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love-that-we-were-in · 1 month

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lighting the fuse might result in a bang

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.

author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3

When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes.

“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.”

“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.”

Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.

The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.

There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see.

Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party.

Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly.

“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.”

“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”

She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.”

You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets.

“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”

“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.”

“Whose?”

Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.

While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead.

Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.

The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick.

“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?”

“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”

There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table.

Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game.

It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win.

Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet.

Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.

Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.

“Are you about to be a sore loser?”

He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.”

It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond.

“Then expect to lose.”

The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more.

Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this.

Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night.

“Why aren’t you ready?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.”

“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?”

In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.

It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way.

When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around.

Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap.

You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more.

“Fancy a rematch?”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?”

There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.

You stay put.

“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.”

“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.”

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.

“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.”

“How many beers have you had?”

“Three, I think?”

Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you.

So you say it anyway.

“I bet I could outdrink you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition.

The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight.

By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.

“You guys doing okay?”

“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.”

“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.”

“Are you going to?”

He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?”

The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.

“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.”

Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.”

It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head.

You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once.

By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.

Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.

It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.

“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.

With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch.

Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest.

There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building.

But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.

So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting.

There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again.

Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms.

“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”

Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.”

You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway.

You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.

“Mind if I join you?”

Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.

No one told you Luke smokes.

You tell him as much.

“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.”

“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.”

He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.”

It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system.

“You ever blown a smoke ring?”

If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now.

“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?”

“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes.

“We can share.”

It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea.

“You’re on, Castellan.”

As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.

Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular.

Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.

You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.

You aren’t as drunk anymore.

You really wish you were.

It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you.

“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close.

“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.

What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby.

You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen.

“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.”

He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.

His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.

Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.

“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.”

“I know you hooked up with Luke.”

“Seriously?”

She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.”

“You bet on it?”

“Of course we did, it’s our brand.”

“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.”

“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”

When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight.

The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy.

It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend.

You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.

Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight.

If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does.

And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.

“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?”

“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t.

“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”

It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it.

“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter.

Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x you #🖊️ abi writes…

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samandcolbyownme · 5 months

Text

Summary: request by @theblackcatwitch3 - "I was wondering if you would do Sam falling for a girl with a tongue piercing you can decide if there's smut or no"

Warnings: SMUT18+, bar scene, semi-sub!Sam, oral (m rec), unprotected sex, facial, general filth

Word count: 2.8k | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"Who's that guy over there?" Your friend asks as she points subtly. You turn, looking behind you. Your eyes scan over the people but no one really sticks out to you.

"Who?" You ask turning back around to face her. She laughs slightly and leans in, pointing at a very specific group of guys sitting and standing at the bar, "The blonde one. Grey hoodie."

Your eyes move to try and find him. The non stop movement of people is hard, but when you meet his eyes, you feel your heart skip a beat.

You turn back quickly, facing your friend as the blush you applied before going out, turns darker.

"You should go talk to him." She nudges your arm with her elbow, "He's cute."

"Yeah but what if he's weird?" You laugh and shake your head and she sighs, "Then I'll come pretend to be your girlfriend, just give me a signal and I'll be there."

You smile, "Always there for me." You look down at your empty glass, "I need a refill anyway."

"You got this." She nudges you again, "Now go. Be flirtatious."

You sigh, "Alright. I'm going. Im going." You stand up, taking a deep, quiet breath as you turn away from her. You try to keep it cool, not like your heart was ready to thump out of your chest.

He was hot.

He was popular, from the looks of it.

You walk up to the bar next to him and you can feel him looking you up and down.

"What can I get ya?" The bartender asks and you push your glass towards him, "just a vodka cran please."

He nods and you look over, giving him a smile, "Hi."

"Vodka cran. Can't go wrong with one of them." The blonde laughs and you instantly feel relaxed. You smile and nod, "Oh yes, unless I have too many, then I'm dancing on the table or something."

You look away, cringing at the words that came from your mouth, why would you say that?

He laughs, "No I totally get that. I have a story similar to that, but I was drunk on a cruise and I was upside down against a wall."

You laugh and look over at him, "Oh gosh. Thankfully I'm not the only one with an embarrassing story."

He nods, "Never. I'm Sam by the way." He extends his hand and you nod, gently slipping your hand into his, "Y/n."

"That's a pretty name." He smiles and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks again. You lick your lips, "Thank you."

He tilts his head, "Is that.. a tongue ring I seen poking out there?"

You laugh slightly, "Yes, it sure is." You open your mouth slightly and push your tongue forward and Sam bites his lower lip, "That's actually hot."

You're taken aback by his words, but also, turned on.

"You think?" You smirk and he nods, "Oh yeah. Made my crush on you a little bit worse." He takes a sip of his drink but quickly follows up, "In a good way. In a good way. I totally mean that in a my crush on you grew bigger in a way. Sorry."

You shake your head, smiling, "No I totally get it."

He laughs and his friend comes up, "Yo Sam, we're go-" the dark haired man looks up at you, "oh shit. Sorry I didn't mean to ruin anything."

"You're good, man. Colby, this is y/n." Sam looks at you, "y/n, this is Colby."

Colby reaches out and you take his hand, "Hi Colby."

"Hello, y/n." Colby smiles and leans in to Sam as he lets go of your hand. What ever he whispers makes Sam's cheeks turn red and he laughs nervously as he pushes him away, "Bye, Colby."

Colby laughs and waves as he walks away.

"Sorry about him. When he's drunk he's.." he blows air and shakes his head. You smile, "No worries. My friend is the same way." You motion over your shoulder and he nods, "I take it she told you I was staring?"

You nod and take your drink, "Thank you." You turn to Sam, leaning on the bar, "Yeah. Took me a second to figure out who she was talking about but.." you sip your drink, looking up at Sam, "Here we are."

"Here we are." He licks his lips, eyes moving to watch you sip your drink through the straw again. He meets your eyes and laughs, "Sorry, I just.. the tongue ring just-" he laughs and shakes his head, "I promise I'm not trying to be weird or anything."

You smile and roll your eyes, "please, if I thought you were weird, my friend would be over here pretending to be my girlfriend by now."

He laughs, "Does that actually work?"

"Sometimes. Other times they've asked us to prove it and we usually just kiss or something." You smirk as you see his eyebrow twitch, "Yeah, it makes a fun night."

"I'm sure." He checks his watch, "I was actually getting ready to head to another bar, but I really don't want to leave you."

You smile at his boldness and he sighs, "Sorry. That was.. bold I guess."

"No. Not at all. I like it." You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and he smirks, "Yeah?"

You nod, "I was actually getting ready to wrap it up for the night, but she made me come talk to you, so.."

He nods, "Well I thank your friend."

You glance back at her and she gives you a thumbs up. You smiles and look back at him, "Me too."

Sam finishes his drink, "So.. your place or mine?"

"I actually live a little over an hour away, so if you don't mind, your place?" You tilt your head slightly and he nods, "Fine by me."

You quickly finish your drink and set it down before turning to face Sam, "I'm just going to go let her know, do you want to come with me?"

He nods, "Sure."

You lead him over to your friend and she leans back, looking up at you guys with a smirk, "Leaving so soon?"

"We've been here for three hours." You laugh and motion to Sam, "This is Sam. Sam this is y/f/n."

"Hey, thanks for pointing her in my direction." Sam laughs and your friend smiles and nods.

"Alright. I'll text you." You bite your lip and raise your brows before turning to leave with Sam.

"I actually live like a block away, if you don't mind the walk." Sam holds the door open for you and you shake your head, "Fine with me."

You snake your arm around his and he can't help but smile.

Alcohol was a big help in this situation because if it was any other setting, you weren't sure if you'd just walk up to anyone and go home with them.

You felt something different with Sam.

"So that tongue ring.." Sam starts out and you smile, "What about it, Sam?"

"Did it hurt? Like getting it done?" He looks down at you and you shrug, "I mean, for me. The initial piercing didn't hurt. It was the few days after. It wasn't bad, really. The swelling was the worst of it. I couldn't talk."

You imitate what you sounded like with the swollenness of it, "I sounded like this."

Sam laughs, "Oh my god. I'm so sorry for laughing."

You shake your head, "No, no. It's okay. I laugh about it now because it was hilarious. My friends were picking on me for it. But I've had it for two years now, so."

"Oh really?" Sam asks and you look up at him, "Uh huh."

You could tell there was something on the tip of his tongue that he was unsure of or to even ask.

"What are ya thinkin?"

He smiles as he looks away, "Nothing it just-"

"You wanna know if you can feel it?" You bite your lip and watch as he looks down at you, nodding, "So much, honestly."

"Good thing I already have my mind set on some things." You laugh slightly, "that probably makes me sound so bad."

"Not at all." He stops, smiling down at you, "This is me." You look at the slightly fancy building, "this is so much nicer than my apartment building."

"Well, maybe if things work out.." Sam trails off with a smirk, "Come on." He takes your hand before he pulls you up the steps, walking you inside, "Just up these steps here."

You nod, looking around as your hand in his and you can't help but smiling, silently thanking y/f/n for pushing you to talk to him.

"Here we are." He takes his keys out, unlocking the door, "Now I do live with Colby, so if it's too messy for your standards." He turns to look at you, "Blame him."

You laugh, "Deal."

He pushes the door open and you walk in behind him, coming to a stop as he closes the door behind you, "this isn't messy at all, Sam."

"Well thanks." He slips off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a white t shirt. Your eyes follow him as he walks over to the kitchen area, "Need a drink or anything?"

You shake your head, "No thank you. I'm good."

He nods and walk over, "So.."

"So.." you lay your hands on his chest and look up at him as his hands lay gently on your hips, "I'm down for whatever you want to do."

You smile, "Well. I can show you what it's like to get a blowjob from a girl with a tongue ring."

"I'm never going to say no to that. Especially from you."

His words sent an excited shiver down your spine, "Okay." You bite your lip as he pulls you towards the steps and up to his room, "I'd say we can stay at the couch but I don't know when Colby is coming back and I don't know if our friends will be with him."

You nod, "That's fine. We don't need him walking in when you're down my throat anyways."

"Oh fuck, yeah. You're right." He pulls you to him, "I just-" he cuts himself off by pressing his lips to yours and that ignites everything.

He walks you backwards into his room, kicking it shut as his lips stay on yours. His hands work to push your loose denim jacket off your shoulders, and you let it drop to the floor.

You step over it as he walks you back towards the bed. He pulls away and your hands move to push up his white shirt, leaning in to kiss his torso.

His eyes stay on you as you lean back, "Lay down for me."

He's eager, quickly sitting on the bed and moving back to lean up against the headboard. His eyes track you as you crawl up the bed, running your hands up his jeans clad thighs and stopping once you reach the buttons on his white jeans.

You smirk up at him, pushing up his shirt as you lean down to kiss up his torso, again.

His breath hitches as you make your way back down, "I don't want to get my lipstick on your pants." You joke and Sam shakes his head, "I'll figure it out."

Your eyes trail up and down the dark purple lip marks you left on his skin, "I'm sure you will." You look up at him, biting your lip as you work to undo his button and zipper.

You can already feel how hard he is for you.

You were practically swimming in your own arousal.

He lifts his hips up as you work his jeans down his legs, eyes focused on the bulge under his boxers, "Need you so bad." You whisper as your hand lays over him.

He groans lowly, hips bucking to get your hand to give him any sort of friction that he's craving.

"Please." He whimpers out. He looks shocked by his begging, like he's never done it before.

"Since you asked so nicely." You snicker and palm his cock through his boxers. His head tilts back, resting on the wall as his lips part and a breath escapes, "Fuck."

You roll your tongue ring against your teeth, watching at the pleasure that's twisting his face, "You're so hot."

He smirks, tilting his head up to look at you, "I was.. thinking the same thing about you."

You smirk, moving your hand away to peel his boxers from his skin, "Have you ever been sucked off by a girl with a tongue ring?"

He shakes his head and you smile, "Thought so." You toss his boxers to the floor, on top of his jeans and you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, "You won't be able to say that anymore."

Before he can answer, you lean down, licking the tip, angling your head back so he has a full few of your tongue ring pressed against the tip of his cock.

He groans, "Fuck, that's hot."

His eyes stay focused on the little metal ball that sitting on top of your tongue, moaning out quietly when it presses into his soft flesh, "Shit."

You smirk, leaning back slightly as you stroke slowly. You dip your head down, taking as much of him in as you can. You hold your head still and you can feel his head lay gently on the back of your head.

You slowly work your head up and down, bobbing slowly as you move your tongue back and forth, making sure to use the ring the best you can.

"F-fuck." Sam bucks his hips, moaning out as you pull back, a string of saliva connecting you with him until you wipe your chin off, "I take it you like it?"

He nods quickly, "uh huh." His chest is rising and falling as he smirks, "So much."

You stand up, stripping down as he leans up to slip his shirt off. You move back to the spot in between his legs and lay down on your stomach.

You stick your tongue out, eyes locked as you run his cock over your tongue. You suck on the tip, pulling it out to run the bottom of your tongue ring over the tip.

You look up and see Sam in awe of you.

Like he's never seen something like this before.

He is absolutely in love with it.

"Fuck, fuck." He bucks his hips, "y/n."

You looked up at him, in love with the sound of your name in a moan rolling from his lips. You move up, straddling his hips as you lean down to kiss him.

His hands move down your back to ass, squeezing before resting on your hips. He helps guide you down onto his cock and you both exchange a gasp as he slides into you for the very first time.

"You feel so good." He whispers, "so fucking good."

You rest your forehead on his, eyes squeezed shut as he slowly pushes his hips upward. You whimper out, lazily kissing his face as you make your way to his lips.

Your hips move up and down, slow at first then you quickly find a pace that works.

And it works really well, you're ready to cum, "S-so close."

His hands grips your hips, "go ahead, baby." You place a hand on the wall behind his head, moaning out as you squeeze his cock.

Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips and the sight of that simple little tongue rings could make Sam cum right along with you.

You moan loudly as you rest your head on his shoulder, "F-fuck." You whimper as you come down from your high.

Sam holds your hips as he thrusts his own upwards, “Where.. do you want me?”

You lean up, “Where do you want to go?”

He tilts his head, smirking before biting his lip, “I think you know.”

You smirk back, nodding, “tell me when.”

He nods, gripping your hips as you ride him a moment more, “S-sh- okay.”

You get off of him, getting on your knees as you tilt your head back, opening wide as you stick your tongue out for him to coat the metal call on your tongue white.

He stroke himself, groaning as he never takes his eyes off of you, “So beautiful.” You smile and swallow, licking your lips before leaning up to suck him clean.

“S-shit.” His knees buckle and he laughs slightly, “that was..” he runs hand through his hand and helps you to your feet, “Please don’t leave just yet.”

You wipe the corner of your mouth and shrug, “Is it bad to say that I don’t want to leave.”

He shakes his head, “Not at all.”

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Thanks for reading! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

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toomuchracket · 2 months

Text

dancing like she way out (george daniel x reader smut)

shag the dj shag the dj shag the dj, or whatever the smiths said. basically - a night out takes a turn for the better when you hook up with the hot dj. won't lie, there's use of the d word in here. and choking, because we've all seen that man's hands. enjoy <3

all your friends are wasted, and you hate this club.

no, really - three of them are currently spewing their guts up in the toilets after going too hard on the tequila rose, while the rest flail wildly on the dancefloor in between queuing at the bar to buy yet another round of overpriced jagerbombs. meanwhile, you're doing your best to dodge the extremely persistent man you first swerved about an hour ago, some palm angels-clad twat with shit hair and an inability to take no for an answer, and also doing your best not to spill your vodka cranberry all over yourself in the process.

in short, you're having a shitter of a night.

at least the dj's fit, though. really fit. and, to be fair, he’s spinning some decent stuff. the one saving grace of the night, you'd say.

you watch him from the edge of the dancefloor, empty cup in hand. he's quite focused, more so than some of the wankers you've been dragged to see in this club in the past, only looking up to signal to the bar staff that he needs a refill and to check the vibe of the room. he has pretty eyes, you notice, sharp and dark and clear; eyes that could definitely get you to commit a multitude of sins, quite frankly.

and now? they're looking right at you.

looking isn't a strong enough word, actually. they drag slowly down your body - locking with your own, then travel to your pouty, brown-lined lips, and shamelessly over the curves of your body onto your legs - leaving a trail of thrill-induced goosebumps across your skin in their wake. suddenly, they flick back up to your face, and one closes in a wink. you smirk, and the dj does too.

interesting.

one of your more sober friends nudges you, handing you another vodka. you accept it without breaking eye contact with the dj, wrapping your lips around the straw and smiling with it between your teeth. he raises his eyebrows, still smirking, and you wink; your friend notices, and leans round so you can see her. “are you eye-fucking the dj?”

“maybe,” you reluctantly tear your eyes from him to look at her. “in my defence, he started eye-fucking me first.”

she laughs, tugging you onto the floor and motioning for you to dance. “i think we should keep him looking at you, then.”

“alright,” you down your drink and set down the cup. “let's dance.”

and so, you do, pulling out all the stops. your hair flows behind you as you swing your hips, body twisting and turning and stretching as you lose yourself under the lights and amidst the beat, and you laugh excitedly with your friend as she twirls you. the dancefloor is so empty that you can spin to your heart's content, but that doesn't bother you at all - it means there's less for the object of your efforts to be distracted by, more chance that his attention is on you.

it seems to be completely on you, actually; every time you catch a glimpse of him, his eyes are on you again, and your friend attests to that in your ear as she pulls you in for a hug. “he hasn't stopped looking at you, for even a second. that man wants you, babe.”

you angle your body towards the deck so you can see him. the club lighting is simultaneously sheering out his black shirt and throwing both his stubbled face and tattooed arms into focus - fuck, his arms.

and he's still looking at you.

“i think you might be right,” you turn back to your friend so she can hear you, deliberately leaning forward and shaking your ass slightly in his direction. “and i want him too.”

she shoves you towards the deck. “go and get him, then.”

with a giggle, you set off, swinging your hips as you all but skip towards the extremely sexy man behind the music. unfortunately for you, some arsey man in too-tight chinos gets to the deck first; folding your arms, you stand behind him, miffed, and wait your turn to speak.

luckily, you only have to do that for a couple of seconds. the guy isn't particularly drunk, but he's annoying. “hey, bro,” he says to the dj, whose handsome face is set in an expression full of what can only be described as ennui. you assume he sees this kind of thing all the time. “can you play some, like, chainsmokers? that would be so sound of you.”

chainsmokers? christ.

clearly, your distaste is showing, because the dj's face slips into a tiny smirk as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye; it disappears, though, before he replies. “‘fraid not, mate…”

his fucking voice. dear god. who is this man, and where has he been all your life?

“...i don't take requests.”

you believe it. everything about the dj screams control, and with every passing second your want to submit to that control is growing. it's not want you have for him any more, but sheer fucking need.

the other guy shrugs and wanders off, and the attention is all on you again. leaning over the mixing board towards you, the dj smirks again. “you, however, can ask me for anything you like.”

fuck. keep it together, bitch.

“anything?” you smile, saccharine, carefully leaning on the side of the deck in such a way that it pushes your boobs up. “even cascada?”

he rolls his eyes. “and here i thought you had taste.”

“whatever made you think that?”

“you picked out that dress to wear tonight, yeah?”

christ. “yeah. you like it?”

he nods, taking a sip of his drink. “it's gorgeous on you. but i think most things would be.”

you blush, revelling in the compliment before shooting your shot. “present company included?”

“jesus,” he shakes his head, and for the briefest of moments you worry that you've lost him. but then he looks up, hunger in those fucking eyes of his, and smirks again. “is that what you want, angel? to go somewhere together and find out?”

the ease with which the pet name falls from his lips is staggering, so much so that you can merely nod. that's not good enough for him, though - “need you to talk to me, beautiful.”

“sorry, sorry,” you compose yourself (with great difficulty). “yes, that's what i want.”

“s'reciprocated,” he smiles, genuinely. “i’m george, by the way.”

you smile in response, and introduce yourself. george says your name, slowly, and you fear that your legs might give way. “pretty,” he replies. “i like how you feel on my tongue.”

the words practically shoot straight into the scrap of fabric you call panties, and your jaw drops. george giggles. “you're cute when you're flustered, angel.”

“shame. i don't tend to make a habit of that.”

“hmmm,” he clicks his tongue. “i'll need to work on that, then.”

you smile, radiant. “promise?”

“promise,” george smiles. he checks his watch, and you try not to drool at the way his arms flex. or his hands - god, look at his hands! “s'almost closing time. meet me back here in half an hour?”

“looking forward to it,” you blow him a kiss, preening at the way he blushes. “see you in a bit, gorgeous.”

he winks again. you turn and walk back to your friends, who have gathered along the edge of the dancefloor to watch your exchange with the dj. they huddle around you like a rugby scrum when you near them, a cacophony of slurred voices asking what and where and who and when and how; you gesture for them to follow you to the smoking area, where - to much excitement - you relay the details to them in the breaks between nicotine hits, and hug them all goodnight before you have to go back inside, them to the cloakroom and you to the dj.

your wingwoman friend is the last one you bid farewell to - she links arms with you to walk back into the sweaty club, doing the pre-prepared spiel you give each other when you pull. “have fun, but don't be stupid. if it's his place you end up at, then send me your location. i'll phone you in the morning, alright?”

“yeah,” you kiss her cheek. “thanks for all your help.”

“no problem. stay safe, have the best time,” she grins. “and i want details at the pub quiz on tuesday.”

“noted,” you hug her again as you reach the place to part ways. “love you. goodnight.”

“get it, bitch!” she shouts after you; you turn to salute her and giggle, and then she's gone. with a deep breath and a shake of your hair, you dart past the people starting to head towards the cloakroom, butterflies starting to emerge again as you get closer to george.

he smiles when he sees you, eyes raking over your body once again. “you know,” he says, as you reach the deck. “you really are beautiful.”

“i'm already leaving with you, george, you can drop the flattery,” you roll your eyes, then beam at him. “thank you, though.”

“just stating facts,” george turns some sort of dial, and the music fades to silence. as the club staff usher everyone from the room, he sighs happily. “been waiting to do that since you came up to me earlier.”

“really?”

“yeah,” he unplugs his laptop from the deck, sliding it into a backpack. “you're very distracting, you know, looking so good and dancing like that.”

“well, i try,” you hold out a hand. “ready to go?”

george nods, stepping down beside you - you gawk at the the height of him, towering over you. “fuck me, you're tall.”

he laughs, taking your hand in his. again, the size difference is insane, and you find yourself momentarily nervous to get into bed with him; that soon passes in favour of excitement, though. “don't worry, i'll even out the height thing by getting on my knees soon enough.”

the speed with which you tug him toward the exit at that is almost comical. george only giggles and lets you drag him to the door - he stops when you’re out in the cold air, though. “hold on, angel, i need a cig.”

you nod, standing on the step beside the door while he moves down a few to light his cigarette in peace. his hands, so big, are surprisingly nimble as he pulls a fag from the packet and flicks the lighter on; again, it does something to your core, and you lean against the brick wall to keep yourself steady.

after a few (erotic) drags of the cig, george holds it out to you. wordlessly, you accept, holding eye contact as you take a drag and exhale it in his direction. george's eyes flick to your lips, then back to your own - suddenly, he's kissing you, a hand in your hair and one on the small of your back, your arms looped around his neck. it's not a polite kiss, by any means; george kisses like he’s trying to devour you in the best possible way, stealing all the air from your lungs and inhibitions from your brain, tongue and teeth working against your mouth to get you to give in to him.

like you need any convincing.

a trail of spit connects you as he breaks the sloppy kiss, forehead resting against yours as you both breathe deeply. “fuck, angel,” george sighs, kissing you quickly again. “your place or mine?”

“we can be at my flat in five minutes if we walk quickly.”

“shit. lead the way.”

***

your front door hasn't even fully closed behind you before george is pressing you up against it, grabbing handfuls of your ass and lifting you so he can kiss your lips and neck while he grinds into you. every time his hips meet yours, you feel your eyes roll back into your head and the need for him inside you growing. his teeth meet the skin of your collarbone, and you swear you see stars. “george.”

his head shoots up immediately. “no marks?”

“no, leave as many as you want. it's just,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin. “i really want you to take me to bed. please?”

he groans at that, peeling you off the wall as he turns. “where…?”

“second door on the left.”

no sooner than the words have left your lips, george is kicking your bedroom door open and all but throwing you onto your bed. hands shaking, you do your best to undo your heels and throw them into a corner as george rids himself of backpack and shirt; you mewl at the sight of him, muscles hardened in the moonlight, and sit up on your knees to clumsily undo his belt.

he shakes his head, moving your hands from him. “you first, angel. arms up, come on, let's get that pathetic excuse for a dress off you.”

“i thought you liked this dress?” you frown, even as you oblige and let him peel the dress up your body.

“i do, but - oh, fuck,” george moans as your almost-bare body is revealed to him. “it was doing an awful job of stopping me thinking about you like this.”

his gaze on you is almost predatory, so much so that it makes you sink back onto your knees in submission, legs slightly open and chest forward. “do i live up to your daydreams, sir? no, wait,” you squint, assessing george to see if you can figure him out. “do i live up to your daydreams, daddy?”

you've hit the nail on the head; george’s eyes close as he swears and undoes his belt, kicking his trousers and shoes off before climbing onto the bed, onto you. he pulls you slowly onto his lap, and rocks you back and forth even more slowly. “does this answer your question, baby?” he murmurs, the gravel in his voice liquifying your insides and sending them straight into your underwear. the friction against his hardness is incredible, and all you can do is whine as you look into those obsidian eyes - again, that's not good enough for george, who delivers a sharp smack to your ass. “words, angel. tell daddy what you think.”

“i - ooh,” you whimper, as george changes angle to one that manages to catch your clit with every grind. “i think i live up to them, yes, daddy. think you wanna fuck me, and - shit - i want that too.”

“my smart girl,” he kisses you again, another head-melter that has you moaning into his mouth. “what else do you want, hmmm? want me to go down on you?”

as tempting as having that mouth between your legs sounds… that isn’t what you want right now. “wake me up like that tomorrow, please,” you savour the way george whines into your neck at the thought. “but right now, i just need you to fill me up, daddy.”

“well, i did say you could ask me for anything you liked,” he grins against you, kissing you quickly before softly laying you down. “fuck, look at you, angel, so fucking beautiful. where have they been keeping you from me all this time?”

your cheeks burn at the way he bites his lip, trailing his hands over your bare chest and all the way down to your panties. “i mean, seriously,” he hums. “i've never wanted to fuck someone more in my life.”

“so do it. please,” you open your legs, showing him the surely-visible wet patch on your silky underwear. “need you inside me, daddy.”

“alright, alright,” george huffs out a laugh, one of disbelief, as he trails a finger up your clothed slit. “jesus, you’re soaked already. can i take these off?”

“please.”

he smiles, dragging the material down your legs and his fingers through your wetness; evilly, he slides the same hand beneath his boxers to palm himself, groaning. when you protest, he laughs. “just making sure we're both ready, baby. speaking of… protection?”

you say nothing, and just reach across to grab your pill packet from the bedside table and wave it at him.

“noted,” he leans forward to kiss you, before moving back onto his knees to slide his boxers off. as the fabric drops, so does your jaw: you knew from the feeling of him under you that you weren't dealing with something compact, here, but george is fucking huge. like, slightly terror-inducing huge. that said, though, you begin to salivate at the sight of him - he notices this, and giggles. “like what you see?”

“yeah,” wide eyed, you look up at his face, your own breaking into an anticipated smile; tentatively, you reach out to touch his cock, both of you gasping in tandem when you wrap your hand (as best you can) around him, manicured thumb flicking over the pre-cum soaked tip. neither of you break eye contact as you pump him a few times, the sexual tension in the room too magnetic to do so, and when you speak it comes out in a whisper. “how do you want me?”

“how don’t i want you?” george smirks, tapping your wrist to make you let go of him. he shuffles forward, big hands meeting your chest and squeezing gently, and beams when you whine. “fucking love that sound. lie back for me, angel, wanna watch these tits while i make you feel good. that alright?”

“mhmm,” you do as asked, fanning your hair across the pillow and spreading your legs - george can't seem to decide where to look, eyes darting between your face and chest and glistening cunt, and it makes you feel incredible. “like this, daddy?”

he nods. “perfect,” his lips find yours again as he settles above you, resting his weight on one hand while the other slides between your thighs again. two long fingers tentatively dip into your cunt, and george groans while you gasp at the fullness. christ, if this is how you react to his fingers, then what on earth will it be like when he's actually fucking you? “jesus, baby, you're so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyes heavy as he looks down into yours. “want me to get you off with my hand first, before you take my cock? i mean, you're wet enough that you should be alright, but… i want you to feel good. comfortable. s'all about you, angel.”

shit. you have a sneaking suspicion that this man might genuinely be the death of you. but at least you'll die happy, yeah?

smiling, slightly dazed, you shake your head. “just want you to fuck me, daddy. need it, needed your cock all night.”

“you're sure?” george caresses your cheek.

“i'm sure,” you nod, humming happily as you watch him pump himself and drag his length through your wetness. “put it in, please.”

“sweet girl,” he kisses you, deep and slow, and pushes into you, the same. “oh my god.”

you're speechless, breathless, completely fucking brainless - all you can think about is the utterly delicious way george is stretching you out. nobody you've ever fucked before has really made you relate to the metaphor “rearranging your guts”, but with him it's crystal clear; he's so gentle and you're so turned on that it isn't painful, but he's definitely ruined any other man for you already and he's - you look down to check - not even fully inside you yet.

you giggle, slightly delirious, at that realisation. george smiles at you, groaning as he bottoms out and stills inside you. “feeling good?”

“so fucking good,” you lean up to kiss him, whining against his lips at the slight change in angle. fuck, he’s deep. “fuck me, please.”

he smirks. “magic word?”

“fuck me, please,” you kiss him again, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip then pulling back and whispering. “daddy.”

“good girl,” george pulls your legs around his waist, slowly sliding out of you and back in; you both moan in harmony as he does. “jesus, you feel incredible.”

you preen, beaming up at him - the smile is knocked from your face as he speeds up, though, in favour of your jaw dropping in pleasure. “yeah, that's it. fucking me so good, don't stop, please.”

“not stopping until i get you off, angel, don't worry,” he shifts slightly again, his next thrust hitting a spot inside you that you didn't think existed; when he does, you whimper, the contact sending another gush to your core and shockwaves throughout your body. “oh, you liked that, didn't you, sweet girl? shall i do it again? yeah, i think i will.”

he does, ripping a cry from your throat in the process. your legs quiver around his waist, the repeated hits to the area sparking them into movement, and you clutch desperately at his forearm beside your head. “daddy…”

“what is it, angel?” george leans down to kiss you, still fucking you relentlessly. “tell me what you want.”

your brain is growing hazier by the second, dopamine and serotonin and god knows what else overpowering all your motor functions, but you still manage to oblige. “want - fuck - want you to choke me.”

“fuck,” george’s eyes roll back slightly. “you're sure?”

you nod, stomach contracting in ecstasy. “need it, need you.”

“you're so fucking cute,” he grins, incongruous with the way his big hand wraps around your neck and presses, just enough for you to sigh happily and clench around him. “think you really might be an angel, by the way,” he pants out, never letting the rhythm of his hips drop. “you feel like heaven. look like it, too. and trust me, later on,” he kisses your neck, dragging his tongue up so he can whisper in your ear. “i am going to get on my knees and worship you for hours.”

okay, it's settled - he's perfect. you can never fuck anyone else ever again. “please.”

“‘please’ what, sweet girl? please do that?” he coos, sucking another mark just under your jaw. “or please make you cum?”

“cum,” you choke out from under his hand, legs practically thrashing from how good you feel. “please, daddy.”

“gonna be a good girl and help me, then?” george looks you straight in the eye, his almost completely shut in pleasure. “touch yourself for me. show me what you're gonna do every time you think about this, about me.”

christ alive. you obey (you're not sure that you'd be unable to resist that voice even if you wanted to), grabbing one of your tits in one hand and sliding the other between your bodies to your clit. as soon as you touch the bundle of nerves, the shockwaves pulsing through your body increase tenfold; if not for george above you, grounding you, you reckon you'd have shot off the mattress by now. through a quivering jaw, you talk to him. “m'so close, so fucking close.”

“me too, angel,” george’s eyelids flutter as he talks. “don't fight it - cum for me, my good girl, cum on my fucking cock.”

your body does as it’s told, a final surge of pleasure flowing through your body so strongly that you actually black out for a second; your fuse is relit by george groaning, gravel and guttural, in your ear, imminent climax signalled by his hips falling out of rhythm for the first time so far and his hand slackening on your neck. “oh, fuck, i'm there. can i… inside?”

“yeah,” you breathe out. “fill me up, daddy.”

“shit!”

with a moan of your name, george buries himself to the hilt inside you one final time, thrusting shallow and kissing you fiercely as he paints your insides white. once he’s done, he carefully lies down on top of you and rests his head in the crook of your neck, still inside you as you both catch your breath. despite finishing last, he’s the first to speak, moving to hover over you and kiss you again. “i'm so glad you decided to go out tonight.”

“me too,” you giggle. “same again next week?”

“absolutely. i'll be the one waiting by the speakers.”

#and yes i DID crop matthew out of the pic thank you for asking #mads muses #mads does writing #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fanfic #george daniel fic #george daniel x reader #george x reader #george daniel smut

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azaarchiive · 2 months

Text

☆be mine?; gojo satoru

synopsis; satoru is never second, so why aren’t you with him right now?

notes: valetines treat that’s a day late, sorry guys i got so fucking plastered yesterday but here i am now!

tags: alcohol consumption, rich 18 y/o gojo, jealousy, tiny age gap (between you and random), gn reader, foul language, use of petname (baby), mentions of throwing up, 995 words ❤️ happy valentines guys

satoru was truthfully only here for you and suguru, he was not that fond of parties which was quite conflicting with his persona. it was just an excuse to get drunk and getting drunk weakens a person. plus alcohol tasted yucky to him.

nonetheless, when you wanted to throw a valentines party for all the singles, he just had to come. now, he was heavily regretting that choice as he could see your so called ‘valentines’ here with you.

you see, two days ago, your school was selling roses that you could give to anyone of your choosing for valentines. satoru with his marvellous brain decided he was to give you one, confess his undying love for you and finally make you two happen. you both would be the power couple, the dream team that everyone would envy while you two would snuggle and whisper sweet nothings into each others ears. sadly, that's not what happened.

a junior that had obviously had his eyes on you for a while had come to give you a rose and ask you out. while you had frequently reminded everyone that you were not into him as he had a reputation to be... popular with the girls, it still irked him how you talked to him and was still considering going out on a date with that loser when he was standing right here.

so, he didn't buy the rose. instead, he congratulated you and watched from afar how you two were getting it on in this stupid party with 2000s club music blaring in his ears and a cup of your strong concoction (it was 3/4s vodka and 1/4th sprite) in his hand.

"everyone can see you staring." a voice from behind him spoke, of course he already knew that person was there but was just too angry to face them.

"i'm way better than that loser, like i'm the strongest man alive, i've got money that will last a lifetime and a face that kills. i'm the ideal package!" satoru complained, huffing before finally turning around and taking a large gulp of your valentines special.

"then show her that, you have been here crying and complaining about how you're way better than the junior but she doesn't know that because you're yapping instead of doing." suguru sighed, having to hear the same 'in the strongest and richest' speech from satoru was a little tiring.

"why do i have to prove something that's a fact?" satoru asked frustratingly, taking another swing of the drink.

"ok, we all know you hate drinking so slow down and stop trying to look cool." suguru chuckled, trying to take away satorus drink from him only for him to snatch it back aggressively.

"i do drink! in fact.." satoru chugged down his drink, took sugurus drink and chugged it down also.

"what the fuc-"

"i'll show that little boy what a real man is!" satoru slightly slurred, given that satoru literally never drinks, you're heavy drinker mixer got him quite fucked up very quickly.

suguru watched satoru walk away, debating on whether he should try and salvage the situation.

"a party always needs some entertainment." suguru shrugged, getting a refill before making his way to watch the mess that was about to unfold in front of him.

satoru marched towards you, dragging you onto the couch as he flopped on top of you. you gasped from the sudden attack in shock.

"satoru- what the hell are you doing?!" you asked, trying to push him off of you.

"um, do you need any help?" the junior asked.

"hell no, back off!" satoru exclaimed, causing the junior to jump slightly and run away, he was not about to be purple hollowed on valentine's day.

"no, rui! ugh, satoru you scared him off!" you groaned, finally pushing him next to you as you laid there heaving.

"good, you don't need him." satoru shifted to face you, taking off his sunglasses.

you looked into his eyes, a whirlwind of emotions hit you as those deep

blue eyes stared into yours. you always found him attractive, he was charming and sweet whilst being an utter fool. satoru had a humorous personality and fuck, his million dollar face was worth everything in the world to kiss.

however, you couldn't tell if he thought the same about you. if he thought about the intricacies of your facial structure the way you did and if he thought about scenarios where you both went on dates or watched cheesy romcoms whilst snuggling together.

“leave that poor boy alone.” you muttered, your hand somehow finding its way to his hair. satoru leaned into you, his head on your chest while you played with his white strands.

“not when he’s trying to get with you like you’re not mine.” he muttered back, looking up at your face of shock.

“satoru, you’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying.” you said, trying more to convince yourself rather than satoru.

“get real, you know for a fact im in love with you. why wouldn’t i be? you’re fucking amazing.” satoru smiled.

“what- i- im-“ you stammered, this was not expected at all.

“it’s ok, i know you feel same way, im amazing as well. so please, don’t go on that date with him to try and substitute him for me.” satoru slurred, holding you tightly as he placed a small peck on your chest.

you felt flustered, heavily flustered. since when was satoru this perceptive? well, you guessed he always has been, you just hoped he wasn’t seeing right through you specifically.

“be my valentines? tomorrow i’ll treat you to a date.” satoru lifted his head, staring right into your eyes again.

“february 15th is such a side chick day.” you joked.

“my favourite day for my favourite side chick then.” satoru nuzzled back into your oddly warm chest as you jokingly slapped his head.

satoru was glad he turned infinity off for this, for you.

“so, you guys are finally together now?” suguru spoke softly, causing you both to jump up in surprise.

“oh my god, i didn’t see you there.” you jumped.

“you stalker.” satoru joked.

“whatever, i was scared that you were gonna embarrass yourself, which you did.” suguru smiled.

“either way, i now have a partner while you’re alone for valentine’s day, haha!” satoru replied.

“don’t be mean.” you scolded satoru.

“sorry baby.” satoru went back into your chest with a gleeful smile on his face.

“i feel sick.” suguru fake retched.

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guppydoll · 7 months

Text

This Isn't Barbie Land: Chapter 1

Ken x Fem!Reader

You are working away as a waitress at a night club when the oddest man came up to you after your shift and accidentally swept you off your feet. Yet you don't know if you are ready for another relationship after the disaster that was your last one. You just hope everything goes nice and easy.

Ken is your doll and he wants you to teach him how to be human and help you through the pain you've been feeling.

This first chapter felt rushed to me a little but it's all the world building setting up the plot of the story and what's to come. Enjoy this little dabble and I promise I have a ton planned. It's also my first time writing in second person. Forgive me if there are some grammar errors and feel free to leave any critique on this story! I wanna always improve and I love feedback!

I also did a quick once through for editing cause buh, I hate editing and I just wanted to post it. Also I wanna say I got inspired from the heart beat part of this story from Nothing Natural by @interpolanticssuperfan . Their fanfic is super amazing please also check them out

This story is 18+ but I'll add in the warnings if there is any smut in the chapter.

Warnings: None for this one aside from mild swearing, alcohol consumption, and jokes about sex/mentions of sex. (Ken is virgin so get ready for Reader having to teach Ken about sex soon enough)

Words: 1893

You knew it was always a bad idea to stay for a drink after your shift ended, but after the night you had it had become a necessity. Another rough night of running around on your feet in heels that could qualify as an OSHA violation. You pulled your skirt down, trying to give yourself some modesty. Not that you disliked mini skirts, you loved them! You just hated the feeling of eyes burning into your skin and longing looks drunk men would give you as you brought them their drinks. At least the tips made it worth it.

You downed your cocktail quickly, scanning the crowd of partying people. You noticed a very tall blonde with women huddling around him until you would see their faces scrunch up after he spoke and they would walk away, only for another woman to try her shot at the blonde. He had a complete look of innocence and just the biggest smile, not seeming to understand when a girl would run her hand up his chest. It made you giggle, he was nothing like any of the regulars.

He was stunning, even though it was hard to see him in the dull light of the club. His big blue eyes danced all around the place. He would smile like a child as a waiter would walk past holding a tray filled with sparkling drinks. When he suddenly made eye contact with you, you felt a rush of chills. He was similar to a doll, staring back at you with a big bright smile and glossy eyes. You shifted nervously as he raised his hand to you and waved as if you were an old friend. Your hand twitched, wanting to wave back at him. He had to be waving to someone else as you glanced back to the bar you were sitting at and raised your hand for another drink.

“Seems blondie likes you.” The bartender brought your refill, just a plain vodka cranberry. Simple but it tasted good and you enjoyed the little buzz.

“I’ve never seen someone like him before.” You turned to your coworker. She was the other reason you stayed after. Claire was fiery and always soothed your nerves. She had been there for you when no one else was. “He’s got quite the crowd around him.”

“He’s had the crowd since he’s walked in here but no girl has seemed to have won him over.” Claire laughed, stealing a sip from your drink.

“Hey, people are allowed to be picky.” You swatted at your friend, taking back your glass. The chills hadn’t left. It was the feeling described as seeing your soulmate for the first time. The air knocked out of your lungs, goosebumps running over your skin but deep warmth flooded your entire body. It had to be the vodka.

Claire grinned like a cat and winked, pointing behind you. You gave a swift glance behind you, bringing the glass to your lips not expecting your view of the entire bar to be blocked by the chest of the blonde you had been staring at before. Fuck. He was hot from a distance but up close he was godly.

“Hi! I really love your dress! You look beautiful!” The blonde smiled brightly as compliments kept tumbling from his perfect mouth. “I’m Ken!”

“Hi…” You stared blankly at him, the blonde- um- Ken, who waited attentively for your name. “I’m y/n, and thank you. This is just my uniform, I work here.”

It was a tight pvc mini dress, uncomfortable to wear but it matched the theme of the night club. Every waiter and waitress was meant to be eye candy for the guests.

“It’s something Barbie would wear!”

You cringed a little at his comment, he was right. This was like a cheap doll outfit, leaving little to the imagination.

“I love it y/n!” Ken beamed so brightly you thought you would go blind.

“What?”

“I love it!” The man took your free hand in his. “You’re the prettiest girl here! I don’t understand it, you just took my breath away. All of the Kens would be so jealous if I brought you back to Barbie Land but I made a bet with Ken that I wouldn’t come back to Barbie Land cause I could make it in the real world just has Barbie had.”

He was either insane or the drunkest person here, but he was stupid hot. You just nodded your head slightly, sipping more from your drink. Ken was still holding your hand and pulled you up quickly, your drink spilling over both of you. You could barely react as he pulled you through the crowd.

You shot a panicked look at Claire, only for her to give a toothy smile and a big thumbs up. She was gonna pay for this, she had been trying for you to get back into the dating scene ever since… he had left the city. You placed your cup on a tray of a passing waiter and you tugged Ken to a stop.

“Where are we going Ken?” Taking his other hand in yours, his hands were massive… the alcohol had definitely gotten to you. Images of his hand wrapped around your throat or holding your hips to his, danced in your brain.

“The beach, y/n! I’m way better on the beach! You’ll love me on the beach!”

Better on the beach? What did that even mean? If this had been any other man you would have started screaming bloody murder but something about Ken was enduring. You know it was stupid to trust some random stranger but you knew he didn’t have the ability to cause harm to even a fly.

“What? For beach sex? I’d recommend taking me to dinner first.” You knew your inhibitions were lowered but that had slipped from your mouth without you even thinking.

“Sex?” Ken paused and looked down at you, still smiling dumbly. “What’s sex?”

“You don’t know what sex is?”

“Well, of course I know what it is.” Ken’s whole demeanor changed instantly and puffed out his chest. “Just seeing if you know what sex is.”

“Yes, I know what sex is.” You answered as he looked you up and down.

“Well good then yes that is what we are gonna do. Sex on the beach. I’m good at everything Beach.”

It was obvious he had no idea what he was talking about. You started to giggle. Who on earth was this man?

“Hey!” Ken had panic written all over his face, “Please don’t laugh at me! Y/n!”

His whining was adorable and you led him out of the club, feeling the humid air of the outside hit your skin. This was a first but you were the experienced one here even though he appeared far older than you. You didn’t get it but this odd man was pulling you in.

“It’s okay if you don’t know what sex is. I was kidding anyway.” You smirked. “Let's just go to the beach Ken.”

His blinding smile returned and began pulling you to the sandy shore.

“That’s a relief! I have zero clue what that is. We don’t have that in Barbie Land.”

It was hard to walk in the soft sand in heels so you kicked them off and left them behind. You’d find them later, right now the very handsome and even stranger man in front of you was more important.

Ken had started talking again, something about Barbies and plastic waves. It was absolute nonsense spilling from the blonde. You finally understood why all of the women that had approached him turned away absolutely appalled.

You plopped yourself on the warm sand, entranced by Ken’s bizarre story. He was waving his arms around, explaining about how once he tried to impress Barbie by surfing the waves but got thrown into the air. He didn’t break anything because he is super cool and super strong. Then he started about how after Barbie left Barbie Land some of the Kens started putting him down for being “Barbie-less”.

“But I’m Ken!” Ken huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m enough! They just don’t understand it! Some do but Ken always has to one up me!”

“You are all named Ken?”

He paused and focused down on you, scrunching his brows.

“Yes. It’s what Mattel named us.”

“Mattel?” You sober upped after hearing that. “The toy company?”

“Yeah! I’m a Ken! Or I was, now I’m Ken. Just Ken. Not a Ken.” The blonde gave you a million dollar smile. “I’m my own man, tiny baby.”

You just sat there, gaping at the weird man. He was telling you he was the boy doll that came along with the popular Barbie doll. You only had one Ken as a kid but you had at least 10 Barbies. The craziest part? You believed everything he was saying.

“You’re a doll.”

Ken flopped down right in front of you, nodding his head vigorously. He took your hand again and compared its size to his.

“Not just a doll.” Ken was entranced by how petite your hand was compared to his. “When I saw you, I had this feeling. I’ve never had this feeling before, but I know you Y/N. I think I'm your doll.”

“My doll?”

“Yes!” Ken laced his fingers with yours. “Weird Barbie told us that every Barbie and Ken have someone that's playing with them. Even Allan and Midge have someone playing with them.”

“I haven’t played with a doll in years. How does that even work?”

“I’m not sure how it works either. All I know is you’re my girl.”

You were thankful it was dark outside so Ken couldn’t see how flushed your face had gotten. This had to be a dream. You stared at your hand being held by Ken’s, you felt oddly complete.

“Can you help me, Y/N?” Ken’s voice was soft, timid almost. “I wanted to find you, the one who had been playing with me. It wasn’t because Ken dared me. I’ve been feeling lonely, unlovable. I thought it would be fixed after I realized I wasn’t just a Ken but it didn’t go away. I went to Weird Barbie and she told me it was the feelings of the girl who had played with me. You are feeling like this and I don't get it!”

Ken forced your hand to his chest, his skin was warm. You expected to feel a heartbeat but his chest was entirely still aside from the rise and fall of his chest from breathing. The lack of a thump in his rips killed the rest of your doubts.

“I want to become like you. I want to be human. Then I can help you.”

“You feel what I feel?”

“Not everything, just the feelings deep down.” He squeezed your hand like a vice. “Please, Y/N. There is so much I wanna learn about. Then I can help you not feel lonely and unlovable!”

“Okay, Ken. I’ll try to teach you.” You smiled gently and it startled you when you felt a beat in his chest. Ken was also alarmed by the new sensation he was feeling.

“You have a heartbeat Ken.”

“I have a heartbeat... you gave me a heartbeat.”

Next Chapter

Tag List! Lemme know if you wanna be added in the comments!

@stanfanfiction

#ryan gosling #barbie #ken x reader #ryan gosling smut #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling x reader #barbie 2023 #fanfic #ken doll #ken x you #ken x fem reader #ken smut #the barbie movie #barbie movie #barbie the movie #ken barbie #guppydoll #ryan gosling fanfic #fanfiction

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gojo-mochi · 7 months

Note

mmm softy for your LOVELY event gimme that vampire! sabo pleaseee🙏🏼 he’s my gentleman 🥹 even tho he bites when I don’t behave BSBEJEJBDBDB—

CW: Fem!Reader wearing a dress, blood sucking (of course), bit of manipulation and dub-con but reader is into it, P/V, sort of voyeurism?, Vampire!Sabo, Part of my Kinktober event!

3.8k words (GOD WHAT HAPPENED HERE)

A/N: I don't know what happened at the end of this.. I blacked out.. Blame sabo..

Realizing your cup was empty you went to the bar area in the kitchen to refill, knowing that you won’t survive this party without some sort of vice. You shuffle pass dancing and drunk bodies, reaching the kitchen with minimum damage. You huff out, rolling back your shoulders and stretching a little, happy to finally have some breathing room. There were a few others also in the kitchen, some trying to flirt (unsuccessfully) and others coming and going to refill their drink of choice.

The usual suspects were there, the plastic tub full of a bright color liquid mixture, various cheap bottles of vodka and tequila laying around, and… wine? Was there someone really drinking wine at this party? Yes there was, and he was in a very historial looking vampire outfit as well. Slightly curly blonde hair underneath a black top hat with goggles around the middle, a long black coat with the inner lining being a dark red color and the iconic high collar, a ruffled white satin poet blouse underneath the coat, and all finished with a dark blue high-waisted pants and high buckled boots to match.

Not to mention, the obvious fangs poking out from his pretty pale lips that completed this whole outfit. He swirls around some dark red colored liquid in his wine glass as well, his tongue delicately sticking out just a little as he goes to drink his wine. Obviously it's just wine, no one would be insane enough to bring and drink actual blood just for a costume party right? That you want to believe at least, not realizing that you've been openly ogling at this man all this time.

Only when your eyes came back up to his face did you realize that he was also staring directly at you, his lips tugs back into a charming smile, his gloved hands; ‘Holy shit, he’s wearing black gloves too?! That just added to his hotness factor.’ reaches two fingers out to you, pointing at you once then motioning to himself in a “Come hither” fashion. You crushed the red solo cup in your hand as you felt butterflies fly up from your stomach at this simple gesture. Your body moved automatically soon after, like it was under a spell.

Stepping right up to the blonde vampire, his hand now cupping your chin so you were forced to stare deeply in his red eyes.. ‘Wait red…? I thought he had dark brown eyes…..?’ Your thoughts slowly start to slip away from you, only to slam back in when you hear a polished and low voice whisper to you. “And who might you be, my delectable little snack?” Your eyes widen and you step back away from the stranger. Your head spins a little, causing your body to sway back right in the arms of the stranger.

“Easy there, can’t have you passing out on me already. I didn’t even get to do anything fun yet.” He chuckles, his hands smoothing over your shoulders and resting on the small of your back. You felt oddly safe in this position, usually by now you would have grabbed the nearest bottle and tried to smash over the guy’s head. Instead you just wanted to snuggle deeper, inhaling his scent of wine, a bite of leather, and something coppery at the end. You glance up when he brushes some hair away from your face, his eyes seemingly back to normal now… he smiles wide at you, showing off his very pearly white fangs.

“Well, are you going to tell me your name, pretty one? Or would you rather prefer to be called ‘My little snack’ this whole night, hmm?” His tone was light and airy, with a hint of mischief behind it. Feeling back to normal now yourself, you decide to have a little fun with this stranger. “Isn’t it rude to ask for someone else's name when you haven’t even told me your name first?” You tutted back, feeling bold, poking at his fluffy shirt collar, accidentally feeling up how much muscle he was hiding underneath.

He laughs quite loudly, wiping away some tears, his smile only getting wider as he apologizes to you. “Ah forgive me, the name’s Sabo.” He gingerly takes your hand in his and plants a kiss on the top of your hand, letting his fangs graze over your skin for a bit. You shudder at the feeling of his fangs almost breaking into your skin, the sensation made your skin burn even though Sabo felt strangely cold. Was it normal for a person's lips to be that freezing cold you wondered.

Pushing down the thought when Sabo tugs on your wrist as he awaits for your answer, you slip away from him. Twirling around and turning your head back towards him, a playful grin on your own face. “Ah sorry, Sabo. I still think you gotta work a bit more if you wanna know my name~” Sabo’s eyes twinkle, he drowns the remaining drink in his wine glass and sets it away, licking his lips and chuckling at your cute antics. “Oh~? And what do you have in mind for me to do, my little snack?” The way he said snack made you pause for a bit, thinking that he really meant it literally.

Still you press on, finally finding something fun to do at this party and you didn’t want it to end so fast. You danced around the kitchen counter, back to the crowd of dancing bodies; “Give me a five minute head start, I’ll go hide somewhere in the mansion and you have to come find me. Let's say… thirty-minute timer?” You purr out, not letting him answer before you went and disappeared in the crowd. Your heart beats wildly as you think of places to hide from Sabo.

Weaving through the crowd as you make your way to the stairs, going up to the second floor of the mansion and picking an empty room to hide in. After opening a few doors that were already occupied, some of them even asked you if you wanted to join in the fun. You went to sit on the bed in the empty room you chose, giggling to yourself like a schoolgirl. Kicking your feet out as you await for Sabo, wondering if he would find you in this huge mansion during the time limit. Maybe you would be nice after the time limit was up and give Sabo your name anyway.

This game was only a fun way to tease him after all, it's not like you didn’t find the man attractive, charming, and curiously alluring in a sense that you couldn’t take your eyes off of him at first look. So you waited, tapping away at your phone and watching the time tick by. What you didn’t know was that Sabo knew where you were this whole time, his eyes never leaving your body as you left him alone in the kitchen. He did wait five minutes, using his powers to track down your scent among all the others in the party. It was quite easy, since your scent was the most delicious thing he ever smelt so far.

As soon as the five minutes were over he moved silently and swiftly, erasing his presence completely from the other party goers as he followed your scent upstairs. His anger flaring up a bit as that scumbag tried to invite you in, but he held firm, he could deal with that guy later. He didn’t want to ruin this fun game you made for him after all. He watched as you found a room to hide in, softly sighing and smiling at your cuteness. If he had a beating heart he bet it would be beating for you right now.

Ignoring the other drunk and horny people on the floor, Sabo opened a window and flew out to the air. Making sure his presence was still erased and hidden as he flew around to the window of your room. Floating in the air as he watches you giggle to yourself, oh how precious you were. So innocent and unaware of his true nature, of the trap you put yourself into. So he waits and watches as you play around on your phone, your eyes and body twitching around, looking at the door, awaiting for his arrival.

His breathing gets faster and faster as time ticks by, he didn’t want to show up too early, but his hunger was growing deeper and deeper by the second as well. The blood he brought to the party tasted like sewer spill as soon as he caught a whiff of your scent on his tongue. Some drool threatened to leak out as he continued on watching you, still he wanted to make a dramatic entrance, waiting til the last minute of the countdown to open the window without a sound.

Your eyes were glued to the door so you didn't notice Sabo sneaking up behind you, his hands coming to hold your waist and grasp on your throat lightly. Only to come up over your mouth to muffle your startled scream. “Hey! Hey, it’s just me!” He pulls you closer, his grip on you tighter a bit, his voice going at a lower tone, his eyes flicking back to that strange color once more. “Calm down now, shush…shush….good girl.” Your body forcibly relaxes, flopping backwards into Sabo’s arms and chest. His hand now stroking at your head like one would on a pet.

Soothingly rubbing at your scalp, as the spell on you wears off. Your eyes blinking as your mind pieces itself back together to the present once again. “Sabo..? Sabo..! What the-!” You scramble off of him, clutching a hand over your racing heart. “How the hell did you-?! I mean! I was looking at the door this whole time?!” Awwww~ You looked like a scared little rabbit, it was honestly quite cute. The way you think your little glare would deter him in any way.

His fangs seem even bigger and sharper than before as he openly laughs at you, his gloved hand coming up to cover some of this laughter as he throws his head back. “Surprised! Did you miss me while I was gone~?” He laughs out once more, closing the distance between you two. “Now that I won the game, I should get my prize right~?” He lifted up your chin with one finger, his dazzling smile made your stomach flip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his scent was heavier and overwhelming you now.

You gulped down your fear and stared right back at him; “I think you cheated somehow. There’s no way I wouldn’t notice you coming in here!” You cross your arms and huff, your mind is reeling trying to make sense of what just happened, desperately trying to ignore the lingering voice in the back of your mind saying, “Maybe he’s not human..” Sabo's face drops at your reaction, his fingers grasp on to your throat now, squeezing on it enough to restrict your airway.

A low growl escapes his throat as a choked gasp leaves yours. “Little snack… I think the games are over now, you shouldn’t test my patience like that.” He leans in over your shoulder, loosening his grip on your throat so you could speak. “Sa-Sabo?” You squeaked out, only for Sabo to shush you, exhaling his cold breath over your pulse point. “I think you deserve a punishment for not following thru on your word.” You didn’t have the chance to question what he meant as he promptly sank his fangs into your neck.

Blood gushing out in rapid successions, all quickly lapped away by Sabo, his freezing tongue sort of soothes the searing pain that you felt as your blood was being sucked away. Sabo groaned loudly, the timbre of it sending shockwaves down your core, your taste was the sweetest syrup that ever graced his tongue. Your hands dug into his biceps as he kept on draining you, small stifle gasps of pleas fell from your lips but Sabo was too gone to hear them. Your taste was divine and he wanted… no he needed more, only when he heard a soft whimper of his name did he finally let go.

Retracting his fangs, licking at the small puncture he left, pressing his bloodied lips on your cheek as he smiles cheekily at you. “Ah… maybe that punishment was a bit too much.” He chuckles out, rubbing the back of his head, his other arm coming down to swoop around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, my little snack.” You were still recovering from the sudden blood loss when Sabo lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his own waist as he started to walk to the window. His arm on your back pushing you close to his chest.

When he stepped one foot on the windowsill, the cold night air hitting your face, only then did you start to scream and thrash around in his arms. “Sabo! I’m sorry for not telling you my name! But that doesn't mean you can just drop me off the second floor like this!” Your arms were nearly choking him out from how hard you were squeezing him. He still laughed at you though, your struggling did little to hinder him, his second foot coming up on the windowsill now.

You closed your eyes shut and waited for your impending doom and fall, waiting and waiting… and nothing. No fall, no crushing of bones, no cartoonish splat sound, just the silent night air blowing softly on your skin. You peek your eyes open to find Sabo happily smiling at you, looking down you see the party goers mingling about. No idea that two people were flying up above them. “Liking the view?” Sabo muses out, winking at you.

If you weren't terrified of him dropping you, you would smack him upside the head for that comment. “How are we even up here? Oh my god, I didn’t drink that much did I? Maybe my drink was spiked? Yeah, that’s it, my drink was spiked and I've probably just passed out somewhere and this is all a dream!” You mumble, as Sabo hums and nod along with your reasoning. “Would you count this as a nightmare then~?” One of his hands goes down to slip under your dress, caressing your inner thigh. Finding and thumbing at the wet spot on your panties.

“Already wet for me? I knew you were the one for me, my little snack~” He goes to lick at your neck wound, lapping at some of the blood that was drying up around it. Your body pushes closer to Sabo, your legs tighten around his waist, his fingers pushing your panties to the side and slipping one inside of you. You whimpered at the sudden intrusion, the contrast between the cold chilly air and your body heating up from Sabo’s actions was almost enough to send you over the edge from just his fingers fucking you.

The texture of his leather gloves inside you was something new and foreign, his lengthy fingers reaching into places that yours could never. Curling up in a tight bowling ball grip as soon as he finds that one spot that made you arch your back and chest into his. All your fear of being high in the air and the sheer absurdity of the situation being washed away by the amount of pleasure you were feeling right now.

“Sabooooo..nghhhh…oh fu-fuck..”

Just as you were reaching that peak, Sabo pulled his fingers out, his gloved soaked and glossy with your arousal. You tug on his fluffy ruffled collar with a pout and a whine at the loss of your high and his fingers. “Now~ Now~, Don’t pout, I’m still a little mad at your actions earlier so take this as a lighter punishment, my dear~” He pokes at your lips with one of his fingers, you still pout but open for him nevertheless. The bitter earthy taste of leather with your own slick made you gag a bit, Sabo cooed at that, withdrawing his finger and putting it in his own mouth.

“Mmm~ I think your blood still tastes sweeter but I don’t mind this taste either.” With a careful hand holding your ass up, he unbuckled his pants and zipper, pulling it down just enough with his boxer to spring out his leaking cock. Tapping it against your inner thigh and smearing some precum on the inside of your dress. Tilting his head a bit down to capture your lips in a silky kiss, just barely brushing over your lips, smooth and almost comforting in a sense. A kiss that would be shared between new lovers just starting a relationship.

Sabo’s eyes flashes red as he looks down at you, rubbing his nose with yours so cutely that you almost forgot that he was still slapping his cock on your thigh, rubbing the head against his fold in a silent request for entrance. “Well, my dear? Are you going to turn this dream into a wet one? Or should I just let you go now?” You huff out, deciding to give in, whether due to horniess or just because you were too tired to figure out what was going on. “Are you going to drop me from this height if I say no?” You said jokingly, but Sabo could smell the tinge of fear in your voice.

He swiftly kisses you once more, lingering for a bit longer. “Never! I am nothing but a gentleman!” You pull on his cheek, “Gentleman my ass..” You muttered, still grinding your hips forward, pushing his tip in you just a bit. “Does that mean you’re going to fuck me like a Gentleman too?” Sabo hisses out, feeling your searing warmth on his weirdly cold cock. “Only if you want me to, my dear snack.” He grunts, slowly pushing his length all the way in. “Stop calling m-me a snack and I might let you..” Your breath hitches, as your body tries to adjust to Sabo’s girth and length.

He snaps his hip up, fully pushing all the way inside. Making you choke and gasp like a fish out of water. “Well~ If someone wasn’t a sore loser and told me their name when I won their little game, I wouldn't have to call you that then.” He was struggling not to stutter as your warmth and your tight pussy was making him go wild. Buried still inside you, his cock was twitching to life from all much your pussy was clenching down on him. “Y/N… please say m-my name at least..when you fuck me..” You blubbered out, eventually adjusting to his size and the position you were in. “Y/N… what a sweet name…” Sabo sighs against your lips, fully kissing you this time, slipping his tongue in and exploring your mouth.

His hands on your ass, making you bounce up and down on his cock, the moonlight in the sky illuminating over both of you. The sounds of squelching and smacking lost in the autumn’s winds and the droning of the party still going on underneath you. It was a bizarre feeling, Sabo’s frigid tongue and cock, being warmed up by your own body. Not to mention, that you were being fucked in the sky as well, above a sea of people who if look up would see you being railed by this supposedly hot blonde vampire guy.

Who was extremely good at fucking you also, so you didn’t really care that much at the moment. Not well his cock was ramming straight into that sweet spot everytime. Making you see double stars along with the one already in the sky. “Nghhh-fwuaaa-Sa-Sabo!” You were basically being used as a fucktoy at this point, leaving Sabo to just keep bouncing up and down. Your thighs shaking and useless, the only thing you can do with moan and whimper as he fucks you.

“Good…So fucking good..y/n.. My darling--hngg-fu-fuck..”

He stops for a moment, halting his thrusting as he was fully inside you. A hand slipping around to your stomach, pressing on the bulge he made. “You feel this? You feel me inside you, hmm~?” You whined as he pressed down on it, not being able to squirm away from the feeling. “Sabooooo..” You cry out, snaking your hand into his hair and grabbing hold. He giggles a bit, enjoying your gentle cries and how your meager attempt to grind your hips down on him, he brushes a thumb once more over the bulge, enjoying the sight and imprinting it in his mind.

“Hope you’re ready for this~” He muses out, already pulling his cock out only to slam it back in with a harsh snarl ripping from his throat. Wet smacks echoed within the wind, you tug on tighter to his blonde locks as you feel the coil in your stomach soon snapping. “Hahh-Ahh! Fu-Fuck! Sabo! Sabo! I-I’m gonna-!” He grunts, biting down on the other side of your neck, marking that spot too, sucking in the sweet honeyed crimson liquid flowing out. “Cum for me, hahhhh, cream on my cock, sweet one.”

You didn’t know if he was using his powers on you again since you instantly came, your thighs shaking and twitching, as you let out a sweet wail. Sabo followed shortly after, releasing his white seed inside of you. In the hazy mist of pleasure, you quietly wonder if you could even get pregnant from a vampire. Flopping your head down on his shoulder with a sigh, your body relaxing itself from all the tension. Sabo pops his fangs away from your neck, double checking to make sure you weren’t going to bleed to death first before he pulls out, patting your panties down too as to keep all his cream inside of you. You shiver and try to grab at his wrist to stop him, but he just pats your cheek in return. “We wouldn't want the people down below to be hit with that, and be caught up here, wouldn't we?” he cooed at you.

You whined again, having no strength to fight back, ultimately agreeing with him. Nestling your head on the crook on his neck, your limbs giving out on you, relying on Sabo to keep on carrying you at this point. “Good girl~ Now let’s get you home, yeah? To a better mansion…” And with that being the last thing you hear, slowly drifting off to sleep as you get carried away in the dead of night.

#thank you for the request!!!!#₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ softy writes #sabo x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader

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yesimwriting · 1 year

Text

One of Them

SCREAM VI SPOILERS !

A/n Just a little thing I wrote up that’s set up to have a part 2. This is inspired by the scene where Ethan talks about being excited to kill Chad,, but this is more of a set up and in part 2 we’ll see that lol

Summary: Ethan picks the worst time to develop a crush on one of the core four’s best friends. Especially when said best friend has been spending extra time around Chad.

----

You swear you can feel the base of the music vibrating in your chest. Thump. Thump. Maybe it’s shifting the beat of your heart to match. Or maybe you should stop refilling the red solo cup in your hand before you can piece together how you downed it.

Halloween weekend and a fraternity. Dangerous enough combination.

Blinking hard, you force your eyes to focus. You may not be sober, but at least you’re not so drunk you think you’re invincible. A bar some of your friends have surpassed...Tara brushed past you and barely mumbled a ‘sorry, getting more beer, you want anything?’ If you had felt any better, you might have told her to slow down.

When your vision refocuses, your eyes land on a familiar figure. Chad. It only takes you another second to find Ethan right next to him. Chad looks up and waves you over.

Ah. The realization that you’re about to be around Ethan again makes you down the last of what’s in your cup. So much for pacing yourself for the rest of the night.

You walk over casually. Unfortunately for you, the rush of additional alcohol paired with the toxic waste zone that is the ground of the fraternity makes your shoes lose traction just as you lose balance. You slip.

“Woah...” Chad’s hand is warm and steady on your waste as he saves you from a total wipeout. “You might want to mix in some water between the shots those sorority girls keep getting you to do.”

Normally, you’d feel awkward, but Chad’s so inherently nice it doesn’t come. Sure, the alcohol’s helping, but at least half of your sense of ease comes from him. You half grin. “Where’s the fun in that?” Chad doesn’t let go of you until you’re clearly stable. “Kidding. I promise I’m trying to ease up.”

He briefly raises his eyebrows like he doesn’t quite believe you. “Sure.”

“You’re one to talk, Ethan and you have been drinking since before we got here.”

“It’s called pregaming.”

Ethan tilts his head slightly, “For the record, I don’t mind watching you take shots with the sisters of whatever those Greek letters were.”

There’s something almost comical, almost suggestive about his words. You’re too out of it to fully follow. “Yeah? You looking for a member of Kappa Kappa whatever Elle Woods was in?”

Ethan blinks, parts his lips, and then halfheartedly drops his head. Is he...flustered? The display is oddly cute and you nearly laugh.

Chad warmly bumps Ethan’s shoulder with his hand. “Nah, my boy Ethan’s looking for...” A brief trail off that once again, you think you’d be able to get if it wasn’t for all you had to drink. “Something else.”

The spirit of over drinking must possess you, because you grin and ask, “Yeah? You more the settling down type?” It’s not violently bold, but it’s more than you usually give. More than you would have gone for if you had been more sober. You laugh to cover your regret. “That was um...more vodka than me.” You shake your head once as if that will reset the conversation. “Oh. Speaking of settling down, Chad I um...”

You freeze, wondering if you said too much. Chad has taken to having a roommate well. He drags Ethan along and pushes him out of his comfort zone in a way that you think is good for him. You also think Ethan is good for keeping Chad a little stable. You know they’re friendly, friendlier than Ethan is with anyone else, but you don’t know if they’re close enough to talk about crushes. More specifically, the crush Chad has on Tara. The one you’ve been trying to help him think of a good way to confess because he labeled you the ‘Tara expert’ since the two of you became such fast friends.

“The project.” Nice. It was nowhere near subtle and you can’t help shooting a glance in Ethan’s direction to see that if he picked up on it. Ah--too late to keep going. “I have something that--that has to do with it that we--that I need to show you.”

Chad’s eyebrows draw together but eventually realization draws in. “Oh...yeah, I should go see what that project thing’s about.” It’s a faulty exit, but it’s not like you’ve given him much to work with.

The alcohol turns in your stomach at Ethan’s flat expression. That was kind of an asshole move, like you’re trying to purposefully leave him out when you just didn’t want to out your friend. Chad trusted you with a secret that’s a bigger deal than it seems. Liking Tara isn’t as casual as liking anyone else because of how bonded their friend group is. The four of them need each other. It’s a situation much too delicate for an unsober you to insert yourself in.

“Hey, Ethan.” You’re already walking forward, feeling nervous about the Tara situation. You should have gotten to this faster. You didn’t like the frat guy she was with. “We’re still on for tomorrow? Studying?”

His head tilts and you briefly wonder if you’ve somehow more awkward. “Uh--I’m not sure you’re going to be up for econ homework tomorrow.”

“That’s okay,” you hum easily, “I’ll call you and we can figure it out, even if it’s just getting hangover food together.”

Ethan’s confusion slowly morphs into what’s almost a smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.”

You don’t have a way to justify how excited that makes you. Maybe it’s the alcohol. You really hope it’s the alcohol that’s making you grin like a little kid. “Cool.”

Someone steps froward, accidentally bumping into you and reminding you of the setting. Right. Party. Tara. Weird frat guy. Chad. You turn your head and grab on to Chad’s arm to stay stable. “C’mon, we need to find Tara. Serious SOS.”

----

The world shared in your chaos for a brief second. Some frat guy grabbed Tara too harshly, Chad got him to back off, and Sam burst in and tased the guy. Everyone pulled out their phones and then all it took was one reddit loser to recognize Sam. They’re all trying to leave and you’re half stranded on a couch that’s weirdly damp because you’re not sure you can still move.

“I know you don’t want to be here but we can’t just leave her!” You hear that from somewhere behind you. Tara.

Sam begrudgingly sighs. “I--I didn’t say we should leave her!”

You want to defend her, the words angling themselves on your tongue. They never come out. Your eyelids are too heavy and your bones have sunken too far into the couch. Sam isn’t the kind of person to leave a friend on a sticky couch when they’re too far gone to even fully lift their head, but the reality of it all doesn’t feel relevant.

Maybe she would leave you. Maybe they’d both come around to that. It’s not like you’re their sister or a part of their little...survivor inner circle.

God, that’s a fucked up thing to think, even in the state you’re in, but you can’t help it. The impulse is always there. That doubt. You know why they’re all so close and there’s no way you’re jealous about what they’ve experienced but sometimes being around and knowing that there’s a distinction is hard. Especially because they’re the only people you care about. Maybe that’s why you try so hard with Ethan. You know what it’s like to be a part of it and separate all at once.

“I can take her.” Another voice, a newer, softer voice. Almost hesitant. Ethan. “To the apartment, make sure she gets there okay.”

"I think we should just do it,” Tara mumbles, “We have to go home anyway.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Chad says, “It’ll be easier if we send them ahead...you two seem too tense to be be dealing with her right now.”

Ugh. Dealing with. You turn your head in an attempt to lift it off the couch. It briefly works before you slump down again. “Hey.”

“Said with love, you’re a free spirit.”

You try again, and this time it’s a little more successful. “’Free spirit’ is what you called that girl that offered to blow you in the bathroom.”

He sighs. “Don’t be difficult.”

“Difficult?”

“Okay,” Sam interjects, because she knows how you and Chad get when you start bickering, “Ethan can take her, I think we need to take a second to talk about--”

“Whatever,” Tara sighs, already walking away. She turns her head to look at Ethan, “If she’s not safe in bed by the time I get home I will fuck you up.” Sam and Chad throw her a look. “What? It’s not like we’ve known him forever.”

----

You stumble into your room with an overwhelming awareness of how much you love the space. You were the last one to join the apartment, not starting school during the summer session and not finding the online roommate wanted ad before Quinn, but it feels like you could have lived a lifetime here already.

“We made it.”

Ethan’s arm is still around your shoulders. He pulled you close to him after a stranger on the street looked at your Halloween costume a little too long and tried to talk to you. The whole thing had been awkward as the stranger kept calling after you and for a brief second you could have sworn Ethan’s eyes lose all hint of their usual warmth. You didn’t think about it, assuming it was just one of those guy, testosterone things. It should have bothered you more. But it didn’t. You felt safe, secure as you leaned into him and his warmth.

“Barely.” It’s said half teasing as Ethan lets you go to sit on your bed. He leans forward and sets down the cardboard helmet he took off on your walk on your desk.

You pretend to be more offended than you feel, crossing over to your bed and sitting down next to him. “Don’t be rude.” Nudging his arm with your shoulder, you half laugh, “I was awesome with directions.”

He leans his weight back on his forearm. “You were...awesome.” It’s half whispered, almost begrudging and a little shy.

You grin openly, leaning a little closer to him to compensate for his quiet town. “Thanks for...walking me.”

Ethan watches you for a second, following your lead in shifting a little closer. Your foreheads are practically touching and you can feel the barely-there brush of his curls against your skin. “Why are you whispering?”

Like he isn’t whispering back. “I don’t know. You started it.”

He briefly smiles, an expression that he fights against poorly. You’re left with the odd feeling that you’re winning even though you can’t figure out exactly what the game is. “I started it?”

“Don’t try to confuse me just because I had more to drink than you.”

He holds his hands up in defense briefly before setting them down closer than they were before. His palm is flat against the back of yours. It’s so warm and certain, so much more soothing than the state you’re in. You’re still buzzed, because you turn over your hand slowly, half scared that a too sharp move will ruin all of this. Ethan lets you. He also lets you fit your fingers between his.

For a second, you two just sit there in silence, hands loosely held together. The sound of your door being thrown open instantly turns the whole thing into something a lot larger. You don’t know why, but everything about the situation burns beyond a comfortable warmth and into something uncomfortably scorching. You push yourself to the edge of your bed and make a point of squeezing your hands on your lap as you turn to face the door.

Tara’s standing there, leaning against the doorframe. Her expression morphs from nearly blank with shock to a much more straightforward concern. “You...” She drops her gaze to the new space between you and Ethan. “...Guys need to see the news.”

#scream VI #scream 2023 #scream x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader

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daisynik7 · 1 year

Text

Rush

Chapter 9: Could've Been

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: cunnilingus (face riding), vaginal sex (cowgirl), underaged drinking, angst

Summary: On the night of Alpha Tau’s fall formal, you finally do something that should have been done a long time ago.

Notes: Song is “Could’ve Been” by H.E.R. (ft. Bryson Tiller)

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In the days preceding Alpha Tau’s fall formal, Eren doesn’t hear a peep from her. The night he broke the news about taking Pieck as his date, she hung up on him without waiting for a goodbye. He should have predicted this type of reaction. Given how clingy she’s been in the past, he was hoping for a truce in the form of sex after a few days of letting it simmer. That’s how he lands back in her good graces time and time again.

Even with this radio silence, it doesn’t faze him much. He’s confident that he’s still got the upper hand. Once the weekend is over and she realizes nothing will happen between him and Pieck, the anger will subside; she’ll come crawling back. Eager and needy for him like always. Does he feel guilty for pissing her off? Sure, maybe just a bit. It is what it is.

Saturday afternoon, Eren and Armin head to Alpha Tau to board the first bus. Dressed in sweats and bags in hand, the two roommates part ways outside the house. Armin goes towards Annie, Hitch, and Connie. Eren is dragged to where Reiner, Sandra, and Bertolt wait. Pieck and the other Delta Mu sister, who Eren recognizes is Mikasa’s friend Louise, arrive five minutes later.

“Hi Eren,” Pieck says, a polite smile spread across her face.

“Hey. Thanks for coming with me.”

Louise stands next to Bertolt while Reiner hands out flasks to each of them, filled with what smells like vodka. He whispers, “Don’t worry, we have more bottles in our bags. We can refill at the hotel later.”

Sandra breaks away from their group to hug Hitch. Eren turns around to observe them, immediately making eye contact with Annie, who glares. He makes a mental note to steer clear of her the rest of the evening.

He scans the rest of the crowd to look for Mikasa and Jean. He doesn’t spot them, assuming they’ll be on the next bus scheduled to leave in half an hour. Mike is also noticeably missing.

Once boarded, Eren and Pieck sit beside each other in a comfortable silence for the first ten minutes of the ride. Attempting to initiate small talk, he reiterates, “Thank you again for coming with me to this.”

She giggles. “I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised to hear that you wanted to take me.”

“Why?” He sips from his flask, curious.

“I thought you’d take your girlfriend instead. You know, the one we played beer pong with at Halloween?” She says her name, causing Eren to sputter on his drink.

Whipping his head around to ensure no one else can hear them, he whispers, “What did you say?”

There’s a sly grin on her face as she responds, “It was very obvious. You couldn’t stop staring at her.”

“Well, she’s not my girlfriend. I barely know her,” he explains, hastily.

She raises a brow, studying him. “Who is she to you, then? It seems like there’s something going on between you two.”

“She’s no one,” he lies. A twinge of guilt spasms in his chest.

Shrugging, she relents. “Sorry for assuming. I guess I’m wrong.” She wears her pleasant smile again, unconcerned that she rocked his cool disposition. “Forget I said anything.”

He wasn’t expecting her name to be brought up at all tonight. It seems like everywhere he goes, she lingers, whether in his own mind or in that of others. It hasn’t been fifteen minutes into this bus ride, and he’s already flustered. He drinks more alcohol to suppress his feelings until she’s buried all the way in the back of his thoughts.

At the hotel, each brother checks into their room. Reiner, Bertolt, and Eren opt for single beds. Before they head up the elevator to their assigned floor, Armin passes by and mentions, “If you guys want to pre-game with us, we’re all rooming together in Room 310!”

Reiner scoffs. “No thanks. We’re going to have our own pre-game in my room.”

Sandra smacks him on the arm. “I want to hang out with Hitch. Let’s just pre-game in their room. It’s bigger and there will be more people. It’ll be way more fun.”

Reiner grumbles, “Fine. We’ll see you there. We’ll bring some of our alcohol.”

“Great! We brought some too. See you all in a bit!”

Up on the third floor, Eren and Pieck enter Room 324 in silence, both unsure what to talk about. He especially feels awkward after their conversation earlier on the bus. Pieck occupies the bathroom to change while he gets ready in one corner of the room. He decides on an all-black outfit comprised of a turtleneck sweater underneath his suit jacket, black slacks, and black oxfords. Pieck exits the bathroom, wearing a maroon floral dress that flows down to her ankles.

“You look great,” he compliments, as she puts on her shoes.

“Thank you!” she beams. “You too. You kinda look like a spy.”

He takes it as a compliment, focusing on his reflection in the mirror to style his hair in the classic man-bun. It’s only now that he recalls how Mike was the first to tie his hair up like this, way back at the beginning of the semester. You owe me if this gets you laid tonight, he remembers him saying. In a way, he does owe that idiot. He figures they’re even now, considering what happened on Halloween.

Thinking about him with her bothers Eren once again. But he takes solace knowing they won’t be together here. Rumor has it that the senior goes to formals alone on account of him notoriously getting too drunk to pay attention to his date. Certain this is still true, he isn’t concerned about running into her today. The evening will pass by smoothly. All according to plan.

He waits for Pieck to finish her makeup before heading down the hall to Room 310. Armin and Connie greet them, patting him on the back happily; Pieck goes over to the girls to introduce herself. Eren does his best to avoid the women, especially Annie, who continues to stare daggers at him every chance she gets.

The rest join soon after, the girls sticking together, the boys huddled in their own circle. Bertolt sneaks glances at Annie, who completely ignores him. Reiner miraculously does not make any offensive comments, a true rarity for him.

For the next hour, they drink while chatting, the girls casually dancing along to the music blasting through Connie’s speakers. Once it gets closer to 7:00 PM, they all pour whatever remaining liquor they have into their flasks to sneak downstairs. Eren is filling his with vodka when Annie intentionally bumps into him.

“Annie,” he nods.

“Jaeger,” she mutters, eyeing him with contempt.

He doesn’t say anything, not interested in conversing with her, predicting it will lead to the mention of a certain someone. She doesn’t give him a choice, though, as she begins speaking. “Pieck is nice. I hope you don’t lead her on, too.”

In a low voice, he responds, “I’m not interested in Pieck like that. I just had to bring someone.”

She scoffs, barely keeping herself quiet. Luckily, the music is loud enough to drown out their conversation. “I take back what I said to you last week. I don’t respect you at all. At least Reiner knows he’s an asshole and owns it. You on the other hand, you’re a lost cause. I still have no idea why she would associate with someone like you.”

“Can you just drop it already, Annie?” he hisses. “Can’t I have one night without her being thrown in my face like this?”

She blinks, a tiny smirk forming on her lips. “You have no idea, do you?”

“No idea about what?”

“Oh, nothing. You’ll see soon enough.” She steps away to join her friends again, leaving Eren to speculate on her ominous parting. It’s just Annie trying to get under his skin, which she always successfully does. Frustrated, he takes the whole vodka bottle and throws it back, swallowing a few shots worth until his throat burns.

Downstairs, the doors to the ballroom are open. Levi stands at the entrance greeting everyone as they enter. “Oi, pledges. Welcome to your first formal. Seating chart is over there.” He points to an easel with a large sign propped on it. “Have fun.”

Eren scans the poster for his name, seeing it listed under Table 3. He’s tipsy enough not to care who else is sitting with them. At the table, Marco is already seated next to his friend, a girl from the women’s soccer team. Petra from Sigma Nu Kappa sits next to an empty chair with a jacket slung over the back, presumably Levi’s. There are two remaining spots currently unoccupied.

They take their seats, Pieck chatting up the rest of the table as Eren examines his surroundings, trying to locate his friends. Armin and Connie are at a table with Erwin and his guest, Hange. Reiner and Bertolt sit three tables away with another brother and his date, SNK senior Nanabe. He has no idea where Mikasa and Jean are, neither of them making their appearance yet. The second bus should have already arrived, so he expects they’ll be making their grand entrance soon.

The venue continues to fill up, people situated in their seats, snacking on the appetizers. Most of the seniors are in line at the bar to purchase drinks, besides Levi, who is sober monitor.

Eren takes swigs from his flask, letting the vodka continue to take its effects on his mind and body. He feels good. Relaxed. Tonight, there will be no drama, exactly the way he planned it. If he keeps consuming liquor, she’ll remain in the furthest corner of his mind.

Still, the tiniest part of him misses her. But that’s what the alcohol is for. Forgetting.

He sits facing away from the doorway, so when Petra’s face lights up and Levi smirks, saying, “Ah, finally,” Eren has to physically turn around to see who it is they are talking to.

As soon as he recognizes them, the heat from the liquor seems to rush straight out of his body, leaving him frozen in place.

~~~

The week leading up to Alpha Tau’s formal, you start scheming. The infuriating phone call with Eren was just the fuel you needed to get you fired up.

Every decent quality about him, from his undeniable sex appeal to the occasional loving gestures, has been forced into the most secluded crevices of your mind. Instead, you let all the crummy details about him surface.

He took advantage of your naivety, knowing you were inexperienced and desperate for any form of affection. After he lured you in, he manipulated you into thinking you were special, that your many moonlight trysts with one another had to be kept a secret. As if it was so fucking romantic to keep you hidden away like his most prized possession when he was really trying to find more treasure elsewhere.

Worst of all, he won’t let you go. He has to have you. String you along until it’s the right time for him to toss you aside once he grows tired of you. Until you become an overused and rejected toy withering away into the worst version of yourself, all while he replaces you with someone shinier and new.

The only way to avoid that is to end it with him first. Officially and for good.

No more empty promises, no more subtle blows to your confidence and self-worth. No more heartbreak. You won’t allow him to desecrate your fragile heart any longer.

The easy route would be to have a private discussion about it. Maybe after the event, so you don’t ruin his fun weekend plans. But you don’t want it to be easy. You want it to be satisfying. Meaningful. You want it to hurt; not enough to mangle him, but just enough to leave a scar. If he ever becomes a better person later in life, he’ll always remember what he did to you, hopefully determined not to repeat the same mistakes.

Your plan is set in motion. The first step is to get yourself at Alpha Tau’s formal. On Wednesday, Armin invites you and Mikasa over to the fraternity house to eat dinner. You sit with Mike at one of the tables. Mikasa, who wants you at formal for her own selfish reasons, and Armin sit beside you. You plan to bombard the senior to bring you. It’s a known fact that Mike goes stag to these dances, the reason being that he always gets too drunk to pay enough attention to whoever he’s taking.

It doesn’t take much to convince him, though. You proposition him, explaining how much fun the two of you will have together, how you won’t mind if he gets blackout drunk. Even offering to take care of him if in the morning in case he has a hangover.

“Okay. I’ll make an exception for you. By the way, breakfast burritos are my go-to hangover cure.”

You smile at him. “Noted.”

“Do you think they’ll still let her go even though it’s past the deadline?” Armin asks.

“Erwin and Levi are my best friends. They’ll let me do anything, don’t worry. You will be my date this Saturday,” he emphasizes, winking.

With step one complete, the next move is to make a grand entrance.

Thursday afternoon, Mikasa, Annie, and Hitch accompany you to the mall to pick out your outfit. Your roommate suggests a red dress, similar to one that she’s planning to wear. Annie and Hitch, fully aware of your Eren situation, recommend a black, off-the-shoulder bodycon, coming down just past your knees. Complete with a side slit the runs up mid-thigh. A revenge dress.

Out of the fitting room, Mikasa let’s out a low whistle. “Okay, forget I even suggested red because this is everything.”

“You look hot!” Hitch exclaims.

“It’s perfect,” Annie says.

In it, you feel confident, beautiful, and most of all, powerful. You’re ready to pull the rug out from under him in one fell swoop.

Saturday arrives. At the hotel, you and Mike check into your single room. By the time you’re finished in the bathroom, you hear a soft knock on the door. Upon opening it, Mike, handsome and suave in his navy-blue suit, looks you up and down. “You look fucking amazing.”

You smile at him. “Thank you. So do you.”

The two of you share this unspoken agreement to remain friends, maybe with a couple benefits here and there. However, your main focus tonight is to deal with Eren.

“We better head to Erwin’s room now before I get any ideas.” Giving you one more look, he turns around to collect his bottle of Hennessy, waiting for you to slip into your heels.

Down the hall, Erwin, Hange, Petra, and Levi share a room, where they host the pre-game. Mikasa and Jean eventually join, as well as some other seniors. The president and vice president leave first to set up downstairs, dragging their dates along with them. One by one, more people leave until it’s just you, Mike, Mikasa, and Jean.

As it gets closer to dinnertime, you wobble towards the ballroom, tipsy and giggly from the cognac. Mike tries to hold you steady, but he’s no better off. You take a quick look at the seating chart, noting your assignment. Mikasa follows Jean to the other side of the room as you and Mike make your way to Table 3, finding it already mostly occupied. Petra and Levi, who you just saw, greet you with amused expressions on their faces.

It takes you a minute to register that Eren is seated at the same table, staring at you with wide eyes and a clenched jaw. This is not a part of your plan.

Regardless, this is going to be fun.

Avoiding his gaze, you and Mike occupy the empty seats between Pieck and Levi. You acknowledge your neighbor with a smile, who returns it.

“I love your dress. You look so pretty!” you compliment her.

“Thank you. You look pretty, too.”

You continue to chat with Pieck, completely ignoring Eren, who is visibly uncomfortable beside her.

You’re not exactly sure what the next step in your plan is yet. Once you made it to the dance, you figure you’d toy with him, flaunt your sexy black dress in his face until he’s drooling. And if you have the chance to catch him alone tonight, then you’d confront him, ending your relationship once and for all. But there’s no way to predict if that opportunity will ever come, considering how unlikely it is to get a moment alone together. Deciding to go with the flow, you try to relax, relishing the way Eren sneaks subtle glances at you.

Dinner starts. Mike is already on his third drink from the bar, speech slurred, tie loosened. Definitely drunk. Levi attempts to slow him down by switching his cocktail with a glass of water, which works until Mike finally notices the difference. By the time the entrees are out, he gets up once more for another rum and coke.

For the first time all night, you hear Eren speak. “He’s fucking wasted.” There’s malice in his voice, clearly annoyed.

Levi shrugs. “He always does this at formals.”

Eren rolls his eyes. “It’s distracting.”

Petra chimes in. “Oh, he’s harmless.”

He stands up abruptly, rattling the table. “Whatever. I’m getting some punch.”

You wait a minute or two to make your move. “I’m going to get punch too. Anybody want anything?”

Pieck says, “I’d like some, please.”

“You got it. I’ll be right back.”

Eren is alone when you approach the refreshments table, opposite side of the room from where the bar is. He takes a sip from his punch before reaching into his pocket for a flask. He notices you as you pour two cups of punch for yourself and Pieck.

He looks around, making sure the coast is clear. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, so you’re actually speaking to me in public now?”

He ignores that, repeating, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting myself and your date punch, since you aren’t doing it yourself.”

Taking a deep breath, he mutters, “You know what I mean. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here with Mike?”

“Why should I? You never told me that you were going to bring Pieck until after the fact. And as far as I know, we don’t have to tell each other anything. You’re not my boyfriend.”

He blinks at you, seemingly at a loss for words. You continue to glare at him, waiting for a response.

After a couple of seconds, he murmurs, “This is different.”

“How?”

“I have no intentions of fucking Pieck. But Mike…I know he’s trying to fuck you.”

“Is that all I’m good for? Sex? Has it ever crossed your mind that Mike actually likes me?” Your composure is beginning to crack.

“Come on, I see the way he looks at you. He’s a fucking skeeze,” he spits out.

“So what? At least he talks to me. Acknowledges my existence.”

He swallows hard, saying in a low voice, “That’s not fair.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

You stare at one another, neither of you backing down. You’re tempted to tell him it’s over, that you want to end it with him. But it still doesn’t feel like the right time yet. Maybe you want it to hurt a little more.

As you turn around to walk back to the table, you hear him say, “You look beautiful, by the way. You are beautiful.”

Shit. You promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for his sweet talk. Every time he calls you that, your heart flutters.

Without responding, you walk away from him and back to your seat, handing Pieck her punch. Mike is back in his chair, scarfing down his steak. A few minutes later, Eren sits down, clearing his throat nervously. Focused on the plate of food in front of you, his compliment replays in your head like lyrics to your favorite song. You grip your fork tightly, upset for wavering, trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t mean anything.

You eat your meal in peace, casually chatting with the others, except for Eren, who remains sullen and quiet. Dessert is served and there’s a couple of minutes for everyone to digest and socialize. Erwin makes a quick announcement, thanking all of the brothers for a great semester, despite last year’s scandal. He even gives a special shoutout to Sigma Nu Kappa for a successful partnership, helping them regain their well-received reputation. He signals to the DJ, who starts up the music again, formally opening up the dancefloor.

“Let’s go,” Eren mumbles to Pieck.

She has an excited expression on her face as she asks, “Are we going to dance?”

“No, we’re going to Reiner’s table. C’mon.”

Frowning, she follows him to where Reiner and Bertolt sit with their dates, looking bored and unenthused.

Grinning at Mike, you yank his wrist, beckoning him to the dancefloor. He gives you a goofy smile and follows, joining your friends who already started dancing. More people surround you, creating a lively atmosphere as the music blares through the speakers.

Mike dances behind you, sliding his hands around your waist to pull you in closer. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, the bold scent of liquor emanating from his warm breath. You feel the vibrations on your skin as he hums along to the song.

You place your hands over his, swinging your hips in rhythm to the music as he moves with you. You glance over to where Eren’s sits, sulking right alongside Reiner and Bertolt, their poor guests watching the rest of the crowd in envy. Once in a while, your eyes meet; you quickly look away to turn your attention back to Mike and the rest of your friends.

~~~

The last person Eren expects to see tonight is her. Yet, here she is, gorgeous and stunning, exactly like in his fantasies. She wears that dress as if it was tailored to her and only her. It’s perfection.

Except for the fact that Mike is wrapped around her like a fucking snake.

The universe has a funny way of messing with Eren. And rightfully so, considering what an asshole he’s been. Still, this form of punishment seems a little too cruel.

He watches from a distance as he slithers all over her, practically salivating on her, similar to a beast in the wild preparing for a feast. Eren’s skin crawls with rage and jealousy.

“You’re not going to dance, are you?” he hears Sandra ask Reiner, who slouches lazily in his seat.

“Nope.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “Fine. I’m going to join Hitch and her friends then. You’re boring.”

“Whatever, have fun with those freaks,” he mumbles.

Suddenly, Eren feels a tap on his shoulder, finding Pieck and Louise standing together with their purses in hand. “Louise and I are going back to campus. She’s not feeling well.”

He quickly turns around to look at Bertolt, who’s propped up on his elbow against the table, looking absolutely disinterested.

Facing the girls again, he asks Pieck, “You have to go too?”

She nods. “Yeah, I don’t want her to go alone.”

“Are you coming back?”

“I don’t think so. Honestly, you’re not a fun person.”

Ouch. Her bluntness stings. Can he blame her, though? He’s not exactly a bundle of joy right now.

“Anyways, our Uber is coming, so we’re just going to wait outside.” They walk towards the exit, leaving the three moody Alpha Tau brothers alone.

Eren leans back in his chair, defeated. He envisioned formal differently. In his imagination, he’s having fun with her as his date. He should be out there right now, not Mike. Dancing, smiling, and laughing around their friends. Happy and carefree together. Instead, he’s sitting in the corner, pretending to be too cool to have a good time.

It's his own fault. He refuses to admit it out loud, but he did let Reiner influence his decisions. Is he really that desperate to create a reputation for himself that won’t matter in a few years? Maybe even in a few months? At the rate he’s going, he’ll be known for being a dud anyways. It’s not like he was actively trying to be a fuck boy, considering he’s only ever wanted to be with her since they started.

Besides, what’s so bad about dating a Sigma Nu Kappa? Reiner is the only one who seems to have an issue with it. On his big brother’s word alone, Eren has been convinced that dating an SNK girl is a disgrace. He didn’t even think to question it until now. There’s nothing wrong with them. Sure, Annie can be scary most of the time, but he recognizes how loyal she is to those she cares about. Mikasa has been his friend for years, and while she can be just as intense as he is, she loves her friends fiercely.

And with her, he can’t think of any major flaws. To him, she’s beautiful, inside and out.

He lays his head on the table, confused about his feelings, which are constantly in limbo. So much so that even he can’t keep up with himself. Again, he wonders why this is more difficult than it needs to be. Is he that afraid of falling in love?

From his peripheral, he notices her and Mike walk off the dancefloor. The senior heads straight to the bar while she exits the ballroom. Without thinking, Eren follows her from a distance. In the hotel lobby, he watches her make her way outside, probably to cool herself down after nearly an hour of dancing.

He sinks into one of the couches, waiting for her to reappear. He wants a moment alone, just the two of them. Away from the crowd, uninterrupted by the music. Most of all, he wants to invite her to his room now that he has it all to himself. This is an opportunity he didn’t think he’d get at all today. He’ll regret it if he doesn’t take advantage of it.

Once she’s back in the lobby, she heads down the hallway leading to the bathrooms. Giving him the opening he’s been wishing for all night.

~~~

After an hour of dancing, you feel yourself overheating from the constant movement and the heat radiating from the crowd. You and Mike decide to take a break. He leaves for the bar to take shots with Erwin and the other seniors. Sweat beading on your forehead, you make your way outside, in dire need for fresh air. Pieck and Louise are huddled, standing at the curb.

“Are you two leaving already?” you ask, waving your hand across your face like a fan, still burning up from all the dancing.

Pieck replies, “Yeah. Louise isn’t feeling well, so we’re going back.”

“Oh no! Are you alright? Do you need medicine or anything?”

Louise grins, answering, “Do you have a pill for someone dying of boredom? Because that’s what I need for Bertolt.”

Surprised and amused at her joke, you chuckle, “What do you mean?”

“He barely talks! Every time I try to start a conversation, he only gives me one-word answers. And he keeps ogling at Annie. That dude has it so bad for her, it’s sad.”

“So you’re not really sick?”

“Of course not. I just needed an excuse to get us out of there.”

Laughing, you look over at Pieck. “How about you? Were you not having fun either?”

She shrugs, that same polite smile on her face. “Not really.”

“You should have joined us on the dancefloor!”

She laughs. “But how would I get out of spending the night in the same room as Eren? I figured it’s better to just bail completely.” She pauses, then says, “You know, he’s always staring at you.”

Surprised by her observation, you look at her, silently waiting for her to explain further.

“It was just like at the Halloween party. Either he really hates you or he’s absolutely crazy about you. I’m guessing it’s the latter.”

You look down at the ground, flustered. “I don’t know about that.”

She leans in to nudge you gently in the arm. “It’s pretty obvious he’s got a thing for you. I even told him earlier today how I was surprised that he was taking me instead of you. His girlfriend.”

“I am not his girlfriend. I’m sure he told you that, too.”

“Yeah, he did. But he’s a dumb, immature boy. Of course he’s too proud to admit it.”

“I don’t think it’s pride that’s getting in his way. It’s his ego.” Fearing you revealed too much, you veer off. “Anyways, I’m sorry you two didn’t have a good time.”

“At least the food was good,” Louise comments. Her phone chimes. “Oh, our Uber is almost here. Tell Mikasa I say bye! I didn’t get a chance to tell her I’m leaving.”

“Will do. Have a safe ride home!” You bid them farewell then walk back into the lobby, the distinct thump of the bass resounding from the ballroom. Still feeling sticky with sweat, you head to the bathroom down an empty hallway to blot your face and touch up your makeup.

As you exit, you notice Eren leaning against the wall, waiting for you. The two of you hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds before he suddenly takes you by the wrist and leads you farther into the hall, hidden behind a large plant.

Back pressed to the wall, trapped by both his hands at either side of your head, you stare at him wide-eyed as he studies you with uneven breaths. You swallow hard, muttering his name.

One of his hands slide over your shoulder, fingertips tickling your skin gently until they’re at your wrist. He brings your hand up to his lips and scatters soft kisses in between your knuckles.

“My date left, so I have the room all to myself. Room 324. Come by,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your wrist. “Please.”

You feel your heart race and a familiar sensation fluttering below your belly as he continues to kiss you, green eyes peering at you longingly.

“I’m with Mike,” you stutter, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“Well, if he’s too drunk to get it up, you know where to find me,” he teases, smiling into your skin. He drops your hand and cups your cheek, leaning in closer. “Can I kiss you?”

Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to refuse his advances. But one kiss wouldn’t hurt, right? You reach for the collar of his sweater and push your lips together. His tongue slips inside your mouth in an instant, eager for a taste.

You pull away from him. “Maybe I don’t want to see you later tonight.”

He flashes a cocky smirk. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

You’re tempted to kiss him once more. Instead, you push him off and walk away, heading back into the ballroom.

Mike is slouched onto Levi’s shoulder at your table. When Levi spots you, he yells out, “Oi, I think I’m going to bring him back to your room now. He’s pretty much passed out.”

You sit beside them, stroking Mike’s arm. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Just piss drunk. Feel free to hang out here for a little while longer.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you,” you offer. “Just in case.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The two of you sling Mike’s arms over your shoulders, carrying him as he drags his feet languidly. Once you’re back inside your room, you and Levi carefully place him on the bed, where he shifts around until he’s snuggled with a pillow, grunting occasionally. Levi snorts, “Idiot.”

He looks to you and says, “Thanks for helping me. Sorry he’s like this.”

“No worries. I’m not mad. I should have expected this.”

Levi leaves, heading back as you sit at the edge of the bed, watching Mike snore noisily. You fill a glass of water and set it on the dresser beside him in case he needs to hydrate. You poke him with your finger, which only causes him to mumble something incoherent. To be fair, you were warned about this.

You hear your phone vibrate in your purse. There’s one new message:

Eren: I’m in my room now

Staring at the text, you contemplate your next move. This is the opportunity you were hoping for. A moment alone with Eren, a chance to fulfill what you need to do. Despite all the anger and resentment you harbor for him, there’s still a part of you that desires to be with him one last time.

Letting your feet lead you to Room 324, you decide to give in to one more moment of weakness.

~~~

Eren sits at the end of the bed, staring at the text message he just sent, eagerly waiting for a response. Tapping his foot nervously, he checks his phone every five seconds to make sure he isn’t missing anything.

Ten grueling minutes pass and a gentle knock on the door stirs his insides. He takes a deep breath and opens the door, thrilled to see her, still in her sensual black dress that’s been tantalizing him all fucking night.

He pulls her into the room, double locking the door when it shuts. Squishing her adorable cheeks between his palms, he leans forward and kisses her hungrily, tongue licking her lips and grazing her teeth. Desperate to taste every bit of her that he’s been deprived of all week long.

They lie on the bed, him on top of her, his hands roaming her body starting from her neck down to her legs. Flirting with the seductive slit exposing her thighs. The dress is skintight, hugging every inch of her figure flawlessly. His cock is already hard beneath his slacks, and they haven’t even undressed yet.

“Take my clothes off,” she breathes out, rolling to her side to show him the zipper. He obeys, marveling at her bare back as he splits the dress open. He trails kisses along the skin he uncovers. She slides the dress off at her shoulders, where he gives her a nibble, resulting in that cute giggle he loves hearing so much.

“Don’t giggle like that with anyone else. Only me,” he demands, kissing her sloppily as he shoves her dress lower to reveal her breasts. He hovers over her, sucking at one of her nipples until it’s plump and taut between his lips.

“Fuck,” she moans, squirming beneath him as she wiggles out of her dress completely. In record time, Eren strips off all of his clothes, leaving just his briefs, barely concealing his erection.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, mouth surrounding her other tit as his fingers drift to her arousal, rubbing at the wet spot of her black lace panties. “I’ve missed this pretty pussy, too.”

He slips his middle finger pass the fabric, collecting the slick from her entrance to rub onto her clit. Upon contact, her hips buck, begging for more of his touch. With a chuckle, he releases her nipple from his mouth to suck on a spot on her neck, hard enough to leave a mark. He buries his nose in the divot of her collarbone, inhaling her intoxicating, familiar scent.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, dying to quench his thirst, willing to drown in her arousal.

She nods, fingers hooking the hem of her underwear to remove them. He slides them off her, eyeing her naked body greedily.

“Sit on my face. I want it to drip into my mouth.”

She curses under her breath, scooting over for him to lie down. He can’t help but smile as she straddles him, gripping the headboard and slowly lowering her hips so her pussy is flush against his lips.

“Don’t hold back, baby. Ride my face like you ride my cock.” With his hands on her hips, he sucks on her clit until she’s whining in pleasure, slick trickling out of her slit and onto his chin.

She rocks back and forth, obeying his instructions like the good girl she’s always been.

“Come all over my face, baby. Get that pussy really wet for my cock.”

Moaning, she ruts against him faster, his lips surrounding her as he flicks her clit with his tongue rapidly. Cum coats his mouth and chin. She carefully lifts herself off, kneeling besides him, eyes glazed over from her orgasm.

Sitting up to face her, he caresses her cheek, pulling her in for a passionate kiss. He takes his time, appreciating her supple lips and the subtle contrast of his rough thumb brushing over the delicate skin of her cheekbone. He reaches down his briefs, sliding them off and tossing them to the floor. He strokes his cock, craving to feel her lush walls squeeze tightly around him.

~~~

Eren breaks away, slightly out of breath, whispering, “Can you ride me? I want to see your face.”

The words slip out of his mouth, smooth like butter, enticing as ever. You nod, granting his request. Knowing this will be the last time.

He lies back down, gazing at you. You straddle his lap, rubbing your wet folds against him before you position your entrance at the tip of his dick. Without using your hands, you slide onto him, feeling the vibrations from his gravely moans reverberate through his chest.

You ride him slowly, thrusting your ass onto his hard cock. He squeezes your hips, directing you to move faster. You resist, determined to set your own pace. For once, you’re in control, not him.

“Fuck, you’re so good. You’re so fucking good to me,” he chants as you grind onto his lap. You start moaning along with him, succumbing to the pleasure, leaning onto his chest, and listening to his racing heartbeat. He keeps one hand at your waist; the other at the nape of your neck, pulling you in closer.

“God, you’re beautiful. I’m so lucky. I’m so fucking lucky,” he whispers to you, lips grazing your ear. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“Kiss me,” he says, staring at you with soft eyes, yearning for you.

You lean in to brush your lips against his, making him think everything is fine. Sending him to Cloud 9 so that he can crash down onto the cold, hard dirt once you’re through with him.

After a few minutes of fucking, he mutters, “I’m sorry.”

The apology catches you off guard. He’s pulling every weapon out of his arsenal, his velvety words attempting to latch on to you like a leech.

“I’m sorry about tonight. I’ll make it up to you, okay? I promise.”

You don’t respond. With your eyes shut, you continue to ride him, letting your second orgasm build up.

He caresses your cheek again, thumb brushing the soft skin right below your eye. “Baby, please look at me.”

His expression is sincere; there’s warmth in the way he looks at you, affection in the small smile he displays.

“I’m yours, okay? I’m all yours.”

You’re close. It’s almost over. He’s tugging at your heartstrings like he never has before. But this time, it’s not enough. You’re not falling for it anymore.

“I promise you; everything is going to be okay,” he whispers, kissing your forehead, voice trembling.

He makes promises just as easily as he breaks them. You’ve lost trust in him completely. His words mean nothing. They no longer have this everlasting hold on you.

Still silent except for the soft whines that escape from your lips, you ride him faster, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth. Take advantage of him the way he has with you.

“Fuck,” he groans, planting his feet onto the bed and moving his hips in rhythm with your thrusts. “You’re going to make me come, sweetie. Is that what you want?”

You nod into his neck, his hands now holding you in place as he starts pounding into your pussy relentlessly.

“Okay, baby. I’ll give it to you. I’m all yours. All yours,” he repeats, fucking you until you reach your orgasm, letting the pleasure sweep through you.

Soon after, he groans a drawn out, “Fuck,” as you feel his hot load fill you up.

He holds you in his arms, no rush to let you go. Nose pressed into the top of your head, inhaling and exhaling deeply. You savor the steady cadence of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin. Letting yourself imagine only for a short moment that this is what could’ve been if it was any different with you two. Nostalgic for a relationship that never really existed to begin with. One that was doomed from the start.

Maybe you’ll meet again in another lifetime. One where it’s genuine. Painless. Easy.

Just not this one.

His arms loosen as soon as you initiate movement. You remain silent as you pick your dress off the floor and carry it with you into the bathroom. The knob turned all the way to hot, you wait as the heat from the shower fills the space with a steamy cloud. Stepping in carefully, you let the water rinse any cum and sweat from your body, erasing all traces of Eren.

When you’re finally cleansed, you dry yourself with a towel and slip into your black dress. Studying your reflection in the mirror, you take a few deep breaths, preparing for your final act.

~~~

Eren cannot stop smiling.

He’s lying on the bed, palms behind his head, arms splayed out to the sides. Cock glistening with cum. Sheets messy, pillows disheveled all from their love making. He’s in fucking paradise. Whenever they have sex, he always feels on top of the world. Totally and utterly elated. Soaring on Cloud 9.

The best part is that it’s not Mike who she’ll be spending the rest of the night with. It’s him. Eren is the winner. He gets the prize.

It doesn’t even bother him how he uprooted his buried feelings for her. He’ll blame it on the alcohol, which has since dissipated from his bloodstream nearly an hour ago. Or he’ll blame it on being caught up in their fuck fest. Either way, it seems she’s no longer mad at him. He’s got everything under control.

Several minutes pass before she comes out of the bathroom, wearing her black dress. He stretches his arms out, beckoning her back into bed. “Come here, baby. Let’s cuddle.”

She leans down to collect her heels and purse from the floor. “I’m leaving.”

He grins at her odd joke. “Baby, stop kidding around. Come here.”

“I’m leaving,” she repeats. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The smile fades, his brain slowly processing the words coming out of her mouth. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Eren, I’m ending this. It’s over. You and me. We’re done.”

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End Notes: We’re almost near the end y’all! Thank you for sticking with it! Also, thanks so much for all the comments, messages, likes, and reblogs. I can’t express into words how grateful I am for every single interaction this fic gets. It gives me LIFE! So much love for ALL of you. 💕

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Tag List:

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limarieb · 6 months

Text

(shades of) maroon

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x (implied) fem!reader

Summary: The development of your relationship with Wanda from its glorious beginning to its bitter end. (Inspired by 'Maroon' by Taylor Swift.)

Warnings: strangers to friends to lovers, fluff... to angst, no happy ending (this is my weak attempt at writing angst), character death

Word Count: 6.2k

Author's Note: im still in the process of writing new stuff, so i hope you can enjoy some old writing from my ao3 in the meantime... also, requests are still open!

Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad

...

When the morning came we, Were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf, 'Cause we lost track of time again, Laughing with my feet in your lap, Like you were my closest friend...

The stench of alcohol plagued the air surrounding you. You were not one to drink much, but Tony insisted on organizing another party — what was to be celebrated, you never really figured out. As the moment thirty minutes had passed since your arrival, the several shots you had done with Natasha were beginning to take effect. You were not drunk yet, but the shots definitely acted as a stepping stone. Beneath your skin, an underlying buzz was being contained.

You were talking to Natasha about the latest news in your life, considering the two of you do not always get to talk as much as you do since she is constantly on missions across the globe. As you raised your cup to your lips, you realized it was too effortless to lift. You excused yourself, making your way through the various attendees to get to the bar for a refill.

When the bartender asked you what you wished to order, you requested your usual: "Vodka Coke, please."

You remained where you were, but you elevated your left arm vertically enough to be placed on the counter. Slightly leaning, you use the angle to reach with your right hand into your pocket to retrieve the phone being stored there. Before you could, however, an unknown voice seemed to acknowledge you, "Interesting drink-of-choice... most go for a Rum and Coke."

You turned around, expecting to find out who this opinionated person is. What you did not expect, though, is said person being a beautiful brunette. Her eyes were one of the brightest shades of green, but they were dulled by the dark eyeliner outlining her eyes. The lengthy, brown hair cascaded down her back and shoulders. You even admired her sense of style; it was edgy — to say the least — but still very fashionable in your opinion. "I like to think I'm interesting," you began. "Otherwise, I'd be boring, and that's no fun. Even so, I refuse to accept that vodka is not the better one, especially compared to rum."

She let out a small laugh when you added a theatric gag at the end, showing your distaste for the latter drink. It was a bit dramatic, but you would do it again just to hear that laugh once more. With a slight smirk forming, she returned: "Coming from a place of people who praised that drink on their hands and knees, I am sure that I'm obligated to agree."

It was your turn to provide a chuckle at her joke, "Russia?"

"Close," she replied, tilting her head from left to right. "Sokovia."

Within seconds, the mood dampened a bit. You saw the numerous news reports of what had happened to the small country: ultimate destruction. There was a sharp intake of your breath, confused about how to properly respond in this situation (especially when you are intoxicated). The girl began chewing on her lip, which you assumed to be a nervous habit due to your lack of an immediate reply.

Once you finally opened your mouth, the bartender returned with your glass. You wrapped your hand around the glass, lifting it to take a sip. It was relatively sweet, yet it still contributed to the increasing levels of liquid courage.

The awkward tension was still present between you two. You could have simply left and returned to Natasha; instead, you opted to ignore it before she had the chance to leave you at the bar. "So," the word started to become drawn out. "Wanna get out of here?"

Her eyes widened, evidently thinking something entirely different than what you were expecting. "Not like that! I just mean, do you want to hang out at my apartment or something, instead of here? It's quite loud, and parties aren't really my thing, anyway. I just come because the alcohol is free. You don't have to, of course, but..."

The anxiety was starting to overpower the liquid courage, causing you to trail off as you finished your question; you left the hope that she accepts your offer to come with you unspoken. Finally, you could see the smile return to her face, removing most of the nervousness from your body. It was small but there nonetheless. "Ok," she agreed. "Under one condition, though. I want to know your name."

"Y/N. But, I'll also need to know yours."

"Wanda. Wanda Maximoff."

"Well, Wanda," you placed your now empty glass back on the counter. "We better get going."

Nothing necessarily happened that night. It was purely innocuous fun away from the overwhelming crowd at the party. Nonetheless, it was still one of the best nights of your life. You put some records on the turntable that sat on your bookshelf, allowing your favorite songs and scents of incense to fill the room. Wanda sat at the top of your bed with her back up against the wall. She was busy observing the decorations in your room, inferring the various quirks you possessed.

The two of you talked about many things that night. In the days after, you preferred to blame the openness on the alcohol; however, you knew it was because of her. It was simply easy to talk about anything and everything with Wanda. The Sokovian even shared some of her own stories, albeit with some difficulties. You ensured her it was alright if she didn't want to share, and she admired the respect you gave.

That is not to say it was all sad, traumatic memories being shared. You found out a few things about Wanda when she is tipsy and tired: she can be quite the comedian; she likes physical touch if she is comfortable with the person, resulting in the legs that were laying on your own; and her accent — which is incredibly enticing, you might add — becomes more prominent.

It was like you two had known each other since childhood; if another person had been present, they would assume you were best friends. And, honestly, you wouldn't disagree.

That was the night Wanda had both entered your life for the first time and risen the ranks to "best friend" status.

How'd we end up on the floor anyway? You say, "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw top Rosé", that's how, I see you everyday now...

A month had passed since the night of Tony's party, otherwise known as the night you befriended Wanda. You had seen each other practically every day since then, specifically in the evenings when you do not usually work. A few significant developments had taken place since then, including — but not limited to — the Sokovian becoming an Avenger. You could tell she was apprehensive about it all, concerning the relatively unstable powers she holds; thus, you tried to reassure her whenever you could in moments when her anxieties became overwhelming.

You texted her, letting her know that you were coming over to make her dinner that night. Thankfully, she had training, so the surprise you had planned wouldn't be ruined. A couple of days prior, you researched different Sokovian recipes. You vaguely recalled something she said about her favorite food being from home, but you couldn't exactly recall the name of the dish. After a few minutes, you finally found it: Chicken Paprikash.

As the cooking was coming to an end, you heard your phone ding from the counter, indicating that you had received a text message. Quickly, you wiped your hands of the food remnants on the towel that was closest to you. When the screen lit up, you noticed the message was from Wanda, saying she would be down in a few minutes. Panic began to bubble within you, as the food wasn't done yet and you haven't even gotten the drinks poured. Surely, it is not actually the time you planned to meet—

6:00 PM. That was the time staring back at you on the kitchen clock. Although, you did not have the time to think about how to rectify the problem. Footsteps were heard behind you, and you heard the mystery person inhale deeply through the nose. "Wow," they exclaimed. You knew that accented voice from anywhere: Wanda.

Slowly, you turned on your heels. "Hey, Wanda," you replied, unsure of what to say considering you were not done cooking let alone planning on what to say once she arrived.

"Is that Paprikash?" she asked as she approached the pot on the stove to take a glance for herself.

You gave a shy nod in return, "Yeah, I know you've been stressed lately with this and all." You used your free hand to motion to the surrounding building, referring to the fact she became an Avenger. "So, I wanted to do something to help, to bring you comfort. And, I know you said once that your favorite food was something from home, but I couldn't remember the name of it. But, fortunately, I was able to find it with my expertise in searching things on the internet. Ok, wait... that sounds weird—"

You stopped rambling once Wanda turned away from the stove to face you. Immediately, you noticed the tears forming in her eyes. Being the anxious person you were, you had assumed this was because of something you had done wrong. "No, no. Please don't cry, Wands. Did I make it wrong? I can make something else, or I— I can change it if I need to..."

It appeared to be quite the opposite, though. Wanda walked toward where you were standing only a few feet away. She looked up at you, taking in the genuine expression of concern on your face. No one has ever cared this much for her, excluding the family she once had when they were alive. So, she wrapped her arms around your abdomen and pulled your body as close to hers as possible. With her head resting on your shoulder near the collarbone (and your head laying on her own), you both relished in the comfort of the embrace. You brought your arms to her back, alternating between trailing your hand in up-and-down motions and in circles. Never had a hug felt so warm and relieving.

"No," she broke the silence after a moment had passed. "It's perfect, truly, Y/N. It's everything. I— I don't know how to thank you."

"You being here is enough."

The two of you ate the dish together in the peace of your own company. You found a spare bottle of rosé in Tony's cabinets, taking it to the table to be poured as needed. She loved it, as she had anticipated; yet, she loved your reaction almost as much as the food itself. You had told her that you had never had Paprikash before, that this was the first time you had eaten the dish let alone make it (which is one of the reasons why you were nervous). So, she waited impatiently with her bottom lip between her teeth as you took the first bite.

You had to admit, it was very good. In fact, it was so good that you let out a moan due to the combination of flavors currently occurring in your mouth. Upon realizing the sound you just realized, blood began to rush to your cheeks; the wine did not help the involuntary blush forming. The Sokovian laughed, not noting the latter events, and the two of you resumed eating the food and drinking the wine as conversation flowed easily.

It felt like you were transported back in time to the night you first met, feeling a similar buzz radiating under your skin. It took a similar effect on Wanda; therefore, you two decided to retire to her bedroom in the compound for the evening. It was late and you were not exactly the most sober, so she didn't want you driving home.

"Well, how could I say 'no' to a sleepover?" you supplied, humorously.

She smiled, and a sort of gleam came into her emerald eyes. Having been practically raised by sitcoms, she had always wanted something like this during her youth: a cliché sleepover with her best friend. She told you as such, "Good. I'm excited... I've never had a sleepover before, so..."

The shock you felt from that statement must have been evident on your face, for the gleam began to fade a bit while her expression slightly fell. "Well, that just won't do. We have to make this the best, classic, all-American girl sleepover. We need movies, snacks, blankets, and pillows. Do you have a game? Actually, never mind that. We can just do a verbal game like Truth or Dare or 20 Questions."

The plan you began drafting out loud caused the shine to return to Wanda's eyes. For hours, you spent your time in a fort you two built out of several blankets and pillows on the floor. The space was confined, requiring the two of you to lay as close as humanly possible. You watched two movies on your laptop, then switched to playing some games. You ended up playing 20 Questions, wherein you discovered some interesting things about each other. To summarize the most important conclusions, it was found out that: she has a guilty pleasure for stealing other people's clothes (specifically, oversized items like sweats or shirts), and you often took smoke breaks when you got stressed or overwhelmed (she liked to joke, saying she could tell that you were a "little stoner" at heart). However, the most intriguing discovery that was unearthed during the game was the potential that the other was not straight. During a round in which you were asked about your celebrity crush, you quickly gave your answer: "Florence Pugh or Brittany Snow. I don't know; they're both hot, honestly."

While you weren't exactly ashamed of your sexuality, you weren't sure of her opinions regarding the subject and didn't want to risk losing her. It never really came up in past conversations. As you registered what you just admitted, you kept your gaze down toward the carpet where you two were sitting. She gave a hum of approval, "I totally get it. Brittany in Pitch Perfect? Stunning. Florence in the Little Women remake? Perfect."

You looked up, finally allowing your eyes to meet hers. Obviously, she could tell you were succumbing to the nerves of your mind (it also helps when her powers make sensing others' strong emotions very easy). She remained in the same position from before, but her hand reached for the one resting in your lap. Taking it in hers, she gave it a gentle squeeze; the grasp strong enough to let you know she's not going to leave you. "I do not care if you're gay, Y/N. You know that, right? I don't mind women myself from time to time. It honestly depends on their personality more than their gender, you know?"

You have never felt so relieved and understood by another individual. You acknowledged her with a quick, almost unnoticeable nod. "Good," she continued with her classic smile on her face. "Wanna watch another movie?"

Sheltered by the blanket structure, you two resumed the positions of laying on the floor. This time, as the movie played on the computer in your lap, you felt her head lean on your soldier. Then, her right hand gradually crept closer to your left hand. Minutes later, her fingers were threaded between yours. At first, your heart was beating fast because you were nervous — she was making you nervous. As if she sensed this (which she did), she was able to calm you by using her thumb to rub the back of your hand.

You didn't have time to think about what it all meant that night; the two of you immediately fell asleep, and the rather serious elements of the night were seldom mentioned. Although, you only had one thought relating to Wanda before succumbing to slumber: Oh God.

And I chose you, The one I was dancing with, In New York, no shoes, Looked up, at the sky and it was...

Honestly, you were not sure if you were going to ever mention these newfound feelings you felt for the Sokovian. You wanted her to come to you, relying on whether or not she felt comfortable. While you wanted nothing more than to know whether or not she returned the sentiment, you also recognized she is in a fragile position. For instance, what if you tell her, and she totally freaks and doesn't want to be friends anymore? Or, what if she thinks that you don't want to be friends if she doesn't like you back, leaving her thinking she'll lose you? To say you were spiraling oftentimes about the situation was an understatement.

It didn't occur all of the time, though. In fact, the times you were simply spending moments with Wanda were enough to satisfy you, for that's all you truly wanted at the end of the day: her and her happiness.

About four months after you had met at the party, you were laying in Wanda's room at the compound. You were scrolling through your phone, looking at emails from the past few days that you had missed. Wanda, on the other hand, was reading a book she had just bought from a local bookstore. The room was under a comfortable silence; that is, until Wanda broke the silence with a random question: "Have you ever seen stars? I mean, in the sky... as the movies show them?"

"You haven't?"

It was not the best reply, looking back on it. The surprised tone could come across as judgmental — and, it definitely must have. The Sokovian began to sink into herself, her gaze lowering and the volume of her voice almost completely reduced. "No, I haven't," she said in a shaky response. "When I lived near Novi Grad, there were rarely nights where the sky was clear of clouds and fog enough to see any stars. Also, being locked in a cell made it quite difficult in terms of getting outside to see them. I haven't really stopped to think about it again until now."

You realized your mistake, "Sorry, Wands. I didn't mean to say it like that, like I was judging you. It's just weird to think, I guess, that you haven't seen them." There was a slight pause in your speech, "You know what? Come on." You grabbed her arm, pulling her off of the bed with you. The sudden action caused her to drop her book, but she was too occupied with trying to figure out what you were up to care about the forgotten novel.

"Where are we going, Y/N?"

"You'll see," you replied in a confident but excited tone.

"Y/N," she chuckled, loosening up. "We don't have our shoes on."

As the two of you entered the elevator, you pushed the button to take you to the highest possible floor. "Eh, shoes are for losers, anyway."

The ride took a minute or two, but the doors eventually opened in an achingly slow manner. You knew the sky would be clear tonight, therefore there would be stars visible in the upstate New York region. You took her hand in yours and dragged her outside to the rooftop.

"Well, look up!" you said, surely.

Wanda took a deep breath, then she hesitantly lifted her head. She gasped at the sight: hundreds or thousands of little white dots littered the dark, night sky. It was beautiful; there was nothing to compare it to in that regard.

She hugged you, similarly to how she did the night you made her favorite dinner for the first time.

"Do you like it?" you whispered into the ear that was conveniently located close to your mouth.

The Sokovian gave a slight nod, "I love it. I don't think I have ever seen something so extraordinary."

You nodded your own head in an unspoken agreement. The two of you just stayed there, remaining in the comfort of each other's arms as you took in the sights around you. After several moments passed, Wanda suddenly lifted her head to look directly into your eyes.

"Dance with me," she unexpectedly requested. It was not posed as a question, so you didn't think you had a choice in the matter (not that you'd deny her of anything she wanted anyways).

You moved your arms to be placed on her shoulders, encircling her neck; her arms maintained their positions around your waist. She moved her body closer, leaning near to the point that her forehead was resting against yours. This position should've been awkward — it would've been had it been anyone else; with Wanda, it felt so natural. Under the stars, the two of you simply swayed in the cool breeze of the August air.

"Y/N?"

You hummed.

"I choose you."

Your heart must have skipped multiple beats at that moment, but it did not stop you from giving your own confession: "I choose you, too."

In a speed that can only be deemed as torturous, you waited as Wanda slowly leaned in closer. Her eyes were constantly switching between your eyes and your lips. "Can— Can I kiss you?"

"Please," you practically whimpered.

Her head finally tilted and got closer until it hit — absolute fireworks. As her lips gracefully touched yours, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut to fully experience the moment in the most sensual way. It was not rushed or needy; it was the opposite, defined by the intimacy and passion that cannot possibly be found elsewhere. You could not think about anything other than how her rose-colored lips felt against yours. It is like the moment in which you finally find that missing piece that perfectly fits, bringing the puzzle all together; she's the missing piece, and your life is the completed puzzle.

As the kiss ended, you reluctantly pulled away. Her eyes remained closed at first, but they opened soon after. Her piercing green eyes never failed to stun you, not since the first day your own eyes landed upon her. You took your right hand, pushing a few strands of hair that had fallen to go behind her ear. She took her bottom lip between her teeth.

"What are you nervous about?" you inquired, noting the habit.

Her eyebrows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"You were biting your lip," you explain. "You only do that if you're nervous about something, like when you first talked about Sokovia or when you just wanted me to like the Paprikash because it's your favorite."

It was not the response she expected, but something about it made Wanda like you even more than she had previously. "Nothing, truly. I just really like you... just in case the kiss we had did not prove that enough."

"I can't even begin to describe how much I like you, Wanda. You make me so inexplicably happy; you have for a while now."

"A while, huh?" she teased, her signature smirk forming.

Unfortunately, so did your blush as you conceded, "About three months, give or take."

The Sokovian tried to do the mental work to deduce the time period, "Around the night of the sleepover?"

The blush on your cheeks brightened, and you gave a nod to affirm her response.

"We got there, eventually," she offered.

"Yeah," you agreed with a grin. "We did."

You couldn't resist the temptation any longer and shifted your head to give her more kisses. You started with light butterfly kisses on her jawline. Slowly but surely, you transferred to her cheek, to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, then — finally — locked your lips to hers.

If you could kiss her for hours, you would; so, you did. That night under the sea of stars, you two repeatedly exchanged kisses loaded with all of the feelings that had been pent up inside for a while.

The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me, And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was- The mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust it grew between telephones The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon...

You weren't sure exactly when you knew it was love. Obviously, you have known you loved her as a person for a while considering she was your best friend; but, romantic love — loving her as a partner, your supposed other half — is entirely distinct from that sort of platonic love of friends and family.

In retrospect, you think it has to be New Year's Eve. It was below freezing outdoors, leaving residents confined to the inside of their homes. This was not an issue for you and your girlfriend, for you two would never complain about the need to cuddle with each other for extra warmth.

Due to the holiday, Tony was throwing another extravagant party, which you two had obviously been invited to attend. That is how you found yourself in this predicament:

You had been standing out on the balcony for about fifteen minutes; it was getting a bit hectic inside with many people being in attendance. Normally, you'd just seek Wanda for comfort; however, you couldn't find her, leaving you to your own devices. The only immediate solution you could think of was to exit the situation by standing on the balcony in the cold air.

Though you'd been lost in thought for a while, a pair of familiar hands brought you back to the present. They tangled around your waist, one pulling you close to the front of the body behind you and the other holding a glass of red wine.

"дорогая, what are you doing out here? It's freezing," she moved her face closer to your neck. You tilted your head to the side in order to give her more access. She took advantage of this offer, peppering sweet kisses to the side of your neck. "Are you okay?" she asks, the concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm okay now," you confirmed, trying to ease her mind in the way that she does yours. "I just felt overwhelmed in there... a lot of people."

She gave a hum of agreement, "I don't even know how he knows that many people."

Her comment elicited a small laugh from you, which she took as a good sign of your emotional well-being. You let out a whine of annoyance when she briefly let go of you. As you turned to face her, though, your arm must have nudged the hand holding the glass of wine. Before anything could be done, the red liquid began to seep into your attire.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," Wanda raised her empty hand to cover her mouth in shock. "дорогая, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spill it. Oh my God, I ruined your clothes."

Meanwhile, you tried saying her name multiple times to try to stop her ranting. You understood it was not her fault; if anything, it was mainly yours for lacking basic spatial awareness. Eventually, you realized she would not stop on her own accord; thus, you placed your lips on hers in a final attempt to get her to slow down before she officially spiraled.

When you finally pulled away, she kept her eyes close because she was afraid of your rejection. "Wanda?" you pleaded. "Wanda? Baby, can you please open your eyes for me?"

In an apprehensive manner, she revealed her eyes to you. If the tears were not sufficient in proving her internal panic, you could feel the anxiety that was radiating from her body. "It's okay. I promise that it is okay, baby. Accidents happen, okay?"

She sniffled, clearly upset but relieved that you were not mad at her for the mistake. You raised your hands to her face, using your thumbs to wipe the lonely tears that began to slowly roll down her lightly-freckled cheeks. As you did so, the two of you stared into each other's eyes in an endless endeavor. You could barely make out the sound of a countdown coming from indoors:

"10..."

You moved to be as close to her as you could.

"9..."

"Wanda..." you said.

"8..."

You kept your thumbs stagnant now, simply cupping her face between your hands.

"7..."

"Y/N?"

"6..."

She followed suit, circling your torso with her hands.

"5..."

"I— I want to tell you something."

"4..."

"What, дорогая?" she pondered aloud, genuinely curious as to what you were about to say.

"3..."

"I love you, Wanda Maximoff. Not even with just my heart, I love you with my whole being."

"2..."

Your novel confession caused her breath to hitch in her throat. The tears that you had just wiped away were now returning with fervor.

"1..."

"I love you, too. I love you so much."

Thus, as the clock struck midnight signaling the start of a new year, you kissed the woman you loved with such a deep, irreplaceable passion. You felt like you could never come down from this high.

When the silence came we were shaking blind and hazy, How the hell did we lose sight of us again? Sobbin' with your head in your hands Ain't that the way shit always ends?

Looking back on your relationship, it was evident that you were susceptible to naïveté. When the clock strikes midnight, it does not stay midnight. The minutes will keep passing, for time does not stop for anything or anyone. Unfortunately, you had to find this out the hard way:

"Y/N?" you heard your girlfriend call you from a nearby room.

"In here!"

As she walked into the room, there was an unusual heaviness in her step. The atmosphere around you, too, was spoiled; it made you feel uneasy.

"Is something wrong, Wands?"

Given that she couldn't meet your gaze and continued to play with the rings on her fingers, it was evident that she didn't want to say whatever she had to, or that she simply didn't know how to do it in the first place: "I have to leave. I won't be back for a while."

"What do you mean?" you became even more confused. "Wanda, what the hell? What do you mean you have to leave? You have to go where? Go... Why?"

She stepped further back in favor of pacing the room. "I— I don't know, Y/N. They want me... the government, I mean... because of this mess between Tony and Steve. Natasha is setting up a safe house and a fake identity for me somewhere, most likely not on this continent. I'm so sorry. I don't want to go, but you're not safe as long as I'm here. I can't let you get hurt because of me... that has happened enough times in my life."

"No, Wanda," you cried out, not believing the words were actually true. "No! I— this isn't happening. No, you're not leaving."

"дорогая..." she trailed off, unsure of how to express her sympathy.

"No!" you began to yell, officially beyond upset. "You can't leave me; I refuse. I don't care whether you think I'm safe or not. You don't get to make that decision for me; we make that choice together. I want to be with you, Wanda! I love you; please don't leave me."

The sight unfolding before the Sokovian was heartbreaking. She could only repeat her earlier words, "I'm sorry, дорогая... I will always love you, Y/N, no matter what."

With your arms shakily encircled around your noticeably trembling body, you attempted to find solace. Further, your red face had tears flowing with no end. Wanda eventually gathered the encourage approach you. Initially, you tried to resist it by pushing her away or shrugging her off. You were so frustrated, wanting to show her that you were upset she was leaving you when you two could have stayed together. But, you gave in, for you'll always need her comfort in the end. You probably looked pathetic as you held onto her, sobbing into her chest with your arms clutching hers as if she'd fade away at any moment. Then again, you have never felt your heart physically break as much as it did that day.

Unfortunately, that sentiment didn't last very long. Only a few months later you received a call from an unknown number. Before the Avengers left and began to hide around the globe, you never would have answered the call of an unknown number. However, you know Wanda was also told not to contact you. At least, she would not be able to contact you with her personal phone, which she had left at your place with you.

Actually, you were on her phone when it happened. Oddly, you were feeling okay that day. It felt like the weight of the sadness was lifting, beginning to understand this situation would all be temporary. So, you allowed yourself to finally open her phone and scroll through all of the pictures and videos she had of you two. As you were watching a video that she took of you and her at Christmas last year, the call from the unknown number came through on your own phone. You stood silent for a moment, as if the phone would sense your presence and stop ringing if you moved a muscle. Your subconscious freeze ended, and you scrambled to the phone upon thinking about the possibility that Wanda is finally calling you after these past few months on the run.

You were close; the phone call was from Natasha. You knew she had been keeping tabs on Wanda in the beginning. You assumed she was currently acting as the middleman for a message from Wanda — you were very wrong.

"Hello?"

"Y/N?" the voice came through the speaker.

"Natasha? Is that really you? Hello? Oh my God, is everything alright? Wanda... how's Wanda? Have you heard from her? She hasn't contacted me at all this whole time, and I'm starting to get worried. Has it been too long? Natasha, what is happening? I'm scared..."

"Y/N..."

You didn't like that tone. It's the one someone uses when they know something is wrong, but they don't want to tell you that said thing is wrong. It was at that point you knew something was really wrong.

"No, Natasha. No. Tell me. I need to know. I love her, Natasha. I deserve to know."

"Wanda... she's— she's gone."

Time will never stop for anything or anyone; that principle was evident long ago when you two first confessed your love for each other on the balcony on New Year's Eve. That does not mean time cannot exponentially slow down. For at this moment, that is exactly what happened. As if your body took over for your mind, you went on autopilot: hanging up the phone on Natasha without any words being said and falling onto your knees in a fit of despair. The sob released from within can only be described as primitive, and the feeling as permanent. You clutched your chest, similar to the way you did when Wanda first told you she'd have to leave months ago.

That is not to say you blame Wanda or anyone around you, including yourself, for the outcome of today. You know there was no way of knowing, so logically nothing could've been changed in the end nor the beginning.

You were bound to be alone. Wanda wouldn't be there to hold your hand when you watched a movie, gently kiss the side of your neck when you were overwhelmed, or worry herself at the silly mistakes she made; she wouldn't be there to roll her eyes at your admittedly stupid jokes, kiss your lips while you made dinner for the two of you, or hold you in bed after a long day or a terrible nightmare. But, most importantly, Wanda — the love of your life — wouldn't be there to get married to you, raise the three children you two always wanted (because "one is not enough and two is average, but four is definitely too much"), or experience the other joys of spending the rest of your lives together as you two had intended.

At first, you were just sad all of the time. It was an endless pit of despair, rendering you hopeless. You had your whole life planned with her being in it; how could you ever live that same life, especially happily, now that she's not here to experience it with you?

Then, a switch occurred in your mind one day. The sadness quickly faded into a wave of hateful, vengeful anger. It felt like your body and soul were constantly plagued with so much anger and hurt, because how dare this happen to you two? How dare this happen to her after she's already been through and lost so much? And, how dare this happen to you after you finally found your person?

The worst of it all is it felt like you still see her everywhere, from the compound to the grocery store. Even today, there are constant reminders making it impossible for you to escape the maroon lens Wanda had left on your life. You had once perceived the maroon to be a sign of warmth and love, of Wanda herself; how could you possibly have known that one day all it would come to mean was the seething red of anger?

End.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #marvel imagines #limarieb #limarieb wanda maximoff #taylor swift #songfic

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gentrychild · 1 year

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Anyone! What if the main circle played a game of Never-have-i-ever and Dabi or someone says "Never have I ever killed someone" would Midoriya take the time to really think abt it and (wrongfully) assume he did and take a drink (of apple juice ofc....or a nasty mix of condiments)? OMG ITD BE HILARIOUS IF HAWKS WAS THERE JUST LIKE o.O

“Never have I ever…” Hawks marked a pause, letting some suspense settle in the bar. “… not paid my taxes.”

A groan echoed through the bar as Dabi, whose face was on the large table they were all sitting around, reached for his glass. His shoulders shook a little. He might have been sobbing or trying to kill Hawks with his mind. In any case, he still drank his shot with the grim determination of a man who had accepted that his liver would not see the sun rise tomorrow. Kurogiri also drank, with far more dignity.

All for One, who had been drinking non stop since the game had started and who should be dead if it wasn’t for the dozen of anti-poison quirks running around to eliminate the alcohol from his bloodstream, left his glass alone.

They had to change the rules for him and him alone. If he reached a certain amount of glasses, he

“Really?” Todoroki asked, his hand on Izuku’s shoulder. They were both drinking cold grape juice instead of alcohol but apparently, too much sugar turned Izuku’s lieutenant sleepy. “I would have thought you had never given them a yen.”

“I don’t mess with the IRS,” All for One informed him.

“Good to know,” the HPSC spy who probably thought he was really smooth to ask all those questions said. However, since he was holding the table in order to remain upright in his chair, Izuku doubted he would remember much in the morning.

It was Todoroki’s turn. He perfectly refilled everyone’s glass, giving vodka to the adults and grape juice to Izuku.

“Never have I ever killed someone.”

All for One, Hawks, Kurogiri and Dabi all took their shots and Dabi possibly passed out right here and there. Izuku reached out to him and moved his head so he wouldn’t accidentally smother himself.

As he did, Todoroki touched Izuku’s glass, lifting it from the bottom and bringing it to Izuku’s lips.

“The yakuza,” his best friend reminded him.

“The yakuza?” Izuku repeated, puzzled.

“The one with Eri.”

Ah yes, the trash toucan Izuku had saved Eri from.

“I didn’t kill…”

Izuku stopped talking for a little while. Now, this was a little embarrassing but every time he remembered the day he had become a villain, the joy of getting One for All, of finally having his own quirk, overwhelmed everything else. Even Eri, despite being perfect and someone Izuku adored, wasn’t close to the most important thing that had happened that day.

It was why until now, he hadn’t thought of the yakuza who had tried to kill him and that he had left in an alley after using One for All 100% on him.

“Oh shit,” Izuku remembered. “I guessed I did.”

He emptied his glass in one gulp because he didn't cheat during game nights.

“WHAT?” Dabi screamed.

Hawks shrieked, a sound that was both incredibly loud but that also belonged to the throat of a giant bird.

And yet, All for One managed to get louder than the both of them.

“I MISSED YOUR FIRST MURDER???”

#Izuku the next day: Did you have to expose me like that in front of Hawks?#Shouto: I regret nothing.#anyone fic #alcohol tw

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itwasthereaminuteago · 1 year

Text

|| Drunk in Love ||

Matt Murdock x gn! Reader

Tags/warnings: drinking, vomiting, fluff. M. 😁

A/n: I hate tequila! Like all writers I very much appreciate comments and reblogs if you've enjoyed it!

He hears you stumbling up the stairs giggling to yourself as you try and ultimately fail to be quiet and stealthy. It's late. The key scrapes against the baseplate as you miss the lock the first couple of times you attempt to get the door open. Matt gets up to open it for you but somehow you manage and he catches you in his arms just as you fall through it.

You've been out all night with Karen while he and Foggy had been working in the apartment getting everything ready for their next day in court. It had been a long while since Foggy had said g'night and left to go get some sleep.

"Mmmm, Matty! I'm home!"

He can smell the liquor strong on your breath as you throw your arms around him and plant a smacker of a kiss on his cheek. He can't help laughing a little as he half-carries you to the couch and sits you down, going to the kitchen to grab you a big glass of water.

"You have a good night?" He asks you.

"Oh hell yeah! Karen is soooooo nice and soooo much fun, y'know? We just talked and laughed for hours, didn't realise what time it was till Josie was kicking us out!" You were gradually sliding sideways on the couch close to tipping over until Matt set you back upright.

"I'm glad you had a great time, now you gotta drink this water for me."

You bat his hand away. "Don't wanna. M'fine, had loads to drink!"

Matt smiles patiently. "Uhuh, I know you did sweetie, that's why you should drink this. C'mon now." He raises the glass to your lips and you reluctantly take a small sip.

He hands you the glass and you take it then clumsily try to put it down on the table and end up knocking it over.

"Oops!" You giggle, slumping back in the cushions.

"It's okay, I'll get you some more in a minute. Let's get your shoes off."

"You're such a good man, Matt," you tell him as he removes your shoes, words slurring slightly as you tug him by his t-shirt once he's finished to sit down next to you. "You always take such good care of me, don't you baby? I'm very lucky…"

"Okay, okay." He gently diverts your wandering hands as you gaze at him with half lidded eyes.

"Mmm very lucky… you're soooo handsome Matty," you drawl, unsuccessfully trying to pull his shirt off, "so sexy… I was telling Karen how sexy you are, you're like a- a Greek god."

Matt just chuckles, trying to distract you with a soft kiss to your forehead but you seemingly have other plans.

You whine at him and he smiles back, holding your wrists gently in his hands as you try your damnedest to pull his sweatpants down.

"C'mon Matty, I wanna fuck. What's wrong, do you not find me attractive?" You try to wriggle out of his grasp but it's no use.

"I do, you're very attractive sweetheart, and also very drunk… I think we should get you a big drink of water and get you to bed."

"M'not drunk, you're drunk!" You frown as he leaves you to refill the glass. You hiccup and suddenly your stomach feels like it's flipped upside down, you purse your lips and take a slow steadying breath.

Matt can hear your stomach roiling from across the room. "You okay sweetheart? C'mon let's go to the bathroom if you're going to throw up."

You shake your head as you hiccup again, you're stubborn when you're drunk, and refuse to admit to him that you've had too much.

"I'm fiiiiiine Matty, promise."

Matt quirks an eyebrow. "Alright then, how about we play a game. Let me guess what you had to drink and you can tell me if I'm right."

You feel the sweat breaking out along your hairline. "'kay."

Matt puts the full glass of water down in front of you, cocking his head to the side as he scents your evening's exploits. "So, we have five… no, six beers, two margheritas, two vodka jellies-"

You swallow down the bile that's rising in your throat as you relive the taste of every drink that Matt can smell on you.

"-a strawberry daiquiri… and, oh, Frank was there too wasn't he? He bought you tequila slammers, didn't he baby?"

You nod ever so slightly, your stomach currently intent on violently churning it all together.

"Matty, I-" you clamp your hand over your mouth and run to the bathroom, falling onto your knees and immediately throwing everything up into the toilet. Matt comes in behind you making sure your hair is out of your face and gently rubbing your back as you cough and retch.

"There you go, it's better out than in isn't it?"

You groan and spit, your head throbbing. He won't let you live this down.

Matt hands you some tissue and helps you get to your feet so you can rinse out the vile taste from your mouth and brush your teeth, then he takes you to bed, tucking you in and making sure you drink some water. Once he's cleaned up the trail of your discarded clothes and other debris, he slides into bed beside you.

"M'sorry." You mumble into the pillow. "Y'think I'm horrible now don't you?"

He strokes your hair and kisses your forehead. "No sweetheart, I don't."

You huff, annoyed at yourself for drinking so much but you still try and shift the blame. "S'all Frank's fault anyway, Karen n'me were good till he turned up."

"Is that right?" Matt asks, indulging you.

"Mm. If he hadn't got the tequila I'd be fiiiiiine! He's a bad influence." You insist.

Matt nods along with you, trying not to laugh. "Yeah, he's a bad man."

You close your eyes as Matt gently strokes your cheek. "M'gonna kick his ass… we coulda been having amazin' sex right now if he hadn't ruined everything with yucky tequila."

"Okay honey, I'll back you up." Matt smirks, he can tell you're starting to drift off.

"Matty…" you murmur.

"Mhm? Do you need something?"

He's answered only by your soft snores. His lips brush your cheek as pulls the blankets up around you and he listens to your breathing even out before he lets himself sleep too, thinking about how he was gonna kill Frank in the morning.

Tags (as always let me know if you would like added/removed): @realfernmayo @saintmurd0ck @mindidjarin @castlesnchurches @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass

@hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @briefcasejuice @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @e-dubbc11 @father4giveme @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @imperfxctly-me @stress--relief @murnsondock @stupidthoughtsinwriting @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemii @imherefordeanandbones @m0nster-fvcker @creatingjana @echos-muses @lazyxsquirrel @messymissy @evilbubu @km-ffluv

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x gn reader #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fic

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

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sebchal + magic au

"It's a dangerous idea," Pierre had told him when Charles, stupidly, amateurishly, got just a bit too drunk the last time they went out and found himself telling his best friend more than he intended to. "And what's even worse, it's a stupid idea."

"You're stupid," Charles had said, stupidly, and drank the rest of Pierre's Red Bull-vodka. Pierre didn't even notice, staring at Charles like a wide-eyed lemur. Or maybe a meerkat? Charles was never good at animal species. He prefered demon classifications.

"No, I'm pretty sure you're being stupid just now, calamar. Do you even know what all can go wrong?" Pierre had asked.

"Yes," Charles had replied, insulted. "I read, Pear. And I studied the ritual in detail."

Pierre huffed in what Charles was sure was derision. He reached for the drink that wasn't there. Charles played stupid (hah) as Pierre refilled both their glasses. "You could lose your soul if you do the binding wrong. Or your virginity." He paused. "Or, you know. A limb."

Charles frowned. "I'm not a virgin."

Pierre laughed that fox-like laugh of his that always grated on Charles' nerves.

"A blowjob doesn't count." Charles felt himself blush as Pierre leered at him. "No matter how good it was."

"Fuck you, Pear," he mumbled and used the momentary distraction of Pierre's laughter to change the Red Bull in his drink into Monster, just because he could. "You're so full of yourself."

Pierre shrugged. "I give good blowjobs." His face turned somber. "I just don't understand. Why do you need to do it?"

Need, Pierre had said. Not want. That may be why Charles answered truthfully.

"I need to prove how strong I am to them," he had said, much more softly than he wanted. "I need them to understand. I need them to choose me." His voice was steady, but he knew his hands were shaking.

Pierre hadn't said anything after that. What could he say, really, when he understood intimately what drove Charles to even contemplate this? What could Pierre say, when his own binding ritual had failed, and ge was discarded into a lower class, with empty promises of some future, second chance that was no more than courtesy and placating? He just added more vodka to Charles' glass, and moved so he sat closer to Charles on the couch.

Being where he was right now, Charles kind of wished Pierre had pushed, had insisted on talking some more about what Charles was going to do.

"You're very beautiful."

Well. Technically, what Charles had already done. Did. Was about to do. Stupid semantics.

"I, uh, thank you?" Charles replied, confused and scared in about the same amount, which was quite a lot.

The demon standing in the middle or the ritual square licked its lips. His lips. Whatever.

"You're welcome," he purred, and Charles felt himself blush, like an idiot. Or a virgin, he thought. The demon's smile widened. "Oh, you're going to be interesting, aren't you?"

"I am going to be binding you," Charles replied. The demon's smile didn't falter. "I need you -"

"Oh, do you?" The demon leered. Its- his, it took a male form, and it was an appealing form, to Charles' despair. Blond curls, wide smile, and blue, blue eyes which looked black when the candle light hit them right. "And what do you need me for, Charles Leclerc?"

Charles didn't flinch. He knew this level demons had telekinetic and telepathic abilities and so he anticipated the demon would know certain things about him. True, the summoning ritual wasn't quite as it was supposed to be, as it was described in the grimoire. The shadows coalescing were much thicker than Charles expected from a Level Four demon, and the feeling of thunder and heat and monsoon wasn't really what he had been expecting. There was also the small matter of that moment of absolute darkness which seemed to last less than a second and more than a century simultaneously, and the way Charles' very magic seemed to burn around him in the air ever since the demon appeared. It was probably the adjusted summoning circle. The square was Charles' own idea, based on studying interdimensional geometry and runes in his spare time. It was nothing to worry about. Really. It was nothing.

Charles inhaled deeply, sulfur and incence filling his mouth and nose. "I need you to give me your price for a low-level binding. I need you for fifty-four hours, until midnight Monday, so I can show my Instructors that I have managed the Level Four binding." The demon's eyebrows went up, but Charles couldn't decipher it- his expression, so he went on. "I will give you an Oath on my magic that after the alloted time period, I will dissolve our binding. Oh, and that I will not try to amend the parameters of our agreement at any point, unless we both agree of our own free will that the parameters should be amended."

The demon kept silent for a while after Charles finished his speech. The candles flickered over his face, and Charles couldn't catch any emotion in his eyes. They were really pretty eyes, and intense, and Charles forced himself not to follow that train of thought because, well. Telepathic demon. Not smart to give him more ammunition against Charles. Demons were, at their core, deceivers.

As if he heard Charles' last thought, the demon laughed. "That's an interesting proposal. And what would you need me to do for you in these fifty-four hours, Charles Leclerc? Which desires of yours am I to fulfill, with my Level Four powers?" he asked, and his voice was ice.

Charles blinked. "Uh." The demon kept staring at him. "I don't - nothing?" The demon's eyebrow rose. "I mean, it's - it's pretty obvious that you're a demon, and our binding would show to any magic user with enough power to discern, which my Instructors have. I wouldn't - I don't need, or want you to do magic tricks? That's not - I don't think you'd appreciate that very much?" he ended on a question, and if it wasn't absurd, he'd think that the demon looked bewildered. He shut his mouth and tried not to shuffle in his place, and was determined to wait the demon out.

The demon sat down in the middle of the circle suddenly. "Sit," he ordered, and Charles did so before he could think about it. It wasn't a - he wasn't compelled by the demon's magic. It was worse than that, but the demon spoke again before Charles could die of mortification because of his stupid kinks.

"I can see the insignia on your bracelet. You are a Cavallino?" The demon asked, and the way his tongue curled around the word Cavallino spoke of danger to Charles.

"Yes," he replied as calmly as he could. "I am in their training programme, but I am hoping this binding will show the leadership that I can become a full-fledged acolyte."

The demon hummed. His tail - and fuck, how did Charles not notice his tail, red and scaly, fuck - came up, and the demon petted it. "I see. And how did you choose me for your binding?"

"I read through the Grimoires," Charles said. "There are books in the library, books that we have to read. But I found a grimoire that wasn't on the curriculum, a hand-written one by a former, old Cavallino acolyte - Vettel, his name was," Charles said, and the demon pierced him with his gaze. His eyes were pitch black now, and Charles put his hands in his lap so as not to wring them under the demon's furious gaze. "He - he must have lived a long time ago, and must have been under the patronage of Master Schumacher, because I found some texts - but never mind." He cut himself off, because he had the tendency to ramble, and he didn't think the demon was interested.

"Anyways, he hypothesised heavily about certain things. Different ways of summoning, and binding, which did not have to be as - as final, and as..." he trailed off, wondering if he should tell the demon this. It was against the Guild's policy, but he also didn't want to lie to a proper demon. He didn't want to get murdered, or eaten. "Vettel hypothesised that the bindings did not have to be so imbalanced in power. That the demons didn't have to be - slaves, to us mages. And I," he swallowed, kewping eye contact, " I don't much care for slavery. Even if it's a demon in question."

The demon's tail twitched. "You are speaking the truth," he said, and Charles let out a short, nervous breath. "So you went through all the trouble to adapt the standard summoning ritual into this, on the off chance that this Vettel was right?" Charles nodded. "So that you wouldn't have to enslave a demon, despite us being the biggest evil out there?"

Charles scoffed. At the demon's questioning expression, he spoke, somewhat too empathetically, perhaps, but still the truth. "I've seen evil men can do. I've seen evil mages are capable off. I don't think demons are the worst evil out there. Your kind can't help but be who and what you are. For me, human evil is worse, because for us, at least there is a choice. To be bad, or to be good. And that makes all the difference, and illustrates monstrosity as very much a human condition."

The silence that fell between them wasn't opressive per se as much as it was significant. Charles thought of the Bulls, and what they did to their acolytes who didn't reach their standards. He thought of the Silver Arrows, and of the ice cold of their pragmatism. He thought of his own Cavallinos, and the atmosphere that sometimes felt fundamentally tainted, like a spell that misfired. The demon wasn't looking at Charles as he thought on world-knew-what, his eyes far away and long unseeing of the things before him. Of Charles.

"My price," the demon suddenly said, and Charles did flinch this time, lost in his own musings of hypocrisy and secrets, "is for you to listen to a story I will tell you in full." Charles said nothing. "My condition is that you listen to a story I will tell you, about betrayal, and things worse than murder, and corruption, and the vileness of humans sesuced by the promises of power, and that you listen to it from start to finish and think on it, and then tell me if you still wish to bind me to you and parade me before your Cavallino leadership." Charles' heart was beating wildly in his chest. "And after you listen to it, if you are still of the same opinion about certain things, I will let you bind me." The demon grinned. "And I shall not harm you lest you seek to harm me, and I may not even take you virginity." Charles blushed. "Accept you these terms, Charles Leclerc?"

There was a crackling of electricity and thunder in the air as Charles said "I do."

The demon nodded. "Good." He smiled. It was a smile with too many teeth. The shadows around the room coalesced, condensed, and Charles' skin broke out in goosebumps as the demon's strength suddenly surged forward. The light from the candles brightened into balls of light, and the crackling of the electricity in the air became even stronger. It did not feel malicious to Charles, though. Not at all. He settled more comfortably on the floor and tangled his fingers. "I am listening."

"You are, aren't you," demon remarked to himself, his eyes closed. "Alright."

When the demon opened his eyes, they were the bright blue Charles had only ever seen in the paintings of angels. "You made a mistake, Charles Leclerc. You thought you were summoning a low, Level Four demon, but you were not." Charles' breath caught in his throat as the demon spoke from what sounded like a hunder voices at once. There was a huge shadow behind him, and Charles realised in that moment it was a shadow of wings. Fuck, he though. What the fuck. Demons don't have wings. What the fuck, he kept thinking as the demon spread his wings and his arms and laughed loudly.

"I am a Level One demon, Charles Leclerc," he said, and Charles blanched, because - those were fallen - impossible - no no no, he thought. The demon pinned Charles to his place merely by the inhuman blue glow of those eyes, and said the words that would change Charles' life, and the fate of the world.

"My name is Sebastian Vettel, and I am going to tell you my story."

#sebchal #f1 rpf #magic au #my writing #effervescentdragonwrites #this was vaguely inspired by spn. but kore i spired by a certain genre of fics #idek how to tag this #i found this in my drafts #im too tired to write more atm but as is usual w me. there is a whole lore here xX

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jaskiercommabard · 8 months

Note

Hey! It's moonykins from AO3! You asked for a prompt so here's one: Jaskier getting hurt on a hunt he was perhaps not supposed to be on and Geralt feeling guilty because Jaskier could have died. Geralt can take care of Jaskier and bandage him up and Jaskier probably survived because of his own dumb luck. Feelings can come out? I really suck with ideas but I wanted to give you something <3

Thank you ANGEL for this prompt, this was interesting and fun to write. Thank you also for your very thoughtful and encouraging words.

This one got away from me again, probably to no one's surprise. I hope it's alright!

Read on AO3 (4k)

************************

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No! You’re telling me they aren’t related to mermaids at all?”

Geralt nods sagely and knocks back the last of his ale, then hails the barkeep to refill their cups as Jaskier hides a smile. It’s a balmy spring night, late enough in the season that the hearth in the Drunken Gull remains unlit - a treat, this far north, one that has both their shirts unbuttoned - and he’s caught Geralt in the rare, talkative mood that only strikes him when he’s been paid up front for an easy contract.

“But the songs-”

“Lies.”

“The stories!” Jaskier flaps a hand above his head, gesturing vaguely to stars that - he presumes, despite being in the midst of a revelation - still hang in the sky above the roof of the tavern. “The constellation! The Seven Sirens, Geralt!”

“In Zerrikania, they call those stars the Seven Goats,” he deadpans, amusement sparking in his rolling eyes. "Goats aren't relatives of mermaids either. Write that down."

Geralt taps the songbook laid open on the table, flicks Jaskier's nose when he tries to shut the witcher’s finger in it.

“You're a menace, you know. Terrible. I thought they were just…just..” Jaskier’s hand flutters in the air again. “Ornery, flying mermaids!”

“Mm. Common misconception. Sirens aren’t sentient - not like merpeople or humans, anyway. More like…sharks. Or wasps.”

“But they look like-”

Geralt slaps his broad palm down on the bartop. “But they look like women!”

Jaskier can’t help his startled laugh, and Geralt huffs easily back at him. His mouth is twisted up at the corner, amber eyes expectant, and it’s…something. It’s something.

“Go on then, witcher, tell me. Why do they look like women?”

Jaskier leans in close like he's asking for a secret. Geralt leans in close like he's telling one.

“It’s not a mutation. It’s an adaptation,” he says. His breath smells like honey and hops and the flagon of vodka Jaskier’s goaded him into drinking.

"Brilliant," the bard says.

"Effective," the witcher concedes. "Up close, once you get them riled, they change. It’s…”

His voice drops off, eyes shuttering slightly.

“Ugly?” Jaskier provides.

“Ugly,” he confirms, but he’s still frowning. His fingers tap the bar restlessly, disturbing the beads of condensation gathered below their mugs, and Jaskier's eyes get caught on the motion.

On nights like this - nights when they’ve been laughing - something ancient always comes to settle itself heavily over Geralt. He knows better than to try and lift it.

Jaskier clears his throat, pulling them both from their separate thoughts. When he grins at Geralt, his companion hums agreeably enough in return, and it's as close to a goodnight as they'll get.

Jaskier claps him on the shoulder anyway, squeezing to pull himself up. He's just on the right edge of drunk, perilously close to giving himself a wicked hangover if he doesn't quit - that won't do, now that he has plans for the morning.

“Thank you for indulging me, my friend.”

Geralt shrugs easily, lifting his palms as Jaskier gathers up his untouched quill and empty songbook.

"On my own head be it."

So really, all things considered, it's not even Jaskier's fault that he ends up trailing Geralt to the shore the following morning, not with an invitation like that.

After no small amount of charm laid on the baker’s daughter and the stablehand's father, Jaskier finds himself with a honey-soaked bun in one hand and a crudely drawn trail map in the other. Trail might be overselling it, really - it’s little more than a footpath of tamped-down grass, with dense sagebrush and gently drooping ferns encroaching so heavily from both sides that it disappears altogether in some places. A layer of oppressive fog, so thick it hides most of the formidable Koviri mountain range in its haze, doesn’t ease the way either, but Jaskier is a coastal boy. He follows the call of seabirds and takes his time licking the honey from his fingers as he picks his way toward the ocean.

Eventually, the dense forest starts to give way to the coast and the hard-packed dirt beneath Jaskier’s boots becomes slippery with silt. Younger trees take the place of the massive ones, bending out from the soil at impossible angles where the ocean has washed it away to expose their roots. When the trail finally disappears completely, he finds himself on a high, rocky outcropping above the sea. It occurs to him that the view must be astonishing on a clear day, but as it is, the fog sits so thick above the turbulent sea that he could almost pluck it from the sky like spun sugar.

Spotting Geralt is easier than he thought it might be, even in this weather. He's built - and outfitted - to blend into the night, black armor standing out against the morning sky and greyish bark of the cypress tree he's climbed into, but that won't stop him getting a job done.

Not for the first time, Jaskier is fascinated by the stillness Geralt possesses - even as he settles into his hiding spot behind one of the larger boulders dotting the cliffside, he’s tapping out a rhythm with his fingers, chewing on the inside of his cheek, shaking hair out of his eyes. The witcher doesn’t move any more than a boulder would, doesn’t bend to the wind any more than a tree would. He simply waits, crossbow upraised, until the first siren emerges from the fog.

From where Jaskier crouches, the adaptation is indeed an effective one - to his human eyes, it looks like Geralt has shot an angel from the sky. He’s struck by the grace of it falling, leathery wings cradling her, blowing like great sails as she tumbles down into the horizon. It could almost be a song, but when she splatters on the rocky outcrop below, Jaskier loses the melody.

Several things happen at once, after that. A shriek rises from the fog, just one at first before more join in an eerie, skull-splitting chorus. Jaskier’s ears are roaring with it as Geralt starts picking them out of the sky with impossible precision. He’s thinning them out, but not enough, it can’t possibly be enough. Geralt drops from his perch and lands easily on his feet - Jaskier can almost hear the curse he lets out from where he watches the remaining sirens swarm around the clifftop, banking hard to swoop and dive at the witcher. The crossbow is thrown down in favor of a silver sword - Jaskier sucks a breath in as it slices through the air in a wide, red arc, and then he’s gone.

Geralt has disappeared in the fluttering swarm, invisible until a blast of magic explodes from the center, knocking some of them back into the air and sending a few of the others to their deaths in the churning water below. Jaskier waits. He does wait for Geralt, but the hand that had cast the sign simply crumples to the ground beside the odd angles of his fallen body.

So, objectively, it is not his fault, with Geralt unconscious in a slowly growing pool of blood at his feet, that he finds himself in the thick of a hunt he promised not to join, defending them both.

“Hand-and-a-half, my arse, Geralt.” His shoulders are screaming as he lifts the witcher’s silver sword, which certainly should be called three-or-four-hands-at-least, but he plants his feet on either side of his friend’s body and raises it anyway. He can’t swing it, really, the thing is far too heavy for him to wield with any precision, but it keeps the few remaining sirens at bay long enough for him to dig the heel of his boot into Geralt’s side. It earns him a promising groan and he takes a steadying breath. He can do this, he can keep them back until the professional is on his feet again. Ornery mermaids, he tells himself, they're just ornery mermaids.

The weight of the blade wrenches his wrists as he jabs it toward the two closest creatures, making them hiss and scream. It’s horrific, bone-jarring, hitting his head like twin daggers. The shrieks send him to his knees until he’s crouched over Geralt, the blood dripping from his own ears and nose mingling with the already gory trenches in the witcher's armor. Gritting his teeth, Jaskier lurches forward and buries the blade in the belly of the monster that had carved bloody grooves into Geralt’s chest while Jaskier had watched, horrified, too far away and too weak to stop it.

Geralt was right - they are ugly up close, ugly enough to staunch some of the guilt rolling in Jaskier’s gut, anyway. Gone are the fair faces they use to lure fishermen to their nests - those plush lips stretched thin around dripping, needle-like teeth, flowing hair gone wild and tangled like sea moss. Their talons rip into the earth, close enough that the sharp tips are stained by the widening pool of blood that surrounds them.

When the creature at the end of Geralt’s sword crumples, its sisters fall back, rising into the air with great flaps of their wings that send sand flying into Jaskier’s eyes.

“That’s right,” he shouts triumphantly, jabbing his weapon into the air. “And stay out, you ugly-”

Ah, fuck.

She rises from the fog like a shipwreck, raising herself above the cliffedge with concussive beats of her ancient wings, so impossibly large that the tattered ends of them blur into the edges of Jaskier’s vision. They’re ragged and torn in places, littered with scars so deep Jaskier can see the sunlight shining through them, yet still they keep her aloft. She’s two, maybe three times the size of the other sirens, easily. Ekhidna.

“Geralt, get up,” he shouts as the creature’s reflective, fish-like eyes settle on them. It's worse than any storm Jaskier's ever been in, the wind and water from her wingbeats tearing at them like a hurricane.

"I need you," he shouts frantically, shaking one of Geralt's armored shoulders. Fear grips him for the first time since he rushed out to help the witcher, perhaps for the first time in his very short life - that's what it feels like, anyway, as the ekhidna's tail begins to coil in the sky above them. "Come on. I can't- I can't do this, I need you."

She's flipping in the air like an acrobat, diving at them with deadly grace, and Geralt’s eyes are still closed. Jaskier twists, curls himself over the other man’s body to shelter him as best he can, his own useless fear choking him as the ekhidna's shriek grows louder, closer, until-

Until it doesn't. Until the air goes still and silent around them with a pressurized pop. Jaskier's eyes open - when had they closed? - to find Geralt already struggling to his feet, hand outstretched to hold the golden shield around them.

It bursts like a soap bubble when the beast hits it, scattering in a shower of orange-gold sparks, but it's enough to knock her back. Enough for Geralt to get his feet under him and yank his sword from Jaskier's trembling grasp.

The witcher is unrelenting, brutal, graceful as he beats her back, wielding his weapon with no more strain than it takes Jaskier to wield a quill. She swipes at him with her great claws, bares her gory teeth, and still he lunges. He has her balanced on the edge of the outcropping, ready to take flight, when he buries his sword in her chest. He pulls it back with a grunt of effort, green-black liquid spouting from the wound, and launches a boot into her gut to topple her over the precipice.

He wastes no time rounding on Jaskier, stomping back until he's looming over the bard still kneeling in the bloody dirt.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he demands. Oh, he's furious.

"I was thinking you were bleeding out and covered in monsters, and that you needed my help!"

Geralt scoffs, teeth bared, and it hits Jaskier like a bolt.

"It would have been helpful for you to stay at the inn, like I told you to."

"If I had stayed at the inn, you would be fish food right now, not henpecking me for saving your life."

"Idiot," the witcher hisses.

"Prick," the bard bites back. They both deflate after a tense moment, the frenzy burned out of them, and Jaskier hauls himself up with Geralt's offered hand.

“Ah, very good," he says, taking a few steps back to dust off his trousers. He's shaking like a leaf in a storm and his clothing is covered in witcher blood and siren guts and gods only know what else, likely a total loss.

He must look a sight, which explains why Geralt is looking at him like he's grown a second head.

"Well done, witcher. Well done, bard-”

“Jaskier, get back from the edge.”

“I don’t know about you, but I am swearing off fish forever, in fact-”

“Jaskier.”

“-maybe women, too, for good measure. At least scary ones with needle teeth and-”

“Jaskier, get back-”

He has the length of a single heartbeat to meet Geralt’s eyes, to watch him lunge forward with his hand outstretched, before the sky tips and Jaskier is falling through it. He barely has time to register the hot slice of talons ripping through his leg or the brain-rattling pain of the ekhidna’s final shriek before they plunge into blackness together.

Jaskier knows the sea, but not this one - it’s dark, made darker still by the clouds hanging in the sky he’d fallen out of, and so impossibly cold that it sucks the air from his lungs. Those massive wings must have broken their fall enough to keep him conscious, but now he’s caught in them like a net, already half-full of seawater and sinking far too quickly. They’re not leathery, like he thought, but fishbelly-slick, making it impossible to find purchase in the ever-darkening water.

When he kicks himself free, he’s buffeted and turned by the current, unsure of which way he should be swimming to get back to the surface.

He can’t even see past the tiny bubbles already starting to escape his nose, but he knows he’s losing too much air as his lungs begin to burn. It’s all turning white at the edges by the time his chest starts to tighten, and still he pushes through the water.

Julian Pankratz came into the world with a song to sing. That's what his mother tells him, anyway, when she reminds him that she labored for a full two days just for him to greet her screaming. The servants and townsfolk had gathered behind the manor to throw flowers into the sea while she brought him into the world - buttercup and blowball, daffodil and coneflower, sprays of roses the color of noontime sun - an offering to the Goddess, a plea for her mercy.

Did he look like a flower, tumbling through the air? Was it a song?

Julian is six years old. It’s his birthday, and his father is showing him how to cast a net into the mudflats behind the manor to catch alewife and perch. The sight of the netting makes him sick, all bloated with wriggling silver skin and dotted with eyes that bulge out into nothing. He spends the rest of the afternoon alone, hunting seashells, lining them up on the shore until the sun spreads like fire on the horizon. He dips his ears below the water when his mother calls him in, letting it swallow his name. Julian, Julian -

“Jaskier!”

Someone is shaking him, slapping his face. A great weight meets his chest, socking him like a sledgehammer - it might steal the breath from him, if he had any.

He’s twelve, all knocking knees and long-limbed shyness, showing the porter’s son how to coax little crabs out from the tidepools. Their clay-stained knuckles brush in the silty water and his face grows hot, hotter still when Janus hooks their little fingers together. Julian runs, then - runs until his lungs feel as though they’ll burst. He doesn’t play with the servants’ children again after that.

He’s retching, the salt-bitter water burning his throat as it comes up. There’s no room for air, no time to breathe before more spouts forth from his mouth and nose. He’s twisted onto his side, fingers clawing through the sand like bloody talons.

Eighteen, and he holds Julian beneath the waves until Jaskier emerges. The world is stretched out before him and he’s hungry for it, starving, holding it in his teeth like a first breath. Posada is as far inland as he's ever been, far enough that his clothes have just stopped smelling of brine. He crests and falls like a wave that afternoon, crashing against his own heart, dissolving into foam and rising again. Three words or less.

The first breath hits him like fire, colliding sharply with the water still left in his lungs, but it comes. He takes another, chokes up more foam, and then he must be back in the water because he’s rocking, rocking. There’s a shh-shh in his ear, like the inside of a seashell, a secret thing. It’s warm against his temple, his forehead, his eyelids.

Twenty. Drowning in Rinde. Heat, salt, copper, bubbling up in his throat, stealing all the spaces air should be. Geralt is holding him, until he isn’t - until he’s holding her. Hope washes out like a tide.

Consciousness returns to Jaskier in fits and starts - the crackle of a fire and the distant, scratchy hum of early cicadas comes first, then the cool breeze ruffling the dry hair across his forehead. Everything else is warm, soft enough at the edges to let him float just below the surface of awareness for a while, just beyond the grasp of pain.

When he does manage to drag his eyes open, they settle on a familiar shape - Geralt, outlined by the glow of a fire, folded into a meditative stance beside the bed. His chest is bare, starkly pale against the gashes that are already healing - not quite closed, but already turning a healthy pink at the edges.

His hands are closed around one of Jaskier’s, rough and warm. Something about that is peculiar, but it slips from his mind, silverfish-quick.

He turns instinctively into that warmth but doesn’t have a chance to examine it further before his body ignites in pain. It feels as though he’s been wrenched apart and put back at odd angles, his insides not quite where he left them. He gasps, a mistake that sets him heaving, hacking around shards of ice as the shadow beside him startles and shifts.

“Easy, Jaskier. Small breaths,” Geralt’s voice is rough in his ear as he tilts Jaskier to one side, just in time for him to retch into a waiting basin. The ringing is back in his ears, his mouth full of brine and blood, when he’s hauled back up. The room spins.

“What,” he tries to ask, but it comes out as a wordless croak.

Geralt's hand sparks weakly in the corner of his vision, and then the rough edge of a mug brushes his cracked lower lip. Hot tea, something vaguely medicinal but sticky-sweet with honey, soothes his dry mouth but scratches his throat. It’s taken away too soon when his chest spasms again, forcing what little air he has out in burning gasps until his vision starts to blur.

He's gulping, hiccuping, his body crying out for air, but there seems to be no room for it.

He registers, distantly, the bed dipping under Geralt’s weight as his fingers are gently unwound from where Jaskier is clawing into his arms, and then their hands are tangled together.

One hand pressed flat to Geralt’s chest, the other against his own, their discordant heartbeats keep time beneath his palms as Geralt takes slow, shallow breaths. Jaskier matches them in time, regaining some control.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“What do you remember?” Geralt asks in return. His eyes are shadowed, searching Jaskier’s face in the dim light as he wades through his muddled memory. Images bubble to the surface, disjointed, curling in his stomach like he’s falling again.

“The water, and- oh, ow, fuck- my leg.”

Geralt winces, nods as Jaskier reaches down to clutch at his thigh above the neatly bandaged wound that had, until now, escaped his awareness. The movement tugs at the other set of bandages, snug around his ribs. When he looks at Geralt for an answer, his golden eyes flick away, pupils narrowing as he stares into the fire. It looks like a door closing.

“You weren’t breathing.”

Of course. Jaskier had seen it once at Oxenfurt - a ghastly demonstration on a corpse, no match for the brutal reality of it that had come years later when they spent a season in Skellige. Jaskier had been held back with some difficulty, thinking one of the villagers was beating a man who had washed up along the shore to death. The sick snap of a rib cracks in his memory.

"Broken, then." It's not a question - not a hopeful one, anyway, but Geralt shakes his head.

"No, but badly bruised." His voice cracks like it chokes him, like it's weighing him down, and Jaskier can’t bear it.

"Ah, good news. We'll be back on the Path in no time, then-"

"You will stay here and rest," Geralt interrupts.

"Geralt, enough." Jaskier swats the witcher's hands away where they fuss at the edge of his bandages and attempts to push himself upright with trembling arms. "I am not some fragile-"

"You are fragile, Jaskier," he growls, snatching the bard's wrist in his hand to still him, grip just tight enough to make him wince. Geralt drops it like a hot brand. "You're human."

Jaskier's heart falls into his stomach. It's churning, tempestuous, stealing the breath from him. Just human, always just human. He feels small, insignificant as he drops his hands into his lap.

"Geralt, I don't-" Jaskier swallows thickly, struggling to keep hold of his shallow breath. "I don't feel well, could you-"

"What is it?"

“Could you just…yell at me in the morning?”

“I won’t yell at you in the morning.” Something peculiar dances at the edge of Geralt's voice, and Jaskier knows better than to think this is the end of it.

“What, then?”

“In the morning, we will find the healer, and then I am going to make sure this never happens again.”

A cold spike of fear, of grief, jumps into Jaskier’s throat, a fresh wave of saltwater already stinging behind his eyes as he nods his understanding.

“You’re going to leave me.”

Geralt shifts, his expression tightening in a way Jaskier is sure will hurt to remember later.

“I should.” And then, impossibly, “But I… I would not like to be without you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier stares at him, unreadable as always, before he decides to throw himself from another edge.

“I would not like to be without you, either,” he whispers, carefully metering out his precious air with each word as his foolish heart slams in his chest. Surely, Geralt can hear it. “Do you understand?”

Geralt laughs, the wretch. It’s a wet, breathless thing that he throws into the ceiling, like he’s praying to one of those gods he doesn’t believe in. The palm of one broad, warm hand slides up Jaskier’s arm, along his shoulder, against his neck, soothing the chill from his skin. Geralt tips into him slowly, slowly, until their foreheads press together.

“I do,” Geralt breathes, so close that Jaskier feels the words on his own lips. “Now, I do.”

Two fingers hook beneath his chin, tilting his face up. Geralt’s eyes have gone round and soft and fond, the agelessness slipping from them for a moment. He gathers Jaskier’s hand against his chest again and he can feel the witcher’s tempered heartbeat flipping beneath his fingertips.

Surely, Jaskier must be at the bottom of the ocean. Surely, the sweet brush of lips at the corner of his own is merely a pleasant hallucination. It's probably a crab eating his face.

"Wait, no," he squeaks. That wonderful pressure disappears immediately. "I mean, yes, I mean, Geralt!"

The witcher in question only watches him, merciless amusement arching his brow.

"I've just thrown up half of the North Sea," he says seriously. Geralt grins, unseriously, as Jaskier tugs on his wrist to get him closer anyway.

"Don't care," he mutters against Jaskier's cheek.

“You smell like a grave hag.”

"I've smelled worse, and you wanted to kiss me then, too."

"You're disgusting," Jaskier protests, tipping his face into Geralt's anyway. "And a bastard. I hate you."

"You don't," he accuses.

"I don't," Jaskier agrees, and grants Geralt his kiss, dry and chaste and sweet against his salt-chapped smile. Their noses are in the way, the angle is wrong. It’s nothing like he had imagined - and gods, he had imagined this - and nothing, nothing, has ever been more perfect.

The fog has lifted, dawn curling her golden fingers toward them through the mountain peaks in the distance by the time Jaskier wakes again. He's startled from a dream, something about flowers falling from the sky, but it floats away from him like mist when he finds Geralt’s hand settled carefully around his hip. He smells like saltwater and cypress, leather and horse - like an old home, and a new one.

“Geralt?” he asks, softly, just in case his witcher has found sleep. A gravelly hmm slips into his ear anyway. “You'll stay?”

"I won't leave you," he answers. "Go back to sleep."

“Good," Jaskier mumbles, somewhere just on the softer edge of wakefulness. "I won’t leave you either."

In this light, with the morning sun washing them in gold, with Geralt's heart beating free and steady under his open palm, it could almost be true.

#Brought to you by the writer having pneumonia #I hope you like this!! I shook your prompt and 4200 words fell out #Thank you so so much #I'm unhappy with this one but I can't poke it any more than I already have #Geralt x jaskier #geralt x jaskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geraskier fic #I'm so bad at tagging #the witcher #geralt of Rivia #jaskier

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magnoliabutters · 2 years

Text

GOOD NIGHT • STORIES OF GOING STEDDIE •

pairing: eddie munson x steve harrington x (female, 18+) reader

summary: the party poopers leave early and you’re left with your fuck buddy, eddie, and steve “the hair” harrington. things are bound to get more interesting after a game of truth, dare, or drink.

warnings: 18+ content, minors dni, adult language; threesome obvi, mention of drugs and alcohol, tipsy but sober enough to consent, light peer pressure, fingering, hand jobs, watching kink, slight dom switching between reader, eddie, and steve, etc.

word count: ~5.1k

support your writer: if you enjoy, please give a reblog so others can enjoy too! 🤘🏼

• stories of going steddie •

note: welcome to a universe where vecna has been defeated (or so they think) and eddie most certainly did not die at the end of volume two. so thankful for and inspired by the writings of @wwinterwitch. if you like this post, do yourself a favor and visit their blog. as always, please feel free to reach out with any feedback so I can improve on my writing. i may update my writing depending on feedback. i'm looking forward to hearing what you think!

support your writer: if you enjoy, please give a reblog so others can enjoy too! i'll keep writing as long as there’s someone to read it 🤘🏼 reblog and/or comment to be added to the taglist for this series.

---- x o x o x o x o x o x o x o x o x o x o x o x o x ----

“Alright guys, I’m going to bug out,” Robin said, slamming her beer bottle onto the table. “Damn,” you say in shock. She begins laughing, definitely a little tipsy. “I did not mean to put that down so hard.” You giggle alongside her.

“I’ll drive you home, common Rob,” Steve says. The ultimate babysitter in any and every setting. “No, no man. We were actually just about to leave,” Jonathan says standing up from the couch, his arm around Nancy’s waist. “We can take you home, Robin,” Nancy said with a smile.

You look at her, with an obvious but also not too obvious expression of disgust. This girl, although a certifiable bad ass, ran laps around Steve just a few weeks ago. You could tell he fell even harder for Nancy after all the shit happened in the upside down. There’s no doubt in your mind that she fell for him too. Yet, here we are. An absent minded Jonathan with his arm around an absent minded Nancy. You turn to give Eddie a look. He already knows exactly what you are thinking and agrees with you as he returns the disgusted look.

Robin took a look at Steve. You could see her analyzing in her tipsy mind the pros and cons of Steve taking her home versus Jonathan. “You stay, dingus. I’ll hitch a ride with Nancy.” Robin must have decided Steve would be better off still drinking with you all than going home early. Steve puts his hands up, “Okay. I’ll see you guys tomorrow then.”

“You coming, Argyle?” Jonathan asks. Argyle was in the corner, taking a huge rip from Eddie’s bong. Holding in as much air as he could, Argyle asks Eddie, “Is there anymore weed? I’m gonna have to refill this bowl.” Eddie laughs, “No, handsome. You smoked me out. I won’t be able to get more ‘till tomorrow.” Argyle groans and blew out the longest line of smoke you have ever seen. Man, he was impressive. “Alright!” He says, slowly getting out of his chair. “I’ll head back with Jonathan. I’ve got a girl waiting for my call in Uuuu-tah!” He says with a smile and a dance. You giggle. You don’t know him well, but he’s definitely smitten for whoever’s waiting for him in Utah.

As they say their goodbyes and give their hugs, you find yourself with Steve and Eddie, no more weed, and a bottle of vodka. Eddie smiles, his arms reaching for both of your shoulders. “Well, let’s get to it, shall we?” You chuckle, stepping away from the group hug. Eddie’s arm still on Steve’s shoulder. Steve confused as to why Eddie continues to touch him. “And what are we getting into Eddie?” you say with a raised eyebrow.

Eddie laughs, grabbing the vodka bottle. Steve shakes his shoulders as Eddie releases his embrace. He spins off the cap, it flying to god knows where. “It’s a little old game I like to call: truth, dare, or drink.” Steve rolls his eyes, “And how is this different from truth or dare?” Eddie smiles, walking toward his kitchen cabinets. He grabs three shot glasses and places them onto the counter. As he pours, he says, “Well, you can either do the dare, tell the truth, or if you don’t want to do either, you gotta take a shot or two.” You follow him to the kitchen, leaning over the counter. “Or two?” you say. He smiles, “Yeah, you might need to take two shots if the truth or the dare are way too good to pass up.”

Steve, still struggling from the sight of Jonathan and Nancy reuniting, says, “Yeah, okay. I’m trying to get fucked up here and this sounds like the way to do it.” He grabs one of the glasses and shoots the vodka back. He takes it like a champ, no change to his face. You’re impressed. “Fuck it,” you say, following Steve’s lead. Eddie watches you both with a huge grin on his face. “It’s going to be a good night,” he whispers, taking his shot quick, and starting the game.

The trio walks back towards Eddie’s living room.“Who’s going first?” Steve says, landing on the couch. “What about you?” Eddie says with a smirk. Steve threw his hands up, “I don’t care. Let’s do it.” Eddie looks towards you, putting a hand on your thigh. “You can ask first,” he says, eyes on Steve, and patting your thigh excitedly.

“Okay, truth or dare Steve?” you say, smiling. Steve smirks, taking a sip of his beer before answering. “Let’s do truth,” he says. You put a finger to your chin, pretending to think with an abundance of effort. “Hmm, okay okay. Do you …” you lead your question. You keep your eyes on Eddie, seeing if he might give you any indication of whether or not to ask the question you’ve both been dying to know the answer to. He was careful as to not give you any facial cues. “Do you still love Nancy?” you say. You could see Eddie slowly smiling in your sideline. He said under his breath, “Oh, we’re getting right to it.”

Steve let out a loud groan, bouncing one of his finger’s knuckle against his chin. He continues to shake his head and scoffing to himself. He leans his head back, squeezing his eyes closed. He suddenly leans forward and takes a longer swig of his beer. In noticing the shifts in his body language, you slowly turn towards Eddie with eyes wide. Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have asked, you think to yourself. Eddie begins to focus and analyze his beer bottle. He intends to put on a show so Steve has some privacy to work through whatever feelings he’s going through.

“I never stopped,” Steve says. His body finally still and his eyes on his hands, wrapped around a bottle. You instinctually put your hand on his. You meet his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Steve,” you say. Eddie slowly joins by placing his hand on yours. “We’re here for you man,” he says. Steve laughs brushing your hands away from his beer. He takes a sip. “It’s fine, it’s fine. We can just keep going,” Steve says, raising his drink. “Eddie, what was really going on with you and Chrissy, huh?” Eddie’s eyes grow wide, taken aback by the question. His demeanor completely shut down. “Yeah, she was at your place that night, right? Did y’all have like a secret affair or something?” Steve leans back, giving Eddie a cheer with his beer. As you watch Eddie begin to reel himself into the thoughts of that night, you help by sharing, “I think you need to ask him ‘truth or dare’ first.” Steve chuckles to himself, leaning more towards the side of tipsy. You try not to make eye contact with either of them. This game is leaning more towards trouble.

“Let’s go with dare,” Eddie says softly. He takes a sip of his own beer. You’re almost disappointed. You were always curious about him and her. Why was she there that night? The night where everything went to shit for Eddie. Where he saw her die. Where his life changed. Steve nods, “Yeah, that might’ve been too tough. Okay! Let’s go with a classic ... give y/n a kiss.” Eddie slowly smiles, still shocked by Steve’s first question. He turns towards you. You’re not even phased. You’ve kissed this man more times than you could count, not that Steve or anyone knew that. Eddie leans in, his hand placed gently on your face. You smile, leaning into his hand. He places his soft, wet lips against you. He tastes like beer - not your favorite flavor of his, but its nice and sweet.

“Wow, it looks like you guys have done that before,” Steve says sarcastically . He takes another sip of his beer. “Eddie, you’re up.” The awkwardness of this “game” is astounding. You hope that a few more sips of beer and you’ll be too tipsy to care. This seems to be the general thought for each player. “Truth or dare, sweetheart?” Eddie whispers to you. You laugh, “Well seeing as you guys are going hard with the ‘truth’ questions, I’m going to stick to dare for now.”

“Okay, y/n, I dare you to kiss Steve,” Eddie says with a crooked smile. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He had that one right up his sleeve ready to go. He seems to have a fascination with watching you kiss someone else. What a refreshing perspective. You turn towards Steve, outwardly not bothered at all. Although, you are freaking out on the inside. Steve is the one guy who seems unattainable. You’d never get an opportunity like this again. You try to keep your cool, “Steve, is that okay with you?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, come on,” he says, waving you over. You know he was expecting something quick, like a nervous peck. Nope! You had other plans. You stand up and walk towards him on the couch. You slowly straddle your legs around him. Steve suddenly quiet and with a shocked expression on his face. You pull your hair to one side. You lean down, so close to his lips. You can feel his breath on yours. You catch him leaning forward and you quickly pull away to avoid his lips. “Bad boy, Harrington,” you say pushing his hair behind his ear. “The dare was for me to kiss you.”

With that being said, you trace your hands from his waist, up his sides, to his face. You lean closer. Steve incredibly still. You close your eyes and finally land your lips onto his. Your tongue slowly presses against his lips. As he opens his mouth, your tongue meets his in a rage of passion. Once they hit, Steve’s hands were fully entangled within your hair. He has a strong grip onto the back of your head. He leans off the couch and pulls you closer with his other hand. You begin to moan with each kiss. You slowly rock your hips forward. And quickly you pull your lips away. With your arms around his neck, you lean back with a gasp of air. You take a look towards Eddie’s direction. His legs were crossed. His hand holding his chin. His eyebrows furrowed and tense.

You knew that face. It was not a bad one. It was a “let me concentrate really hard so I don’t just cum into my pants” face. You giggle. You look at Steve, “Thanks Harrington.” Steve sits there still dumbfounded, mouth gaping in shock. You stand up and turn to Eddie. “Did you like that, Eddie?” Eddie tenses his jaw and looks towards you. “Yes, that looked very nice,” he hissed.

You walk towards the lazy boy and cross your legs. “Eddie, I choose you. Truth or dare?” A smile raises on his lips. He rolls his eyes ever so slightly. “Well, if it’s anything like I just saw, I’m definitely wanting some dares my way”, he says confidently. You grin, knowing exactly what you intend to make him do. “Hmm…” you pretend to be lost in thought. “I think I dare you to kiss Steve.” A huge smile widens upon your face. A devilish look appears as you stare at both boys. Steve scrambles to find words, as Eddie stays silent.

“Oh, hey! I don’t know about that,” Steve says with his hands raised. Eddie turns to him, wanting to hear him out, but a part of him also disappointed. “What’s wrong with that?” You say with an eyebrow raised. He laughs, as if he knew you were trying to trap him. “There’s obviously nothing wrong with it but I am not gay,” Steve says taking a tough swig of his drink. He places down his bottle harshly, his body leans towards Eddie. “Eddie, you gotta drink man. This shit’s crazy,” he whispers. Eddie chuckles, “What’s crazy about it Steve? It’s just a kiss.”

Steve groans, now realizing its two against one in this debate. “You’re telling me, you have never wanted to try kissing a man before? That thought has never once popped into your head?” you ask, genuinely. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. With Robin coming out, it kind of made me start thinking about things. I wanted to make sure that I was authentically me,” Steve replies. Eddie makes a curious sound. “And are you?” Steve rolls his eyes. He attempts to change the subject. “Eddie, all these questions are making me think that maybe you want to kiss me,” he says with a chuckle.

Eddie smiles, leaning towards Steve. You note that Steve was more welcoming to Eddie’s touch this time around. Eddie lays his head onto Steve’s shoulder, bringing his doe and fluttering eyes directly toward Steve. “I might. Is that okay with you, big boy?” he says with a smirk. Steve looking forward, taking a deep breath. His tongue pushing against his cheek. You watch with your eyes wide. You take a sip of your beer. It looks like he’s actually thinking about it! You wouldn’t dare take your eyes off of them.

Steve quickly drops a sigh and says, “Fuck it.” His body fully turns towards Eddie, his hand on his cheek. Eddie’s eyes show shock. He must have thought he wasn’t going to do it. You observe Eddie’s expression slowly shifting towards pleasure and closing his eyes. Steve leans Eddie back down and lands his lips onto his. Eddie resting on his elbows. You slowly pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arm around your legs. The pressure of holding your knees tightly together is keeping you grounded as you observe the two of them. You whisper to yourself, “Holy shit this is going to be a good night.” You sink into your seat.

Steve gives Eddie one last gentle peck. Eddie’s eyes remain closed as Steve slowly comes back up. Your eyes glued to both of them. You continue to look back and forth between them as Steve places more distance. Eddie’s eyes slowly open as he begins to lift himself from his elbows. He is taking his time to recover from Steve’s kisses. Your eyes meet Steve’s. He laughs, “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you okay?” You shift in your seat, your feet back on the ground, trying to seem more comfortable in your body. “Yeah, totally! That was totally something expected and not life altering,” you say forcibly laughing to yourself. Steve gives you a look of genuine, yet amused, confusion. He turns to Eddie. “Eddie, are you okay?” Eddie is pulled from his thoughts. “Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m cool dude,” he says softly. Steve could tell something changed, but did not want to draw too much attention to it. “Okay, well who’s-who’s turn is it now?” Steve says.

“I think Eddie gets to choose,” you say nodding towards him. Eddie clears his throat, gathering himself. With a quick shift in his demeanor, Eddie’s eyes were hard focused on Steve’s. “Steve, truth or dare?” Steve scoffs, “Let’s go with truth this time around.” Eddie teases, “Okay, pussy.” You put your hands to your mouth, unsure of what kind of question will be asked next. Eddie adjusts his sitting to tuck a leg underneath him on the couch. He is finally able to take Steve head on. “Did you like it?” he says. Your grip on your chin tightens. You suck in air through your nostrils. Steve places his hand on Eddie’s thigh, “I liked how much you enjoyed it.” You try to be as quiet as possible, as if you don't want to scare these timid animals. Not a single muscle moves in your body.

Eddie smirks, his eyes full of intent. You notice that that’s how he usually looks at you before you guys head to his bedroom. He softly says, “You gonna do it again, Harrington?” Steve chuckles, sucking his teeth. “Only if you ask me nicely,” he says, squeezing Eddie’s thigh. Eddie laughs, knowing that Steve was going to make him work for it. He put his hand on Steve’s, pulling it off his leg, and placing it onto his inner thigh. Eddie raises his chin as he releases a soft moan at Steve’s touch. Steve’s eyebrows came together, his eyes darting from Eddie’s to their hands. Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand, tensing his body, pushing more into it. You watch, knowing without a doubt that you are 99.97% sure that this is the best thing that has ever happened to you. You get to watch Harrington, the “hair,” kiss Eddie, the “freak.” You are happy for both of them, that they have a safe place to do this, but god damn is this awakening something new and deep within you. Eddie slowly turns towards you. “What do you think, y/n? Should Harrington kiss me?”

You clear your throat, shocked that their eyes were on you. You had floated to the background. You were a fly on the wall. You weren’t a part of whatever amazingness this was. You were just the audience. You very carefully plan the next words out of your mouth. You overanalyze each word as though you were defusing a bomb and any wrong movement would mean everyone and everything was dead. You felt more pressure within this moment, then when you helped Dustin save Eddie in the upside down. You try to convey a sarcastic, effortless tone, knowing full well that everything in your body wanted this suggestion to take place. “You guys should just fuck and get it over with already!” Eddie immediately smiles, turning towards Steve, and biting his lip. His eyebrows raising, he says, “What do you think?”

You could see that Steve was genuinely contemplating it. A tightness in your chest comes over you. You begin to get excited. There is an actual possibility that this might happen for you all. Steve couldn’t lie that kissing Eddie made him feel things in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t expect. The holding of his inner thigh, so close to a familiar bulge in his hands. He could feel it harden with brushes of his fingertips. Steve is curious to what all this could mean. He was interested in exploring, but wasn’t sure if he was ready to bend Eddie over - as much as he wanted to and refused to let himself think about. Steve turns back to you, trying to pull the attraction away from Eddie.

“And what would you do?” Steve says. You look towards him, again not expecting to be any part of this. You look back at Eddie, begging him for help. You were way out of your level of expertise. You always imagined a ménage à trois was something you’d get into in college, not senior year of high school. You barely lost your virginity last year and here you are. Eddie grabs Steve’s chin forcefully, making him look at him. Eddie smiles, “She is going to sit on your face as I suck your dick.” You lose your breath. You begin mentally preparing yourself of what that would look like. How would you not immediately cum seeing Eddie taking all of Steve? Steve shifts his weight on the couch, something growing within his pants. Eddie looks down, noticing a new crease in his jeans. “Oh, it looks like you like that idea,” he says, slowly putting pressure on the bulge. Steve let out a sharp breath, his chin raising. While still palming Steve’s groin, Eddie addresses you completely unfazed. “Why don’t we move this party to the bedroom?” He gives Steve one more tight squeeze, stands up, and walks towards the kitchen. He swings his arm, grabbing the vodka bottle on the counter, and lightly dances into his room.

You sit there, staring at Steve in disbelief. Once both of your eyes meet, your shock subsides. “You okay?” you say, standing up from your chair. Steve laughs to himself, a slow smile appearing on his face. He looks up to you, “This is gonna be a good night.” He stands from the couch and walks towards Eddie’s bathroom. You’re left alone in the living room. You take a second to breathe. It’s okay if you cum too early, at least you get to focus on watching, you think to yourself. You breathe in and out rapidly, as to pump yourself up for what you imagine to be the most amazing, weirdest night of your life. You walk to Eddie’s bedroom.

Eddie is laid back on the bed, his belt unbuckled and exposing his happy trail. Steve is on the bed next to him, his shirt already off. The hair on his chest looking incredible in this lighting. He’s so beautiful that it's easy to skip over the still healing wounds on his torso. Eddie smiles and pats the bed, “We’ve been waiting.” You laugh, “I was one second behind Steve. Calm down.” You attempt to land your knee onto the mattress, but Steve puts his hand out to you. Your hands rise in confusion. “Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to take off at least two articles of clothing before you get on the bed.” You scoff, pointing at Eddie. “Eddie didn’t have to do that!” Eddie smirks, “Well that’s because I got here first, darling.” Steve put his hand to his chest. “And I got here second and there went my shirt,” he adds. “So that means two for you, sweetheart,” Eddies whispers.

You give off an audible sigh. You’re annoyed, but this is also an opportunity to make them both so horny they can’t get their hands off of you - or hopefully each other. You look down at your clothes, determining which items you should take off. You feel a rush of confidence when you finally decide. You look at both of them, slowly taking off your shirt. You pull your shirt over your head, your hair messily falling back to your face. Thank whoever’s in charge that you wore your light pink lace bra today, the see through one without much padding. Your nipples visible behind the lace. Steve’s mouth opens. He’s never seen you like this before and damn you look good. Eddie is licking his lips, desperately wanting to know what comes off next.

You smile and reach under your skirt, careful not to show too much. You pull down your striped panties. They fall to your ankles. You step out of them and cross your legs. You watch as Steve lays his hand on Eddie’s, gripping tightly. The tips of Eddie’s fingers sliding underneath his boxers. “Can I come to bed now, boys?” you say. Steve furiously nods his head. Eddie, without a thought, immediately says, “Yes please.” You smile as you lay your bare ass on Eddie’s blankets. You look towards the both of them as you form a triangle on the bed. “What should we do first, boys?” you say confidently.

Eddie takes a breath, trying to brush off the rush he just got from you. He looks towards you and leans in for a kiss. You happily oblige. You feel Eddie’s tongue rush at you, you open wide to take it all in. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie’s hand slowly crawling towards Steve’s belt. Steve adjusts himself so Eddie has a better angle. He leans down towards your neck, giving you soft nibbles. You feel Steve’s hand trace down to your inner thigh. Your breathing quickens against Eddie’s lips. Eddie minimizes the actions of his tongue as he exposes Steve’s boxers and sees a huge cock lined within them. He groans, pulling his face from you. “Oh fuck,” he says looking at Steve. You take a gander, “Holy fuck. Steve, you’re hung.” Steve laughs, pulling away from your neck. “Did you really expect something smaller?” Eddie cautiously leans in to palm it.

Steve finally reaches the part where your inner thigh and groin meet. You lift your head up in an attempt to receive more air. Your body desperately begging you to scream at him as he takes his time. Finally, you feel him touching your folds. Your body relaxes and you let out a moan. Eddie’s eyes on you and Steve. Steve smiles and lets out a moan in tandem with your’s. “God damn, y/n. You’re so fucking wet and we barely started.” Steve reaches out for Eddie’s other hand. “You gotta feel this,” he says bringing his hand under your skirt. You feel two fingers at your entrance. You bite your lips. You know there’s no way in hell you’re going to last too much longer. “You are super wet, baby. Did Steve and I turn you on out there?” Eddie says. You run your fingers through your hair. “I think I would give anything to see you boys kiss again,” you say breathlessly. Steve begins to rub your clit, grabbing your face with his other hand. “Keep your eyes open then, baby. You’re going to want to see this.”

While maintaining a steady rhythm on your clit, Steve moves his hands toward Eddie’s throat. Eddie thrown aback, never having been touched like this before. Steve slams his lips into Eddie’s. Eddie’s mouth opens and you can see Steve’s tongue forcefully making its way in. Your thighs begin to clench. Steve applying rougher pressure to your clit. You watch as Eddie regains his composure, taking a good bit of your slick, and dives into Steve’s boxers. He begins to rub his thumb on the head of Steve’s cock. Eddie wraps the remaining fingers around Steve’s shaft. Steve starts to moan heavily against Eddie’s lips. You moan so loudly, you don’t care who fucking hears. You have never felt this good.

Steve quickly switches his hands, now teasing his fingers at your entrance. Your eyes remain fixed on Eddie and Steve. He dives his fingers within you, making you gasp. Eddie beginning to pump Steve faster. Steve’s breathing quickening. You begin to watch as Steve brings his hand close to your mouth. You spit in his hand, praying that that was what he wanted. His hand then travels to Eddie’s boxers. Another thing that caught Eddie off guard. He couldn’t sustain making out with Steve so he rested his forehead against his, breathing heavily. Steve begins to stroke Eddie’s cock to a similar beat as his fingers thrust into you. Eddie is trying to maintain his rhythm on Steve’s cock, but failing. Eddie starts moaning loudly. You begin to bounce on Steve’s fingers. You pull your eyes away from them slowly, focusing solely on Eddie’s melodic moans.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you hear. You shoot your eyes open, not wanting to miss anything. You see Eddie furiously pounding on Steve’s cock. You notice Steve’s eyes closing, his lips parting, his head leaning back. You can feel the thrust of his fingers weakening beneath you. Steve’s moans increasing in sound and frequency. You quickly move behind him, leaving his fingers. You let him rest his head back onto your shoulder. You kiss his neck and cheek lightly. His breathing so heavy. His moans so loud. Sweat forming on his forehead. His body tenses onto you. You grab the back of his hair tightly, and whisper in his ear, “Cum for us, big boy.” Steve gives out this strong, animalistic moan. Cum shooting onto the blankets and onto Eddie’s hard dick. Steve holding Eddie’s cock so tight as he climaxes. He starts to breathe harshly as he comes down from his high.

As he slows his breathing, Steve’s eyes open to Eddie smiling, watching him intensely. Steve uses some of his cum to further lubricate Eddie’s dick. Eddie releases his grip and leans back. He watches as Steve’s hand bounces up and down off his cock. You give Steve one last peck and move yourself closer to Eddie. You begin to cup his balls as Steve feverishly jacks Eddie off. Eddie’s body fully rests onto the mattress. His hands now covering his eyes, rings cool to the touch. Eddie can’t stop himself from moaning. He tries to remain quiet, but there’s no way between Steve jacking him off and you massaging his sack. Eddie mumbles moans under his breath. His hands rushing through his curly hair, trying to keep it off his face. Steve’s breathing quickening again. “Oh, you like that huh, Eds? You wish I was balls deep into your ass right now, dontcha?” Steve taunts. Eddie bit his lip so hard you thought he might bleed.

Eddie’s moans now quick and struggled. Your grip on his balls tighten as you squeeze his upper thighs. You are so fixated on the scene in front of you, that you lost feeling in your clit. You could see that Eddie was trying to last as long as he could. Not wanting to stop this extreme pleasure. Steve recognizes it too, watching Eddie’s eyebrows continue to raise and furrow. “You want my mouth on your cock, Eddie? Is that it? Are you playing hard to get?” Steve says in a whisper, slowing his pull on Eddie’s dick. Eddie’s eyes open and he nods. “Please,” he says quietly. Steve lowers his face, closer and closer to the head of Eddie’s cock. He stops, Eddie groaning in pain and anticipation. “Please, what?” Steve says. “Please, daddy,” Eddie replies. Steve smiles and lowers his mouth onto Eddie’s cock. Eddie immediately came within his mouth, cum rolling down the sides of his dick. Steve swallows proudly and wipes a drop of cum off the side of his mouth.

You watch Steve, impressed. You continue to cup Eddie’s balls, helping him come back down. Eddie’s breathing steadies and you move your hands towards his waist. You lick any remaining cum off of Eddie’s shaft and watch them both with a smile. Steve stands up from the bed. Eddie quickly lifting off from the mattress. “Woah, woah woah. You’re not leaving right?” he says. Steve laughs, lowering his pants, his boxers following. “Oh no,” he smiles. “We can’t forget about y/n.” Your eyes wide in shock. It was almost as though you were having an out of body experience. After watching them both, you had no intent on Steve or Eddie finishing you off. You had such extreme pleasure just from seeing them cum together. Eddie’s smile grew. “How rude of us? We left you high and dry. We better make it up to her, Harrington.” You put your hand to your lip, completely unsure of what will happen next. However, you knew that you’d be following through with whatever they choose to do to you.

“Why don’t you lie on the bed, baby,” Steve says placing a comforting hand on your thigh. “Ass up,” Eddie says harshly, squeezing your other thigh. You slowly move to lay on your stomach. Your head resting on its side. Your skirt barely covering your wet pussy. The boys adjust so that they’re both behind you. Eddie lowers his pants and boxers. “Oh fuck, Steve. What are we going to do with this pretty pussy?” Eddie says in a playful tone. “Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” Steve says. You prepare yourself for whatever they throw your way.

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note: god damn. lmk if you want more with your reblogs and comments. i think i might need more honestly 😨

part two • the unexpected •

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