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#the shape inside the halo

starrystevie · 4 months

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"what are you doing," eddie mumbles in confusion, hair fanned out on steve's pillow, the moonlight streaming in giving him a hazy halo.

there's a hand on the side of his face and it's cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over his skin. it's soft, so soft, too soft. another hand is trapping his against the mattress, fingers trailing over his forearm before tangling into his own and squeezing tight. it's gentle, so gentle, too gentle.

eddie isn't soft, eddie isn't gentle. eddie isn't making love in a full size bed with wallpaper that matches the drapes. he isn't fluttering kisses in time with fluttering heartbeats and the fluttering wings of butterflies trapped in his stomach like the most lovely cage.

eddie is fucking at 2am when there's enough intoxication to make him look like he's worth it. he's rough and wild, quick and easy. a means to a barely wanted end because he's there and willing and with long enough hair to let people imagine he's someone else.

he should be caged instead of the damn butterflies. he bares his teeth and thrashes his limbs just to fight and see what he can get away with. he laughs loud and brash in the face of sweetness just to see anger, just to see hurt.

he has half a mind to think he's a feral animal that's hardly been trained, performing in some fucked up circus that charges two bucks to see him snarl and hurl insults at anyone who passes by. he bites at the hands that try to touch, try to feed, proving to the onlookers that he's only worth the pocket change they pay to see him.

but steve. he's holding his face like he wants to, holding his hand like it's the most important thing in the world. he's pressing kisses along eddie's jaw without any hurry, without any rush, kissing just to kiss. feeling just to feel. he's like a ray of goddamn sunshine even in the darkness that midnight provides, warming eddie from the inside out.

eddie wants to run. he wants to scream. he wants to feel like he's allowed steve's soft and gentle but he's-

"is this not okay?" and now steve's looking at him with all of whatever he's trying to give him lacing into his face, his eyes and spit slick lips sparkling in the moonlight like a shiny new toy. "do you not like it?"

concern and care are different sides of the same steve shaped coin and if eddie looks hard enough, he can see them blurring together in his frustratingly beautiful sparkling eyes and those damn butterflies start to come back.

"no, it's-" he let's out a sigh, relaxing his tight muscles and sinking into the bed, sinking into whatever steve is willing to give him. "just different, is all. good different, i think."

steve smiles and eddie shakily mirrors it back, before he's ducking his head again and slotting their lips together, fingers still holding tight to eddie's, still cupping his face like it's something precious.

eddie's come to terms with the taste of the metal bars of his cage, teeth wearing down as he tries to bite his way to freedom. maybe this time he'll let himself get used to the taste of soft and gentle smiles if it means loving steve.

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apoemaday · 4 months

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Monet Refuses the Operation

by Lisel Mueller

Doctor, you say that there are no halos around the streetlights in Paris and what I see is an aberration caused by old age, an affliction. I tell you it has taken me all my life to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels, to soften and blur and finally banish the edges you regret I don’t see, to learn that the line I called the horizon does not exist and sky and water, so long apart, are the same state of being. Fifty-four years before I could see Rouen cathedral is built of parallel shafts of sun, and now you want to restore my youthful errors: fixed notions of top and bottom, the illusion of three-dimensional space, wisteria separate from the bridge it covers. What can I say to convince you the Houses of Parliament dissolve night after night to become the fluid dream of the Thames? I will not return to a universe of objects that don’t know each other, as if islands were not the lost children of one great continent. The world is flux, and light becomes what it touches, becomes water, lilies on water, above and below water, becomes lilac and mauve and yellow and white and cerulean lamps, small fists passing sunlight so quickly to one another that it would take long, streaming hair inside my brush to catch it. To paint the speed of light! Our weighted shapes, these verticals, burn to mix with air and changes our bones, skin, clothes to gases. Doctor, if only you could see how heaven pulls earth into its arms and how infinitely the heart expands to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

#poetry #lisel mueller #monet refuses the operation

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amuseoffyre · 10 months

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I’m emotionally ruined by the fact that Aziraphale hasn’t broken out of his heavenly conditioning. He still loves doing good. He gets happy when people tell him he’s an angel and says “it’s nice to tell people about the good things you’ve done now that I’m not reporting to Heaven”. He will literally put himself in harm’s way to make sure he does the Good and Right thing.

It can’t be understated how much Heaven’s influence still impacts on him. Aziraphale has been created, ordained and conditioned to believe it and he can’t just switch it off or walk away. Crowley didn’t get the choice. He was Fallen. He was kicked out and - as per the rules of toxic and terrifying cults - Aziraphale was always told for centuries and millennia, Falling was the worst thing that could happen. If you’re bad, you’ll be forced out. If you’re bad, you’re not one of Us. You’re one of Them.

When he did something he perceived as Right (ie. saving innocent children from death), but knew it wasn’t what Heaven intended, he broke down. Crowley found him a crying, shaking wreck afterwards because he was so convinced he was Evil. He was so convinced he was going to be dragged to Hell and that he was now a demon because he did one thing that saved some children but because it wasn’t a specific directive, it was Bad.

It shapes so much about him and it’s why the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it. He’s happy and excited and he’s doing his human-life things and having a lovely time, but he’s also constantly stressed because of the Need To Do Good. From the moment Gabriel turns up, he’s a nervous wreck and is trying to hide it by Doing Good, by Solving the Problem, by Fixing Things, by being so active and reactive rather than letting himself think about it. It’s a sign of exactly how frantic he is that he starts giving away his books and letting humans touch them.

Watch his face when the Archangels show up unexpectedly: that isn’t joy. That’s blind terror. He’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing in Heaven’s eyes, even though he made the active choice to do so because it was the Right thing to do. He’s a Guardian and he will protect, but he is so very afraid of the repercussions, even now.

At the end of S1, Crowley said “they’re gearing up for the big one” so Aziraphale’s not oblivious. He knows a big one is coming. He knows something worse than the Antichrist will be on its way. And he’s trying so hard to pretend that everything is normal and fine and if he ignores all the looming bad stuff, it won’t happen. If we don’t say anything about it, nothing has to change.

But then the changes come knocking at his door holding a box and the choice is gone. He can keep trying to blinker himself to it, but then there are angels and demons in the bookshop and he’s had to use his halo and everything is falling apart.

So when he realises that he can get himself into a position where he can guarantee those repercussions won’t happen to Crowley? He will absolutely take it. He says himself “I don’t want to go back to Heaven”, but the instant the Metatron offers him a free pass for Crowley, to take Crowley out of both Heaven and Hell’s sightlines, to keep him safe (Another bee inside the hive, if you will), no wonder he grabs it with both hands.

The tragedy is that Crowley thinks that when they saved the world together, that was the end of Heaven’s influence in Aziraphale. When he was cast out the split between him and Heaven was sharp and clean. He doesn’t - he can’t - understand how deeply it has tangled around Aziraphale. It’s built into Aziraphale’s entire being and unravelling it isn’t that simple. Aziraphale’s trauma is a horrible, terrible Gordian knot and Crowley can’t understand that he couldn’t simply cut through it, because that’s just not how Aziraphale works.

#good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens #good omens spoilers #gos2 #go s2

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luxxid · 1 year

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DIFFERENT PLACES WHERE THEY LOVE TO FUCK YOU

꒰ characters ꒱ ayato, al haitham, diluc, kaeya, heizou, tartaglia, scaramouche x fem!reader

꒰ warnings ꒱ mdni, smut, riding, vaginal sex, oral (f receiving), semi-public sex

ayato absolutely adores fingering you out in public, usually in places where you least expect it. he loves the thrill of the unexpected, and the feeling of adrenaline it brings. his demilune shaped fingernails grazing your glutinous walls. the table covering the filthy acts occurring under it. he loves to make sure that you too feel the thrill of the unexpected, as his nails move deftly over your body, drawing out sensations you never thought possible. he loves watching beads of sweat fall off of your forehead, forcing the moans to stay put in your mouth. he loves to make sure your heart races with anticipation as his fingers masterfully explore every inch of your body, taking you to a place you have never been before. his touch electrifies your senses, leaving you wanting much more. don't worry! if you've been a good girl, he'll reward you the second the both of you get home

al haitham loves fucking you to oblivion in the depths of the akademiya's library. the sound of skin slapping emitted throughout the wide room. his fat cock pumping inside your prodding hole, not even sparing a single moment to recollect yourself. al haitham's viridescent eyes are filled with lust and intensity, the sage didn't let a minute to waste, making sure your mind were blasted until you had your tongue out like a dirty bitch. crescent shaped nails dug deep into your thighs, leaving purple-scarlet marks. a sly smirk spread over his ephebic face. the knots in your stomach kept tangling itself even more, white halos formed around his pointy tip, being the cocky man he is, he would pull away at the last moment, making you spill tears of displeasure, revelling in the sensation of a shattering orgasm.

diluc loves to fuck you on his chair. the lumber material creaking with every thrust he made to your coaxing slit. gashing his aeonic length into you pertinaciously. he devoured you with fiery passion, his fervour intensifying with every stroke of his insatiable desire. tepid digits surrounded your naked waist. pleading moans echoed throughout the chamber as you melted in his arms, succumbing to the tender pleasure of his presence. diluc gently moved in and out of you, carefully caressing your inner walls with his long, soft thrusts. his torrid lips gently pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. his hands ran through your hair as you both moved in sync, lost in the moment.

heizou adores to fuck you in his office, precisely on his desk. all the research papers scattered on the floor. but he didn't care, all he was focused on was you, and your fruity cunt. his tongue did wonders— to say at least. lapping at your folds restlessly, both of his palms settled on your waist. crimson bites scattered all over your thighs. all he wanted to relish in was the pretty clit of yours and your ethereal moans. your hands kept tugging on his auburn locks, pretty tears clamping out of your eyes. he didn't want to waste a single second, he wanted to savour every moment of it - his tongue running circles around your precious clit and your gasps of pleasure causing an even deeper passion within him. his caresses and kisses making you lose yourself in the pleasure of it all, only to be found in his arms.

kaeya finds it entertaining to ruin your innocence, on his chair. two pretty thighs on top of his own, two hands on his shoulders as he held your waist with his frigid lissoms. his lean figure smirking as he caught the perception of your weeping form. riding his cock so good and nicely, he lights dimmed, and the air smelling of the exotic perfumes. you felt the sensation of pleasure radiating from the inside of your body and his as you both moved in perfect harmony. he would teasingly push faster, his hands dragging your curves and his firm lips pressing against yours as the intensity of your orgasm grew. you were in a trance, lost in the moment, completely entranced and unable to control your moans and groans.

tartaglia absolutely loves to obliterate his vulnerable angel whilst present in a meeting with the fatui. his fingers soaked in your weeping, slick cunt. oh his fingers were just— splendid. the ginger locked male had his eyes on you, smirking at your dumbfound figure. stuttering at every word pointed towards you. several eyebrows were raised at your contour— several except one. he definitely enjoyed the discomfort and embarrassment he caused you, relishing the sight of your distress. plummeting his finger even more into your cunt, soaked with your juices. you were so cute like this, weren't you? he was entranced by your vulnerability, savouring the moment as you struggled to keep your composure. his fingers were like a brush, painting over your innermost depths, as he delighted in your blissful expression.

scaramouche find the idea of completely ravaging your blubbery cunt on his chair. his angry red tip nibbing your clit, stimulating the nerves which transported pure pleasure and euphoria. his fingers delicately touching every curve and fold of your body, as his tongue gently teased and tantalized with pleasure, sent shivers of delight down your spine. degrading your every breath and move. each knot made was a step closer to your release, but knowing the male, he would extract his fingers right then and there. leaving you with no choice but to beg for it. his actions were relentless, forcing you to succumb to his every desire, while knowing no matter how much you begged, the pleasure would be denied until he deemed it was time.

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wreckedandpolemic · 2 months

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white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life.

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan.

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back.

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess. Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips.

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.” At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly.

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly.

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides.

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour.

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

#the instalove is instaloving STRONG here loool #why is this longer than my Actual Novel that im writing so far #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #writing #smut #white and gold

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moralesmilesanhour · 1 year

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pretty

hobie x reader

summary: you wake up with a nasty hangover. you know the rest.

wc: ~500

A/N: if I'm using UK slang wrong pls beat my ass about it I tried 💀

Edit: made minor edits bc I did, in fact, use UK slang wrong 👍🏾

The light from the morning sun bounces off of the peeling white paint on the surrounding walls of the tiny apartment, forcing you to open your eyes. You squint as they adjust; It feels like someone is currently inside your head and repeatedly taking a sledgehammer to your skull.

The familiar cracked corners of the ceiling tell you that you're at Hobie's place. You grunt as you lift yourself into a sitting position, which doesn't help the headache.

What does, though, is the smell of cinnamon and cornmeal wafting beneath your nose from the kitchen. The sudden rumbling in your stomach makes you curious enough to swing your legs off of the couch and rise to your feet.

Bad idea.

Hobie enters the room just as you stumble backwards onto the couch, and barely holds back a loud cackle so that he doesn't drop the two bowls of porridge he'd just made.

You don't see it, of course, because the ceiling is currently spinning.

"Not so fun dealing with those fourteen shots the morning after, eh?"

Hobie's diamond-shaped face came into view, his wicks sticking out from every direction like the halos in those medieval paintings he liked to make fun of. He'd replaced his vest and usual get-up with a white tank top.

You groan, "How long was I out?"

" 'Bout twelve hours,"

Hobie set the two bowls down on the coffee table in front of you. "Had to call a cab just to get you here all in one piece."

You finally look down once you feel the couch sink next to you. He smells of hard soap and nutmeg.

"You cook?"

He shrugs, picking up his bowl and shoveling the contents into his mouth. He nods, deeming his work satisfactory.

"From time to time," he glances at you from the corner of his eye. "You don't get over a hangover on an empty stomach, yeah?"

He chuckles when you immediately grab your bowl without a word, and soon begin to absolutely destroy it.

Just as Hobie said, the hammering has begun to subside by the time you scrape the last bit of golden liquid from the bowl. He still has yet to finish his own meal, so you watch him.

You silently admire the way his lashes almost brush his cheek when his eyes are downcast. The sunrise reflected off of mahogany-smooth skin, and you envy how he did almost nothing to it to get it that way.

"You're pretty," you think out loud, and Hobie nearly chokes on his porridge before his head snaps to face you.

"S-sorry, who?"

Your brows shoot up on surprise momentarily, unaware that he'd actually heard you. There was no one else you could have possibly been referring to, giving you no choice but to double down.

You laugh nervously, “Well, you are.”

His full lips quirked up at the corners, as if he was trying to figure out if this was a bit or not. But you kept staring at him, no joke in your expression.

“Yeah, I think you’re still hammered, man.”

#hobie brown x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv hobie #moralesanhour #first hobie fic woohoo

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inkykeiji · 3 months

Text

character: valentino warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, possessiveness, toxic relationship, daddy kink, gun play, slight oral fixation, fem!reader who has unspecified piercings notes: for @sovya, who is val’s precious lil princesa ♡ and who always listens to my insane ramblings about ideas i had at exactly 6:20am hehe c: words: 687

Valentino has an interesting little quirk, you’ve come to learn; he always has to have something of his inside of you. It’s a simple fact, really. No matter what it is or where you are, a piece of him must always be within you in some way, shape, or form.

He, of course, prefers for it to be a part of his body—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—but unfortunately that isn’t always feasible.

And, of course, there are other objects that work well, too.

Sometimes it’s his gun, barrel rammed down your throat as far as it possibly can be, teeth scraping against the N of his bedazzled name as you desperately attempt to swallow more, knees sinking into the plush shag of the carpet beneath his work desk, your chin resting on his thigh as you sit at his feet. Your lips pucker tightly around the barrel as they suck, thick dribbles of saliva oozing from the corners of your mouth to drizzle off your jaw in shimmering cords, while a dutiful tongue curls around the heated metal in a protective, almost loving embrace, eager to siphon it further into your body.

Sometimes it’s one of his shiny gold rings, pressed flat under your tongue as you suck it into your flesh during your daily outings, the metal clacking daintily against your teeth while you mindlessly toy with it, the tip of your tongue hooking through the band then circling the halo in a lazy, messy outline, encrusted salt melting against your tastebuds, staining your tongue with the zest of his sweat.

Sometimes it’s his favourite bullet vibrator, soft pink silicon engraved with his full name and a smattering of cute little hearts buried deep in your cunt as you go about your day, never knowing when Val might turn it on, turn it up, but always knowing that he’s watching through the discreet cameras he had Vox plant all over your shared condo, always ready for that telltale video call that you better fucking answer right before you cum—and knowing that if you don’t, you’ll be suffering endless edging until Daddy gets home (and sometimes after that, too).

He gets off on it just as much as you do, chuckling darkly when your knees knock together and your thighs tense, a sharp gasp spilling from your throat and nails chipping as your fingers curl around the edge of the kitchen counter, tauntingly asking if something is wrong, amorcito? as his face swims into view, sadism stretched sharply across his face, eyes glowing with the knowledge that he holds all of your pleasure, all of that power, in the silky palm of his hand, controlling it with the single flick of a notch.

Sometimes it’s his custom-made heart-shaped studs and barbells, embellished with ostentatious V’s and filling all of your piercings, glinting in the late afternoon sun or heating under your clothes as he drags you from store to store, an arm tightly linked through your own—showing you off, his most cherished accessory, his prettiest prized possession, his best accomplishment.

If he has to pick a favourite, though, it’s his fingers, one of his four hands wedged between your soft thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt full and idly stroking the silky walls as he works—writing scripts or reviewing footage—and you play—mashing buttons on your pretty pink handheld or colouring a picture for him, book folded at the spine and balancing against your bent knees, little tongue playing with the point of your fang as you concentrate.

And yet, despite the sensuality of it all, it isn’t even sexual half of the time, going far beyond the shallow pleasures of carnality. Because that secret, shared knowledge that there is a piece of him constantly inside of you—a private claim of ownership in the most intimate sense—provides a deep-seated comfort; a warm, dense calm that roots itself at the very core of your souls, that soothes anxieties and serves as a steadfast reminder: that you are owned, that he owns you, that you belong to one another, always.

#valentino x reader #valentino smut #val x reader #val smut #valentino x you #val x you #hazbin hotel smut #APOLOGIES FOR MY FUCKIN 19TH CENTURY RUN ON SENTENCES HA HA HA #inky.val #inky.hazbin

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luveline · 11 months

Note

hey pookie bear❤️❤️ i was wondering if u could do james x reader but enemies to lovers/one bed troupe, i can’t find enemies to lovers with james very often and my mind is craving it. thank you ily❤️❤️

hey!! ily tysm for requesting!!! —you and co-worker!james share a hotel room for the night. fem!reader, 1.5k

James Potter is the most insufferable, arrogant, suffocating boy you've ever met in your entire life, so when you hear you'll be sharing a room with him tonight, you shut down. Total icy silence. If he wants conversation, he can ring one of his irritating mates.

It feels borderline illegal to have your workplace make you share a room considering, but you're adults, and the trip was supposedly all inclusive. Not even the most luxurious per diem could make this worth it, though.

James lays in the middle of the bed, arms behind his head, skin awash by lamplight and hair a dark halo against the crisp white linens. He grins at you and you despise how handsome he is. Handsome, and such a fucking prick of a man.

"Won't you join me?" he teases.

You've kept your vow to ignore him until that point. "Please don't lie on my side of the bed."

He moves over, looking startlingly apologetic. You'd believe he was repentant, but he asks, "What's the point? You'll be in my arms sooner or later."

You nibble the inside of your lip. He agitates you, he irks you, but you know James is a good guy. His irritating mates are the same. When you joined the office, he made sure they all remembered to celebrate your birthday though it'd only been a few weeks. When you fell up the icy steps on the way in one morning, James didn't take the piss. He helped you up into the doorway and frowned at your bloody knees and ripped tights like they physically pained him.

"Do you want to shower first?" you ask.

"I shower in the mornings. Thank you. But I can strip down now if you'd like."

"James, please," you say, rubbing your eyes. You'd usually have something much more biting to say, but you're tired. At the last second, you summon the energy. "No one wants to see that."

He glares at you like he's remembered he doesn't like you.

"Cruel."

He leans over the edge of the bed and pulls a book out of his suitcase where it lays in arm's reach.

"I didn't know you could read," you add.

"Points off for awfulness. Put your jammies on, shortcake, I wanna see what you packed."

He's being a creep to annoy you. It's working. You grab your pyjamas and a change of underwear and leave his presence to the small bathroom for a quick shower. You take your time to dry off. It's too big a wish to have him be sleeping when you emerge, and sure enough, he's wide awake but changed into his own pyjamas, plaid bottoms and a white t-shirt.

"Now I know you're obsessed with me," he says, raising his eyebrows over the pages of his book.

You cross your arms self consciously over your near identical pyjamas, the bathroom door closing behind you.

James waits for you to put your dirty clothes in your suitcase before piping up again. "You look adorable."

"Fuck off, please."

He snorts and kicks the sheets down the length of the bed. Stretching with a groan that makes your stomach hurt, he puts his novel tented down on the nightstand. His glasses are next. He looks different without them but no less handsome. If anything, the eagle shape of his nose is more pronounced without them, as is the little pink scar on his cheek, stark against his brown skin.

"You're an awful roommate," he says decisively, "you use all the hot water, you leave the windows open, as now you're ogling me. I feel rather objectified."

You avert your eyes guiltily. "You might want to take your temperature. You likely have a fever, considering how delusional you're acting."

"Ooh, burn."

Face hot with spite, you push back the sheets on your side of the bed and turn off your lamp. After a second, James turns off his.

"You're not brushing your teeth?" you ask. Your voice lacks a specific bite, fatigue kicking in.

"Did while you were in the bathroom."

"What'd you do with the toothpaste spit?"

"Swallowed it."

You laugh. It sounds much too friendly, and you hate it. "You're disgusting," you mutter.

You slide down flat on your back and pull the sheets over your legs and stomach, more than aware of his nearness and the heat of his body already waiting for you under the thin quilt. He smells nice, this close. Like deodorant, mint, but something else that snags your attention.

You hate him so much sometimes —he steals your pens constantly from your desk, he never offers you a cup of coffee even when he's making them for everyone else, and he's lazy. He doesn't do his third of the finances on time. He nudges his desk into yours to make your small figurines fall over and calls it 'earthquake training'. They're fucking plastic. James Potter drives you up the goddamn wall, and being close to someone like this couldn't be more awkward. You're stiff as a board.

"I was only kidding earlier," James says. He's quiet, but so is the room. He might as well yell. "I wouldn't lay a finger on you if you didn't want me to."

"You gave me a snakebite three days ago."

"I thought you had a bug on you," he says furiously, having had this argument already. "That's not the point. If you want me to sleep on the floor, I'll do that. I have no intention of making you uncomfortable."

"You've already failed, then."

He sighs. "I can go sleep on the floor in Sirius and Remus' room."

"They wouldn't have you in the bed?" you joke lightly. They have a close friendship. It's nice, even though you might pretend they're a throuple whenever single girls visit the office to ruin his chances.

"Oh, they probably would."

"It's fine. Don't… don't bother. It's not a big deal for me if it isn't for you. I know you wouldn't try anything."

"Yeah?"

"Of course. You're a bitch, but I don't believe you're that kind."

James laughs loudly, his chuckles shaking the mattress. You swear you can feel his eyes on your face, though the room is bathed in darkness and the strings of scarce red light blinking from the alarm clock.

"Good. I'm not that kind of bitch," he agrees.

"Well. Goodnight."

"Yeah, goodnight, shortcake."

You roll your eyes at his nickname. Whether your short or tall isn't his concern, James calls you shortcake because he's very tall, and he holds that against you often like a schoolyard tease, papers held out of reach, your figurines hidden in alcoves or on top of cabinets.

You turn onto your favoured side and try not to care that you're facing him. James falls asleep first, his breath slowing until a snore emerges, his weight dipping the cheap mattress. Combined with your own, you start to slide toward one another.

Fucks sake, you think, edging back.

Space reestablished between you, you close your eyes and try not to think about what he looks like when he sleeps. As you nod off, you feel the soft skin of a hand curling around your forearm. A quarter circle rubbed into your pulse.

—

James wakes first, and he is Oh so thankful. He isn't a pervert, he swears, he has no idea why he's curled around you like this. Hugging your arm to his chest like a teddy, his face curved downward, his nose pressed to your forehead, he wakes and he panics hard.

You aren't touching him back. Sunlight filters in through shitty translucent blinds and kisses your unassuming face, your lashes lightened, your lips pointed down in sleep. He worries something's upsetting you while you doze. He bites his tongue.

It's none of his business. None of his business why you're having a restless morning.

James twists and lets your arm fall naturally back onto the sheets, squinting in the sun at the alarm clock. It's barely five AM. You needn't wake for another two hours but you will, if you keep frowning.

James holds his breath. Carefully, he settles back onto his side facing you and cups your face. It feels too intimate, too much. He pulls his hand away after half of a second, opting to take your hand again instead.

He's seen you cry before. Bloody hands and knees, humiliated and cold, you'd sniffled on the steps leading into the office and asked him not to tell anyone. Remus and Sirius know everything there is to know about James. His genuine but waning dislike for you, his budding crush. And yet, after pretty much a lifetime telling them every secret he'd ever come into contact with, James didn't tell them about that. He gave you the packet of tissues from his pocket, and he told you a lie about falling in the exact same place a year before you started working with them.

The expression you gave him then is the same you wear now as he rubs the palm of your hand with his index fingers. You're comforted. Your unseen unhappiness abates.

James falls asleep like that, drawing shapes into your hand.

—

i love him i want him to be my office frenemy. ty for reading!! pls reblog if u enjoyed it means so much to me!

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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elsweetheart · 1 year

Text

what you heard — part two.

synopsis: you start to develop feelings for your boyfriends dealer. part two of this fic.

♪ what you heard — sonder ♪

cw: reader is dating a man, mentions of cheating, mentions of weed, men being annoying, smutsmutsmut, brief mention of violence. some angst? kinda. i guess. happy ending tho yay!

an: hi! it’s here! thank you for alllll the love on the first fic, i can’t believe how much people enjoyed it! i’m actually super proud of this one, my favourite thing i’ve written me thinks …… anyways yea! there will be no part three so pls don’t ask! ily ♡

It’s been a week. You haven’t spoken.

There’s blue-magenta behind your eyes. It swirls into contours and bubbles, recognisable sights beginning to take shape. Things go stark white, and then pale pink. Chartreuse fades in to khaki green into pale grey before you see a brick orangey red. You start to feel, aware of your senses. The brick becomes hair, and the hair tickles your neck.

You hear next, your own sigh. Your fingers press into an arm — your tight grip creates a white halo in their skin. You grip tighter, you have red fingernails now. You don’t remember getting them painted that colour. Half moons dust their skin from your touch. Freckles too.

A familiar feeling inside of you, that searing, hot, beautiful pressure in your groin. It feels good this time, not rushed and fast. Something smooth drags in and out of you, smoother than you’ve felt down there before. Something smells herby… herby and familiar, mixed with something else you can’t make out. The feeling builds, and you’re being touched all over with tender hands. Hands. A pixelated tattoo — not remembering the details.

The picture gets clearer, and you see your own smooth thighs. The freckle on the centre of one of them. They’re being pushed up rhythmically at the same time, a body slot between them. You see purple plastic now, coated and slick— and you realise you can hear yourself again. Loud, whiny, on the edge of… of something.

“Doin’ such a good job taking me, you look so pretty.” The echoey voice belongs to Ellie Williams and you look up to see her face. She’s wearing the grey hoodie she wore the last time you saw her. She looks the same down to her hair, but — wasn’t her eyebrow slit on the other eyebrow? You become more aware and it switches when you blink. How are you blinking? Fingers brush your clit and you gasp for air, skin on fire. “Better than your boyfriend, huh?” You were struck with euphoria, the sound of the ocean deafeningly loud, roaring monstrously in your ears. White noise. Nothing.

You gasped, and you were on your back still — but this time your room was dark, you were still wearing your clothes, and no Ellie. Your heart thumps, and your body reacts the same way it would as if you’d had a nightmare. You barely catch your breath, and the bed shifts beside you.

“Babe — makin’ so much noise. Woke me up, fuck.” The irritated grumble of your boyfriend. You don’t remember him sliding in beside you, and when your senses arrived back into your body, having been borrowed by the dream version of you, you were hit by the familiar and yet not at all comfortable stench of beer. Louis’ skin was pink and clammy under the moonlight peeking through your window and you felt that ugly feeling you’d been cursed with lately, disgust. It piled up inside your stomach like bile before washing away into the numb feeling of regret. He had gone to a party near by, a frat house — Delta something? Or was it Alpha? Clearly he couldn’t be all that bothered to walk back to his own dorm, staying with you instead. Maybe you shouldn’t have given him your spare key card. You push the thought away, and you try to like him again.

You squint in the low light, fully waking yourself up now. You shifted, thighs clattering into eachother with not much room, Louis taking up the bed. At the shift of your legs, you’re alarmed by the way your pyjama shorts cling to your hot, wet centre and suddenly you’re brought back to reality. You were having a wet dream about Ellie.

Guilty, your head turns to look at the man beside you. The room is filled by his deep heavy breaths, and the scratchy sound your hair made against the pillow when you turned your head. A small brown birthmark splotches on his bare shoulder, and you wonder if you squint, it could look like freckles. Reaching out, your fingers brush over it — and you are ejected from the moment instantly as he groans at the contact, rolling over. To add insult to injury, he thrusts a pillow out from beneath his head and shoves it between the two of you half awake. Message received.

You stare at the square tiles of your ceiling. Ellie Ellie Ellie. You wondered what she was doing right now, probably fast asleep. You lift your head quietly to look at your alarm clock, a bright red ‘02:55AM’ scalding your eyes. She could be at a party still, dealing. You pictured her there, hands stuffed in her pockets, wearing that cute khaki green windbreaker jacket that you secretly loved and her black jeans— her hair up in that messy half up bun. You don’t stop your cheeks from pushing up as you close your eyes, thinking of your new friend fondly. Your eyes felt heavier now, and you let yourself immerse into the fantasy, too sleepy to reject it or bare any guilt for daydreaming. You’re there at the party too, wearing something tight. Ellie notices you right away, eyes flickering over you in that way she has about her which is somehow equally loserish and confident. You walk over to her, and you’re too tired to fathom a conversation — but you’re not too drunk like you were last time, and there’s giggling and touching, and best of all Ellie isn’t looking at any other girls. She isn’t even focused on dealing anymore. She gives you all of her attention.

You fall asleep that way. You don’t dream of her, or anything for that matter for the rest of the night but the sleep is peaceful and you wake up well rested.

It’s 9:22AM when you wake up, and Louis is gone. Probably to make his 9AM lecture, turning up still drunk which you’re sure was absolutely hilarious to him and his friends, whilst the professor was probably hoping he wouldn’t turn up at all. You rub your eyes, and that nagging feeling in your chest kicks in.

One could truly never appreciate those first thirty seconds after you wake up. Still dreamy and disorientated, no anxiety, no worries — just bliss. Until you remember the current affairs of your life, and your eyes open.

Your phone is cold in your hand when you reach over and take it off charge, your free hand rubbing the sleep out your eyes as you suppress a yawn. Your stomach bottoms out, which is honestly sickening so early in the morning, as your eyes immediately land on a text from Ellie herself. Oh God, please tell me I didn’t reach over and text her in my sleep about my daydreams. It was unrealistic, but you definitely wouldn’t put it past yourself lately. You feel a blossom of disappointment bloom below your rib cage when you read ‘30% off for my fav custys. Blue dream, Purple haze, OG Green Kush. Get at me. Can do pick up or delivery tonight 📢🧟‍♀️’ Just another mass text, after all — Ellie was a business woman.

You swipe back onto your lockscreen, and chase the red ‘1’ symbol besides the Instagram logo, following it all the way to your DMS. Oh? Oh.

You see the first few words of the message from the preview, and your stomach fizzes up like shaken pop.

‘hey girl, i know you don’t know me but this is weighing on my mind so i have to tell you. last night your boyfriend louis was at the party down at alpha phi and we made out a couple of times before going upstairs and having sex. i didn’t know he had a gf until afterwards bc someone told me and i feel really guilty. u deserve better babe! just thought i’d let u know. i’m so sorry!!!’

Right, okay. This is not how you thought your day would begin.

You sit up slowly, like you’re worried that if you sit up too fast you’ll freak yourself out. How could this happen? You knew Louis was a bit of a dick sometimes, but a cheater? He seemed kind of territorial around Ellie at that party if you remembered correctly. So why would he wanna cheat?

You stare at the wall. Cry, damnit. Cry!

You don’t. But maybe you’re in shock. You pick your phone up again and text the girl back, a simple ‘thank you, will dump him today’ which you admit sounded kind of casual and hilarious, but you truly didn’t know what to say. You wasn’t really sure what to do. Do you just go about your day as normal? No, you needed to dump him. Okay, yes. First order of business.

Not over text, no. You were classier than that — although he didn’t deserve more than a ‘bye loser!’ text followed by the blocking of his number. You squint outside at the sun, showered and got dressed, pulling another one of your many sundresses over your frame. Despite the nagging, nervous feeling in your stomach it felt like a normal day. Maybe it wasn’t the end of the world.

You sat at your desk, staring at the wall. You’ll get up and go eventually you thought. You stayed in your room for hours.

4:47PM. No music in your earphones today, it didn’t feel right. Your mind was too loud anyways, you weren’t quite sure you’d even be able to hear the music over your thoughts. Your body was on autopilot as you walk. Louis should be getting out of his afternoon class in 13 minutes approximately, you’ll just wait for him outside and confront him there. Quick and easy.

But there’ll be people around, and you don’t want to make a scene do you? What if he’s with his friends and they all laugh at you? You figured it was more embarrassing for you than it was for him. What were you thinking getting involved with a frat boy? Of course he was going to cheat. The building that his class would be in was in sight now, footsteps quickening. Your heart was quickening now too, not with nerves but with anger. Anger at him. Anger at yourself, moreso. How did you let him cheat? How did you let it go on long enough for that to happen? Why didn’t you cheat first?

Your own thought sends you skidding to a stop. That’s… not you. You’re not a cheater. Regardless of what the person you’re dating does, it’s not right. Noise attracts you up ahead, and you see gaggles of students begin to leave the building — class having finished early. You don’t think, just dart left and keep walking. Away from the building, and Louis. Your feet start to hurt in your shoes from the way the soles of your feet are pounding against the bright concrete in the late afternoon sun. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I chickened out. Your brain screams at you and you’re already heading in the direction of the place that quiets your mind. You keep walking until you’re inside Ellie’s building.

There’s no time to think as you walk up to the beige door you knew too well, the familiar whiteboard pinned to it reading ‘Ellie’ in her slightly messy scribble, with ‘Knock first, assholes.’ scribed beneath it smaller. You do just that, you knock. After you do, you stand back — catching your breath from the stairs you took up there. You hadn’t even thought of what you were gonna say. Did you have money on you? Yes. You could just buy some of the weed she sent out the mass text about, and see where it goes from there. Solid plan.

You were too busy rehearsing what you were gonna say to realise that you hadn’t heard any movement from inside her room. An image of her fast sleep, drooling on her pillow napping crossed your mind and if you weren’t so wired up you’d maybe smile. You knock again, a little more timidly this time but feeling the same level of urgency. You tried to recall if she’d ever mentioned sleeping with headphones on? Your brows furrow, and just when you knock again — the door beside Ellie’s opens, a ginger guy wearing a jersey and sweatpants poking his head round to look at you.

“If you’re looking for Ellie I saw her go out earlier. She’s not in.” He rasped, and you’d realised that your knocking had perhaps woken him up from a slumber, instead of the imaginary Ellie who wasn’t in her room. You feel your heart drop a few centimetres before pattering against your chest in embarrassment, face feeling hotter than it already was.

“Oh, okay. Sorry if my knocking woke you up.” You cringe with a polite smile that he doesn’t return.

“She’s a dealer, you’re meant to text before you come over so this shit doesn’t happen.” He grumbles, before sulking back into his room — door closing. Your eyes widen— Jheez. Touchy.

You stare at Ellies door again, rolling your lips into your mouth as you thought. Maybe this was a good thing, fate even. You shouldn’t have come here. You should have just gone straight to Louis and dumped his ass like you originally planned— not run straight to your emotional-support-dealer who was complicating things enough as it is. You could have really done with smoking first though, you realised — which actually made your eyes glaze over with tears. Ellie’s weed was just behind that door.

You finally managed to peel yourself away, shamefully plodding back the way you came. You were halfway down the hall, when the door you were headed for opened — the sound of an oh so familiar laugh reaching your ears before your eyes found her. Ellie was walking along side Dina, the two chatting as your dealer searched her pockets for her keycard. There was a second or two when they hadn’t seen you yet, and you slowed down your pace — eyes raking over her. There was no reason for her to look so good, you almost felt like it was on purpose — hair in that classic half updo and an old white wifebeater clinging to her frame, black backpack on her back with simple black jeans and scuffed vans. You panicked, turning around hoping she wouldn’t see you, realised there was nowhere to run to, and spun back around to the two girls. When you did, they were already looking at you cautiously.

Dina looked at you, and then looked at Ellie, then back at you. Ellie called your name, pace slowing and you smiled sheepishly, praying the embarrassed and stressed tears threatening to spill would get sucked back into your eyes.

“Hey. Sorry I should have texted I was just…” Your eyes remove themselves from her, flying up to the ceiling so that the tears wouldn’t spill. You suck in a calming breath. Why now? Why was it all hitting you now? You glanced back at her just to see her face drop upon inspecting your state, and looked back at Dina.

“I’ll just grab the textbook from you later on, or you can bring it to me when you’re done — it’s chill.” Dina shrugged, and you could tell she was trying to be casual and polite despite it perhaps being an inconvenience to do so.

“Yeah. I’ll bring it.” Ellie nodded vigorously, like she were just about to ask her to do so. “I’ll see you later, D.”

Dina sent you a sympathetic smile before backing up towards the doorway, heading out. You fist at your dress uncomfortably, a silence settling over the two of you as you both watch her leave.

“Uh, come in.” Ellie speaks gently, in lieu of your frazzled state. She taps her keycard on the reader and opens the door, pressing her back to it to hold it open for you before closing it behind you. You watch the way she instantly makes herself at home like usual, kicking off her shoes dropping her backpack, sitting on the bed. You don’t move, just standing there in front of the door watching her. This really wasn’t meant to happen, therefore you had no time to mentally prepare yourself. Your brain was catching up, forcing you to dawdle and have an outer body experience in Ellie’s dorm.

“You… okay?” She raised an eyebrow, eyes flitting over the way you were gripping your sundress like it was going to fly off your body if you didn’t. You nodded, non verbal for a moment, eyes not meeting hers. You seemed to be coping fine before, but being around Ellie made you… vulnerable. Like you were worried that everything would just come out, word vomit all over your dress, and all your emotions were brought to the surface instantly by her calming nature. When you didn’t speak, she did. “You want pre-rolls? I got a couple, I dunno if you got my text.” She starts to reach for her backpack again. “Sorry I wasn’t here — you didn’t tell me you were coming so I—”

“Louis cheated on me.” You blurt and she freezes, ceasing to reach for her bag and reverting to the position she was sat on the bed before. Her face scrunches up a little.

“What?”

“Yeah— he…yeah.” There’s no emotion behind your words now, staring past her at the wall. Her eyes squeeze shut, scrambling for words for a moment as she pushes herself to stand.

“What did— how did you find out?” She exasperates, slowly stepping your way.

“I just woke up to a DM on Instagram from some random girl spilling everything, saying that she didn’t know he had a girlfriend and fucked him. She was really nice about it though.” You ponder, shaking yourself back to your senses. It felt more real now that you had said it out loud, which was kind of comforting in a way.

“Damn.” Ellie whispers, now stood right in front of you. Her fingers nervously graze your arm, wanting to comfort you. “I’m… really sorry babe.” Babe. You don’t have time to register the nickname as she takes action on her impulses, suddenly wrapping her arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. You’re caught off guard, arms hovering for a moment before wrapping around her. You squeeze, and it feels good to be held by her. You nuzzle into her neck as she rubs comforting circles on your waist with her thumbs, your breathing synced up.

“I’m not.” It comes out muffled into her, and she pulls back slightly— warm breath wafting over your face as she stares down at you in confusion. “Huh?”

“I’m…relieved. I don’t feel anything. I don’t… care.” You admit, brows furrowing in a way that made Ellie think you felt guilty for having this outlook.

“Maybe you’re in shock.”

“Maybe I just didn’t like him.” You quickly admit even quieter, like the two of you were having a whisper off. She stared at you, not able to help herself from glancing at your glossed lips, and wondered if you could feel her heartbeat speed up as your bodies were pressed so tightly together.

“No?”

“Maybe I… was already cheating on him in my head.”

Green light, Ellie thinks — infact she’d never known a light greener. She closes in on you, your back rebounding a little off the door, eyes locked in on eachothers lips. They nearly touch, the two of you exchanging a breath when a deafening knock sounds on the wooden door you were pressed against, making the two of you jump. Ellie pulls back, smiling sheepishly at your nervous giggle and she presses into you even more, bringing her eye to the view-hole over your head in the door to see who it was, expecting a customer. She pulls back, face to face and her eyes are wider this time, cheeks reddening.

“Think someone came lookin’ for you.”

Your own eyes expand, and you spin around to look through — a fisheye lens view of Louis stood there, stupid backwards cap on his head and meaty hands stuffed into his board-shorts as he obnoxiously chewed his gum.

Ellie’s heart swells for you when you spin around, looking at her desperately in a panic.

“Don’t wanna see him! I — I can’t. Not yet!” You whisper, breath shaking in your throat and she nods, a comforting hand on your arm rubbing for a moment as she pushes you into the crevice of the wall where the door would open on, hiding you. He knocks again, and you hear Ellie’s neighbour groan, angry footsteps thudding towards his own door through the wall.

“S’okay. Hey, s’alright. Fuck it— uh, I’ll see what he wants.” She nods at your worried expression, opening the door before her neighbour gets to him— boxing you in behind it. You had kind of hoped the sleep deprived neighbour would have gotten to Louis first, giving him a piece of his mind.

“Yo.” Louis greet, uninterested and you cringed, already wondering how you ever dated that. Ellie stared at him, waiting for him to ask about you. Waiting for her chance to chew him out. “Lemme get a half ounce. You got purple haze?” He sniffed.

“Looks like I’m fresh out.” You could hear the anger in Ellie’s voice just from the sight of him, which concerned you whilst equally validated you. She was blunt, tilt her chin up the way she did at that pool party, exuding confidence.

“Damn. What else you got?” He sighed, not seeming to pick up of Ellie’s raging ‘Fuck you’ vibe. She didn’t move to rummage her drawers or invite him in. She simply stood, unwavering. Staring. Borderline glaring, urging him to just get the picture that he wasn’t welcome here tonight. Or ever again, if she was being honest.

“Got nothin’ for you, man.” She held his gaze. He faltered now. Oh? Eyes flitting all around her face like he was trying to work out what her problem is. What did she know?

“You’re all out?” He flattened his voice just a bit more. A tone to his voice that said ‘Are you fucking with me?’

“Looks like I am.”

You heard him shuffling awkwardly, before kissing his teeth and stepping away. “Aight.”

There was no blow up, no gross attitude from Louis, no flip out from Ellie where she’d punch him in the face in your honour. He simply laid down and accepted that he was gonna be weed-less tonight, and fucked off. You peeked, watching Ellie continue to stare him down with her stony expression as he walked away before closing the door softly, revealing you behind it — cramped up in the corner. You looked dishevelled and wide eyed, having had to make an effort to not breathe, let alone speak. She felt her heart just… soften at the sight of you. In a way, you’d kind of resembled a scared stray kitten who’s run away from their big bad owner, and who better to take you in than a loving student with plenty of catnip?

She cleared her throat, stepping back and allowing you to move out of the cramped space behind the door.

“Just hearing him makes me mad.” You huff, walking over to her bed and plopping down on the end of it, defeated. She wipes her hands on her jeans, a little awkwardly — still recovering from your near kiss turned near confrontation.

“Yeah. Kinda took me everything not to kick his scrawny ass.” She shook it off, eyebrows jumping up as she envisioned the scene. You did too, something stirring deep within you at the vision of Ellie beating him, knuckles splattered with blood, angry grimace on her face. You shoo it away quickly, not wanting to indulge in that sick fantasy. You let out a non committal hum, dragging your eyes away from her.

“So did you want any weed? I can hook you up with something…” She took a step toward her black backpack that was slumped against the floor. You shook your head quickly, knowing she wouldn’t let you pay for it yet again given your state and well — as much as you adored free weed, you couldn’t do that to her twice in a row.

“No, no. I don’t think I’m in the right headspace to smoke, you know? Probably not the best idea.” You conversed, staring ahead as you took a long deep breath — feeling the slightest spark of what could be relief that things were finally over, despite the betrayal of being cheated on. You thought you had buried what you really wanted deep inside, turns out it was right on the surface the whole time. Was it that obvious to Ellie how needy you really were for her the whole time? You thought back to your near-kiss a few moments back, heat crawling up the back of your neck like the feeling of being flustered was submerging you in it’s lusty molasses. You realised she was saying nothing, just watching you as she swayed on her feet — nervously toeing at the carpet.

Shit, maybe you’d overstepped.

“Sorry — I can head out now. I don’t know why I ran here I just — I didn’t know where to go. Sorry.” You stood up and Ellie’s eyes enlarged, her own heart thumping as she tried to muster up the words to just speak. She was unprepared, she’d admit — this whole thing was not how she thought it would go down. She’d always imagined you banging on her door in the middle of the night, begging her to fuck you, something about Louis not being able to do it right, and she was the only one who could do the job. You’d be on eachother in an instant, limbs and moans, loud and messy, and afterwards— afterwards is when you’d have the discussion. She’d tell you that she can treat you better, and you’d say that you’d always wanted her. Not… this. This was slow, bordering on awkward. Come on Ellie, get it together.

“Hey.” It came out gentle, and almost like a Pavlov response to her tone, you calmed — eyes melting into a soft gaze as her hand grazed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “We don’t need to smoke to hang out. I’m cool to just… talk. If you wanna.”

So you did.

You talked, and in no time you were laughing away, problems seemingly forgotten as you laid side by side on the bed. Ellie had some kind of magic about her, a type that inspired time to stop when the two of you would hang out. You wouldn’t notice the sun going down outside the window, or the way your bodies would overtime shift closer and closer to eachother on the bed until your shoulders were pressed together. Your shoes were kicked off and the window was open — bringing a warm, balmy evening humidity into the dorm. At the dawn of summer, the warm and lethargic evenings were one of your favourite things about the season change. They were even better with Ellie, you thought.

“So, did it work?” She was smirking, the laugh clenching the back of her throat like she was on the verge of letting out a ridiculous school-girl giggle.

“Did what work? You can’t just start a sentence like that and expect me to know what you mean.” You picked up her brown stuffed bear from the bed and swat her with it— the memory of the last time you were in her room springing up. What went down on this very bed. Suddenly, you realised what she might have been talking about.

“Shut up.” She chuckled. “My handy tips and tricks. Did you ever get down to having a better time in the bedroom?” She wiggled her brows, the arm furthest from you coming up to rest behind her head as she turned slightly to look at you — face close enough to see the green speckles caressed by hazel in her limbal rings.

“Ellie.” You groan in embarrassment, covering your face (and more so, your sheepish smile.) The smile peeked from behind your palms anyway, and Ellie capsized onto her side, leaning on her elbow now with her own grin — caused by the adorable-ness of yours.

“S’just a question.” Her voice was gentle and flat in her deep drawl, pulling your hands away from your face with the help of her own fingers pulling it away. Her hand stayed on top of yours when you rested it on top of your ribs.

“Do I have to answer?” You squint and her mouth turned downwards in thought with a inattentive shrug.

“No.” That mischievous smile of hers crept back up. “But that won’t stop me from guessing your answer.”

You gaze down at her hand on top of yours. It was cold like it always was — having caught her touch through grazed fingers with a weed baggie between them and friendly arm caresses when running into eachother in public. You wondered how her hands were still cold, even in the smouldering warmth of her dorm. You avoid her smug gaze.

“Well what do you think?” You quieten your voice, smile still lingering as you wiggle your fingers beneath her palm, she squeezes your fingers with her own — pinning them down where they rest. Ellie thinks, briefly distracted by your hands flirting.

“Hm.” She pretended to think. “Maybe. You probably tried to help him, bein’ a good person n’all. But you know… what was it you said last time? You either got it or you don’t?”

You said nothing, considering her guess. She waited, for some kind of reaction giving away whether or not she was right or wrong. When it didn’t come, she prompt you.

“No?” Her thumb was on top of the back of your hand now, her other fingers tucked beneath your palm— her knuckles laying flat against your ribs. The touch being so close to your tits sent your mind reeling and it took you a moment to respond, her thumb just stroking slow languid circles on your own knuckles.

“Since that day I haven’t… me and him didn’t…” You admit, finally braving a glance up to her eyes. They’re intense, as inspected — flickering back up to your eyes from your lips, caught. “He wanted to, but… I didn’t want to even try anymore.”

“And whys that?” She rushed out, internally yelling at herself for the speed in which she prompted you. Patience Ellie, Jesus fucking Christ. You know where this is headed, and if you push too hard she’ll spook like last time. Be cool.

Your cheeks pushed up, and she assumes you’re fighting a giggle at her eager response. Luckily, you don’t mention it. “Lets say you wanted a sandwich…” You started. Okay, what the fuck. Where was this going?

“Uh— sure?”

“And there’s a sandwich store in your town. Their sandwiches… aren’t very good. You think, maybe I’m ordering the wrong sandwich. But all the sandwiches taste the same and they’re all… bad. But then a new sandwich place opens up down the street. The sandwiches look amazing, and everything about it is perfect. Would you keep going back to the bad sandwich store?”

Ellie squinted, slowly sitting up a little more with an exasperated expression as her brain caught up.

“You did all that… instead of just telling me that you couldn’t fuck Louis anymore because you wanted to fuck me?”

You burst into giggles. “I’m shy!” You whine, rolling away from her to face the wall beside her bed. She laughs heartily in disbelief, her hands coming to tickle your waist without a thought.

“Oh you’re shy?” She snickered through your squeals. “Fuckin’ Shakespeare over here — what sandwich store huh? No, really. I’m dying to know where that came from.”

You flipped to face her suddenly, her face unexpectedly close. You faltered, eyes dropping to her pretty, naturally red lips before pulling them away in order to get your words out. “It was the best way I could explain it, okay?”

“Alright, wordsmith.” She was not just smirking, but openly staring at your mouth now, so close her breath was tickling your nose.

“You’re so annoying.” You press your lips together, subconsciously hiding them in nerves.

“Yeah?” Kiss me. Kiss me before I fucking do it.

“Yeah. Always popping up in my dreams too.” You beam, leaning into her a little now. Please kiss me. And she nearly does, but your words hit her and her curiosity gets the better of her. Fuck. She pulls away a little, eyes boring back into yours.

“What dream? Tell me ‘bout your dream.” She’s whispering now, brow jabbing downward in curiosity. You sigh, eyes closing. Why would you bring that up? You drop your head back onto the pillow.

“I just… had these dreams. About you.” You open your eyes. There’s blu-tack stuck to her ceiling tile. Her finger almost makes you jump as it curls beneath your chin with the gentlest touch, turning your face back to look at her.

“What happened in these dreams? Hm?”

You suck on your bottom lip, taking the time to take in all her features. The way it seemed like nothing else in the world mattered, just the two of you laying close on this bed, backed into the corner against the wall. Your cunt was aching — you let yourself realise this now.

“We’d be here. Just like this.” You murmur, your own fingers running up her wrist to meet her hand where it cupped your chin. Her eyes followed your movements, glued to your baby pink fingernails. “We’d be laughing, and talking and suddenly… we’re kissing. And… you’re on top of me.”

Thank fuck for your sundress, Ellie’s eyes were truly blessed — dropping down shamelessly to your tits as they begin to push against the material, already practically spilling out from your compromising position. She realises that you’re drawing in a long breath, followed by shorter, wetter ones. You swallow, panting from the memory. Jesus fucking Christ loops around her head, bouncing off the walls of her brain in an echo-chamber of horny. What next? What happens next?

“And then you’re… pushing into me and it feels good. Better than… better than he could ever make me feel. And you’re telling me I’m pretty… and how good I’m doing… just like you said you would.” You’re even quieter, but your words couldn’t be louder to Ellie. She’s tormented, wanting you to finish off your story, the tale of your dirty dreams — but equally wanting to cut it short by shutting you up with her mouth on yours. Decisions, decisions.

Your brows are furrowed, your hand sliding her hand down to your throat— just pressing it there. Maybe for comfort, maybe just to feel her touch. Likely because it’s turning you on. She can feel your pulse thrumming violently against your skin. Ellie’s eyes are all pupil. Is that your heartbeat or mine?

“And I cum.” You grin slowly in disbelief, eyes glazed over completely like you’ve been crying, brows still pinched in that endearing furrow. “I actually cum. And it’s so good. Because it’s you. And only you can—”

Fuck it.

Her mouth is on yours in an instant, swallowing the surprised whimper when she rolls over to hover over you, her knee pressed between your legs. Her tongue introduces itself to yours quickly, the wet muscles sliding over eachother in greeting like they were old friends. Her hand still cupped your throat where you had guide her and she could barely think, her body on pure primal autopilot. Ellie liked to think she was fairly experienced, but shit — it’s never felt like this before.

Her hands are everywhere. You’re trying to count them because you’re sure — certain even that you can feel more than two sliding over you, pushing your dress further up your thighs, kneading your warm, plush breasts. Your legs are falling open wider, like her tongue had reached a spot in your mouth that had triggered you to just go limp, and with the movement her knee presses up just a little more snug against your hot cunt. You shift on it, on instinct and the friction of it just… you moan.

Ellie can’t help but notice how relieved it sounds, and she wants to coo at you, chuckle and tease you about being sooo pent up, because little Louis couldn’t find that pretty clit. But she couldn’t drag her mouth away from you, having journeyed right down to your neck, sucking and biting— marking you. You belonged to her now, and there was no doubt about that. You couldn’t go back on yourself now, no. Not with Ellie all over you.

You kept shifting on it, experimentally grinding your pantie-clad pussy against her jean covered knee. You don’t even recall ever being in this position with Louis, and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter, huffing out your nose. Get that man out of your head, before he ruins the mood.

You let out another quiet mewl, and God — Ellie just had to pull away and look at you. Just a little bit, just close enough to still be breathing hard into each-other’s mouth. When your eyes fluttered open, she swore she could have died right there. You look flushed, pupils blown out with that needy look in your eye. As the moment settled in, hips still weakly bucking against her knee and hands desperately grabbing at her shoulders — Ellie felt a small tremor beneath your body, like a tiny earthquake had occurred right below you. It travelled up your body, falling out of your mouth in the language of a trembling gasp. Were you…?

Ellie grinned, proudly — brows knit as if to say ‘awwww’. And then she did say it, mouth running without permission from her brain. “Aw, you’re shaking.” She whispered, like it was a secret being shared at a sleepover. You weren’t your usually giggly self now, getting shy on her and turning away — you just wet your lips, tilting your hips for more and pulled her back in to kiss.

Ellie’s hand were pulling at your dress before she remembered to ask, so she slowed down hoping you’d say something. As she peeled away the fabric, dragging your straps down your arms her lips followed, pressing chaste kisses to the warm skin. You sighed at the feeling, melting into her bedsheets and Ellie tugged just that bit harder, your tits free from the dress now that bunched around your waist. The dealers eyes were on them, and then on your face, and then back to your tits when she remembered she was actually allowed to be looking at them this time. Her hands followed, doing what she’d always dreamt of.

The coldness of her palms brought your nipples to a peak and you wanted to roll over and hide again, but you couldn’t — because Ellie was dragging her spread hands up your ribs and grabbing the fat of your tits and it just felt too good. Felt good to be appreciated, analysed, borderline worshipped as Ellie dragged her thumbs over your nipples making a low whine fall from your throat accidentally.

“Shit, babe.” She breathed in disbelief, looking up at you once more and retreating to drop a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You this pretty everywhere?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing at all— arching your chest into her touch. She gave them a firm squeeze before reluctantly pulling away to continue on her journey down your body, her mission to get your dress completely off still in full pursuit.

She immediately dives in to press a pouty kiss between your tits as soon as she can, letting her top lip drag slightly as she trails her lips downwards to your stomach. Don’t rush this, Ellie — she thinks, and for a moment she fears she accidentally said it out because you giggle. She looks up at you, a little wide eyed in confusion at your dazed titter. Her hands are curled around your sides now, thumbs resting on your rib cage, and your hand is creeping up the back of her head to caress the soft hair there.

“Tickles.” You mutter and she grins wolfishly, shaking her head ever so slightly as she gets back to it. A little impatiently, she tugs the dress down your hips, the material straining ever so slightly before she can slide them down your legs. You help her, kicking the material up and off and hearing it flump onto the floor beside her bed.

She was hungry now, closer and closer to what she wanted but her laser focus was on proving herself. You deserved to feel good, and that’s exactly what she was gonna give you. She needed to show you that she was the better option, that she could look after you right. Her hands were pushing your thighs open now, her face flushed and desperate as she pressed kisses to the inside. She hadn’t even spared a glance at your underwear yet, couldn’t even tell you what colour they were — just fixated on sucking marks into your skin, making sure that the dark purple were visible when she’d pull away with a pop.

Embarrassingly so, you bucked your hips against nothing— the stretch of material spread over your clit just barely grazing the button. You understood perfectly what her game was, she’d bet you’d never been teased before and she was right — but right now you needed her touch, after so long you just needed her.

“Please.” You finally let out as her hands stroke the crevices of your thigh crease, light fingers that tickled you enough to make you buck again. Her nose pressed against the skin beside the lacy leg hole of your underwear as she pressed a firm kiss there.

“Please what.” She didn’t even stop to look at you.

“Please t—ouch me.” You shudder, words nearly cut off half way through. She stops then, eyes wide like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, before dragging them down to your panties. A soft pink, the outline of your fat lips spread due to the way she’d parted your thighs, the material stuck to them — creating the clear shape. What really caught her eye, was the growing darkness through them — soaked through from just her kisses and caressing. Confidence surged through her once again.

Her two front teeth grazed her bottom lip, bringing them down as if planning to say ‘Ffffuuuckk’ but it died on her tongue, just the ‘Ffffff’ sound whispered out. You watched her pupils double in size, and when she looked back up at you her lids were heavier.

“S’all for me?” She cooed, in this sickly sweet voice that made your fogged brain nearly not pick up on the fact that she was mocking you ever so slightly. You let out a shaky breath, and she didn’t take her eyes off you when she leant back in, pressing a soft and loving kiss over the fabric — right where your clit would be. She watched you then, jaw gaping and brows knitting, she even heard your toes clenching hard behind her because of the way the bed covers shifted. She remembered something being said about you liking when the other person took charge, and she wondered how far she could milk you into that space. How much could she force you to just let go and let her do all the thinking?

“S’right baby, just relax up for me yeah? You’re all tense.” She smoothes a hand over your tummy and Jesus, that was easy — you’re nodding furiously, body tensing and untensing a few times, actively trying to get yourself to follow her command. That’s okay, she thinks — we’ll get you there.

She starts pressing kisses around your panties again, your widened thigh crease, the spread lip peeking out from the material, along the waistband. She hears you breathing hard without looking up. Poor thing, must’ve really been unsatisfied to get this worked up so soon. Her own finger comes up to drag up and down your slit through the material, the plumpness of it having swallowed some fabric into its crease. You feel more arousal seep out of you when her finger tips circle around your clit and press down ever so slightly.

“Teasin’ me.” You manage in a strained whisper, trying to widen your legs even more. Your ankle hangs off the bed.

“Mhm.” She goes back in, pressing kisses to below where she was touching, her nose doing the work in nudging your button. She got to work, her tongue sliding out and licking up the juices that had seep through the soft pink material. You tasted just like she imagined, a little tangy and salty sweet— making saliva collect at the base of her tongue to roll down and soak you more.

The moans were flowing freely when she wrapped her toned arms around your thighs, bringing you down onto her mouth more. Through your hazy mind, you don’t quite recall ever getting to see her arms like this — and you’re just now noting how much muscle she truly had. For someone with a cocky side, she had to be pretty humble to hide them. It made the submission creep up more, the idea that she could do anything she wanted to you bouncing around your brain that was quickly emptying itself like an egg timer.

Ellie looked starved, practically unhinging her jaw to gather the saliva and arousal soaked material in her mouth and use the point of her tongue to push you where you needed her. The friction of the material between her and your clit rubbed against you in all the right ways, and just when you felt yourself drifting off into that hazy relaxed space, the same one you felt when you’d just woken up — your stomach involuntarily tensed and curled with something devastating building up. Surely not, surely Ellie wasn’t about to make you cum through your panties.

You let out a pathetic and almost fearful whine as your hand shaped itself into a claw at the back of her head, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull her away. You didn’t even think you’d be able to, her head moving vigorously with her face buried in your covered crotch. Ellie wasn’t planning on eating you out through your underwear to the point of making you cum, but as soon as you signified that there was a chance she could? It was game. Ellie was competitive by nature, and sometimes that even meant competing with herself. Bet you can’t do it, she taunts herself— and as she pins down your bucking hips that smug voice in her head responds. Bet you can.

You shake, pressing her face in further as you hit a peak — stomach clenching the same way it does when you ride a drop-coaster, seemingly plummeting to the ground on rickety tracks. Your cunt burned and ached as she frantically mouthed at your clit through the thin fabric, tongue working you in such a frenzy that you were certain if she went for any longer she’d burst a hole in the material and get to the real thing. You felt your warmth gush out, the entirety of your panties now three shades darker in colour due to yours and Ellie’s joint attack.

Her teeth scraped over your covered clit as she pant for her own breath and you jerked, oversensitive — prompting her to detach her mouth, instead choosing to rest her cheek above your waistband, pressing breathless kisses to the skin she could reach.

“Ohmy—gosh.” You whisper in the shape of a whine and she looks up at you again, a sheen of wetness around her chin and mouth from her own saliva and what had snuck through the fabric. Her thumb strokes your waist soothingly, a chuckle slipping past her lips.

“That was cute.” Was all she said and you felt the heat burn your cheeks once more. Whilst you were distracted, breathless love stuck smile hidden by your clammy palms she took the opportunity to peel your panties to the side, looking at what she’d created. She let out a warm sigh that brushed over your glistening mound, entranced by pretty much the most perfect pussy she’d ever laid eyes on. Your folds were sparkling in your own juices and she could see the way it trailed beneath you having dripped down from your leaking hole. A string of arousal still remained attached to the underwear she’d pulled aside, and she wanted to explode. She placed two thumbs either side of the lips, pulling you apart a little more and you ripped your hands away from your face to watch — a feverish whimper leaving you from her touch. “So fucking pretty. ‘My god.” She sighs, pink tongue licking a stripe of you bottom to top, savouring in your taste— now unfiltered and louder on her tongue with nothing between the two of you. You let out a sob, still a little sensitive and your knees come up beside your chest, hand trembling on her head. She sucks on your clit, directly this time and it gets too much, your thighs attempting to crush her head like a watermelon. She removes her thumbs from beside your cunt to slam her hands quickly into the back of your thighs, pushing herself deeper into you as she shoves your thighs up, keeping you open. She hums against you threateningly and you cry, burbling out her name and a load of nonsense.

“ElsEllie—Ell—ie— s’too much I’m— already—” you try but it barely makes it’s way past your lips. She pulls away with an obscene pop, choosing to pepper kisses to your pubic mound instead and looking up at you warningly.

“Just take it pretty girl, gotta be brave about it yeah?” Tough love, because she’s desperate to taste you just a little longer. You’re about to protest, something along the lines of ‘give me a breather’ or ‘wait a minute or i’m gonna cum again too fast’ when you feel the coarse pads of her fingers slide up beneath her mouth, applying just enough pressure to the skin around your clenching hole to silence you.

She just rubs, massages the area, attacking your clit with her tongue once more. The movements are more precise, more pointed — the tip of the muscle circling around your button dizzyingly before you feel her middle finger dip into your hole ever so slightly. “Let me have you baby, let me in.” She whispers on you and you’re nodding, against your will, head thudding back into the pillow and nipples pebbled like you wouldn’t believe. You can have me. You can have me forever if you keep eating it like this.

She sinks her finger in, and you go against your brain and squeeze hard against it— like— if she were wearing a ring you’d be able to pull it off, that’s how hard you squeezed. “Hey.” Was all she whispered, a line appearing in her forehead when she looked at you, the trace of something sterner behind her expression. “Not going anywhere sweetheart, loosen up for me.” She stroked your thigh and you whimpered, doing your best.

“M’sorry” you shivered and she forgave you by kissing your clit again, beginning to drag her finger outwards. Not long after, her other finger joined and you went blind for a moment when they pressed up against something soft and spongy.

“Theeeere she is.” She spoke, more to herself as you hiccuped, hands clutching yourself now, self soothing because holy hell — you’d never felt like this before. Not even by yourself. “Thats it baby, good girl.”

You squeezed again at the praise. Good girl. You’d been waiting for it, anticipating your favourite words from all of your fantasies and it sounded better than you could ever have imagined coming from her Texan drawl. She smiled, like she knew — and tsked at you tensing again. From the fresh tidal wave of arousal dripping out of you from her words, your pussy all but squelched when she started to move her wrist again, grinding against that special spot. “S’talking to me, pretty. You liked that huh? Like bein’ good for me?”

You knew she had it in her— but damn— Ellie really knew what she was doing. You swore if she had dared to call you a good girl in a more casual setting before today, you might have just folded and become the cheater you swore you’d never be.

“Mhm!” Was all you could get out as you found her rhythm, working with her as you rolled you hips down on her fingers. Your chest burned with that sappy feeling — admiring the way she really did know how to look after you and give you exactly what you need. You needed to feel closeness again, and you called her name. “Ellie!”

“Yeah.” She cooed in a deep groan, lazily mouthing at you. She drew back for a moment and you thought she would give you what you wanted, but instead she went above and beyond, spitting on your clit before chasing it up with the flat of her tongue. You gasped, threatening to cut the circulation off in her fingers again.

“Ellie.” You sobbed more urgently, mouth actually downturned now like you couldn’t help from actually crying — hot tears resting in the space below your eye. The tone caught her attention and she looked up.

“Whats up baby? You feelin’ good?” Her voice was high and sympathetic, making you push your bottom lip out — trying to gather her thoughts as she continued to press you, fingers grinding inside your gummy walls.

“Yeah. Need to— need to kiss you.” You sniffle and she’s pouting back at you, instantly pushing her body up without taking her fingers out your cunt. Not that you’d let her, sucking them in desperately.

“Okay baby, alright.” She murmurs, getting herself situated on her elbow and bringing her mouth down to yours. You moan when you kiss her, mainly because she gave into your craving of her, but also because you could taste yourself all over her tongue. “Cantastethatright? Tastesgood” It’s muffled by your own lips as she speaks against them, not letting her pull back enough to speak clearly as your need to kiss her had become insatiable. You have no choice however, when you feel the pit of your stomach crying out in familiarity once more at the intense feeling.

“Ohmygod— gonna cum ‘gain Ellie. Oh Ellie!” She recalls you almost sound frightened, like you just can’t believe that someone could make her cum once, let alone twice.

“Yeah? Gonna give me another one?” She pulled away from you so that she could look at you, hand cupping up to thumb at your cheekbone so that your gaze remained on her as she did. Your eyes grew wild and desperate, wet and weak as you tried to be good for her and keep them open. “Thats it, beautiful. God— m’so fucking lucky. Just needed me to take care of you isn’t that right? That’s it baby, that’s my good girl. Take what you deserve.” You can barely hear her at this point, drowned out by the roaring white noise blasting your ears once more, your own moans a backing track. Her lips were at your temple, dropping encouraging kisses but you weren’t there. You’d floated up past her ceiling tiles, no longer a person. Yeah. That fucking good.

You came back to your body, eventually — you’re not sure when you left and when you returned but you could feel now, your own hand shooting out of its weak trance to grip her wrist and cease her movements. “El” You rasp weakly and she slows.

You seemed like you could fall asleep — and Ellie was happy to let you. You looked adorable and sleepy, so she took you in her arms, pressing kisses to your cheeks. “Did so good for me pretty girl.” She whispers, and it’s so warm and familiar like you’d been with her forever. Like that awful man had never been given the chance to touch you. What was his name again? You pout against her neck, letting her manoeuvre you and baby you. She’d clean you up in a little while, for now focused on holding you and telling you how good you did. She’d made you cum like you deserved, and that was two more times than Louis did. Ellie was… satisfied. “You okay?”

You wrapped your legs around her hips, drawing her closer to your body so that she was half on top of you. She chuckled, pulling back a little to look at you. “Hm? Caught your breath?” There was no cockiness in her voice, all gentleness when she cups your face making your eyes flutter open.

“Ellie.” You murmur, your own fingers grazing her cheeks like you were seeing her for the first time in years.

“Thats right, baby.” She grins, sounding like she was proud of you which made your heart swell. Her sweatpants covered crotch fell against your own slightly and you winced, suckling on your bottom lip and lashes fluttering from the feeling of the material against your engorged clit. “Shit, sorry—” She went to apologise, but your leg locked around her ass, pulling her back into you. You wriggled your hips, humping her like a little bunny rabbit.

Oh… you weren’t done.

“Yeah?” She was still smiling, but a darkness bolted through them, something else there, the sweetness disappearing for something more stern. “Want more?”

You’re lifting your hips now, trying to get some kind of feeling against you as your chest rises and falls — back into the swing of it. You felt deranged, like there was chance you’d be this damn horny forever.

She reaches down to grip your hips and thumps her covered cunt against yours a few times making you hum. She looks pensive, and when she looks back to you she’s decided. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

She’s pulling the harness over her boxers, sweatpants discarded next to your dress, before you’ve even registered her practically leap off the bed. The dildo attached is black, and your mind flashes back to your dream. Not purple then, huh.

She takes the time to look at you from a new angle, on your back, knees cutely pressed together. From where she stands, she can see the purple bruises her mouth had littered around your thighs. As she tightens the harness with one hand, she gently pushes you knee open with the other, getting a good look at your drenched, abused pussy. Your arms squish over your boobs, fists beneath your chin as you watch her in adoration.

Before you know it, she’s hovering over you again— leaning over to share a kiss, as if she’d missed you in the short amount of time she’d been apart from you. You feel the tip graze your slit and jolt slightly, fingers curling into her wifebeater. Pushing herself up to be able to see properly, she grips the cock in her fist before flushing.

“Fuck— uh, I don’t have lube.” She thinks, and thinks hard — this cock was undoubtably bigger than your now exes, and she didn’t want it to hurt. The idea of her splitting you open made her clit warm, but she was set on you feeling nothing short of amazing.

“S’okay.” You pout, high pitched and whiny as you tilt your hips down, trying to hump against the shaft — or the tip — or whatever you could reach.

“Nah s’big, babe. Need it nice n’wet for you.” She huffs. “Look, I can run down to the store. I know they sell it there and—”

She doesn’t even realise you’re pulling her desperately onto the bed, falling onto her back until she’s looking up at you. In any other situation, she’d expect you to suddenly be taking charge — asserting dominance, but no — you looked more fucked out than ever, staring down at her with big puppy dog eyes, whispering ‘Please’ over and over like a prayer.

She cups your cheek, pressing some of your hair against your face from her grasp and is about to clarify on ‘Please what, sweet girl?’ but the words catch in her throat when you crawl down her shakily, licking your swollen lips at the sight of her plastic cock. No way.

“You sure, baby?” The words died on her tongue as you start to mouth at it, pink tongue flattened desperately against the shiny strap. A low moan sounds from the back of your throat as you continue licking it like it had some kind of heavenly flavouring. Now Ellie knew it wasn’t strictly her dick, and maybe it was the way you were pressing the strap down into her crotch — but she couldn’t stop the curses from flying out. It felt… good. You drooled, the pearly, bubbly sheen dripping down the shaft before you took the tip of your mouth, obscene moans and sucking sounds bouncing around the room.

You pulled off with a pop for a second, glancing up at her with your hazy, submissive expression she’d grown fond of fast. “Feel like a slut.” You groan, high pitched and girlish. You had worry in your expression, brows knitted and eyes watery — but it didn’t quite meet your actions as you went back down, taking as much as you could in your throat. Ellie smirked, entertained as she pulled any hair out your face — watching your ministrations.

“You can be a slut for me if you want, it’s okay. Won’t tell anyone.” She cooes. You blink up at her, suckling on her tip. “Yeah. Don’t wanna be a slut for just anyone though do you? You want me to slut you out, like you deserve.” It doesn’t come out like a question in the slightest, her back teeth gritting when she watches your lashes flutter, eyes threatening to roll back. You pull off, dropping demure kisses to the now wet shaft. “You shy now? Come up here.” She’s grinning and you practically leap to straddle her.

You’re not focused on what she’s doing, busy kissing over her cheeks — and you’re suddenly confronted by her shifting you into position, sliding the wet tip through your velvety, leaking cunt. “You want it like this? Like how I taught you?” She tilts her head to look at you and you nod frantically, stopping yourself from lurching forward again and kissing every freckle on her face. Gotta be good for her, gotta be good for her — round and round your head like a broken record.

“Want it Ellie, please.” You whine and she’s shushing you, hot pressure searing within when she pushes in. It’s just like you dreamt, smooth— but small ridges catch inside you making you heave out a high pitched moan into her neck. Her free hand smoothes down your back, comforting you.

“I know.” She croons. “Gonna be a big girl and take it all, yeah?”

It takes you everything not to destroy the progress she’s made inside you and clamp down like a vice, so you fling in the opposite direction, arching your back into her to widen yourself. She feels this, feels you trying to help her push it inside and kisses your forehead. “Such a good fucking girl.”

She wants to give you time to adjust to the size, but as soon as it’s all the way in you rock against her, sliding it in and out. You choke out a pained whine and she tsk’s, holding you still.

“See? Just not cut out for doin’ any of the work are you?”

Something awake deep down within you past the submissive fog wants to be offended. But she’s right. You want whatever Ellie wants, and if she wants you to lay there on top of her and take it— that’s what you want too. She speaks again, and you almost hit a sudden orgasm, her feet flattening on the bed as she slowly bucks up, doing all the fucking for you as you lay limp on top of her. “Thats okay. Just my pretty pillow princess. Yeah, that sounds right doesn’t it.” She pants lowly, but the words echo around your head like she screamed it.

“Feels — so — mmpghm” Its muffled into her shoulder anyway, and her hands grip your ass cheeks, spreading you wider to take her deeper. You mewl.

“Oh that’s the spot, isn’t it babe.” The smugness is back, and you let her speed up, pounding that sore but needy spot inside you. “Fuck, gonna make me cum too with those pretty noises.” Her teeth are grit, and your mind reels. You didn’t know that was possible.

At this point, Ellie was beginning to use you to get off. The way she was tugging you back and fourth on her lap had you sliding the harness right up over her clit, the ridges inside pressing her through her boxers. If she could just hold on a little longer, put her focus back on you…

“Wish you… wish you could—” You choke on your moans, about to hurtle over the edge.

“Could what, hm?” She purses her lips, focused on her movements.

“Could cum inside me. Oh!” It hits you, and maybe it was your own words that did it. But she’s bucking off the bed soon enough, right behind you as her stomach tenses. The idea of her pearly white cum fountaining out your cunt when she’d unplug you making her go into fucking overload. She got sloppy, chasing her high but it was okay — you were crying again, the strap barely moving inside you from your clench but it didn’t stop Ellie from grinding, toes clenching and eyes squeezing shut. Fuck, fuck, shit. She was cumming.

You were pretty sure you blacked out. Because suddenly your eyes were fluttering open, senses returning to you slowly and you were just catching Ellie slipping into the bathroom, laying on your back now having been rolled over. You closed your eyes again sleepily, listening to the clattering of the harness hit the floor and a sighed out ‘Fuck’ from the dealer herself. The tap ran, and you dozed a little before Ellie returned with wipes.

“Mornin’ babe.” She chuckled, voice a little hoarse as you blinked up at her sleepily.

“Come n’cuddle.” Your voice was more hoarse, coming out cracked and squeaky. If you weren’t so sleepy, maybe you’d get shy about it.

“Alright, hold your horses. Need to get you nice and cleaned up first.” She shook her head, smiling at you affectionately as she settled between your thighs. Once she had wiped you up, helped you to the bathroom to pee, and pulled an oversized tshirt of hers over your head — then finally she was snuggling up beside you, pulling the blanket over you both. “There we go.” She stretched, arms above her head for a moment before they wrapped around you. “Ugh, I kinda stink.” She turned her nose up and you giggled into her chest. “Sorry bout that.” She chuckled.

“Don’t think you have to be sorry about anything ever again after that.” Your sweet voice is muffled, and your face warms again thinking about all the vulgar things she just did to you. All the vulgar things you did. You clamped your eyes shut, thinking about the desperate way you sucked her off.

“Good to know. In that case, definitely won’t be the last time I’m pulling that trick out.” She joked and you pulled back to look up at her with lovey-dovey eyes. She panicked, misreading. “Unless you don’t wanna…uh—”

You rolled your eyes. “I do. I want… I want you. Completely.”

Her expression softened, thumb drawing mindless shapes on your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“If you’ll have me, of course. Obviously gotta take care of… you know who, first.” You cringe, thinking it’ll surely ruin the mood.

“Can say his name you know, he’s not Voldemort.”

You giggle, snuggling back into her. “Just don’t wanna. Don’t wanna hear about that man ever again.” You smile, pressing the fat of your cheek into her small bust.

“I’m down for that.”

You let your eyes grow heavier, and when you’re silent for a few minutes — Ellie thinks you’ve fallen asleep. She smiles, in disbelief at the way things have turned out before turning her head to Dina’s textbook on the desk that she was meant to deliver to her at some point. Oops.

When she turns back to you, she almost jumps— your owlish eyes blinking up at her.

“Ellie, would you say a hot dog is a sandwich?”

She gapes down at you. “Hello?“

“Well I was talking about sandwiches earlier so now it’s on my mind!”

“Oh man, now we’re gonna have to argue. Who the hell said hot dogs are sandwiches?”

The two of you laughed, launching into a sleepy, delirium fuelled debate — and the world outside seemed to be held on pause. Maybe the reality of things would settle in tomorrow, but for now — you would just enjoy each others presence like you’d wanted to since the first time you’d met. This time, with no obstacles.

#dealer!ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou2 smut #ellie williams au

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ragingbookdragon · 3 days

Text

Veils of Gold

Royal AU! Knight!Simon Ghost Riley x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Knight Simon being completely down to his knees for his Queen is something I hold dear in my heart

**********************************************************************

It was piss poor luck on his part that the archer had spectacularly good aim and got to him before John or Kyle could. The arrow hit the soft part of his armor in the back of his knee, sinking through and out the side, hitting against the inside of his steel armor. Instantly, he felt the coursing of some type of poison as he went to his good knee, cursing and reaching back for his bad knee. He watched through the corner of his visor as John’s claymore bit into the archer’s shoulder and cleaved halfway through his torso before he dropped.

John ran to him, dropping his sword down as he knelt. “How bad is it?” he asked, prodding the wound and watching as crimson stained through the brown leather of his glove.

“Bad,” Simon said. “Poisoned.”

“Shite. Captain!”

Jonathan sprinted over, sheathing his own sword as he lifted two fingers to his mouth and whistled for his horse. “John, help him onto the horse and lead him back to the castle. Kyle, you and I will continue to scout out the rest of the enemies.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, pulling another arrow, and nocking it.

“I can still fight,” Simon griped, pushing himself up to his feet; he reached behind and yanked the arrow out, only letting out a very nasty grunt of pain. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine and you’ll do as I command,” Jonathan replied, pointing to the horse. “You’re in no condition to fight. You’ll either get yourself or all of us killed.”

“Cap—”

“That’s an order, Knight Lieutenant.”

Jonathan voice booked no room for an argument and Simon acquiesced as he hobbled over to the horse, though he knocked John’s hands away as he pulled himself up on the horse.

“I’ll scout ahead,” John muttered, pulling out his bow. “Will you be okay until we—”

“I’ll be fine,” Simon griped, pulling the reins of the horse. “Let’s go.”

***

Effectively, the last thing Simon remembered was crossing the bridge into town, panting like a dog before he toppled sideways into the freezing water below. All he could think was how nice it felt seeping under his armor and flooding over his heated skin.

***

Dripping echoed in his ears, a throbbing settled between them as pain pulsed through his skull and shot down to his leg. He grimaced, cracking an eye open, expecting to see the wooden ceiling of the Knight’s lodging but instead was greeted with a gilded golden mosaic encrusted with gemstones and marble. It took him a moment before he realized where and whose room he was in—the Queen’s.

Another drip sounded and he turned his head along the silk pillow, watching as a veiled figure dipped their hands into the water basin in the corner of the room; a woman, by the shape of their figure and it was only until they turned with a wet rag that he realized it was her.

She wore a white and gold, sleeveless gown that dipped lower in the front than he liked it too, but she looked the portrait of heraldry, especially with the golden veil that circled her hair like a halo and down her back. Slits in the side of her white dress showed her legs as she walked, and he watched her gold sandal, adorned feet with each step until she sat down on the bed beside him. Gently, she laid the rag on his forehead and touched his cheek.

“Your servants will talk,” he whispered, practically delirious and unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the gold sewn into the bodice of her dress and up where it collared by her neck and shoulders. “They will know.”

Her hum was heaven’s music as she pulled the sheet away from his leg and gently went about cleaning his wound again.

His stomach dropped when he saw crimson on her hands and his shot out, grasping her wrists. “Stop. Stop touching me.”

“Simon?” she appeared shocked, not that he had grabbed her so tightly but that his voice seemed on the verge of hysterics.

“My blood,” he breathed. “I am not worthy enough to have bled onto your clean hands.”

“Then you are also not worthy to have my white gown wipe away the sweat and grime too,” she said, all the while, rubbing the end of her dress along his knee, slicking it with dirt, sweat, and blood.

“My Queen,” he begged. “Please, I am unclean. I am too stained for your purity. I—”

“You will lie as your Queen commands and be healed under her hands,” she interrupted, giving him a stare that would have withered a lesser man.

Simon swallowed his words, a tightness in his chest as he watched her dip her dress into the jug of water next to the nightstand and begin anew, wiping his wound.

“I am unworthy of such pure grace,” he whispered, and she smiled, her eyes soft and gentle.

“You are a foolish man,” she murmured, pouring a thick looking greenish liquid into the wound before she wrapped it. “A man I admire greatly, but a foolish one all the same.”

He felt his breathing stutter in his lungs when her hands drifted up his wrapped knee to the inside of his thigh, then to his hip, where she caressed the sharp bone beneath his skin before she bent down and kissed it. “My Queen,” he groaned, feeling her lips turn upwards against his pale skin; he felt his chest flush with a pale redness at the intimacy. If anyone saw—“Please, have mercy upon me…” he pleaded. “Should anyone see you in such a compromised position…”

“You are such a worrier,” she sighed, sitting up; her hand rested upon his cheek before it gently threaded into the hair at the side of his head. “The door to my quarters is locked. No one can come in.”

Simon gazed at her, lovesick and feverish. “I do not wish for your reputation to be tainted as mine has been. You are too good for it.”

She ignored him and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. “You are loved by the most powerful woman this side of the land. You hold more power over me and my resolve than any law ever will.”

He whimpered into her and reached up, touching the veil she wore. “I yet still believe that one touch from your hallowed form will free me from all I have done.”

“Should it not, you know I would walk beside you in hell until we have.”

“I am not worthy,” he murmured, and she quieted him.

“Hush, you are the most.”

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charliemwrites · 6 months

Text

Hi :)

You should not be doing this.

It rings like church bells in the back of your mind. A funeral toll for each damning decision that is killing your divinity.

Finding the ritual. Dong!

Drawing the circle. Dong!

Spilling your own golden essence over a twisting sigil. Dong!

Tongue tripping over unfamiliar vowels and consonants. A language you know but have never spoken. Dong!

“Well,” a low, rough voice drawls, “isn’t this something special.”

You close your eyes, steel your spine. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your nerves. Tilt your head just enough to watch him from the corner of your eye, a dark and hulking shape. You’re almost startled by the size of him. Have never seen a demon like this before.

His horns curve back from his head, rams horns. You jolt a bit. A higher demon than you expected - than you meant to summon.

“Such a pretty thing,” he coos, stalking closer. “I haven’t eaten an angel in millennia….”

You nearly gasp as rough hands brush your wings. It almost burns. You twist, find him suddenly much closer than you thought. A massive hand captures your chin, jerks your head up to look at you this way and that.

“And here you serve yourself to me on a silver platter.”

He smirks, a hint of viciously sharp fang peeking out. You gather your courage, smack his hand away. The bracelets around your wrist chime.

“You are the one who’s here to serve,” you remind.

He moves faster than you can ever hope to match, crushing you to the wall, your wings pinned beneath you. A clawed hand is around your throat, tight enough to threaten oxygen if you needed it. Still you gasp, squirming and struggling, frightened by his strength. Why is he so much stronger than you?

“Mind yourself, dove,” he growls, eyes glowing like hot coals. “You may have summoned me, but that does not entitle you to my power.”

You grunt softly as he flicks at your halo, eyes stinging a bit. You’re unfamiliar with pain; Heaven is soft and kind.

“Please,” you manage.

His eyes narrow, a smirk turn to his lips. “That’s more like it. Now tell me, why would one of the host call upon a demon.”

“T-to make a deal.”

His eyebrows arch, but there’s a flicker of genuine fascination in his eyes now. The grip on your throat loosens a little, but he presses closer just a quickly, one burning line of inhuman muscle along your front.

“A deal…” His voice has dropped even lower somehow, rumbling in his chest. “Oh dove, you have no soul to sell. What did you plan to bargain with?”

“I-I don’t know,” you admit. The desperation that brought you here, made you do all this, yawns open inside you. “You name the price, but please.”

His laughter fills the room, genuine amusement this time. “You’ve no idea what you’re offering.”

You frown. “I do. I know… I know what it means. But what I’m asking for…”

He tilts his head. “And what are you asking for, angel?”

“There’s a man, a human man. When his mother passed I brought her soul to Heaven and she asked - she asked me to watch over her son…”

He arches his eyebrows. “You’re no guardian.”

“No,” you agree. Guardian angels are fierce and beautiful, a balance of warrior strength and guiding patience. They carry swords and shields, iron in their feathers. “But… I couldn’t deny her.”

“Let me guess, he’s slated for death now.”

“Hes a soldier.” Death then damnation. He has made himself a machine of suffering and it has charred his soul.

The demon hums with understanding. “You want me to save him.”

“From death,” you clarify, “the rest.., the rest I will try to do myself.”

The demon makes a little “ah” noise. “And so you’ll offer me anything to defy death. For one mortal?”

You can hear the disdain in his voice and it sparks your ire. The scent of ozone seeps into the room as your feathers ruffle.

“I don’t need to explain myself. Will you take the deal or not?” You demand. “I need to know if I should summon another - ah!”

You flinch as your head is wrenched back, throat exposed. Hot hair brushes the skin as he looms over you, fangs so so close.

“Your Heavenly Father didn’t bend you over his knee enough,” he snarls. “We’ll have to correct that.”

You swallow down a whimper, sense that it’s best you don’t push your luck.

“Very well, dove. You have your deal. I will keep your precious mortal alive.”

“And in exchange?” you ask.

He chuckles. “That is not for you concern yourself with.”

And then white hot pain explodes through your shoulder, fangs sunk deep into your shoulder. He moans at the taste of your blood on his tongue, hips jerking roughly against your stomach. It feels like a small eternity that he bites into you, leaving his mark. The contract of your unholy deal. His tongue laves cruelly over the marks as he pulls away. Gold drips from his chin as he grins at you.

“Fly home now, dove,” he says. “I will see you very soon.”

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #demon!price #angel!reader

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saekkas · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

summary: in which someone catcalls you and he's there to defend.

includes: isagi, nagi, reo, yukimiya, rin, sae, kunigami, kaiser, karasu, bachira, aiku.

note: i split it into two this time because i honestly can't see them doing anything else.

𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 as if he doesn't know you, even with his hands clearly around your waist. does it to out of love above anything else, it's his way of trying to make you comfortable. will try to be playful with his actions and words but if anyone takes a step towards you? it's on. (you know that, "wear whatever you want, babe. i can fight." that's him atp)

reo, aiku, kaiser, bachira, karasu

the sun's bright overhead, not too blinding, with just the right amount of heat to tan. he sighs in content, the sand underneath his bum perfectly warm as you lather sunscreen on his back. a beautiful beach and a gorgeous girl running her hands down his back? this better be the view he sees at the pearly white gates of heaven.

the hand on his back is smooth and he groans when you gently massage the knots out of his neck. "keep doing that and i might just marry you sooner."

he hears you snort before anything else. there's no other reply and he relaxes once more, leaning his head onto your shoulder. he squints at the sun shining directly into his eyes.

"careful there, hotshot. you might get wrinkles. and i don't want to marry a wrinkly, 68-year-old looking guy."

something blocks the sun from his vision, and he has to blink multiple times, letting his eyes adapt to the change of scenery. he sees you grinning down at him, your face upside down, and the sun's halo shinning behind your head.

"hi, gorgeous." the smile on his face is nothing but awestruck, his eyes molding into the shape of hearts. "missed you and your beautiful face."

there's another snort from you and he yelps at the feeling of cold sunscreen hitting his face.

"me and my beautiful face have been behind you this whole time, loser. who knew you were such a simp."

the droplets on his face are cold but the warmth of your hand rubbing them into his skin makes it all better. his eyes gaze up at your face before trailing down your body, drinking in the sight of your bikini. "you should wear that more often. every day around the house often."

he yelps, scrunching his nose when you playfully bite it.

the touch of your hand on his body is soft and warm, a complete contrast from the rugged sand beneath you both and it has him shivering. "what? can't i compliment my favorite girl?"

he smiles when you plop down on his lap, laughing at the roll of your eyes.

"i'm your only girl," you say, body relaxing into his hold. "well, i better be."

he can only laugh in response, wrapping his hands around your waist and playing with the strap of your top. "i'm only yours, angel. i'm hurt that you'd even think otherwise."

there's a strong gust of wind, blowing sand everywhere as the trees sway in their place. he tightens his hold on you, letting you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

when it subsides, he's quick to place his hand on your cheeks, softly looking into your eyes. "is my baby okay? need me to blow away the sand from your eyes?" his tone is sweet, playful. the pads of his fingers rub circles on your cheeks, and he leans in, placing his forehead against yours. "need me to kiss it better?"

the sound of a high-pitched whistle drowns out your sassy reply of just say you want a kiss and go. a rowdy pair of teenagers stand by the ocean's shoreline, grinning madly when his eyes land on them. their shouts of pretty lady you got there, wanna share? and stop being a hog, let us in on some fun, eh? falls on deaf ears as he looks down at you with a wink.

"no but they're right, eh? i've got such a pretty lady on my lap." his eyes are gentle and calm as the sea, they reflect the worry you feel inside. his hands ground you, picking you up easily to switch positions so that you're covered by his back, safe from prying eyes. "should we go back home for some more fun? what do you say, angel?"

he lays your head down against his chest, letting you hear the gentle thud of his heartbeat. "this beach is overrated anyway. it doesn't even have a lifeguard." he nudges your forehead with his nose, smiling cheekily. "honestly? never mind. that's a good thing because if i were a lifeguard, i'd give you mouth-to-mouth all day long."

his smile widens just a fraction when you giggle, happy to see that your eyes are starting to show their shine.

"you're awful at this," you giggle, pushing his shoulder playfully. "what kind of pickup line was that?"

"oh?" he pretends, widening his eyes as he points at the center of your forehead. you know it's all theatrics, but you fall for it either way. "what's this? do you have a sunburn?"

he trails his finger down your arm and onto your belly, stopping at your thigh when you look at him with confusion.

"what do you mean?" you ask, tilting your head with a small smile. "i put on sunscreen earlier."

he's quick to lean in, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "yeah, you're right. it was just your usual self being hot." the smile on his face widens into a grin when he hears you laugh, and it drives him to nuzzle his nose against your neck.

"there's my angel. or should i say sandcastle? because i want to build my dreams around you."

he leans back, trying to dodge your hand only to laugh as you both fall onto the sand. he looks at you, letting his hand trail down your cheek as you hover above him, matching grins on your faces.

"what was that for?" his laughs have trickled down into low chuckles. he lets himself fully immerse in the sand, propping a hand behind his head. "am i that irresistible, angel?"

"you're such-"

"oh? what's this?" the two boys from earlier watch you with crooked smiles and bad intentions clear in their eyes. they move forward, starting to close in. "should we join in-"

"back off." his eyes are dark, and his voice is low. there's a clear line of annoyance in his tone as he stands, pushing you behind him. his stance is intimidating, clearly protective with the glare set on his usually always smiling face. he quirks an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. "or i'll make you."

they back off at his threat, bowing their head to you as they leave.

he holds you in his hands, nuzzling his face into your hair as if he wasn't initiating a fight just a few seconds ago. "let's go, angel. i'll buy us some ice cream." he takes your hand, winking as he playfully taps your bottom.

��𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘. he's the type of guy who will not realize someone's bothering you, honestly. if anyone asks why, it's because his eyes and entire being is fixated on you, and you only. why should he even care about some random ant on the street? it's just you and him, his baby, his world. nothing else matters in his eyes.

sae, rin, nagi, yukimiya, kunigami, isagi

"it isn't too crowded today." his words are blunt, a matter of fact that you can't help but giggle at. he eyes you, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips at the sound. "we should go in before it's too busy."

he takes your hand by your side, slipping it into his as you make your way into the cat cafe. he hums, scrunching his nose and withholding the need to sneeze as he lets you take everything in. the cafe is spacy, a big section for the cats to play in that's separate from the food corner.

he takes a seat near one of the scratching poles, leaning his back on the seat. his eyes are locked in on you, watching as you squat down to pet a cat on its head, chuckling when you startle as the cat jumps to one of the higher beams.

"you're so mean for laughing." he watches the syllables form on your lips, takes in the color and shape of your mouth. it's only when they form into a smirk that he moves his gaze back to your face. "you promised to play with the cats, remember?"

he only blinks up at you, similar to a cat himself, before sighing at your puppy eyes. nodding his head, he sets onto his feet to follow you deeper into the room, looking at the trail of cats that have begun to follow you both.

there's an empty bench that you lead him to and he sits dutifully, letting you plop a cat onto his lap. his motions are mechanical at best, he pats the cat's head, scratches under its ears, and stays away from its tail, the way you showed him how. anyone who's watching can clearly tell the cat isn't his main attention, it's you.

he feels the cat purr in hips lap and continues stroking it, but his eyes are never far from you. he sees you buying a packet of treats, watches as you squat down to feed the little white kitten by your feet, admires as every other cat suddenly comes swarming in. he chuckles to himself, so wholly focused he doesn't realize that someone's come to sit beside him.

"that's such a pretty kitty, mind if i take her home?"

he doesn't answer. not at first. he simply observes you, from the gracefulness of your movements to the sweetness of your smile. he only tears his eyes away to look at the stranger when he laughs.

"can i help you?" his tone is dull, clearly not wanting to be disturbed. he looks at the stranger for a few more seconds before turning back to you, the cat still peacefully asleep in his arms.

"not at all. i just wanted to know whether your cat's for sale."

he doesn't catch the underlying meaning of the stranger's words. you've got a beautiful persian with discolored eyes in your arms now, cooing the name Oscar at the thing. he tilts his head, wondering whether you'll do the same to him for taking you here today.

"i'd like to take her home. play with her until i'm bored, ya know?"

he watches from the corner of his eyes as the stranger leans back against the bench, a sickening smirk on his face. he realizes belatedly that the stranger's looking at you.

anger simmers in his eyes as he looks at the stranger with his coldest eyes, tone uninterested. "you wouldn't be able to take her. she's a feisty one, needs a man to take care of her. not some sleazy bastard."

he watches with boredom as the stranger clenches his fist. there's a hint of a smirk on his face as the stranger starts to stand up, clearly wanting to fight, only to step on cat vomit.

"oh no, oscar!" you gasp from behind the stranger, looking at the cat in your arms worriedly. "are you okay? you sick, baby?"

he watches in amusement as the stranger turns to leave the cafe, his face red. all the while, you remain blissfully unaware, concern swimming in your orbs as you cradle the cat closer to your chest.

"do you think we can adopt?" he sees the confusion on your face, chuckling at the little tilt of your head. he nods to the cat. "oscar's pretty cute. i like him."

he chuckles when you squeal, smiling happily as you place oscar down to pepper kisses on his face.

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flordeamatista · 8 months

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THE DEVIL

pairing: dbf!andy barber x reader

concept: The lure of temptation, seduction, and lust he offered filled your head ecstatically.

word count: 1k

warnings: sex tape + corruption kink + pussy slapping, nicknames: (Angel)

a/n: The devil card depicts intense sexual desire and physical attraction.The Devil is the gateway into the future kinks.

THE WITCHING HOUR ──── KINKTOBER'23

masterlist

The lure of temptation, seduction, and lust he offered filled your head ecstatically.

Your wings were scattered at your feet as you stood rigidly in his home office.

His radiant blue eyes met yours with a languid gaze, making you feel heat prickling beneath your skin. He swept his eyes up and down your body, and his hands slowly moved over your curves. “I wonder if your parents are looking for you,” lifting you onto his lap with one arm while the other braces against your chest.

A hand slapped your pussy as it dug through your naked form, exploring every inch of it.

"The party gets drunk downstairs, but my touch will make your pussy drunk here." When your head fell back against him, his hot breath heated up in your ear. He grinned into your neck while biting your skin. “So desperate to be touched, aren’t you?”

You closed your eyes and wondered if it was all a dream or if reality had tricked you. The Halloween party had already begun earlier that evening, and you’re almost naked on his lap, wearing only your angelic halo.

Your body vibrates in anticipation as you sit on the devil’s lap, with your once pure angel wings lying on the ground.

An inferno looms to consume you whole when the spark within you ignites.

Your heart surrenders to his touch, allowing yourself to be influenced by the promise of pleasure and the unknown.

There is an electrifying quality of being around him, but it is also terrifying; you know it is dangerous territory, but you can’t help feeling drawn in by his dark charisma. His midnight blue eyes promise a night of sensuality and debauchery beyond your wildest dreams.

You’re helpless as he whispers softly and tastefully, and you’re beckoned into the unknown by his sinful dirge.

A tingling sensation runs down your spine when you catch sight of his gaze.

There is something dangerous about your attraction to him, and what will happen if you comply with him?

While you appear angelic, his aura is testing you into darkness.

A knowing smirk curls his lips as he stares at you as if he knows exactly who you are and what you want.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and swiped it until the camera was on.

His right hand was poised over the phone while his left touched your body. He spoke low and velvet-smooth, saying, “I want this recorded proof that even angels can moan for devils.” Taking your lips in a passionate kiss, he traced circles across your skin, generating sweltering heat.

With a smile, he roars like a devouring demon, and his firm contours blend perfectly with my angelic features.

When you both pulled apart, you saw his eyes blazing with desire. With each slap of his palm, a fire ignited within you, threatening to burn out of control.

“Show me how the devil can make pretty angels moan. Aren't you my pretty angel?.”

Deep, slow breaths push warmth into the air.

“You like that, don’t you?” His warm slaps glide across your clitoris, and he holds the phone close to your pussy.

As he taps your clit each time, pain and pleasure wash over you simultaneously. You need his fingers in your clit for him to release the orgasm and touch, so a slap does not suffice.

It feels like he might slip his fingers inside, but he slaps it away, leaving the breeze to cool the air.

In a warm embrace, his finger traces shapes around your pussy. A gentle tickle alternates with a firm slap that makes your hips jerk. Every time you shudder, you are slapped harder.

You muffle a small moan against your palm as your body burns and your eyes tighten.

His dark and menacing voice whispers in your ear. The phone moves closer to your face. You feel your body quiver as he punctuates the words with more intense pussy slaps. “Such a good angel.”

There were no words between you as you walked forward and kissed the fiery.

Every step brought profound relief that swallowed light and sound.

The only force you could understand was a burning desire to be with him, but you could neither understand nor resist it.

There is no escaping the devil when the night is dark and your heart is led by him.

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lvndrdaaze · 1 month

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NSFW alphabet B, L and P for Wriothesely? 👀👀

sorry these took so long, i have an exam coming up in a couple of weeks and i had to finish my cases this week so i haven't had much time to write ;;-;; these are all kinda longer than i was expecting tho so i hope that makes up for it <333

(fem!reader, NSFW so no minors!)

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

Wriothesley knows he's attractive, and is aware that a lot of people either envy or lust after his physique, though he doesn't like to admit it. He'll brush off compliments with a vague hint of a smile and ignore the way passersby drool over his bulky form from a distance, but he does secretly love the way his arms look around your body. Even when you're simply cuddling, the sight of you nuzzling into his arm and pressing your cheek against the firm muscle makes strange heat blossom in his chest. He appreciates the fact that he's strong enough to pick you up and carry you around, and he'll even get a little flustered if you touch his biceps and ask him to flex for you. Seeing you giggle bashfully over his muscles is far more flattering than the admiring stare of a hundred strangers.

On you, there's no denying that Wriothesley is an ass man. He loves everything about it; when you're lying on your stomach and he can trace the curve of your ass into the dip of your lower back with his palms, when you're getting dressed (or undressed) and he gets to see your lacy underwear clinging to the swell of your cheeks, when you're bent over and he can see the perfect shape of your ass along with your wet cunt with lips parted between your thighs, everything about your ass just drives him wild. He loves fucking you from behind to watch it ripple with every thrust and spank he delivers. Sometimes, when he's eating you out from behind, he'll bite at the pert muscle harshly, feeling his length throb at the sight of his teeth marks imprinted into the skin there.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Wriothesley is a traditional guy for the most part, and generally prefers taking you in a bed. It's more comfortable and gives you plenty of space to sprawl out, and he adores the way you look laying against the sheets. With your hair fanned out in a halo around your head and wide, eager eyes staring up at him whilst he hovers over you teasingly, he thinks you look like an angel, far purer than the life he's known so far.

However, Wriothesley also isn't particularly fussy about where he gets to sink himself into you. He'll press you against a wall when he's desperate and dip his fingers into your wet pussy before lifting your knee and replacing his fingers with his thick cock with a groan of relief. He'll invite himself to join you in the shower, using the soap as an excuse to run his rough palms all over your body until you're keening and pressing yourself against his body underneath the hot water. He'll bend you over the kitchen counter in your home and pull your hair until your back arches into the perfect position for him to pound into your tight hole, nudging his tip against the spongy spot inside you that makes you sing for him. Simply put, to him, any location is good, but the bed is better.

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

Wriothesley can go for either a rough fuck session or a slower, more passionate lovemaking session, it all depends on his mood.

When he's had a long day with unruly prisoners and excessive paperwork, he likes to release that tension with a harsh fuck that doesn't last long but leaves you spent nonetheless. He bends you over and plunges into you as deep as he can go, using his secure grip on your hips to pull you back against him and bounce your ass against his pelvis whilst his fingers press faint bruises into the plush of your hips. Feeling you clenching around him in time with his brutal thrusts easily clears Wriothesley's mind of whatever had gotten him worked up into that state.

On the other hand, after a romantic date on the surface or even in his office, when his emotions are running high and just the sight of your smile is enough to make his cock twitch, he prefers to take his time and savour your body. These are the times that he spends ages between your legs, using his fingers and tongue in sync to have your cunt dripping onto the bedsheets for him. Then, once he's satisfied that the taste of you will remain on his lips for a while, he'll drape himself over you and rock his hips so carefully, as though he thinks you'll break if he goes any harder. He connects his lips with yours in a passionate kiss and spills his seed into you with a moan that almost sounds like a whine, far more desperate than any sound you've heard him make before, as the emotions of being connected to you like this overwhelm him.

Feel free to request more NSFW/SFW alphabet headcanons! More info in my pinned post ^-^

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x reader smut #wriothesley x reader headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader headcanons #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader

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scribbles-ink · 1 month

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it took me nwar 5 hours but i finally got the reference sheet 4 aphmau in my redesign done 😎😎 under the cut will have some explanations 4 my design choices 😎😎

(reblogs>likes)

first off-why is she red? in pdh and occasionally in mystreey aphmau has a few red clothes n they just look sm better than the purple im sorry im not wrong,,,,anyways i decided that it would be cool if irene n aphmau wore red instead of purple/blue

markings:the markings aphmau has

first contact:i like that she just appears in the woods i think its funny n whimsy (and also a lot more but thats another post) the only thing she has is a cloak that encompases the entirety of her, nothing else, no memories, no belongings, just a cloak and a name.

loaned clothes: when she arrives at the town of phoenix drop the people give her simple clothes that they can spare, a shirt, a skirt, and a belt. she declines the offer of shoes after trying a pair on.

lordhood: in my rewrite phoenix drop deeply respected their previous lord and their family, leading to them not choosing another lord from the citezens of the town. they refused to choose from outsiders aswell, weary of their motives for seaking loedhood of their village. when aphmau shows up and helps them all, without even knowing what a lord is or what power it could give her, they decide she would be a good fit. because of how deeply phoenix drop respected their previous lords they kept the headpiece bangles and shawl indicitave of the lord status. why is it red? irene is red and its seen as a very lucky color

sleepwear and hair length:just small things i wanted to showcase. the sleepwear is red and aphmau has long as hell hair because she deserves it

formal:in my rewrite, thwre are at least some events, like neighboring weddings of lords or important people, or even meetings of lords to talk business, that means aphmau would have to dress up for.

armor:aphmau was fighting constantly, she wears this most of the time while traveling and if she knows thwres going to be a fight

irene: i wanted something that showcased the glowing tattoos, and looked suitability extravagant. the cloak she wears does have space inside of it, because thats cool. she has wings and the golden horns come together in an almost halo like shape.

the cloak:the cloak, when she wakes up, is the only thing aphmau owns. she wears it with every outfit of hers, aside from the sleepwear. and yes that is space n the universe inside it i love whenever thats a design choice

shoes:where the fuck are they??? idk she hates them. the only time she wears shoes is with her armor n thats it

#scribbles' post #scribbles' art #minecraft diaries #mcd #aphmau #aphblr #irene mcd #irene #aphmau redesign #mcd rewrite #IM SO PROUD OF ALL OF THESE RAGHHHH

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