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myfictionaldreams · 11 months

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Day 28: Cockbulge - Lee Bodecker

Summary: Being the new secretary at the Police Station had been quite the adjustment, but now, you're left alone with the handsome Sheriff, Lee Bodecker.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content (slightly), injury/blood (cut to knee), clumsy!reader, size difference, cock bulge, dry humping, innocence, protective, authority/power play, praise kink, sir kink, rough sex, creampie, sucking fingers

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kinktober masterlist😈

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It had been a long first week at your new job as a secretary at the police station in Knockemstiff. Everyone had been pleasant and welcoming, which had calmed your nerves as you were completely new to the area, deciding to move across the country to have a fresh start.

Tonight, you decided to stay late to finish the remaining paperwork stacked up throughout the day. As you were so new, it was taking you some time to get used to filing and completing the documentation; therefore, you decided that if you stayed behind after everyone had left, you could complete it at a leisurely pace without making any mistakes.

What you hadn’t anticipated was the Sheriff had also decided to stay and sit in his office, the only light illuminating the building except for the lamp on your desk and in the kitchen. Everywhere else had a dark shadow that had your eyes flicking to check that there wasn’t something hiding in the darkness and still trying to get used to being in a new environment.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you saw it nearing midnight and yet; there was still a sizeable stack of papers next to you on the desk. Deciding you needed a freshen-up, you stretched your arms high above your head, moaning quietly as different areas of your body popped and clicked.

You were planning to go and make yourself a coffee, but the light illuminating the edge of the room caught your eye. It was polite to ask if the Sheriff would like a coffee as well, but that included talking to him, which so far had been an unsuccessful feat as he always made you nervous enough to fumble your words. Not only was he in a position of great power, but Sherriff Lee Bodecker was incredibly handsome, from his tall stature, piercing blue eyes, buzzed hair and soft belly that was beginning to strain against his belt. Every single part of him had your insides fluttering and your mouth unable to form coherent words.

You seemed to chastise yourself constantly for being so foolish around him, knowing that he was your boss and you’d have to speak to him multiple times a day, so it was about time you got ahold of yourself. However, this was easier said than done.

Baby steps, you reminded yourself. You didn’t need to go in and ask about his childhood. All you needed to do was knock on his door and ask if he’d like a coffee.

Taking a deep breath and straightening the material of your knee-length floral dress, you moved towards his office. The door lay open as if he was waiting for you, but quickly shaking your head, you knew your mind was playing fantasy tricks. The Sheriff sat behind his desk, a tall lamp over his shoulder, the only light fixture turned on as his eyes darted around the file in his hands.

Knocking three times gently on his door, you tried not to flinch as he looked up, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing as he smiled at your presence. “Would you like a coffee, Sheriff?”

“Yes, please, Sugar” he smiled appreciatively, and you gave him a kind one in response, turning towards the kitchen area. As you switched on the coffee machine and waited for the water to warm, you arranged two cups on the countertop, and the anxious little voice in your head began to overthink the entire interaction. Sugar? Was he calling you a cute nickname, or was he asking for sugar in his coffee? How could you not know how the Sheriff likes to have his coffee already? You’ve been working for him for seven days already; this should have been the top three things you should know as the secretary.

So lost without your thoughts, you hadn’t heard his footsteps following behind you until he asked you a question, but your squeal in fear drowned out what he was asking as you quickly spun on the spot. In doing so, your elbow caught one of the coffee cups that fell off the side and smashed on the floor.

Your eyes widened in fear as you instantly were on your knees, reaching for the tiny shards that once created a cup. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff! I’ll pay for this, I promise. I wasn’t looking where I was going with my clumsy arms and-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, Darlin’, it’s only a cheap coffee cup, there’s no need to fret. Here, let me pick that up; I don’t want you accidentally cutting yourself now”.

Lee tried to take the shards of the cup from your palm, but you shook your head, “No, Sir. I’ll clean it. It’s my mess; I’m really sorry. I’m never usually this clumsy, I promise.”

“Sweetheart, it’s fine! But I must insist you give me those pieces before you hurt yourself”.

He was so close to you that you could feel his warmth as his fingers wrapped beneath yours and tilted what you had collected into his hand. Looking at him through your lashes with shame, embarrassment, and guilt, you were about to thank him when a sharp pain cut through your knee as you moved positions. “Thank you, Sheriff, I- ow!”

Both of your eyes lowered to your knee as you sat back onto the balls of your feet, lifting your dress and knee to see a portion of the broken cup had lodged into your skin, partially sticking out, and blood already leaking down your shin.

“Careful! Let’s get you in the light better. I’ve got you, put your arms around my shoulders”. The pain was increasing, which only meant you were half paying attention. All you knew was that you didn’t want to move your leg, but the Sheriff was in front of you, moving your hands for you until they rested on his uniform-covered shoulders.

As he stood, his arms wrapped around your waist, helping you to stand on one leg and then hop over to the table in the centre of the kitchen area. When your arse was brushing against the solid wood, his hands once more lowered to your hips, where he was able to lift you until you were sitting on the surface.

Even with your pain, your cheeks were aflame with embarrassment at his touches. Having him so close, you could smell the reminisce of his aftershave that he’d put on in the morning hour. It had an underlying spice scent while also remaining sweet, like vanilla. Then there was the searing heat remaining on your waist and hips from where his hands had touched; it was as if his hands had burned through your clothes altogether with the lasting impression that they had left.

The Sheriff had rushed to find the first aid box beneath the kitchen sink and was standing before you a second later; his eyebrows furrowed like they had been before you interrupted his reading. The table was positioned directly beneath the kitchen light so the two of you could see the extent of the damage. The shard wasn’t as deeply embedded as you’d first thought, but enough blood had flowed that a streak of red now pathed down your leg and pooled in your sock.

The sight instantly made you feel as if you were on a boat. Nauseous and dizzy as you swayed slightly. “Woah, ok, so you aren’t a fan of blood. Just look at me, Sweet, or better yet, lean on my shoulder and look in the other direction. That’s good; now, take some deep breaths. I don’t want you passing out on me, alright?”

You weren’t able to respond with the fear that you might vomit on your new boss, so you just followed his instructions. First, by looking up into his handsome, welcoming face and then leaning your cheek onto his shoulder, looking away from the mess running down your leg. As you continued to feel light-headed, Lee held his arms around your waist, his thumb stroking in gentle circles that helped to ground you at the moment, his touches once again causing warmth to bloom wherever he was, from the hands-on your body to the shoulder against your cheek.

Long minutes go past as you breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, trying to regain any sort of control over your traitorous body. Feeling strong enough to have some composure, you realised, to your horror, that you’d been gripping onto his biceps like your life depended on it.

Releasing him with a gasp, your face tilted to look up at him. “I’m so sorry!”

“Why are you apologising? You’ve not done anything wrong” he tried to calm you with a soft stroke of your cheek with the back of his fingers, and it felt as if all air seemed to be sucked from your lungs. Lee smiled down at you before turning serious, “Why don’t you continue to lean on my shoulder, and I’ll clean your leg up?”.

Nodding your head as words seemed to fail from your mind at all the intimate touches that had passed between you and the Sheriff, you leaned your face against his cheek, looking away from the direction of your pained knee that had now turned into a deep throb of pain.

“You’re shaking, Darlin’. Just hold onto me; everything’s going to be just fine. You won’t need stitches from the looks of it. I’m just going to clean you first, then I’ll take out the shard”. Once more, you nodded your head in response and mentally screamed at the fact that you weren’t shaking because of the injury or the light-headed sensation but because you were nervous about being close to him.

Lee rummaged through the first aid box next to you and then began to clean the blood off of your leg. “How are you finding it here in Knockemstiff?” the Sheriff asked casually, trying to make small talk and distract you.

“I’m really enjoying it, sir; everyone’s been so welcoming and friendly”, you responded after a shaky breath, hands moving to grip the edge of the table so you refrained from grabbing onto him.

“Good. Do you live alone, or did your family move with you?”

Your entire body felt as if it was floating with the overwhelming emotions going through your body with having the Sheriff’s hand running up and down your leg; occasionally, his fingertip would brush against the skin directly, and you had to bite your lip to stop an embarrassing squeak from coming out of your mouth. “I live alone. My family live on the other side of the country. It’s just me”.

The hand on your leg paused momentarily before continuing towards your knee. “Pretty girl like you all by yourself? I don’t like the sound of that”, he mutters, almost so faintly that you weren’t sure if he had intended for you to hear it or not, but it had the desired effect anyway as your body involuntarily shivers.

Your tongue suddenly felt like it was made of lead as you responded, “It can be a little scary, but at least I know I’ve got a protector like you looking after the town, Sheriff”.

The shoulder you were leaning on shifted backwards as Lee tilted his body so that he could look down at you. You couldn’t understand the expression he was portraying; his eyes were unfathomably dark in the bright, overhanging light, and they seemed to be tracking every little movement of your face. “Of course, Sweet. I’ll always be here to protect you”.

“Ow!”

“There, the worst is over with now”. You had been so distracted with mesmerising his face this close, particularly the shape of his lips, that you hadn’t noticed that he had gripped the object in your knee, pulled it out and then quickly covered the cut in his wipe. “Sorry, I’m just going to move a little close to look at the damage”, he explains whilst shifting forward. In doing so, he pushed between your legs, causing them to spread further and him to be flush against your body.

Your mouth dried, fingernails digging into the wood. You’d only ever had one man this close to you before, and that was your ex-boyfriend, who you’d thought was the love of your life, allowing intimacy to occur because you were meant to be together forever. Then, one day, he decided he wanted that with the neighbour instead. This was the main reason for you moving across the country, but now, having the Sheriff this close felt both scandalous and yet safe, trusting your new boss as he was only helping you.

Deciding to believe this, you leaned further against him, but in doing so, your thigh pressed against something in his pocket. Assuming it was his gun, you didn’t see the need to move away from him and remained close, savouring the warmth he was providing you.

Maybe you were tired and somewhat delirious still from the current events, but it took you much longer than it should have to realise that the Sheriff’s hips were moving against your thigh, causing the sensitive skin to chaff. Your eyes had been closed but soon snapped open as your posture straightened.

Your mouth opened and then closed as you struggled to decide what to say. The hardness that was stroking against your thigh was definitely not his gun, which you realised should have poured fear through your soul, but your traitorous body reacted in another way as warmth bloomed in your panties and core.

Before you could react further, the Sheriff was moving away, “All done. You’re as good as new, Darlin’”.

The warmth of his body stepped back as he moved to dispose of the bloody wipes and wrappers from the bandaid that now lay across the small cut on your knee. You inspected the area, mainly as a distraction so you didn’t have to look up at the Sheriff, worried that he’d see the glassy-eyed expression etched across your face or that you would see the bulge that had just been pressing against you.

“I think it’s about time we called it a night. How about I drive you home?” he suggested from across the room.

“Ye-yeah. You don’t have to drive me home, though, Sheriff. I only live down the road; I can just walk”.

As you were about to jump down from the table, he was in front of you again, that crease returning between his eyebrows as he looked at you disapprovingly. His hands rested next to yours on the table's edge as he leaned his weight on them, lowering himself so the two of you were now at eye level. “Now I won’t be having that. I’m not letting such an innocent-looking girl walk around in the middle of the night. You don’t know who is watching in the shadows. Go and get your coat; I’ll wait by the door”.

You gave him a thankful smile and embarrassingly squealed as his hands returned to your hip, and he pulled you off the table and back onto your feet. With the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you ran to your desk, trying to tidy it quickly before grabbing your coat.

Ever the gentleman, Lee held the station's door open, as well as his cruiser's passenger door open for you to get into his car. It felt odd for you to be in the front of the police car but also thrilling in a strange sort of way, and some naughty part of your brain couldn’t wait to get home so you could get the frustrations out of your body with the head of the shower between your legs.

Giving the Sheriff directions to your home, you both drove in a comfortable silence. However, being so close to him, in the contained metal box of his car, your wandering eyes kept slipping back towards him. Not only were you staring at his face, but your eyes dipped to his crotch. You would internally use the excuse it was to see if it was his gun, but this was strapped to the side of his hip, and yet, the bulge was still very evidently there.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asked innocently, rubbing his chin as your face scorched with heat; having been caught, you couldn’t find the courage to talk, so you shook your head and kept your eyes out the window.

Thankfully, the ride home didn’t take long, and he was pulling into your drive. The Sheriff looked intently at your house and the surrounding area that didn’t have many street lights as it was a private area. The trees loomed high, causing the space to look even more intimidating with shadows and darkness.

“Thank you so much for the ride home, Sheriff and for helping me with my knee. I promise I’ll buy the station a new cup. Anyway, you get home safe”. One hand on the door handle, your other was quickly gripped by Sheriff, halting your movements to leave his car as your head snapped to look at him with a confused frown.

“I don’t like you being out here by yourself. Just for my own sanity, do you mind if I do a quick check of the property? I don’t think I’d be able to sleep once I’m home to know I’ve not properly checked that you were safe”.

A gentle smile replaced your confusion as you nodded your head for him to do so, appreciating the help to make you feel safe. The two of you approached the front door, with the Sheriff helping to illuminate the way with his flashlight.

Once inside, you were quick to turn on the lights, thanking your past self for having decided to clean yesterday so it wasn’t in an embarrassing state for when your boss entered and searched the property. You waited patiently in the living area, listening to him walk throughout the house and checking behind doors that the windows and locks were secure.

“Sheriff, would you like a drink?” you shouted up the stairs.

“A coffee if you’d be so kind”, he responded quickly, and you were quick to move into the kitchen and place the pot on the stove, heating the water to a boil. You were still fresh to moving in and had already forgotten where you’d left the cups, and to your dismay, for some ungodly reason, you’d placed the nicer ones at the very top of the cupboard.

Straining onto your tip toes, you cursed yourself to hell for leaving the fancy cups so far away and the stepping stool in the other room as you tried your best to try and reach them. Just as they were a fingertip away, a solid, warm body entirely pressed against your back, and a giant hand collected the two cups and placed them on the counter in front of you.

“Than-Thank you, Sheriff”. You couldn’t help the stammer with having him practically on top of you, pushing firmly against your back so that your stomach ached from being forced into the kitchen side.

“It’s my pleasure, Sweet”, he replied with a tone you’d never heard before, low but authoritative. Before you could contemplate it any further, he shifted, and the bulge that you had once been against your thigh was now pressing against your lower back. You weren’t even breathing with the thoughts spiralling through your mind, anticipation and arousal returning with such a blow that you visibly shivered. The warm breath of the Sheriff then caressed the skin of your neck as he lowered his face. “I saw you staring at me in the car, those pretty doe eyes looking at their Sheriff in such a naughty way”.

Your mouth opened, prepared to try and defend yourself in a way you weren’t actually sure how, but his arms resting on either side of you, further trapping you in place, had any words dying on the tip of your tongue. “It’s fine, Darlin’. I was looking too. You’re just so damn breathtaking; all I’ve wanted to do this week is eat you right up”.

A mewl slipped past your lips as your eyes fluttered close and his nose brushed against your jaw. Lee smiled, hearing the pathetic noise, his body rutting against yours in response, “I know you want it too. I could feel how warm your arousal was as I was cleaning your knee, all flushed between those legs of yours. You just need someone to look after you, don’t you, Sweetheart?”

You were losing your mind, more whimpers bubbling from your chest as your head rolled back onto his shoulder, head tilting away to expose more of your neck for him. The Sheriff chuckled darkly, his lips skimming over your cheek as the two of you slowly rocked into one another, swaying on the spot.

You knew you should stop this before it escalated any further. He was your boss. Your Sheriff and you were sure it was somewhere in your contract that this sort of relationship shouldn’t form, but he was just so breathtaking, and you felt needy and lonely.

“Tell me you want this. I want to hear you say it”, he whispered against your ear, rocking his hips into your body still.

You spoke with the most confidence you could muster at that moment, “I want you, Sheriff Bodecker, I want this - please give it to me!”

He didn’t respond verbally at first. The Sheriff simply removed the water from the stove, turning off the heat. The chest against your back vibrated as he hummed his approval, one of his hands moving to cup your jaw. “Good girl. Now open those legs for me. Is this your first time?”

You swallowed audibly, widening your stance and spreading your legs, still using Lee as a support to keep you upright as you shook your head. “No, me and my ex-boyfriend, we…” your words trailed off, not finding the courage to say what you were both referring to.

Lee laughed against your cheek as he began to fumble with the skirt of your dress, lifting it at the back and gathering it around your waist. “Fucked? That’s what you wanted to say, isn’t it? My sweet girl isn’t as innocent as she looks”, he taunts whilst pulling your panties down your legs until you’re stepping out of them.

A faint buzz began to pound in your ears as he continued to hold your jaw so that you couldn't look over your shoulder at what he was doing with his other hand. However, the zipper noise that creaked through the thick atmosphere informed you of his actions. You were breathing heavily through your gaped-open mouth, knuckles aching with how badly you were clutching onto the countertop.

This was really happening. Your boss was going to fuck you against the kitchen cupboards after only knowing you for a week. How did it even go from finishing paperwork to this? You weren’t able to contemplate anymore as Lee lewdly spat into his hand and moved in between your bodies, smothering the tip of his cock with his spit, and then he was pushing up against you once more.

You jolted at the presence of his cock between your legs, fumbling to find its home, pressing between your soaked folds as Lee sucked in a quick breath. “So wet for me already. Do you really like you Sheriff that much?”

“Yes, sir”, you answered, sounding downright pathetic and needy as you tried to move your hips to help him find where you wanted him most, but his hard body kept you firmly in place.

Finally, he nudged at your entrance and wasted no time pushing within. You cried out as his thickness began to stretch you open thoroughly and deeply. Inch and inch delved between your folds as you savoured the delectable burn that came with his cock. You should have anticipated his size, considering the bulge that you’d been feeling and staring at it, but you couldn’t help but rise onto the tips of your toes as he pushed in further until both of your hips slotted together.

“Lord, you’re tight”, he praised gruffly, holding you tight enough that it was sure to cause bruises, but you didn’t care as you were completely under his control. “Bet you taste good too”. Without any warning, he eased the pressure of his body back for a moment to allow space for his hand that wasn’t gripping your face to delve down the front of your body and press against your throbbing clit, gathering the slickness onto his fingers. You gasped frantically at the stimulation and then groaned at the loss as his hand moved to his mouth, and you were praised with the beautiful noise of him moaning as he licked your juices from his fingers. “Fuck, I was right, you taste so damn good I just know I’m going to be addicted to you. Why don’t you have a taste, Darlin’”.

Your clit was being pressed on by his wet fingers once more, and then he was shoving them into your already open more which he kept open with the hand around your jaw. With your need to please him, you sucked hungrily at the three fingers wedged between your teeth, tasting the saltness of your slick and the uniqueness of his saliva.

Both of his hands remained there as he finally began to pull out and then slammed back in, causing burning pleasure to burst between your legs. Lee rested his forehead against the side of your face as he began to roughly fuck into you, keeping you entirely still with the way he had you pinned to the cupboards.

You’d never felt pleasure like this before; each thrust of his cock was never-ending euphoria, tightening and wetting your cunt. You continued to suck his fingers, using them as some kind of crutch so that you didn’t lose control completely, even though you were moaning incessantly.

Your hands moved to grip his wrists, your nails now embedded into his skin and causing crescent-shaped marks. Lee growled at the spark of pain, using this to motivate his harsher fucking movements until his hips were a blur of in and out.

The moans you were producing increased in pitch and desperation as you could feel the coil in your abdomen tightening at an alarming pace. The Sheriff could feel you becoming tighter around him as he groaned, biting the lobe of your ear that sent hot pain down your throat.

“You gonna cum for me, Sweet? Why don’t you cum on my cock, and I’ll give you what you really want” his words were promising, and you were too far gone to understand the implications behind his words.

Somehow, Lee fucked you even harder until there was no holding back anymore, and you came with a gush of fluid seeping down your thighs and screams that were muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

“That’s a good girl, feel so good trying to milk my cock. Let’s give you what you want, gonna fill you up so damn good”. As your eyes rolled back, the fingers disappeared from your mouth, causing a string of spit to drip onto your chin as Lee pressed his wet hand against the cupboard above your head, using it to hold onto so he could fuck you at a brutal pace until he was cursing, baritone grunts echoing around the kitchen as he came.

The extra fluid flooded out of your hole, joining the mess that already coated your thighs as Lee’s softening cock slipped out. Neither of you moved, though, taking these precious moments to try and catch your breath and come down from the incredible high.

Apprehension started to fill your consciousness as you feared what was to come after this, so tentatively, you asked gently, “Please don’t leave me tonight”.

You wanted him to stay; you needed to feel his warmth and know that you hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of your life. Lee kissed the underside of your jaw, “Don’t worry, Darlin’, I’m not going anywhere”.

#lee bodecker #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker x reader #the devil all the time #mine*#kinktober #kinktober 2023

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loveshotzz · 1 year

Text

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap ten/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs -

Baby, I’m Yours

summary: A sleepless night brings you back to where it all began.

wc: 8k

warnings: 18+ for the softest of smut.

author’s note: I know we still have the epilogue but I can’t believe we’re actually here at the end of their story. Thank you to all of you that spent your summer reading about Steve and his Tough Girl, this has been such a journey for me as a writer with a lot of challenges but I’m so thankful I did it. Truly writing about these two and talking about it with you guys was the highlight of my summer. From the bottom of my heart, thank you 🧡

🌇 <- chapter nine

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

Beginning of August

Steve had been gone for a week and a half and it felt more like a lifetime to you, but it wasn’t for the lack of communication. If Steve wasn’t calling you he was texting you, sending you pictures of his lunch no matter how lame you told him it was. By day three you were sending him a picture of your own with a loud sigh and a roll of your eyes. His enthusiastic response of ‘That looks good baby!!’ had made you squirm in your seat with hot cheeks huffing the word “pathetic” to yourself, but that didn’t stop you from doing it again the next day.

It was FaceTime calls of Peach telling Steve to turn the camera around, always too busy looking at you and telling you how pretty you are to notice his was pointed towards a wall. Or the one time it was pointed at Eddie who sat in front of him making a suggestive ‘cumming’ face to tease him, the camera flipped immediately when he heard you giggle. Steve scolded his cackling friend with an ‘honestly, I hate you’ before taking you to another room, apologizing profusely with blush visible on his cheeks.

It was the small bits of time in between text messages and phone calls that made it drag. The quiet evenings without Bandit’s excited bark from the front yard, the low simmer that’s always in your gut from the possibility of running into him any time you come and go, is gone with the man and his dog. It’s just enough time for seeds of doubt to creep in. The newness, the anxiety of it all.

The bright red numbers on the clock above your stove read 2:13am - three days until Steve gets home and tonight you can’t sleep. Quietly thanking whatever gods there are for your day off tomorrow, well - today.

Your apartment smells like Clorox, lavender, and lemon. The wood floors sparkling just like your kitchen countertops. Cleaning everything you could touch has kept you busy, but it doesn’t make you any more tired than when you’d started. Your intrusive thoughts and daydreams are going a mile a minute:you didn’t get your usual good night call from him. The rational side of you knows that one missed phone call doesn’t mean anything, but the irrational side decided you don’t need to rest.

The full trash bag next to your front door taunts you, just like the promise you made Steve about taking it out late at night months ago. The fact that it’s the last thing left to do makes it that much harder to walk away from. Gnawing at the side of your cheek you decide not to, he’s not even home to catch you.

The moon’s blue glow illuminates your path while the skyline of the city sparkles below it. The tall buildings shimmer in a way that takes attention from the stars in the cloudless night sky. You can feel how the humidity hangs less thick in the air the more August rolls in. The thin material of your tank top does nothing against the light breeze that makes the bottom of your sleep shorts tickle the tops of your thighs. There’s a chill that didn’t exist before and it makes goosebumps dot across your skin.

Your slides scrape along the gravel from your refusal to fully pick your feet up, and it fights with the sounds of the late Friday night in the distance. You hum a made up tune as the streetlight buzzes above, lifting the lid you jump when you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“I thought I told you not to take your trash out in the middle of the night, especially alone, tough girl.” Steve’s voice erupts everything that’s laid dormant inside of you for the past week. Butterflies start to flutter until they’re fighting against your rib cage to get out and your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling before you’ve even turned around.

“Well,” You sigh, dropping your bag in the trash can, “the guy I was supposed to call if I needed anything ditched me for his out of state boyfriend.” Shrugging when you finally let yourself look at him, the view rivals the one that shines bright behind him.

His hair is messy in a way that isn’t purposeful this time, but he looks just as handsome as any other day. The stubble on his jaw is thicker, but not quite like the night he waited at your doorstep, and god, do you want to feel it against your skin. His big arms sit crossed over a broad chest that’s only covered in a gray tank top. The thick patch of hair always half way on display threatens to touch the base of his neck, the bottom of his silver chain disappearing inside of it.

His freckles are darker now, easier to find from all the sun he got while he was gone and you’re jealous of the hands that got to rub sunscreen on them, even if they were his own. The black basketball shorts on his legs stop in the middle of his thighs, it makes you bite at your lip.The greens and golds in his eyes light a match under your skin with the way he stares at you — like he couldn’t possibly look away even if he tried.

“My out of state boyfriend huh?” He grins, tightening his hold on his own bag before his Nike slide covered feet crunch against the gravel towards you. His eyes catch the dainty silver still hanging around your neck, the stone shining in the moonlight, and it makes his heart swell. Tossing his trash in after yours, he meets your gaze down the slope of his nose, arching a brow. “What does that make you then?”

He smells like bergamot and cedar, a lingering hint of the cigar he probably smoked in New York still clinging to his hair. The heat coming off his body makes your fingertips buzz, twitching with the need to reach out and just touch him.

“I dunno, what does that make me, Steve?” It comes out shy, a little above a whisper, a question just for him.

He hums, a low sound that vibrates from deep in his chest while his fingers come up to toy with the stone that dangles just above the dip of your breasts. The tips of them tickling rough against your soft skin.

“What do you want?” His confident demeanor falters when he asks just as quiet, all the miles and days without seeing each other are affecting him too. He doesn’t tell you that’s part of the reason he booked an early flight home on your day off.

“I want you.” You don’t hesitate when you say it, no pauses for even a second to think of what you want to say. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, the muscles under your palm dance from your simple touch. He wonders if you can feel his pulse.

“You already have me.” He almost wants to laugh until he still sees the same shared doubt in your eyes. “Haven’t I made that obvious?”

He tugs at your necklace as a reminder, a smile breaking across your face because of it and all he wants to do is kiss you now. Especially when he drops the stone to grab your hand, and after taking just a few steps, you reach up to touch it again — a silent, constant reminder of his confession as you walk towards the wooden gates.

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back early?” You pout a little, looking up at him when he stops you both at your backyard.

“I landed a few hours ago,” He chuckles, his hands finding your hips to pull you to his chest, in love with the way you stand on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck like it’s natural, like it’s second nature to want him close. “I was actually going to surprise you in the morning with breakfast after I picked up Bandit from Nance’s.”

“Oh yeah?” You grin at the thought of Steve showing up at your front door, that messy head of hair shoved into a baseball cap.

He nudges his nose against yours, the spearmint of his toothpaste fanning cool across your cheeks while your fingers curl into the soft hair at the base of his neck. Tilting your chin so your lips just barely touch, you silently beg him to close the gap.

“Yeah,” He breathes, hazel eyes clocking the way your lashes flutter against the top of your cheeks. He almost feels bad for teasing, especially when you give his hair a gentle, coaxing tug. “But someone wanted to risk their lives for the sake of taking out the trash. So, surprise, pretty girl, I’m home.”

His words make your breath catch, and you want to tell him he feels like home more than your real one ever did. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest when his top lip whispers against your still slightly pouted bottom one. You tug at his roots a little harder this time, needier, and you swear a whine tightens at the back of your throat threatening to come out if he doesn’t give you what you want. Please, kiss me.

“Well, good thing you were here to save me.” You giggle against his mouth, and it makes his hands squeeze at your sides a little tighter, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. The tip of your nose pushes against the rough stubble on his cheek, “Besides, I missed you, I wouldn’t have wanted to wait ‘til the morning.”

“God, honey. You have no idea how much I missed you.” His face crumples a little at the thought, almost like he forgot for a second you were right in front of him, but when you somehow pull yourself closer, he doesn’t waste anymore time.

The wood is rough when your back hits the gate at the same time his lips finally crash into yours. A week of longing comes out with a sigh. The metal hinges and lock clank loudly together while he steals the breath from your lungs. He coaxes your mouth open with a swipe from his impatient tongue, groaning when you grant him access. You taste just as sweet as he remembers, and he promises himself he’ll never go a day without it again — not if he can help it.

Your hands get greedy in his hair, bigger handfuls, harsher tugs while your body stays flush against his as he keeps you pinned to the door. It’s all tongue and teeth for a minute, both of you losing yourselves in it for longer than you should. It’s not until a car honks, signaling to any bikers around that it’s popping out of the alley, breaking you two apart.

Chest heaving and lips swollen, all you want is more.

He laughs to himself pressing his forehead against yours with the kind of smile that makes your knees weak. The tip of his nose touches yours; he’s all wild hair and love sick eyes. You don’t want to be without him tonight. Or ever.

“Come sleepover?”

The question comes out before you can stop it, before you can really register what that invitation might mean for both of you. His eyes widen before they search your face for any kind of regret, his tongue wetting his lips when he doesn’t find it. You twist strands of his honey hair between your fingers, nervously waiting for his response.

“We - we don’t have to do anything. I just wanna be with you.” You finally whisper, your nerves getting the best of you. He can’t believe you think he’d actually say no.

“Let me shower and get the airport off of me, and then I’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of the night with you baby.” He steals another kiss from your smiling lips, letting you take another one for yourself, groaning at the nip of your teeth on his bottom lip before he finally lets you go.

Opening the gate for you, he grabs your wrist pulling you back for one more, relishing in the giggle it earns him before he whispers that he’ll be back in fifteen minutes.

It feels like your heart is trying to escape through your chest as you try not to check the time on your phone. Strategically placed candles are the only light in your living room and kitchen, while a dimmed bedside lamp in your room gleams a dark orange with your wax melter. It feels like your apartment is glowing, but it does nothing to relax the nerves that course through your veins as you pace the small space of your room trying to shake them before his inevitable arrival.

Knock, knock, knock

They are quieter than his normal ones, but they make you jump just the same. You shake your hands out, taking a deep breath before you pad barefoot to your front door. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth to try and contain the smile that always grows the first time you lay your eyes on him and his lopsided grin.

“Hey baby.” He greets you in the kind of voice that makes the dough of your thighs press.

His damp hair is pushed back, from what looks like a few quick hands in the mirror. A simple white shirt replaces the tank top from before, fitting loosely across his shoulders, and a soft looking pair of gray cotton shorts cover the tops of his thighs this time. He’s wearing a tan pair of moccasin slippers on his feet that you’ve never seen, and for some reason his exposed ankles make the heat rise to your cheeks while the fresh scent of his pine body wash threatens to take over your senses.

“Hi handsome.” It’s dripping in sugar the way you say it, sweet off your tongue just for him as you open the door wider.

He thinks your apartment smells like peaches and the ocean when you close it behind him. It smells just like you and he feels surrounded by it, intoxicated with it, the way he always wants to be. You watch him take in your apartment like he missed it too, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth when he notices you just cleaned it. He bites back his remark when his eyes meet yours, he can’t bring himself to say it when you’re staring at him from under your lashes with your back pressed to the door all shy like that.

“Don’t be shy, honey,” he extends a big hand out for you to take with soft eyes, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” copying your line from outside, he wiggles his fingers a little with a smile warmer than the glow of the candles that dance shadows across his sharp jaw and cheek bones, “I just wanna lay with you.”

You don’t hesitate to slip your palm into his, your heart racing when you watch his fingers wrap around you with ease. He pulls you into him, colliding in a mix of forest and the beach. He keeps a hold of your hand, cupping your cheek with his other one. The pad of his thumb traces over the heated skin, paying extra attention to the soft bag under your eye. You needed sleep.

“Just me and you, that’s all I want, okay?” He reassures you in a voice lower than a whisper. His heart swells when you nod with big glassy eyes, your hand coming to rest on the top of his so you can lean deeper into his touch.Steve’s hazel eyes look to yours, he tilts his head a little bit closer in a silent ask for permission, you push up on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He kisses you differently than how he did in the alley, differently than the Fourth of July and the baseball game. He’s gentle, like he’s taking his time with you because he actually has it now, like he’s sure of it. He doesn’t try to deepen it even when they move together like this is what they were always meant to be doing, not even when your top lip catches a little dirty with his bottom. He wants to remember this moment, commit it to memory so that he never forgets what this feels like with you. He kisses you like this until the need for oxygen becomes too much and your feet start to hurt from standing in place for too long.

“Let’s go lay down.” You whisper between bated breaths that mingle with his, your chests heave as he gives you the kind of toothy grin that makes the butterflies wake up again, nodding with a squeeze of your hand.

The hum of A/C and the sounds of your breathing are the only things that can be heard in the low light of your room. Steve’s body lays pressed on top of yours, making himself comfortable between your legs. His head rests on your sternum with a cheek against the soft curve of your tummy. His big hands hold tight to your sides, caging you in – it feels like he’s everywhere and you wouldn’t have it any other way. The weight of him relaxes you into the feathers of your pillows.

Your fingers keep themselves busy buried deep in the thickness of his hair. Still a little damp at the roots, you massage the part of his scalp you know was resting on the hard cushion of the airplane seat, earning you a deep groan that vibrates between your legs. He feels the way they try to close because of it, the sharp intake of breath that you try to hide.

He’d be lying if he said his own body wasn’t reacting being this close to you, especially when the pads of his thumbs caress under the swell of your breasts and there’s no wire of a bra to be found. His eyes roll back as the blunt ends of your nails start to scratch lightly near the nape of his neck, making his fingers squeeze you at the sensation. His face nuzzles deeper into the softness of your stomach, inhaling. You feel the prickle of his stubble through the thin material of your tank top and it makes you giggle.

Steve doesn’t know how he lasted as long as he did this past week without you.

He pushes the bottom of your tank top up and tries not to stare at the supple skin exposed to him before blowing a raspberry. It earns an even louder giggle, making your legs bend at the knees, trapping him in between your thighs.

“Steve!” You sound annoyed but the smile on your face gives you away when you go to cover your eyes with the back of your hand.

“What baby?” He smirks against your skin and feels the way it makes you squirm with a subtle roll of your hips, he’s not even sure you noticed that you did it.

“No…”Your voice trails off when he pushes your shirt up a little higher, his lips getting bolder, addicted to the way you heat up for him with every soft kiss, “No raspberries.” You finally manage, making him chuckle. But that doesn’t stop him continuing on his path.

“I promise I’ll be nice, m’sorry” He mumbles an apology against your skin, basking in the goosebumps it earns him.

He sits back on his knees, thumbs hooking into the bottom of your tank. His eyes meet yours from underneath his lashes and he wishes he could take a picture of the way you look right now.

“Is this okay?” He asks just to make sure, and the nod of your head with heavy lids is enough for him to press a wet kiss on your sternum before pulling the rest of the offending fabric off, throwing it somewhere on your floor.

Steve forgets how to breathe the moment his eyes land on you, soft curves just begging for his touch. He can’t help himself when he runs his palms up your sides making your nipples pebble when the pads of his thumbs meet the bottom swell of your breasts. You wonder if he can feel the wings under your rib cage.

“God - honey,” Steve’s words get lost on his tongue when you stare up at him with eyes blown out like his, it makes him run a hand down his face like he can’t believe you’re real. “I’m lucky to just be lookin’ at you.”

His praise makes a shy smile push up your cheeks, his own teeth shining in a grin because of it.

“I wanna look at you too.” You whine a little, reaching down between your legs to tug at the cotton of his shirt with a pout.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, bending back down to hover over you. His nose nudges against your cheek before his lips brush yours, smirking when you nod a little desperate against his mouth.

The kiss he gives you lingers, lighting a fire inside of you, the kind that burns at your fingertips, consuming you like it’s wild and it makes you realize it’s never going to be enough. You’re never going to get enough of the man who looks at you like you hung the stars in his sky, like you were the sun that broke through the rain clouds that followed him around.

His fingers curl at the hem of his shirt, and it feels like he’s moving in slow motion when he pulls it over his head, adding it to the already growing pile on the floor. His muscles twitch under your gaze, his own nerves finally catching up to him when he realizes just how long it’s been since he’s been with someone like this. Pink dusts his cheeks but he doesn’t look away, not when he sees the way your eyes glaze over at the sight. The dark thatch of hair in the middle of his chest looks soft to the touch from his late night shower and it makes your fingers twitch to touch him.

The silver of his chain gleams like yours in the moonlight that leaks through your curtains and it makes his skin look like it glows. You give in, running your fingertips through the thick happy trail that’s surrounded by another collection of freckles and moles that you feel the need to kiss and you catch the shudder that runs through him because of it.

“You’re so handsome, Steve.” It comes out a little breathless, and it makes the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Thank you, angel.” He tries to hide his bashfulness in a grin and a hand through his hair, bending back down to press a kiss to your collarbone so you don’t see his smile.

He starts a path up your neck, nipping at sensitive skin along the way to your lips, his own butterflies being spurred on by the whimper it earns him. He hovers over you searching your face for any indication to stop but he’s only met with the kind of look in your eyes that almost has him say it.

‘I love you’.

He tries to show you by slotting his lips against yours in a hot breath, like a key to its lock. The bed dips on either side of your head when he goes from his palms to his forearms, chest to chest he wonders if you can feel his heart beating just for you tonight.

The feeling of his skin against yours makes every inch of you feel like a livewire, both of you moaning into the kiss like you’ve waited too long for this. Tongues collide messily when he rolls his hips with a purpose. The pointed pressure on your bundle of nerves, has you keening into him. Your hands slide up his chest through the patch of hair you’d been dreaming about for months, before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. Addicted to the way his hard muscles flex against your soft skin.

Box springs squeak when he lets go of all of his weight, it feels like he’s everywhere and it makes your head spin. Your fingers find their way back into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you fight for dominance with his lips, trying to convey everything you’re feeling right now because words just won’t work.

Pushing your hips up to meet his in a slow grind, the thin material of his shorts does nothing to hide just how big he really is and it makes everything turn sloppy, teeth scraping together with silk between your fingers tugging at his roots a little mean. He smiles when he pulls away to catch his breath, keeping his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes are as black as the night outside that threatens to give away to the sun in just a few hours, they look at you like he can’t believe you’re real, memorizing every detail of your face like you might disappear if he blinks.

“So pretty.” He murmurs before littering kisses down your body, some sweet and some with a nip of his teeth.

His eyes meet yours in a silent question of ‘is this okay?’, long fingers curling around the elastic band. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your shy smile. You nod with a little too much excitement making him smirk before pressing a sweet kiss on the top of your hip, running his nose along the soft your tummy doing it again to the other side.

You hold your breath when he pulls them down your thighs, the tips of his fingers gliding down the sides of your legs as he goes, lips tugging up when you squirm a little because of it. A low groan vibrates from his chest when he realizes you aren’t wearing underwear, glistening with your arousal in the dim light. You’re so wet and all he’s done is kiss you.

“Baby, baby, baby.” He mutters awestruck by the sight.

A little embarrassed at your body’s reaction, his praise makes your legs try to snap shut but he stops you with a gentle hand on the inside of your knee, spreading them again.

“You’re beautiful, please don’t hide from me.” He begs, taking all of you in again. “So, so, so beautiful, honey.”

His fingers wrap around your ankle, pulling your leg up enough for his lips to kiss the soft skin right above the round bone, his nose skims up your calf to press another one, relishing in the giggle he gets as he keeps on his path to what he really wants. You squeal when he nips at the inside of your knee and you can feel his smirk against your goosebumps.

Once his kisses get to your thigh, he settles between your legs with his chest to the mattress. It’s hard to remember your own name when he looks up at you through his lashes like that. He hooks your knee over his broad shoulder, his lips dragging a little dirty across your heated skin. He can taste the watermelon that still lingers from his favorite lotion. You were going to be the death of him.

He meets your eyes when he gets high enough for your thigh and hip to connect. Close enough to smell how sweet you are worked up just for him.

“Can I taste you?” He skims his nose up the plush inside of your thigh when he asks, his eyelids growing heavy just basking in being close to you like this. You could say no, and this would be enough for him but the way you’re already dripping on your sheets makes him insatiable. “You want that?”

You want that?

He watches how your eyes glaze over at his question, the intensity of his gaze makes you want to hide, he was so handsome looking up at you like this. Too bashful to actually say yes, you nod again.

“Can you say it for me?” He squeezes your hip, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles to soothe your nerves like his own weren’t boiling under the surface of his confident demeanor like a volcano ready to explode.

What if he wasn’t good at this anymore?

“Y- yes, I want you to taste me, handsome you can do whatever you want to me.” The breathy giggle that bubbles passed your lips makes him grin lopsided just how you like, a smugness that wasn’t there before smoldering like a fire in his eyes.

“Yeah? Fuck - Honey, I dream about this.” He groans when he pulls himself closer, the tip of his nose running up your slick folds making you shudder, fingers already tangling in your sheets. “You want me to show you how much I missed you?”

He doesn’t tell you that he’s started to always miss you when you aren’t around.

He accepts your nod this time, your teeth threatening to make your bottom lip bleed when he settles your other leg over his shoulder too, nothing holding him back from you anymore. He takes all of you in with a greedy eyes, his pink tongue darling out to lick his lips when he sees just how much you want this too.

Nothing can prepare you for the first swipe of his flattened tongue between your slick folds, the tip of it catching your clit with just enough pressure for the grip on your sheets to tighten. The butterflies in your rib cage feel like they make their escape in the gasp you let out, his low hum of approval making your toes curl when he does it again.

“So fucking sweet baby, god of course you are.”

He doesn’t waste anymore time testing the waters, his self doubt gone with his self control when your hips roll up asking for more. Steve knows now he’ll never say no to you and he’s not shy with the way he buries his face in your pussy. His tongue laps up everything you give him, like he’s hungry with his nose pressed to your bundle of nerves with enough pressure to make your back arch.

“Ohmygod - Steve.” The moan you let out makes his cock twitch, your fingers reaching down to tangle themselves in his hair, shamelessly pulling him closer. You were better than his dreams.

Your thighs snap closed around his ears after he stops the greedy strokes of his tongue in the tightness of your entrance for his lips to wrap your clit. He sucks with the kind of force that makes your eyes hit the back of your head. His eyebrows marry together when he closes his eyes like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. One of hands leaves the dough of your thighs for his thick index finger to take his tongue's place, collecting the slick from between your folds before pushing one knuckle in.

It makes you gasp a little breathy as your hips push up for more, and he gives it to you, pushing two more knuckles in and you already feel so full. Your walls constrict, fluttering around his single digit like it’s a stretch and he wonders how you’re going to be able to take him. His own hips rut into the mattress in search of some kind of relief while he sets a steady pace between his mouth and his wrist that has you clenching like you’re about to unravel.

“You close baby? Wanna show me how good it feels?” His question comes out sloppy against your mound, all the color in his eyes is gone meeting yours from between your legs blown wide. When he adds a second finger, it slides in with ease making your eyes hit the back of your head, a low moan bubbling past your lips. Your toes curl with his fingers, jaw going slack with his name in your mouth like a prayer and he’s scared you’re going to make him cum in his pants again.

“Just like that, fuck - right there - Steve, Steve, Steeeeeve!” The fingers that are tangled in his hair tug rough, your thighs clamping down hard around his head while your body tries to squirm away to run from the intensity of it all, the stubble on his jaw rubbing you raw when he moves his head from side to side drinking in everything you give him.

His hand on your hip locks you in place while you come undone on his tongue and he swears you taste just like sugar when he buries his face in deeper till you whine, pushing on his forehead to stop, overstimulation winning. Heat floods your cheeks when you see the shine from your slick covering the bottom of his lopsided grin when he finally looks up at you.

“So pretty like this,” He mumbles, pressing a kiss to the inside of your shaking thigh.

You cover your face with your hands, the intensity of your first orgasm and the intimacy of it all overwhelms you, the tightness in your chest threatens to become unbearable. The three words sitting at the tip of your tongue beg to come out from between your lips.

Not yet.

He trails sticky kisses up your stomach, making sure to pay special attention to the swell of your breasts, pulling them both together in his big hands to give them equal treatment. Shining lips wrap around your sensitive nipples and it's enough for a new wave of arousal to blossom deep inside your belly, a subtle rock of your hips meeting his when he rolls one between his teeth. Insatiable, just like him.

“Steve,” His name comes out around a sigh, your fingers running up his freckled back before tangling themselves in his hair again, addicted to the softness of it.

“Mmm, tell me what you want.” He looks up at you from under thick lashes, lids heavy, and eyes glossy. He’s wrecked.

“You.” The answer is just as simple as it was outside, it's all you’ve ever wanted. You realize that now. The universe bringing you here to this moment with him. This was it.

“Baby,” he looks at you like he means it, like his whole heart is in your hands now and it has been since the day you moved in he just didn’t know it yet, “I’m yours.”

He moves back up your body, leaving wet kisses across sweat slicked skin making sure to suck at the sensitive spot he found just above your collarbone, smiling when you gasp. He’s not expecting to feel your lips against his jaw, bold and sure of themselves by the time they get to the corner of his mouth, dainty fingers pulling his chin down to collect your kiss.

Your lips move like you can finally relax, like you’re home now and he can feel your heartbeat against his chest. This didn’t feel like just sex.

Your hands run down his sides, grinning into his mouth when he chuckles as the tips of your fingers brush against his ribs, you keep that information locked away another time as you hook them in the elastic band of his shorts. His tongue licks a little dirty into your mouth when you start to pull them down his hips, helping you get them to his knees before kicking them off entirely. The length of him feels heavy against your stomach, and it makes you break away from the kiss but his lips stay attached to you.

Your cheek, your jaw, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

The view makes your breath hitch and get stuck in the back of your throat, walls fluttering around nothing when you see just how big he really is. He’s too busy trying to find new places to make you gasp and all you wanna do is look at him.

“Steve” his name comes out around the gasp he was trying so hard to get by sucking a little bruise behind your ear.

He hums against your skin with his eyes closed, drowning in you. Love drunk off of it. The slow sleepiness from the day creeping in as his body molds to the warmth of you.

“I wanna look at you, too.” Your request is quiet against the rough stubble that fades into his neck, and you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips.

“Yeah?” His voice is hoarse, nose nudging against your jaw when he brings his gaze back to yours, a smile pulls up the apples of his cheeks, crinkling small lines under his eyes.

“Yeah.” You don’t nod this time.

He holds your eyes in his, needing you to know there’s a double meaning in his words when he brings his palm to your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the high bone.

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

The mattress bounces when Steve flops next to you on his back, the two of you barely fitting on your queen size with his broad shoulders and long legs. He catches the way your eyes grow big when you sit up on your knees and finally get to see all of him. He reaches out for you, sensing your hesitation at his size

“C’mere, baby, we’ll go slow.”

Heat blooms between your legs when you take his hand, your knees finding a home on either side of his hips. He’s thicker than you’d imagined all those nights with your fingers between your thighs. The big vein running up the length of him protrudes like it’s working overtime, while beads of pearly white smear against the rough patch of hair just below his belly button from his light pink tip. Wrapping his hand around the base, he gives himself a pump to relieve some of the ache from seeing you sitting on top of him like this. Soft curves on display in the moonlight, he can’t wait to see them when it breaks daylight.

“Fuck,” He sighs when you settle above him, “you look gorgeous.”

His words make your confidence peak, your hands finding themselves flat against his chest, the blunt ends of your nails drag through the hair there and you spot another cluster of freckles you hadn’t seen before, you wonder if he’ll let you find them all.

“Look who’s talkin’” You tease, making him laugh as you lean up to steal a kiss. The motion has the length of him slide easily between your slick folds, his tip catching your clit before popping out.

“Jesus Christ.” He sighs against your mouth that’s formed in a silent ‘o’, rolling his back up in search for more.

“Steve - you’re so - “ The last of your sentence is stolen by a gasp when you grind down to meet his thrust, the tip of him prodding your entrance before gliding up with just the right amount of pressure to make you both moan.

“I’m so what?” He asks a little smug, arms circling the curve of your waist to pull you closer, dragging you over the length of him again, it makes you shudder in his grasp.

He catches against where you beg for more of him, fluttering around the tip, your walls try to suck him in. A low growl rumbles from his chest when he tries to fit a little more. It’s your hips that roll, and it's just enough for him to push all the way in with a little resistance.

“Goddd,” You whine, feeling the fullest you’ve ever been, your walls stinging, desperately trying to accommodate his size. A low huff exhales through your nose when you sit up straight, letting your nails drag over the beauty marks that litter his stomach before finishing your sentence, “so big.”

“Yeah, but look at you takin’ it.” He groans with pinched brows, eyes transfixed on where he disappears inside of you. Arousal coating the thick thatch of hair that frames him, wetting his lips as he watches the way you grind your clit against it letting him fill you to the hilt. “So good for me baby, so beautiful, - fuck! - so gorgeous.”

His praise has you clenching around him, your mouth falling open when you feel him twitch because of it. His big hands find the tops of your thighs, the pads of his fingers leaving fires in their wake while making their way to your hips. He squeezes softly when he gets there, guiding your lazy thrusts before searching for your hands.

You watch him intertwine your fingers with curious eyes, his gaze transfixed on yours as he holds them at your sides, rolling his hips up to push even deeper.

“Oh god,” He does it again only this time if feels like there’s nowhere else for him to fit and it makes your eyes screw shut, “ohmyfuckinggod - Steeeve!”

“Right there? Yeah? Is that it?” He grunts trying to repeat it and your hands squeeze his in an iron grip. “Come on baby, I need to see you.”

It’s hard to open your eyes, the slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is almost overwhelming. Connected to him in a way that is going to change you forever. The pad of his thumb rubs soft on the top of your hand, bringing you back to him.

“You’re eyes are too pretty to be keepin’ them from me.” He smiles when you finally meet his gaze and it’s enough to punch the air out of your lungs.

“I love you.” The three words slip past your kiss bitten lips before you can even think long enough to stop them and it makes everything come to a standstill.

“What’d you just say?” Steve’s voice is quiet, something unrecognizable in his tone that makes all your nerves come back like they never left.

“I - I -“ the harsh sting of rejection is written all over your face and the feeling of you trying to untangle your hands snaps him back to reality. To you.

“Hey, hey, hey, no honey.” He doesn’t let you go, squeezing till his knuckles turn white “I just wanted to make sure I heard you right, because I’ve been wanting to say that to you since the fourth of July.”

You light up for him in a way he’s never seen before and he thinks this is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.

“Really?” You whisper a little shy, your own smile becoming uncontainable.

He lets your hands go to wrap his arms back around your waist, sitting up as he pulls you with him on his lap. Chest to chest with his back against your headboard, you’re even closer to him like this. The new position has him impossibly deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix making you keen pretty.

“Yeah, really.” He sighs, wishing he had gotten to say it first.

One arm keeps you close while the other wraps around your back, the warmth of his palm spreading wide across it. The stray hair that you missed more than you realized falls over his forehead and there’s nothing stopping you from pushing it back. Fingernails dragging through his soft hair, making his eyes close until he feels the slow drag of your hips spurring him on.

He doesn’t hesitate to pick up the pace, especially when your arms wrap around his neck and he feels your hardened nipples against chest. The new angle has his thrusts hitting the spot inside of you no one else has ever been able to find, the one you almost didn’t think existed. The tip of him catches it again and again.

The sound of your slick fills the quiet of your room, growing louder with every roll of your hips that connect with his. The light sheen of sweat that coats both of you has you sliding against his thighs, the cool air from the A/C doing nothing as the two of you get lost like this.

Your second orgasm builds at the same time your body starts to slump against his, your muscles screaming at you for a break.

“Getting close, huh?” He asks, with a forehead pressed to yours, lips teasing but never touching with each thrust.

All you can do is nod, your eyes not daring to leave his again. He wouldn’t let you even if you tried, a hazel forest turned night, you never wanted to leave the depths of them.

“So good for me, let go pretty baby, I got you. Let me do all the work.” He picks up his pace, pushing deeper in with every roll of his hips, feeling the way you squeeze around him while your body starts to shake, the high you’d been chasing threatening to take you.

Holding your gaze, the hand on your back slides up the dip of your spine, curling around the back of your neck. He closes the last bit of space, pulling you to his lips. It’s sloppy and sweet, neither one of you trying to deepen it, just enjoying the way you move together like it was supposed to be like this forever.

“Fuck- I love you so much it scares me.” Steve admits when he pulls away, his confession is the last straw that sends you over the edge. Tears stinging the corners of your eyes when you cum hard around him for the second time.

Your fingers tangle his hair, crashing your lips into his with tear stained cheeks and he can feel everything you put inside of it just for him. It’s enough to finally let himself unravel for the first time in years with a loud moan and his face buried in your neck.

It warms deep in your gut when he spills inside of you, his body trembling with the intensity of it all. Your thighs shake clinging to him, both of you too scared to let go in the irrational fear that you’ll just wake up from a really good dream. You can feel the wetness of his tears against your skin, your nails finding their way to his scalp. He hums against you when you kiss his temple, nuzzling deeper until you feel his lips against the underside of your jaw.

The two of you sit there like this in a mess of tangled limbs. Sweet kisses and even sweeter words all spoken just barely above a whisper until he’s soft enough to slide out on his own. He takes his time cleaning you up after with giant hands that treat you like glass.

It’s like muscle memory the way he pulls you to his chest under the covers, like this isn’t your first sleepover. The tip of his nose runs along the length of yours with shining eyes and an even brighter smile, kissing you softly with another whispered “you’re so beautiful”.

Streams of sunshine break through your blinds when the two of you finally settle in, buried deep in his arms surrounded by the lingering scent of pine and him, the sounds of his even breathing are enough for you to give into your heavy lids.

It’s only when you’re on the verge of dreams you’re sure will be filled with him that you hear it:

“I love you, tough girl.”

🌇 -> epilogue

beta’d by @chechelia & dividers by @chechelia

(thank you for everything cece ♥️ and a special thank you to @superblysubpar for betaing the first half of this series, i love you both dearly. & also @carolmunson for always talking to me about our boys, and helping me make this world a little bigger ♥️ ily)

#my writing #all i really want is you series #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington slowburn #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harringont series

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suzdin · 1 month

Text

Neighborly Affairs

Neighbor!Dave x f!reader

Summary: Dave helps you make some daiquiris for the neighborhood cookout

Word Count: 1,149

Warnings/Triggers: 18+ mdni, nipple play, sex in a kitchen, agoraphillia/sex with the risk of being caught, infidelity, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, creampie, possessive marking/branding, cum play, mentions/usage of alcohol

Notes: I apologize to everyone who’s been waiting for updates from me for months now. I haven’t forgotten. My brain fog has been nasty, making it difficult to just be conscious most days, let alone actually think and function. I’m slowly getting better and I’m hoping that by actually writing/posting something, it will motivate me to finish my WIPs.

Sorry if it sucks, but I tried.

Thank you and I love you. 💕

—

His hands are under your bra, tweaking your puckered nipples with the same amount of care as fine tuning an instrument, flattening and rolling the pert buds between the pads of his fingers.

He groans in your ear when you arch against him, his burgeoning erection pressed between your ass cheeks, grinding you in slow, deliberate strokes.

You had volunteered to make a fresh batch of daiquiris for the cookout only a few moments before, with barely enough time to gather the materials before Dave was on top of you like a moth to a flame.

“What if Carol catches us?” you murmur under your breath, your eyes flitting anxiously to the French doors that lead out to the backyard, not even ten paces from where Dave has you pinned against the kitchen island.

“Then she can watch,” he growls in your ear, quickly extricating his right hand from your bra to snake down your torso, slipping into the front of your shorts.

His fingers tease along your slick, puffy folds, making you arch even more, your ass grinding instinctively against him.

“So wet for me already,” he croons, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, “You want me inside you, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, his index and middle fingers circle your engorged clit, touching you in all the ways he knows drives you wild, causing your hips to jerk, and a sound that roughly resembles a yes to escape your lungs.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers. “Dirty girl, wanting me to fuck her in the neighbor’s kitchen…”

The barriers of clothing between your bodies are swiftly tugged to the side, Dave’s dark gaze shifting briefly to the festivities in the backyard to make sure you’re still in the clear.

He lines himself up with your entrance, coating the head of his cock in your slick before slowly sheathing himself inside of you.

“I should fuck you with others around more often. You’re so fucking tight right now, sweetheart,” he purrs against your skin.

He sinks himself to the hilt, relishing the feel of you for a beat before pulling almost all the way out, proceeded by a fierce snap of the hips, thrusting you against the countertop with such fervor, such tenacity, you nearly topple over the bottle of rum.

He repeats the maneuver several more times before setting a steady, but still hurried, pace, his palm over your mouth, ensuring he’s the only one that gets to hear you like this.

If you could see yourself right now, you would see how fucked out and delirious you are already. Your eyes glistening, a thin layer of sweat prickling your skin.

His opposite hand grasps your hip in a nearly bruising hold, keeping your body flush against his as he continues to drive himself into you, the sounds of skin smacking skin filling the small kitchen.

“So good. So good for me. Like you were made for me, taking my cock like a champ,” he praises, his lips pressed to your ear.

He plants a trail of reverent kisses down your throat, beginning with the soft apex where it joins your neck, slowly making his way down.

He tugs the collar of your shirt aside, exposing the dip in your collarbone, suckling at the delicate skin there until he leaves you branded, covering it with your shirt again once he’s done, a triumphant smirk tugging at his lips.

He abruptly releases his hold on you and pulls out, gripping you by your waist to hoist you onto the counter, pushing into you once again now that you’re at the perfect height and angle.

“Oh, fuck…” you murmur when he sinks into you a second time, biting your bottom lip to prevent yourself from being too loud.

“So pretty when you bite your lip like that,” he praises, holding you in place as he begins railing into you with abandon, his lower jaw jutting forward in a silent, primitive snarl.

You bury your face against his shoulder to muffle the series of lewd noises that begin to escape of their own volition. Yet, much to your surprise, Dave’s fingers almost instantly wrap around the back of your neck, pulling your head up so he can watch you.

“No. You keep your eyes on me. I don’t care if anyone hears,” he grunts, his hand settling on your hip again.

Every stroke into you brushes that soft, spongy patch of nerves at the back of your tunnel, making your toes curl in your shoes, your fingers grabbing at his shoulders for purchase.

“I’m so close, fuck…” you pant, your forehead pressed to his as you will yourself to not look away, your eyes naturally wanting to roll back into your skull.

“That’s right. You come for me. Come all over my cock,” he growls in a low, dark timbre, his breath fanning over your lips.

A few more well placed strokes follow and then you’re seeing stars, a cry emanating from your chest, one that’s too loud for you to be comfortable, so you clamp your own hand over your mouth in an effort assuage any suspicion of what’s currently going on.

Your walls clench and convulse around him, practically choking his cock as you peak, and it isn’t much longer until he follows suit as well, releasing into you with a low, guttural growl, the feel of his seed hitting your g-spot prolonging and intensifying your orgasm.

Your bodies fall limp and listless for a moment as you twitch with the aftershocks of your individual highs, basking in the post coital glow and gradually floating back down to earth.

He eventually pulls out of you, a whine escaping your throat at how empty you suddenly feel. But he soon replaces his length with two thick fingers, swirling your entrance as he catches traces of himself before it can fall, pushing every last drop back in and then licking his fingers clean, relishing the taste of your combined fluids.

“Want you leaking me the rest of the day,” he rasps, placing a gentle kiss to the soft spot just behind your ear. His favorite.

You hurriedly pull your clothes back into place, straightening and composing yourselves just in the nick of time, your neighbor unexpectedly striding into the room.

“Sorry, it took me a minute to find the blender,” you tell them, almost bashful, hoping that your lie holds true, Dave grabbing someone else’s warm, abandoned beer off the counter behind him, acting as though he’s been drinking it this entire time.

When the neighbor eventually wanders back out, Dave discards the beer and places a soft kiss to your lips this time.

“Better hurry up with those daiquiris. People are waiting, you know,” he remarks with a wry smirk, leaving you alone as he rejoins the others, your lingering scent still on his skin and clothes.

#dave york #dave york x f!reader #dave york x reader #dave york smut #the dave york pit #dave york pit

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takotakigum · 1 year

Text

his favorite — itoshi sae.

characters: itoshi sae x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, implied smut/mature themes, hurt/comfort (if you really squint), sae’s canon butt fetish is a warning itself, reader has an implied kind-of big ass, insane overuse of the word “ass”, and established relationships.

word count: 1.1k

synopsis: headcanons of your boyfriend, itoshi sae, and his undying love for your ass.

aged up characters | please read at your own risk!

boyfriend!sae who can’t seem stop staring at you when you’re fresh out the shower. be it if you’re in a mere towel or robe—sae will stare; his eyes always on your silhouette, from your soft face and all the way down to the evident curve of your ass. his love of staring at that state of you has gotten so bad that at times when you shower very late at night—when sae is supposed to be deeply asleep—he instinctively wakes up from the sound of water rushing. and the moment you’re out of the bathroom, sae is drowsily looking at your form from the bed, a pillow covering one of his eyes that he wishes is you.

boyrfriend!sae who adores being the big spoon. it’s—by his words—the only practical way to cuddle up. the way your plump ass effortlessly warms up his upper thighs and crotch has him over the clouds. most often than not, he pulls you closer, finding you squirming overly delightful. although there are some days where sae lets you be the big spoon, if you really, really want to, that is. but don’t expect too much when you wake up, because throughout the long night, sae couldn’t sleep that way—and inevitably, he flips the roles and now you’re not the big spoon anymore. your ass is once again attached to him.

boyfriend!sae whose heart beats faster when he sees you wearing those tight clothes he bought you. it looks perfect on you, especially when it gets enhanced by his eyes and imagination. sae can’t help but pinch one of your asscheeks with the expensive material getting wrinkled by his fingers. and when you yelp by surprise and the sharp pain, it only gives sae an additional—rather, more reasons—to spread his hand wide and soothe your ass.

boyfriend!sae who nearly loses his composure every time you sit on his lap. during intimate, heated moments where your ass is barely hovering over sae’s thighs, his breath is almost ragged. he sternly tells you to commit sitting down fully, not caring about what you have to say in return. he doesn’t care if you think you’re too heavy, sae can handle it. if it’s always you, he’ll fucking handle it. sae promises it’s alright, although in great contrast to his tone, he’s groping your ass and shoving your weight onto him. perhaps what really riles him up, though—other than your ass and heated sex grinding up his muscular thigh—is your flustered face that’s leaning over while your hands grip on anything it can for you to compose yourself. tough luck, is the ending. because by the time you’re able to somewhat breathe without the need of big huffs of air, sae is sure that he’ll break that profound composure in an instant.

boyfriend!sae who randomly carries you any chance he gets so he could take a handful of your ass. oh, you want to go to the kitchen? no problem. sae has already gotten a hold of your waist and you’re now propped on his shoulder, hand on top of your ass to “keep you from falling”. you don’t even protest anymore because it’s happened too much. so, he wordlessly takes you to the kitchen, then sets you down the countertop. oh, you’re waiting for him to get home from practice? once he opens your front door and spots you, you’re being carried. he lifts you off the ground—or even couch, wherever you’re stationed at—and he kisses your neck the same time you wrap your legs around him. of course, two hands waste no time touching your ass. at this point, you’re not even sure if there has been a time where you’ve walked on your own two feet for more than three minutes.

boyfriend!sae whose favored position is none other than sixty-nine. it’s contrary to popular belief, actually. although you both switch to whatever feels right at the moment—to all which sae is fond of throughly—sae’s all-time favorite will always comes back to be sixty-nine. why? because of the way your ass is always right on reach, and with every moan, whimper, and even whine you let out from him fondling your ass, sae feels it all as you’re giving him head—it’s like a reward, even. sometimes, when he’s too rough, his eyes are only looking at the differing marks and colors of his hand’s impact on your skin. and as stated earlier, sae loves you sitting on his lap, so after having sex, he usually will let you settle down on top of him as you both wind down in his bathtub; his hands turning gentle to massage your ass.

boyfriend!sae who always rests his hand on your waist or hips for permission before reaching for your ass—especially if you both aren’t in good terms. when your back is facing him and he comes up from behind, his fingers ghost over your sides as his head dips to whisper on your ear—he mumbles a quiet apology, nearly tightening his grip before asking if it’s okay for you to give him what he wants. usually, it’s short ones like: “can i?” but when he’s really desperate to embrace you or just be anywhere close to you once again, his pride drowns under and he mutters a “please?” for good measure. when you still decide his presence is merely nothing, sae tries one more time before giving you space once more. however, when you slightly nod or give any indications of approval, sae is quick to turn you over, one hand resting on your ass while the other caresses your face as he links your foreheads together.

boyfriend!sae who is so nonchalantly obsessed with your ass, you wonder if he only sees that in you. although when you jokingly asked him that thought of yours, he’s quick to reassure you that, no, he doesn’t only love your ass—but you; his lover. he takes ahold of your face before tenderly kissing you all over, and he still doesn’t stop when you tell him. each kiss to a feature of your face is accompanied by a thing sae loves about you. he’ll kiss your eyes and tell you that he’s never looked at anyone’s eyes the way he does with your captivating ones; he kisses your cheeks and says they’re so soft, and that he sometimes gets jealous of it; he kisses your lips and mumbles how it brings your whole, ethereal face together, all so perfect. sae doesn’t stop kissing you, nearly rambling about how thankful he is for you keeping up with him and drowning him with the type of tenderness he never once thought he could have. you practically have to pry his pouting face away from you, and you smile in return. telling him how it’s not that serious if he loves your ass too much, because he’s itoshi sae—your one and only.

#blue lock #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #sae #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock imagines #sae itoshi #takotakigum.writes

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bettyfrommars · 10 months

Text

Death Becomes Us

a True Blood au

vampire!eddie x supernatural!reader

Part 7: Cry Little Sister

masterlist playlist

It's been over 2 months since you had more than a glimpse of Eddie, but you had the feeling that he never let you get too far out of his peripheral vision. Some vampires you've never met before come looking for him while you are trying to housetrain your new companion. Just as you're about to have some quality time with Eddie, another visitor shows up.

word count: 4.4k

18+only for mature themes, vampires, mention of illegal drugs, a demobat, allusions to smut, angst, werewolves, ode to The Lost Boys

authors note: this is a shorter chapter, and there is not a ton of action like in the other parts, but I will make up for that next time.

I had a few names I was considering for our new companion, and decided to go with Bela, in honor of Bela Lugosi, thanks to @somnambulic-thing

You’d picked up an old, pea green recliner at the thrift store, and that was where you sat in the morning by the lamp to drink coffee and read as much as you could about demobats.

There wasn’t much known about them, but you had gone to Robin at the bookstore with your search, and she found an obscure issue from a dead publication and ordered it. You told her it was purely to satiate your curiosity after you’d witnessed them firsthand on your way to Sacrament. You didn’t know if it was good sense, or even legal, to have one residing in your home, so you decided to keep your new friend a secret for the time being.

Days turned into weeks since you'd last interacted with Eddie, but you kept track of when he was home and when he wasn’t, as if it was your job. Sometimes, when you were watching TV in your living room with the curtains drawn, you’d catch his kitchen light click on about an hour after dark, and you imagined him walking through in his boxers, yawning, scratching his stomach where the trail of hair from below connected to his bellybutton.

What you didn’t know was that the first part of his waking up ritual was to crack his bedroom curtain and see if you were home. If you weren’t at work, the answer was usually yes, and he’d watch the flicker of your tv in the window reflection.

That morning, you had a black, hooded sweatshirt in your lap, and in the sweatshirt sleeping like a baby, was a demobat.

You peeled back a bit of the material to take a peek at her face. Her enormous mouth of teeth hung open and her leathery wings twitched like she was in the middle of a dream, your arm straining at the heft of her weight. She didn’t have any eyes, but her sense of hearing was excellent and sometimes, you had to make noise for her to find you, like tapping your knuckle on the wall or countertop.

You didn’t realize she’d followed you from the Upside Down until a good three days later when you came home from work late to find her collapsed on your porch. You imagined she got desperate because she was starving. This wasn’t the same world as hers, and she didn’t know her way around or how to find nourishment. She let you pick her up when you found her, after one long roar to let you know she was dangerous, and then she wrapped her wings around you.

You were worried that she might go after Eddie’s cat, Dio, or one of the other strays you were feeding at the trailer park, but you were surprised to read in the book that they were not carnivores.

A vegetarian demobat? She especially enjoyed canned mandarin oranges and corn on the cob. Everything considered, she was docile and attention-starved, for the most part, until she could sense voices a bit too close to the trailer, or the mailman slipped letters in your box, making the metal flap clink shut.

And then she would go berserk, screeching at the top of her lungs, wings outstretched, trying to make herself look as big and threatening as possible.

“Bela,” you called to her, using the name you’d decided on, inspired by Lugosi. You clapped a few times, using vibration to get her attention, and she eventually learned to come to you.

Weeks turned into months and there was snow on the ground; a light dusting to accompany the late-November freeze. You’d only recently caught a glimpse of Eddie in passing, from a distance, or just before he snapped his trailer lights off in the morning to go to sleep. He stopped by Main Vein a few times to sit in his regular spot and have a NuBlood, but you had a strong feeling that he was avoiding you. The second you walked over, he’d either check his pager and act busy, or he’d excuse himself and say he had to run.

He never failed to leave some of his artwork scribbled on a napkin, though, and you were always quick to snatch it and put it in your pocket.

You felt like he was keeping tabs on you, yet keeping his distance, all at once.

You’d dropped off a carved jack-o-lantern on his porch a few days before Halloween, and the day after that, you were surprised to find an odd butterfly animal made of scrap metal, sitting on your welcome mat. Your smile cut into your cheeks so hard, a tiny ache throbbed there as you admired the welded legs and haphazard laser cuts on the wings.

To honor the family memories that were so ancient they were almost dust, you got up on a ladder outside to string some colorful Christmas bulbs, and you put up a tiny tree of the Charlie Brown variety inside. You had a Bing Crosby album while you decorated. Mostly, it was a sad attempt, and the other vampires in the lot hated the holiday by definition, so they all gave your place pointed looks over the upturned collars of their jackets.

Bela looked like E.T. between some stuffed animals with silver tinsel on top of her oddly shaped head, hanging down like hair, when there was suddenly some kind of commotion outside. You strained to listen and swore you heard a loud voice shouting for Eddie.

The demobat sprang from the couch, flaring her wings wide; she was a blur of holiday delights being thrust away by her sprawl. A feral sound escaped her that was part howl, part Velociraptor caw.

You jumped up and moved in front of her, so she lowered her wings--which were also used as hands with extremely strong fingers---and hovered behind you in the air. She finally dropped to the counter and waited with a snarling mouth while you pressed your forehead against the cool of the window to see what was going on.

There appeared to be four boys dressed like 80's rockers in long black coats, and you noticed a motorcycle for each parked just between your two trailers. They continued to call Eddie’s name, almost taunting now, and two of them hit the trailer with the flat of their hand, trying to get his attention.

“He’s not home,” you went out onto the porch, shutting Bela inside to shriek to herself in private. You did not know for a fact that he wasn’t home, but there was no car parked in his normal spot, and you sincerely wanted them to go away.

They all turned to you, pale faces stern at first, but then smiles crept across their devilish mouths exposing the points of vampire fangs. The one with the platinum blonde hair and earring in one ear caged his fingers in front of him and rolled his thumbs over each other as he spoke.

“And, who might you be? He cocked his head, and the others seemed to mirror him, four pairs of eyes sweeping over you.

The sounds inside the trailer told you that Bela had moved to the far end, possibly the bedroom. You could hear her shrill cry followed by a thud.

From your higher vantage on the porch, you told the vampire your name, appraising him down the end of your nose. “What do you need from Eddie?”

He walked closer, almost to your steps. “Oh, we’re old friends, just hoping to catch up.”

He was positively enigmatic, in that way only vampires can be, but you had a feeling this guy never had a hard time getting what he wanted even when he was human. There was sarcasm in his tone and, for some reason, the others snickered.

“Well,” you took a breath and grabbed for the door handle. “Good luck finding him.”

In a flash, they were all up on the porch, crowding you, making you gasp. “Not so fast there, princess,” the blonde one grinned. “Maybe we want to get to know you better.”

You could hear the ticking of the time bomb inside of you, on its final few counts before detonation. Your heartbeat quickened, and you were sure that they noticed. You watched them freeze and exchange a few curious glances.

Then, there it was: the inhale, that quick and deliberate sniff of your scent.

The blonde one ran a finger down the scar on your cheek. “You don’t smell like a human. Why is that?”

You shrugged away from him. “Please get off my porch.”

They were all leering at you, their crooked grins mocking.

You wondered if he was trying to glamour you—to make you do whatever he wanted by hypnotizing you—but he’d soon find out you were impervious to vampire party tricks.

“Don’t be so hasty, princess,” the main one moved as if he were about to touch you again, his cold breath matching the chill of the air outside.

“Hey, are you bozo’s looking for me?” There came another voice, just below the porch railing.

It was Eddie.

You stepped back, closer to the front door, face flushing with the heat of relief.

He was in the typical Eddie uniform of all black, but for the white of the Iron Maiden tee under his leather, and the rips in his jeans where pale, tattooed flesh peeked out. He wore heavy motorcycle boots that were covered in mud, and when his hands flexed into fists at his sides, you saw that the knuckles on one hand were bloody. You wondered where he’d rushed from the moment he felt your fear. What sort of car jacking or obligatory beating had he been partaking in when he felt your need?

You never meant to call for him on purpose, but now that he had your blood in him, he could sense any ripple in the force that hinted to your discomfort.

The look on Eddie’s face when the vampire boys parted, and he finally found your eyes, was a mix of worry and white hot anger. “Are you okay?”

You nodded once, that was all you could manage. You were so glad to see him, and it wasn’t because you worried that the guys on your porch would hurt you. There was another, more foreign emotion that bathed you in a sense of calm.

Meanwhile, the thudding at the other end of the trailer stopped abruptly.

“Easy boys,” blondie spread his arms wide to motion for them all to step back. “Give the lady some room. We didn’t come here for trouble.”

“What did you come here for, then?” Eddie bit. His stare was trained on you as the vampires santured down toward him.

You could’ve, or possibly should have, gone inside, and even though you knew Eddie could handle himself, you didn’t feel good about the 4 on 1 odds. One of the mullet boys had a butterfly knife that he was fidgeting with; opening and closing it with a flick of his wrist while he walked. He had black gloves on, and you wondered if the blade of the weapon was made of silver.

“Just a friendly visit, Munson,” Blondie said. You watched him stop a few feet from your neighbor while the rest circled him like they had with you. “We were told you had something of interest to us.”

Eddie shot him a look, confused, but maintained his composure. “If it’s Dice you want, I haven’t sold that shit in years.”

Dice: the vampire drug of choice.

The only drug on the planet designed for vampires to experience the equivalent of a human Benzo. Highly addictive, and made with a lot of illegal, human-derived ingredients that Eddie preferred not to think about, it was also deadly in large amounts to vampires because of the trace amounts of garlic oil.

The four guys who looked like they’d just walked out of a heavy metal video exchanged bored expressions. Eddie knew the platinum-haired one fairly well, his name was David, and the shorter one with the butterfly knife was Marko, but he’d never cared to learn the names of the other two. They lived down at The Caves in a vampire “nest” with a few others, and had only been turned recently, so therefore, were no match for Eddie’s strength. Still, they were cocky as hell and always looking for trouble, as most young ones were.

Eddie chanced a glance at you, hoping maybe you’d gone inside by then, but also, he liked having you where he could see you. He looked over his shoulder to get an idea of how many other residents were lurking around.

“We should probably talk business inside my trailer,” Eddie inclined his head. “Too many ears out here.”

“If you don’t have it,” David lowered his voice and tilted his head. “I bet you know where we can get it.”

Sure, Eddie knew one guy in town who had it, but there was no way he’d send those creeps over to Reefer Rick’s place. His long time friend was still human, and he didn’t trust the irrational hunger he saw in their pinned pupils.

“There’s only one person I know for sure would have some and that’s Jareth,” Eddie lied.

The other three guys mumbled to each other behind David, but then David shushed them with a hiss and flap of his hand.

Eddie knew that would shut them up pretty quick. No one could just stroll into Sacrament and ask Jareth for drugs. Also, Jareth never wanted money in return, he always wanted services for “favors”, and they were always tasks that would make any normal person, vampire or otherwise, have a hard time looking at themselves in the mirror afterwards.

David began to back up, toward his motorcycle. “Alright well, this was a pleasure,” his gaze lingered on you and he gave a slow, generous lick of his lips. “I really hope we bump into each other again sometime.”

Eddie couldn’t help the death stare he was giving him, grinding his back teeth so hard, the muscles in his jaw bulged. He hated that they knew where you lived, he hated that they had been so close to you, to know that you were different.

The motorcycles began to start up, headlights snapping on to blare right into your eyes, making you blink away.

The rest of their motors idled until David took off first, tires making tracks in the thin blanket of white over the ground, and then the rest followed onto the gravel road before blasting onto the highway, howling to each other like wolves as they went.

“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie was up on the porch with you as fast as if he had teleported.

The sudden jolt of his new proximity knocked the wind out of you; you still weren’t used to the lightning speed at which they could move.

“Could you please not do that anymore,” you clutched your throat. “Maybe just walk up the steps like a regular person?”

Leaning back against the railing, he grinned. “My bad,” he mumbled, playing with the chunky ring on his middle finger.

The truth was, he’d been going crazy trying to get you off of his mind. Ever since he took you to the Upside Down, he’d been wrestling with some serious demons and trying not to think of you in a sexual way, but his efforts were fruitless.

It was normal for humans to have sexual dreams about a vampire if they ingested their blood, but he’d never heard of it happening the other way around. He’d been prey to so many wet dreams of tasting your cum on his tongue that he’d lost count. It was getting to the point that he looked forward to the fantasies because it was a way to spend time with you; to feel the warm, wet lining of your cheek when you sucked his fingers, to not only split you open with his cock and deny you until you begged to cum, but to make soft, deep love to you when he confessed things that he could never say out loud.

He wasn’t allowed to have feelings for you. It would make his job very…complicated.

That other secret job of his, the one you could never know anything about.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Eddie’s head snapped up at your question. “Why would I be avoiding you?” Indeed, that is exactly what he’d been doing, but he didn’t want it to be obvious.

With an absent shrug, you realized all of a sudden that you only had a light cardigan on over your jumper, and your teeth were chattering.

“I’ve been really busy with…” he trailed off. “...stuff.”

“I loved the butterfly you made,” you told him, hoping to see those flecks of gold dance in his eyes again.

“You mean the bug soldier?” He chuckled, correcting you. “Those aren’t butterfly wings, that’s a cape.”

“He’s inside. I’ll have to apologize to him for calling him a butterfly.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Do you want to come in?”

“Shit, sorry, yeah, you look cold. Here.” He shrugged his leather jacket off, exposing the patchwork of tattoos along his arms and neck, and you let him put it around your shoulders. You were suddenly shrouded in that familiar musk of his and you felt safe.

But then, he let the weight of your other question sink in. “Are you inviting me in? Officially?”

If you invited a vampire in, that meant they could enter your home any time they pleased, by whatever means necessary. There was always the option to resend the invite, but it was an important decision that would eliminate the barrier of magical protection.

Just as you were about to make a decision, you heard the sound of glass breaking, like a window shattering.

And then you heard the all too familiar screeching.

“Oh shit, Bela,” you cursed under your breath.

“Bela?” Eddie tried to peer around the trailer to where the sound was coming from. “Who is —”

She appeared over the top of the roof then, jagged teeth ready to strike as she shot down at Eddie like a missile, roaring as she went.

Defensively, he exposed his fangs to meet her aggression.

“No, no Bela! He’s a friend!” You put your arm out like a shield to protect him and she landed on it like a trained Hawk or Owl, curling a finger from one of her wings around you for support.

She hissed one more time at him for good measure, and then her wings fell slowly to her sides as she crept up your arm to settle on your shoulder.

Eddie’s jaw went slack.

“Is this the…same one that we…how?”

You told him about how you found her on the porch and the way she refused to let you too far out of her sight.

He lifted a hand to maybe touch a finger to her belly. “Can I?” He asked you.

“I wouldn’t,” you responded quickly, noting Bela’s low growl. “Not until she knows you aren’t a threat to me.”

He dropped his hand and hooked a thumb into his belt loop, taking in the details of what it was like to see one of them up close. “I’ve never heard of a human, or anyone, making one of them into a pet. I didn’t think it was possible. They are killing machines.”

You let Bela rest one of her heavy tentacles gently in the palm of your hand, swirling it into a spiral. “I don’t know if she’s a pet as much as…some type of guardian. She’s tuned into my emotions somehow. I think that’s why she’s not trying to eat your face off right now.”

You were enjoying the awestruck expression on Eddie’s face. “Did you still want to come inside? Or have you changed your mind?”

He remembered the wet dreams he’d been having, how many times you’d buried his length inside of you while seated in his lap. The sweat dripping down, the groaning, the words of adoration. The way he fingered you in the shower and made you—-

“Earth to Eddie?” Your voice snapped him from his thoughts. “I said, would you like to come in?”

You had the door open, and you gestured for him to follow, with a feral demobat casually riding on your shoulder. It had begun to snow again; petite flakes that melted as soon as they hit your skin. One got stuck on Eddie’s eyelash.

“Yes,” he swallowed, raking a hand through his hair. “Yes, I would like to come in.”

“Okay, let me put Bela in my bedroom real quick,” you went on ahead into the warmth of your place, shivering. Eddie put his boot in the door to keep it from closing, taking in the gravity of the situation.

You had invited him inside.

As a vampire, it was not something to be taken lightly.

You had to put Bela in the bathroom momentarily, until you could duct tape over the broken window in your bedroom. You felt like she’d listened to you well enough, but the doubts you had gave you anxiety, so separating her from your new guest felt like the best idea. You put a soft blanket on the bathtub in there, and she nestled down in it like she was sleepy.

When you came back out a few minutes later, Eddie was still standing in the doorway, just inside the threshold.

“Did the invitation not work?” You asked, curiously.

“No, no, it did,” he took the final step in and went to close the door behind him. “I was just enjoying the moment, I guess.”

You noticed that his hand, the one that had been bleeding earlier, was completely healed already.

Just as the front door was about to shut completely, headlights from a car lit up the porch as someone approached from the road and parked in front of your trailer.

“What now?” You sighed, exasperated.

But then you heard the rumble of the big engine that belonged to a classic, square-body Chevy, and your blood ran cold with sudden recognition.

Eddie closed the door the final inch and turned to note the way you nervously adjusted yourself. “Were you expecting someone?”

Shit shit shit

You cursed to yourself quietly.

Could all this be happening at a worse time?

Also, how could you forget? Between Bela and Eddie's motorcycle buddies, the fact that you’d agreed to go on date that night had somehow slipped your mind.

The headlights turned off and the engine cut.

“Yeah, um, I agreed to go to the movies with someone tonight,” you cleared your throat. Why were you nervous to tell him you had a date? It wasn’t like Eddie had made a move, in fact, he’d been giving you the cold shoulder for weeks. You were starting to think he was repulsed by you.

“Someone?” Eddie heard the heavy footfalls climbing up the wood steps, and realization dawned on him. Everything made sense all at once. The fact that you were dressed up in clothes he’d never seen you in, and you smelled extremely good, even more so than normal.

What had he expected you to do? Wait around on the porch for him, knitting, until he was able to work through his issues and ask you on a date himself?

Someone else had beaten him to hit, and he didn’t care who it was—he fucking hated him. Wanted to rip him open and stomp on their guts.

At the sound of the doorbell, Bela screeched from the bathroom.

Chaos, you mused, pure chaos.

You squeezed your eyes shut and wished for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow you up.

With a tight jaw, Eddie was the one to open the door.

Steve Harrington had a bouquet of daisies in his hand. A full head of hair that was long down his neck, and black and red flannel over a new pair of blue jeans. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of you standing just behind the vampire with the murderous look on his face.

Steve’s eyes shifted to you. “Is this a bad time?”

“Yes,” Eddie said.

“No,” you corrected, pushing by Eddie to take the flowers and thank him.

“These are so beautiful,” you cleared your throat. “Um, Steve—this is Eddie, my neighbor. Eddie this is—”

“I know who he is,” they both said in unison.

You watched Steve’s brown eyes glow a bright yellow for a moment as he regarded your other guest with stern resolve.

You took off Eddie’s jacket and handed it back to him with a shove. “Just give me a second to grab a few things?” You said to Steve in a rush. “I’ll be—I’ll be right out.”

Steve stared right at Eddie when he said, “I’ll go wait in the truck.”

“You do that,” Eddie muttered as Steve turned to go.

Eddie was quick to slam the door shut again. He turned to you with a scowl on his face, “A werewolf?” He balked. “You’re going on a date with one of those smelly dogs?”

“Yeah, well,” you tossed the daisies on the counter while you fumbled with your handbag. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he pursed his lips into a tight line and shook his head.

“Good, that’s settled,” you took a deep breath. “Not that you deserve any explanation, but I’ve been running into him at the bookstore for weeks, and I mentioned that I never go anywhere, so he invited me to a movie. We’re just going as friends.”

“Friends don’t bring you flowers.”

Outside, the truck rumbled to life and the headlights snapped on again.

“I can’t do this right now with you, Eddie. I need you to go so that I can get Bela out of the bathroom and calm her down before I leave.”

Without another word, he reached for the door again.

“Hey Eddie,” you softened your tone. You’d meant to grab his arm, but took hold of his hand instead. He squeezed your fingers back, but he did not turn to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to…I don’t mean to run out on you like this. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’m busy,” he mumbled. He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles once, and then, in a blink, he was out the door and gone.

-----

Love you all for your patience on this! I look forward to your thoughts and reactions through comments, reblogs, and asks so much! All my love!

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Taglist: @trixyvixx @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @sidthedollface2 @atomickaratel8dy @probablyin-bed @kiyastrf94@briamunson92 @joannamuns9n @jasminelafleur @@bellalillyrose @dashingdeb16 @alba8688 @corrodeddeadlydoll @brassreign @likedovesinthewnd @ilovetaquitosmmm @skrzydlak @onegirlmanytales @angietherose @probablyin-bed @reidsbtch @moonbeamsandmayhem @eddiesxangel @hideoutside @secretdryrose @nailbatanddungeon @thorfemmes @corkadymu @kellsck @mrsjellymunson @poofyloofy

#vampire!eddie #Death Becomes Us #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson series #Steve Harrington #true blood au #vampire au #Stranger Things fanfiction

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comet-forgot-you · 8 months

Note

Can we have fem!reader fucking river against a counter🙏🙏 also thank you for your service

ask

sister’s roommate!river x reader

summary: your sister’s roommate won’t stop teasing you.

warnings: 18+ pls, smut, fingering, smut, teasing, maybe voyeurism but i dont think so idk.

a/n: this probably isnt what you wanted, i can totally write another one if its not sorry. do not repost for reason.

coming home from college for spring break was supposed to be refreshing. you were supposed to feel relieved, but all you could feel was frustration, all because of your sister’s roommate that decided to tag along with your sister, staying at your family’s house the entire break. it wasnt like she was annoying, no, far from it. she would always find a way to be close to you, helping you cook, acting like she couldn’t sleep just so she could sneak down stairs where she knew you’d be until the late hours of the night just to talk to you.

it wasn’t annoying, not in the slightest. it was just the fact that ever since she found out you were into girls it was like it sparked something inside of her. she started to to “accidentally” graze you, the touches she left on your skin lingering too long to be considered an accident. then she started wearing that wife beater that looked sooo fucking good on her. the way her nipples would harden in the tight material, it tested every ounce of strength you had in you.

tonight was no different, river was non-stop teasing you, her actions hidden by the cover of the table. her hands trailing up and down the expanse of your thigh, pinching the fat between her fingers until you looked at her. and once you finally did, the coil in your stomach tightened. her eyes were blown with lust, eyebrows furrowed, a feigned look of innocence painted on her face. river was going to drive you insane.

you couldn’t think straight the rest of the night, your mind constantly going back to river’s touch on your thigh, how she looked at you like she wanted to fuck her, then to the nights before, that fucking shirt, the way it hugged her so fucking good. it was like the scenario was ingrained in your brain, replaying over and over and over again.

you were sat on the couch, head held up by your hand as you tried to rid yourself of the thought of river. you wanted her, of course you did, you’d be a fool not too, but you couldnt shake the feeling that your sister would lose her mind if it happened.

your mind drifted back to river the millionth time in the past hour. her hand on your thigh, the needy look in her eyes, that shirt. you wondered how she would sound, what her lips felt like pressed against your own, against your neck. what would she feel like around your fingers? what would she taste like? the thoughts racing through your mind did nothing but fuel the fire in the pit of your stomach. the fire river had lit.

you push yourself off of the couch, walking to the kitchen for a drink. the house was quiet, everyone had made their way to their respective rooms hours ago. you wanted to think that you were only still up and in the living room because you were caught up with a movie, but the tv hadnt been turned on since you had sat down. you knew the reason you were still awake, still in the living room. you knew that river would make her way into the living room if you waited long enough.

as if on cue, the sound of a door opening sounds from down the hall. you pour yourself a glass of water, taking a sip as footsteps pattered down the hallway. you set the glass down, gripping the marble countertops in an attempt to keep your composure.

“can’t sleep?” river asks, coming to stand beside you. you look over at her, eyes flickering down to the infamous tank top she wore, to her pebbled nipples, before returning your gaze to her eyes. a smirk had snuck its way onto her lips.

“tried to, kept havin’ the same dream, keeps waking me up.” you take a sip of water, river’s eyebrow raises.

“nightmare?” her voice is filled with concern.

“nah, its a good dream. somethin’ i want to happen,” you mutter, setting the now empty glass in the sink.

“what is it?” she asks, head tilting slightly. you smile, moving to stand in front of her. her eyes flicker to your lips.

“fucking you.” you mutter, fiddling with the hem of her wife beater. her eyes widen ever so slightly, a faint blush painting her cheeks. she leans in closer to you, eyes locked on your lips.

“then why don’t you do it now?” she asks in a whisper. her tongue swipes against her bottom lip in anticipation, and you cant hold yourself back anymore, cant deprive yourself of her.

your lips meet hers in a needy kiss, hands holding onto her hips as hers tangle themselves in your hair. she tugs ever so slightly, a quiet gasp falling from your lips. she takes the moment of surprise to her advantage, slipping her tongue into your mouth. you lift her onto the counter, tongues not leaving each other once. its sloppy and needy, its nothing like you imagined, but its everything you needed in the moment.

your hands squeeze at the fat of her thighs, a needy whine leaves her hot mouth, only to be swallowed by you. you part from her lips, taking in her form. lidded eyes meet yours, a slight pout on her lips. shes looks so good, so pretty, you want nothing more than to taste her. so thats what you do. you pull down the clothing that hides the heat your so desperately crave. a sharp gasp escapes from river’s mouth as her cunt meets the cool marble of the countertop.

“gotta stay quiet. don’t want em to wake up n’ see me fucking you, now, do we?” she shakes her head and you smile, scooting her to the edge of the counter. you spread her wetness with your finger, dipping ever so slightly into her entrance. before circling her clit, causing a muffled moan from her.

you dip two fingers into her greedy cunt, muffled moans threatening to fall from her lips. you tear your eyes away from her cunt that sucks your fingers in so deliciously to take her in. her lips was pulled between her teeth, her attempt at muffling the noises that threaten to escape her lips. you thumb at her clit, rubbing slow, sloppy circles against the nub. she hisses, hand flying to your wrist. your eyes flicker back down to her covered nipples. you free hand moves to twist them over the ridged fabric, her nails digging into the skin of your wrist.

“fuck,” you hiss, a wave of heat washing over your body. “feelin’ good?” you mutter out, scissoring your fingers inside of her. she nods. “use your words, had enough of not hearing the pretty voice of yours tell me how bad you want me,” her walls squeeze your fingers, her teeth freeing her lip from its previous confines.

“yes, fuck.. feels s’ good,” her words come out as shaky whisper, scared that if she were to say it in any louder she wouldnt be able to stop the moan that itches to escape. you smile, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“good,” you mutter, pinching her nipple. river’s barely able to muffle the moan that erupts from her chest. your fingers curl, hitting the spongey spot inside her that has her arching into you. your movements on her clit speed up, rubbing faster circles on her pulsing clit.

“fuck, yeah, js’ like that,” she mutters, a whine falling from her lips. you nip at the skin of her neck.

“quiet,” you mumble. she lets out a shaky breath, nodding the best she could. it doesnt take long for her to reach the peak of her orgasm, her juices coating your hand and the counter beneath her. you pull your fingers out of her, pushing them last her lips and resting them against her tongue. she makes quick work of cleaning them off, the taste of her own juices has her head spinning. you smile, lowering yourself until your face to face with her dripping cunt. you pull your fingers from bee mouth, wrapping your arms around her thighs to spread them open.

you take her pulsing clit into your mouth, groaning against it at the taste. river’s hand flies to your hair, keeping you in place. you trail your tongue down to her entrance, lapping up the juices, before returning your attention to her needy clit. you flatten your tongue against the bud, sucking on it.

you look up at the girl, her hand pressed against her mouth in an attempt to keep herself quiet. her back arches as your teeth scrape the bud, her grip in your hair tightening. you press your tongue flat against her clit, another groan against her cunt has her clit pulsing erratically against your tongue.

“don’t stop, please. feels so good, don’t want you to stop.” her words are frantic, voice full of need. you dip your tongue back into her leaking entrance, prodding at the hole that greedily sucks you in. you let out a small laugh, the vibrations on her cunt only bring river closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm.

river looks so fucking pretty. bottom lip wedged in between her teeth, eyes closed as she chased her orgasm. you wish you had a camera to keep the image with you, but you don’t, so you try your best to carve the image into your memory.

one stroke of your tongue against her clit and a twist at bed nipple has her toppling over the edge. muffled moans filling the air. you help her ride out her second orgasm of the night before standing up to press your lips against hers. river whines against your lips, fingers pulling at your hair.

“so fuckin good. needed you all week,” she mumbles, pressing kisses against your jaw. you chuckle.

“should’ve just asked, river.”

#mikey madison #mikey madison x reader #wlw smut #all souls #river x reader #all souls movie #river all souls #river #all souls smut #i want river

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defectivevillain · 11 months

Text

this broken design, ch16

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

some of this chapter is born out of me realizing, as i read The Red Dragon, that i essentially limited Alana’s presence in this fic to that one rather tumultuous interaction, instead of expanding on her potential as both a strong, intelligent side character and a friend to the reader. Hopefully this makes up for that a little bit. Alana’s pretty cool. I sort of lost sight of that.

warnings: negative self talk, suicidal ideation/thoughts, panic attack, hyperventilation, derealization, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore

The darkness swirling around you is relentless in its writhing, distorting and jerking you around in its shadowed grasp. For a while, you’re content to let the shadows take control. You float in an endless abyss. Memories flit before your eyes, just long enough for you to reach out to try to grab them. They never stay long enough, flickering and disintegrating before you get the chance to grasp them and dissect every miniscule detail.

Stay awake, says a whisper itching at your skin.

You take a deep breath. The next time you blink, you find yourself standing in a far too familiar place. Hannibal’s kitchen is quiet—eerily so, you think as your footsteps echo against the floors. There is hardly a sign of life on these countertops, hardly a stain or sprinkling of powder to assure you this place has ever been used. There is a single light boring down on the back of your head: a spotlight. You swallow hard and step to the side in an attempt to escape the light, only to find Hannibal’s rolodex sitting in the middle of the brightness. Your business card sits on top, displaying your name, phone number, email address, office location at headquarters, birthplace, height, weight, eye color, age, and any other demographic information you could possibly imagine. The font is tiny, yet you can read it with ease. Feeling a sudden urge to touch, you grab the business card and let it lie flat in your palm. There’s a tear in the corner, you realize. Frowning, you move to touch it, only for the tear to extend further down the flimsy material. Crimson dots appear on the white background, swirling and twisting until there’s blood collecting on your fingertips. You look down, only to realize that the dark red stains have permeated the fabric of your shirt. Puddles are gathering at your feet, marking your footsteps with every movement you make. The card melts into the blood gathered in your hands, and you’re left holding the tattered remains of your identity.

Stay awake.

You blink again. Abel Gideon is peering at you from behind the bars of his interrogation cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” Gideon remarks with a laugh. You huff a laugh under your breath. The thought amuses you, for reasons you cannot quite discern at the moment. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.” Your hands tremble at your sides and you restlessly shift your balance from one foot to the other. Gideon’s gaze is knowing and it pins you to the ground.

Stay alive.

A blink. You’re standing in the doorway of your office at headquarters. Everything is as you left it, save for your chair, which has an inhabitant. Franklyn Froideveaux stares at you with empty eye sockets and a gaping maw. Blood slips down his gaunt frame, leaving murky red-brown streaks down his cheeks and around the cavity of his chest. You blink and his skin turns a murky yellowish green from decay.

“See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs croons from over your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face, feel his breath hitting your neck and provoking a deep nausea in your gut.

Another blink. Blood slips hotly down your fingers as you stand in a dimly lit hallway. Your skin feels lit with flames and the knife in your hand gleams a sickening crimson. You want to release the weapon from your grip, but your fingers are locked around the blade with unshakeable force. The smell of death and decay wafting through the enclosed space makes your stomach turn. None of these sensations are powerful enough to rip your attention away from the corpse at your feet.

“Killing must feel good to God, too,” Hannibal remarks with a hum, hands behind his back as he regards Abel Gideon’s form. There is a mildly intrigued expression on his face as he studies the body, before looking back to you with eerily crimson eyes. As he pivots, bloodstained antlers stretch from his perfectly coiffed hair. They disappear in a moment—a trick of the light. His voice is dark and airy all at once. “And are we not created in his image?” You swallow past the nausea building in your chest. Time stretches on with terrible slowness. His gaze is flaying you apart. “Don’t you want God To want you?” He asks softly.1

“See?” Stay awake. Stay alive.

Darkness, then light. “To the Ripper, understanding is love,” Hannibal says, a flicker of a smile settling on his lips. His hands are folded and he leans forward. Your chairs are close enough to force you to knock knees with him, but Hannibal doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect. “You are the first person to see through his façade, through the layers of his mask.” His skin looks strangely patterned, as if it's made of ceramic. You reach out to grasp his face, to yank off his mask, only for Hannibal to catch your wrist and hold it in a tight grip. Suddenly, your chair is tipping backwards precariously, lurching further into the abyss. You try to reach out and grab onto something, but Hannibal’s hold is the only thing that keeps you tethered. The void crawls up your skin mockingly, waiting to drag you into its umbra. Your momentum is slipping backwards and you’re filled with an unsettling anticipation. Contrary to your expectations, Hannibal’s grip remains strong. You look at him. The Ripper looks back, a bloodstained smile on his lips. You feel his fingers trace the edges of your skin with a mocking gentleness, before you’re falling backward into the darkness again.

You slip out of the darkness and bolt up, only to find yourself in a painfully bright room. You can’t quite stop the gasp that comes from your lips, nor can you suppress the urge to look around frantically, searching for the signs that this is a dream. The incessant pain in your abdomen is a harsh reality check. You look down at the area, only to find meticulously wrapped bandages covering your lower torso. Your upper forearm stings from the IV burrowing under your skin.

“Hey,” a voice says. You squint in the bright light, waiting for the blurred figure in front of you to sharpen. It’s a nurse—the same one who helped you the last time you were wounded. She holds her hands out in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were just dreaming.” Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern, a sentiment you feel you don’t deserve.

You bite back your questions—knowing the answers are clinging to the blinding white walls around you. The nurse asks you several questions about your symptoms and your pain level, before departing with the promise that she will return soon.

The events that transpired in Hannibal’s office cling to your skin with fervency. Your abdomen burns, especially when you remember that Hannibal inflicted the wound. You shouldn’t feel betrayed. You shouldn’t be afforded the privilege of being betrayed, not when you knew Hannibal Lecter’s nature since that night you sleepwalked out into the middle of the street.

Even so… you enjoyed being in Hannibal’s presence. You enjoyed the song and dance you had gotten so accustomed to playing. You spent so long spectating the game that you forgot your role in it. You were a pawn, and nothing more. The thought displeases you. With each passing second, the ugly feeling in your chest grows and swells within the confines of your rib cage. It’s getting to be too much.

There is no one to sit at your bedside this time. When she returns, the nurse pointedly does not mention your husband. You don’t have the heart to tell her that your “husband” was the same person who stabbed you, or that your husband was never really your husband in the first place. She seems to understand anyway. Pity is hidden beneath the kind smile on her face. You stop making eye contact with her.

Lying in this hospital bed is a lonely existence, dominated by a constant state of pain (at worst) or mild discomfort (at best). The only interaction you get is from the nurse herself. You get the feeling she’d be a good listener, but your tongue feels ironed to the roof of mouth and your conversations quickly morph into anecdotes about her life. You’re grateful for the small kindness—for the prospect of being treated like a human being, despite it all. These small moments of humanity push you to keep going, even amidst the several voices crooning in your ears about your cruelty.

You don’t expect any visitors. Indeed, your first visitor is entirely unexpected. When you’re first told that someone wishes to speak to you, you think of Beverly, Jack Crawford… hell, even Freddie Lounds. You certainly don’t foresee Alana Bloom walking through the door, a gentle, reserved expression on her face. Seeing her brightens your day, and her presence reminds you that you’re not entirely alone. You welcome the thought.

“Alana,” you greet her, your voice rather raspy. You cough to clear your throat. “How are you?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that,” she responds with a wry smile. She stands at the end of your bed, before walking to the side. Alana regards the lonely chair at your bedside, before placing her hands on the back. She looks well—albeit a little tired. “I’m good. And you?”

“I’ve been better,” you decide to respond honestly. There’s no point in lying to Alana—she used to be your psychiatrist, your girlfriend. She would be able to see through your dishonesty anyway. Sure enough, Alana seems to appreciate your honesty, because her eyes momentarily widen before she moves to sit down. Seeing her sit in that chair makes your stomach turn. When you blink, you see Hannibal sitting there—lithe frame effortlessly arranged, tupperware in hand. You rub your eyes roughly, dispelling the image to the recesses of your memory. Alana was courteous enough to visit you—the least you can do is acknowledge her presence, instead of imagining her as someone else.

For a moment, you stare at Alana. A mundane sense of envy strikes you, but it’s fleeting. You don’t deserve to be envious of her good health and safe wellbeing. Your own hubris is the reason why you’re currently confined to this cot. You look at her for a moment longer, before letting your eyes rest on the plain walls around you. You can feel Alana staring at you with concern. Instead of acknowledging that sentiment, you let the first question on your mind pass through your lips. “Where’s Jack?”

Alana is silent for a few seconds. Is it a difficult question? You don’t think so, yet Alana almost seems to falter. Eventually, she must manage to find the words. “Busy, as I’m sure you can imagine,” she evidently settles for saying. Upon closer examination, her hands are clasped in her lap—whitened knuckles betraying her otherwise tranquil image. Alana’s next words are quiet yet firm. “He’s tracking Hannibal—the Chesapeake Ripper.”

You inhale slowly. Somehow, hearing her say that cements the reality of it all. Everyone knows Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. It’s not just you anymore. You bring up an arm slowly, before tilting your head down and pinching the bridge of your nose. Somehow, it is this statement that reminds you of the pounding sensation behind your eyes and the aching clustered around your temple.

“Are you alright?” Alana asks, lips twitching into a slight frown.

“Yes,” you respond flatly. Your answer sounds devoid of emotion and purpose.

“Are you sure?” Alana persists. You don’t have the heart to lie to her twice in a row.

“...No.” You acquiesce. You rub a hand over your face, feeling rather small in this hospital bed. The sheets are slightly scratchy and the weight of them feels constricting, rather than comforting. You’ve never felt so small.

“I’m sorry,” Alana sighs. She seems entirely sincere and it almost makes you want to scream. You don’t deserve her sympathy. “I know you two were close. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” That statement is incredibly reassuring, despite the frenzy you had worked yourself into surrounding Alana. When you reflect on the events of the past months, you realize that you have few allies and even fewer true friends. One of those true friends is sitting right next to you.

“Thank you,” you nod. Guilt stirs in your chest as you stare at your old psychiatrist and ex-girlfriend. Every time you’ve seen her since she kissed you, you’ve purposefully cut conversation short. Somehow, the thought feels silly to you now. Perhaps almost dying a second time does that to a person. You stare at Alana for a moment. She looks well put together, as always. “Alana?”

“Yes?” She questions patiently. That’s another thing you envy about her—her unwavering compassion, her unflinching patience. You could stand to learn a few things from her, you think.

“I’m sorry,” you remark. The sentiment has been dancing on the tip of your tongue for the past several weeks, yet you never got the chance to verbalize it. Life has been a whirlwind lately. You’ve been so caught up in everything swirling around in your mind that you never paused to think about those around you, or how they were affected by the recent turn of events. “For…” You break off, unable to articulate it. You settle for a vague hand gesture. Alana seems to understand anyways, as her eyes momentarily widen before comprehension passes over her face.

“Don’t apologize,” Alana is quick to say, nothing but sincerity written in the lines of her shoulders. Her eyes look slightly glassy for the briefest of moments, before she shakes her head and looks at you once more. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry for kissing you without warning.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Silence descends upon the brisk air, leaving the two of you to your thoughts. You’re not content to let this overbearing tension rule over your conversation. You clench your fists slightly, filled with renewed resolve. You stare at Alana for a few seconds, until she notices your gaze and returns it. “Friends?” You ask, extending a hand towards her.

“Friends,” Alana responds with a smile, rising from her chair to meet your outstretched hand. Your handshake is short but reassuring. It’s enough to convince you that there are no hard feelings between the two of you. Alana fills you in on some of what’s happened since your admittance to the hospital; mostly, though, the two of you talk about the small things. You know Alana is trying to give you some semblance of normalcy. You appreciate the effort, you really do… but you’re not sure you’re capable of pretending everything’s okay. Furthermore, the small things seem inconsequential—now that you’re entrenched in the middle of everything. Even so, you make sure to thank her before she leaves. You don’t know how you would have coped without seeing a familiar face. Alana smiles and promises to be back soon.

As you expect, Alana doesn’t turn up the next day. You certainly don’t expect her to stop by, since you know she’s always rather busy. Ultimately, you come to the conclusion that you want nothing more than to be out of this hospital. Even worse… apparently, the stunt you pulled with Beverly during your past hospital visit did not go over well. You’re firmly reminded to avoid any attempts at an early release. You’re too tired and embarrassed to argue. You don’t have anything better to do than rot in this hospital room, anyway. Besides, you’re certain you’ll be met with some unpleasant reminders of Hannibal as you get home. You think you have a few cardigans in your closet that you meant to give back to him. The thought sends a bolt of nervous excitement through you, and you have to actively talk yourself down that precarious ledge.

Alana does visit the day after. Beverly turns up the day after that and gives you several hugs. After that, at least one of your friends—Alana or Beverly— visits every day, which you’re extremely grateful for. You’re certain you’d go absolutely stir crazy in this hospital bed if you didn’t have anyone for company. Your conversations are typically fun and refreshing, like light breezes of summer air. Sometimes, though, you’re bogged down by your memories. Sometimes, you’re forced to remember the corpses you left in your wake.

Even with Alana and Beverly visiting, you’re given more than enough alone time to contemplate everything. You have ample time to pick apart Hannibal’s actions and discern his true motivations. So, when Jack Crawford finally visits, his shoulders drawn tight with stress, you’re prepared to recount that night to him. Jack is insistent on the fact that you don’t have to speak about anything you don’t want to, but you know the offer is more for pretense than anything else. He needs this information, needs to understand the Ripper’s past actions and how they govern his future. With that in mind, you wave off his concern and tell him about your late night meeting with Hannibal.

Jack is silent throughout, never once interrupting you or reacting in a manner other than an affirmative nod. It’s very characteristic of your boss; you think that you would have been unsettled if he responded with heightened or dramatic emotions. Jack’s cool composure is an anchor that you quickly latch on to.

“He wanted you alive,” Jack states, once you’re finished explaining everything. He says this with frightening assuredness. His utter conviction surprises you, prompting you to ask how he knows that.

Of course, you certainly considered that same possibility yourself, but it feels more real when you hear it from Jack. “The stab wound wasn’t fatal,” he points out. His gaze falls to the edge of your abdomen. The bandages feel extremely constricting. You wonder if they need to be changed soon. “It easily could’ve been. The Ripper is a skilled killer—he wouldn’t have missed unless he wanted to.” You take a shuddering breath in.

“He’s toying with us,” you manage to agree. Your hands fidget restlessly along the rough blanket thrown over your form. You feel restless once more.

“He’s toying with you,” Jack supplies. There is no room for argument in his voice. He doesn’t look restless, afraid, or frustrated. Not for the first time, you wish you had Jack’s control and constitution. However, you know Jack well enough to see the signs of tension in his clenched fist and drawn lips. “Taunting you, and the rest of us, by proxy.” That statement in particular sets everything in stone. Your theories are no longer just theories—they are unobjectionable facts.

“Jack.” you remark, trying to push the words past the dread settling on your tongue.

“Yes?” Jack asks, patient and restless all at once. You’re choking on the words. It’s such a simple sentence, yet so dangerous of an admission. If you told the truth—confided in Jack about how you suspected Hannibal the moment you met him, and grew to realize that he is the Ripper—you would certainly lose your job, not to mention all of Jack’s trust.

Selfish, your victims croon. Your psyche nods in agreement. It’s truly selfish of you not to provide Jack with your utmost honesty. You’re doing a disservice to every person Hannibal has ever killed, every waking moment the team spent hunting for the Chesapeake Ripper. You wasted so much time, so much space.

“I-” You try to continue. I knew. I knew and I did nothing. I am complicit in his crimes. Tears are slipping down your cheeks. You’re a rotten excuse for a human being. You don’t deserve to be alive. Why hadn’t Hannibal just finished the job? It’s cruel, almost. He allowed his other victims the mercy of death, yet he left you alive. You will forever be scarred—both by Hannibal’s knife and by the bone-deep knowledge that your silence made you an accomplice to his crimes.

Breathing is suddenly a far more arduous task. Your lungs burn and your throat feels as if it’s closing in on you. Your vision is extremely sharp and your shaking hands are drawn with harsh lines and even harsher edges. The world around you is suddenly rendered immensely inconsequential. The beeping of the machines at your bedside, Jack’s steady breaths, the traces of conversation slipping in from the hallway… It all fails in comparison to the chimes of the grandfather clock in your mind. You dig your fingernails into your skin, desperate for unspoken confirmation that you aren’t dreaming.

At this point, you’re panting. Drool falls from the sides of your mouth and hits the scratchy blanket. Every nerve in your body feels as if it’s on fire. You’re a puppet cut loose from the puppeteer’s careful hand, yet you’re still strung together with wooden bones and durable string. You bring your hand to your chest and try to breathe, but the more you try, the harsher and more rushed your attempts become.

“Agent.” There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s enough pressure to make you feel as if you’re melding with the thin mattress below you, sinking into the floor and the shadows. For a moment, you can see Hannibal looking down at you in your mind’s eye, a contentious expression on his face as he lets you fall to the darkness below. “Breathe.” Jack grabs your hand and brings it to the inside of his wrist. His pulse beats steadily beneath your fingertips and you latch onto the rhythm. Jack begins counting, prompting you to breathe in time with him. You’re not sure how long it takes you to clear your airways—you just know that, at some point, Jack migrated from where he stood at the end of your bed to the side of the bed.

“Jack,” you try again. Your lips part but nothing slips out. It’s such a simple confession—a mere few words, yet you can’t utter them.

“Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can choke on the words you don’t want to say. His expression has returned to a combination of rigidity and anticipation. You know what Jack will say before he says it. “Can I trust you to handle this case? Do I need to remove you from this case? ” He doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it anyway. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face. Your eyes burn from all the tears you shed.

“I can handle it,” you assure him.

“You’re close to all this,” Jack remarks. He gets up from where he had been sitting and walks back to stand behind the edge of the bed. His gaze meets yours, but you know he isn’t really looking at you. That expression on his face means Jack is looking through his options, puzzling out the future in his head. You wait for him to refocus. “You know I don’t typically assign agents with personal investments in cases… But, you’ve been on this case for a long time. You know the Ripper better than anyone else does, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You stare at Jack silently, daring him to take you off the case. You know that your words will fail you here, so you hope your conviction shows through in your eyes. Jack stares back and, for a long moment, you’re both trapped in silence. Eventually, Jack seems to ascertain that you think yourself capable. He takes a deep breath.

“In terms of the Ripper, we currently have a unit determining his whereabouts,” Jack begins. “The Ripper—Lecter—covered his tracks very well. The last time he was seen was…”

“When he stabbed me,” you say for him.

“Yes,” Jack confirms. “As you know, Lecter is proficient at leaving behind very little—if any—evidence.” You nod, thinking back to all the crime scenes he created. There was hardly any evidence left behind. Hannibal was always meticulous and careful in his crimes.

“He only leaves clues when he wants to,” you continue. “He is not so kind hearted as to leave us clues for the hell of it, or because he slipped up. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“We found very little in his office,” Jack concedes with a sharp nod. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Stress seems to tighten the line of his shoulders. “We did manage to find several concealed weapons, upon closer examination.”

“He stabbed me with a knife that was disguised as an antler on a deer sculpture,” you recall flatly. The thought makes your side flare up with pain again. “I shouldn’t have gone to his office. I should’ve come to you first. I knew, and yet…”

“Frankly, Agent, that is not my concern,” Jack states matter of factly. “The past is the past. If I were to dissect every minute mistake we’ve made along the course of this investigation, we’d never be able to proceed.”

“True,” you answer. You still don’t think Jack has truly comprehended the implications of what you just said. You knew Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper long before that night. After all, you didn’t explicitly state when you first discovered the identity of the Ripper. Of course, you suppose it is also likely that Jack was able to intuit that from your response. If that were the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t kicked you off this case or fired you.

You know it’s best for you to drop this particular line of questioning, so you do. For the duration of Jack’s visit, he debriefs you on what the team has deduced so far—both in terms of his current location and where he’ll go next. After an hour passes, however, your luck runs out. Your nurse enters the room and promptly shoos Jack out, claiming that you need time to rest. She is entirely impervious to his objections, even when he tries to pull rank on her. You’re rather impressed. Jack manages to get a last remark in, before the nurse can guide him out of the room.

“Lecter will turn up soon enough,” your boss states. With that, Jack departs. His cryptic remark leaves you with a lot to think about. You spend the rest of your hospital stay grappling with the implications of that statement, with the implications of Hannibal deciding not to kill you. You’re released from the hospital a week later with a troubled conscience and another scar to add to your collection.

Somehow, news of your battle with Hannibal has reached the press, Jack tells you as he drives you home in the dead of night. Ultimately, Jack decided it would be best to get you home during a time when most people are sleeping. You’re grateful for his foresight, because when you return home, there are no flashing cameras or microphones shoved in your face. You thank Jack for the ride and he nods, sending you one final unreadable look before driving away.

When you unlock your front door and swing the door open, you’re surprised to find that your house appears the same as when you left it. You close the door behind you and take in everything before you. Dust is beginning to collect on the shelves and surfaces—the space desperately needs a dedicated cleaning, but you know you don’t have the energy just yet. Right now, you’re content to cautiously walk to your closet and grab clothes. Despite the fact that Jack brought you a pair of old trainee clothes to change into when he arrived, you know you need a good shower to feel clean. The lukewarm water sliding down your skin is rejuvenating, but it doesn’t wipe away the dirt of your sins. You step out of the shower with clean skin and a muddy conscience. Drying off and putting on your clothes is an annoying affair, but you manage.

After your shower, it’s safe to say that you’re entirely lost. You don’t know what to do next. You need to eat, you remember. Unfortunately, your fridge is pretty much empty. You sigh and survey the space that you call home. It doesn’t feel familiar, despite the knowledge that it’s been yours for several years. These are all your belongings, yet it feels as if you’re standing in a stranger’s shoes. You look around the room, pausing when your eye catches on a scrap of newspaper. The TattleCrime article from before rests innocuously on the kitchen counter. You walk towards it immediately, as if possessed.

Criminally Insane. You stare at the photos featured in the article. The second photo—the one of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane—led you to realize that Frederick Chilton had been kidnapped. The first picture… It unsettles you. There are hints of the dark circles under your eyes that you now possess, but there’s also an unspoken confidence in your posture in the photo. You choke on a laugh, running your fingers along the rough newspaper.

It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Well, it certainly feels that way… but you know your survival can’t be put down to mere fate. Inexplicably, Hannibal did not aim to kill you. You contemplate what would’ve happened if he had aimed that way. You would have died in that office, certainly. Would you be free of this terrifying helplessness, this aching despair?

You manage to tear your eyes away from the article. After a moment of thought, you stuff it in a drawer—hoping you will never need to look at it again. Unsurprisingly, you still feel incredibly restless. You begin pacing slowly around the room, desperate for something to do. Perhaps this urge to do something is indicative of a deeper sentiment.

The cicadas buzz from the trees outside. You’re suddenly struck with a perplexing urge to step outside. You follow that urge and walk mechanically to your front door. Maybe someone is on your porch. You peek through the peephole, unsurprised to find no one there. After a second’s contemplation, you step out onto your porch, letting your arms rest against the railing.

The brisk night air doesn’t help your worsening mental state. You still feel numb, empty. Nothing feels real anymore. As you look out at your driveway, at the other houses lining your street, you’re hit with an immense sonder.2 How did you end up in this situation? How did you end up here, staring out at the suburbia around you and wishing you could take on the life of another person—someone who isn’t desensitized to blood, gore, violence, and murder?

You don’t know where to go from here. Your feelings are a dizzying combination of remorse, regret, and contempt—combined with an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking. You raise your arms and put your head in your hands for a moment. Succumbing to darkness has never felt so comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Lecter will return soon enough.” Jack had said. There was a certainty in his voice in that moment—a sincerity that was surely unfounded. He was making a prediction and nothing more. Yet… the conviction in his tone made it seem as if he knew the Ripper’s next move. Surely, Hannibal hasn’t grown so predictable. Surely, he will continue to elude capture for as long as he wishes.

A car’s headlights reach your vision, and you watch as it slowly cruises down your street. There is a certain nonchalance to the way it slowly rises on the horizon. You frown, wondering what this person is doing driving down your street at such a late hour. Perhaps it’s a neighbor. You continue to watch warily. For a moment, you swear it seems as if the car’s slowing as it approaches. Surely that can’t be the case. It’s too dark to make out the details of the car—let alone the driver. You settle for staring in silence as it moves along. Within the blink of an eye, the vehicle moves past your driveway and into the dark expanse enveloping the space past your street. You exhale in relief, just realizing that your breath had hitched during the car’s brief stint in front of your house.

Why were you nervous? What were you expecting? You don’t want to acknowledge the answers to those questions—those solutions will only bring more problems. You shake your head. Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, and everyone knows. There should be nothing to be afraid of, except for a single thought that never seems to leave you. He will return for you, a voice whispers against the wind. He wants to finish the job.

You’ve never gotten so close to a case before. You almost wish you could travel back in time, to the first time you locked eyes with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. In that moment, you hadn’t been able to rationalize the intense foreboding and trepidation that seemed to crawl up your skin as he stared back at you. You had no true grasp of the danger you would soon experience, the lives you would soon take. When did you stop trusting your instincts? Your intuition is part of the reason why you’re such a successful criminal profiler, yet you were more than willing to entirely ignore it.

A chill hits your skin, but it’s not from the brisk breeze of night air that gently rustles your clothes. The unsettling feeling comes from the car in your driveway, the bright headlights illuminating the woody forest behind your house. Were you so lost in thought that you neglected to notice someone approaching your driveway? You squint and take a step closer to the driveway, wavering on the edge of your porch. The car looks familiar, and that realization nearly pitches you off the porch and careening to the ground below. The driver turns the car off and swings the door open with taunting slowness. A roaring sound fills your ears.

“Hannibal,” you remark. The driver closes the door and takes a step forward, close enough to the porch that the light hits their face and reveals familiar angled features. His lip is bleeding and there are droplets of blood scattered about his face. His clothing is ever so slightly rumpled. Other than that, Hannibal appears at ease. The Ripper looks at you, and utters your name in response.

You don’t know what to do, what to say. Your hands clutch the railing in front of you with enough force to send bolts of pain through your fingers. It feels as if your heart is racing faster than humanly possible. You’re reminded of the pain in your abdomen, the scar slicing dangerously close to your eye. You clench a fist at your side and walk down the steps of your porch, before turning and moving to stand at a strategic distance from Hannibal: close enough to see his face, far enough to have an illusion of control and safety.

The night is still. If it weren’t for your unexpected visitor, you might take solace in the tranquility of the midnight sky. Now, the stars seem to wink at you in warning. When Hannibal speaks, you nearly convince yourself that you imagine it. “I have evaded capture for long enough.” An ugly, foolish sort of hope settles in your chest. You try to push it away.

“You’re… surrendering,” you remark cautiously, waiting for him to dispel that notion. The Ripper does nothing of the sort. Instead, Hannibal stares at you, making strangely heated eye contact with you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. The moonlight briefly hits the metal, causing it to glimmer mockingly. Your stomach turns. The moon’s warm glow reveals more than just a shimmer—there are murky brown stains on the blade. You recognize the splatters as dried blood and your skin crawls. Hannibal is holding the very same knife he stabbed you with. He maneuvers it expertly, holding the blade and extending the handle towards you. Everything about this moment feels like a trap, but you willingly reach out and take the proffered knife, fastening it at your belt.

After a stretch of time in which neither of you elect to say anything, you decide that Hannibal must be telling the truth. Eyes locked on the man, you fumble around in your pocket for your phone and pull it out, dialing the only number you have memorized. Your intended recipient answers before two seconds pass. “Jack,” you say, your gaze still firmly fixed on the Ripper.

“Agent,” Jack responds. Hannibal is staring at you with intense scrutiny, evidently attempting to decipher what Jack is saying to you. That recognition causes you to pause for a moment. At your hesitation, Jack’s voice takes on a concerned yet impatient tone. “What is it?”

“I have him,” you say, vaguely satisfied that your voice sounds clear and composed despite the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been subjected to. “The Ripper. He’s in my driveway.”

Jack’s end of the line is quiet. You know it must be nearly impossible to believe. You look at Hannibal and then look back at the phone, realizing what you need to do. Taking a deep breath, you bring a shaky hand up and press the speaker button. Despite every instinct in your body screaming at you, you take a small step forward—and another—until Hannibal is close enough to the phone. For a moment, he stares down at the device pensively. Then, in the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist and tugs you closer—evidently to get to the phone. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal remarks, voice laced with amusement as he grasps your hand— the phone, you tell yourself—with unshakeable strength. Despite the severity of the situation, you can’t do anything but roll your eyes at his chosen greeting. It seems Hannibal’s dramatics know no bounds. Even when his very freedom is threatened, he will continue to wear his carved mask of politeness and elegance. You try to listen for Jack’s response. There’s still silence on the other end—Jack is probably dispatching a unit as you speak. You’re sure Jack himself will be on his way before long.

Indeed, Jack confirms that a team is on the way. He hangs up and your phone screen fades to black. Despite the call’s termination, Hannibal is still holding your wrist. “Can I have my hand back?” You ask wryly. You try to shake his grip off and pull away, but he doesn’t budge. Your heart is racing as you try to find an escape. Hannibal doesn’t seem keen to let go, instead looking at you with mild amusement written all over his face. It doesn’t take you long to come up with an idea. You attempt to shake off his grip once more, knowing it will not work. The moment you try to pull your wrist back, you take advantage of the momentum and aim a harsh kick just above his knee. Per your expectations, he doesn’t anticipate the attack and is forced to fall down to a kneeling position to avoid falling over. You lock eyes with him and tear his grip off.

Hannibal looks up at you on bended knee, entirely silent. You begin to realize just what you’ve done—you just disrespected him. You were the epitome of the rudeness Hannibal abhors. You swallow. If you weren’t dead before, you’re certainly dead now. The Ripper is still silent, before tilting his head down to hide his face. Fuck, you’ve really done it this time. You feel yourself taking an instinctual half step backwards, and you’re moments away from turning on your heel and running when you hear an odd sound.

Hannibal is laughing, you realize. It’s a far cry from the typical gesture of joy you’d associate with laughter, but his amusement is still evident. He brings his head up once more and regards you with interest. “You never fail to surprise me,” he remarks amiably, getting to his feet and pushing the dust from his pant leg with a quick swiping motion. Hannibal doesn’t give your threat any consideration, instead simply regarding you with that same eerie look you’ve grown to associate with his full attention.

Your hand twitches to grab the bloodstained knife at your side. You imagine yourself plunging the blade into Hannibal’s side, watching his smirk falter and his victorious expression crumple. The vindictive thought thrills you for a second, before you come back to yourself and feel immense revulsion and disgust. Hannibal almost seems to sense the mental gymnastics you're going through, as an intrigued expression flickers across his face before it’s gone in a flash.

Truthfully, you don’t know how long you stand there—across from Hannibal, staring him down as he stares you down, prey regarding predator—until Jack arrives. It feels like an eternity. Time seems to entirely stop during those moments. Somehow, the quiet is more informative than a conversation ever could be. You don’t need words—not when you can see the tight line drawn across Hannibal’s shoulders, the persistence in his gaze.

Even eternity must come to an end, though. Police sirens blink in the distance, drawing you away from your thoughts. You watch as several police cars find their way to your driveway. Jack sits in the passenger seat of the car at the front, and he’s quick to step out of the car. S.W.A.T. officers swarm out of the cars, weapons pointed at Hannibal. There is a horrible tension settling in the air, thick enough to make your breaths occur just a little faster.

Despite the exorbitant amount of fully-armed S.W.A.T officers, you’re still afraid. Hannibal is closest to you. If he wanted to, he could kill you—even with so many people present. You don’t doubt his strength or agility. These recognitions leave your heart drumming in your chest at an incessantly quick rhythm. You glance over at Jack and he nods, holding a hand up to the officers and walking towards you.

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack remarks. Even now, he is incredibly composed. You latch onto his composure and try to emulate it, though you know it won’t look convincing enough. The headlights from the cars are blinding and you turn your head, giving your burning eyes a brief reprieve.

“Jack,” Hannibal responds, his hands raised in the air in surrender. The Ripper is indeed powerless, yet the gesture looks mocking. A few officers step closer and surround Hannibal, who kneels down with his arms still raised high. “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper.” His hands move to rest behind his head.

Jack stares at the killer with an indecipherable expression. “You surrendered.”

“I want you to know exactly where I am,” Hannibal responds to Jack. After that remark, his head turns and dread rises in your chest as you realize he’s looking towards you. His eyes are glittering in the moonlight. “And where you can always find me.” You’re frozen, limbs locked as his crimson eyes pierce through you.

Vaguely, you hear Jack order for Hannibal to be placed in his car. The officers pull Hannibal up from his knees and escort him to the police car. The Ripper’s gaze is locked on you until he enters the vehicle. Jack remains where he stands, sending you a look. You incline your head slightly, to wordlessly encourage him to leave you. Jack seems hesitant to do so, but his sense of responsibility must win out, because he walks back towards the car. You still feel as if you’re being watched, and you get the feeling Hannibal is staring at you from behind the dark tinted glass. The police car slowly reverses out of your driveway, before heading down your street and eventually out of sight.

You purse your lips, before walking back up the steps to your porch. Everything seemed to have happened far too fast. In the blink of an eye, you’re left to stand alone, with nothing but your conflicting feelings of grief, anger, and remorse for company. Memories burrow their way under your skin. Each breath is a testament to your own cruelty.

Inexplicably, you reach up to touch the jagged scar cutting down your face. Your fingertips brush against the marred skin and you jolt. Your abdomen burns in remembrance. Hannibal Lecter has given you the quiet evenings, the comfortable silence settling in the air, and the thrill of an attentive, burning gaze that sends warm embers dancing up your skin.

But he has taken so much more from you in return.

Gone is the gentle caress of a hand on your cheek and the comfort of having unquestionable support. Gone is the hard-won feeling of being truly seen for who you are. Gone is the excitement, the anticipation of knowing that your companion can never truly be predicted. All of it is gone.

You look up at the moon glimmering in the dark night sky. You idly wonder if Hannibal sees it too. It’s a foolish thought. His cell likely won’t have windows. He has probably been confined to four walls of cement, a metal toilet, and a thin, dingy mattress on a cold metal frame. There is no hope for someone like Hannibal—he will earn several life sentences and spend his entire life in that cage. You have to wonder: why? Why would he surrender?

It was a tactical surrender—that much you know for certain. Hannibal could easily have spent the rest of his life moving from place to place, taking on new identity after new identity. He could have spent however long he wanted, camouflaged but free.

Freedom. Maybe that’s the answer. After all, that kind of aggressive mimicry is not necessarily freedom. Hannibal Lecter values being an enigma. The mystery that surrounds him, in part, relies on his reputation. Life spent in hiding isn’t really life at all. Even someone like Hannibal—someone with arguably everything to lose—would understand that sentiment.

You exhale slowly, watching as your puff of breath fades into the air. You suppose Hannibal’s statement may have carried some truth. You will always know where to find him; you won’t be able to bury the memory of him next to the other skeletons in your closet and leave him to rot. Whenever your psyche falters, Hannibal will be there—imprisoned within your mind palace, gathering strength and lying in wait.

Your phone rings in your pocket. You pull it out, momentarily surprised by the time displayed. It’s getting late. You hadn’t realized how long you spent lost in thought. When you answer, your voice sounds unfamiliar to your ears.

“Crawford,” Jack clarifies, cutting right to the chase, “We got him.” There is no further explanation needed.

“We got him, Jack,” you echo. The recognition sounds hollow, empty. Your gaze is pulled towards your driveway once more. Jack’s voice reaches your ears, but you can’t discern what he’s saying over the ringing in your ears.

Hannibal Lecter is behind bars now, yet you’re the one who feels trapped. You’re a prisoner—trapped in a cage of your own broken design.

1. Dracula by Bram Stoker

2. Sonder refers to the feeling of realization that everyone, including strangers and passersby, have lives just as complex and vivid as your own.

Sorry if the intro parts were confusing. I wanted to *try* to write it in a way that showed how weird and unusual dreams can really be, especially after traumatic events.The mind is infinitely powerful, able to conjure up a new reality at a moment’s notice. I liked the idea of the reader drowning in a whirlpool of their own mind’s creation—as they fight to get back to reality. (also, I found the word “umbra,” which is apparently used to describe the shadow created by an eclipse. I think that’s cool as hell, so I included it.) Dream logic never quite makes sense and can be extremely convoluted, which is why the intro is a messy assortment of memories with no clear beginning or end.

Y’all seemed to like my rationalization for the previous chapter, so I’ll include some similar notes for this chapter if you’re interested:

Hannibal’s surrender in this chapter is very much calculated. He realizes that he’s no longer free—since the FBI are onto him. There is a sort of cruelty in the life he would have to lead, as his “freedom” would include lots of mental effort, relocating, and subterfuge. Hannibal likely weighs his options, and decides between a life of constant stealth and relocation, and a life behind bars. It’s reasonable to assume that he also would have realized that his status as the Chesapeake Ripper would grant him special privileges as a prisoner—he’s aware of how much the Ripper has dominated the cultural zeitgeist and knows he will be able to use that notoriety to his advantage in captivity.

Of course, Hannibal also knows how to best dominate your thoughts: by remaining in one place. As he mentions, you will always know where he is and where to find him. You will not have to track him down by following the calculated clues he leaves behind—rather, you will constantly have to live with the underlying knowledge that Hannibal is accessible at any and every moment. In this case, Hannibal’s surrender is quite a tactical and manipulative move. He truly chooses to go to prison. It would be unsettling to know that the Ripper was on the loose, yes. But, the Ripper has been on the loose and free for several years already. On the other hand, it would be downright disturbing to know that Hannibal’s presence in prison is a willful choice—one that can be taken back at any moment. That can easily manifest a constant lingering fear in the back of the reader’s mind, in addition to an eternal desire to pin down exactly why Hannibal is remaining captive, chained. The chessmaster is willingly surrendering, but the game is far from over.

And now… Act 1 of this story is complete!

Never fear, Hannibal will return in Act 2! As for the other characters… Well, you’ll have to wait and see. ;) I will say that Act Two embraces some elements of The Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs. Don’t worry, though—you don’t need to have read either of them. :3

Here’s a scrap for your efforts! (*throws you this unused dialogue like a scruffy middle-aged man with grey hair and a scratchy quarter-zip throws a piece of raw beef to the wolves outside his cabin*) This was one of the MANY options I had considered (but never used) for the big reveal:

“How long have you known?” Hannibal asks. “From the moment you invited me into your home,” you answer. There’s silence for a dreadful moment. “And you stayed.” “I did.” “Why?” “I like talking to you, I enjoy your company.… Does one really need a reason to keep the company of another?” You finish. A beat of quiet. “... I suppose not,” Hannibal acquiesces.

Act 2 will be posted as the second part of this series. Here's the link to the AO3 series: these jagged scars. I'll also post it over here on Tumblr. :)

Thank you so so so much for all the support! Your likes, comments, and reblogs keep me going! <33333

taglist 🖤: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#male reader #x male reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #Hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #yall get the idea #transmasc reader #I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS FIC #LITERALLY ALMOST CRIED HAPPY ACCOMPLISHED TEARS LAST NIGHT

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misterblanc · 2 years

Text

silk and lace

lewis hamilton x fem!reader

summary: your date with lewis gets cut short

warnings: mature language, smut (dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, daddy kink), not beta-read [18+ MINORS D.N.I.]

words: 2,216

❣️ dirty thangs under the cut ❣️

"What're you thinking about, pretty girl?"

"Hmm?" your eyes snap back to Lewis, the sound of his voice breaking you out of your daydream. Your immediate surroundings come flooding back to you: the sound of soft jazz and the murmur of conversation, the glow and flicker of the candles on the table, the gentle burn in your stomach from the drink in your hand...and Lewis's hand on your bare thigh.

"I asked what you're thinking about," he teases. "Looks like you're deep in thought over there."

You bite your lip. It had been a perfect day - busy with work, Lewis had sent you off shopping with your best girl friends. After coming home with a bounty of shopping bags (and Lewis's now bruised and battered credit card), he had decided to take you out for drinks at your favorite jazz bar nearby.

Your new silk dress ("thank you for my new dress, baby," you'd said, pecking him on the cheek when he had zipped it up earlier that night) conveniently had a slit running up the side, and Lewis had snuck a hand through its opening to find your knee as soon as you had sat down.

Throughout the night, that hand had crept its way from your knee to where it now lay heavy on your thigh, fingers barely brushing your inner thigh where your clothed center was aching for his touch. The burn of the alcohol in your system wasn't helping to stem the tingling sensations and you had quickly begun thinking about the quickest way you could get him home and on top of you.

You look him up and down as you formulate your response, taking in his matching silk shirt that clung deliciously to his muscled torso and arms and the necklaces that wrapped around his tattooed neck. An image flashes through your mind of his body over yours, the chains and jewels rubbing against your bare chest as he fucks into you. You reflexively clench your thighs together at the thought, trapping his hand between them.

"Oh," he smirks. "I think I already know. You wanna get out of here, baby?"

"Yes."

+++

As soon as the door to the apartment closes, you stalk into the kitchen to pour a glass of water for your dry throat, the sound of your high heels clicking on the tile floor. Lewis follows you closely, not bothering to turn the lights on. He settles against the counter opposite you and watches as you pound back the liquid, brown eyes glittering in the dark. You place the glass down and gulp, your body strung out with sexual tension.

"What's the matter, love?" he teases, leaning against the marble countertop. "You get nervous when I look at you like this?"

You nod shyly. No matter how long you'd been with Lewis, the intensity of his gaze when he looked at you never ceased to create a small fire in the pit of your belly.

"How about you be a doll and do a spin for me, won’t you?" he says, cocking his head to the side.

Nervously, you twirl, the flowing fabric of your dress cutting through the air around you.

"Do you like my dress?" you ask softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

"Darling, I love your dress. And I adore you," he starts, taking a step closer. "But what's that you're wearing underneath?"

"Underneath?" you ask, breath hitching in your throat as he takes another step, eyes raking down your body like an animal who's spotted its next meal.

"Yeah, baby, what did I see when you just did a little spin? Did you get new panties while you were out as well?"

"Let me see you, baby girl," he whispers, gripping your waist to twist you around so that your ass rubs against the growing bulge in his jeans. You shiver at the contact of the rough material against your bare thighs and bite back a moan as he proceeds to gently guide you into a bent position over the counter.

Lewis's hand skates down the thin material that barely covers your ass and flips the bottom of your dress up.

"Oh, baby..." he lets out a low groan.

You crane your neck to peek over your shoulder, growing wetter at the sight behind you. Lewis stares reverently at the spot between your thighs, tongue poking out to wet his plump lips, eyes starting to glaze over.

"I thought of you when I bought it," you admit almost shamefully, heat spreading across your face.

The pink scrap of silk and lace with red dotted hearts caught your attention immediately at the mall. Suddenly, he's kneeling behind you and you feel hot breath over the thin strip of fabric that's only just covering your slick folds.

"You thought of me when you were trying these on?"

"Mmhm," you whimper.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband, making a show of moving at a torturously slow rate as the fabric peels away from your sticky center, letting it fall around your ankles.

“I bet you touched yourself in the dressing room, too, naughty girl."

"Lewis," you mewl, instinctively arching back, desperate for contact with his lips.

"Be good, baby, you don't want to rip your nice new panties."

Lewis grabs two fistfuls of flesh and spreads you out, exposing your leaking cunt to the cool air of the apartment.

"You’re so beautiful all spread out like this… just for me. Look at you, practically dripping and I haven’t even touched you yet. Is this all for Daddy? Can I taste you, baby?"

You moan in response, your brain short-circuiting with arousal.

"You have to use your words, love," he tuts, kneading your ass with his large hands. "Daddy asked if he could taste you."

"Oh God, Daddy, please touch me," you whine.

Lewis's movements are slow and savory, much like a man enjoying his last meal. He presses a few filthy open-mouthed kisses along your folds before licking a broad stripe from your aching hole to your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

Lewis knows exactly how to turn you into a babbling mess, and you soon find yourself scrabbling for purchase against the marble countertop, the sensation of the cold stone against your nipples adding to the intense feeling building in your stomach.

"Daddy, please! Need to cum-" you gasp out, bucking your hips back.

He groans deep from within his chest, wrapping an arm around your legs to hold you down. His voice is dark and filled with lust when he speaks, barely lifting his mouth from your pussy which by now is dripping from a combination of your arousal and his spit.

"I can feel it, baby, let me fucking hear you cum for me."

Then you feel not one, but two fingers probe at your opening, sliding in with a filthy wet sound. Your eyes roll back at the contrast between the feeling of the cool metal of his rings and the heat of your cunt. Lewis pumps his fingers in and out at a hard pace, the lewd squelching sounds of him finally fucking you sending you over the edge as you plead incoherently.

"Oh fuck, yes, yes, yes, Daddy, right there, please right there-"

Your orgasm tears through you and you release a sob as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through your body, your moans echoing through the penthouse. He continues the drag of his fingers inside of you as you ride out your climax, pressing chaste kisses to your clit.

At the feeling of his fingers leaving your body you give a soft whimper, still attempting to catch your breath and swim through your orgasmic haze to come back to the present. He wastes no time, and you hear the clink of his belt buckle coming undone as he stands up behind you.

"That's my girl," he praises, stroking a hand down the back of your neck, the hairs there plastered against your sweaty skin. "Always s'good for me."

You feel the heat start growing again between your legs at his praise, your orgasm having just taken the edge off of your desire for Lewis. You look back, biting your lip at the sight of him and instinctively spreading your legs wider.

Eyes locked on yours, Lewis makes quick work of the delicate buttons of that damn silk shirt, tossing the luxurious material behind him. Your breath hitches in your throat at the image of his tattooed broad shoulders and chest, the metal and jewels on his multiple necklaces softly glinting in the moonlight that shines through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the apartment.

He shoves his jeans down his thighs and your mouth waters. His thighs are so thick and you can't help but remember the last time you two went out when the night ended with you riding Lewis's thigh until you squirted all over that muscle, your juices soaking the couch.

"You got Daddy so hard, princess," he purrs, palming himself over the fabric of his underwear. "Fuck, look at you...Daddy just made you cum and you already want more."

"I wanna see you, Daddy, please," you whine in frustration, hand coming down to your pussy to slip a finger between your dripping folds in an attempt to relieve the brutal tension.

"You don't have to ask twice, baby girl." he exhales heavily at the sight of you playing with yourself, soft whimpers rolling off your tongue. His boxer briefs are on the floor in a flash and his hard cock bounces against the toned flesh of his stomach. Lewis is the only man who'd ever made you have a physical reaction to just the image of his dick. It was perfect just like the rest of him, with extra length and girth. He wrapped a hand around it, pumping himself as your own hand flew back to the counter, leaving your weeping hole exposed just for him.

"So hungry for me, baby. Your pussy ready for Daddy's cock?" a growl rumbles deep in his chest and hands come down to spread your ass again. You feel the length of his cock, heavy and hot, settle against your slit as he rocks his hips to collect your arousal along it.

The feeling of the head at your entrance is enough to make you let out a filthy moan. Then he's pushing, sliding in and you feel the breath leave your body as your pussy practically sucks in his thick length. His palms run up your body from your ass and he wraps your long hair around one hand, making you arch your back even more.

"Fuuuck, baby, you're so fucking tight for me." he groans.

You're at a loss for words when his cock is filling you up so good, so perfectly. A long whine is the only sound you can make when he begins fucking into you at a purposeful pace, the slick noises of his heavy balls hitting your clit making that familiar feeling start building in your core.

Lewis tightens his grip on your makeshift ponytail and leans over your arched figure to suck the skin of your neck into his mouth, only relenting his assault on the delicate space to whisper into your ear.

"This pussy was fucking made for me, you know that, right? You know Daddy's the only person who can make you feel this way," he lands a sharp slap on your ass cheek, the skin rippling against his consistent and powerful thrusts. "Tell me how good it feels, princess."

"Love your cock, Daddy, " you wail shakily, the sensation in your core making you tremble. "You're gonna make me cum!"

Lewis is relentless now, pistoning in and out of you at a rapid pace as his arm snakes around your waist to help fuck you back onto his cock.

"Daddy, fuck!" you scream as his tip hits that devastatingly sweet spot and your orgasm rips through you, your pussy squeezing him tightly.

"Yes, baby, just like that," he groans. "Squeezing Daddy's cock so fucking good."

He barely lets up, and his pace is killing you now as his length drags along your sensitive walls, still pulsating from your orgasm. The feeling of his larger frame draped over yours, the hand in your hair, the arm around your waist, is other-worldly.

"Daddy's gonna fill this pussy up, ok? You wanna feel me cumming in your tight little cunt?"

All you can do is nod frantically, the sounds of his moans and the feeling of his hot breath on your neck knocking you into a tailspin.

"Yes, give it to me Daddy, please give it to me."

"Fuck," he pants as his thrusts start to become erratic, his cock buried deep inside of you. "Gonna give you Daddy's cum, gonna fill you up babygirl, gonna have you dripping with me-"

He comes with a deep groan and you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up from the inside. You're both panting messes now, the sound of your exhausted breaths making you giggle. Lewis kisses the side of your face, settling gently against your weak figure.

"Holy shit," he murmurs into your neck. "I have to send you shopping more often."

#my writing #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton smut

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gffa · 7 months

Text

Sometimes I get defensive about those house decor posts I see going around where people say that the neutral colors/black & white sleek look is "soulless" and they want to bite, kill, rend, and destroy for getting rid of the color in their homes. Setting aside that people should be allowed to do whatever they want in their own homes, let me tell you what "color" means to me: Everything in my life was a different color. Every room had every color crammed into it. Which sounds like, oh, that must have been a pretty rainbow effect! It wasn't, none of these colors were meant to go together, it's a hot pink plastic shoebox set on top of a dark brown folding table holding three wildly different shades of brown hand towels, some cornflower blue notebooks, and orange pens. It's burnt orange shag carpeting in the living room and hallway, with slate blue chairs, and a white tv tray loaded up with bright yellow pill and cornflower blue bottles and pale wood bookshelf next to dark brown folding table next to pine-colored dresser next to medium dark wood nightstand, all of those that fake material with the sticker made to look like wood, not actual wood. It's lime green countertops and dark beige flooring with one faded yellow wall, one off-white wall, and one faded mint green wall. It's a pine wood mimicking kitchen table with gold trim that's a sticker not actual wood, combined with one black rolling chair, one maroon and oak chair (not actual wood), and one gray upholstered chair. It's a robin's egg blue frayed blanket tossed over the red-and-black walker in the corner, which is also loaded up with the dark green and dark blue exercise bands. It's white and beige pieces of paper plopped everywhere. And all of these colors are faded so they're not really even pretty on their own, it's just a mishmash everywhere. All of this together in one house and that's just a fraction of it, it's a constant clashing of colors and, if there was a foot of space against the wall available, it had another dresser, nightstand, or bookshelf shoved into it. I look at some of these colorful homes that people love and I think they're beautiful and I get so much joy out of people in their homes loving their surroundings! But I will never be able to live in that kind of color for myself again without being heartsore about it. I've gone for a neutral palette now that I'm making the design decisions, I'm choosing white walls (admittedly with a little bit of a blue undertone that you only notice when it's picking up other things' colors), black trim, and gray/white/black/brown reclaimed wood flooring. I picked out a gray/white/black comforter to throw over the bed with a black headboard and black + gray pillows. I'm getting some subtle green accents to put in the room, the guest room has been going with a pale yellow theme (to accent the black/white/gray/grown colors), I'm not eschewing color all together, but those bright, overwhelming colors are not what makes my soul sing. Neutral colors are not a soulless choice on my part, it's the first time in my life that I feel like it's finally clean, that I can breathe properly. You could scrub down a room with seafoam and forest green colors and have it so clean you could lick the walls and I would still have to go outside and take a moment to gather myself together if I had to live in it, because for me "color" means messy and I've had an entire lifetime of mess. I love when people put bright orange or bright green on their walls, that rocks and I will come over and genuinely tell you how beautiful it is, because I understand that it makes your soul sing. But understand that, in turn, having sleek, subtle colors makes my soul sing in a way that's just as genuine.

#lumi.txt #hoarding

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99liners · 1 year

Note

I missed you a lot here 💜 good to see you back!

I've been struggling with insomnia for a while now and I keep searching for soft ASMR or drabbles to fall asleep.

I have a soft taetaeme req (☠️) yeah I'll choose the most unusual genre of man to make you write fluffy drabble for me.

Kaiho!Jungkook (oops 🥹)

I want this inhuman to be like a human even if it's for a short span of time.

maybe could you write a fluffy drabble of him being all soft for her, back hugging her in the shower while she brushes her teeth half asleep with closed eyes but she woke up just to cook for him (even tho it's a sunday)

and he kisses her and maybe rewards her with sum intense oral uwu. You obviously do add and enhance according to your ideas.

Much love

Evie 🧚🏻‍♀️

opus kaiho, drabble number 3 / tatemae series 建前:

pairing: detective!jeon jeongguk x trophy!wife reader genre: fluff, smut, marriage!au, age-gap!au (7 years). words: 3.375. (cmon guys, it's been long established that i am incapable of understanding the meaning of the word 'drabble'.) warnings: i suck at fluff so brace yourselves for the second-hand embarrassment lmao, showering together, smexy times, eating out, fingering, pussy licking, orgasm (f), kaiho!jjk accidentally walks through a portal and becomes soft for a night ahaha, js. original one-shot: kaiho part of: tatemae; 建前 — a bts series a/n: i am sorry love that you are having sleeping issues. i have had insomnia since middle school now and at this point i have just given up on having a sleeping routine. i really hope you can return back to your rhythm very soon! i had to physically restrain myself from writing angst ahahah xD also, if it feels like jk is not that great at pleasuring his wife, it's intentional because although i wanted to make it super fluffy for you but kaiho!jk gotta stay true to his character to some degree uwu. hope you enjoy! <3

jeongguk unlocked the front door with the personal key attached to his car keys and his desk-locker key from work. his head coming in contact with the material of the door briefly while his hands manoeuvred the lock to finally open the door as he let out a soft sigh.

he hates summers, it is brutal. while the world is enjoying summer breaks, he is working double shifts due to the sheer number of officers submitting requests for vacations.

bam greeted his owner at the doorway, sniffing jeongguk's pant legs while his tail wagged. he can always smell the faint traces of the police labrador retriever dog from his owner's work clothes.

"there's my good boy," a smile appeared on jeongguk's otherwise tired face as he scratched bam's head affectionately.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

the detective made his way inside the house, with bam on his tail, taking off his jacket and discarding it on the kitchen countertop. he was expecting to see you in the kitchen, given you usually are arranging dinner at this time. finding the space empty, he meant to walk away to the bedroom but noticed two boxes of chocolate wrapped in a ribbon. they looked like they were about to melt so jeongguk stored them in the refrigerator before finally making his way to the bedroom.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

taking off his department badge, he kept it away on the nightstand but owing to his carelessness, the badge fell to the floor in the narrow space between the bed and the nightstand. he would have picked it up but his mind was preoccupied with the sound of the shower running. barely unbuttoning his shirt, jeongguk pushed open the bathroom door with a soft nudge of his feet.

there you were, taking a cold shower to fight the summer. you were facing the shower, just letting it wash away the heat while some pop song blasted through your mobile that you had propped somehow to prevent it from touching the water.

jeongguk walked in through the crack in the shower curtains with his work trousers still on, "hey baby," his hands slowly wrapped around your waist, closing in a wrap with one hand on top of the other right above your belly button.

you wringed the water from your hair, which trailed down jeongguk's chest, before turning to him, "hi," a lump in your throat from the inactivity. it has been way too hot these days and you refuse to go out anywhere, only ever stepping out if it is an utmost necessity.

(the game of 'do i absolutely need this?' 'is it absolutely necessary for survival?' playing way too often on your mind)

earlier in the afternoon you noticed that bam's dog food had finished so you made a trip to the local supermarket with bam. you love shopping with him, because although he is a ray of sunshine but a doberman still scares the shit out of people so the annoying salesmen stationed at almost every other aisle these days with their free samples never approach you; an all-in-all peaceful shopping trip.

while you were checking out the items, at the cashier counter there were boxes of chocolates stacked with the tag 'buy 1 get 1!'. you cannot recall seeing your husband eating sugary food as much, he mostly eats meals at home and you do not really keep track of what he eats while he is at work. you would not necessarily call him a dessert person. so the debate went on for a while before you finally got one box and checked it out too. you are not sure why you bought them but you just wanted to get your husband some chocolates? what is so wrong with it? why can't you just get your husband some chocolates? :/

"you are taking an early shower today," your husband mentioned from behind you, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder, letting the shower water run over him.

"gguk, it's 1am," you mumbled, your hands coming down to rest atop his. unspoken, your bodies started swaying slightly to the tune of the song blasting through your phone as a slow song came on the shuffle.

for a brief moment he stopped moving but then continued the motion, "right. i am sorry, it's been so tiring these days. i've lost track of time. did you have dinner?"

"no." you replied with bated breath, a part of you was waiting for him to initiate something. i mean given his past nature, isn't it a given that this is going to lead to sex?

but your husband lives to surprise you. his hands never unclasped from your waist, but instead stayed firmly in place.

"you don't need to wait for me if i'm late," his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your body wash.

"it's not fun eating alone," you finally released the tension, letting your figure slump back on his.

"mhm," humming, jeongguk closed his eyes.

"hey hey hey," your sprinkled some water on his face watching him scrunch his nose up which made you chuckle, "i know you are going to fall asleep. let's go eat."

"noooo," there was a whiny tone in his voice, as he only tightened his grip when you tried to break free.

"you need to eat, don't you have duty in the morning?"

"i am going to set fire to that precinct, every time i finish some paperwork, another pile of files just get dumped on my desk."

"wow, any other pyromaniac tendencies that i should know of?"

"please let's just stay like this, just for a while," jeongguk turned you around to face him this time, to stare into your eyes as intently as he had on your wedding day while reciting his vows.

"you'll catch a cold, sick gguk is a whiny little complaining brat," you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck, your bare chest coming in contact with his.

"i don't care," he kept swaying with you, his hold around you comforting as his arms enveloped you whole like a warm shawl.

"we shouldn't waste water," you suggested once more.

"i don't care," he reiterated again. there was not a single ounce of annoyance in his voice, he seemed at peace with his face nuzzling into your neck again.

a few moments passed before you reached your hand behind your back to turn the knob off, "i got you chocolates."

"huh? why?" again, he was not annoyed, just genuinely surprised.

"what do you mean why? i can't get my husband some chocolates?!" you pulled away from the embrace, your hands propped on his chest, the vein in your forehead pulsing; ready to throw hands.

"whoa whoa whoa, baby, calm down."

"no tell me why! why can't i just get you chocolates? what's so wrong in that?" you glared daggers at him.

"you..." jeongguk let a soft chuckle, "you are so tiny and cute."

"i got you chocolates and you are going to eat them."

"won't say i'm much fond of them but i guess it won't hurt to try."

"yes, you're going to eat them and smile and say 'thank you my dear wife, you're the best. what would i possibly do without you'"

"is that so?"

"yes and then-"

he cut you off this time, "and then i will return the favour and maybe eat you out for the dessert after dessert."

you hit his chest laughing before finally breaking free of the embrace this time, "wash up, i will get dinner ready."

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

"where are the chocolates?" you asked as you walked into the bedroom after warming up the dinner.

jeongguk was sprawled across the bed, his eyelids drooping down with sleep, the water from his semi-wet hair being soaked by the pillow cover, "i put them in the fridge," he yawned mid-sentence.

"well, the food's ready. let's go."

"you take out the chocolates and i will be there."

humming, you walked out to the kitchen and opened the fridge door but did not find the box anywhere. rummaging around the vegetables tray and behind the other tupperware boxes, you opened the freezer door just to be sure and lo and behold, he had put it in the freezer over the ice tray and now the packet was frozen and sticking to the ice tray.

"jeon jeongguk!" you speed-walked to the bedroom only to find him fast asleep, soft snores filling the silence in the room.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

next morning:

pressing on the volume up button, you quieted down the alarm blaring like a war horn on a beautiful sunday morning at 05:00. your husband gets early day offs on sundays but he has to clock into work early too.

putting on a headband to keep your hair away from the face, you walked to the washroom by muscle memory as your eyes were half-lidded from sleep. you reckoned if you had fallen asleep again, you might not be able to wake up on time so you pushed yourself off the bed. you squeezed the toothpaste tube on the bristles of your toothbrush, unsure if it indeed was the toothpaste or your facewash, you started brushing. your rhythm faltered every now and then as you kept falling asleep doing the mundane routine.

most mornings you wake up about half an hour before jeongguk has to leave for work. he is not a picky eater and eats whatever you put on a plate in front of him. actually, most mornings he is done making sandwiches by the time you wake up to make him something. you both then enjoy the sandwich he made as you see him off to work.

since he went to sleep last night on an empty stomach (and so did you, missy), you wanted to make him a heavy breakfast, something more than just two pieces of bread.

halfway through, you heard your alarm again and your eyes shot open. you must have snoozed your alarm instead of dismissing it and five minutes later it blared again. your brain must have lagged from the sleep because by the time you finally decided that 'oh hey i should turn off the alarm before jeongguk wakes up,' jeongguk already had woken up and appeared behind you.

"morning," he mumbled before walking inside to use the toilet.

you finally finished washing up and pat dry your face with the towel by the time your husband walked out, his eyes all scrunched up, his hand scratching an itch on his belly.

"why are you up so early?"

"to make breakfast for you," you said walking into the bedroom.

"i don't leave for like more than two hours, let's go back to sleep."

"i know," you hummed, fixing your hair.

before he could protest further and albeit successfully convince you to come back to bed, you walked to the kitchen and got the breakfast started.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

you served two bowls of naengmyeon and galbitang before returning to the cooking station to finish the last dish which you mean to pack for his lunch at work.

by the time you turned the stove off after giving it a last stir, the bibimbap was perfectly cooked. still standing there meaning to clean up, you felt jeongguk sneaking up behind you, hugging you close. this movement and position are slowly feeling so familiar to you; you can get used to this.

"who is going to eat all this?" he asked softly, placing soft kisses along the side of your neckline.

"you are," you asserted, wiping away the spills from the stovetop.

"but then what about my dessert?"

"the chocolates?"

"no, you."

your head had a whiplash with the way you turned to him.

"what? you thought i was rambling last night? i remember everything i say, baby."

"you have to go to work," shrugging, you casually mentioned the time restraint.

"it's worth to be late 'cause of that."

"get ready," elbowing him in the belly, you tried to pus him away but jeongguk was unrelenting today.

his lips were already on your soft spot, his tongue darting out to allow soft kittenish licks — you held your place but what definitely pushed you over the edge was his hand, wrapped around your lower stomach, slowly creeping down, his palm taking shape to sculpt your mound. the moment his hand came in touch with the sensitive bundle of nerves down there, your spine bent over — almost in routinely motion to such ministrations — giving way for your ass to attach snuggly and poke into his crotch area.

"your body is so soft and sensitive to my touch," your husband mentioned from behind you. he took a step back and helped guide you to the kitchen countertop on the other side of the cooking station, urging you — with soft touches and gestures of his hands to get on top of the counter. you did as he bid, getting on your knees on the counter, your ankles slightly falling off the edge but were firmly supported by jeongguk's hands which crept up the satin slip dress. it already barely covered your asscheeks, all he had to do was push it up by a few inches and he had a clear view of your panties.

"so delicious," he hummed, more to himself, as he lowered himself to come face to face with your heat. his hands which crept up to your hips moved towards the hem of your panties — hooking his fingers on either side, he slid the material down to your bent knees. a single string of arousal connected to the crotch of your panties stretched, extended to its limit and broke into thin air following that movement. jeongguk licked his lips, the corners of his mouth watering at the sight in front of him — he is hungry, both literally and figuratively.

he let his fingers massage your clitoral hood, the thin flap of skin moving in a rhythmic motion, sending incomplete jolts throughout your body. feeling the bit of arousal now on the pad of his fingers, jeongguk used his index fingers to hold the flaps open to expose the tiny nub of flesh full of nerve endings to the open air. it felt both cold and hot at the same time, making your toes twitch.

it felt like eternity but in reality it had been only mere seconds before jeongguk's tongue protruded out and flicked against your little nub, slowly at first before picking up a steady tempo — stimulating that tight bundle of nerves as they let out tension, becoming putty at your husband's expense. all this time, you held your lips tautly together, only letting escape soft hums of affirmation; 'nnngh' 'mmhm'. one of your palms was connected flat out to the marble top while the other was curled at the edge, holding on to the cold surface to maintain your balance.

jeongguk touched your vulva with the base of his tongue and slowly moved his head upwards from the bottom of your vagina to the top till the tip of his tongue passed over your clitoris. he repeated the motion a few times, breaking contact every time he reached the top and then starting over from the bottom till he started feeling the arousal now leak out on his tongue. to cover as much of your vagina, he kept his tongue relaxed, wide and flat, letting his head and neck muscles do the work while his tongue stayed unmoving. (the secret to that killer jawline.) he was able to maintain the pace for a few moments before speeding up his ministrations.

a soft 'ah' left your lips, finally verbalizing your moaning but much like female masturbation, speed only takes you over to the edge but does not bring about that much needed final release. looking forward, you glanced at the clock in the dining hall which read 06:59 and your husband has to leave by 07:30 for duty. letting your upper body lower down to the cold marble — your nipples becoming hard and sticking out in a painful stance — you let your dominant hand reach down to that little bundle of nerves and started massaging it, accompanying jeongguk's movements.

"yes, just like that," you almost regretted moaning that out because your husband quickened up his pace. you made a mental note to tell him later that just like that does not mean speed up, it always means keep that steady motion.

bursting away those thought bubbles, you let yourself drown in the overstimulation, feeling yourself reaching that edge.

"let it go baby, let me taste it all," he lapped his tongue at the arousal, making sinful noises echo throughout the walls. this time when he started over, you did not feel his tongue on your vagina next but his lips as he sucked up your clit — sucking and releasing.

"fuck," your toes curled up, eyes closed shut as your fingers picked up speed as well.

"mine mine mine, yes," he let a slap on your right asscheek.

just a bit more of his growing unsteady ministrations along with your fingers working that coiled nub and you came undone on his tongue, finally letting your upper body completely flat on the countertop, your lungs taking in the air.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

jeongguk took a quick shower and got dressed, trying to hurry up as he was going to be late.

"well what about the breakfast? i made all that for you!"

"pack it all, i will eat in the precinct."

"no you wont, i know your team will eat the most of it."

"i promise i will eat it."

"well you better, i am your wife and i made that food for you." you pointed your index finger and tapped at his chest.

"well of course you are my wife and yes that food is for me. now hurry up, baby," he gently spanked your left asscheek this time, making it even from earlier, after finishing buttoning up his shirt. you rolled your eyes walking out to the kitchen to pack the food.

jam-packing all of the food into bento boxes, you finished with keeping the box of chocolates on top of the insulated carry-on lunch bag.

jeongguk, now completely clad in his uniform, came out and took the bag from you in a hurry. well, it was 07:47 already so he was late, "bye," pecking your lips, he walked out.

after the door closed behind him, you took out last night's dinner and put it in the oven to warm it up since you still haven't eaten anything and just packed away all of the breakfast.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

it hadn't even been ten minutes when you heard your phone ringing.

"hey, what's up?"

"i left my badge at home."

"where is it?"

"i think i put it on the nightstand."

you were already in the bedroom looking for the badge by the time he mentioned it, "nope, it's not here."

"then i don't know woman, i need it."

"men," you rolled your eyes before cutting the call.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

after finishing your breakfast and retrieving the badge with the help of bam, you walked into your husband's precinct with the badge in your hand when you noticed the team gathered around jeongguk's table.

making your way over, the smell of food wafted your nostrils and you watched as the team relished the breakfast while your husband had maybe bit of it.

minjun turned after swallowing the last spoonful of the bibimbap, "oh mrs jeon, thank you so much for the breakfast. it's great!"

you gave him a close-lipped smile, blinking a few too many times before turning to your husband who took a visible gulp.

after the crowd in front of your dispersed you slammed the badge down on his table and meant to walk away, but jeongguk got a hold of your wrist.

"look i saved the chocolates for myself."

"ahha? you mean the one that i see in yoona's hand?"

jeongguk stared down at his desk in panic, his eyes searching for the box of chocolates that he had kept aside to eat later, "those sneaky bastards."

"i am never cooking for you again, jeon jeongguk."

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

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