. You cry out, lifting James' shirt until your hands slip underneath, warm skin meeting the blunt edges of your nails. James groans when they dig in.

You try to move your hips, breaths evening out now that the worst of your need is gone. You feel satiated, pacified. You feel stuffed full and deliriously happy. James stops you from moving, though, hands firmly fisted in the material of your sleep shorts. "Just stay like this a minute." He murmurs.

You nod, allow yourself to relax fully into him. He lifts your shirt over your head, exposes your overheated skin to the cool air and you sigh. His own shirt follows a minute later, your nipples brushing against his chest. It sends jolts through your entire body, simultaneously flatlines your heart and brings it back to life. You moan and whine, feel your own wetness seeping between you both as James runs the pads of his fingers up and down the plane of your back.

You're not sure how long you lie like that, lost in the fullness of him, the static of his touch. It feels like seconds and hours, and when the credits of whatever movie start to roll, James ushers you out of his shoulder. The shift makes you both whine, James' grip tightening on your ass. "You doing okay?" He asks.

His face is so earnest, even in his own pleasure. Gentle hazel eyes that meet yours with so much respect and care. His glasses are slanted on his face and you reach up to fix them, hands trembling. "Never better." You tell him, honestly.

James smiles softly, "How do you want it?"

You clench around him at the question, breathy sounds coming from you. James' hands reach up until he's holding one of your tits in each hand, thumb nail grazing your nipples with each pass. It's dizzying, maddening. "Fuck," You tilt your head back, can't help the tiny lift and drop of your hips that has James squeezing your tits and groaning, "Hard, Jamie. Please."

He doesn't waste any time. James pulls you forwards, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Uses his free hand to hold your hips in place as he snaps up and into you. The scream that leaves your throat is animalistic, it's pleasure-filled and filthy, like the wet sounds of skin meeting skin that fill the living room as James sets a relentless pace.

The drag of him against your walls is overstimulating, mixed with the chocolate. His thrusts are harsh and deep, his teeth clenched firmly against your nipple. "Fuck, James, I'm gonna come." You grit out, breathy and half moaned.

James releases your nipple, burrows you closer to his shoulder and focusses all his attention on thrusting. It's hard and animalistic and messy and loud and when he hits that one, perfect spot, he has you screaming into the pillows of the couch. You feel yourself gushing until your sleep shorts are soaked, are far too gone to notice fully when James flips you, pulls the sleep shorts down your legs and removes his own pyjama bottoms.

"You okay?" He asks, hands running a soothing path up your legs.

He waits for your nod, your promise that you've never, ever, been better, before he turns you onto your stomach, pulls your hips until you're face down on the couch.

His tongue licks the slick from your centre, a guttural sob escaping you at the feeling of him. It's a sex crazed daze when he slams back into you, hands bruising on your hips. It's deeper, fuller, from this angle and you feel like you might combust. It's deliciously perfect, the mix of want and need from the chocolate, and the way that James slams against your ass cheeks over and over and over.

His cock drags against your walls, squeezing and teasing until he's a moaning mess against your back. He leans over you, warm and body rock solid, pressing you into the couch. Your head tilts sideways to meet him, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, body jutting against yours. Desperate hands grab at the side of your face, prying your mouth open until his fingers can slip inside. He presses harsh against your tongue, cock jamming against every part of you that needs him most and your body seizes again, clenching and gushing all over James as you light on fire. It's euphoric, and James doesn't stop. Fingers slick with your spit, James pulls back, pulls your hips impossibly higher and reaches around until he has two fingers drawing tight circles on your clit.

You see stars, crying and moaning and babbling nonsense and James keeps going. His fingers draw tight circles, his cock slams into every inch of you and suddenly it all doesn't feel enough.

"More, Jamie. Need more." You pant, gripping senselessly at the couch cushions.

James presses a kiss to your tail bone, slows his pace, "So greedy. You've already came three times and you want more?"

You whine, limbs mush when James pulls out and turns you to face him. Your legs wrap around his back on instinct, pulling him closer and he goes. His head juts against your clit, heavy and sensual.

"Please, Jamie."

James has never not given you whatever you wanted and so he complies, thrusts forward so slowly you think you might implode. His hand grips the back of your thigh, pushes until it's resting firmly on his shoulder before pulling almost all the way out. You both watch as he slides slowly back in, revelling in the way your cunt pulls all of him in, swallows him whole. You whine, hips canting upwards and James smiles. "So, so needy."

He slams in and out in one quick motion, steals the very breath from your lungs. Your back arches, the burn of your thigh a delightful pain. James is somehow more relentless, like this, fast and hard and bruising as he meets every single spot you need him to. He uses his free hand to press firmly against your clit, messy and with barely any rhythm but its maddening, still.

It all feels too much, like this. The beads of sweat that fall from him and onto you, his groans and his relentless pace. The feeling of his muscles against you, the darkness of his eyes. It sends you spiralling once again, louder and harder than before, clenching around James until you're trembling uncontrollably.

He lets go of your thigh, falls until he's on top of you, hips jutting once, twice, more, until he's spilling into you. Hot and warm and by the load. He doesn't stop spilling for what feels like forever, the warm spurts a welcomed comfort. It's dirty and hot and you never want to leave this moment.

You lift your hands to trail across James' back and he shudders, pressing kisses to the skin of your tits, tongue darting out to take claim of a nipple that has you whining. "Two minutes. I need two minutes and then I'm going to lick my cum out of you," James whispers, teeth nipping at the skin of your tit, his hips cant upwards and you whine, legs widening so you can feel the slip of his seed down your ass cheeks, "Every last drop. And then we're going to do that again."

You press against him, needy and uncaring. "Please."

You feel his grin, feel the twitch of his cock, still inside you as it starts to ready itself. "And then I'm going to call Sirius and tell him how well his chocolate works."

You can't even bring yourself to protest, not when you can feel James' fingers start to collect his spilled seed from around your hole. So what if Sirius was right? You feel like you've been compensated enough for your troubles.

[strangerstilinski]

𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It’s like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

“Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you are hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and the boy's chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I don't think any of us were that invested hearing you talk about the ‘big tip’ that some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve, c'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugged, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet. It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just 'cause you're a jackass that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you as the rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“Well I don't care if some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “So, I guess, if that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, and I'm able to do so without acting like a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? That was the highlight of your day, because the rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. You'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks squelching wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd burned yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had no choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what? Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the turn in your evening.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, like he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm still struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

Steve's voice does make you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around. Your steps finally come to a stop when he calls out to you again.

“C'mon, honey wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath as he finally catches up with you, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that’s begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back around. You lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. There’s warmth seeping into your palms from beneath Steve’s tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from inside. Your eyes are level with his chin, wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You’re still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly.

It’s only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face smelling of the gum he’s always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he’s leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can’t think, and you’re not sure you’re even breathing, but his lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You’re gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve’s arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when your lips separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you’re gasping comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve’s quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

“You kissed me.” The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — casual, tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he’s kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve’s breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D’you want me to stop?”

“No. Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The light shining above your heads catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to shut you up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it takes ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It’s like there are hearts in his eyes.

[igotanidea]

Strain: Jason Todd x reader

A/N: nsfw themes. Not explicit but still, so I'd rather put MDNI here.

***

Every touch every move every stroke had only one single purpose.

To bring her pleasure.

And judging by the soft moans and gasps of delight he was doing quite a good job at it.

"Mmh...Jay..." she whimpered.

"Like that, princess?" He made his voice deeper only to tease her more.

"Yes, please... So good, don't stop..."

"I won't" he leaned to plant a string of soft kisses on her delicate and exposed neck. In return she gripped the sheets, her body responding to the caresses and rocking it's been subjected to. And Jason couldn't help but grin from complacency.

At this point he was becoming rougher, compressing her body like something that belonged to him, that only he knew how to handle and worship in the right way.

How to make her satisfied.

"You're so responsive and I love it..." he gasped pawing her skin and every curve.

"Cause your working in all the right places..." she whined her voice a little muffled from the fact that her face was buried in the pillow. "Though I believe you're getting too excited..."

"Yeah, you're still so tense Princess."

"Yeah it's been a heavy week..."

"Don't worry, we'll get rid of that in no time... Just forget that and relax with me..."

His hands moved lower on her body, getting more curious, wandering in all the right places as he kept moving. What was even more exciting, was that she couldn't see him, as she was lying on her belly. It made all the situation even more bone-deep cause as she was focusing solely on the touch and not other senses.

"Oh yes...."

"Here?" He pressed on that one spot and she moaned in acknowledgement. "Guess it's here then..." He smirked while continuing his attack on the new found place.

"Shit!" She whined arching her back a little "it hurts!"

"I know baby but trust me you'll feel better in a moment..."

For a few good minutes the silence in the room were being torn only by the groans and rustling of the sheets and after then a deep sigh of relaxation made Jason aware he finally reached his goal.

With a signature smirk he pulled back and laid next to her side searching for her eyes.

"Feeling better sunshine?"

"Much better, thank you. Dare I ask where you learned all that things?"

"Self education." He grinned

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, see those muscles?" Jason pointed at his chest and body "they did not come from nothing. And with all the soreness i had to deal with throughout I had to learn a thing or two about anatomy. Guess it came handy tonight huh?"

"I'll be sure to use your sevices more in the future."

"Sure thing princess" he kissed her forehead affectionately "I'll get you a regular customer discount."

"Tease!" she nudged his shoulder.

"Hey!" his reaction was immediate and took a form of grabbing her wrist "behave princess, you know my massages are good for your health and posture, you have no contrargument to that."

"Ok, fine! fine! They are. But unless you want me to use someone else's services you'd better accept payment for kisses."

Jason groaned in frustration.

She always knew how to take away any words of objection from him.

So what else could he do rather than accept his fate, nod his head and enojy the little smooches all over his face in the form of thanks for his professional rub down?

[oneforthemunny]

the more that you say, the less i know |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: you have the talk with eddie about his job.

contains: not really angst but not really fluff??? language. alludes towards violence or potential violence, but nothing specific mentioned.

"Can I ask you something?" You whispered, fingers tracing down a pattern of a web surrounding the black widow etched into his collar bone.

The room was thick with smoke, sweat. Eddie's cigarette burning between his fingers, the hallway light the only illumination the two of you had. Skin still slicked with sweat, clothes discarded on the floor; it was routine now. Eddie would pick you up from the bank, take you out, spoil you in lavish gifts or expensive dates, and you'd take him back here. To your place. Never his.

"What's on your mind, baby?" Eddie rasped, cool and easy, blowing out of him like the smoke that rolled through his nose.

"What, um," Your throat seemed to swell together, choking out the words you were desperate to say.

Eddie's head lolled over to you, careful and casual. Still there was a glint in his eye that you caught, even through the low light of the room, and it made you shudder. Like he knew what you were thinking, what you were going to say, like he could see right through you- maybe he could.

"What's going on, baby?" The purr in his tone, soft and calming. It almost made you want to brush it off, stuff your question down again, push it away for another time so you wouldn't ruin the moment. Ruin the softness.

His eyes were so soft when you finally met his gaze, bright and alert looking solely at you. Eddie was good at that, making you feel seen, like you were the only person in the entire world. It was one of his many magnetic qualities that kept pulling you back in, not that you gave much of a fight.

"I... I don't want to make you upset." Your stomach twisted, turned sharply, heart hammering.

Eddie's eyes didn't move, but he didn't miss the way your hands wrung, softly in your lap. "What's wrong?" He cooed, a gentle tone, wobbly and unsure. It wasn't one he was used to using, but he'd try for you.

You swallowed, bile rising, unsure of what to say. It sounded insane, the idea of it all, something out of a movie or a book, not something that should be your reality.

"You alright?" Eddie frowned, bumming the cigarette in the tray besides him. He brought his hand towards you, a gentle brush over your cheek bones. You winced at the feeling, jaw clenching. Eddie's heart sank in his stomach. "What's goin' on?"

"You... You said you worked in management." Your voice was small, filled with hesitancy.

Eddie blinked for a moment, face staying the same, unmoving from your own gaze. "Yeah." He nodded.

There was a pause, a tension so thick in the air you felt like it was crushing. "Is that-" You stopped yourself, a shuddering breath, hand still gripping and wringing around your palms. "What-What kind of management?"

Eddie exhaled slowly, pushing off the mattress slowly. Your eyes never left his, rounded and scared. You looked terrified- Why did you look terrified? Did you think he would hurt you? You were hard to read like this. Eddie was used to being unsure, used to the cryptic unknown, but not with you.

"I do all kinds of management. Management of people, mainly." Eddie said slowly, watching your face carefully. "Why? You lookin' for a job? Gonna leave the bank, baby?" He grinned, teasing, playful, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. To get you to not ask what he knew was coming.

You didn't laugh. Lips didn't curl, and he didn't get to see that dazzling smile he hoped to. Instead, your eyes stayed low, avoiding his gaze.

"That's... That's really what you do?" You muttered, head still tipped towards your lap. "Management?"

Eddie inhaled, shoulders rolling back, slouching against your headboard. Instinct kicked in, that reserved feeling washing over him, trying to detach his emotions to you so he could threaten you. Scare you. Get you to fall into line like the others in Hawkins did.

Your eyes cut to his, rounded, scared. His heart skipped, rushed with familiar bouts of electricity, head spinning, a heat spreading from his neck to cheeks to ears.

He couldn't.

His mouth wouldn't allow it even if he wanted to. Tongue swelling thickly in his mouth, choking back every venomous word that threatened to fall.

"Why don't you ask," Eddie said calmly. "And I'll tell you what you want to know."

He knew you weren't wearing a wire, completely bare in front of him. Nothing around was out of the ordinary, he wiped his nose, casually looking out your window to see only his car on the street. The same cars of your neighbors in their driveways, he'd memorized them all by now. Knew who was at each house.

"What?" Your brows creased.

"Ask me what you want to ask, baby." Eddie said calmly. He could see the hesitance, clear on your face, scared by something someone had finally told you.

"Hey, look at me." Eddie nodded, reaching out to touch you, fingers barely grazing over your bare shoulder. You tensed under his touch and he tried to ignore the aching that filled his stomach.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, baby. C'mon." He cooed, sweet and coaxing enough to have you melting back into his touch. "I would never."

"I know." You muttered. You did know, even if the more rational side of you told you that you shouldn't. You shouldn't trust him, not after what Nancy told you.

"So just ask me." Eddie's hand rubbed over your shoulder, thumb pressing into a blossoming bite from earlier. "I can't say this is unexpected. I knew you'd have questions sooner than later."

Your eyes shot up, rounded with shock. Eddie's lips curled, it was cute, how sweet you looked. Like you'd been caught.

"You're... You're not in management, are you?" You muttered, toying with the material of your quilt, rolling the fabric between your fingers.

"I'm in management." Eddie nodded slowly. "Just not a management you're familiar with. More freelance, I guess you could say. Not like in an office like you are, sweet thing." He pulled his knees towards him, letting his arms fall over top.

You could feel his gaze on you, careful but not harsh, gentle. It was unexpected. "Right." You frowned.

"I-I heard something different." You could barely register the words coming from your own mouth, so far removed from the bedroom, that it felt like you should have just been on a different planet.

"What'd you hear?" Eddie pressed lightly.

That same silence crept back between the two of you, eerily still, your gaze meeting his. "I heard you were in the mafia." The bluntness of your tone left a finality, cutting and sharp.

A chilling realization washed over you, crashing with a reeling sensation of nausea. Eddie's brows raised, a tiny quip, before he could even stop it. Your own eyes widened, color draining from your face entirely.

You didn't think your heart could beat any faster, no it wasn't possible, yet here you were, letting it hammer mercilessly in your ears. A sitting duck in front of Eddie, you wondered how many other there had been in this position. How many others saw his face as the last they'd ever see, and if you were destined to be next?

"Hm," Eddie's tongue rolled over his teeth. You jumped at the sound, fisting the sheets. Eddie didn't move, didn't pounce on you, no goons flying in from the windows like you'd imagined in your fear stricken fantasies. He stayed calm, relaxed even.

"Well, that's... that's the easy answer, I guess." Eddie nodded slowly. "That's one way you could describe it."

"So, it's-it's real?" You babbled stupidly. "That's real? You're-You're in the mafia?" A wobble in your tone that made you cringe.

"Well, not, like, the mafia." Eddie snorted lightly. "Not like The Godfather type mafia, but not not that. A, uh, a smaller scale. We- I work with some different stuff." His eyes met yours. "Do some different things."

"Like what?" You whispered. Why were you whispering? Your mind raced, head spinning. This was a dream, it had to be. It certainly felt like a dream.

Eddie's lips curled, just soft enough to have your heart fluttering, flustered in a whirlpool of heat and emotions.

"Told you, it's management. I wasn't lying about that. People management, money management," Eddie paused, finger drumming against his knee cap. "Other stuff." You fought back a shudder.

"I... I don't-" You swallowed, though your mouth was incredibly dry.

"Let me talk for a second." Eddie said, a commanding tone in his voice you weren't familiar with. It startled you, and you weren't sure why you were aching down to your core.

An inked hand skated across your sheets, and for the first time you saw the rows of skulls across his knuckles when it grabbed yours. "I don't know what you've heard, or what you've been told, and I don't want to know. I don't really give a shit about what other people say about me, but I do care about what you think about me." Eddie's fingers intertwined with yours, holding your clammy hand in his.

"I-I don't do this. I don't date, and I definitely don't talk about this kinda shit with people I don't work with." Eddie muttered. You could feel his own sweaty palms, squeezing your hand lightly.

You weren't sure what to say, that you could even speak if you wanted to say anything at all. So you stayed still, stayed quiet.

"But I meant what I said. I'm not... I don't want you to be scared of me or anything." His eyes met yours softly. "I won't hurt you. Wouldn't've started this with you if I didn't... if I didn't want something serious along the way."

You swallowed. "Why?"

"Why?" Eddie repeated. "Why what, sweetheart?"

"Why... Why do you do this?" Your voice dropped into that hushed tone, like you were scared to speak too loudly, you wanted to keep it between you. Eddie's heart swelled, the sincerity in an action he wasn't even sure you knew you were doing.

"It's all I've ever known." Eddie admitted softly. In the darkness of your room, he'd never felt more seen, more exposed under your soft eyes. "Everybody's gotta make it somehow, baby. This... This is what I had to do."

"And," Your fingers wiggled in his grasp, squeezing his hand nervously. "You wanted to do this? You're happy doing this?"

"I'm not... I'm not like some fucking sick monster, ok?" Eddie huffed, more defensive than he would have liked. "I don't enjoy when I have to do certain shit, but..." His knee bounced, eyes flickering back over towards his cigarette.

"The women's shelter down the street from where you work, you know the one?" Eddie asked. You nodded slowly. "They didn't have hot water for a month last spring. City wasn't going to do anything about it, they didn't fuckin' care until I made them fuckin' care." You watched him carefully. "Couldn't have done that if I had a normal job, could I?"

You shook your head lightly, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip nervously. "Point I'm trying to make here, baby, is..." Eddie took a deep breath in, free hand cradling your jaw gently, pinning you under his gaze. "I'm not just wreaking havoc around here for no fuckin' reason. I don't fuck with anyone unless they fuck with me and I have to, alright? That's just how the business goes. That's management."

"But I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. That's not what this is. That's where those movies got shit wrong, alright? It's not all like that." Eddie shook his head with an eye roll.

"You want me to be honest? Most of the time, it's boring. A lot of planning and moving shit around, making sure it's where it's supposed to be. It's organized crime, baby, not nearly the chaos that Hollywood wants it to be."

You hesitated. "It's not?"

"No," Eddie rolled his eyes. "I mean, you gotta be careful and stuff, but it's not like every single day you're having a shoot off with a rival gang or some shit. Not all horse heads and explosions, most of the time it's just planning shit. Managing people and things, and making sure it's where it's supposed to be with no issues." You didn't dare ask what the 'it' of the matter was, not now anyways.

"I just," You swallowed, taking a deep breath in. "I thought because you-you're always so... alert."

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to be stupid." Eddie scoffed lightly, the playfulness in his tone returning. "You should be more alert. More aware of your surroundings. How long did it take you to realize?"

"Realize what?" You frowned.

"Realize you were going out with a guy in management." Eddie smirked, picking his cigarette back up.

You blushed, picking at the sheet again. "I had a feeling after the fourth date." You admitted. "Not that it was that. Just that... I don't know. I knew it was something. I asked around and... someone told me."

Eddie knew it was Nancy, but he respected how you tried to play it off. Play it safe, that you were protective of your friend.

"So..." Eddie's fingers drummed on his knee. "Anymore questions?"

You shook your head, thumb brushing over his knuckles, lightly over the inked skin.

"I got one for you." Eddie hummed, squeezing your hand lightly, blowing the smoke towards the window. Your eyes lifted towards him. "You want to go to my place?"

"Your place?" You asked, stilling.

"Yeah, I mean, now that you know, I can show you my place. Don't have to explain why there's security and it's out in the middle of nowhere." Eddie smirked. "I have dogs too."

"You have dogs?" You asked, eyes lighting up. "You didn't tell me that."

"No, I knew you'd want to meet them." Eddie grinned.

"How many?" You tilted your head sweetly to the side.

"Four." Eddie beamed. "You'll like them. They'll like you."

"You're just full of secrets, aren't you?" You hummed, lazily holding his hand in yours, fingers curling around the other.

Eddie blew a last drag of smoke out of his mouth, letting the cigarette dwindle away in the tray. "You want to come?"

"Is this your way of luring me away so you can sink me in the river?" You laughed, nervously, like you weren't entirely joking.

"C'mon," Eddie shook his head lightly. "Don't play like that. I just wanna show you my place."

You looked a little anxious, torn. "Truth? I want you to come over so I can show you where I live." Eddie cooed, hands sliding down your arms sweetly. "And... honestly? I can't do the twin bed again tonight, babe, I'm sorry. It kills my neck."

You gaped, shoving him lightly. "What's wrong with my bed?"

"Nothing. You know I never complain." Eddie grinned. "Just a little cramped for the two of us. I've got a bigger bed. You can spread out more."

"Oh? You're just taking me to see your bed?" You teased, grabbing your discarded shirt off the floor.

"No, I'll let you see the whole house of horrors." Eddie smirked, eyeing you as you bent over to grab your pajama bottoms. "But you can definitely see my bed if you want to."

You hummed, stepping back towards him. His hand caught your waist, pulling you nearly on top of him, noses brushing. He needed to see you, see your eyes, know what you were feeling, thinking.

"You trust me?" Eddie whispered, long lashes batting. Your heart swelled, and for a moment, you were sure he could convince you to do anything if it meant he'd stay looking at you so sweetly, so fondly.

You hesitated for a moment, nodding slowly. Nancy never said he was mean or cruel, only what he did for work. You knew she would have told you earlier, long before you asked if he was.

It was just a job, you told yourself, letting him sway you. Let him consume all your fears with a feverish kiss, hands pressing into your spine, pushing you closer and closer to him.

He held the passenger door open for you, letting you slip inside. Your street was quiet, still with neighbors who's long gone to sleep. Eddie held your hand in his on the drive, thumb brushing over your knuckles, stealing small sideways glances at you. You trusted him, let him drive you into the unknown, through the dark, together.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Edward Cullen Imagine (XF!READER)

PART TWO

Warnings- smut, p in v, cunnilingus, faint jealousy (Jacob), passionate (lovey) sex

P.S I’ve actually never made smut where the characters actually loved each other😭 it’s mostly just desire. So this is actually kinda well written , just a foreword to the poetic shit she says.

Read PART ONE here ;)

I didn’t understand what he meant when he said that. I didn’t understand, until his cold fingers snakes down the bones of my hips, and he covered me with his strong body, like the crevices in my pelvic bone were made solely for his hands.

“You,” Edward strained, his voice gravely, unlike the normal smooth charisma he embodied. As he spoke in my ear, he pushed my shorts down with his thumbs, the cheeky underwear I had picked out this morning on a whim now on full display to him.

When Edward let his fingers graze the shape of my ass, his hand wavered on my skin, like every movement was delicate- and yet something he couldn’t contain. “You are making me lose myself. The way you sound, look, smell,” Edward inhaled sharply, grinding his hard cock across the sheer fabric of my underwear. The feeling sent shivers and tingles down the nerves of my stomach.

I wanted more. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I wanted this. His voice was amplifying my desire for him, each rough syllable a new jolt of electricity through my body.

Edward groaned as my panties rose up, his dick deeper in the planes of my ass. I could practically feel the veins of his body sliding on the skin of my ass cheeks.

He finished his sentence in a husky tone, each word getting harder for him to speak. “You make me want to do horrible things, Calypso. I want to be selfish with you. To you.” The lowness of his voice, if I didn’t know him as my boyfriend, would be straight up deadly- and terrifying.

My heart melted at the thought of Edward getting what he wanted, a strange mixture of lustful hormones and admiration for the words. Everything Edward has always been was good, and gentleman-like, and selfless.

So, yeah. I want him to be selfish. I want him to have what he wants, just for this evening.

I arched my back, pressing my entire ass against his erection. “I need you to be selfish, Edward. I want to see you lose control.”

Edward stopped moving for a second, breathing heavily over my body. I could feel his cock twitching on my underwear, and I bucked my hips backwards, urging him to keep going. He stopped my movement with a rough push on my hips, bringing my entire body to the cushion.

“Callie, Callie. I will never lose control.” he felt my body up, each grope electrifying my senses. “I desire ruining you. My body begs to. The amount of times I fantasized of killing you when I met you…You drive me insane, beautiful.” He paused, and I could almost feel a smile on his face. “But I’m not a dog. I wouldn’t eat you alive the first chance I get, for my own filthy benefit.” Edward bit his lip, tilting his head in a dangerously playful motion. “Unless, of course, you would prefer that. Canines?”

Realization dawned on me. Jacob. He was mocking me about Jacob. Where was this coming from?

“Edward, I don’t care about him. I want you.”

Edward draped his head by mine, the graceful stands of his hair falling on my cheek. “I don’t know why you enjoy that so much, Calypso. The thought of being weak. Under Jacob’s ruthless control.”

The words were true, but still irritating. I could only assume this fire of emotion was coming from his episode of lust, but my body was getting too many mixed emotions to understand how to feel about it.

Edward thumbed my panties now, sliding the strings down in a slow, taunting manner. “I know that animal would love to see you like that. Begging.” He snarled quietly at that, and took a quick breath as my underwear slid off my ass. “To see you asking him, pleading him to take control from you.”

I whimpered, a strange thrill coming from the anger in his voice. He was jealous- because he wanted me.

Maybe I’m sick for that having fueled my desire more.

But then again, maybe I’m sick for loving a vampire.

He kissed my shoulder blade, a soft contrast to the hardness of his words. “I’ve thought about tasting you for a long time.”

My blood.

A strange, unusual spike of fear entered my heart.

This was Edward. But he’s different now- fueled by emotions, unpredictable.

Is he gonna hurt me?

Edward kissed the small of my back, dragging his hands to my waist.

“I’ve thought about tasting you, Calypso. I just never said how.”

Edward grabbed my side, rolling me to be on my back. I stared at his eyes, animalistic and wild, blending in with the dark of the forest behind him.

“Spread your legs, my dove.”

My heart was pounding so fast, I could feel the pulse all over my body. Specifically throbbing in the area between my thighs, which I spread out per his orders.

Edward sucked in a breath in his teeth, the fangs in his mouth sticking out in a predatory manner. Only staring at my naked body, like the very sight was granting him vitality. He didn’t drop his frighteningly focused stare, and instead leaned over me, kissing my thighs. Each touch was tipping me over, teasing me in a painful way.

I remember what Edward had told me a month ago.

“So the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

I was indeed, a stupid lamb.

He grazed the skin below my stomach with his lips, tracing the lines of my hips with a trail of burning kisses. I was practically rocking my hips, a silent beg for more.

Edward pushed his cold, comforting hands on my hips again, forcing me down.

God, I could live in this moment forever.

This is my life now. He is my life now. I can’t see anything farther than this.

This is my past, my present, my future all encapsulated in one small, fleeting moment.

Edward stared at me, with intense, hot eyes, dragging on my breasts, my hips, and the slow trail to my clit. It would embarrass me- the heavy eye contact, with anyone else.

But Edward’s not like anyone else.

So I kept my gaze on him, as he kept his eyes on me, and let his warm tongue heat the area between my folds. I shivered from his godlike touch, unable to tear my eyes from the beautiful scene of his mouth on my body. He grasped my thighs harder, tracing circles with the perfect pressure on my clit.

As if he couldn’t control the quick movement, he snaked his tongue down to my wet opening, rolling movements inside of me. I mewled, gripping the sheets with white knuckles. My toes were already curling from the very idea of him touching me like this.

Edward bite down a little harder on the top of my pussy, licking my body like I was his last meal. Every touch was strategic, but am I surprised? He had 104 years of experience.

Orgasm was rising to my surface too quickly. I grabbed his hair, increasing the screaming thoughts of my mind, hoping he’ll understand. But the desire took over him- and he began flicking his wet tongue more, causing me to jerk my head backwards, clasping my thighs over his head.

“Please, Edward.” My gasps were filling the empty space, all of his movements sickeningly perfect.

He let go of me, the warm tongue exiting my folds, and I clenched my thighs together harder as he kneeled over me, his breath ragged and heavy. His lips were sleek with my fluid, and I felt my ears go red.

He was looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing to exist. He watched me, so intense that I could cower from his breathtaking gaze. Edward pulled his shirt over his head, the pale, shimmering color of his skin mesmerizing me.

The sun was out. Fading over the large pine trees of Forks- as if the universe had some perfectly divine idea of the first connection of our bodies.

His eyes were light brown in the sunlight, the lines of his abs sparkling in the warm orange of the sun.

“I’m crazy about you.” My confession was soft, so soft I wasn’t sure he heard it.

Edward slowly shook his head, but all I could focus on was the color of his eyes. It was the only thing tethering me from heaven.

He was a fallen angel, looking at me like I was the cure to his sin.

“Calypso. You are my destruction.” His breath quickened, his lean chest rising and falling with the pace of my own.

Edward’s mouth met mine one more time, one more soft, passionate time. I grazed my fingers over the muscles of his back, memorizing every part of this moment. Solidifying it in my nimble, mortal mind.

He let the tip of his dick slide on my wet pussy, staring at me with lustful eyes, eyes waiting for confirmation.

I nodded, biting my lip in preparation.

Edward let his thick shaft slide in my cunt, and I yelped, clenching his thick shoulders.

It hurt. His dick was so big, I was hardly prepared for it. But Edward, with the last remaining piece of willpower he had, slowed his movements, his hard body meeting the spongey, untouched area inside of me.

He hissed, dropping his body on mine, and he grazed his fingers through my hair, each thrust getting more powerful.

With that, I realized something.

Edward is a vampire.

A vampire with exceeding amounts of supernatural strength, and… stamina.

He showed no signs of reaching climax as he warmed my body with his cock, each stroke inside of me causing pleasure to shoot to my stomach.

I could faintly hear my reaction- unreal, loud moans that I assume the deers of the forest could hear. I mewled as he slowed down, pushing his forearms into the cushion. Edward let out a soft groan, stroking my face with his thumb. He repositioned his position, pushing his dick back in, and reaching new lengths of pleasure in my insides. I moaned, shamelessly, letting my fingers dig into his back.

The warm ball of nerves were heating at my core, a sign that I was reaching climax. Edward’s mouth dropped to my collarbones, sucking sharp hickeys as he thrusted inside of me, each movement rolling my eyes back.

I whimpered, stammering from the euphoria shaking my legs. “I’m-close…”

Edward moaned, a sound so beautiful I could’ve just watched him now, an artist and a masterpiece. He ground his hips to mine, hissing with the feeling of his body completely in mine. I let my hands fall over my head, closing my eyes to try to preserve the orgasm rising in my gut.

“No.” Edward’s voice was strained, the softness of his movements gone. Each thrust inside of me was hard, rough, matching his untainted desire. “Don’t close your eyes. I need to see you.”

I need to see you.

How could I love someone so much it hurt?

I opened my eyes weakly, meeting the heavy lidded, black pits of Edward’s. His abs clenched as he pushed inside of me, his hips bucking with a renounced speed. I gasped at the feeling of his dick hitting my cervix, trying to focus on his face, overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Please,” I begged one more time, the need for my climax forcing my legs to shake on his.

Edward managed a smile, and dropped his body again, fully covering mine. He rocked into me, and I whimpered in his ear, letting my hands drop over his neck.

Nothing has ever felt this good. Nothing will ever feel this good.

Edward groaned, the thrusts getting so hard it began to hurt again, with a strange, overwhelming pleasure that came with the pain.

“Callie…” His voice was soft for the jerk of his hips, a warm sensation rolling over my body.

“Edward!” I squirmed, peak taking over my nerves.

“I know, love.” Edward’s breaths were fast in my ear, the jerk of his hips creating the sounds of skin slapping throughout the room. He let a heavy groan slip from his lips, and I felt the leak of precum making the inside of my pussy even more liquid.

“I’m going to-” Edward’s voice was nothing more then a raspy groan in my ear.

“Please, please!” I whimpered again, clenching my legs around his abdomen to avoid the painful desire of climax. He had edged me on for so long, I don’t think I could’ve waited anymore.

Edward’s movements turned hard, fast, a ripple of sensation arousing my body again. He growled, our skin smacking together with new volume, and orgasm blinded my vision, making me roll my eyes back, and arch my back until my clit touched the root of his cock. I screamed, scraping my nails on his back until I could’ve been sure there was blood.

Edward didn’t protest; in fact, he thrust harder with that, each movement causing him to heave breaths, the warm air hitting my ear. He moaned, a vibration in the mess of my hair, and quickly pulled his warm, wet body from my own, shooting strings of hot white on the base of my stomach, dripping down my sensitive cunt.

Edward rolled off of me slowly, collapsing on the small couch, both of our bodies reeling the affects of the tiresome fuck. I attempted to catch my breath, feeling my heart beating so fast I couldn’t hear the birds chirping anymore. Hesitantly, I turned my body to meet his, but Edward was already staring at me, the warmth of his expression a relief to me. He bit his lip, his chest rising the similar pattern mine was.

I processed everything, opening my mouth to speak, but not understanding how to phrase it.

“Edward?”

He smiled, the soft, mesmerizing action in my peripheral. “Yes?” The melody of his voice still left me catching my breath.

I couldn’t say the words. They rung in my mind, an untamable message dancing through my heart.

Three words.

I love you.

Edward let his eyes fall on mine, hearing the silent plea of my mind.

“I love you too, Callie.” His mouth was parted, and his lips were red from before, and he read my mind and read those words. I couldn’t help it when I draped over his body, kissing him like it was the first time all over again.

He snaked his arms over my bare body, his smooth knuckles tickling my spine. His lips draped over mine as if we were two puzzle pieces, separated for too long, and now here, and alive, and in love.

I loved Edward Cullen. I had the very first day I met him. And even if I die a mortal, holding the hand of the boy who will exist forever, I know I’ll live until the day he ceases to.

I’ll live in Edward’s heart,

And he’ll live in mine.

Because that’s what love is, right? A taste of forever.

And we were forever.

Okay that’s it byeeee

I am super open to constructive criticism and feedback, as well as recs. Thanks for reading ! :> <333

[coryosbaby]

top adam x bottom fem reader? tumblr is lacking 💔

—ᴀᴠᴀ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ !

Adam Stanheight x fem! Bimbo! Reader

✯ Content Warning . semi public sex (in an alley), club scene, choking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, mild anal, p n v, degradation & praise, creampie, a lil bit of punk Adam with nipple piercings <33

Staring off across the room could not have been as helpful as it is right now.

A man’s hands are grabbing your hair, pressing you between his warm body and a brick wall behind you. He smells good, like some cheap cologne and soap but in the best way possible. He’s got some kind of eyeliner on his lower lashline and a curve hugging t shirt that makes you swoon. You had watched him from across the room under the strobe lights. He had saw you, approached, talked. His name is Adam.

You don’t know him— not really. You know who he is, thanks to a news article you read a few months ago. You know what had happened to him, after he had escaped a viscous serial killer and somehow got out alive. You know that taking a girl in an alleyway is probably his way of blowing off steam. But he was nice enough to strike up conversation before he jumped your bones— even asked to take your picture.

“Trying to remember the scene,” he had said, chuckling nervously. “especially you. You’re the prettiest view here.”

And after that, you had both somehow made your way to the back alley and he had set his camera down and sooner or later you had shoved your tongue down his throat. And okay, so this seems a little trashy, but so what? You would’ve fucked him either way, whether it be at home or at his apartment. And besides— something about this boy has you willing to be fucked like a cheap slut in the middle of an alleyway. And who can blame you, honestly.

If you didn’t know any better, you would ask Adam out.

But you don’t think about that possibility right now— can’t think about that. His crotch is grinding up against yours, his lips consuming you until he pulls away.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He asks. He wants you, but he wants to make sure that being fucked in an alleyway is something you’re into.

Nodding, you ignore the pain in your heels as you lift on your tippy toes in your stilettos. Biting teasingly at his neck, you let out a small breath of air.

“‘S perfect. Now why don’t you shut up and fuck me?”

His eyes are glazed with lust, and his hand reaches down to grab the flesh of your ass.

“Yeah?” He mutters. “Right here?”

At your nod, he shakes his head and chuckles.

“Never met a chick like you before.”

He dives back in for another taste of your lips. His tongue strokes your bottom lip, wet and filthy and oh so delicious. You run your hands up his shirt, feeling the warm skin and the light patch of hair on his chest. Running your hands over his chest, you’re met with the sensation of cold metal.

Nipple rings.

“Been wanting some of these,” you mention to him, and he grins against you.

“Hurt like a bitch. Wouldn’t recommend if you have a low pain tolerance.” Getting shot’ll do that to you— make a needle going through your most sensitive parts seem like child’s play.

“Mmmm..”

You continue to kiss him again, this time flicking over his nipples and playing with the barbells. It drives him crazy, and he becomes more sex crazed and desperate. After a moment he pulls your face away from him. Without warning, he turns you around and shoves your face against the wall. Letting out a tiny gasp, your pussy aches as he pushes your legs apart with one of his own and moves down to his knees. He kneads your ass with his hands, lifting up your pink latex dress to expose your soft ass to him. Groaning, he takes notice of the tiny black thong that’s settling in between your cheeks.

“Shit,” he whispers solely to himself. You smirk. You knew that the lace would come in handy if you got laid tonight.

“Like it?” You say, amused. His hands move up to spread your cheeks. The slightly chilled night air makes your eyes scrunch shut in pleasure.

“So fucking sexy.” Adam praises, and he leans in, using his thumb to move away the thong’s string. Watching your dripping pussy from this angle, his cock is so hard that it hurts. Your little clit is settled between two swollen lips, hole clenching and unclenching. Adam takes sight of you under the street lamp a distance away that serves as your only source of light. He thinks you’re beautiful.

He brings his lips to your clit; pressing a soft kiss there, he lets out a small mewl. He kisses all over you, moving up to the globes of your ass to leave wet ones in a trail. And unexpectedly, his finger finds your puckered asshole, running it along on it. He slips his thumb in, gentle, and with his other hand he reaches around to play with your aching pussy. He finds your hole and he probes it with the tip of his tongue, while his finger slides inside your ass. He thrusts one, in, out, in, out, and it’s not long before he adds a second as he begins to devour your cunt like a man starved. Groaning against you, he makes sure to get your pussy nice and wet, makes sure to drool and spit on it as much as he can. You like boys like this; boys that are desperate and messy but still manage to somehow make you submit. Because this whole time, your mouth is spewing so many vulgar phrases, begging, pleading.

“Please! ‘S good, Adam, it’s so good, wanna be good for you…”

“Want you to make me cum, want your cock…”

And Adam’s got this hunger as he hears these words, as your hole feeds him your delicious arousal. He wants to fuck you until you stop breathing.

It’s not long before he presses down on your clit and rubs while his tongue is still probing your walls. Instantly, white hot heat licks up your spine and you can’t help but cum all over Adam’s pretty mouth. You shove your wrist in your mouth to keep quiet but it’s so hard. You haven’t had your pussy ate like this in a while.

Wiping his mouth, Adam grins from behind you as he lifts himself back up to his feet. He begins to undo his belt, the skull shaped buckle glinting in front of his eyes. He unzips his fly, pulling out his hard cock. He strokes himself as he watches your ass grind back desperately against him.

“Still so needy…” He grunts. “God, you’re a slut, aren’t you?”

You mewl, hands reaching behind to spread your cheeks and present yourself to him again. You’re like a bitch in heat for this perfect stranger. He takes notice, instantly shoving his cock against your clit and tapping a few times. He’s being such a tease.

“Adam, cmon..” you whine, trying to adjust your hips so his mushroomed head can catch on your dripping seam. He just shakes his head, rubbing his cock up and down your folds.

“Beg for it,” he whispers against your neck. “Beg for this cock.”

“Please,” you instantly moan out. “Please fill me up. My pussy needs your cock so bad…”

And Adam isn’t a patient guy, so of course he gives into your demands and slides his throbbing cockhead into your entrance. He tilts his head back, mouth falling open, as he enters your warm canal. You mewl against him. He’s big, not too much that its incredibly painful but just enough to give you that delicious stretch.

Adam’s face buries itself into your neck, small sounds leaving his throat as he finally sinks in to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he moans. “Are you always this tight?”

“Mhmmmm,” you say, feeling confident. Your hands reach behind you to run through his dark hair. “Been needing a cock inside me for weeks.”

He thrusts into you a bit harsher now, nipping at your jugular with his teeth.

“Yeah?” He breathes. “Should’ve met me sooner baby,” and then, with a much darker tone, “Could fill up this pussy every day if you’d let me.”

And now you know you need to ask for his number. Because you’ve never felt this needy and this hot for another human being in your life. Maybe it’s love at first sight— or fuck at first sight. It doesn’t matter. He’s beginning to pummel your guts like you’re a fuck doll, grunting into your ear as his hips slap loudly against yours. His hands wrap around your hair and he pulls you back towards his awaiting thrusts.

“Clenching so tight. Making my dick so wet, baby, fuck.”

Squirming in his grasp, you let out a squeak when he bites down on your neck harshly. Like a fucking vampire, the boy begins to suckle up the blood into his mouth. As he pulls away, his pace speeds up impossibly quick.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” He coos. “Who’s fucking this cute little pussy this good?”

“You!” You gasp. “All you, Adam, ‘m yours— shit!”

You’re about to cum embarrassingly fast once again. Just one little flick to your clit and you’ll be spilling all over his cock. Adam takes your ass in his palms and spreads you again so he can watch as you take him.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes. “Such a good, pretty slut. Gonna make you cum so fuckin’ hard on me.”

Your eyes roll back, and he reaches around to rub your clit with his fingers. You seize up, letting out a choked sound, as you cum all over him. He whimpers as he feels your pussy spasm around him, and his fingers on your hips become bruising. You can’t help but have the desire to be filled up with his spend; it doesn’t matter if he might leave you after this, you want him to leave you used and dripping in his cum. You press your hand to his lower stomach from behind you, working your hips hard against him.

“Cum inside me,” You plead, overstimulated. “Need your cum to fill me up. Please, I need it—“

“Shit!” His hips begin to stutter, and with one last stroke he’s cumming.

He rides out his high until his cum is dripping down his balls, his eyes shut and a montage of delicious praises spilling out of him.

When he finishes he gently pulls out of your gaping pussy. Tucking himself back into his pants, he pulls your underwear up with gentle hands. He turns you around, fixing the straps on your dress.

“Okay?” He asks, and you smile as if you’re doped out and nod.

“Never better.”

He laughs, a light flush caking his cheeks now.

“Good,” he says, then chuckles awkwardly. “Uhm— thanks. For..”

He gestures to your body, fumbling with his hands.

“No problem.” You reply. “It’s late. I should be getting home.”

“I can walk you to your car,” Adam says quickly.“I mean, if you want.”

Something tugs in your chest, wondering how the once rough boy is so shy now. You lean up to him, planting a kiss to his cheek.

“I would love that, Adam. Thank you.”

Adam grins, helping you balance on your shoes as you wobble towards the parking lot.

“So… I was wondering if I could get your number?”

You’re relieved that he asked first. You look up at him, his neck caked in hickeys and bites from your own kiss bitten lips.

“Definitely.”

[kaleldobrev]

Midnight Confessions

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Dean have a "heart-to-heart" conversation on the way to Stanford to pick up Sam

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Fluff

Authors Note: I've been wanting to use this gif for something for such a long time and I finally found a way to use it | Takes place pre-season one | I've been really enjoying writing pre-season one fics lately! | Can be read as a “sequel” to Comfortable? or as it's own one-shot | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

“Good morning Sweetheart,” Dean said, as he noticed your movements were starting to get a little bit more prominent than they had been previously when you were sleeping.

When you awoke, you were surprised to still be in the exact same spot and position as you were in when you had fallen asleep: your head in Dean's lap, and the soles of your boots pressed up against the passenger side door. "Morning Handsome," you replied back, giving him a soft smile. "How long was I out for?"

"Couple of hours," he said. "You were mumbling quite a bit. What were you dreaming about?"

"You're going to think it's stupid," you said all too quickly, slightly embarrassed of the dream you had just had. It was nothing awful or terrible by any means; it was actually one of the most peaceful dreams you've had in a while, well...at least the one you could actually remember at least. But part of the reason you didn't want to tell your boyfriend about it was because you knew how he felt about the white picket fence life. "I'd rather blow my brains out," he's told you on more than one occasion. But it was a life that you dreamed of — and dreamed of doing with him someday.

"I promise I won't think it's stupid," he told you, trying to be reassuring. He briefly looked at you, flashing you his charming smile that you had loved so much before looking back at the road again.

You sighed, before getting up from your position on his lap; moving so your back was now pressed up against the passenger side door. This way, you could have a better angle when you told him about the dream you just had — a better angle to see the disappointment and judgement from him. Because you knew, despite this promise of his, you knew him all too well, knew that he would just laugh. “I dreamed that me and you lived in one of those blue suburbans and I was baking you an apple pie while you watched a Cowboys game on the tv.”

Silence was Dean’s chosen response. At least he’s not laughing, you thought. But you hated the silence that he was giving you as well, because accompanying that silence, his hands started to grip the wheel, causing his knuckles to turn white. “Oh yeah?” He finally said, his tone coming off rather calmer than you had expected him to sound.

You looked down at your hands as you started twiddling your thumbs, almost embarrassed at the confession you had made. “I know it’s stupid, trust me.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said, briefly meeting your gaze. “It’s just…unrealistic for people like us,” his tone sounding much more disappointed now, like there was a part of him that had wanted that kind of life. And the truth was, there was a part of Dean that had wanted that life. Wanted a suburbia life. And wanted that kind of life to be with you. But he knew it was a life that he could never have. It was simply just out of his reach. “People like us don’t get white picket fences. We get broken bones and near death experiences.”

You knew that Dean was right; how unrealistic this dream of yours was. To others, it was their normal, but to you it was foreign, a fantasy. “You say that like it’s impossible,” you began. “We’re both still young Dean. We can still get out, sanity still in tact.”

“Y/N, hunting is all I’ve ever known. I’ve been on the road with Sammy and my dad since I was four years old,” his voice starting to sound full of hurt, but with a hint of exhaustion. “The only home I’ve ever known was burnt down and it took my mom along with it.”

“But this is your dads fight Dean, not yours,” you said, trying to be very cautious of your wording. “He should have never dragged you into this crusade of his. He should have given you and Sammy a choice in the matter.” When it came to Dean, he wasn’t very forthcoming with his background. You knew the basics about how him and his family had gotten into hunting, but you never pried as you felt like it wasn’t necessarily your place; his mothers death always being a touchy subject with him. Which you understood, as your own mother died in a house fire similar when you were six months old. But the difference was, your father gave you the choice if you wanted to be a hunter or not. A choice you made when you turned 18.

There was silence between the two of you as Dean refused to look at you, as he was too deep in thought. He wanted to scream at you, tell you to mind your own business. Tell you that you should understand. But he knew that there was no point in yelling at you, no point in getting upset, because as much as he hated to admit it…you were right. “You know, growing up, I wanted to be a firefighter,” Dean said, finally breaking the silence. “But I know that’ll never be in the cards for me.”

“It still can be,” you commented. “I think you’d make a pretty great one.”

You saw him grin from your comment briefly before his face turned stoic again. “I gotta find out what killed our moms first.”

“And then you’ll become one?” You asked, still entertaining the idea with him.

He shrugged. “Maybe,” he grinned again. “How about you? What did you want to do?”

“Veterinarian,” you confessed. “Animals are much better than people.”

“I heard you have to be really smart to do that,” he said turning to look at you.

“Well it’s a good thing I was an AP kid in school,” you grinned.

“Fucking nerd,” he said, letting out a small chuckle, before patting your thigh.

“But I’m your nerd,” you smiled.

“You bet your ass you are,” he smiled back, giving you a wink.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @octoberclidan @kidwhofixates @crystal555 @hannahisthebanana @seamlessepiphany @jackles010378 @mrsjenniferwinchester @globtrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @mrlonelycat @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream @frozenhuntress67 If you'd like to be added to a tag list please follow this link

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 14.

Summary: Our second look through Oliver's eyes as he thinks back on the night he and Felix get champagne drunk on the bridge, and then when he gets to Saltburn. Looking around both Y/N and Felix's rooms, he gets to know more about them, and finally he meets the Catton Family.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, reader is said/implied to be high for some of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 8506 words. you have all deserved a good feed and i am here to provide. sorry it's been a week, the dam broke, things are looking good in my personal life which is nice, and i am BACK on main fic nonsense. we get another Ollie POV, please let me know what you think, im so excited to have everyone at the estate and hanging out!! got big plans going forward!! excited to be setting it all up!! yeah please feedback, my darling friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Sometimes Oliver feels like he was put on this Earth solely to exist in Felix Catton's affectionate gaze. Everything else in life is just filler.

That night on the bridge, he and Felix in suits, drunk on champagne and bathed in the twilight of the evening, will haunt him, he's sure. He welcomes it with open arms, surfacing when his mind is idle and elsewhere. Felix smiling at him, Felix trying to bring him closure even if he doesn't really need it, Felix hanging on his every word, ever story he would fabricate to keep Felix's eyes fixed on him and only him. Felix so close, Felix with his arm around Ollie, Felix's thigh pressed up against his as they sat alone on the edge of the bridge.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Oliver feels dwarfed by him, never more so than these moments where Felix insists on occupying Oliver's personal space, and then some. But he'll never complain; Felix's affection is intoxicating, addicting even. To be so wrapped up in it, in him, it's bliss, though Oliver never wanted to seem needy for such affection, that's why he waits for these moments, for Felix to make first contact. He wonders if Felix had realised the way you so quickly had in the beginning.

Everyone reaches out for Felix, everyone else appears so desperate. Its why Oliver's always held back from touching him, always waited and let Felix make the first move. Felix was made to be wanted, he basks in it; Oliver gives him the chance to want. Isn't there a thrill in that? A novelty?

And to be wanted by Felix... That was a gift in itself too.

Oliver had, admittedly, been worried that he'd lost his chance at that. After sleeping with you, Felix holding him at arm's length, he could feel his grip slipping. Plucking at the strings of Felix's clear saviour complex was enough to claw back into his life, but he now knew his place was precarious, and most tentative of all was everything about you.

So he'd held back from you. On purpose. Often distinctly, even when you'd give these confused, disheartened looks. He tried not to look at you in those moments; his focus was Felix, Felix seemed harder won.

But when he'd tried to apologise on the bridge - at first he wasn't going to bring it up, but it was dark and he was reasonably drunk and the only person who's ever smiled like Felix had been smiling at him in that moment had been you - Felix had, at first, laughed him off. No, he can feel it now, weighing on him; he needs to balance the scales. He wants Felix so bad it aches in his bones, but Oliver knows his want goes beyond just the beautiful boy by his side. Every part of you, how you interact with the world, interact with him, the way you exist and exude confidence and love, drew Oliver in like a moth to a flame. If Felix is the hook, you were the line. The bait, and the trap. The sun, and it's warmth. He wants to always be the focus of your loving, attentive gaze. Always wants you to want him too.

Oliver is the helpless fly in the web you and Felix have woven, to be so lovingly obsessed with you both as you are, and yet still drawn further in, to love the love you share. He feels trapped and utterly helpless against his feelings for you both.

So he has to make it right. Has to make it... even? Was that how to make it right?

But Felix is different on the bridge. Different to the jealous creature he tried so clearly to hide in the weeks before. Something had changed.

"You never need to apologise for making them happy," he says easily, affectionately. Oliver tries to be insistent, that he never meant to get between the two of you. He's rambling and tipsy, but not enough to miss the faint choked noise of what Oliver could have sworn was intrigue that Felix makes at that, but he knows better than to dwell or comment on it. Instead, Felix claps him on the back; "you wanna make it up to me we can say you owe me one," he says far too easily.

"Owe you one what?" Oliver frowns, playing oblivious for a moment as he takes a sip of the champagne before Felix gives him a cheeky wink and a grin.

"Shag, of course."

Oliver does a spit take with surprise, not having thought Felix would be so casual and genuine about it, almost falling off of the bridge in the moment. Felix catches him, arm around him as he laughs through an apology.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry mate," he wheezes, carefully clapping Ollie on the shoulder, "also I apologise for assuming, poor form, sometimes I forget people can be weird about these things- not saying you'd be weird, we've just never spoken about this kind of thing."

It speaks to how much he must genuinely trust Oliver, considering how light the conversation remains. Or perhaps it's the bubbly. Still, Oliver has a little bit of an inkling about what this kind of thing may be. But part of him needs Felix to say it, to confirm his suspicions, to keep stringing him along with further crumbs of hope.

"Assuming what?"

There's a single moment, the way in which Felix looks at Oliver out of the corner of his eyes, smile briefly frozen on his face as he must be considering the weight of what he's about to say. Its in the moment that follows, when Felix laughs almost self consciously and withdraws his hand that Oliver wonders how out Felix is. Oliver had always just kind of assumed - hoped - on the basis of his relationship with Y/N, but it occurs to him that the general perception of Felix, the talk and rumours and gossip that surrounded him, never really entertained the idea that he was actually queer. Felix's affection towards everyone in his life was simply a by-product of who he was, and you're his best friend - and his cousin, according to Farleigh - so of course you don't count, and otherwise Felix Catton was a known lady's man, right?

Not quite, it seemed.

"That you'd even be into guys like that," it sounds so easy when Felix says it, like Oliver can't see the tension in his shoulders as he reaches over, taking the bottle of champagne back. Its almost empty. Oliver doesn't mind if he finishes it.

Felix looks at the sky, at the stars.

Oliver thinks about the VHS tape of Maurice that he stole from a rental store after looking at the back cover. He'd kept it stashed in his sock drawer and watched every week under the cover of absolute darkness until it literally became unplayable. Yes, Oliver liked guys, and spent his teen years having just as many lewd fantasies about boys with posh accents, and charmingly youthful features, and floppy, brown hair, as he did about girls with big, dark eyes, and high, perfect cheek bones, in bright red wedding dresses. His sisters hated Beetlejuice, thought it was gross, but he and his mother would watch it together on occasion, sharing a blanket his gran had crocheted, and a bowl of popcorn. She'd get all giggly over Alec Baldwin, while Oliver couldn't help but fall for Winona Ryder for the duration of the film, every time.

For a moment, he thinks of the sunlit kitchen he grew up in, and his mother cooking Sunday lunch with a record playing. The last Sunday before he left for Oxford. In the yard, he can hear his father mowing the lawn, and he's sure Emily is in her room packing for her own journey back to her third year of studying. But Oliver comes out of his room just as Jump in Line (Shake Senora) begins to play. Serendipity. Already excited by the song, his mother looks up from the dishes, and practically lights up at the sight of her son. She's going to ask him to dance. He's going to say yes. They're both going to love this moment; she says it's their song, and Oliver dances along to their song. When it's over, Oliver won't admit that he's disappointed it had to end, but he tells his mother he'll miss her too when she hugs him especially tightly. For that one moment he hadn't ached to leave the way he'd been for months, for years.

Looking now at the rock in the rubbish that represented his father, there's a momentary pang of guilt for lying so dramatically about him he hadn't been expecting. So he pushes it out of his mind.

Felix finishes the bottle, and Oliver watches him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Effortlessly beauty.

Oliver wants to focus on his future, not his past.

"Haven't got too much experience with 'em, but that doesn't stop me from liking them well enough," feeling especially bold, he levels a sly smile at Felix, "so if it's all good with you, maybe we do say I owe you one."

Felix blushes the most beautiful scarlet as he barks a loud, pleased laugh. But most importantly, he relaxes.

"It's not that hard," he offers so nonchalantly, amending with a sheepish grin, "well it is, that's part of the point -" but Oliver can't help himself.

"I said I didn't have a lot of experience, didn't say I was completely inexperienced."

"No, I know," Felix's voice turns all smug and teasing, and Oliver can feel his face beginning to heat up as he realised the implications of Felix's tone, "I've heard rave reviews." Oliver had taken the time to have his fun, to have a few hook ups here and there in the past year, usually with girls or guys from town or other campuses who had no idea who he was otherwise. There's only one person who'd be giving him rave reviews, as Felix had called them.

Huh. It's quite the compliment; he had gone out of his way to give you the kind of attention he suspected few people ever bestowed upon you, but rave reviews? What had you actually told Felix?

Instead, considering that this still feels like potentially rocky territory, he tries to bring it back.

"It's one of the few ways I ever really learned how to make people feel appreciated," his gaze drops with his tone, and hopes that Felix takes the bait. The threads that tie back to the story of his unfortunate upbringing, but also perhaps the threads that subconsciously tie his attitude and behaviour to you in Felix's mind. Even if you don't say it, he knows it's part of how you operate, and he's willing to bet that Felix had picked up on that too.

It works. Felix wraps an arm around him, assuring him that he has so much to offer the world. God, he sounds so sincere when he says it; if Oliver hadn't knowingly baited him into the compliment, he would have believed him entirely. At the very least he basks in how good it is to hear Felix say.

They talk through the night, Oliver tentatively feeling his way towards his goal, the opportunity to spend Summer with Felix too, to make sure this connection doesn't wither in the interim. Of course he plays at being humble, at refusing the offer despite how clearly uninhabitable the sob story home he'd made up for himself was, but just as he'd predicted, Felix, ever the saviour, refuses to take no for an answer. Apparently his mother has people stay for months at a time anyhow. Oliver wonders idly if that's where Felix got it from.

"Y/N will be so pleased, I can tell you that," Felix mentioned with fondness. Of course Oliver had anticipated that you would probably be spending at least some of your Summer with them, but he's surprised that when he enquires further, Felix admits, "yeah they live with me at Saltburn when we're not at school, have for ages now."

"What, all the time? They really are a ward of the Saltburn Estate?"

Felix wears a strange little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes; there's an unfamiliar kind of melancholy that doesn't look quite right on him, Oliver thinks, as Felix shrugs again.

"Some people's parents just aren't meant to be parents."

For a split second Oliver feels a rush of guilt as he comes to realise he may have fabricated a life for himself that you had actually lived. In the moment, however, he dips his head, a sign that he understands, that he agrees.

"Then we're lucky to have you."

Felix throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in tightly and presses a kiss to the side of his head, assuring him it's no trouble at all.

"What are friends for?"

Yes, this moment would be burned into his brain; Felix so warm beside him, Felix smiling against his temple, Felix champagne drunk and willing to share his life, if only for six weeks. Every fibre of Oliver's being is willing it to work out, willing it to be more than just these six weeks -

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Except the minute he knocks on the doors of the house that looms so large he feels like he's about to be swallowed whole by it, he feels like he's failed a test. The look in the terrifying doorman's eyes, his tone of voice, the unflinching scrutiny when faced with Oliver's continual awkwardness and questions, makes him feel like he's failed several more in rapid succession.

Oliver's actually pretty sure he's never been quite so glad to see Felix as the exact moment he calls out to Oliver with absolute joy. Which is saying something. It's never felt like Felix is judging him, at least not in a way he can't pass. Thank fuck. Felix, in this moment, is the only one who matters, he tells himself.

That being said, Oliver had been expecting you to be by Felix's side when he'd come bounding in to save him from Duncan's scrutiny. That's generally where he's come to expect you. Not that he wasn't grateful for Felix giving the tour, it was just... unexpected.

Honestly, when you appear from a door on the other side of the long gallery, opposite Felix's bedroom, Oliver's surprised by how relieved he is to see you. The room you've exited seems to be themed in pale purple from the brief glimpse Oliver sees, and you've got a leather bound folder in your arms, but neither of those is nearly so interesting as the look in your eyes. Looking back, Oliver sees Felix lounging in his doorframe, looking between you both with patient amusement.

"Ollie!"

Oliver's pretty sure no-one in his life has ever sounded this excited to see him. The only person who comes closes would be Felix, five minutes ago.

"Ollie, oh Ollie - Fi, hold this," you pass off your folder to Felix, who of course takes it without argument, before Oliver's swept up in a tight hug, "you're early, you smell nice," you hug him so enthusiastically the two of you spin for a moment, before pulling back, holding him at arm's length like you're assessing the state of him. Instead, you beam, holding his hands as you turned to Felix, "Fi, Ollie's here! We love Ollie!"

This time when you meet Oliver's gaze, he's surprised to see not just love, but want. You'd worn that look in the weeks before the two of you had fucked, like all you could think about was how you'd once begged him to want you, and how he of course admitted he did. When had he started missing this look in your eyes? All he can think about is that night in the warmth of your bed, the way you'd sounded so fucking certain and needy - of course I want you - and how he can see it in your eyes again now. For a moment his mind and resolve is fuzzy; why had he ever stopped reaching out for you?

"We do love Ollie," Felix agreed with further amusement, and that's when he remembers. Except... this isn't the jealous version of Felix that had shown up in the aftermath. This was the Felix who'd brushed off Oliver's apologies about the whole ordeal on the bridge and proceeded to overtly, if jokingly, flirt with him. Already he feels just a touch more relaxed in this new dynamic that was being set up for the Summer.

Actually, Oliver, for just a second, thinks he may have died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck, Ollie, look at your nails," he hears next, however, and it immediately shatters the illusion as he pulls his hands away from you and your judgemental eyes.

"Don't be mean," Felix chides, and you look up with surprised, as if you hadn't realised your own less than complimentary tone. Looking between Oliver and Felix, there's apology in your eyes.

"Sorry Ollie," you're quick to offer, and he awkwardly tries to act like he's not embarrassed, "I'll give you a manicure, I can paint your nails; we can match!" You smiled brightly, hands pressed flat and warm to his chest all of a sudden, "I match Fi's shirt today; Farleigh painted my nails -" your eyes go wide as if you'd just remembered; "Farleigh; shit."

You run for the door to the blue room. Oliver, deeply confused, watches you go. Then, he hears Felix sigh with fond exasperation, holding out the leather folder. A moment later you burst through the door again.

"Documents. Shit. Thanks, Fi!"

And you're off again.

"Is this... how they normally are just at Saltburn?" Oliver finally asks with faint concern, looking from the door to Felix in the darkened doorframe.

"My lovely cousin is an atrocious influence on our dear Y/N," Felix said with incredible diplomacy. But Oliver's mind momentarily catches on the wording.

Our Y/N.

Just like before, a strange thrill, a rush; he remembers the look in your eyes when he'd first said 'Our Felix' to you. An exclusive kind of possessive, one you'd willingly share with Oliver. He liked this dynamic, he wondered how hard he'd have to push it to get beyond the simple semantics.

We love Ollie!

We do love Ollie.

Perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult at all.

"What do you mean?" He asks instead, and Felix turns to him with that same amused smile.

"They're fine, don't worry mate, they're just high is all," clearly Felix's feelings are mixed on the subject; Oliver knows he has no problems with getting high himself, so he suspects Felix cares more about Oliver's first impressions of his home and his family than he was wanting to let on. You were his right hand after all. There's something endearing about how much he seems to want Oliver to want to be here. Which he does, for the record.

"So this is your room?" Oliver enquires, shooting for brightness, despite the momentary awkwardness. He watches the tension leave Felix's shoulders. It's enough for Oliver, and his gaze drifts, roams around and tries to catalogue every single piece of Felix he can glean from the clutter. Even with an army of servants there's something unkempt about how he decorates the otherwise old and ornate space. CDs he'll spend time poring over, stacks of books, and trinkets, and tchotchkes. Felix even has a balcony; stone railings and enough decorative chairs, and even a lounge and small table, for company.

Here and there in the room itself, however, a few things seem out of place; shoes that didn't look like Felix's sitting neatly by the door, two dressing gowns, one maroon and tossed over the bed, the other in navy and draped more deliberately over the end of the bed. Two glasses of water, one on either side of the bed. Tell-tale signs that clue Oliver in before Felix even confirms it -

"Mine and Y/N's, yeah," he says it so easily, so nonchalantly, no bothering with pretence here at Saltburn, "you'll be staying just next door," Felix continues on with a wide, easy smile over his shoulder as he continued to flit through the rooms, catching light, voice echoing amongst the decorative walls.

"Bathroom," he offers, before turning, adding, "we're going to be sharing a bathroom, by the way, I hope you don't mind," and Oliver finds himself drawn to the sight of the ornate bath, as if on purposeful display in the middle of the room, "otherwise you'd be miles away on the other end of the house," Felix explains, continuing on without even considering his words as he says them. No, of course Oliver didn't mind.

All Oliver can think of is everything that simple sentence implied. Closeness. Implicit want. A sudden flash in Oliver's mind as Felix continues through to the dressing room, of sweat beading along skin and hands clutching desperately at the cool, porcelain edge of the tub, of water sloshing and spilling and overflowing, and the sound of breathless moaning -

He tries to focus, tries to simply watch Felix's hands as he taps idly on the red walls of the dressing room as he lead into what Oliver can only assume to be his room. He stays out of his head, leans into the moment, and lets himself relax as Felix gestures broadly, brightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Your room!"

It's bright, all wide, open windows looking over the beautiful grounds of Saltburn, honey coloured wood and lamps that glow in such a way that he was reminded of Oxford. Already someone's brought his suitcase up, set it out at the end of the bed; he'd get to unpacking that later tonight, for now he took his time relaxing into the space. Felix had already sat himself down, seemingly at home in the old, wooden rocking chair, watching Oliver, almost like he was trying to hide his nervous anticipation.

"I'm really glad you're here, mate," for just a moment, Felix sounds more honest than he'd been since Oliver had arrived. There's something in his eyes that Oliver hadn't been anticipating, in the brief moment in which their gazes meet. There's a kind of arrogance, Oliver thinks, to calling even a sliver of it something like love, but it's adoration and appreciation nonetheless. It's gone in a flash, too brief to be anything serious, he thinks once more as Felix stands, "right, I will, er... I'll leave you to it."

And Oliver is quiet. It's a kind of reverence, or perhaps it reads like shock and awe at the whole place, but he listens quietly as Felix tells him about his mother's aversion to stubble and ugliness and piercings and -

"Anything else I should know about?" Finally he asks, sensing Felix was close to rambling on a nervous tangent. Thankfully, Felix actually seems relieved by the interruption, assuring him that there was nothing else to worry about.

Felix tells Oliver that he just needs to be himself, that his family will love him. That it's relaxed. Oliver loves Felix dearly, but doubts he, a man who rarely seems to be anything but relaxed, would be the best judge of that. Especially in a place like this. Still, Oliver smiles like he believes him, and watches the way Felix hangs himself back from the door on his heels, almost like a little kid, telling Oliver that his family will be in the library when he's ready.

Library?

His mental image of Saltburn grows with each moment. Soon it will overwhelm him, he's sure.

So he tries, just for the moment, to get acquainted with the room he's been given. His own, honey-coloured piece of Saltburn, if only for the Summer. Hopefully beyond, that dreamy little voice of want whispers in the back of his mind. Another flash of desire runs through him, the image of a quiet evening on Felix's balcony, a purple sky and a glass of scotch, book in one hand and Felix's head in his lap. He'd be too big for the little sofa, legs hanging off the edge, but he's comfortably fallen asleep with Oliver's fingers carding through his hair; when you drape yourself over Oliver's shoulders, there's loving affection in the way you call them 'your boys' -

God he'd been entertaining these fantasies for months, sure, almost since he'd met you and Felix, but never this vivid, never so detailed or hard to push away, to pretend like he'd never had them when he next tries to look you both in the eyes.

Yeah, me and Y/N's room. You're right next door. We'll be sharing a bathroom.

This is either going to be a dream, or the hardest Summer of his life. Pun entirely intended.

The room itself is rather charming, once Oliver finally breaks free of his own fantasies. Charming in a different way to the rest of the house, but in a way that was hard to put his finger on at first. Saltburn was like if a place could put on a performance of itself, none of it felt lived in, or at least, not for a very long time. Except Felix's room, it had his youth and carelessness that gave it a feeling of home, as, for some reason, did Oliver's.

Except then he sees them. Then he understands. There's space stickers on the top drawer of what he can only assume is the otherwise expensive bedside table. Some are peeled off, some even leaving the ugly, half-peeled, paper residue of planets and stars and little cartoon astronauts. The second of the two drawers is in much the same state, but depicting a faded sea creature theme. It's so unexpectedly, joyfully childish. There's two books in the top drawer, a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories, and a copy of Emma. Oliver swallows hard, trying not to wonder what you must mean by that. Otherwise the drawers are empty, almost hotel-like in it's severe starkness.

There's other little things, however. Fairy lights curled up and around the headboard that glow a comforting, warm white once he finds their switch. A digital clock at odds with the rest of the room's aesthetics, red numbers glowing in the afternoon light. The painting on the wall above the bookshelf that looks far more modern than anything else he'd seen so far on the walls, a rich, blue night sky glittering with stars, and a dreamy silhouette of a figure with a cigarette almost glowing orange against the darkness. Despite the vagueness of the figure, there's a comfort, a kind of love with which they'd been captured that Oliver can somehow feel in his chest when he looks at it.

The little bookshelf itself in the corner is filled with titles he can imagine you specifically enjoying, but a few anomalies here and there - books on botany and Edwardian flower code stick out in particular. It's completed with a small stack of CDs and a CD player gathering dust on top. When he crouches down, however, he's surprised to see an old, portable cassette deck taking up space on the bottom row of the bookshelf, mostly hidden behind several stacks of what appeared to be blank cassette tapes, crammed into the very corner, almost out of sight.

How strange. How... human.

There is an echo of someone else in this room, but to his relief, it feels like you. For the barest moment, he almost feels like he's already home.

It's a short-lived feeling, however, as Felix's words come back to him once more. His reflection in the bathroom mirror as he carefully rids himself of even the barest traces of stubble, doesn't meet the standards he's sure the mother of Felix Catton must hold.

Oliver's never considered himself particularly beautiful, nor did pretty much anyone else, it had always seemed. His mother was of course biased, Felix was filled with too much affection to be considered anywhere near reliable about that sort of things, and you - something inside Oliver squirms almost with embarrassment for even thinking so poorly of himself in the past few moments. Maybe a face like his would make Felix's mum happy, if the look in your eyes meant anything, every time you saw him.

Oliver chooses to leave the way he was brought in, taking a long few moments in Felix's room, leaving it untouched, undisturbed, but treating it like a museum to his best friend, clues about his life he couldn't glean from conversation alone. Felix's bookshelves were bigger than yours, stacked with comics amid countless fantasy and adventure books, but a surprising number of cowboy and western titles, though it's not as if there appears to be any kind of sorting system. There's a ceramic bowl that looks hand made, full of faded wristbands for events all over the world for the past five years. There's a shoebox that apparently used to hold a pair of lady's runners, now sitting at the end of one row that now has 'A Stupid Box For Feefs Stupid Rocks <3' sharpied on top in handwriting he doesn't recognise. A thick textbook about space on the bottom shelf with a cracked, worn spine and sticky tabs seeming to note various pages, various guitar tab books for different, popular bands that Felix would definitely be interested in. Four decks of cards stacked on top of each other, boxes looking so worn and used they were practically falling apart.

For a very long time, Oliver finds himself caught, looking at the little cork board full of photos leaning on top of the bookshelf. Countless photos of Felix, Farleigh, Venetia, and Y/N throughout the years. He hadn't realised just how long you and Felix had even known each other. How long you'd practically been a fixture at Saltburn in the Summer. There's a photo of the four of you all in your bathers, laying asleep on the grass beside the lake, all next to each other on brightly coloured towels, none of you could have been older than twelve; you fit right in along with the rest of them.

There's a photo strip, the kind taken in a booth at a mall or a museum, that Oliver thinks he recognises, but it takes him a long moment of staring at it to figure out why. It's you and Felix, and the strip itself says it's from an aquarium. Smiling. Laughing. You blurry, covering your laughter as Felix looks particularly goofy and pleased with himself, as if he'd just told a stupid joke. The last one has been ripped off.

Oh. Right. He'd seen it while snooping through Felix's wallet a few months ago; the photo had been the reason he'd put the wallet back at all. The way the two of you were kissing in the final photo, so wrapped up in each other, and love, and joy, had made Oliver feel almost physically sick with both want and jealousy.

God, he has to leave, has to stop snooping again and actually find this library and the rest of the Cattons.

Walking through Saltburn's many rooms alone makes Oliver feel like he's constantly out of bounds at a museum. There's hints of life throughout the building, but they're few and far between compared to the ornamental, carefully curated decorations of each room. Even the hints of the Cattons themselves seemed... too purposeful. The little, animated 'Catton Family Players' puppet show is the kind of thing only rich, whimsical weirdos could ever think was charming, and not just bizarre, vain, and haunting in the same way that porcelain dolls were.

But then he hears laughter, and warm chatter from down a hall, and the tinny, purposeful shouting from what could only be a movie or TV show. It sounds so much like his own family's living room on a cheerful evening that it's almost relaxing. Almost.

Because as he's approaching, he realises they're talking about him. They're picking apart the life he'd fed Felix as if it were mere gossip, speaking so airily, their sentiment so clearly out of touch that he'd probably find it amusing if he didn't have to pretend to be living it. Briefly, he wonders if they spoke like this about your life, or if the novelty of you had worn off in the years before. Perhaps you were just glad they could focus their pity and unapologetic classicism on someone else for a change; he couldn't hear you in there, which surprised him. Maybe part of him had expected you to defend him the way you had back at Oxford. Maybe you don't feel like you can at Saltburn. At least Felix sounds embarrassed, irritated as he admonishes Farleigh for having told the rest of the family.

Before he enters the library where the rest of the family has gathered, Oliver pauses by the door, both to get a better idea of what they're already thinking about him, but also because he'd spotted someone watching him from one of the adjacent rooms.

Bleach blonde hair, stars clinging to the tights on her legs, she's reading a book that Oliver can't quite see the cover of. Venetia was written on the collar of the little, blonde puppet in the Catton Family Players; Oliver suspects this is her. Oliver thinks she could be considered very beautiful, if she didn't seem quite so sharp. The way she huffs a laugh and wears a dangerously amused smile after she'd taken her own time in analysing him seems to prove as much. That being said, Oliver's not sure if she's laughing at something about him, or about the fact that they can both clearly hear her family's disparaging remarks about his apparent upbringing.

"Farleigh seems to think he's ghastly," Oliver hears a woman say as his hand comes to rest on the door handle, "why are you and our dear pet even friends with him, darling?"

"Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts," a second woman's voice seems to surmise as Oliver lets himself into the room, "I can't actually -" but Felix makes a noise as he sees the door opening, and the woman goes quiet as Oliver peers in.

"And here he is now," Farleigh sounds as thrilled as he ever was to see Oliver, "we were just talking about you," like he's trying his best to make Oliver feel as unwelcome as possible. It's... kind of working. Bastard. However looking over at him does solve one mystery; you and Farleigh are sharing a sofa at the back of the room that's only just big enough for the both of you as long as you're tucked up against him, his arm slung over the back of the chair behind you.

And you're fast asleep against him.

The blonde woman on the sofa who shares Felix's elegant, effortless beauty admonishes Farleigh, even though Oliver can tell from her voice she was one of the ones very much talking about him only moments before. Oliver has the grace to pretend like he hadn't heard, though is still glad for the vaguely embarrassed, apologetic look Felix is already giving him.

This has to be Felix's mother, the blonde with the airy voice who immediately gets up to greet him, to assess him.

"Oh, what beautiful eyes," oh thank god, "oh, how wonderful!" There's genuine surprise and adoration in the way Felix's mother regards him, and Oliver can't help but feel relieved, like he's finally passed the first of what he's sure will be many tests during his life at the Saltburn estate.

"Yeah, we told you he wasn't a minger," Felix pointed out when his mother turns to him.

"Oh, but darling, you and pet are kind about everyone; neither of you can be trusted about those you're fond of." Pet? Does she mean Y/N? Suddenly Farleigh's comments over the months make a strange amount of sense. At the very least Oliver's heart begins to sing at the idea of you and Felix speaking so kindly of him to the others that they know you're both especially fond of him... And you both seem to think he's beautiful enough that you mention it when he's not around. Huh.

But yes, the moment the woman explains her aborrance of ugliness Oliver knows he's talking to Felix's mother. At least she seems to like him well enough, going so far as to ask if he'd seen Venetia yet, that even she'd been dying to see him, but had chosen to drape herself around the house as if laying in wait for him. Indeed that's how it had seemed when he'd spotted her earlier, but none of them have let Oliver get a word in edgewise.

Felix's father is the next to introduce himself, all long limbs and warm handshake to match his smile, just like his son. When he asks Oliver about his trip to the estate, Oliver finally breathes, can finally respond.

"Oh, God, don't with the 'sirs'," Felix's mother waves him over to sit down, insisting, "no, no, no, we can't stand anything like that here," though her outburst seems to have been enough to rouse you. As Oliver sits, he hears, syrupy and warm with sleep from behind him -

"Ollie!" As you had each time since he's arrived, you sound so genuinely delightful. Farleigh makes a noise in the back of his throat. Oliver turns in time to see you elbow Farleigh in the ribs.

"I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Fars," your voice drops low, like a warning, and Oliver's surprised by how sharply Farleigh looks away, jaw clenching tightly, "be good." Oliver almost thinks Farleigh might be angry, but then he sees the gentle way Farleigh's holding your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against your upper arm; from what Oliver can see, he realises Farleigh's expression is almost embarrassed -

"Children, stop bickering," Felix's mother orders brightly, and your expression returns to unbothered and chipper as you refocus on Oliver.

"Hi Ollie," again, then as more of an offer to the rest of the room, "isn't he just lovely?" Oliver flushes, but gives you a fond smile, even as you settle back against Farleigh. Even though Farleigh persists with glaring at him, when he turns back, he rests his cheek against your head, oozing malevolence as he seemingly tucks himself against you too. But he does indeed remain quiet.

After the altercation passes, Oliver gets a brief introduction to one of the other house guests at Saltburn, Pamela, brief being the operative word as she's quickly sent away to ask about tea from one of the staff members at Felix's mother's insistence. Pamela herself doesn't exactly seem confident in the task, but that's once again when you speak up. Much to Oliver's surprise, you give a detailed physical description of the woman - Annie - and succinct directions to the kitchen itself, following it up with a yawn and -

"The Irish one, a bit mousy, might have trouble meeting your gaze but she's nice enough."

Pamela looks far more confident thanks to your directions. Oliver's genuinely shocked at your level of detail and knowledge, but everyone else seems to be so casually used to it.

"She is a bit like that, isn't she?" Felix's mother muses with an idle air, and when Oliver glances back at you, you still have your eyes closed, as if close to falling back asleep, while Farleigh has his faint, fond laughter pressed against your temple.

Before Oliver can even reckon with the moment that had just come to pass, Felix's mother is regaling him with all of Pamela's dirty laundry, before she dives right into pitying Oliver himself, and the sob story of his life and most recent 'tragedy' she's heard.

She looks at him just the same way Felix had. He think of the moment he'd decided to commit to this Dickensian kayfabe, that day in the pub when Felix's eyes were fixed on him, all pity and desire and a desperate need to fix, to save, to be a light in Oliver's life. The way this woman speaks, the way she looks at him in this moment, makes Felix Catton make total and complete sense. Something inside Oliver relaxes; she would not be hard won.

As they circle back around to the tragedy of poor Pamela, however, something about what Farleigh says, pointing out that the tragedy of her was the only interesting thing about her, sticks in the back of Oliver's mind.

Being beautiful and tragic would only ever get him so far, would only ever make him a novelty. It takes another glance back at you for him to realise a little more of why you behaved the way you did; tragic and beautiful and useful. That's the thought that turns over in his mind, even as Felix's mother starts her line of questioning about the sordid details of his upbringing, and Venetia joins them only to stare at him like a bug, and Farleigh only seems to be holding himself back from outright contempt at your behest. You are once again asleep. At least Felix makes a token effort to reprimand his mother, not that it appears to make much of a difference.

Oliver offers what little he can get away with, and feels only relief when Felix insists they start getting ready for dinner. Oliver practically bolts, he doesn't even wait for Felix like he probably should have, just desperately hoping he's got the right door to his own room. Clearly he has, swearing when he's finally in his little piece of sanctuary, but after a beat he realises that even that has been breached.

His suitcase is no longer at the foot of his bed.

In another moment, the door that connects his room to the bathroom squeaks open and there's two more people in his room without bothering to even knock. At least Felix is apologising for his mother. Part of Oliver thinks he should have expected the Cattons to be exactly as out of touch as this house implied, that he should have braced himself better, that it's not Felix's fault, but the apology is still nice.

Also he's rather distracted by the fact that all of his clothes have been organised neatly in the old, wooden cupboard.

"Did someone unpack my suitcase?" Oliver hears himself ask distractedly. Looking back when Felix makes a noise of guilt, he sees Felix sitting on the edge of his bed with an apologetic smile, and you next to him, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling.

"Uh, shit, yes, I should have told you," Felix admits, "they do that kind of thing here." Rich, whimsical weirdos, the lot of them, "the maids all report back to mum, by the way," Felix informs him, while you're just quietly swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. Felix's tone turns teasing, however, "so I hope you didn't pack anything scandalous." Oliver leans on the wooden foot of the bed, into Felix's space with an amused smile at the thought - pushing his luck, pushing into Felix's space to play off of the idea of scandal, so close to Felix and his mischievous smile. Felix leans back, the tease, giving Oliver space to quietly say -

"Just my old boxers."

You snicker. Felix grins.

"No, they're used to that, don't worry," but then Felix is up again, almost too close, looking at Oliver like he knows this is all some kind of joke, like he know - like he wants Oliver to keep looking at him, at his teasing smile, at his lips like that, "Duncan will be thrilled." Like this is all a game. Oliver snorts a laugh.

But the moment doesn't last, and Felix is moving again, getting up, telling Oliver a new rule - ahead of time this time. Dinner at Saltburn is an event you dress for, with the kind of dress code that requires a dinner jacket and cuff links and - Oliver would be properly embarrassed if it didn't mean he got to wear Felix's spare jacket. Felix seems almost embarrassed by it all, his casual nature clearly butting heads with the formality of his heritage. In this moment he almost seems childish, it's rather sweet. Judging by your smile, you're endeared by his behaviour without even having to see it; you hadn't even thought to sit up; your eyes have fallen closed, as if basking in this moment.

Oliver watches you, the way you radiate contentment. You were not born into Saltburn, but you'd made it your home. You'd won the love of Felix Catton, and a place in his life, that no-one else had managed to achieve. Hope was a beautiful thing, and you were both in this moment.

"I'm really happy you're here, Ol," Felix finally murmured, and finally Oliver believes him, "I'm sorry everything's so... old fashioned."

"No," Oliver's voice is soft, "it's wonderful."

The pleased smile Felix wears as he heads through to his own room makes everything about this strange, ritualistic, obsessive, critical world worth it. Over his shoulder, he asks if you'll be coming through too, and you tell him you'll catch up in a second. Felix closes the door over quietly, and after a moment, Oliver joins you, laying back on the bed.

"I like your room," Oliver breaks the silence after a moment. After a moment, a hum that's more like a contented laugh escapes you. You mumble a thanks; it's been a few hours since he'd seen you initially, your chatter had died down considerably, it seemed like you'd sobered up a good deal in the afternoon that had just passed.

There's a million things Oliver wants to say in this moment, things he wants to do, questions he has about you, about Felix, about Saltburn.

"It's not-" he finally starts, voice so soft as he finally turns to you, "it wasn't your fault, by the way."

When you turn to meet his gaze, there's surprise and confusion in your eyes, clearly not sure what he was referring to. Its been a long time now since he'd deliberately reached out for you, since you'd slept together, since Felix had first started giving him resentful looks. Things are better now. Much better.

"What?"

All it takes is a deliberate, gentle touch, his hand taking yours, apology in his eyes. Its enough to acknowledge that he'd spent time pulled away from you, that you weren't crazy to think that, and that you weren't at fault.

Oliver's always liked watching you process things, at least when you allow the world to see it happen on your face, not making an effort to hide it. You look down at his hand on yours, grip loose like more of a reassurance; raising your joined hands like you can't quite believe the sight, he takes the opportunity to link your fingers. It wasn't your fault.

Looking deliberately back at the ceiling, he gives you the time and space to process this development without feeling so watched.

"Oh," you mumble quietly, finally, "it's..." you give his hand a squeeze, "thanks?" Oliver smiles, and knows you see it, can see in his peripheries the way you're watching him now, but when he goes to withdraw his hand, you hold him tighter for just a beat, as if on instinct, before you let him go.

"Can I be bold for a moment?" He breaks the moment, breaks the tension, voice light and inquisitive.

"I like your boldness, Ollie, you know that," you respond automatically, matching his energy easily. Sitting up, Oliver turns to fix you with a scrutinising look for a long moment, and you wait, you watch him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted across your lips.

"You're sleeping with Farleigh," it's not a question. Your smile grows wider and far more smug.

"Ollie - Oliver - look at me," you prop yourself up on one elbow, gesturing down at your body, "look at where we are," you gesture around at the bedroom itself, "how many Summers do you think unrelated teenagers in close proximity, growing steadily more attractive with each passing year, can get through without ending up deciding to fuck to pass the time?"

Oliver, charmed by your blunt confidence, can't help but laugh, while also being able to connect enough dots to the implication that he should expect you to be just as close to Felix's sister too. You join him in his laughter, finally sitting yourself up. Oliver knocks his knee with yours, deliberate, and watches with a kind of fondness as you immediately focus on the moment of brief contact. You'd missed him, just as he'd anticipated.

But the laughter dies down, and you finally stand, sighing that you should probably get yourself ready for dinner too. Before stepping away, you lean back down with a wide, goofy smile that reminds Oliver a bit of Felix, and gently grasp his chin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oliver, a little startled by the gesture but welcoming it nonetheless, feels want burn through his veins momentarily as he watches you head to the door.

"Oh, Ollie, there's some stuff under the sink for you," you yawned and stretched and Oliver tried desperately not to stare at the way your shirt rode up, "shampoo, toothpaste, contacts; junk like that, you know, just in case." Wait, what was that last one?

"Contacts?"

"Yeah," like it was perfectly fucking reasonable, your hand on the door, "in case you didn't bring any or you ran out - there's actually a spare pair of glasses as well, if you'd prefer. Same frames as yours, I wasn't sure-"

"You know my prescription?"

"Yeah?"

"How...?"

You go quiet. You shrug. Its not a real answer.

Right; a magician never reveals their secrets. Its not particularly reassuring for a man lying about a large portion of his life.

For now Oliver just tries to remind himself of the way you look at him, the way you want him, the way he loves you, for who you are, for all you can do.

"Thank you," he says quietly, gives you a smile and hopes you believe it, "you're good to me." He's not sure what about that surprises you, but he catalogues this in the back of his mind. There's something beautiful and, he suspects, rare, about catching you off guard. But your next words are enough to return the favour, have his heartbeat in his ears, hopeful and quick as a humming bird right before you leave.

"Of course I am, Ollie, I love you."

And he's not sure why, but he believes you.

[a-strange-inkling]

(rating: mature, nsfw, cw: pregnancy sex, sex to induce labor)

“C’mere, sweet girl.”

She whines softly as he massages her strained, swollen belly, pulling her in for a kiss by the neck with his left hand. It’s warm and soft, soothing the tension inside and out.

“Let’s get this baby out of you, huh?” he murmurs, kissing both of her cheeks and laying her gently along the couch on her back as she sighs quietly oh yes please, please, please.

“That’s it,” he drones, thumbing over the nape of her neck beneath her loose waves. “Just relax.”

She lets herself sink into the old, lumpy cushions, her hair splaying over the quilted throw pillow. Every bone in her body aches, every muscle pulsing and pulling around her stretched abdomen.

“I’m so sore, baby,” she confesses in one breath as he sucks diligently at her collarbone, his hand rubbing under her shirt over her belly. She can feel their daughter moving inside her under his touch, the sensation transcendent…if not a little painful. “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he tells her, hands still so, so gently working her stomach. “Our baby girl’s being shy about coming out, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” she whimpers miserably, arching up into him. “Oh, baby, help me. Help me get her out. Please.”

“I’m here, I’ve got you.” His face softens with adoration and a little guilt, kissing her deeply.

“How about we breathe a little bit, sweetheart?” he suggests, and she nods in agreement. They do this all the time. Breathing exercises for her anxiety and panic attacks, now to help her prepare for her pending labor. They’ve become something of breathing experts. She keeps her eyes fixed solely on him as they both inhale together and hold, then release a long exhale. “Yeah, that’s it,” he drawls again, hand tracing under her belly. “Just like that.”

They do this a few more times, her arousal already beginning to crest. Eddie smiles down at her proudly as she slowly regulates her breathing, mouthing silently ‘that’s my girl’. Chrissy feels herself bursting at the seams as she smiles back through her last exhale, her soul radiating at the praise.

Giving her one more quick kiss, he begins rolling up the thin nightshirt she’s wearing. Chrissy leans up just enough to raise her arms up toward heaven, toward him, letting him carefully tug her free, leaving her exposed and shivering with aches and anticipation. It’s been so hot out, the July sun burning brightly into their apartment all afternoon, over the city, soaking into their walls, leaving a glistening thin layer of sweat on her skin. She can feel the cool air from the fan in the window as she settles back down.

“God, look at you,” he whispers reverently, palming her full, delicate breasts. “You’re so beautiful, Chrissy.”

The tears come instantly to her eyes. “I can’t be,” she gasps as he moves his wrists, pushing the sensitive, swelled tissue in a slow circular motion. “Oh, God.”

“You are,” he moves his knees on both sides of her thighs, increasing the pressure, giving her an intense and sudden surge of pleasure, just on the cusp of hurting. She’s like clay under his strong hands. “You’re so full, all filled up with me,” his breaths grow shorter, his voice deeper, swallowing a mouth full of saliva. “All filled up with my baby. You drive me crazy… so fucking crazy.”

“Eddie!” she cries as his thumb rubs over her nipple, pressing down. He gives her another hungry, desperate kiss before dropping his chin and taking her dripping breast into his mouth, sucking gently. She nearly screams from the stimulation, his low, vibrating hum traveling through her entire nervous system, making her quake like a newborn fawn. Chrissy cradles his head, her fingers tangling in his hair as he drinks from her, reliving the tautness. He moves to the other side, nuzzling his face into her plush skin before latching on.

Her whole body lurches as she grips at his skelp gently. “That feels so good, baby,” she tells him, breathlessly. “So good.”

She feels him smile around her nipple as his hand dips under her arched hips, rolling and kneading the small of her back, the throbbing core of all her physical pain. She hadn’t told him she was hurting there, but she had been bent and hobbling all morning under the oppressive humidity. “Oh, yes, please keep—right there—right there.” She feels the hot tears in the corner of her eyes sliding down her face, sobbing and panting in relief. Every inch of her existence is melting, soaking through. She pulls on his hair, dragging him back up to kiss him frantically.

“I know, I know, right there,” he says into her cheek, keeping the motion up, digging into her flesh and muscles just right. Just rough enough not to hurt her. “I see, sweetheart, I see everything…you’re so strong, my brave girl, my good girl.”

“Want to be your good girl,” she bobs her head up and down as he presses his brow against hers. She’s been so miserable and agitated, so needy, she doesn’t know how he can still stand her. “Want to have your baby, I want her so badly, Eddie!”

He groans weakly as if in pain, holding her face as he kisses her again and again and again, till their mouths are tacky and pink. His hand moves back over the globe of her stomach, flat and sturdy. Chrissy feels their daughter stirring again, the little squirmy thing she does before she finds a spot to settle and sleep. Eddie’s eyes light up at the sensation, a sweet smile blooming across his face. “I can feel her baby, feel her moving…she’s going to be so beautiful, just like you. Just like her mama.”

“I love her so much,” Chrissy blurts out. “Just want her out of me, want to see her, want to hold her…I’ve been waiting so long.”

“I know, baby,” he rasps, gently pushing her back down as he untangles himself from her and rises to sit on his knees, knocking hers further apart and shifting himself from the outside of her legs to the inside. “Me too. We’ll have her soon.”

“Promise?” She whines at the loss of his hands, of his body, over hers. Where is he going!? She props up on her elbows, watching him hover above her as he shakily shoves down his sweatpants, lifting both legs one at a time and tugging in a skilled motion till he’s naked and kneeling before her.

“I promise,” he coos, both his hands caressing her thighs pacifyingly. “So close now…”

“S-so close,” she parrots with a hiccup, closing her eyes.

“Jesus,” he gasps gruffly, flushing and sweating almost as much as she is now, one of his hands gently stroking her opening, the other propped atop her stomach. “You’re so ready for me, sweetheart.”

She reaches up for him, wanting him back beside her. “Baby—”

“I’m right here,” he assures with a laugh, his voice soft and a little teasing as he works a few fingers into her. One at a time. Slowly. She’s dying, but also going to heaven. “Not going anywhere… keep breathing.”

She obeys, inhaling as he goes in, exhaling when he pulls out, the rhythm rocking her back and forth over the edge. When she can’t take anymore, when she’s nothing but a blubbering mess, he grabs two handfuls of her hips, lifting them effortlessly as he scooches further back so her lower half is elevated in the air. “There we go… Hate to squash our poor sweet girl when we’re in the home stretch now.”

Chrissy giggles in joyful agony, bracing her round tummy between her hands as he carefully aligns them.

“You tell me if anything hurts, if it’s too much.”

“I will,” she says, beaming from ear to ear.

He waits till she nods desperately before sliding into her with a sharp gasp that breaks in a long, low grunt. “Fuck. Fuck.”

She sighs blissfully in contrast, her eyes and head rolling backwards, garbled happy sounds spilling out of her mouth. This angle feels divine, the weight of the baby she’s been carrying alleviated from her for a moment in his large, callous hands.

She moves one of her palms just over her navel. Your daddy’s so strong, sweetpea. He’s so amazing!

“Y-you okay?” He warbles out, flipping his hair back out of his eyes with a quick flick of his neck and chin, his chest all rosy and heaving. “Feels alright?”

“Uh huh,” she huffs. “Please don’t stop.”

“Oh, God, trust me I won’t—You—you feel so good,” he hisses, voice strained and almost breaking as he begins to thrust, fingers digging into her flesh. “So good, sweetheart.”

“I’m not too heavy?” she squeaks worriedly before she can stop herself. They’ve done it this way, but she’s never been so… large before. Despite nine months of his constant doting and dedication, she can’t shake away the fear and shame her mother instilled in her… all those long lectures about how someday pregnancy would ruin her body and repulse her husband. That the most she could hope for is that he would tolerate her and continue to provide after she had children.

It’s still hard to believe that something she was always told would make her as ugly and unwanted as a woman could possibly be, made her even more beautiful in his eyes. Made him want her all the more.

Eddie shoots her a quick please don’t be stupid, Christina look, lifting her hips even higher, sinking deeper in reply. She keens, shakily crossing her legs over his hips to stay steady. Eddie groans loudly when she involuntary clenches around him.

Keeping him inside her.

“You’re—fucking God!—you’re perfect—fuck-fuck-Chrissy,” he cries, his whole body shuddering, trying valiantly not to finish before she does. “You’re so perfect—carrying my baby, you look like an angel, like in a painting or something. You’re too fucking gorgeous to be real—you know that?” He starts up again the moment she relaxes, at a faster pace than before, determination set in his jaw, eyes so dark she can’t even see his pupils anymore. His hand slides over her ass to support her lower back and she can feel her end approaching quickly as she whimpers, helpless and in love. “Everyone can see what I did to you—everyone knows-you’re mine-that I filled you up—put my baby inside you-I fucking love it—All I want to do is this to you—It’s all I can think about every fucking day.”

“Eddie,” she cries sharply, coming suddenly, her whole body spasming as the relief rushes over her, ebbing away the pain of the last four days. “Oh, yes, yes, yes, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Sighing soft and high, she floats in that pink, sugary, sparkly champagne cloud, feeling light and bubbly as her body flutters between the heavens and earth. It’s not long afterward till he’s pouring himself into her, warm and overflowing, sending her right back over the edge.

She slowly comes to as he lowers her back down, his shaking, spent body wilting beside her. Tucking himself between her and the back cushions, he holds her in his strong arms on his side. Chrissy’s head falls limply against his hot, damp peck, listening as his thundering heart slows and his rough panting wanes into deep, content sighs.

“Wow,” she finally whispers in awe, raining tiny wet kisses over his chest and stomach feeling overwhelmingly sleepy. “Thank you, baby.”

“Mmmhmm, happy to be of service,” he nuzzles his face into her hair, snuggling down until they’re fused back together, running a lazy hand over her hills and valleys. “How-um-how do you feel?”

“Amazing,” she swoons, letting him pry her lips away from his skin just so he can kiss her fully on the mouth.

“Good, but I meant like,” he chuckles sheepishly, patting her bump as he keeps kissing her. “Any progress with the eviction notice?”

Chrissy pauses, evaluating. Livvy must be curled up somewhere and sleeping, as she’s stopped wiggling around. She’s low, but she’s been low since the day before her due date. “I don’t know…I can’t tell…” she muses, meeting his wide eyed gaze with her own, smiling brightly. “Maybe we should um… try again.”

[lady-of-tearshed]

The healer said

Bodhi Durran x Reader

This fic is rated 18+. Read at your own discretion. Warnings below.

A/N: SO! First smutty fic, first Bodhi fic... a lot of firsts in this fic! Anyways. Hope it's not too bad and readable. Enjoy! 💕

Summary: Bodhi reminds you of what "the healer said" about what you can and can not do because of your concussion.

Word count: 4,182k

Wanrnings: smut, oral (f receiving), penetration, talk of concussion, talk of broken bones, blood

Professor Emetterio had surely planned to kill you by choosing Felix Braun as Y/N’s sparring partner. Bodhi was sure of that. You stood no chance against the guy. Bodhi knew that you were strong, wise, devastatingly beautiful… You could easily make lots of guys and girls in this room tap out. But cadet Braun… The guy was viscous, fast, tall, and built like a bear. No weapons, no signets, professor Emetterio had insisted. Bodhi was standing on Xaden's side, arms crossed, as he looked over the woman he became ridiculously smitten with. He could still recall the day he’d seen you cross that parapet with the same determination Amari herself, queen of the gods, was described to hold in her eyes. The spar started, moving his attention back on the mat, his eyes were glued on you, Xaden chuckled beside him. Bodhi shot him a glare, his eyes burning with annoyance as he clicked his tongue, turning his attention back to his… dearest friend. 

You managed to throw a kick in Felix Braun's ribs, he stumbled a little, and you jumped on the opening you had to throw a few jabs at him before dodging his next attack. Xaden whistles discreetly when he notices the damage the woman did on Braun, “She is quite sturdy,” Xaden compliments her, making Bodhi grin proudly. “Yeah, she is,” He whispers, his eyes shining with adoration. He tried not to flinch when you failed to dodge a few punches from Braun, he frowned, keeping his focus solely on you. He crossed his arms tightly on his chest and watched the spar carefully, ready to jump in and break every codex law if it got too dangerous for you. He knew you could handle it, but Braun was known to be cruel, and Bodhi didn't like that for one bit, that this girl had to spar with this asshole. 

Bodhi would have loved to be the one to spar with you, he would've let you break his nose and force him to tap out happily, if it meant being pinned down on the mat between those thick delicious thighs of yours. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to distract himself from these thoughts before it became too obvious. He sensed Xaden smirk beside him, “What.” Bodhi snarled, “Nothing… Nothing,” Xaden taunted, his hands rising in front of him as if he was oh so innocent. Bodhi rolled his eyes and looked over Violet standing on the other side of the room, he pointed his chin in her direction, “Don't act like you've never thought anything like that about her, cousin.” He winked at his cousin, and Xaden’s teaseful grin faded. “It's not like that,” He muttered under his breath, and this time, it was Bodhi’s turn to smirk like an asshole. He was way too pleased to have managed to make his cousin feel embarrassed for once. 

But his grin quickly faded when he saw your frail body being propelled in the air, Braun lifting you above his head in one swift movement, before crashing you to the mat in a loud thud. He heard all of the air escape from your lungs with the force of the impact, and if it weren't from Xaden's shadows, he would've jumped from his place when Felix's clenched fist met with your perfect cheek bone. “She didn't tap out yet.” Xaden warned, both of them staring attentively at the fight. Braun kept hitting, and hitting your now unconscious body, Xaden's shadows left Bodhi's ankles the second you passed out, unable to defend yourself in your condition, “That's enough,” Xaden ordered Felix, trying to sound nonchalant. Bodhi quite literally ran to your side. “She didn't tap out-” Felix Braun tries to argue as Bodhi rushed dangerously closer to him, “Get the fuck away from her.” Bodhi yanked Felix off of you, swinging him full force into the nearest wall. 

Bodhi wasted no time to get his attention back on you. He cradled you carefully up into his strong arms. Bodhi looked towards Emetterio who was staring from the other side of the room. “He taps out,” Bodhi snaps at the professor, then he walked quickly out of the room, his blood boiling with rage by how fucking stupid Felix Braun was. Braun could've killed you. He almost did. Bodhi looked down at your limp unconscious body in his arms. Your body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, blood stained your clothes, and your cheekbone and nose were twisted in an unnatural shape. But Gods, did he find you beautiful nonetheless.  

All eyes turned on him carrying you when he kicked open the healer’s quadrant door with his leather boot. The healer quadrant was buzzing today, everyone too busy to pay attention to him, or the unconscious stunning angel in his arms. Bodhi was growing frustrated at the thought that no one rushed to take care of you as he did, but he calmed down only slightly when he met Nolon’s eyes. Bodhi held his gaze, and even though the man looked quite busy he sighed and headed toward them. “She needs healing. Now.” Bodhi pressed, reluctant to let go of your frame when Nolon motioned him to lay her down on the medical examination table. “Oh I’m quite sure I know what this cadet needs, wingleader Durran. It’s pretty much my job.” Nolon accentuated their respective titles. You were a cadet. A cadet who wasn’t on his wing. A cadet whom he wasn’t responsible for as a wingleader from a section that wasn’t hers. She was a cadet that Nolon, as a healer, was supposed to take care of. Nolon’s tone made it pretty damn clear that it was best for everyone that Bodhi would just exit this room to let the healers do their jobs.  So, reluctantly, Bodhi left you in the skillful hands of the healers. ‘You’re so pathetically smitten by her.’ Cuir's voice resonated annoyingly from his side of the bond. And Bodhi’s cheek slightly turned a shade redder as he walked through Basgiath’s halls, his thoughts racing towards you. He couldn’t hide the obvious truth from his dragon, so he simply answered, ‘I know I am.’

°●°●°♥︎°●°●°

When you finally slipped out of your restless slumber, you had to pry your eyes open. They were dry, and the bright lights of the room made your head pound. Your stomach churned as you rolled off what you now realized was an examination table, and you emptied what little food you had consumed today before sparring. You recognized Nolon's hand holding up your hair as you heaved, and your nausea ceased as soon as you felt his powers running through you. “Felix Braun had it rougher.” Nolon reassured you, managing to get a weak chuckle out of you. He linked his arm underneath your armpit and helped you up on your wobbling legs. You wiped the remnants of vomit and saliva off your lips, then your fingers gently traced over the curve of your nose. Your nose was now perfectly straight, still sensible, but straight. “Bodhi helped me I suppose?” You roll your eyes. You were glad of your friend's help, but sometimes you just wished you could be strong like him. Nolon shrugged his shoulders, and you knew he was lying when he told you that Bodhi “Barely,” helped you out. 

When you felt your muscles strong enough to support you, you took a few steps away from Nolon, heading towards the door. He raised his eyebrow at you, “Where are you going like that, young lady?” He crossed his arms, his voice a clear warning that you were better not to leave this room like that. You sighed at Nolon's caring nature, and slowly turned to him, “I was… going to get some rest.” You lied, knowing that you had at least one hour left before curfew to practice what mistakes you've made in your spar against Braun. Nolon shoved a paper bag into your hand, and your eyes widened at the tons of different pills there were in there. The blue one was for when you'll wake up in the mornings, the light yellow and the white one while eating, and the two big red ones before going to bed. The suspicious brown syrup was to be taken if you were to be in too much pain, Nolon explained. 

You barely registered anything he'd just said, and you probably wouldn't need to recall all of these pills posology since in your opinion, it was unnecessary. You would probably not even take them. You were a rider. A strong, powerful rider. Rider's don't have time to be sick, or hurt. You thanked Nolon nonetheless, and headed towards the sparring room. It was empty, not to your surprise. It was Friday, and cadets were probably gone celebrating for whatever reason they made up, like still being alive. You tucked an elastic band beneath your boot, the other part of it trapped inside your hand, and you pulled on it to stretch the muscles of your sore shoulders. After thoroughly stretching, you moved to the punching bags to practice your jabs. You tried to ignore the thrombin pain in your head and the tensions on your muscles as you kept giving it your all in your training. Sweat was dripping from your forehead, landing on your cheeks, and you sighed, moving a few steps back from the punching bag to take your breath. 

“You shouldn't be out here.” You heard a familiar voice call out from behind you. That deep, rich voice that sent butterflies flying in the pit of your stomach everytime he was around. “It's not curfew yet.” You stubbornly answer back, wiping your forehead and getting ready for your next set of punches. “You just got mended, you shouldn't overwork yourself like that,” Bodhi's concerned voice was now closer to your right ear, and you felt his hand hesitating to rest on your shoulder. Without warning, you spun around and placed your hands on his chest, sending his cheeks ablaze at your sudden closeness. “And you're not my wingleader, you shouldn't be ordering me around like that,” You say, your voice dangerously low. You can't help yourself but to stare at those scrumptious lips of his, then back into the depth of his soft brown eyes, his pupils were wide. “Then, your healer said you shouldn’t overwork yourself like… that…” 

Bodhi gulped as you walked closer to him, his fingers sneaked almost shakily on the curve of your hips. He roamed his fingers over the fabric of your shirt, then laid his palm flat on your hip, caressing it gently as if he risked breaking you. You get yourself even closer to him, your bodies tightly pressed on eachother, and you internally wondered where this sudden boldness of yours was coming from. It wasn’t a secret that you and Bodhi were eyeing constantly eye-fucking eachother in class, at trainings, at meetings with the other marked ones around… You had exchanged a few fleeting touches with him before too. Your fingers had sometimes sneaked over his to rub them softly when the two of you were sitting beside each other, but never have you been pressed against Bodhi Durran's delicious body before. You must’ve hit your head pretty fucking hard to dare try making a move on Bodhi, your childhood friend, a second year, a wingleader. 

“Did the healer forbid anything else?” You whisper, moving your lips dangerously close to his neck. His scent… His scent was driving you crazy. His aroma of leather and embers made your nostrils flare in delight, and it lit up your whole body in flames. He shivers as your nose brushes over the skin of his neck, and you feel his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. You raised on your tippy toes, your lips finally making contact with the skin of his jaw, and you almost moaned in delight at how heavenly it felt to place kisses over his jawline. It felt natural, familiar, and Bodhi was fighting every urge he had, probably because he still doubted that this goddess wanted a man like him, to throw his head back and buck against her. “Mh?” You pressed, still waiting for his answer. 

Your voice vibrated on Bodhi’s neck, sending shivers up his spine, and he instantly felt himself harden only from the sound of your voice. Gosh he was pathetically smitten with this woman. He gulps, and you feel his Adam apple bobbing, making you want to dig your teeth into it. “I do not recall if he forbade any other activities…” He slid his hand from her hips to her lower back, venturing lower, and lower, until he cupped both of your buttcheeks in his palms. His voice rumbled when he felt how your ass moved when his fingers massaged it while you kept kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “Then I suppose that if I feel like climbing you like a tree, and that you allow me to, I can?” You purred, and Bodhi groaned, he bucked against the hand you sneaked between the two of you, increasing the pressure of your palm placed on the bulge of his pants. “Shit- Y/N,” He warned you, trapping your chin between his thumb and index, forcing your head back to look up at him, “You have no idea what you’re implying right now, what you’re getting yourself into…” 

You plunged your eyes into his, the pounding of your head replaced by the loud thuds of your heart. You pressed your thighs together, biting your lips at the friction, and Bodhi stared down. He sucked in a breath, and before he could chicken out and walk away to lead you to your room to rest like the gentleman you know he is, you told him, “Trust me, I do. Can we stop eye-fucking eachother and just get at it?” His eyes squeezed and you felt him shudder, as if he was fighting some inner demons, overthinking wether it was right, or terribly wrong to fuck you in this state. He opened his eyes, fire dancing in the depths of his eyes.“Fuck yes we can.” His voice was low and sounded primal. He attacked your lips like a starved beast, and it felt as if your souls had merged from this kiss. You could feel him, smell him, taste him everywhere. Feeling him was dizzying, arousing, tantalizing. 

You barely even registered how you stumbled into Bodhi’s bedroom, nor if you had been seen by people on your way there. Your lips had not left Bodhi’s once since he lifted you up into his arms and dragged you here. The last thing you remembered was proposing him to just fuck in the public showers, but Bodhi just didn’t feel like having anyone catching the two of you like this. To be honest, Bodhi just didn’t want anyone to see you, his beautiful girl, naked. Were you his though? He wasn’t sure. And he clearly did not feel like stopping what they were doing, or about to do, right now just to put a name on what they were. He’d fuck you, mark you, and treat you like his tonight. He’d treat you right, love you right, and fuck you right too while he’s at it. 

You were breathing loudly, your lips crashing against his. Bodhi’s neck was already coated with your saliva as you occasionally moved your lips away from his to nip at the column of his neck. Clothes were flying over the room, landing on the floor haphazardly, a weird contrast to Bodhi's immaculately neat bedroom. He lets out a filthy hum when you tug his underwear off, leaving the both of you now completely naked. You slid away from him slightly, his hands leaving your behind as you sank down on your knees. You stick out your tongue, his heavy head sliding on your tongue. You barely have the time to taste the slightly salty pearl of precum shining on the tip of his cock before Bodhi snapped out of his daze, lifting you by the armpits and laying you down on the bed. You raise an eyebrow at him, worried you might’ve done something that upset him, but he kissed your worries away. His lips met your cheek, and he gently bit it. “Tonight, I’m taking care of my sweet girl.” He growls in your ear, kissing the spot right beneath your earlobe lovingly before tracing his tongue down your neck, all the way to the swell of your breast. 

You combed your fingers through his dark curls with your right hand, your left hand already intertwined with his. You squeezed his hand gently as he placed kisses all over your breasts, nipping at the skin to leave small love bites on them. “And… Will I be the one to take care of you tomorrow?” You bit your lips, wondering if maybe you had been too bold to presume there would be other times. But he snickered, moving down to kiss your stomach. He looked at you through his thick eyelashes, and you could see a feline grin plastered on his face as he got further down your body. “Patience, lovely, we have plenty of time to think about what we’ll do tomorrow…” Before you could think of a smart thing to answer back to his teasing tone, his tongue lapped a long stripe of your arousal. Your head tilted back as you softly moaned, and you pulled on his hair, instinctively bringing his mouth closer to where you needed it most. 

His nose pressed against your throbbing clit while his tongue slowly swiped through your soaked folds. He squeezed your hand softly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.  “Look at me, your eyes are too pretty to be shut…” His voice rumbles in his throat, and you pear at him through half lidded eyes. Gods… he was beautiful. He had painted  your neck, your stomach, your breasts, with dark red marks. It was like a gentle reminder for tomorrow, and the days to come, of all the places his lips had been on you. He pushed your thigh back against your stomach with his free hand, sticking his tongue further into your folds, teasingly pushing in your hole. You bit your lip, and you would’ve shut your eyes closed from the overwhelming pleasure Bodhi was giving you, if it weren’t from the clear warning in his eyes. You bucked your hips against his face, making his tongue disappear deeper into you. Bodhi lustfully sighed, his breath caressing your cluster of nerves.  

You squirm underneath him as a pleasurable tingle rushes into your lower abdomen. “Bodhi,” You moaned his name, and he grunted, rubbing his shaft against the mattress at the sound of his name coming out from those beautiful lips of yours. That only could’ve been his undoing if he didn’t fight the urge to calm himself down to prolong the pleasure. “What?” He had the audacity to answer, slightly lifting his face from between your thighs. His chin was glistening with a mix of your essence and his own saliva. You tugged his hair toward you, and he raised on his elbows, his predatory eyes fixed on yours as he crawled up to your face. He slid his needy lips on yours, tilting tugging your head back to sneak his tongue into your mouth. You tasted yourself on him, a thing you would’ve never considered hot until now. It made your face heat from how naughty it felt to taste your arousal on his tongue. Her inner walls were clenching around nothing, craving for something the emptiness Bodhi’s skillful tongue had left down there. 

“I need you,” You whispered against his lips, and his cock twitched between your pressed bodies. “Inside,’ You clarified, making him chuckle slightly as he positioned himself, sliding his dick against your pussylips to lube himself with your cum. “Inside, mh? What do you need inside,” Fucking prick. “Your cock-ah…” You pressed your forehead against his as he kept holding onto your hand, his other one gently massaging your inner thigh as he sheathed into you slowly, watching your every reaction. “Is this okay?” He frowns slightly, his forehead moving away from yours to kiss your nose gently. His heavy breathing fanned over your cheeks, tickling them slightly. You smiled and squeezed his hand in reassurance, moving your free hand to cup his chin. “Yes,” You affirm confidently, rolling your hips against him. 

He groaned, plunging his cock in your entrance in one thrust of his hips. His jaw twitched under your fingers, and you moved it to his shoulder. “Don't hold back, I can take it,” He tilts his head back at your words and growls, as if you had unleashed the beast in him. He rutted into you, his head hitting you deep, and fast. The sound of your raspy breathing and the slapping of his balls against your wetness echoed in the room, and you prayed to the gods that he had warded his room, because if he didn't, the whole quadrant would probably hear you chanting his name like a prayer. There was no way you could hold it back. Not when he was fucking you as if it was the last time. 

Your thigh trembled, your eyes rolled back, and Bodhi held your chin between his fingers so he could admire your features contorting as you came. “That's it… Good girl…” He grunted, his pace slowing nust for a moment as he led you through your orgasm. You breath out a needy whimper when Bodhi's cock slipped out of you, and he flipped you onto your stomach. You could feel the drenched sheets pressing against your pelvis in this position. He slid a pillow underneath your hips, pressing his hardness against your throbbing cunt, and bent down to reach your ear. “Think you can take a bit more for me?” You nodded, wiggling your hips to rub against him.

He hummed, biting onto your shoulder as he entered you once again, this time, slowly. You felt his abs twitch against your back with every thrust, his hand had left yours, now caressing your body with both hands. He held your hip gently, and his other hand worked on your perked niple, gently rolling it between his thumb and index. You were seeing stars, and you felt like you were floating on a cloud. Sex had never felt like this before, and you'd give your soul to Malek if this was the last time you'd have the chance to experience that. His thrust started to feel sloppier, and you could hear his breathing getting raspy. “Fuck,” He swore, his fingers digging tightly into your the flesh of your hip. His other hand slid between your legs, his fingers applied a light pressure to your overstimulated clit and you screamed in pleasure, arching your ass up. Bodhi couldn't hold it back anymore, he grunted, pulling out in one swift movement and his sperm spurted on your back. 

He almost came again at the sight of your ass and your back covered with his semen and love bites. Gods you were beautiful, sprawled like this on his bed, panting, sweating, disheveled… He would keep you in his bed, dress you in his clothes, and cover you with his marks everyday if you'd allow him to. He sat on his knees, his fingers running through your hair in a failed attempt to untangle them. He gave your ass a small smack before reaching his arm towards the tissue box on the nightstand to clean you up. He wiped your back clean, then massaged your muscles with his large hands. He bent over to kiss your cheek, and his heart melted when you turned on your back to pull him on top, kissing his lips as lovers would. 

You stroked his hair when he pulled his lips away from you, still snuggled on you, his elbow holding his weight a little so he doesn't crush you. “I need to use the toilet.” You smiled tiredly, and you rolled out of bed, wincing at how sore your legs were. You extended your arm towards Bodhi’s shirt on the floor and slipped it on. “Will you…” You heard him speak up hesitantly. You pear at him over your shoulder, je was sprawled on the bed, propped onto his arm, the sheets messily covering all the way up to his waist. “Yeah?” You insisted to him to continue his request, “Will you… Come back to bed, after?” You smiled, leaning in the doorframe of his bathroom. “Yeah. Is that okay?” You winked at him, and his heart skipped a beat. “Excellent…” He exhaled, a dumb grin stuck on his face as he plopped down onto the bed, stretching his legs as he waited for you to come out of the bathroom. Cuir was right. He was pathetically smitten by this woman. And he was fucking proud of it. 

[ittybluebell]

Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 2

AO3

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Finch didn't consider how they survived ‘stealing’. It was borrowing - they only took what they needed; what wouldn't be missed. Finch didn't borrow with malevolence. Well, not much, anyway - it was easy to resent the humans that had so much while borrowers struggled. And there were definitely things a borrower didn't need to survive, per se, but dammit, couldn't a person want nice things? The beans wouldn't miss a strip of fabric or the odd bauble. It would go to good use, anyway!

It was laughably easy to borrow from this bean. Finch was reasonably cautious in the beginning, but they quickly learned that they could get away with a lot. Borrowing food in the same room? Easy squeezy, done and did. The only threat was making too much noise, but Finch padded the soles of their boots so that was a great big non-issue.

Was Finch balancing too close to the proverbial ledge? Oh, yeah.

Were they gonna keep doing it? Oh, yeah. The adrenaline rush was crazy.

What reason had they to stop? The bean wasn't aware of them and got rid of the traps - Finch must've been doing something right. They were on the hottest borrowing streak in their life. Now, obviously, they didn't take too much, but Finch wasn't worried about their next meal and that was every borrower's goal. An honest-to-dirt stock of food. Finch got so lucky with this place.

The tell-tale guilt came back. Faces flooded their mind: faces they were supposed to protect and cowardly abandoned. The grating snarl of grinding metal, of brick and wood falling and the screams-

Finch snatched up their thimble bucket. Shower, they decided. It was time for a shower.

Later when Finch went out, there were strawberries on the counter. Fucking strawberries. How could they resist? Sure, the human was right there, but when would Finch get another opportunity like this?

The human's name was Matt. Finch overheard it from a phone call with another man. 'Froggy', they believed that one was called. A bean with a proper name.

Finch crept into the open, not bothering with that time-consuming ducking and hiding nonsense. His back was turned. Voices from the radio filled the apartment. Finch had the advantage. It was fine. It was fine. Hairs on the back of their neck stood on end and their nape vaguely prickled. A borrower's warning system, triggered by a bean's proximity, and just another sense to bombard their brain with information.

Was the man's head twitching their imagination?

Finch reached the countertop and grabbed a strawberry. They backpedaled. For such a large being, he moved with such ease and speed. It was easy to forget how big a human was till they were in the same room. Finch stuffed the strawberry in their bag and climbed down. They took a final peek at the bean before slipping into the crack behind the fridge.

Finch was learning how much they could get away with. They were testing the waters. Taking food right out from under his nose? Oh-ho, no other borrower would dare. But Finch did. They froze, statuesque, when he moved around the apartment. A dangerous but thrilling game of lights on-lights out. He lumbered and stomped like one of those gigantic movie monsters that terrorized cities. His steps shook the floor, even when Finch was safe in their shack under it. And when Finch was above... they could feel their bones rattle with each thundering impact. The random smirks he sometimes wore were unsettling. Like he was sharing a private joke with himself. Finch tried not to think about it.

Matt was making tea.

Matt. It felt odd not referring to him as simply 'the bean'. A name was personal; it was a connection. It was unsettling.

Matt was making tea. Finch wanted one of those sugar cubes, normally sealed in a jar with a lid too heavy to even consider lifting. They peeked out from behind the fridge. The bea- Ma- he was standing there with a kettle, pouring water into a tall mug. Finch swallowed. If they were human, he would be one of those skyscrapers that reached for the clouds.

He turned around. Finch jogged to the discrete handholds they'd made in the side of the counter. Even a sighted bean wouldn't notice the indents - they made sure of that. Finch had yet to make the same accessibility for the island, but it was top of the to-do list. They climbed, unable to see the bean. They heard crinkling.

When Finch peeked over the countertop, a sleeve of cookies was in the bean's grasp. Finch's vision tunneled. Damn. Fresh cookies…

No, stop, bad! Get the cube, get out. You have food at home.

Finch pulled themself up and over the edge. They watched the bean closely, looking out for sudden movements or changes on his face. The open jar stood between themself and Matt.

Easy. No problem. Just don't make a sound and everything will be fine.

The bean in question was fighting to contain his astonishment.

Matt's intrigue piqued. Tiny was getting braver. With every moment spent in his presence, they grew more confident. It nearly drew a chuckle out of him. Tiny was cocky - cocky that they were getting away with all this, and that he remained ignorant during their escapades. That's why he could only sense a bare trace of fear on them: they were underestimating him. They were assuming a blind man couldn't possibly know when someone was stealing food and office supplies right under his nose, even making a ladder in his furniture. That was vandalism. Matt tracked Tiny's soft steps on the countertop, closer and closer, as he placed a few cookies on a plate. Did they think he was that oblivious? Matt was honestly a little offended.

He wondered how far they would go if he kept up the act.

He walked away - suddenly, he needed something from the fridge - and they took the opportunity to scale the jar and snatch a sugar cube. He heard shuffling fabric as they stored it somewhere - it seemed to be a mini duffel bag. They paused next to the plate of cookies and walked away with a sharp exhale. Tempted, but deciding they didn't want to risk it. Priorities.

Matt returned to fish out the teabag. Tiny froze. A fawn response. Matt was familiar with it. It never worked. This time, though… he let it slide. He felt bad scaring the little guy. Then again, they had the audacity to steal right in his face. A little surprise would be good for that ego they were sporting.

Tiny snuck away, down their makeshift ladder and into the floor once more. He heard the release of breath followed by a relieved giggle. Alright, it was kind of endearing, letting them get away with shit. Matt would never deny his soft spot for those in need. Matt allowed himself a secret smile. He broke a piece off a cookie and dropped it next to the fridge. He didn't know there were so many weak points in his apartment. He should probably get that checked out.

Despite cleaning up the glue traps, there was one the bean forgot about. Maybe there were others. Maybe it was intentional - awfully convenient that it was in a spot Finch rarely traveled by, and also very conveniently below a drop with poor visibility.

How did Finch know this?

They were stuck in the damn thing, that's how.

"No, no, fuck," they hissed, lifting either leg. The glue was unfairly strong and the edge too far. They didn't have any rope to throw. The nails that Finch climbed with were useless, and the rubber bands tied around those too pliant for any length.

Regardless, Finch detached the rubber bands from their belt. Clutching them tight, Finch threw a bent nail at the edge of the trap. The metal recoiled and dragged straight into the glue. Finch swore a vehement streak. They tugged, but the elastic had zero resistance. It was stuck just the same as Finch. Their single remaining nail burned like a rod of fire in their clammy palm. They desperately searched for some kind of ledge. Furious tears shone in their eyes.

When they'd dropped down and felt the floor squish under their feet, they were merely annoyed. Then they heaved and pried and pulled till sweat coated their face and the severity of the situation dawned on them. They were stuck. They hadn't felt so helpless since that building came down. That fucking building. Anger rolled in their gut for being so careless and stupid and not trying hard enough.

The glue was like one of those tar pits they'd heard about: the ones that trapped mammoths and dinosaurs and preserved their remains. Finch had never seen a fossil. To humans, dinosaurs were the titans that walked the earth. Finch would've liked to see a skeleton of a creature to earn that title.

Finch was going to die here. The human had doomed them. Really, how long would it be until he remembered the trap existed? If he remembered it existed. Finch always pictured a brave or exciting end: eaten by a bird, in battle against a rat or spider, run over by a car. Here, slowly wasting away... hm. Acceptance washed over them.

Time passed. Not once did their grip on that nail loosen. They could do nothing but think and wait and wait and think. Every choice and regret hit them in succession. Was their life flashing before their eyes? It felt far longer than a flash.

Finch was replaying their biggest regret on loop when the front door shutting knocked them out of it. Oh, goodie, the orchestrator of their demise was home from work. Abruptly, Finch realized they never got to try one of those cookies.

Something was different when Matt got home.

He couldn't put his finger on it. He put his cane away and shrugged off his jacket. There had been a tangible shift in the atmosphere. Wary, Matt walked around and scanned his apartment. No new scents - nobody had broken in. Matt tried to ignore it and spread out the papers from their case on the table. He was trying to take his dedication to his job seriously this time - letting Karen and Foggy down again wasn't something he could stomach. Foggy, especially, had hurt too much to bear.

Matt was too distracted. Finally, he realized what was wrong.

Tiny was silent.

It wasn't uncommon - there was the odd time they went down to another apartment, a result of Matt lacking in the goods department. Nothing worrying.

Suspicious, Matt did another sweep. No, he found. Tiny was still here. They were... quiet. Not moving. Somewhere under the stairs to the roof. Their heartrate was elevated. Their breaths were quick, stuttering, with an undercurrent of sniffles. They sounded all too much like someone Matt wouldn't second guess saving out on the street.

Tiny grunted under strain. There was a strange noise under their feet, like mud.

Matt jolted as if electrocuted. He forgot a trap.

What followed was Matt lunging for the loose floorboard. He tried to estimate how long they'd been stuck. Since he left this morning? The pungent scent of glue wisped into the air and guilt twisted inside him. How could he forget? Were there others? How long had Tiny been there?

There was still food in their stomach. The smell of strawberry and wheat cracker was fresh on their breath. Matt felt a tinge of relief, replaced by guilt again - not nearly as long as he'd feared, but any length of time was too long.

Tiny's reaction was one of their squeak-yelps and a subsequent stabbing.

Matt hissed, "Ow," and flinched back when something sharp stung his finger. Tiny made another motion to defend themself and Matt withdrew his arm. "You know, most people don't attack the person trying to save them," he said, mildly put out. He understood he was an actual, literal giant here, but give him some credit.

Alright, so he should have announced his intentions first - that was on him.

Matt said, "I don't want to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"The hell you are!" Tiny bellowed with all the ferocity contained in their little body. It was an unexpectedly Herculean amount. "Who set the traps in the first place, huh? Then you come in tryin' to snatch me up like a damn claw machine. 'Help' my ass!"

"I'm trying to help. I'm sorry about the traps - really, I am. I thought I got all of them out. I'm truly sorry. Will you let me fix this? Without stabbing me again? Please?"

A contemplative silence fell over the two. It was only respectful to ask: as someone who'd been stabbed and shot and hit more times than he could remember, Matt could handle a poke or two. But he didn't like being grabbed without his consent - why would someone who's just a few inches tall?

What even was that weapon, a nail?

...He should update his vaccines.

"You don't plan to lock me up and reveal me to the world for fame and wealth or ship me off to scientists that'll experiment on me?" Tiny asked suspiciously.

That was... shockingly specific. And all completely valid concerns. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not. In God's name, I swear I'm not lying. Would I be trying to gain your trust if that was my goal? Why would I bother?"

"I guess... you just don't want me to stab you again."

"Oh, for- I owe Foggy several apologies if this is what he deals with."

Tiny agreed to let him help after admitting they were prepared to die anyway - ouch - and that being captured by a 'bean' - what? - really couldn't be worse. A win was a win and Matt didn't argue, reaching under the floorboards to rescue them.

It was a surreal experience for both parties. Feeling a tiny, human body fit in his hand, and for Finch, a massive hand wrapping around them. They were stiff as a board, bracing against fingers as wide as their torso. For every borrower, this was the worst case. This was the nightmare that made children hide under the covers. A human had discovered them - was holding them. Finch resisted the urge to bite and scrap and do anything in their limited power to free themself. A second hand pressed down on the edges of the trap and then Finch was being pried off. The glue was reluctant to let them go and threatened to claim their boots as a prize. Finch squawked and fought to keep them.

"Shit," they blurted. "Oh, sewers. Fuck me running. Mother of termites. Pissberry."

The glue released. Matt lifted both borrower and trap out of the floor and got up from his prone position.

He was holding a tiny person. He could hardly believe it, but feeling was believing. All of his focus lasered in on the small being. How their chest rapidly expanded and fell, the thrum of their terrified heart against his thumb and ears. How delicate their bones were as his fingers closed around them, thin as a bird's. A bag was slung diagonally across their back, the items inside pressing into his palm. Their clothes were handmade, stitched together with large thread - thankfully with textures that didn't make him gag. Were those overalls? Or maybe a jumpsuit. Buttons on their flat front dug into his thumb - small, yet still bigger than their hands. And their hands... they were miniscule. Teeny fingers pushed at his own, digging into the creases of his skin and their prints indecipherable. Shoes scraped the underside of Matt's fist, sharp points on the toe of each boot threatening to scrape him up like the furniture they were fashioned to dig into.

Everything about them was fascinating. But he couldn't help noticing how pronounced their ribs were.

Finch remained tense as Matt carried them to the kitchen. Trapped in his clutches, they could do nothing but let him. What happened now? The cautionary tales never got this far. Being caught was the ultimate end for all those stories, with the killing and torture reserved for the footnotes and overactive imaginations of listeners. Finch weakly struggled, knowing they couldn't possibly escape but not wanting to just sit and take it.

"Here. I'm putting you down," Matt said. He lowered his hand and released Finch before walking away. "Just a second."

Finch tried to book it. Their shoes peeled off the countertop like prickly burs and they cringed at the sound and sensation. Taking a single step was a harsh, sticky ordeal. "Damn," they muttered under their breath.

"Going somewhere?" asked Matt, more lighthearted than he had any right to be.

Finch shot a glare at him over their shoulder. It didn't matter that he couldn't see it. All the better, actually: they could show as much vitriol as they liked without repercussion. "Yeah, chuckle it up, twelve stories. I wouldn't be here if you didn't set that shit up."

Matt disposed of the trap and sought out a roll of paper towel, which he ripped and ran under the tap. "You're right. I'm sorry." He placed the damp paper towel near them. "For the glue."

Finch accepted it and glowered the whole time. The warm water rubbed the glue off their soles. A train of curses filled their brain that were one lapse in self-control away from becoming external. One thing had been itching at them; they decided to voice that instead.

"How'd you know where I was? How did you even know I was stuck?" Realization struck. "Or how I even exist. I didn't think of that. Fuck."

Finch watched his features wrinkle and strain before relaxing. Matt said, "That's on you for assuming a blind man won't notice someone stealing right in front of him. Really, it's insulting."

"Stealing? Heh, no, no, it's called borrowing. We borrow things. There's a clear distinction. Beans steal, borrowers borrow." Their eyes widened.We. I just revealed our name. They played up the aggression, rising to their full, diminutive height. "So I got a little carried away. And what about it? You gonna put me in a jar, huh? Oh, no, I borrowed some food. You got plenty! You gonna miss some crumbs? Some string? A bottle cap here or there?" They scoffed and planted their hands on their hips. "You try to survive and suddenly you're stealing. Yeah, lemme go get a human job real quick in your human economy to pay my human bills for my human house. I'll get right on that."

Matt, who was prepared to argue the definition of stealing vs borrowing, was left sufficiently gobsmacked. The lawyer in him wanted to correct their language; the empathy in him knew that they were right. He'd concluded on his own that Tiny had no other options. Many people rarely did. Hearing it made the legal voice pipe down, and also make the connection that Tiny wasn't the same species as him. Which... yeah, should have been obvious. Were they a fairy?

"I'm not mad about the stealing," he said. "Sorry, 'borrowing'. Which isn't the right- anyway. I'm annoyed about the sock but- but that's it. I even left some crumbs around for you. Once I figured out you weren't a mouse. I really don't have a problem with you living here. Well, there's- no, nevermind. You probably don't care about that." He frowned in thought. Would a tiny person living in the walls even know about Daredevil?

Finch's whole face furrowed. "Oh... kaay. That's- wait, actually? Like, actually? You're not lying?"

Matt huffed. "Again, why would I be lying?"

Finch threw their hands in the air, giving them a frustrated shake and gesturing wildly. "I don't know! You could still switch up on me! I can't trust you. Avoiding beans is how I made it this far. I'd be dead or imprisoned or dead if I didn't. I can't trust you. How am I supposed to believe you?" They ruffled their hair and growled. They pulled their bandana down around their neck and played with the smooth fabric, pacing. "I thought I'd be some kind of pet or- or- or experiment. Or dead. I'm so confused. I'm so confused. It's all so confusing."

Matt didn't respond at first. He let their confession sit in the air, giving it the room it deserved as he thought it over. A pet. Something distinctly sub-human; lower than personhood, undeserving of self-determination. Or an experiment - even lower. That was how the world perceived Tiny. That was how Tiny believed he perceived them.

Matt loved nothing more than proving expectations wrong.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Finch scowled up at him, then exhaled harshly. "Goldfinch. I go by Finch."

"Hello, Finch. I'm Matt. Would you like something to drink?"

"...what do you have?"

Previous | Next

AO3

[hiddenfemme]

HONEY PT. 2

Pairing: King Steve Harrington x Female Reader (no use of y/n)

NSFW 18+ - language, p in v, creampie, cheating

A/N: The series will take place after the events in part 2. There will be more character interaction, dialogue, and more happening apart from smut. The first two parts of Honey can serve more as a preface. I’m not sure I liked how this turned out but I’m really ready to get into the actual story. Again, this is short, sweet and hasn’t been proof read.

You were riding Steve in the front seat of his car before he had to pick Nancy up from Barbs. A quick excuse of too much homework and an angry mom a good enough reason for them as to why you couldn’t join.

You had him deep and you were taking him slow. His head was hanging forward, chin on chest, eyes trying so hard to stay open with every drag of your pussy against his cock, watching as all his length disappeared into you over and over again.

“Oh my fucking god, just like that honey.”

His fingers were digging into your fleshy hips, warm breath against your collar bone. Your tits were bouncing in his face, nipples pebbled and sucked raw.

You’d been fucking Steve long enough now to know when he was close. He became more needy, whiney, desperate. Like putty in your hands. Pliable, bendable, and so easy to control.

Your name falls out of his lips repetitively. His pleas too low and airy for you to make out.

“You wanna cum in me Stevie? Wanna to be full of you. Need to be.”

A groan escaped his throat. He loved fucking you like this, with no rush and with every inch. You always took him so well, molding to his fat cock just right. Like you were made for the sole purpose of milking him. He never felt so greedy, never counted down the minutes until he could feel that wet heat squeezing him dumb with anyone else apart from you.

It was only ever with you.

He was gluttonous for your pussy, for that sexy mouth opening wide letting out the most absurd sounds he had ever heard. In real life and in porn. Completely broken for your soft stomach and round ass.

“Yeah I’m going to cum in you honey. Gonna have your belly swollen with me. Fuck, I love you.”

You stopped moving, having him now fully sheathed inside you. Gripping his cock so tight he swore he was going to blow his load right there.

“What?” Your hands were clutching his shoulders, apprehension screwing up your face. Confusion glossing your eyes.

You had known Steve for 12 years. You’d been acquaintances for 5. Good friends for 2 and fucking for 8 months. In all that time he never even said he liked you. Not when you helped him do his hair after he grew it out. Not when you agreed to a double date with Tommy so he could hook up with Jess. Not when you’d complete an assignment for him because he “just didn’t have the time.” Not when you introduced him to Nancy and definitely not when you had him halfway down your throat for the first time. No, you would have remembered that.

It had to be an accident. A slip of the tongue in a moment of wet weakness.

“Honey I need you to move. Need to cum.” He was thrusting up into you. “Fuck, this pussy, oh my god, I could live in this pussy. Love you. Told you I love you. Move for me baby.” He was barley coherent. Drunk on cunt.

Twice. He said it twice.

“You love me?” You couldn’t muster up any shame at how hopeful you sounded. How wrecked, how pitiful. “Stevie y-you really love me?” You question with a roll of your hips. Grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck to lift his head up, to make him say it to you and not your hot slit.

“Shit!” He slammed into you so hard you fell forward, but he chased you. He always chased you. Ass slapping into his thighs so fast you knew you’d be red. “M’cumming, honey. Ugh fuck, take it, take it, all of it.” Each word pronounced with a lazier thrust than the last. His eyes were shut tight. Dick twitching inside of you. Breathing ragged. Hot spurts of cum hitting you so fair in, your eyes crossed. A silent scream of ecstasy barely pushing past your lips. Steve’s arms wrapped around you to ride out his last few pumps as close as he could get to you. Skin on skin. Foreheads pressed together.

“You’re so good to me, honey. So good.”

You don’t know how long you stayed that way . Taking each other in, him petting your head, you fixing his hair. Eye to eye and nervous smiles exchanged back and forth.

Had things changed?

Was he done hiding you?

Was it finally your chance to have your books held, to have his arms wrapped around your shoulders, held close while he laughed a someones joke that wasn’t even all that funny? Would he kiss you on your nose between classes and tell Tommy to stop flirting with his girl?

His girl.

Was it your turn?

He tapped the side of your thigh twice, always an indication for you to finally climb off. When you rose up his dick fell still semi hard and wet against the hair of his lower stomach. The sight almost enough to have you climbing to him from the passenger seat again.

“Fuck I’m late to get Nance. Can you get dressed fast, honey? I don’t have time to drop you off, you can walk right? Didn’t even realize the time, damnit.” He was rambling, throwing his shirt on and zipping his pants up.

“I’m sorry, just we have a movie date and you know they don’t allow time exchanges on the tickets. You get it right?”

You felt heavy all over. Like water was rushing past your ears and filling up your lungs. You gathered your clothes slowly, trying hard to control your movements, afraid he might see your fingers tremble.

Grabbing the handle of the car as soon as your dress was on.

“Yeah Steve, I get it.” You slammed the door harder than you meant to and you didn’t turn around when he called honey out of the window. You just clutched yourself tighter, walked faster and let blinding red rage overtake you when you finally heard him drive off.

Fuck Steve Harrington.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 25 - Regroup

Story so far (let’s be honest, all this resolution stuff will seem pretty random if you haven’t got the backstory but it does involve a puppy pile and who needs justification for that)

A bit more of the aftermath. It doesn’t go anywhere fast but as I keep telling myself These Things Take Time To Work Through.

I mean nobody actually expected any plot furtherance to have occurred in the past fortnight did they?! You should know me better than that by now 😏

(Side note - I am going to put it out there and say I think I’m going to have this wrapped up in 30 chapters, plus an epilogue that is already written… so the plane is on the approach, as it were ;) )

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Scott woke in a nest.

He was fairly sure he hadn’t gone to sleep in one.

However, given he was not alone and that the sounds of slumber surrounding him were so familiar and beloved, he decided to go with it for now. There was time for for a subtle situation assessment at least.

It was warm and his situation was objectively comfy, despite being on the floor. A department store’s worth of pillows had been deployed around him at some stage, there were many blankets and numerous other, as yet unidentified, fluffy objects. The comfort-level was actually almost aggressively high.

Subjectively though… everything ached like it would with an intense bout of flu. All his bones felt wrong, as if his skeleton had been taken out, thrown down the stairs, and shoved back in at random. There was a constant background throb inside his skull. His throat, his eyes, his nostrils… all felt swollen like they’d been attacked by angry bees. Had he been sick? His heart dropped a little, if he was sick he shouldn’t be sharing his nest - he’d be infectious!

He thought about moving and sneaking away but every muscle point blank refused. His family were in the nest and he really needed them right now. He always did, but the need to be physically close felt suddenly emotionally overwhelming, like trapping a cold finger under something heavy or walking on a block of Lego… for a few seconds his brain couldn’t process any other information.

When the bunch of mush inside his head did reboot, it noted the soles of his feet were stinging sharply. That was both new and distinctly unusual for flu…

OH! The glass. Of course.

That.

All that. Oh.

Oh Virgil.

He tightened his arms around his biggest little brother who rumbled some sleepy nonsense in response. The two of them appeared to be covered in Scott’s old bathrobe. And what Scott had initially interpreted as Virgil’s arm slung over the both of them from behind him in fact ended in one of John’s elegant hands… a John who happened to be wearing one of Virgil’s flannel shirts. No, wait… Scott squinted at the cuff in the half light… Two. John was sporting double plaid.

You know what, fair enough.

The squid was squidding on Virgil’s other side, limbs locked on and only a shock of dark blonde hair visible as his face was buried between Virgil’s shoulder blades. A long time ago Scott would have worried at his ability to breathe in that position but although their little fish had not yet developed the ability to respire underwater (much to his obvious frustration), he had long proven himself perfectly able to obtain sufficient oxygen through apparently impermeable brotherly surfaces.

Scott reached out with all available senses to locate the final piece of the brother puzzle and it didn’t take long. Allie’s pointy chin dug into his thigh and… yeah he’d been drooling in his sleep the same way he had ever since he was a toddler. The soggy patch on his jeans was going to be hard to ignore now he’d noticed it but, aww, Allie.

A lithe dark shape reclined in the bedside chair, constantly on guard even in slumber. A smaller stockier one was tucked into the bed, snoring ever so gently.

As Scott’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he noticed a mysterious green glow in the armchair in the far corner - lifting his head ever so slightly he could identify MAX’s standby light glinting off a pair of glasses.

Truly, everyone was here.

As if knowing she’d been left off his mental checklist a hologram popped up from the bedside comm at 10% brightness, still a surprise that made him blink his eyes rapidly to compensate. The familiar ring of lights flickering then shifting into a single question mark.

He wasn’t sure when his feelings had shifted from being creeped out to being comforted by her constant watch over them all but, his heart warmed by the enquiry, he raised a hand, ever so gradually, to form a thumbs up.

The lights shifted and spun in a rainbow of colours before mimicking the thumbs up symbol, shifting quickly to a heart shape and then a series of Zs before blinking out.

He couldn’t decide whether he was more amused that EOS was now communicating via teenage emoji-speak or that she was now also nagging him to sleep. Virgil had started snoring slightly and that always had a soporific effect and so a large part of Scott’s brain was inclined to take her advice. He screwed up his face trying to suppress a huge yawn. After all… given he knew someone was keeping an eye on things…

perhaps it would be ok to let himself… drift… just a little…

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Virgil woke in a symphony of family.

It was not, he would acknowledge, what most people would understand as music. Sure, he could hear them, could pick out their individual ways of breathing and all their other little sleep noises as easily as if they spoke their names in a roll call. But it wasn’t entirely an auditory thing. Nor was it entirely a visual, olfactory or tactile thing either… not entirely, although they all played a part.

He felt them all, their presence surrounded him in full technicolour. And he could hear the colours and see the inaudible sounds of the music they made merely by existing.

He knew each brother’s melody, and those of Kayo, Grandma and Hiram too… they wove around and through him and harmonised with his own motif, supporting it, lifting it, enhancing it into something more beautiful. He made sense. He knew he was home precisely where he belonged. He was safe. Everyone accounted for.

And yet…

There was another here too.

Hollow. Barely tangible. No life force of his own, he… it… was fuelled by desperation and denial… memory mutated. Virgil knew he was there and yet his presence was only a shadow.

He opened one eye with a sense of trepidation and, suspicion confirmed, closed it again, curling his body back into the embrace of the real and the solid.

Gordon clung to his left, Scott surrounded his right, the scent of both flooded over him, he could feel their breath. But he could feel Him too.

Virgil knew what was happening - he’d been here before, after all. And now he knew, he knew it would pass soon and in a significant way that made it less horrifying, albeit still deeply deeply uncomfortable. But… perhaps… he could approach this with a degree of scientific detachment? Virgil slowly opened his eyes, allowed the light of dawn to enter his pupils and wondered how much of what he would see was actually entering his brain that way.

Standing, head bowed, by the end of the bed was Scott.

His Scotty. His best, most faithful friend, familiar as his own soul.

Broken.

Bearded, battered, bruised… he raised his face to meet Virgil’s gaze from within darkened, swollen eye sockets, blue only just managing to penetrate the mess of yellow, purple and red.

Cheekbones like knives, skeletal hands peeking out from sleeves of that cursed blue, the wrong blue. Not Scott’s bright astral blue. Too dark, too formal. It smothered him.

He looked so tired and so faded he was almost grey.

Virgil’s heart stuttered - how could he have let this happen? He was supposed to look after him! He was supposed to prevent…

The big brother Scott that was his conscience frowned, the haggard wraith Scott that was his sickness shook his head, the sleepy but solid Scott who held him close tightened his grip as if to stop him launching himself down that mental rabbit hole. Virgil allowed himself a tiny amused smile as he briefly closed his eyes to savour the hug - no version of Scott, real or illusory, would ever stand by and let him take the blame.

He looked up again, intending to whisper an apology anyway…

But he was gone.

And he was here.

He was right here.

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[luxeavenger]

At Least It's Roomy...?

Day 10 Kinktober prompt: Temperature Play

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: Temperature play, vaginal fingering, piv sex, nomad Steve (yah, you betcha he's a warning)

Words: 1706

My fics have not been showing up in the tags, so I'm relying solely on reblogs to get them out there. So I'd be so very grateful if you could reblog. To everyone who has been reblogging—ya'll are rockstars!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Buy me a coffee: Ko-fi

Being on the run from the government with Steve Rogers has been something else entirely.

Too much adrenaline. Not enough sleep. Always watching. Always ready to move out on a moment's notice. Go bags always within arms reach. Hiding in some of the most questionable places one could imagine.

This ice cream freezer is in a little shop somewhere just south of the Canadian border. Steve had done a favor for the owner years ago, and she was happy to stash you both somewhere out of the way while you waited for transport.

“Steve, this is a freezer.” You scowl at him.

“Yes it is.” He smirks back at you.

“It wasn’t a question, smart ass.” You ram him playfully with your shoulder when he snorts a laugh.

He pulls on the latch to open the door, and looks inside. “At least it’s roomy…?” he says with a shrug.

You grumble, but your heart really isn’t in it. This isn’t even close to the worst place you’ve had to hide.

“Sam’s on his way, so it’ll just be a couple of hours, sweetheart,” Steve promises earnestly, and kisses your temple.

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m just grumpy. It’s still loads better than the swamp incident.”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about that anymore-”

“Yeah, I know,” you fuss. “If we’re getting in, let’s get in.”

Fifteen minutes after locking yourselves into the freezer, your teeth are chattering, and Steve wraps his arms around you. The heat from his body immediately seeps into your bones and you groan and push even closer to him.

He chuckles, “Feel better?”

You hum your affirmation. “Thank goodness for your jacked-up metabolism.”

“Just my metabolism?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You want me to say your dick, don’t you?”

“Only if that’s the way you feel in your heart.”

“Okay, your dick’s nice too.”

“That’s good to know,” he hums.

You wrap your arms around him, and moan at how good his heat and solid body feel against you.

“My dick is gonna get a whole lot nicer if you keep moaning like that.”

You moan, squeeze even closer, and moan again when you feel his cock start to stiffen against you.

A low rumble bubbles out of his throat. “I’m warning you, sweetheart.”

“Mmmm, daddy. You feel so good,” you groan, cupping his ass in both hands.

“Son of a-” he growls. “Gimmie,” he grabs your ass and hoists you into his arms.

He grinds your core against his cock, and you gasp. “It did get nicer, Stevie.”

He shakes you gently. “No,” he grunts.

“It did get nicer, daddy.”

“Fuck.”

He sets you back down, and pulls a coat out of his go bag, and lays it over a stack of boxes.

While he’s fussing over the coat, you ask, “Why do you even have a coat? It’s not like you actually need it.”

“It’s so you have something to sit on while I fuck you in an ice-cream freezer.” He lifts an eyebrow at you like it was obvious. “Here,” he sits you down on top of his jacket, and bends over you so he can kiss you deeply.

He lifts your shirt up over your tits, and you gasp as your nipples instantly stiffen in the cold. You push your chest up, searching for Steve’s heat to warm you up.

“No ma’am,” he tsks, holding you back with a finger in the middle of your chest.

You shudder as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. You make a pleading sound, but still Steve holds you back.

Your nipples are painfully hard, and you just need someone to touch them, so you reach up to cup your tits, but Steve snatches your hands out of the air, and pins them over your head.

“I said, no.” The authority in his voice is unmistakable.

“Please, daddy,” you whine. “I need you.”

“I bet you do,” he teases, his body arched gracefully over yours. He skims a knuckle over one of your nipples, and you strain towards the tiny point of warmth with a whimper. When he draws circles over the stiff peak you grind yourself against the firm ridge of his cock.

“More, god, please more,” you beg.

“‘God’ is so formal,” he grins, “I prefer daddy.” He dips down and seals his mouth over your nipple, and you nearly sob at how good it feels. The heat of his mouth, the way he swirls his tongue over your skin, the scratchiness of his beard.

Because of the cold, you feel everything.

Steve switches to your other nipple, the saliva he left behind on the first nipple immediately begins to evaporate and cool. You make an incoherent noise, and roll your hips against him. He releases your hands and you automatically bury your fingers in his shaggy hair.

He lets your nipple pop out of his mouth, but stays close enough that the heat of his breath fans out over your chest when he speaks, and his lips graze the pebbled flesh.

“Tell daddy what you need, gorgeous.”

“I need-” You stop abruptly as a strangled moan leaves you, after Steve’s hot mouth switches back to the cold nipple.

He grins against your skin. “Use your words. I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Please,” you sob, grinding against him.

“Please what?”

You moan a curse when he skims his fingertips over your stomach. “Fuck, I need you inside me, daddy! Please!”

He groans, and flips your shirt back down over your chest, and pulls his own shirt off, and covers you with that as well.

You gasp, “Oh my god, look at you.”

“What’s wrong?” He looks at you curiously.

As his shirtless, and overheated super-soldier body meets the icy air of the freezer, you can see tendrils of steam curling off of his shoulders.

“I just…” you trail off. “Sometimes I forget how remarkable you are,” you can’t help the awe that bleeds into your voice, and Steve’s cheeks flush. You sit up and pull him down for a sweet kiss, which he returns with a hum of gratitude.

He breaks the kiss with a grin, seizing one of your hands in his, and brings it down to cup the front of his jeans.

“Tell daddy how bad you want his cock,” he whispers against your cheek.

“Feel so empty,” you gasp as your cunt clenches around nothing. “Need you to fill me up, daddy.”

Lightning quick, Steve has your pants stripped off, and he’s kneeling between your legs, pushing them up so you’re completely exposed before him.

He blows a soft puff of air over your pussy lips, followed by a huff of warm air. He breathes like this for a few minutes, alternating blowing a chilly gust of air over your sensitive flesh, and following it up with a warm exhale to chase away the icy air.

You get lost in the cycle of hot-cold-hot-cold, so when two of his fingers push into your cunt, it surprises you, and you arch up off the box beneath you with a cry.

He rubs his shaggy beard all over your inner thighs, “You wanted me inside of you, did you not?”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” you reply dazedly, already on edge from his teasing.

His breath heats your thigh as he hums, “Should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” you say, wrapping your legs around his shoulders to keep him close.

“Sweetheart, if you hold onto me like this, I won’t be able to fuck you.” He tugs gently at your legs.

“You can move ‘em,” you grunt.

“I guess I can,” he hums, rising and picking you up bodily, breaking the circle of your legs open with his broad chest. He supports you with one arm while he undoes the front of his jeans to get his cock out. The cold creeps over your naked skin, a stark contrast to all the points of unnatural heat coming from Steve’s body.

Just as the chilled air on your exposed pussy gets to be too much, Steve is lowering you down onto his cock. You dig your nails into his shoulders, and mindlessly keen his name.

Once he bottoms out, he quietly asks, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“God, you feel so fucking good.,” you groan.

He smirks at you, “I thought I told you not to call me god.”

You don’t get to respond, because he wraps his thick arms around you and starts fucking you hard. He’s holding you up effortlessly, so you grasp the back of Steve’s neck, so you can lean back, and let the cold air curl around you again, chasing it away by pressing against Steve when it becomes too much.

The heat that’s been building in your core ever since Steve laid you down on those boxes blazes through you when you come. Clinging to Steve, and groaning with every slap of his hips against your ass. You whimper when he squeezes you tight, and buries his cock in you, filling you with his heat until it’s dripping out of you in warm rivulets.

“Oh fuck,” he pants into your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Salty language, sir,” you slur against his hair. You squeal when he slaps your ass.

“Fuuuck,” he rumbles one more time, just for good measure.

After a minute, he jolts, “Oh shit. It’s cold, isn’t it? I gotta get you covered up.” He moves to sit you down on his coat, so he can help you back into your pants, but you squeeze your legs around his hips, and arms around his neck.

“No! Don’t you dare put me down,” you growl.

He pulls gently on your thigh. “I can move ‘em, you know,” he parrots your earlier suggestion.

“Yeah, but you won’t.”

“You’re right,” he says, heaving a contented sigh and burying his face in your neck.

A fist pounds heavily on the outside of the freezer door.

“Are you guys fucking in there? You better not be fucking in there,” Sam yells, followed by a loud, and overly-dramatic noise of disgust.

“Jesus, Sam,” you yell. “Don’t be gross. It’s an ice cream freezer. We’re eating ice cream.”

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The dripping slime from my signature is by Rivermakes on DeviantArt, and was free to use with credit.

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