#anyways THOSE PICTURES seeing them was like punched in the face. what the fuck is their problem
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""therapy"" ""sessions""
#how to tell my teachers i failed all my mocks because i was busy drawing mildly kinky slovenian guitarist x english photographer fanart#joker out#kris guštin#damon baker#bakery#damkris#im not kidding im actually so behind 😬#anyways THOSE PICTURES seeing them was like punched in the face. what the fuck is their problem#my art
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Dad's Cam Show (Re-uploaded)
Note: This is a story I wrote in 2020 that was previously deleted by Tumblr. Couldn't find it until I stumbled upon am old hard drive. Hope you enjoy.
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This social distancing shit is so boring. I get it. It’s needed. But god damn am I running out of things to do. Can’t even meet the guys I’ve been talking to on Grindr. Worse yet is that I’m stuck back at home. I was supposed to graduate college this year! Instead I was slumped over a computer screen in my PJs with my dad making his special pancakes. Ugh. Fuck this shit. I just wish I could go back to a better time.
Whatever. I’m done complaining. Dad’s getting groceries which means I can snoop around his shit. Yeah I’m that bored.
Dad’s a big burly guy. Heading into his mid-forties now and starting to gray up a little, but still keeping his body builder life style. He’s pretty open with me. He told me he used to do cam shows back before livestreams were even a thing. Made sense. Had to show off the bod somehow. Don’t know how mom thought about it but whatever. She’s out of the picture.
His room always had a musky woodsy cologne-y smell. His laundry hamper was even better. I always loved taking his briefs out of there and putting them on myself. I’ve been following his footsteps and bodybuilding myself, but I’m still a ways away before I have an ass and waist as large as his. So his 36in undies droop a bit. I grabbed his black cap too. Man. He loves this thing. Well, plus the 10 others caps he has. He always had it topping his head. Pretty sure he wears it to sleep too. I put it on and flexed like him. I got a bit of a boner but nothing crazy.
His dinosaur of a laptop was open, and logged in. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did it anyways. There were so many folders within folders. So much boring shit… and then I found “cam pics.”
The briefs I was wearing tented and wetted. Fuck I was so scared to open it. But I clicked it and… In there was only one image. I clicked on it to make it bigger and it was my dad. About 13 years ago. He was shirtless, and wearing the same cap that I have on my head right now. My eyes drifted from his hairy arms to his chest to eventually his bearded face. He looked so… tired? There was something about the softness in his expression that really got to me. And then…
“Hey son! I’m home! Could ya help me with the groceries?”
Shit. I got up and scrambled. The briefs were soaked and still being soaked. I had so many windows to close out of. Then I started hearing his footsteps come closer. I panicked and grabbed the top of the laptop to close it, but I couldn’t move. Suddenly, all the windows on the screen started to close. All except for the image of dad I had opened it. It enlarged by itself, and then the laptop started to fucking shake. I tried to get it to stop but it just kept rumbling. Fuck it. I wound up my fist and punched the screen. But there was no impact.
In less than a second my body followed my wrist into the screen. Everything went bright, and I was in a different room. I looked around. It looked like my parents’ room at our old house. The same laptop was in front of me showing the same image as before. Dad’s younger face looking back… And then I saw his eyes move. I froze. I looked at the time. 12:56 turned to 12:57. This wasn’t an image. It was a fucking livestream.
I slowly tilted my head. Dad did the same. I widened my eyes. So did dad. A smile crept over our faces. I just time travelled! And into dad’s body! Fuck there was so much I could do now!
“PING”
A old-school AIM notification popped up on screen. I maneuvered dad’s hand to the mouse and clicked on it. “Hey daddy. You gonna give us a show or what?”
“PING”
“Let’s see those hairy pits man!”
Fuck. I guess dad wasn’t kidding about these cam shows. Shit how do I reply? Do I just say something?
“Uh…” I gulped. Dad’s gruff voice was in my throat. “You guys mean… uh… this?” I lifted and flexed dad’s right arm. Immediately his armpit hair bursted out. Moist and smelly. My nose naturally turned towards the sweaty pit. Holy fuck was it musky. I took a deep whiff and groaned.
“PING. PING. PING. PING.”
“Fuck yeah daddy. Sniff that pit.”
“God damn you’re a big guy. How’s it feel huh?”
It felt amazing being so big. Watching everything I was doing be reflected by my dad on the recording was even better. The cockiness came in.
I wheeled the office chair back and did a double bicep pose. Sweat dripped off his hairy pits. I gave my face a rub and felt his beard scratch against his callused fingers. Then my hands felt the need to go down to his chest. I never felt so much pleasure from nipple rubbing in my life. The pings kept on coming. It was euphoric.
Dad’s cock was tenting the briefs I had put on earlier. I uncaged his 7 incher and let out a whiff of junk musk that filtered into my nose immediately. I started stroking and couldn’t stop. My other hand reached under dad’s taint, through the forest of pubes, and rammed a dildo into my dad’s ass crack.
“PING. PING. PING.”
“Holy fuck this is new! We gonna see a fingering show today!?”
“God damn man you enjoying yourself?”
I was. Everytime Dad’s moans left my throat I felt cock twitch a little bit harder. It just felt so amazing to feel his beefy arms rub against his beefy chest. His toes curling with every electric shock of pleasure moving through his beefy ass and legs.
I shot his load. Let out a gutteral yell. And it didn’t stop coming. My beard was soaked with three shots of cum. Chest was drenched with eight more. At this point, sweat was trickling down my temples. I relished in dad’s orgasm and then relaxed in the chair.
I watched as the notifications went crazy. Dad’s soft eyes housing my consciousness. Ugh. It felt incredible. I glanced over at his hat and felt the need to take it off. I did, and felt a wave of cool relief come off my head. Dad’s hair was cropped short, like a messy crew cut. And it was dripping with sweat. I felt the need to say something.“You like that, men?” Dad had so much suave in voice. The pings accelerated.I smiled and played with my cock. I could feel another round coming but felt a bigger presence unfold. Suddenly dad’s body started to shake. I tried controlling it, but I couldn’t weigh him down. My arms were flailing before my hands grabbed onto the edges of the desk. I whipped my head back, then head-butted the laptop screen. Light filtered through.
I was back at home, in my dad’s loose fitting briefs, his cap nestled on my head. Dad’s footsteps came by, then turned another direction. Guess he wasn’t coming by his room just yet. I looked down at his briefs, now soaked with my cum. Fuck. Was it just a dream?
It must’ve been. Just a fucking horny fever dream. What the fuck ever. Better than what I had been doing up until now. I leaned over to close the laptop but noticed something.
The image had turned into a recording.
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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, angst, possessive!Simon, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, praise, hand job, dirty talk, aftercare
Word Count: 6k
A/N: Part Eleven of Ink & Needle
An argument becomes a moment of understanding. Certain carnal urges are fulfilled.
Chapter Ten // Chapter Twelve
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist
“Tell me why your hands are shaking.”
Are they? Is that what you’re feeling? You didn’t notice.
Bringing them up to waist level, you observe their gentle tremble. Elbows pressing lightly into your sides, arms angled inward, you curl your fingers toward your palms in an attempt to cease the shaking. They continue to quiver as if the signals from your brain to your hands fall off the trail, losing themselves amongst the millions of constantly firing neurons.
What stops the trembling are Simon’s hands.
Your palms face the ceiling and the tops of your hands are aimed toward the wood floor. Simon slides underneath, fingers delicately encasing the stuttering shake. Tattooed and large. Rough, but dry and warm. Like a light switch being flipped, you are suddenly calm. Peaceful.
Simon said he wants to talk. He wants to know. He is asking you for understanding, to allow him in even if what’s inside isn’t all that pretty. There is no obligation you’re holding him to. No standard. Simon draws up his own, presents them, lays them out flat in fan before you like a deck of cards.
It’s your move. Your opportunity to select one.
But the quiet is shattered as Adam’s voice returns, bashing against your brain like waves crashing against rock.
Whore.
Fucking whore.
The trembling begins again and Simon’s hold on your hands tightens, his large frame shifting forward into your space, creating a protective cocoon that you desperately wish to lean against but don’t.
“I’m sorry,” you stammer. The inhale you take is fractured, splitting like an atom, the energy inside you roaring into an explosion that rings loudly in your ears.
Everything is fucked. Everything is torn apart. Ripped to bloody ribbons.
Wrong and twisted and broken and just wrong.
Evie’s in-laws do not forgive easily, and Adam is the worst of the bunch. On the surface, he is ever the gentleman, but underneath is the serpent hiding in the leaves.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I didn’t want him to. Simon—I promise. I—”
One of his large hands releases you only to grasp the side of your face. He forces you to look at him. Forces you to gaze into those dark eyes that you could drown in.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“But—”
“Don’t apologize for someone else’s poor behavior,” interjects Simon. Your wraith’s thumb brushes away the tears staining your cheeks. “He had no right.” Simon’s voice is nearly a growl, as if the memory of Adam placing his hand on your thigh personally hurts him.
Simon doesn’t understand. He has no context to why you were even there to begin with. Seeing you and Adam together wounded him. While sitting in your chair, watching your wraith as he confronted Evie’s brother-in-law with such fury, you knew you made a mistake.
But how do begin to explain everything? How do you start to detail Evie and Archie’s lives together? How do you slot the pieces into a picture that Simon will understand? How do you tell Simon that Archie’s entire family is fucking awful?
How? How?
All Simon witnessed was you and Adam sitting together in a dark pub. All Simon saw was Adam placing his hand upon your thigh. All he heard was that one little sentence at the end. That’s it. Simon knows nothing else.
“Yet he did it anyway,” you exclaim. “And you’re angry.”
“With him,” growls Simon. “Not with you.”
Yet that fails to explain Simon’s behavior after his friends escorted Adam out of the building. As far as you know, they could have taken Adam down a side street and broken his nose. Perhaps punched out a few teeth. You hope that isn’t the case. You hope they only took him to his car.
And you’re still seething about the way Simon treated you after. The shaking in your hands isn’t simply a reaction to Adam’s inappropriate behavior. It is also a response to Simon’s rough protectiveness.
“You’re not angry with me yet you drag me around by my arm. Herd me like a fucking farm animal.” You attempt to remove your hands from his grip, but Simon is having none of it. His fingers only squeeze a bit tighter. “Is that why you were so rough with me? Because you weren’t angry?”
Your voice is rising. The need to defend yourself is insistent. Pulsing. A driving force.
Yes, Adam had no right to touch you. But Simon also had no right to handle you like he did. That too is wrong.
Simon’s shoulders heave, every muscle in his body tensing. He abruptly drops your hands. Withdrawing. Pulling away. Stepping back.
“That was,” he begins, but pauses, gaze dropping in subtle shame. At his sides, his hands form fists. “Wrong of me.” Simon glances up, and the fire returns, your wraith a burning inferno that might combust. “I saw him touch you. Heard what he said. I snapped. And I shouldn’t have.”
The apology is genuine, and while half of you eagerly accepts it, the other isn’t nearly as pleased. Maybe it’s because you’re protective of Evie, and Simon’s interference with your conversation with Adam might have ruined so much for her.
“Yet you did it anyway.”
It’s one last bite. A final sting. You try to keep it in, but you’re so goddamn frustrated.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Even defeated, Simon is large, a looming figure you’re force to look up at.
While you’re frustrated, you know this isn’t really Simon’s fault. Sure, his behavior after the fact was fucking garbage, but he stood up for you. He defended you, was ready to toss Adam right out of the pub if you had told him to do it.
The grievance isn’t with Simon. It’s with Adam.
“It’s fine,” you sigh. It’s—”
You rub your lips together, running your hands over your face. Breathing is best. Breathing is good. The swirling pit inside your stomach is quickly rising to squeeze your chest. You need to calm down.
“It’s complicated,” you finish, not knowing what else to say.
Simon’s fists unclench. He hangs there, gaze pinned to your face, shifting slightly like he’s studying your features. “I told you to talk. I’ll listen.”
You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”
Simon takes a step forward, breaching your personal space. One black boot lands between your feet, forcing you to open slightly. You attempt to back up, but Simon is insistent, moving with you.
“Simon—”
His hand goes to the back of your neck, halting your escape. Your own hands go up to push against his chest, using his solidness as a point of support to create space. As if knowing your intention, his other hand quickly snags one wrist and then the other, trapping them in the very spot you intended to place them.
Simon’s voice drops, almost to a whisper. Yet there is heat and a blooded blade beneath it that lends itself to innate instinct. “Does he mean something to you?”
“What?” you gasp, disbelieving.
Is Simon serious? Does he truly believe that?
“Are the two of you—”
“Stop,” you say, flattening both hands against Simon’s chest. “Just stop.” Simon begins to speak again but you’re putting an end to this like tearing out a thorn from your thumb.
“Adam isn’t anything to me,” you snap. “He’s Evie’s brother-in-law.”
Simon goes quiet. The silence stretches and you aren’t sure if you should fill it with more talking or just keep your mouth shut and wait for Simon to say something.
His brow hardens, the middle of it scrunching together. “He’s not—”
“Fuck, Simon. No,” you mutter, leaning forward to rest your forehead above the spot where your hands are joined.
Simon’s hand slides away from your neck and drops to your lower back, his fingers splaying wide, pressing against the slight curve. He releases your wrists too, only to run his fingers down your arm and to your waist. You do not drop your hands nor do you draw back from him.
Simon is warm. He smells of black tea and mint with the faintest hint of smoke. You breathe deep, burrowing closer. It sends you right back into memory. This is how he smelled when you first met him at Riot Room. You liked it then, and you love it now.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs.
It’s not a question. Simon isn’t asking. And it feels right, like a good pair of jeans or perfectly brewed coffee.
You’re mine.
Sounds nice, even if you are still a bit mad at him.
“I met him at the pub instead of Evie going,” you mutter against his chest. “He wanted to talk. I knew it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.”
Simon’s hand at your waist lightly squeezes, urging you to continue talking.
“I lied. Told him that Evie’s supposed to be on bedrest for the reminder of her pregnancy. He believed it.”
“What did he want?” You hear the restraint in Simon’s voice. He’s still upset, still angry.
“That’s the part that’s complicated.”
“Tell me what you can.”
What can you tell him? How do you formulate this in a way for Simon to understand but keeps Evie’s privacy intact?
You’re silent for far too long. Simon arms around you squeeze and then release, his large chest drawing back enough that you’re forced to look up at him.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, and you comply so easily.
It is nothing but your hand in his as he leads you to the couch. Simon removes your coat and gently sets it aside out of the way. Then, he’s guiding the two of you down onto the sofa. He reclines, leaning against the arm, pulling you into his lap. You drape yourself over him on your side, facing the blank television. Resting your head on Simon’s shoulder, you place your hand on his chest. His hand is quick to follow, encasing it, clinging to it. His other arm drapes over waist, creating a bit of support so you don’t sink into the cushions.
The two of you stay like this with Simon not saying anything and you simply thinking. Bravo is in the hallway near the bedroom, head resting on his paws, alert but still at rest. When Simon breathes in, your own chest rises slightly. You close your eyes, sink into the slow expansion and retreat of his lungs, imagining yourself weightless and floating. Fingers slightly digging into the front of his t-shirt, you snuggle into the crook of his neck, leaning into his embrace.
Simon remains neutral like a rock resting in a garden bed. He is simply there, propping you up, awaiting the moment you finally decide to crack open like an egg. In these brief moments, you drift off, the stress of the evening wearing you down like a nail file.
“Evie’s in-laws don’t like her,” you mumble, voice slightly strained with sleepiness. “They’ve never liked her. They’re old money and she isn’t.” You shrug but it’s more a shifting of your shoulders. “Now that her husband is gone, it’s worsened their relationship.”
Your eyelids open slowly. Leaning your head back, you seek out Simon’s eyes. He’s staring ahead, but when you shift, he immediately turns his head as if knowing what you need.
“Her due date is coming up quick. Less than two weeks.” You sigh and rest your chin right below his collarbone. “She’s always crying. Worrying even when she’s happy. I didn’t want them talking.”
This is what you give him. It isn’t nearly enough, but you can’t detail the threats or their constant push of trying to seize Archie’s assets. They want to leave Evie with nothing. They want her out of their life. It’s like they don’t care that she’s carrying Archie’s child. It’s a waste. But it’ll only make it easier for Evie to completely cut them off.
Simon delicately rotates your wrist, presents your palm to the ceiling like an offering. He brings it up to his mouth, tenderly pressing his lips against it through the balaclava. Gently, he guides it away, runs his thumb over the expanse of your palm.
His gaze tracks over every line and dip before flicking over to your face. “You’re smiling,” he observes, voice slightly husky.
“Am I?” and you hear the lightness in it, like fluffy white clouds on a summer day.
Simon brings your hand back to his chest. Releasing it, he guides those fingers to your chin, lightly pressing with intention, drawing your gaze to his. “Call me next time.”
“You don’t—”
“I want to.” Simon nods toward the now snoozing German Shepard. “I’ll even bring Bravo.”
“Bravo is too good a boy to make anyone scared.”
You know Simon is grinning because the balaclava stretches backward, pulling toward his ears. “He’s got bite.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Simon’s fingers still linger on the underside of your chin. They sit there, then slide along the jawbone, trailing up to the ear, and back down again. It’s a gentle caress, a soothing song that causes your eyelids to flutter.
“Simon.”
“Hm?”
Your fingers reach, toying with the edge of the balaclava. The arm he originally draped over your waist curves to your hip, squeezing, grabbing more ass than actual hip. Those fingers of his that so delicately touched you are hungry creatures, creating a necklace around your throat.
“What do you need?” he asks.
“You,” you breathe, the desperation burning like starving embers in your lungs. “I need you.”
Underneath the balaclava your fingers slip. They move in tandem with your body. Together they shift. Legs straddling hips. Chest pressed against chest. Lips finding lips the moment they’re able.
You and Simon are hunger personified, meeting and meeting, melting. Grasping the sides of Simon’s exposed cheeks, you use the leverage to push him against the couch, trapping him beneath you in a perfectly pleasurable illusion. Simon is much stronger than you. With only a quick shift of his muscles, Simon could easily pin you beneath him.
But you’re the one on top. You’re the one whose hips roll against him. His fingers dig and drag up and down your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and to the very top of your hips before he repeats it all.
There isn’t any sweetness to it. It’s not tart like lemon candies or sticky like toffee. This is overindulgence. Decedent. You and Simon are teeth and tongue and lips and endless endless gasps of air between it all.
It is the spaces between, the pause beneath where the two of you linger before coming together again. That’s the perfect part. The brief flash of separation. It is then that your wraith gazes on you with lust and something dipped in ancient longing.
Atoms calling to atoms.
Plants in orbit. A small object giving way to the larger mass.
Simon sucks on your bottom lip, lightly biting. “Mine,” he murmurs, drawing you back into a fierce kiss. “You’re mine.”
His.
Yes.
You like it. You want it.
You want him.
Your wraith.
Ghost.
Simon. Always Simon.
He grabs hold of your thighs, guides your legs further out and up to his waist. In seconds you’re on your back, Simon’s large frame pressing you into the cushions, his mouth on you in moments, tasting lips and tongue, traveling over and down, tracing the line of your jaw and the curve of your ear.
And Simon’s hands never stop. They never stop consuming.
Until they do. Until you’re whimpering for him to return his hands to your body. But Simon resists, keeping you trapped beneath him but not willing to bring your bodies together.
His head dips, lips brushing lightly over yours. “Pick a number between one and ten.”
“What?” you laugh, confused.
“Do it. One to ten. Pick.”
You nibble on the inside of your cheek, thinking. “Three?”
Simon only stares.
“Four?”
Again, he remains impassive.
Is Simon trying to herd you to a specific number?
“Five?” you reply hesitantly.
One eyebrow rises slightly. Finally, a reaction.
“Fine,” you laugh. “Seven.”
“Sure about that, love?”
You cock your head and playfully smack his chest. “Eight. Happy?”
“Final answer?”
“Yes, Simon. That’s my final answer.”
Simon nods, gaze quietly assessing. In the next moment, he’s dragging you up against him, bringing both of you to standing.
“What are you doing?”
Simon starts to back away, placing roughly an arm’s length of space between the two of you.
“Bedroom,” he purrs, the word a singular command.
Reaching down with one hand, Simon grasps the front of his belt. With expert quickness, he unbuckles it and then removes the belt from the loops with a fluid tug.
“No clothes,” he continues. “And on your back.”
“Simon—”
“Now.”
You’re being herded again, but this time you like it. This time it is from a place of desire, or a desperate yearning for another. This isn’t anger driving Simon, and it’s certainly not driving you.
Simon glances over his left shoulder at Bravo. The dog immediately gets up, trudging off somewhere. Stepping to the side, Simon makes space for you to slip through. He is right there, on your heel, entering the dark bedroom with you.
Once inside, Simon shuts the door behind him, cutting of the light from the living room and kitchen. The only source of illumination comes from the windows. The blinds are down, and only slightly cracked. It allows for lines of fractured moonlight.
Simon is mostly in shadow. Just an outline in the dark.
“What are the numbers for?” you ask, your eyes adjusting to the dimness.
“Get those clothes off, love. Then I’ll tell you.”
He moves closer, your wraith one with the darkness, silently slinking into your radius. Simon is near enough to touch you, to assist in the undressing, but he doesn’t. He only watches, his chest rising and falling, an imperceptible change in the shadows.
The outer layers are easy. It’s when you’re down to your underwear, bra, and top that you hesitate.
“Everything,” he repeats.
“What do the numbers mean?”
Again, Simon doesn’t answer. Instead, his hands rise, hovering just shy of your upper arms. They pause there before shifting down to slide underneath your top, to seek out the back of your bra. With ease, Simon unhooks it. Now he helps. Now he guides your top over your head, tossing it to the side. Straps loose against your shoulders, it takes Simon no effort to guide them down your arms.
You don’t resist. His touch is gentle but purposeful.
What do those numbers mean? What does he have planned. Is the number the amount of times he’s about to fuck you? The very thought of submitting to him like that makes your pussy clench.
You’re standing in just your underwear. Simon is fully clothed.
It doesn’t seem fair.
One large hand lightly brushes over your stomach, lingers right above the delicate, thin cotton. It’s nothing fancy. Nothing flashy. Simple and comfortable. And yet you’re not embarrassed by it because Simon clearly doesn’t seem to care either.
“These can stay,” he murmurs, fingertips lightly brushing against the cotton before withdrawing.
With his other hand, Simon reaches up and grasps the top of his balaclava. He tugs. Pulls. Removing it from his head.
But your wraith is in the shadows. You do not see his features. What you can see it just the soft sweep of his hair, and a brief flash of bone structure.
“The numbers,” he says. “They’re the orgasms I’m giving you.”
“You—what?”
“You’re going to count each one, love.” Simon stands so close your bodies are nearly touching. “Mess up. I start over.”
“Simon—”
“Are you mine?” Simon is gripping your throat against, pulling you taut against him, faces close, lips closer, but not touching.
Are you his?
Yes. Always yes.
“I’m yours.”
That hungry mouth of his lightly caress the corner of your mouth. “I want to mark my territory. I want to relearn your taste. Hear those gorgeous moans I’ve been missing.”
Greedy. Simon is greedy.
The possessively primal tone sends a delicious tingle through your limbs. It remembers him. It is your body crying out again, wanting to call him back home.
“On your back, love.”
You promptly fall, butt landing on the edge of the bed.
Your wraith still stands. Is still a looming shadow.
As he takes one step closer, you lean back onto your elbows. Simon’s fingers brush against the tops of knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide for him to move between.
His rough hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide further toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach, seeking other tender spots that ache for his touch.
Simon places his knee on the bed, forcing you to scoot back a bit. It also forces your legs to stay open as Simon’s hands fall to either side of you. He adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.
He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Simon worships it all, leaving nothing untouched. This room is a church. You are the alter. And Simon is one of the starving flock seeking salvation.
Hovering at your breasts, his tongue passes over a nipple. It promptly hardens, reaching toward him. Simon meets it, nipping lightly, teasing the bud until it’s aching. Moving to the other, he gives it the same attention. Your fingers dig into the bedding beneath you, and your head falls back as Simon’s lips press a kiss to the valley between.
One hand returns to your hips, slides over inner thigh, hooks a finger at the edge of your underwear, pulling it to the side. The air feels oddly cold against the warmth. A shiver passes through you and Simon’s sharp inhale is enough to draw forth a bit of danger.
“First one. Ready?”
The moment your mouth forms the agreement, Simon’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws it up to your clit, presses, swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst. You gasp, back arching slightly as Simon continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. It’s just his thumb teasing. But you’re wired, strung out from the conversation with Adam, the argument and subsequent discussion with Simon, and now this.
You are Orpheus seeing the Sun again, giving into the joy, turning back to rejoice with Eurydice. And this time there is no punishment. Eurydice doesn’t disappear. Simon, your wraith, is still here.
And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Simon knows, and grins against your throat.
“Count.”
“One,” you croak, knowing you’re not going to make it seven more times.
“Good,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your new slickness.
Simon adds a finger, begins fucking you with it while he shifts up to press his lips to yours. You open for him, and Simon slides his tongue inside the moment he inserts a second finger. Using the knee already resting on the bed between your legs, Simon guides your legs wider to completely settle between them.
Spread wide, all you can do is cling to him. You have little control, but it’s good. It’s nice. It’s fucking perfect.
Simon releases your mouth and roughly kisses down the length of your neck only to run his tongue over your left nipple. Your hips buck, and Simon meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.
“Two,” you gasp as Simon’s teeth lightly trap your nipple between them.
He tugs softly. Releases the nipple. Kisses it.
Fingers slipping from your body, the loss comes instantly. It is momentary. A length of a breath. Simon is already moving down your body leaving nothing untasted. The knee between your legs disappears as Simon moves onto his knees in front of the bed. His arms slide under your thighs and curve up to lock onto them. With a sharp tug, you’re dragged to the very edge of the bed.
Simon turns his head and nips his way down the inside of your thigh. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your legs to the tips of your toes. You float in coiled anticipation. Fingers drag up and down your thighs. Simon’s mouth hovers close, but not enough to make actual contact.
You don’t dare break any of it. You don’t dare make the first move.
You are the frozen mouse staring down the cat.
Simon sighs heavily, but as it tapers out, it becomes a growl. Drawing back, Simon’s fingers curl around the edges of your underwear, bringing it into his fist. It takes only two quick tugs for Simon to tug them down your legs. They disappear into the dark as Simon guides one leg over his shoulder while the other is pushed even wider.
You’re presented to him. A gift.
Communion offered by a holy hand.
Starved like a sinner seeking confession, Simon descends, parting your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. With the afterglow of two orgasms in your system, your body responds to Simon’s tongue like a gunshot. Like the crack of a whip, Simon swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed.
Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face. The other claws, gripping his shirt, snarling the fabric in your fist.
Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. The leg not over Simon’s shoulder snaps up, wanting to trap his head between your thighs. But Simon is strong and insistent, pushing it back down, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.
“What number is that?” asks Simon.
Your lips part to answer, but Simon returns his tongue to your clit, swirling just the tip against it. It steals your clarity.
Crying out, the hoarse noise becomes a whimper as he continues.
“Number,” he growls.
“Three!” you gasp.
His smile is brief and so is your moment of peace. Simon returns, tasting and tasting until you come off the bed, your own strength and Simon’s arms keeping you in place. Everything in wiggling, itching to escape and yet desiring more.
You won’t make it to eight.
Simon places a kiss against your pussy before he guides your leg off his shoulder. It is not for rest or to give you a break. Instead, Simon’s hands begin at your knees, sliding down to your inner thighs. He finds a solid grip, guides them wide, and returns to eating you out.
That tongue of his is a viper, and you are unable to avoid its bite.
Your thighs quiver, and your legs jerk, attempting to close yet again. Meeting resting, the muscles quiver, unable to do anything else. Like your legs, your arms are at your sides, palms pressing into the bedding, fingers digging into the bedding as if you’re trying to crush fruit.
“Fuck,” you groan. “Oh—fuck. Simon. Si—”
Small death. A burst of light. So cliché and yet so true.
“How many is that, love?” purrs Simon.
Though your eyes have adjusted to the dark, it is not enough to glimpse his features in any detail. Frustrated, you focus on what you can see in the dark: his eyes.
Moonlight cuts through the room like silver steel. Sometimes when Simon moves, you see the faintest hint of brown. Fleeting. But important.
Simon is staring you down, mouth poised just shy of the curve of your pelvis.
“F—four.”
“Sure about that?”
“Yes.”
Simon nods. “That’s my good girl.” His mouth returns. “My good fucking girl.”
No return. No reversal. You are forever Simon’s.
This is not a simple exchange. This is a claiming. A “marking of territory” as he put it.
Your wraith isn’t fucking you. He’s not asked anything for himself. This is about you, and his control over you. In this, you will submit. In this, you will allow him to take the lead. Because, with everything going on in your life, letting go for a bit is a cleansing.
“Five” eventually leaves your mouth but it is fractured and shaky. Simon has to prompt you three times before it falls from your lips.
When his mouth returns for another round, Simon brings his fingers with him. You remember saying “seven” but “six” is lost like a rock thrown into a lake. Simon doesn’t correct you, but keeps going, returning to his task with just as much enthusiasm as all the rest.
On this one, Simon gently eases your thighs toward your chest, keeping them close but not touching. Using some of his body weight, Simon keeps you locked into position. His tongue runs lazy trails up and down your pussy, dipping inside before trailing upward again. You cannot reach him and you opt to hold onto the backs of your legs, your fingers layering over his own that hold you in place.
Overstimulation has been your companion since number three. You don’t know where you are. You are beyond that. Lost. Gone. Adrift.
The eighth and final orgasm brings tears to your eyes. They are clawed from your sockets, ripped from you in wet lines that leave you trembling and sensitive. Simon does not ask for the count right away. He guides your legs away from your chest, bringing them to rest against the bed.
Around you, the bed sinks as Simon shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves and Simon’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of moonlight, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.
Without speaking, without signaling to the other, the two of you meet. You taste yourself on him, and you hardly care. Your hands might be shaking but you reach out for him, touching him like he did you. One large hand comes to rest next to your head. The other slides up the bed.
Your hands go lower, pushing open the front of his pants.
Simon has to be aching. You want to give him some relief. You want to please him. It’s not a feeling of obligation but a deep desire to show him how much you crave him too.
“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the kiss. As your fingers reach for him, Simon’s hips flex backward, retreating from your touch. “You can’t handle that, love. Not right now.”
“Simon,” you beg. “I want to.”
He shakes his head, lips returning to yours momentarily before leaving again. “When I fuck you, it won’t be like this. I can fucking promise you that.”
Simon’s forehead presses against your temple and you slightly turn into him, noses brushing. “Can I touch you. Just touch. That’s all.” With extreme care, your fingers find him, wrapping lightly in case he says no.
His breathing hitches, and you see that as sign to keep going. Your grip on him isn’t great, but Simon helps, easing his pants down enough that there isn’t any clothing creating an obstacle. Simon is hot and hard in your hand. It’s clear that he needs release, and though everything in you fucking aches, you want to give him this.
It’s not pretty, but you start to pump him in short strokes. Simon groans, leans into the movement, his hips thrusting shallowly to meet your hand. Softly smiling in victory, you shift your legs a little wider, sliding them up to hook over the backs of his knees. The sound Simon makes is feral and deep.
His thrusts lengthen, and you keep your hand in place, allowing him to use it as he needs. Somehow, this is so much more intimate than if he were inside you. Simon is draped over you, trapping you against the bed, and yet your legs are locked over his, keeping him in your own web. His forehead is still pressed against your temple.
You know he’s near because his grunts are slowly tapering off at the end into short moans. It’s your turn to talk to him, to guide him toward that finish line.
“Where do you want to finish?” you ask softly.
“My hand?” You lightly squeeze his cock as he thrusts and this snaps a guttural groan from out his throat.
“My tummy?” you offer.
“My thighs?”
You lick your lips. “Do you want to finish in my mouth?”
Simon’s hips stutter.
“Or inside me?” You emphasize your meaning by pressing your heels into the back of his calves, urging him closer to your pussy.
The move is so sudden, it startles you. Simon’s hand around your throat is a vice but he doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t cut off your air.
He still thrusts into your hand as he speaks. “I want your cunt dripping with me.” He shakes his head. “Not there. Not yet.” Simon keeps his hand around your throat but his hold eases.
Every thrust is stuttering and slightly off.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Your thighs.”
Though your muscles cry out in protest, you release him, dropping your legs back to the bed. Simon shifts into position, his hand falling away from your neck to draw your legs closer together. Watching is the most pleasurable part, seeing his release coat the tops and insides of your thighs. You imagine it inside you, filling you up, marking you as his.
That thought lingers, even as Simon retreats, going to the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar and the light inside only gives you a brief glimpse. There isn’t skin or a face reveal. You glimpse Simon’s hair, and seeing it almost feels wrong, like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t.
It’s…blond.
No.
Brown?
That’s not right. Maybe it’s both or just a trick of the light. It’s hard to tell.
But the light shuts off, and Simon returns with a warm, damp cloth to clean you up. He is so careful, so delicate and gentle with the way he takes care of you. There isn’t conversation and you’re deeply thankful for that. You probably couldn’t talk even if you wanted to. The exhaustion is setting in, and with Simon’s return to the bathroom, you start to drift.
When he returns, Simon reaches up with one arm, pulling off his shirt in one go. His pants go next, and it isn’t until he’s dragging you into his arms and tossing the top sheet and comforter over your bodies that you realize Simon’s nakedness.
The two of you are on equal ground here.
Yes, there is the dark. But Simon is just as bare as you, and there is no balaclava.
Leaning forward, Simon kisses the curve of your shoulder once…twice…three times. You curl into his touch and Simon drags you even closer.
You hear it, even though it’s so quiet that you don’t think Simon intended you to hear it.
“Mine.”
Mine.
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Hard Exterior, Soft Interior
Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • After the loss of Merle, he couldn’t lose you too. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / Scars / Anxiety / Depression
Requested by: Anon
You know those hard candies with the gooey interior? Can I think of an example?…uhh…bon bons? Tootsie pops have the soft interior…then there’s the gross lollipops with gum inside.
But anyway. The general idea of hard candies with soft insides.
That’s kind of like Daryl…and when I told him that. He of course thought it was a stupid concept.
I’ll always think that tho
~
Oh, you’re wasting my time
“Hey”
You’re just, just, just wasting time
“Hey Y/N?”
Something happens and I’m head over—- Y/N quickly removes the headphones to her walkman to finally acknowledge Dale’s existence. “Hey, sorry”
“Lost in your own little world huh?” Dale laughs as does she but a bit more embarrassment infused. “I need a favor”
“Oh Uhm. Dale I hear what comes from your RV at night and I’m not—-“
“OKAY” Dale yells laughing nervously. “Not the kind of favor I’m askin’…you know the new guy that came back?”
“Lori’s husband? Yeah he seems nice”
“Oh yeah he is. Just. Uhm.”
“Dale. Just spit it out” Y/N started to get annoyed.
Wait for the sign to flick the switch of death
“Merle!”
It’s the beginning of the end
“Merle come on out!” Daryl snaps returning from his hunt to this new guy with familiar faces getting up in his.
Sweat, chilling cold, as I watch death unfold Y/N watches Daryl get up in the faces of the others in the camp while having her headphones on. To avoid hearing Daryl’s enraged yelling. Consciousness, my only friend
“You left him?! ON A GODDAMN ROOF?” Daryl snaps at the sheriff standing before him.
My fingers grip with fear
What am I doing here?
Y/N suddenly lunged forward and her headphones slipped off her ears naturally as she grabs Daryl’s arm pulling him back after he got a punch in.
“Stop”
“They left him. They fucking LEFT HIM” Daryl yells feeling the anger continue to brew inside of himself. He was about to act on it once more until Y/N brought herself right in front of him pressing her hands firmly on his chest.
“Hurting him, will do nothing for you and won’t bring him back” Y/N states not moving from her spot until he relaxed.
“Who’s that?” Rick questions his best friend as Shane turns to who he was talking about.
“Y/N”
“Sister?”
“Fuck no. If she was, I wouldn’t have a hidden interest” Shane whispers the last part. “She’s one of the only few that’s close to the redneck.”
“Well I gotta thank her, or I’d be on the floor in a pool of my own blood…already was before this hell” Rick laughs slightly before pulling Shane with him to discuss the Merle situation.
We can go dancing, we can go walking
Daryl frowns holding the walkman in hand after Y/N has given it to him to listen to some of her cassettes to calm him down.
As long as we’re together (As long as we’re together)
Listen to some music, maybe just tal—- Daryl quickly removes the headphones when Y/N approached his little campsite away from the main one. “Hey…”
“Hey so, Rick has a plan to go back and get Merle. Wanted me to come get yea to see if you’ll join them”
A sense of relief washed over him the first time when Y/N pretty much stated she will stay at the campsite while they take care of rescuing his bitchass brother.
“Hey”
Daryl brought his attention back to her eyes full of worry. “Yeah?”
“If you do this. Go back to the city? Please be safe. Okay?” Y/N’s smile temporarily returned to grace her features as he mentally took a picture of such.
As long as she’s safe…
He will be
What do I do to ignore them behind me?
Do I follow my instincts blindly?
The scream rang through the forest and startled everyone in the campsite. Y/N immediately grabbed the bat that helped her from the city before Glenn saved her and went to help her newfound family.
Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams?
And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?
The small Atlanta group returned from a failed mission and was met with sickos infesting. Daryl gripped his crossbow tightly and went in search for her.
Do I sit here and try to stand it?
Or do I try to catch them red-handed?
Y/N crushed the head of the walker that was tripped by the archer standing behind it. She sighs relieved that he’s safe and sound. While the sense of relief graced him a second time. Daryl gestures for her to remove her headphones which she did.
“You always fight better listening to music?”
“I do a lot of things better when listening to music” Y/N smiles looking at the damage taken to her bat and dropped it once she made the executive decision that it was unusable. “Guess I need a new one or something brand new”
“Yknow I could always teach yea to use one of these” Daryl smirks gesturing to his crossbow as his smirk fades slightly when she laughs a little.
“I’d love that, D”
And his smile planted itself on his face thankful this horror show was over with.
Now after said horror and coming to the decision, everyone who was alive started to pack up for the CDC and Y/N put her backpack in the passenger seat of Daryl’s truck while he got his bike situated in the bed of it.
“Got a cassette ready?”
“You know me so well” Y/N smirks holding up said cassette tape before putting her bag by the feet of the seat and climbing in.
Here we go to another candle I know
All the girls, they’re playing on a jelly roll
Time to take a ride, time to take it in a midnight eye
And if you wanna go, get on below
“Y/N…yea think we’ll find Merle?”
“Probably. Just one less hand.” Y/N smiles trying to hide her laugh when stating that, even if Daryl thought it was a bit funny as well. “He’s like a roach in this world. It’s gonna probably take a nuclear bomb to get him off the planet”
“I hope he turns up soon. Yknow? He’s the only family I’ve got”
“Hey!” She playfully acted offended as she took his unoccupied hand into hers. “We’re family”
Pinking out the day
Dreaming out the crazy way
Finger on the love
Their connected hands never parted once she took a hold of it.
It’s all above
The CDC felt like a luxury…no one deserved. Especially after all the lives that were lost because someone failed to inform about this virus. Or however the hell this could’ve been avoided.
Y/N suddenly felt stressed being in this glorified bunker as she mainly observed the others enjoy themselves. She only really felt better about the overwhelming emotions coursing through her when he would look at her. Even as drunk as he was.
Look at the stars, look how they shine for you
And everything you do
Yeah, they were all yellow
The archer offered the bottle to Y/N as she happily declined. She watches him hand the bottle over to Glenn as he took it for himself to get drunk for probably the first time in his life. Daryl then got situated right beside her turning to her reading what he could from her expression.
All she was, was tired. In that moment none of them had to fight or fear for their lives. Y/N wanted to remember this always. Being right beside him.
I came along, I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called “Yellow”
________
The Dixons joined the campsite and did their part by hunting for the group. In return they got a group to watch their back and help with whatever may be asked. Even if they were stubborn enough to not accept the help offered.
Daryl returned from a quick hunt with a minor injury that he didn’t think much of. But after dropping off the catch, he didn’t think it would be noticed. The cut on his arm.
Then she came to their small camp set up holding her first-aid kit in one hand and her walkman in the other.
“Hey pretty lady”
Of course Merle was first to acknowledge her existence and make Daryl come out of his tent to try to prevent his brother from saying anything vulgar to who came. But hell. The pretty lady was indeed very pretty.
“Uhm. It’s Y/N…not whatever you said. Anyway” Y/N tossed the kit to Daryl as he fumbled a bit. “Thought you could use that”
“Don’t wanna stay?” Merle pouts as Daryl groans to his question before elbowing him to go away which he did with a groan.
Leaving the two alone for a moment.
“Thanks…I’ll uh. Give it back when I’m done”
“Okay. You’ll know where to find me” and that smile of hers struck him right in the heart.
________
So then I took my turn
Y/N laid comfortable in the bed made for her as she shared a room with Daryl. She laid on her side facing the archer who slept peacefully.
Oh, what a thing to have done
And it was all yellow…
In the middle of the night, Daryl woke out of anxious habit from when he was younger. He brought himself to turn toward the person he was sharing the room with to find her dangerously close to him.
Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
He quietly lays back down after sitting up slightly, gently brushing the hair back out of the way of her face. Watching her face scrunch up a bit before finally relaxing and snuggling closer without touching him.
You know, you know I love you so
You know I love you so
As the next morning came around…and most were painfully hungover, Daryl found himself still laying down beside Y/N not wanting to move from his spot. Watching her be content, safe, alive and well…he didn’t want the moment to end. Didn’t want to feel like the world would end a second time if she were to leave it.
The second she stirred awake, part of him wanted to stay…tell her something that’s been on his mind since the day he met her…but instead. Daryl brought himself to sit up and sit on the edge of the makeshift bed giving the two a bit of space.
“Good morning” She yawns out the greeting listening to him reply with the same phrase as his voice was music to her tired ears. “How are you feeling?”
“Alright. Got a bit of a headache”
“Mm. You did drink a lot” Y/N laughs softly as she grabs her backpack taking out a small bottle of pain killers and handing it to him while he grabbed his canteen shortly after.
“Yea didn’t—-“
“I wanted to” Y/N smiles warmly as she pulls the blanket gently off of her and put her important belongings back in her backpack “You think someone is making breakfast? Or literally doing anything”
“Smelled somethin’ but don’t know what” Daryl handed her back the pain killers as she tossed the bottle carelessly into the bag before pulling out her earbuds that she could use to share her tunes with.
“Wanna just…sit and listen to music for a bit then? Before the world needs us?”
Daryl couldn’t and never would say no to that. He brought himself back to her side taking one earbud as she put hers in before getting her mixtape in.
Love of mine, someday you will die
And I’ll be close behind, I’ll follow you into the dark
No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
The two instinctively laid down side by side, their hands barely touching.
Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark
Daryl’s pinky tapped Y/N’s hand a few times before hers locked with his.
If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the “no”s on their vacancy signs
Y/N brought herself to turn to Daryl watching him do the same as they kept their attention on the other. They slowly inched toward the other when the sudden yelling caught their attention.
If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I’ll follow you into the dark
The clock. The clock that everyone took noticed in the CDC when they first entered the giant room of computers…was a doomsday clock on its own. Once it hits zero, the power goes out and the building goes.
That’s a fiery death no one wants…unless, they are done with the horrors of what’s outside the CDC.
In Catholic school, as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me, “Son..
Fear is the heart of love,” so I never went back
“Y/N! Come on!” Daryl yells to her frozen state as Y/N’s gaze was glued to the clock on the wall watching it slowly go down. “Y/N!” He continues to yell before running over to her and noticing the questioning look on her face. “Nah. You ain’t staying”
“Daryl…”
“No!”
“But this…just…” Y/N started to tear up at the thought that she wanted an escape like this. “Daryl I don’t…I don’t know what I want anymore”
“But I do! I know what I want” Daryl himself, the hard exterior of the tough lone wolf redneck that stood before her, cracked open. “And that’s you. You in my life” to show that soft interior.
If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied…
“I can’t lose you too. I don’t want to lose you ever” Daryl admits watching her features soften as he carefully pressed his forehead against hers which lead to the tears pouring from her eyes. “I’ve lived. I understand that. But I haven’t truly appreciated the life I was given until you came into it. I need you to stay in it” he begged and no one has ever heard him beg once before.
Illuminate the “no”s on their vacancy signs…
As the group tried to get the glass to break, Daryl came running in with Y/N in his arms. The moment he came is when he saw the grenade in Rick’s hand right as he pulled the pin. He quickly crouched covering Y/N’s body with his own feeling her tighten her grasp on him as the explosion shook them both slightly.
Daryl quickly pulled back to check her features feeling her hand gently caress his cheek before he got back up carrying her out.
If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks…
The archer got her to his truck when the eruption of the CDC shook the ground they stood on as Daryl quickly knelt to the ground gripping onto Y/N for dear life as she did the same while the tears poured from her eyes.
“Please don’t ever let go of me”
“I won’t. I promise. I’ll promise every day if I gotta Y/N” Daryl states pulling back once the eruption settled and Y/N was gently placed on her own footing.
Y/N straightened up with Daryl feeling his hands plant on her hips as she couldn’t help the tears from falling even faster.
“I love you”
Daryl quickly moved his hands from her hips to her face, firmly pressing his lips to hers. Finally after all this time of pining. He felt his own tears fall as he gently pulls away from her lips bringing her body close to his.
“I love you so much you have no idea”
Then I’ll follow you into the dark
#cultofdixon#the walking dead#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#head over heels#ride the lightning#take a chance on me#by myself#dirty boots#yellow#i will follow you into the dark#blue is Y/N listening#red is Daryl#purple is both
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angsty blurb #1
Joel Miller x GN!reader
hi ok so this is probably so ASS but i’m posting my writing for the first time since i was like 12 (OG wattpad girlie here) pls be nice🧍 this is part of a bigger picture/story but i’m still figuring stuff out, i haven’t even written a first draft yet oops anyways enjoy
words: 831
warnings: ??? implied sexual content, non-consensual choking (reader forces joel to choke them?? idk) angst!!!!
A tear betrays you as it leaves your eye and rolls down your cheek, connecting with his skin. He quickly wretches his mouth away from yours and hovers above you with a look of alarm and concern on his face.
“No no no- don’t stop please” You claw at him, trying to make him kiss and touch you again.
“What’s going on darlin’?”
“No Joel- you don’t understand- just–“ you take a deep breath trying to steady your voice.
Bringing your arms around his neck you once again try to bring him down to your lips. “please just touch me” the attempt fails and panic overcomes you again.
You need him to make it stop. You need him to touch you. Want you.
Using all your strength you take the hand that’s stroking your cheek and bring it to your throat. His eyes widen when you desperately urge him to squeeze, forcing his hand to choke you.
“Please hurt me, Joel, please please please– I’ll be good, I promise“ you plead.
Something changes in his eyes then, you can see the second he realizes what’s going on. The warmth and concern previously shown in his eyes disappear in a split second, it’s like you can see the wall being put up around his heart. Gaze turned to ice, he pulls away from you harshly as if burned, while you were left shivering.
“Jesus Christ you’re fucked up.”
His words are like a punch in the stomach, all the air forces out of your lungs. You’ve heard similar things said to you multiple times but somehow you must have tricked yourself into believing that Joel wouldn’t see or think of you like that. You don’t even have a right to be hurt cause what he said was true in the end. How utterly ironic.
Joel starts looking for his clothes, trying to tug them on as fast as possible, stumbling a little when pulling his pants on.
The fear that had been simmering has now turned into a full-blown panic attack, tears running down your face. You scramble to the foot of the bed and reach for him, sobbing.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry please- please don’t leave Joel- you can’t!” you must sound hysterical by the way you’re begging him not to leave you, sobs wracking through your body.
He’s shaking his head refusing to look at you as he pulls on his heavy boots.
The lack of oxygen has you feeling lightheaded but you barely even notice it, too focused on making Joel stay. You grab his hand, bringing it up to your face as you cradle it, and he finally looks at you. But there’s no tenderness or affection, no vulnerability. Just resentment.
“How fucking dare you use me to punish yourself?” His voice is loud, cutting.
A million thoughts are flying through his head all at once. He’s getting nauseous. Was this all it was? All those times?
When everything had started it was just sex, a way for him to get out his built frustrations, and he’ll admit that he was rougher with you than he should have been. But you never seemed to mind, you kept coming back to him. However, this wasn’t just sex for him anymore. You had somehow slinked your way into his heart despite the brick walls surrounding him, you had become everything to him.
Joel always knew you had issues and past traumas but you never wanted to talk about it, and he never wanted to push. He never saw you cry but he could see how it was weighing on you, leaving you tired and jumpy, disconnected from everything and everyone around you. It always felt like you were slipping through his fingertips, never fully there.
He wanted to help, to show you that it was okay to talk about it, so he told you about his life before, about Sarah. About how he barely survived the loss of her. He opened up and showed you all of him, the good and the bad. He told you about the things he was still ashamed of to this day and yet you accepted him. But you never showed him all of you.
So why now? Had you just reached a breaking point where you couldn’t hide it anymore? Couldn’t handle him being tender with you?
He feels so fucking dirty.
You’re still pleading for him not to go and it breaks his fucking heart as he takes one last look at you sitting on that bed, tears running down your face as you shake with agony.
“I- um, I’ll tell Maria to come over, you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He let’s you know before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
You’re hyperventilating, your chest feels on fire and everything is fuzzy from tears and lack of oxygen. You don’t know how much time passes between him leaving and your vision darkening. All you know is that you’re drowning, water filling your lungs as you get dragged into the deep.
#feel free to give me some constructive criticism🙏 but be nice#i’m very insecure in my writing so i hope this is ok#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x gender neutral reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller imagine#joel miller x gn!reader#joel miller x gn reader#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction
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No, Thank You
Robin works at a coffee shop, and has an early start to the morning. A good friend helps her start the day.
-
For a strange little au @berd-alert and I have dubbed 'can I have your name? (for the coffee)' - a modern-era fae au, where Robin is a human just trying to get through college, but unfortunately, finds herself in the mix of a bunch of immortal, magic goofuses and the problems they bring with them from Faery.
Remember: never pay back a deed what was done in friendship ;)
Robin passes a hedge, dying back in the early autumn season, full of crisp yellow leaves from a beach tree nearby, and suddenly he's walking beside her like he was always there.
"Mornin'!" He chirps.
"G'morning, Steve," Robin says, only a little blearily.
He’s wearing a goldenrod yellow sweater, even thought the weather is only a little cool, and likely to get warmer as the day goes on, light wash jeans, and sneakers that always look only a little scuffed, but never dirty. She squints at him when he gives a small, chagrined shake of his head.
“You wanted to surprise me?”
His smile doesn’t waver. “Maybe a little. You used to jump when we did that, appearing out of nowhere.”
Robin shrugs, and suppresses a yawn. “You used to be unknown quantities.”
“And you know us now?”
“Well enough, I think.”
Indianapolis was waking with them. The rosy light of the early hour creeping through the air in the eastern sky and burning away the scattered, wispy clouds of dawn as it went. The very tips of the tallest buildings of downtown catching the first rays of sunlight. To the west, the last stars of night fading away. The air smelled new; like something changing. It was early September.
No wonder Steve was in such a chipper mood. Almost time for him and his Court to shine.
Robin adjusts the bag that’s slung over her shoulder as she walks. “Well, sorry I couldn’t be your morning entertainment.”
Steve rolls his eyes as he keeps perfect pace with her, nearly matching her step for step. “Saying ‘boo’ to random people gets old after a while, you know. And I did just want to say good morning.”
She believes him. Not like he can lie.
After a few minutes of silent walking, he speaks again. “You alright? A little quiet today.”
“Steve, it’s six thirty in the morning. I was up pretty late last night studying. I almost slept through my alarm. Almost fell asleep again in the shower. It’s…just gonna be one of those mornings, I think.”
Steve looks at her for a few more seconds, and this time, Robin can feel his eyes on her.
Looking her over, seeing into every flyaway hair she tried to hide under her knit cap, the dark circles she hadn’t bothered to hide today, her rumpled shirt. Robin normally didn’t put much stock into how she looked, but that was more in the fashion department. This morning, she was just. Sloppy. And it prickled at her skin when she knew someone (who mattered, anyway) was seeing that.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she sighs.
Steve raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. He does stop looking, at least.
He also doesn’t say anything else as they walk. Not that Steve is overly chatty (and fuck, she likes him, but Robin is so grateful that Eddie hadn’t decided to come say hi this early…) but normally he does try to keep a thread of conversation going. Now, he simply lets her have the silence.
Well, as silent as early morning in a big city can be.
The coffee shop sat yet-dark and waiting for them. Robin lets the two of them in with a key to the padlock on the alley gate, and a punch of numbers into the lock pad at the back of the building. Slipping inside, she starts turning on the lights.
Her bag is placed in a little lockable closet in the back by the office, her hoodie shucked off and shoes changed into her work sneakers. Robin makes a small detour to the bathroom.
Cold water to the face doesn’t do much but make her feel damp and chilly again. She blinks at herself in the mirror, telling herself to just go through the routine. Things will be better when she gets customers coming in, and the minutes don’t feel like they’re moving at the speed of a pitch drip.
Something makes a sound outside. Like banging, running water. Someone moving glasses around.
Robin’s brows furrow, and she slips out of the bathroom, back to the front of the store.
She finds Steve of all people, behind the counter. He moves between devices, turning them on, and starting to organize the shelves along the back wall. Filling carafes with water, turning to cabinets to pull bags and boxes of things out, refiling the pretty jars people could choose from with beans and tea leaves. Robin looks over, and sees even the lights in the little ‘bakery’ section were on. When she breathes in, the faint scent of cinnamon and something almost smokey filled her nose.
A hand startles her out of her reprieve.
“Sit,” Steve tells her, motioning to a table close by.
Robin’s lips purse. “Steve-”
“Please?”
…Well. When he said that…
Robin, dressed in her little visor and her comfortable work shoes and even her little green apron, watches from this side of the counter as Steve prepares the shop for opening for the day, as if it were nothing. The smell of brewing coffee slowly fills the space, and Robin finds herself leaning heavily on her hand, eyes sometimes closing without her say so. At some point, music filters in, like the sigh of wind through leaves. Maybe she left the door out back open, there’s a slight chill to the air around her, the scent of burning, autumn bonfires growing stronger-
She comes awake when a paper cup is set on the table before her. Cinnamon. Spices. Heavy cream and tart, sweet cider.
“Take five, and then turn the sign on?” Steve asks gently. He’s done with his self-imposed chores, evidently.
Robin takes up the cup, and takes a sip through the hole in the lid.
It’s perfect. Of course. The chill is driven back with warmth.
“Sure.”
Steve smiles and turns away, fingers tapping out a beat that she can’t follow, but in her tired mind, finds she wants to. To listen to it, to drum out her own melody…
Robin takes another drink.
Through a tired mind, put at ease by the drink, distracted by her own thoughts, it almost slips out.
“Tha-”
“Ah.”
It’s a piercing, discordant noise that slices through the lovely, soft morning. Steve turns as he makes it, sharp and off-key, his auburn eyes suddenly staring, right into Robin’s.
The smell of burning wood turns ashy, and the taste of the cider on Robin’s tongue sharp, too tart.
The music like wind through dead branches grows louder in her head, and the air takes the chill again.
The word of ‘thanks’ dies on Robin’s tongue.
There is a moment between them, when Steve watches her close her mouth, and Robin watches him relax from that unnatural stillness. She wanted to say sorry.
She mustn’t say sorry.
The coffee shop comes back into focus around them.
“I really am tired today, huh,” she says, breathy.
Steve’s mouth, finally, comes back into that known, easy, human quirk. His eyes gentling.
“No kidding.”
He lets Robin have half the drink to herself, and putters about doing who knows what for the remaining minutes they have. (Robin isn’t watching the clock, but, she suspects that those ‘five minutes’ aren’t being measured by any time in the world around them, allowing her the time she needs, rather than the time she’s given…)
Eventually though, she stands, and Steve comes to her side. Together, they go to the front window as the sunlight breaks free of the city skyline, glowing brilliantly through the cafe.
“This was a nice morning, Steve,” Robin says.
He nods. “Of course.”
With a flick of her thumb, the ‘welcome’ sign lights up, and so begins another day.
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Re: Regis was late on purpose because he wanted Fleur to leave - an AU where Fleur decides to leave before they get there. Regis would be a little bit smug about this.
Except.
They keep on running into each other. All. The. Time.
Regis and co are sitting in some roadside bar eating lunch and Fleur just walks through the door.
Fleur is turning in a mark from her hunt and counting money when those guys pull up in their car looking for quick cash.
Regalia breaks in a middle of nowhere and guess who just fucking happens to be passing by on her bike.
Regis would suspect a Conspiracy except it's obvious that Fleur finds all those coincidences just as infuriating as he.
(Fleur, who was reincarnated several times and remember being a meddling god-like being, wonders which one of her old Convocation buddies is responsible for This. And why are they being so fucking insistent. On. This. Particular. Outcome.)
(It's Hydaelyn-now-Eos.)
The first time it happens Fleur and Regis stare at each other for five seconds - Fleur’s expression one of fury - before Fleur rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the cashier behind the counter.
“Hey,” she says and takes a seat at the counter, “Got a strawberry milkshake?”
“For you?” The cashier laughs - they’ve known each other a long time after all, “Of course.”
Regis is still staring at her.
“Talk about bad luck,” Clarus mutters.
-
By the sixth time Fleur runs into Regis and his assorted retinue it’s when they’re being pinned in by both daemons.
Fleur debates leaving them.
She doesn’t because it’s night and they are very likely to die if she doesn’t do something.
Fleur calls down stars from the sky and has them surround the wounded group, acting both as a barrier between them and the daemons and providing relief for their wounds. The daemons attention turns toward her just as Regis and Clarus’ eyes drill a hole in her head.
She ignores them and pulls out a pair of chakrams. After that it’s easy to reduce the daemons to nothing.
Just in time too, the stars surrounding the Prince and his retinue glow brightly and then burst into a picture of the sky above them.
Fleur pretends not to notice how they tightened their hold on their weapons even as the stars healed their wounds.
“Anyway,” Fleur says and is totally not judging them for being in suits in the wilderness, “Don’t travel at night, get clothing that will actually protect you, and for fucks sake don’t leave people waiting for you when they’re supposed to teach you how to survive in the fucking wild dumbass.”
Fleur spins on her heel and begins to walk away. Her annoyance at continually meeting these assholes weighing her down and when there’s the sound of footsteps behind her and a hand grabs her shoulder she does the one thing that comes naturally to her.
She punches a prince in the face.
-
“I don’t like him,” Hades announces in the lifestream.
“You don’t like anyone who’s tried to court our daughter,” Hythlodaeus says while admiring his nails.
Hades scowls. “With good reason-“
“Now, now,” Venat once known as Hydaelyn says, “We all know the successor to my Seat on the Convocation is dear to us. But what was that expression? If you love someone set them free?”
Hades stares at her.
“I spent eons attempting to bring our world back for the mere chance of seeing my daughter again, and I’m supposed to let some third-rate prince court her?”
“If she wants him too.”
“No. I refuse to allow it, why are they meeting so often anyway?”
Venat smiles.
Hades’ eyes widen.
“You-“
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I could literally talk about all of Simmons’s body issues for hours (no I’m not projecting ahaha) but yes he’s trans and struggles with disordered eating and he’s trans and he’s autistic and all combined those things give him a super hard time enjoying functioning as himself especially in body-related ways (these thoughts are gonna be disjointed deal w it sorry dude)
But like, the way that he gets after Grif when it comes to food, and drinking, and smoking, and everything else? Yet despite this, we know that he has quite the self-destructive streak (crying and punching mirrors) which makes him a huge hypocrite— so why get after Grif like that? One could say that it’s because he has his body parts, but that can’t be all true because he’s still getting mad at Grif before the surgery, so it’s just things that he finds inherently undesirable traits— traits that have anything to do with a lack of self control, which Simmons believes himself to have. Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t seem surprised at all when Sarge uses withholding rations as a punishment— so either A. Sarge does that a lot, which could be true though we never see him do it after season 1 B. He’s accustomed to this as a punishment.
I think B is most plausible, given Simmons’s general demeanor and upbringing. He gets mad at Grif for not doing anything to earn food, then “overindulging” anyway, where Simmons views food as just that: something to be earned. Likely he was sent to bed without supper as a punishment as a kid, or forced himself to study through meals or similar behaviors at the very least. In my own mind it goes further than that, but his relationship with food is definitely complicated (especially with his mentioning going vegan after having to eat a dog at a previous outpost??? Holy shit that’s a trauma). Especially being trans (bc he is) even though he speaks far more positively about his mother than his father, the way that body issues get passed down from mothers to their afab children? Even if it wasn’t an intentional thing on his mothers part, those things are too easy to pick up
More on the having to eat the dog thing too, that history of food insecurity/starvation, plus being generally food anxious, is definitely something that lends itself to rationing and portioning and keeping their stock organized… which he does. And then consistently gets mad at Grif for eating more than his planning has allowed for. What’s one of the first things we learn he’s been doing in season 11? Growing fucking cabbage. Which, for one, how, but also the fact that he’s the only one of them to do something like that says a lot about who he is. Stupid, anxious about food, and resigned to the fact that no one is coming to get them (or at least planning for that scenario).
Not to mention, trans people are WAY more likely to develop ED’s than cis people, and I don’t even need to go into all of the reasons I think he’s trans bc I feel like that’s a separate post and I’m sure someone else has already summarized it better— but anyway, picturing a young Simmons, struggling to fit in and be good enough for his parents and not hate himself entirely and have control over something? Yeahhh OOF plus, I’m also not explaining why I think he’s autistic rn, but adding autism to the mix? Having difficulty with certain foods and textures makes it hard to want to eat to begin with, and with the kinds of pressure he seems to have faced as a child to be strong and tough and athletic and generally not his nerdy self, having sensory problems probably made it just that much harder, making him hate the way his body responds to things other people, “normal people,” can handle fine, returning him to that cycle of self-hatred, and that’s just within himself ignoring all of the bullying we know that he’s faced. It’s no wonder the dude showers in his underwear still, like, bro’s self conscious and anxious and probably just generally does not like his body.
Also his ass is literally a fax machine. That’s gotta do a toll on the psyche
#dick simmons#rvb#red vs blue#animal death#trans dick Simmons#autistic dick Simmons#long post#food#tw ed descussion
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So after some days, Daniel and Terry finally speak on the ship. But then Daniel runs to his cabin after. Is he happy? Thankful? Scared? What happens next?
“Daniel!” He is, ah, a little drunk. And possibly a little loud, and he's pretty sure that one of the stewards will drag him away in a few minutes, but he has to say his piece. “Love – listen, OK?” He takes a breath. “If you really would not have wanted to talk to me, you would not have gotten on this godforsaken ship, and we're docking in ten hours and then we'll have to talk anyway so for feck's sake, at least say something.” He clears his throat. “Maybe you want to stay there, I don't know, but Jaysis, Mary an'Joseph, I can't take this anymore!”
He can hear, feel him approach – with about half this boat's staff, well, feck 'em all, he'll fight them if he has to, he...
More Italian, feck, he'll never listen to Puccini again, but here his love is, and he too has been crying, and why is he so gorgeous when he does this and why is he, Terry, not sweeping him up and kissing him senseless, he can't stand this, he can't...
“Fine, come in.”
He feels like some vampire granted entry, but the cabin still feels like a punch in the gut, everything here is so Daniel. The cushions on the couch, a carefully hung shirt, those little biscotti, a put away coffee cup. The little radio playing blues, the way he arranged the plant, a dog eared crime novel. Stacks of postcards, a little sketch – he recognises Robby, sees the tiny crumples picture Daniel must keep in his wallet of the four of them last Christmas, all dressed up and beaming. Jaysis, he's going to write a ballad about this one day, for the Irish to cry to.
And his love himself.
Why are his eyes so hard, he looks like his father, he should have never let him leave, he needs his Danny, his darling, his mate –
“Coffee?”
He blinks. Daniel sniffs. “I'd offer you whiskey, but...”
“Don't need that. Need you.”
Daniel looks away. “Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Don't flirt with me, please.”
He crosses over. “Not feckin flirting.” He wants to touch his face, his neck. His mark looks faded. “Please, Danny boy...”
He turns away. “I wasn't going to do this here, or now, but whatever.” He puts a good yard of distance between them. “I am not leaving you, Terry.”
“Course you're not –!”
“O, my God, your ego!” Why is he feckin scowling, what did he think, he'd burn down the world for him...
“Not ego,” he slurs. “Fact, Danny boy. Yer my mate, my love, my soul...”
“Basta!” And now he's yelling, gesticulating as if fighting a ghost. “Basta, basta, basta, you lying thug!”
Terry blinks, sits down. “M not ly -”
“I'm not leaving you,” Daniel spits, “because you knew I wouldn't. I won't take our puppies out of our home, I won't take their Daddy from them, and you knew that, and you used it –!”
“Didn't mean to – ”
“You did, you fuck, or else you wanted to come at us, and you used me, and you thought you could, and you can and you knew and I hate you.”
He's sweating. “No, you don't. You don't. One bad night, Daniel, 's not worth it, s -”
“There will be more, because you think you've won.” He snarls. “You think you need some flowers, a gold watch, a car, two cars, whatever. And then...”
“Daniel, no.” He takes a breath. “I could never do this again.”
“Yeah, you could. You have, so you could.”
“So shoot me.” (That's probably the drink talking. And his heart.)
He's never seen that smile. “Don't have to.” He walks forward a little bit. “You wanted me to love you. That's the one thing I could give, and you were starved for it and I pitied you, so I loved you –”
“You pitied me?”
“That first night, Terry, you clung to me, I'd never seen someone so desperate -”
He stands up. “Not. True!”
“We'll see, won't we? Because I'm not gonna do it anymore.”
He laughs. He snarls. “That's not up to you. I know you love me, I can feckin' smell it, you can't stop.”
He looks like his brother. “Give. It. Time.”
Now he runs over, puts his hand on his mate's bitemark. “You feel this? We're one. You can't walk away from me!”
“I know,” he says. “And I won't.” That smile again. “I'll do my duty to you, Terry, till death do us part, I remember, I simply. Won't. Care.”
He lets him go. Breathes. “You're hurt. I understand. I will help you. I will make this right.”
He closes his eyes. “I'm going to bed. So should you.”
He won't cry. He won't. “We'll be together, there, where we started. In one house, one bed, you'll see...”
“I know,” he says. “But I think you should pack. Or not.” He shakes his head.
“Goodnight.”
#silverusso#knights and pawns#mob au#marital problems#remember that their journey isn't over yet#they've only just arrived#tw fighting
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fear street 1994 in my stranger things au graphic series
When Robin hears about the so-called poolside slayings, she’s frankly not that surprised. It’s terrible, obviously. Horrific, really. But for Shadyside? Yeah, it’s not surprising. It seems like everything that can go wrong will in this town, and they can never go more than a few years without a serial killer or mass murderer or fucking fairytale freak like the Humpty Dumpty Killer reminding them that everything in Shadyside will always turn to shit. So when Billy Hargrove pulls on a pair of giant swim goggles and goes on a killing spree that ends with him shot dead with his knife still buried in Heather Holloway’s chest, well, it’s honestly sort of par for the course. At least the pool was about to close for the season with the school year starting anyway.
Still, everyone’s talking about it at school when Robin shows up the next day, both decorating Heather’s locker with pictures and notes and also dragging slashed CPR dummies through the hallways while cackling like a witch. Because yeah, apparently all those murders are the witch’s work. At least that’s what Steve says Dustin is saying when she meets up with him and Nancy at lunch. Things have been weird between the two of them since their breakup last year, but Steve’s new job as the assistant gym teacher after he graduated last year has them brokering a tentative peace, and when it comes to this, they’re on the same page: The witch did it.
Or, not really. They’re just joking. They don’t really buy into the whole we’re-all-fucking-doomed thing the same exact way Robin does, the same way Dustin fiercely believes that the witch is real. They’re just coping the same way everyone in this town seems to: by making it all one big joke. But at least they care. Deep down. The Sunnyvalers — the Sunnyvalers don’t even see any of them as real people. And they make that perfectly clear at the vigil for the victims Mayor Kline hosts before the big Shadyside-Sunnyvale game.
Robin doesn’t see any of that, though. She doesn’t hear the Sunnyvalers talking shit, doesn’t catch who threw the punch. No, Robin’s not on the field at all. Instead, she’s over by the bathrooms, lurking in the dark, waiting for Chrissy to show up so Robin can give her all of her stupid stuff back. She hadn’t been mad earlier, before the game, but when she’d seen Chrissy — when she’d seen Chrissy standing with her new boyfriend, the stupid football player’s hands all over Chrissy’s ass — her vision had gone red, and it had stayed that way, and it continues to stay that way as the sheriff breaks up the fighting, as Steve shepherds the Shadysiders back onto their bus, as Nancy whips everyone on the bus into a vengeful frenzy.
The haze only clears when the water cooler slips out of Robin’s hands and bounces off the windshield of Jason Carver’s car, sending him and his friends careening off the road and into the woods. Because Chrissy was in that car. And Robin had known that, had seen her sitting in the front passenger seat, and that had been part of what drove her anger hot enough to grab the water in the first place. She’d only wanted to piss Carver off, maybe get him to stop fucking following their bus all the way home. She’d meant to throw its contents, not the cooler itself, but when she loses her grip it’s almost like being doused in ice water herself, the burning rage from a moment ago extinguished in one panicked flash.
When Robin stumbles into the woods, it only takes a moment to follow the tracks and find the wreck, the car smashed against a rock with Carver and the other jocks still inside. It takes another moment, a longer moment to spot Chrissy, but then Robin sees her, in the dirt on her hands and knees, face pale and eyes far away, blood dripping from her nose and a gash on her temple.
After that, Robin thinks nothing in the world could tear her away from Chrissy. It doesn’t matter that they’ve broken up, that Chrissy is closeted, that she has a new boyfriend and a new life in Sunnyvale. Forget their fight, that Robin is a doomed Shadysider and Chrissy has literally moved out and moved on to better things. With Chrissy in the hospital, Robin is determined to make things right. Make this work. But it turns out, there is one thing that can stop her in her tracks: the stern voice of Laura Cunningham demanding that Robin stop calling, accusing her of ruining Chrissy’s life completely.
So Robin gives up, goes back to her life, accepts that it’s over. For real. At least until Carver shows up outside of her house wearing giant swim goggles and holding a knife. When he actually breaks into Steve’s house and starts cutting up his clothes, that means war, and before she knows it, Nancy and Steve and Dustin are waiting down the hall at the hospital while Robin goes to tell Chrissy to call her boyfriend off. Only when Carver shows up — when a knife suddenly juts out of his chest, blood dribbling out of his mouth — it becomes clear he really isn’t the one in the costume. Someone else is wearing it, someone else who wants them dead. Someone who looks suspiciously like Billy, the bullet hole still centered between his brows.
It doesn’t take long to realize that Chrissy is the one he’s after. That he’s not the only crazed killer after her. They’re all back, all of those claimed by the witch, and the curse is real, and the killers are determined to see Chrissy dead. Well, Robin’s not going to let that happen, and with Steve and Nancy and Dustin on their side, they’re all determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, to break the curse, to put the witch’s bones to rest. First, though — first, they’ll need to live long enough to do it.
ft. robin buckley as deena, chrissy cunningham as sam, jason carver as peter, nancy wheeler as kate, steve harrington as simon, dustin henderson as josh, heather holloway as heather, billy hargrove as ryan, eddie as martin, mayor kline as mayor goode
#stranger things#stranger things au#buckingham#chrissy cunningham#robin buckley#robin x chrissy#chrissy x robin#stranger things fear street au#idk i feel like i need to work more on casting#and like how this would work in a trilogy#if i really wanted to do anything with it#but just for 1994 i love this for them#closeted cheerleader chrissy???#lesbian band geek robin????#important!!!!!!!!!!!#oh also#happy halloween#stranger things au series#my au graphics#my graphics
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𖤓Sore Kisses
Picture Kath on Pinterest
Chapter 3. Bitter Fuck
Read on ao3 here <<<
Summary: The dreaded day of the dance arrives, terrible but exciting, for once you would like to be the crowd and have a good time, although there are many signs that this is not your place.
Warnings: MDNI +18, Smoking, Heavy Drinking, Fluff and Angst (later) Swearing, Crossdressing (later), Adult Content, Eventual Smut, Blonde Mary Goore!! Everyone is a Little Shit in here, later it gets all Soft and Smutty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Trope.
You walk towards the ballroom or rather you trot, you're glad you don't wear high heels to your friend's dance if it weren't for that you would already be tired, you stir in your dress to make sure the dress isn't too tight on your figure, Frank looks at you from afar and waves at you happily, thanks to him you’re there, not only for his invitation, but because you had fallen asleep and his persistent calls alerted you that, compared to what you thought, the dance is that very night and not the following weekend, so you got ready in half an hour, a new record. You weren't going to miss the chance to try to dance and hop around a bit.
“Hey! You look good” Frank looked very well groomed; his black bolo tie drew a lot of attention.
“Thanks, it’s thrifted” you point to your torn dress and stockings.
“Nice, this is lifted” he points to his shirt that fits him perfectly, you chuckle a little “I’m not kidding, Mary left it laying around and I took it ‘cause it fits me better”
“Ugh… is he inside?” the smile fades from your face and you squint.
“Now, Y/N…”
“Let’s get inside already”
You avoided sitting in your reserved place for the moment, where Frank's friends were, almost all of them had their hair down as usual but at least they had brushed it, of course they were all in black, and if, much to your regret, you admit that they look good, even... him, maybe the low light makes him look better than he actually was, anyway, everywhere you've seen him there's little light, so you couldn't even say you know his face well.
To keep yourself busy as long as possible, you asked a young man if he would dance with you and he accepted, you had seen him before in other meetings that Frank took you and this guy always smiled at you, he always complimented you on your clothes, but you had never spoken, he was not unpleasant to look at, a little strange, but nothing repellent.
“I like your necklace” he timidly approaches his hand, as if asking for permission to touch it.
“Thank you, my grandma gave it to me, it was hers…”
“I didn’t ask you who gave it to you, it looks cheap, I can give you one better” His tone changed from one second to the next, his reaction was so unexpected, he even sounded offended that you wanted to share a bit of information about yourself “Wanna dance?”
“Sure…” some things he did that you didn't like at all, he wasn't as friendly as he seemed, in his movements he did seem chivalrous, but once he opened his mouth... at least dancing he shouldn’t be talking and you could get what you want, to dance.
There was nothing extraordinary in the way anyone moved, your desire decreased as the songs went by, you saw that Mary looked at you from the punch table while he was hiding a hip pocket flask in his pants as he smirked mischievously and disappeared through the crowd.
In that second that you had looked away to see your dance partner again, another person stood between the two of you, turning their back on you, that person simply began to dance with the guy you had invited, both pretending that you were not there, he didn't do anything about it or rectify the situation, you rolled your eyes and walked out of there. There was no other choice but to feel humiliated, even if that guy wasn't even nice, what was the need to do something like that?
You internally debated if you should do something about it, it is very likely that you will not see those people again, but they are not worth it either, besides, Frank would not like it. You go to an empty area near the lobby, it had comfortable seats, it seemed stranger to you that there weren't couples hiding there groping each other, you sit and sigh trying to swallow your anger playing with your necklace and your frayed dress.
You wonder why you've had such bad weeks lately, it's exhausting that nothing goes right, your chest is heavy, you try to regulate your breathing by yourself, but your resentment is getting the best of you.
“Nice dress…” you hear a voice near you, you don't feel like turning around or chatting with anyone, you just look out of the corner of your eye that it's Mary.
“Not now, Goore, I'm not in the mood” either way he squats next to you.
“Not surprised, I bet that's why you're always off the handle” he teases smiling, but it doesn't seem as malicious as he sounded, it was strange, unfortunately you were too upset beforehand to notice.
“Why are you even here? At least I tried to have a good time” you snapped at him suddenly as you stand up, he huffs dismissive at first “Instead of semi-dress up and act like I’m too cool to be here, then why are you? They don't even care if you dance tonight or not. Nobody's watching you. And if you're just looking for someone to pick on, too late” You don't raise your voice, but you're over the top pointing your finger on his face.
“Woah! Woah! What the hell…?” he stands up to face you.
“And at least I put effort in what I do even if it goes all wrong and not just for show, because I'm not afraid of what people say and I have a heart unlike you!” you’re not sure what you’re saying, but you feel strongly about it.
“You finished!?” he grunts, lowering his eyebrows.
“With you? I haven’t even started, tough boy” your fist clenched as well as his jaw, you stare at each other in the dark lobby. You can't see his face very well, and even though he isn't raising his voice either, you assume he's just as upset as you are.
“I wanted to apologize for the other night, I came in peace…” he starts considering if he should go.
“What?” for a second you froze leaving your mouth slightly open.
“But you're… well... maybe I deserve it after all” his face still harsh.
“You think?” you gesticulate sarcastically.
“We may not get along, but at least you haven't called me names, which I did…”
“Yeah, with a mic and a room full of people!” yes, you take advantage of the fact that he already feels bad about it.
“And uhm… I’m sorry” You do remember when you referred to him as “dickhead” behind his back, you fell silent still, it seems that he is stomping on his pride to tell you all this and that is appreciated.
“What do you have in the flask?” You kept yourself from looking at him.
“Uhh… tequila, you want?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the flask.
“Accepted” hardly looking at him, you sit down again, he does the same and shares his drink with you apprehensively.
“You mean…the drink or…?”
“Both, now give” you take the bottle from his hand, your fingers brushing slightly, you dismiss the thought of how that felt by sniffing the mouthpiece and taking a big gulp, you were surprised that there was no burning when swallowing “Dude, this is practically water”
“I didn’t know you were alcoholic” you click your tongue with a scowl on your face, you give him back the drink and takes a few sips making a face afterwards, although he tried to hide it, he gives the flask to you.
“You don’t know shit about me… dickhead” If you already referred to him that way, it might as well tell him to his face, the little insult was added mid-drinking, he snorts chuckling, you don’t look at him directly not once, even when you feel his gaze on you.
The dance didn't seem to end soon, you looked from afar at everyone who was dancing and drinking, even the table you refused to sit at was empty, it surely means that everyone was having a good time, that was the goal, and although in the beginning you wanted to be part of that, you were calmer where you were, sitting in a corner in silence, although not alone.
More than once, Mary was about to take his life into his hands to invite you to dance, but he didn't dare, maybe it wasn't the time, it was also more than obvious that he wouldn't be the person you would accept something from, maybe just a drink.
While you do all your strength not to look at him, not to look at his black shirt and pants, you think you've noticed before that his tie was also black, but you're not sure, you try not to admire his loose hair and for the love of Snoopy don't look at his face, for once it's clean and he smiled at you when he looked at you when he spoke, shit, shit.
#Sore Kisses#mary goore fanfic#mary goore x reader#mary goore#repugnant#repugnant band fanfiction#mary goore repugnant
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each area, circles on the map, to have their kids take care of their kids they left and the rest of them
how tall is she, how big is her head. She got to mate with all those giants then go giant. They made another big fucking everyone whore. Does she put her pussy on their hair too? Yea. Cupid area was they mated with the infants. Anyways. Kentucky ground. Wire. Blow it up.
is that carol. "my opponent" mama right im your mama. stfu and die.
she was running around at the neurologist office
cailigulaaaaaaaaaaa
she was taller than him
holy sht
and
cupid guard
chop off her legs
like in the mummy
holding onto a infant to fuck it
on her back
bent knees
hahahah robo
i googled legs chopped off the mummy
images
now jump
it was the group in the coliseum in the gladiator leading it, knew about it
the groups to kill
the rest was family didnt know or whoever went in it
wtf I wanna be that bitch again. him or her or who. the noroi guy. then full house after. her whole family to let out a bug. then bug houses the rest of the day. after. noam chomski.
uggghh
the water rape
to tko
gtfo
glenis
dead kennedy
yea we raped them
whole group on the ground
alive still
come back the next day begging
why why why
give me something
wtf
queer
make a punk concert
theyre in it
and push you down
wtf my ass
didnt have a kid
and
conceited
i know i got the biggest ass
good here too
alix said they used these
float
invincible
can do it again
cheat rob steal and fuck in your house
kids take it out of it
and if they hand me it i take it in and fucking mess up with it too new mom and dad in here whoa im new and come back and hit them
again
whaa
got the sex
good too
kids says the got the sex good too part
and we married hah take a picture
arm around the kid
her
too
dick
we can find the map to get her too (giant)
and all of it
see the blood man
after mating with 18 see his skull to crack. and they would number off. and his arms out after.
not knowing what any of it is
send it to mar ch again
it is march
once a year wtf go
rain
guitar
see the blood man
who
oo
ahhhhhhh
no fear
we live
so cute her
i do her
and terror
send cuer
wtf
85
one alert for sex
and they all fuck
heard it
kennedy
you and me
take her to, any leg surgery, i dunno i like it
and
went
to
march
i live this long
then sleep
come on
bed
a lot of the world that stayed was just short. and whoreing parties around the world you wanna go? mating was it.
theres the noroi kid
he had no eyes
and
the girl,, her head would go all the way back
isnt decapitated
like it was fabric or something cardboard cut out
and
a giant too
hwo to catch them
part of a litter, she was
her face was the ET
she was a giant
the grudge one
and kept inbreeding, for them to win
that was the point
have a kid throw it in the window
it is that big people go to it
they used the camera to edit their facess
of seecurity cameras
she only shows up when she is giving birth
or puts her son in her
it was her husband
any relative is
there were 44 of her with those faces
senritsu kaiki file kowasugi file 1 operation capture the slit they put face masks on them
it is like reverse bear trap
no shes alive
they will push in their molars to go in their eyes
they are shreks
they take a eye donation of a dead relative
i can draw it
cappa why
hahaha
i got my hair flower in the mail today
it is big
its so pretty i love it
now i gotta sew on the collar
and moddel it
shrek and fiona
she is as big as the garage next door
the neighbor will get them to leave
chris keeps saying no let them over
and thinks they are her kids
to attack me
for anything hahaha
her leader
no
what
well fuck your bear child
youtube
WTF was that
WTF was that
GIVE ME YOUR TRASH BAG
these guys did fk their moms
punch her head backwards
dad would drag her
and
shes knocked out
dead
i can fuck her
so her son would
and dad would hold her head and go oh no
so the whole area
would hop
and wtf i cant figure this out
woman didnt talk to her
or him
so they fucked as they wanted
anyone
and kids dump them on her she wants me to teach it
so they shit it out on her
and in too
rapists
abortion to in you
uma
make ghost noise
see i dont go back
make the noise for me to take my kid back
and shes my kid
go walk
hits her i dunno its her
her son would
for her to get raped by everyone
even cared
kids infants toddlers in their arms
sit it on her
flip it around its her
and the sons stay short she hits them on top of the head
she hits her son
and
the mom
and the dad
but super giant
dan and katie
her just born
grandparents
find her
and
again she gave birth 8 times
funny to her not to you, his mother is the one on the right or big boy raped him got him drunk or drugged him right before he said it
lied to a whole town
tommy lee
me and my whole family
the actor
and boomers was this
midget night
edit for grease
they took all the buildings
insane
huge skulls
midgets
clockwork
and
sun
wont be a dad them neither
and their moms
next to them huge too
or gay what is it
ewoks wasnt it
but hits them too to go giant
one on the ground
top of its head in
no cone head
wont set out cones either
wooo
planet of the apes said put it in the garbage, they arent even their word of the lord.
Wed 8:00 PM
youtube
they let out mass dope, empty right? the whole house
hole
you know you live young over 400 years
and the old men who fuck no face girls
and those guys to whoreing girls
haha joke
infant what
abortion
happened
fucked old men too wo ho ho hot
abandon house whoa.. uhhh
mmmm
they will just go in and fuck
and hey who wants to live here give her a play house
and school
yea amanda bye
shes et
and no face mask
they were c ommercials so no one moves south
or out
already our family did
i was nice once
to my state no
leaave
hell yea
and go to the map area where the land, have kids again, and float, and just leave wtf ever it flooded float to mee I feel my child make a church and it ended there, we found them, and news too woo hoo tubing the kids mated. Pregnant or not. I dunno leave it. The mummy guy said it. And movie get money go. Move in college area. Why build another one no one else moved in yet.
he brings over the kid after he fucks it
party fowl
it was alawys that if you party you cant bring it with you
oh and caught, oh and caught
tale of gregor, guys caught, suicidal, kill it too. marilyn manson
him hating everyone, is him. the whole time. curtis
im gay i can be your daughter- murder that obsessed italy, i am obsessed
gwen stefani/destiny- no im not you, yea she did it, hi
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(pt.3) Desert people in a city, how unfair is that?
Inside the picture stucco schoolhouse crammed with the kind of miscreants from a bygone age, the protential improvisers all hopeless youths nervous about busting a chair although excitable pieces of flesh prancing and posing in love of fisticuffs, more enamored with food than the war, and, unfettered by the wanton inculcation from Earth and vilification from the margins, strangely jocular or compassionately negligent of each other, a variety of social impasses condensed together, its compulsive effect not foreign to those visitors from an other planet, our view penetrates the chromic center of the external environment, like negative transmission of a great far away death.
that said, despite similar experiences being possible (and lucrative), I'd prefer...
Depression was spread throughout the evening to collect depression and fully regroup depression into fuck-want and hollowed almond essence.
...laughing until she ends in a lingering layover of incision, the saggers who secretly reproach that acid shit, pop.
the vehicle immediately into fixation on the ostensive sky
by conjuring miracles a part of the faces had metastasized into outlandish animals like this fucked up bullsitt\ that's sort of it.
studies of malnourished fat began the nichlomantic cult of vulgarity
girly taunts
whole base of critical ideas about the love of money and community - we're gonna take it out on each other;
considers the plan
to implant a fission chip into one's spine to generate heat;
the extreme cold of death from an insufficiency of carbon to maintain an effective atmosphere - ah, but there's the sun.
extrinsic to a man's despair was another's pride and that of his loved ones, and this single trait united them, even in the lowest depths of depravity.
we could hit it big by drinking from a communal trough.
most male babies are born with their hand clutched in their mothers' womb, and if they're out, they do what their mothers would never do, which is to punch their mothers in the face.
as it were, were it not for me, the cyborg, the world would be perfect.
I always thought of myself as the other, an outsider.
I never quite fit in.
was the token rock musician, the flamboyant experimenter, the stoner.
I wonder what it would be like to not be human.
I wonder what it would be like to be half-animal.
hindsight is 20/20.
do we all become those things we want to be?
where the hell is the time machine?
in retrospect it all makes sense,
but when I was there it didn't.
didn't know that I was such a hardass.
everyone else is a bastard.
I don't want to be the only one who remembers what it was like.
there is nothing left to regret.
it's like God said to him, 'are you ready to change?' and he said, 'yeah, whatever,'
God, he got back on the shuttle, and got ready to change.
the only way that this is ever going to end is if we leave the earth.
i'm waiting for someone to come with the cure.
we have to find out what's wrong with us.
I never liked us.
I hope you get to see the guy who invented shoes.
I never liked my people.
we have to change.
I'm waiting for you, dad.
I never liked us.
I never liked my people.
we have to change.
I'm waiting for you, dad.
I never liked my people.
the people I like are all dead.
we have to change.
we have to change.
we have to change.
the force is, in fact, a given, a commandment to preserve all that is good,
Immanuel Himin von Donner.
I never liked us.
as my coffin falls from the sky.
black clothes? why didn't I ever wear black clothes?
they were too comfortable.
that was weird.
you know what was weird?
the thousands of worlds and creatures up there
so many shining, there's nothing in between.
there's nothing.
but I love him, I love my father,
who's immortal.
and there's so many planets up there.
they're beautiful.
one day, when the sun does give us a body.
in accordance with African custom, we shall burn with him.
great lyrics, really.
that's not worth messing with, that other stuff.
what's he looking for anyway? I thought he said there's nothing in between.
fine words, not totally relevant, we are wondering.
they'll find out, somehow.
it all makes sense.
but we mustn't spend too much time here.
space is infinite and dark.
somebody's trying to feel it.
or maybe they've never seen the rain.
but the rex isn't a lie, she only ever tells us about how real she is.
the axit, four billion years old, mostly is real.
the girl's fine though.
the neo-cordillera is inhabited.
tucson likes to think it's a leader of sorts.
desert people in a city, how unfair is that?
we are as human as human beings get.
our home is beyond time,
but it has been our home for eons.
a strange country, that can't be understood by any outsiders.
and their ruins are their land, and they know them by heart,
they look at the ancient faces of their ancestors,
almost at peace, perhaps more than their wise elders,
their genes part of them, as permanent as their eyes are strong.
what does eternity really mean?
what is humanity?
one out of billions?
how can you say these words?
such lofty ideas, such impossible questions
we didn't ask them then, and we don't ask them now.
we are just a bunch of people
who are lucky to be alive.
Well, the couch, it's brought us into quite a world.
We gotta get out.
getting this self out.
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Edpost. Mine. Not pro, Lord help me.
It all started again when I first looked at a picture from pride.
We were captured by a professional phothographer, with a nice camera. They said we were beautiful. And before I realised what had just happened she has already agreed for the both of us for the picture to be taken.
And just like that they took our pictures, she tried making me more relaxed and did not fail.
They then said something about how they would send us the pictures and we gave them our e-mails.
And then the hell broke loose.
It was suposed to be a day where I find the strength to be who I am, to celebrate myself as a human being alongside so many others. To get rid of the homegrown hatred to my own self in the aspect of my sexuality.
And all of those beautiful things somehow happened, all the power and love of the event more or less cured that part of me. It still aches, but it stings like a bee, like a small needle. The pain is sharp but only for a while and rare. And I'm so thankful for this. Because I was sinking so deep in pain, I began to slip into being someone who's not me. Entirely.
But then... then on the way home I saw the pictures.
Don't get me wrong. In so many ways they were perfect. Utterly flawless. The pretty girl with her arms around me, her smile and soft embrace, me lying there in a relaxed pose, inbetween her arms and legs. The background blurred into a mix of hazy colours, as if we were in our own bubble, shielding eachother from the universe.
A perfect love story picture. Cover worthy, I'd dare say.
(For the record. We are not and are not going to be together. For a multitude of reasons. Which we've found ironic according to the picture, because we'd certainly looked all lovey-dovey and have had a good laugh about it.)
Did I say anything about me being perfect there? No. Don't get any ideas. Our pose was perfect. Per se. But me?
My face was completely round. A full-moon phase on my head. my arms fat and round, sausage-like and draped around her clumsily. Not to mention the shapeless rest of the body.
My face has been my biggest insecurity for some time now. I always edit it a bit, so that I don't look like a pale porcelain bowl in the pictures, but still triple check to see if the filters don't suddenly cut half of my face out, catfishing just about everyone and anyone who looks at it.
But that's no use. Because you know what? I wear my full-moon on me, every day. And everyone sees it anyways. I'm living a lie, just to make myself feel better. Pathetic.
My hands and fingers used to be lond and elegant, me being somewhat of a piano-player and all. Long gone now and they always look horrible in pictures. And what's more - uneditable. Ever.
And the moment I saw the pictures - I felt it. A punch to my round, stupid face. I'm still fat. The -10kg doesn't matter. And no. I don't look cute. I don't look perfect. I've ruined the pictures.
The irony, right? The essential part of the scene is the ruining x-factor
I wanted to post the pictures on my social media, but I couldn't. The amount of fat on my body disgusted me to the point where I didn't know if I was just about to puke my guts out then and there on the train, or ugly cry because damn, those people look at something like this on a daily basis. Sounds like a fucking torture.
The point is, and that may be one of the scariest conclusions at the moment - I cannot hide. I cannot run from myself. I cannot fight my demons. And no matter how well I've been doing the past couple months trying to love my body as it is and through that make it glow more - I can never seem to succeed.
Today I've eaten.
Yesterday I'd eaten.
And no matter how much. It's not relevant. It's not a competition post.
I eat and I hold back the tears from my family members' sight.
This post is a declaration of defeat.
I hereby surrender to whatever ed takes over my life this time.
Bulimia yet again, anorexia... I don't care. I'm too tired to fight.
All of you poor little things don't even begin to think about fasting when your grandma gives you your favourite food for dinner. Don't eat two portions of it maybe. Be rational about it. Be haelthy about it. But don't learn to survive without food.
Or you'll end up like me. Or worse. Coming back to this bullshit because no matter how hard you try to love yourself the furthest you can go without thinking about calories and food is roughly a couple of months. Because your world will spin down in circles every time you'd start feeling free and healthy.
Leave before it's too fucking late. Tell someone about it. About all the tricks you'd picked up in the meantime. Burn the bridges. Get help and stay on the healthy side. Fucking do it. You'll be thanking yourself later.
Please. Fucking please. Do it for the sake of the people who wish to be healthy but probably never will be again. Please.
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Lucifer x GN! Reader - It’s Mutual pt.1 (trust me)
A series I’m starting !! Will be a slow burn Lucifer x MC, friends to lovers, smut down the line but not for a while (with a cw before of course). Send me a request or message if you’d like to be added to a tag list!
Status: WIP
WC: 1527
----------
Lucifer definitely doesn’t eavesdrop on your conversations with Simeon. Not all of them, anyway. He’s just so curious if you feel the same. It’s unlike him to do this, stand outside your door, ear pressed to the mahogany wood as he focuses completely on the sound of your voice.
“I can’t stop thinking about him, Simeon. It’s becoming a problem” you laughed a bit, and his heart stopped. Could you mean him? Then it sunk, instant fear filling his heart that you meant one of his brothers
“I can tell, MC. The way you talk about him says it all. You have such a pure love for him” the angel responded, using eloquent words as always. His education in the Celestial realm shining through even centuries after its completion, “how was the meeting today?”
His heart felt like it exploded out of his chest. The meeting with him? He didn't think you had any other meetings that day...
‘Who could have thought a human like them could stir these feelings in me’ he thought, ‘Diavolo was the only other one in our meeting today, and they couldn’t have feelings for him, right?’
He held his breath and listened for your response
“Every time I looked at him it felt like my heart was going to give out” you began, knowing Simeon was the one person you could dump your deepest feelings to without judgment - for a demon or otherwise, “His eyes are more addictive than oxygen, and his smile. His smile! It’s so rare, and usually for Diavolo, but even when it’s a fake one he puts on to make Diavolo happy it makes my heart melt”
Simeon laughed, teasing you with a “gross”
You laughed in unison and rolled your eyes, “I know! I had no idea I was going to come down here and fall head over heels in love with one of the strongest demons in the Devildom” you paused, “I mean, have you seen his arms? And those back muscles? He’s strong in more ways than one” you wiggled your eyebrows and shoulders at your best friend, who scrunched up his nose at the thought
“MC, yuck! You’re the one who dreams about fucking him, not me” he teased you, using the secret you’d told him in utmost. secrecy. against you. and so casually!
“Simeon!! I told you that in confidence” you jokingly scorned him, lightly punching his arm
The punch you delivered Simeon would have been much, much harder if you knew the subject of your conversation was outside the door listening.
Lucifer was hardly conscious at this point. You definitely, undeniably felt the same about him. Down to the sinful thoughts. The thoughts about you in his bed, screaming his name as he made you his in the most definite way he knew how. His mind could hardly process the information. He knew he should leave before he accidentally made a noise, or you and Simeon left and caught him, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Until one of you confessed, this was the most he was going to get as far as romantic intimacy went - and as much as his subconscious knew he should walk away, his heart wouldn’t let him
“You should tell him”
“Oh my god, no” you instantly replied, “There’s no way he feels the same, and I don’t want to make it awkward between us. If I have to live with being in love with him for the rest of my life, so be it”
“MC, please. You’re being unreasonable” he always helped you see the bigger picture, but you'd convinced yourself Lucifer didn’t feel the same
“No, I’m not. He’s Lucifer. I know we’re good friends, but I doubt he’d even have time for a relationship, much less want one with a human” you presented the facts that had almost become a mantra for you, helping you restrain from grabbing his face and kissing him like you often fought the urge to do
“What if I could tell you for a fact that he feels the same” Simeon smirked, and your heart skipped a beat
“What? How?”
Lucifer’s heart also skipped a beat. ‘Does he know? He can’t, I haven’t told anyone about my feelings for them. Unless he picked up on them…angels are more perceptive about things like that than demons are. Shit, maybe he does know’ his mind raced, but he shut them down to listen closer
“I could ask. Subtly, of course. But you know how good I am at getting information out of people…and demons”.
“He’d never tell you, no matter how good you are” you persisted, convinced that the eldest brother could never return your feelings, “Even if he did until he tells me himself I won’t believe it. I can’t. It’s Lucifer, he’s too hard to read”
“Don’t you trust me, MC?” he reached a hand out and put it over yours, “I can find out for you. Then at least you’ll know, and if he doesn’t feel the same you can try to move on if that’s what you want”
You paused for a moment to think. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, might as well try to find out. It's not like my feelings are going away any time soon. Thanks, Simeon”
“What are best friends for?” he smiled, “I have to talk to him tomorrow anyways about some paperwork, so I’ll slip it into conversation and let you know”
“Tomorrow - that’s so soon. What if he doesn’t like me? Oh god if he doesn’t like me back I’ll die. Maybe this is a bad idea” you began to spiral
“MC, stop” he put his hands on your shoulders, holding your gaze with his eyes
“You’re going to be okay. This is going to be okay. I have a really good feeling about this, just trust me” he explained in the soft voice he used to comfort you, and you nodded, pressing your forehead against his
You sighed, “You’re right. Knowing will give me clarity, and then I can go from there” something about the way he said he had a good feeling gave you hope, and you smiled with a new confidence
“Exactly” he smiled and kissed your cheek, “Well, Luke is waiting for me, so I better head out, but I’ll text you,” he said, standing up from the bed
Lucifer quickly turned and walked down the hall, trying to maintain an air of normalcy in case he ran into one of his brothers. Luckily, he didn’t. He reached his office and closed the door, instantly sinking into the cold leather of his desk chair.
“Fuck” he let out the breath he’d been holding into the profanity, a hand running through his hair (something he only did when deep in thought)
He sat for a minute, staring into space, before quickly standing up. He walked to the mini-fridge you’d gifted him and took a tea from the door. Originally he’d thought it such a useless gift, why would one need to keep drinks in their office - and food? Humans really were something else.
You’d had to stock it for him, filling it with drinks you liked that reminded you of him, as well as a few snack items that would last a while. That way when he stayed up late he had no excuse not to stay hydrated and fed. A gift for him and for you, really.
He twisted the green top off the bottle and took a sip, cold liquid sliding down his throat. His eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. Opening them, he walked to his bedside record player and selected your favorite record from his shelf. It was a piece from the human world, “Symphony No. 9 For The New World”, composed by Antonín Dvořák. He’d never heard of it, obviously, but it’d grown on him.
The music quietly filled the room, and he sat back down, allowing himself some time for his mind to race.
They like me. They love me, even. They love me back. I… I can date them. If they want, that is. But I can. I can tell them how much I love them, how their E/C eyes shine in the sunlight, how their smile makes me feel whole, how their voice is more addictive than the cursed vinyls I love. I could tell them now…’ he paused for a moment, genuinely considering throwing all caution to the wind and confessing to you. ‘What’s the worst that could happen? Well, they could say no. But why would they, I heard what they said to Simeon’ he paused again
“I can’t” he spoke aloud. Lucifer found the resolutions he spoke into the universe he was better at keeping than the ones he thought. As if someone could hear him and hold him to his decree. “I’ll at least wait until Simeon talks to me tomorrow. I can’t risk losing them for a silly impulse”. Satisfied with this, he placed the now condensating bottle of tea on a coster, also from you, and went back to his work. Tomorrow would come soon enough
—————
A/N: aaaaa let me know what you guys think! also plot wise I am very open to collaboration, so let me know if you guys think of anything ~juicy~ and we can talk :)
also did anyone catch the surprise guest reference >:) hehehe
the classical music I mentioned is my fav symphony lol shameless insert. I’m getting a degree in music, what can I say 😌
#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me fic#obey me lucifer#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar#lucifer hc#lucifer fic#lucifer x mc
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Wanda Maximoff x Dom!Reader - No jealousy
Summary: You and Wanda have an established relationship, and you were away for two weeks due to a mission. Wanda is testing your limits, and everyone seems to insist that you are jealous.
Warnings: (+18), Smut, Switch!Reader (most dominant reader), power dynamics change, bottom!wanda, teasing, spanking; also mentions of torture, heavy past etc.
Notes: I've been trying to bring in a little bit of dom reader, and it turned out to be a bit of switch or soft!dom reader, but it's still pretty dom I think. Let me know what you think please ‘cause i’m not sure i’m writing smut correctly haha. Nota em português: Eu fui traduzir a expressão "que baixaria" e não achei nada em inglês que tivesse o mesmo impacto, fiquei bem chateada kkkk que pegar a referencia finge que é engraçado imaginar o Bucky falando isso na cena da cozinha obrigada.
Words: 5.555 K || Read on AO3
Marks: @mionemymind @abimess
Translations: Scheiße = Shit || Amerikanischer Müll = American Trash.
//-//
Avengers Compound, New York, Present.
Throwing your jacket against the kitchen counter, you sighed in irritation.
Steve was mumbling something about responsibility and morals and you have a headache.
"Are you even listening to me?" Steve asked irritated and you let out a dry laugh as you looked around for something to drink.
"Sure, cap." You snickered without looking at him, and Steve let out an impatient sigh.
"I need you to start being careful, we can't risk the safety of the team..."
"Is anyone hurt, Steve?" You interrupted without a patient, punching the countertop. Steve was startled by your sudden response, but you didn't back down. Natasha and Bucky who were entering just behind you, exchanged glances before heading outside.
"This is not the point."
"That's the only thing that matters." You retort angrily. "I will do whatever is necessary." You assure seriously. "You worry about morality in the meantime."
Steve lets out an irritated sigh.
"You're not listening to me." He resumes crossing his arms. "There are lines we must not cross, or we are no different than those we face." He continued in earnest, and you rolled your eyes, finally finding a drink under the counter, and grabbing one of the glasses from the sink to pour yourself. "We need boundaries. If you don't change this attitude, you are no different than Hydra..."
The glass in your hand breaks, startling Steve again.
"Don't ever say something like that again." You angrily warn him and he frowns worried about the shards and that you might have hurt yourself, but you just turn and walk out of the kitchen.
You walk into the first bathroom you find, heading toward the sink to clean your hand. You watch carefully as the glass falls from your skin and the wounds close up.
You stare at your reflection in the mirror. Even though you have spent the last few hours in conflict, there is no bruise. You have even been shot twice, but no one could tell if it weren't for the torn fabric on your shirt. No one would know about the explosion you survived if it weren't for the ashes on the fabric. You were perfect fighting machine, exactly as Hydra wanted you to be.
Pushing away the painful memories that threatened to dwell in your mind, you turned off the faucet and wiped your hands, leaving the bathroom afterwards.
//-//
Hydra Military Base, Old Sokovia Area, 8 hours ago.
You rummage through the metal drawers impatiently. This mission is taking too long, and you are starting to get annoyed by the lack of action. Silence is never a good sign in jobs like this.
And then as if the universe was listening to your complaints, you heard a noise of something falling.
" Sounds to the north, I'm going to investigate." You warned your companions over the communicator, starting to move. Steve said something about waiting for reinforcements, but you were already opening the mechanical door, a pistol in your left hand.
The impact of two shots pushed you backward, and you felt something run down your uniform, and then a sharp pain. Laughing lightly, you fell to your knees.
"We got one." You heard someone mutter, and then there was a man getting up from behind a table at the far end of the room. Another man stopped hiding from one of the bookshelves, and they walked over to you.
"Sure thing, friends." You grumbled panting slightly.
"Scheiße, we got the healer." The one with the mustache muttered as soon as he looked at you closely, and you let out a smug smile as he took a step back. Your colleague was pointing his gun at you again, but you were already grabbing his wrist as you stood up and threw him to the ground.
You fought for a few moments, and you made a mental note to thank Natasha for improving your fighting considerably since the last mission, soon you knocked him out.
The other man was fighting what appeared to be a bronze door that was jammed, and you pulled the bullets out of your shirt before you pulled him by the shoulders and threw him to the floor.
" Come on buddy, I don't have all day." You warned pointing your own pistol at the man, who looked at you angrily. "Tell me what you were doing around here."
"Amerikanischer Müll" He cursed and you rolled your eyes, moving to kick him in the nose.
The man gasped in pain as he lifted his head again, his nose bloodied.
"Do you want to try again?" You asked irritated and he spat blood before speaking again.
"We come back for what is ours." He replied with irritation, and you frowned in confusion. But before you could ask anything else, Steve and Natasha rushed into the place.
Natasha was in charge of the interrogation, it was her thing anyway, and you helped Steve open the jammed door.
You entered the room next, and you choked in surprise when your gaze met the files displayed on the holograms around the place.
"So what did you find in there?" You heard Nat ask through the communicator, but you didn't answer, trying to control the anger that was spreading throughout your body.
Displayed in front of you were the files of the Maximoff twins' experiments, several pictures of the tests Hydra had run on them. One particular video caught your attention. It was Wanda, lying on a stretcher, several leather chains holding her to the mattress while Hydra sent electric shocks through a machine to her head, making her scream. You broke the projector with one punch, and Steve tried to calm you down.
"Hey, breathe." He asked raising his hands to your shoulders. You shook your head, panting.
The sound of Wanda's scream still echoed through the room, even without the image, and you grunted in anger, pushing Steve away.
Natasha blinked in surprise when you stormed into the room next, interrupting her interrogation when you kicked the Hydra agent in the chest. She took two steps back, surprised at your anger, but she barely had time to be shocked and you were already lifting the agent by his shirt in the air.
"How could you do that to them?" You asked angrily, throwing the agent to the ground. The man laughed helplessly, spitting blood. Steve grabbed you next, and you threw him across the room.
"They were always ours to play with." The man grumbled and you stepped forward again, kicking him in the face. He laughed bewilderedly, practically choking on his own blood. "Just like you."
"You'll pay for that." You muttered angrily and then punched him in the face. The man just laughed and that increased his fury. "What the fuck are you laughing at?"
The man started to choke and then he spit something out. You let him go.
"Hail Hydra." He muttered, and you had exactly one second to realize that the small device he spit out was the tip of one of the special grenades that Hydra agents have started carrying since last year. Hugging him quickly, you threw yourself against the window in front of you, and then he exploded at you as you fell through the air to the street.
When you hit the ground, you grunted in pain.
Steve is calling you on the communicator, but the explosion damaged the equipment and the noise is very disturbing, so you ripped the item out of your ear and threw it to the ground.
As your body recovered, you stayed on the ground, trying to ignore the urge to burn the Hydra to the ground for hurting your friends.
//-//
Avengers Compound, New York, Present.
Wanda was not in her room.
You let out a tired sigh as you fiddled with your cell phone, but there was no message from her about having some other commitment that would justify her not being at the compound at the time she usually was watching her favorite shows.
After you showered and put on clothes that didn't have as many battle marks, you went to visit your girlfriend, but she wasn't there.
"Friday, where's Wanda?" You asked loudly in the hallway.
"Miss Maximoff is in the northern outer area, along with Mr. Vision." Announces the AI next and you frown.
Walking towards the location that Friday indicted, you crossed your arms when you saw through the glass of the compound, your girlfriend and her teammate laughing together.
They didn't see you, seeming distracted by their conversation.
"Wow, you look scary when you're jealous." Commented a voice from beside you suddenly, and you blinked in surprise as you noticed young Peter Parker approaching.
"Missed the school bus, kid?" you tease and Peter rolls his eyes, blushing slightly.
"I'm not trying to annoy you." He says stopping beside you, and looking in the same direction as you.
"I wouldn't recommend that either." You retort, feeling an irritation settle in the pit of your stomach as you watch Vision make Wanda laugh again. What the hell was so funny.
"I don't think you have anything to worry about you know?" Peter remarked after a moment. "I don't think Wanda sees Vision that way, they're just friends."
"I'm not jealous." You lied angrily, clearly jealous. Peter didn't want to contradict you however.
"Of course not." He said slightly startled. "I just... Wanda... She... You and her are a nice couple. Even if Vision has the stone, it's not something to worry about and..."
"Shut up, kid." You grumble angrily as you turn around, deciding to calm your nerves before you lose your mind and send Vision to the moon with one punch.
//-//
Having Pietro Maximoff as a brother in law was a pain in the ass most of the time.
You liked him in general, the problem was when he teased you, because he seemed to know exactly what to say to piss you off.
When you got back to the common room, he was on the couch, playing some stupid video game, and you sat down next to him and turned on the television.
It took him five minutes before he started to annoy you.
"My sister is getting along pretty well with Vision lately, isn't she?" He comments with a smile without taking his eyes off his cell phone. You squeeze the television control harder than necessary.
"Bite me."
Pietro laughs at your aggressiveness. Wanda and Vision enter the kitchen the next moment, their laughter slowly dying down. You don't take your eyes off the TV.
"Honey, I didn't know you were back already." Wanda says as soon as she sees you on the couch, smiling as she approaches you. She kisses your cheek, and frowns at your lack of reaction. You force a smile. "What's up?"
"Relax, little sister, she's kind of green today." Mocks Pietro, and you cast him an annoyed look, before looking back at Wanda.
"I'm just tired, babe." You say, stealing a quick kiss from her. Wanda seems to believe you and then walks away, heading toward the counter.
It takes three minutes for Vision to make a stupid comment and Wanda to laugh again, and you sigh in irritation.
"Wow, that's sad." Pietro teases again in a tone low enough for only you to hear. "Maybe you should watch your girl."
"I'll stick this remote in a place you won't like." You retort in the same tone and Pietro lets out a short laugh, turning his attention back to his cell phone.
You risk a backward glance next, and then the remote control breaks off in your hand. Vision is brushing a strand of hair out of Wanda's face, and she looks surprised and slightly embarrassed by the touch. Pietro laughs at your lack of control, but you stand up next, throwing the rest of the object to the ground and attracting the attention of the other two.
You glare angrily at Wanda before leaving.
//-//
You need to punch something.
So you go back to the training room, and put on the first pair of boxing gloves you can find.
Climbing into the ring quickly, you start punching the punching bag that Steve left over from the last training session.
It takes ten minutes for Wanda to find you.
"Y/N, what was that about?" she asks slightly annoyed as you approach. You are trying to maintain control so you don't rip the punching bag off the metal stand.
"Why don't you go laugh with your new best friend and leave me alone?" You retorted and Wanda frowned in confusion, then let out a dry laugh.
"Are you jealous?"
Your next punch rocks the iron support of the ceiling.
"No, Wanda." You retort as you stop punching, and start pulling off your gloves. Wanda crosses her arms and has a little smile on her face, which irritates you even more. " I don't feel jealous."
"Oh, yeah?" She responds with irony, and you are throwing the gloves on the floor, and approaching her. She takes a few steps back, impressed by your posture.
"Tell me dear, do I have reason to be?" You ask as you approach. "Everyone wants to remind me that that damn stone makes the toaster think that you two have some kind of connection and that I should be careful." You continue and then Wanda reaches for a wall, and you rest one of your hands beside her head, pinning her against your body. "But I know better. I have nothing to worry about."
"Y/N..." Wanda starts half breathlessly, trying to keep the look in your eyes, and failing.
"Am I wrong, baby girl?" You ask raising your free hand to her cheek, stroking her skin with your finger. "Is there anyone who makes you feel the way I do?"
Wanda sighs, denying with her head next. You give a smug little smile, placing your hand on her chin, and running your finger over her lower lip.
"Then why are you laughing so hard at that piece of tin, dear?" You questioned bringing your face closer to her neck, Wanda closed her eyes as you inhaled her perfume. "Did you want to make me angry? Did you want to be punished?"
Wanda gasps low, denying with her head. You begin to deposit wet kisses against her collarbone and move your hand down her body from her chin.
"God, Wanda, you've been so needy." You comment kissing a sensitive spot on her neck and making her sigh. "Needy enough to get wet with the toaster."
Your teasing makes Wanda grunt in irritation, and you let out a short laugh feeling her tighten the fabric of your shirt.
"What's the matter, baby? Are you angry with me?" You teased, pulling your face away from her neck. Wanda looked at you with a mixture of irritation and excitement.
"Don't say such things." She says half breathlessly. "Vision is just my friend. I don't... I don't see him like that."
You stare at her for a moment, and then back away completely.
"Ask your friend to help you cum then." You retort before turning away. Wanda lets out an impatient sigh, but she doesn't go after you.
//-//
Steve Rogers is testing your patience.
He set up weekly meetings with the team about social responsibilities and hero morality and whatever other patriotic crap he was following, and this was the first of them.
It had been forty minutes since he had been talking, and you were impressed that Tony Stark was still awake.
"And so we conclude that as the Avengers, it is our responsibility to make a difference." Steve spoke as he turned off the presentation.
"I'm thrilled." You grumbled next and the room looked at you. Steve sighed.
"Do you have anything to add, Y/N?" Steve asked seriously, and you let out a short laugh.
"Oh, of course." You say crossing your arms. "Maybe the rest of the team doesn't know but this whole bullshit is only happening because of me."
"Y/N..."
"No, cap, come on." You interrupt with irony. "Tell the team why you are making everyone learn about American history."
"Now I'm curious." Commented Tony looking at Steve, who just had a tired expression.
"This is not about pointing out mistakes." Steve says and you laugh.
"No, of course not." You retort with irony getting up. "This is about hypocrisy really."
"Kid..."
"Don't even go that way!" You interrupt angrily and then turn to Tony. "You want to know what happened? Great! Let's start with the Stark bomb that dropped on Sokovia!"
Tony blinks in confusion at your outburst, and the team looks at you with surprise and concern, while Steve holds up his hands to try to calm you down.
"Please, I'm not trying to-"
"No, Captain!" You shout. "You want to talk about moral values, don't you?" You sneer with irritation. "I have a list of shit that happens in this place."
"Stop it, now!" The captain asked angrily, and you looked at him incredulously. "You killed someone!" He charges and the team looks at you in surprise. "That's not how we do things here..."
"We have killed thousands of civilians in New York." You interrupt coldly. "Every building that fell to the ground had a family on every floor. Not to mention the missions that came after." You reminded them and Steve clenched his jaw.
"That was different."
"They hurt Wanda."
"Y/N."
You shoved Steve in the shoulders, and he took a step back. Tony and Natasha stood up.
"I'm going to kill every agent that was in that lab." You tell him. "Everyone who hurt her is going to pay."
Your colleagues look in shock at your words, but you just turn away, opening the door angrily.
In the hallway, Wanda caught up with you.
"What was all that about?" She asked worriedly as you leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
"I hate the hypocrisy of this team." You retorted with irritation, but your anger subsided considerably when Wanda placed her hand on your cheek, asking you to look at her.
"Talk to me."
You sighed, touching your foreheads together.
"On the last mission, I...we found the decommissioned base where you got your powers." You count and Wanda blinks in surprise. "I lost control when I looked at the files."
"Honey..."
"Wanda." You interrupt with a weak smile. "Please, you can't agree with them."
"I don't." She adds as she strokes your cheek, "I'm just sorry you had to see it."
You shrug, letting your arms hug your waist.
"You're not angry? Or who knows, disappointed?"
Wanda denies with her head.
"I feel the same way about you." She says. "I can't think about the people who arrested you without wanting to blow up everything around me."
You laugh lightly.
"That's some shit Steve doesn't want to understand." You say next and Wanda sighs.
"I think he understands, honey." Wanda says and you blink in confusion, "It's the same thing with Bucky."
You sigh looking away.
"Shit, you're right." You grumble, and then add with a slight smile. "Maybe he was upset about the explosion."
Wanda frowns in confusion. And then she nudges you slightly when you tell her your little story with the grenade.
"Have you lost your mind?" She asks angrily. "Don't you ever do anything like that again!"
"Hey, I was saving the ass of those two mortals in the room" You complain humorously, but Wanda sighs impatiently.
"My god, this is all just because Steve must have been worried to death that something was going to happen to you!" She says and you frown.
"What are you talking about?"
"Honey, the captain is just trying to get you to behave." She clarifies. "He doesn't want you to abuse your powers, and put yourself at risk for no reason. Honestly, I don't want to either."
You stand thoughtfully for a few minutes and then sigh.
"Damn, now I'm going to have to apologize."
Wanda makes a noise of agreement with her mouth and moves closer, stealing a quick kiss from you. She smiles when you try to kiss her back, pulling away.
"What?"
"I remembered that I'm mad at you." She says and you look at her with confusion.
"What did I do?"
"That scene earlier in the gym." She says and you sigh impatiently. "It wasn't nice."
"You're being so mean." You retort and Wanda flashes you a small smile before turning away, walking in the opposite direction.
You decide that you should apologize to the rest of the team and return to the conference room.
//-//
Wanda was being a brat.
After you apologized to the team, and Steve made it clear that he was concerned and that he understood your anger, but that there were better ways to deal with what Hydra did to the people you love, the atmosphere eased a lot. And you were hoping to spend some time with your girlfriend, but she was too busy teasing you.
She spent the last few minutes cooking with Vision. The guy who didn't eat food.
You rolled your eyes impatiently as you threw yourself on the couch, a newspaper in your hands.
"This is ridiculous, honey" You mentally warned her as you noticed her gaze on you. Wanda didn't sketch any reaction as she cooked.
"Sorry, weren't you the one who said I was, what was the word, needy?" You heard her sneer in your head. You bit your lips to keep from smiling.
"Clearly you are, dear."
"And whose fault is that?" She retorted and you frowned, attracting the attention of Bucky who was standing next to you. You smiled slightly, telling him that it was just a news report about the new political changes that had taken your attention, and then turned your focus back to the newspaper.
"What are you talking about?" You asked Wanda in your thoughts.
"You were gone for two weeks." She complained, and you took your eyes off the paper to look into the kitchen. Wanda had her back to you, stirring with a spoon in one of the pots. Vision stood next to her, watching the procedure. You clenched your jaw. "I've been all by myself."
"Are you trying to piss me off, Wanda?" You ask angrily, watching the redhead meters in front of you signal for Vision to come closer to take a look at the pot.
"I'm not doing anything." She thinks sounding harmlessly, and you close the paper tightly as you watch Vision cast her a shy smile.
Bucky looks at you curiously.
"Everything okay?" He asks and you nod as you stand up toward the kitchen.
"Wanda, I want to talk to you." You tell her stopping with your arms crossed in front of the counter. Wanda flashes you a little smile.
"I'm busy right now, honey." She retorts as she returns the spoon to the pot, stirring the mixture.
"We're making Sokovian food." Completed Vision with a smile, but you completely ignored him.
"I'm going to count to three." You warn and Wanda swallows dryly, looking at you.
"I don't..."
"Room now, or I'll make you cum against the kitchen counter."
Wanda's eyes widen, and Vision looks extremely surprised. The redhead ducks her head and walks out of the kitchen, you following her. Bucky mumbles something like "for the love of god, why all that obscenity" as you leave.
//-//
There is a palpable tension in the air during the silent walk to your room.
When Wanda opens the door and walks inside, you sigh as you close the door.
"What was that in the kitchen, dear?" You ask her as you unbutton your shirt, Wanda looks at you next, biting her lower lip in anticipation. "Insinuating that I don't pay enough attention to you. Teasing me with Vision."
"I'm sorry." She mumbles softly and you shake your head slightly, taking off your shirt and standing in just your bra. Wanda blushes and takes a step toward you, but you just hold up your finger.
"I'm going to be in charge tonight, honey." You warn as you take off your shoes. "By the way, you do look a beautiful thing in that skirt. I could barely control myself during the meeting."
Wanda smiles with embarrassment, looking away to the floor. You approach, lifting her chin with your finger slowly.
"Can I undress you?" you ask and she sighs softly, nodding afterwards. You drag your finger from her chin down, around her silhouette. When you get to shoulder height, you drag the left strap to the side, and then repeat the motion on the right. Wanda's blouse loosens on her body, and you watch her chest rise and fall rapidly, her breathing out of rhythm.
You raise your other hand next, and turn your gaze to Wanda. In a twist of your hands, you tear the fabric in front, and Wanda moans softly.
"Are you anxious, baby?" You ask her as the fabric falls away, and you run a finger down her torso to the hem of her skirt. Wanda swallows dryly. "You must be so wet."
Wanda sighs, closing her eyes momentarily. You begin to remove your skirt next, and let out a low growl when you realize there is nothing underneath as the material falls away.
"Wanda, Wanda, Wanda." You scold her maliciously, looking at her exposed intimacy and feeling your mouth fill with water. "Absolutely sinful."
Wanda sighs, moving slightly forward. You bite your lips, noticing her red cheeks. Her body cries out to be touched.
"That's no way to behave, honey." You tell her, lifting your fingers to push up the straps of your bra. "Exposed during a team meeting. Tsk, what a naughty girl."
Wanda whimpers, and you smile. "Is that what you wanted, babe?" You ask as you unzip her bra. " For me to put my fingers in you under the table? Make you come in my hand while everyone watched?"
"Please." She sighs in a husky voice. "Kiss me."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
You give a little smile at your girlfriend's breathless confession, and lower your face to the height of her neck, just as her bra falls to the floor. Depositing wet kisses all the way down, you listen to Wanda sigh with each touch of your lips against her skin.
When you reach her breasts, you raise your right hand to play with the hardened nipple between your fingers while using your mouth on the other breast, and Wanda throws her head back, moaning with her mouth open. Sucking and licking the flesh, you delight in the sounds you get from her.
"Babe, please." She pleads breathlessly. "Touch me."
You smile as you release her hardened nipple, raising your face to the height of Wanda's.
"I'm sorry, baby, but it's not going to be that easy." You warn as you squeeze her breast with a full hand. "You need to be punished for today."
Wanda sighs and then you kiss her intensely, making her stumble back, but your hand on her waist holds her against you.
Your tongue invades her mouth, and Wanda moans against your lips, her hands moving up to your neck. You smile as you lift your hands to hers to put them down.
"You can't touch." You warn between kisses and Wanda sighs, letting your tongue tangle in hers sensually.
You begin to lower your kisses again, and Wanda writhes against you, her fists clenched in an effort to resist the urge to touch you. You lick the length of her neck and one of her hands touches your waist.
"What a disobedient brat." You tease against her skin, and then use your right hand to slap her ass, making Wanda moan loudly. You wish to see the mark, so you hug Wanda around the waist, bringing your bodies together, and look down. The bright red mark. Wanda whimpers against you, her other hand coming up to your belt, and you pull away only to kiss her on the lips hard enough to leave her helpless.
As she begins to play with the beam of your belt, you slap her ass again, on the other side, and her knees buckle slightly.
"Fuck." She whimpers breathlessly, and you bring your hand to her neck, forcing her to keep her gaze on you.
"Get on the bed." You command and Wanda sighs, and then you release her. She moves to the mattress, ass thrusting toward you as she kneels on the bed, hands on the headboard.
"Will you be a good girl, Wanda?" You ask as you raise your hands to her ass, squeezing the flesh as she gasps.
"Yes."
"I don't believe you." You taunt, slapping her ass. She leans over, moaning. You spank her again, her body arching as she throws her head back, moaning with her mouth open.
Then you move forward, pulling her hair back as a hand slips between her legs, your fingers teasing her entrance and making her whimper.
"Look how wet you are, baby." You whisper against her ear, Wanda has her eyes closed tightly, her hips moving in search of more friction. "Were you missing me, love?"
"Yes." She gasps pushing her hips back, your fingers slipping inside and drawing sighs from both of you. But you withdrew them next, s Wanda whimpers. "Please, honey, touch me."
"You don't deserve it Wanda." You start against her ear. "But you feel so good, baby. So wet and hot, I can't resist."
You suddenly penetrate her with two fingers, deep and precisely, and Wanda cries out, moaning your name.
"Fuck, yes." She gasps moving her hips, you slide in and out with ease, feeling Wanda flushed.
"Look at you baby, crumbling in my fingers." You gasp, your hand releasing her hair as you drag it to her breast, squeezing the flesh.
"I...I 'm com..." Wanda begins to whimper and you smile, feeling her body quiver in spasms, the rhythm of her hips disablisting as her walls get tighter and you feel her pulsing in your fingers.
"Cum for me, baby girl." You whisper in her ear, and one stroke later is all it takes for Wanda to arch her back, coming on your fingers with her mouth open as she screams your name.
You withdraw your fingers as she falls to the mattress, turning to you next. Bringing your fingers to your mouth, you taste Wanda as she looks up at you with dilated pupils.
"You taste so good babe." You tell her with a smile, and Wanda raises her hands to your waist, asking you to climb on top of her.
You slowly shake your head, reaching up to remove your pants. Wanda bites her lips as she watches you undress.
"I want to show you something, honey." You tell her after removing your clothes, straightening to sit on her thigh. Wanda sighs as she feels your wet intimacy against her. "Do you like that?" You ask watching her reaction, Wanda raises her torso, bringing your faces closer together as her hands go to your waist. "Do you like how wet I get on top of you?"
"Fuck yes." She gasps against your lips, you begin to move against her thigh, feeling your eyes spin in their orbit with the sensation.
"What about you, Wanda?" You ask slipping your fingers into her again,making her bury her face in your neck. "Look at that baby, you're soaking wet too."
Wanda moans, her hands tightening around your waist as you feel your fingers in her. You increase the speed of your movements against her thigh at the same rate as your fingers move in and out of her, Wanda begins to force her hips to keep up.
"No one makes me feel like this, Wanda." You confess breathlessly, penetrating deep. "I am yours."
Wanda moans and forces herself to confess.
"And I am yours." She retorts groaning, and you feel her walls tightening in your fingers as the feeling at the tip of your stomach tightens.
"Let's cum together baby" You tell her breathlessly, and Wanda shudders nodding. Forcing your hips against her thigh, you gasp, trying to keep the rhythm in your fingers.
A few strokes later and you struggle to keep up, your body shaking in spasms. Wanda tightens her hands on your waist, forcing you down as you move in and out of her. Wanda begins to curse in Sokovian, moaning breathlessly, and you smile, feeling your eyes roll. And then you cum together a moment later.
You collapse against her, as Wanda falls onto the mattress. Depositing lazy kisses against her collarbone, you smile as she sighs, her fingers running up your back as you pull out of her.
"Was that enough attention honey?" You tease a minute later and Wanda laughs softly, biting her lips.
You raise your head to look at her, feeling your heart soar at the image of her lazy gaze, her lips puffy and parted.
"Do you love me?" You ask in a whisper and Wanda sighs.
"I do." She agrees and you raise your hand to her neck, your fingers strolling along her chin.
"Show me."
Wanda nods moving forward to kiss you on the lips.
#wanda maximoff#wandaxreader#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x you#wanda maximoff x you#bottom!wanda#bottom!wandamaximoff#dom!reader#softdom!reader#smut
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