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honeycollectswhump · 8 months

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Things End | People Change – Staining Touch

this is shameless friendfiction of my dear friend @whumpcloud's story Things End | People Change, featuring poorest little meow meow vincent, my beloved. go check it out if you haven't already !!!

CW: guilt, so so much self-blame and self-deprication, references to past torture and also past SA undertones (vincent is going through it)

Clary has brought him something new, something to slowly fill out the empty space of the basement that is not his but as close as it gets.

It’s a mirror, almost two-thirds of his height, strange and wobbly and cause of a weird noise Vincent cannot categorize into his existing knowledge when it is bent. Arguably, it is doing a very bad job of being a mirror, besides the fact that it is floppy and almost entertainingly noisy before being put up on the wall, because it distorts his reflection at the edges, pulling him into comical shapes like dough if he moves.

But most importantly, most off-puttingly is the fact that it portrays his reflection at all.

At first, he can do nothing but stare.

In a little under two hundred years, all Vincent has seen of himself was through the eyes of others and those never regarded him too kindly. Not that he didn’t share that sentiment.

He knows what he can see, from the brown of his hair to the shape of his body, he knows what little is left that connects him to Henry, like the green of his eyes, and he knows what separates him, like the scar that sits right under them, as if mocking.

And now that he can see his eyes again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in two human lifespans, which is distinctly one more than he had any right to, he can’t look at what remains of Henry without seeing what remains of Lyfelde.

That man, he…

Vincent swallows. If it could, his undead heart would be beating faster –skipping like a rabbit– with each step that thought takes.

…He loved to leave marks.

Not for some desperate desire to be remembered in an ever-changing world, but instead with the same expectations as couples that carve their initials in the bark of a tree, curious to see the way the tree tries and fails to heal the cuts, to see how they will twist with time.

Vincent is no stranger to cuts, to initials carved into his delicate flesh, to being torn open for amusement and to satiate careless curiosity, even though they will never show on his skin, no matter how he twists and turns to get a good look at himself in the mirror.

Lyfelde however never needed force to leave evidence of himself, even if he can proudly wear the title of the last permanent remainder of Vincent’s weak mortality long gone by, and at his hands no less.

After years and years of captivity, of relentless, giddy torture, Vincent couldn’t point out individual marks of memory, couldn’t remember the incisions, the lacerations, the breaks, only the aftermath, the pain ripping at the edges of his sanity.

But when Vincent closes his eyes, when he imagines his being as he sees himself, there are stains on his chest, in the shape of a freezing claw, long delicate fingers decorated with rings much older than Vincent ever hopes to be.

There is one right over his heart, claiming it rightfully as Lyfelde’s, honouring the hard work he put into tearing him apart just to shape him into a–

Into a toy.

He is collared –like a pet–, marked by two hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing, a brute display of strength Vincent thought could keep him safe.

Even now, after all of these years, his mind produces the image of his hands clearer than the face that is already blurred beyond recognition by time. Neither time nor the Hunters could beat Lyfelde’s touch out of Vincent’s memories.

Vincent stretches, looking over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way his ribs protrude through sickly ashen skin. Even the thought that this is a far cry from his jutting ribcage in captivity, the corpselike result of starvation, turns sour with the sacrifice of those that feed him.

He is tainted, he knows, from comfort twisted to form a blade –a stake– and embraces that should have been kind and understanding, that Vincent now can’t even bring himself to call “warm”.

He wonders –briefly– if, behind his back, in the security of Vincent’s blindness, Lyfelde’s expressions would have betrayed his intentions. If there was a way a trick of light and precognition could have warned him, if he had just seen it, seen the signs that should have been so glaringly obvious.

Still, at the cost of himself, he had found comfort and solace in the deathly cold touch, and that should have been warning enough.

Almost obsessively, his gaze scans over his own marred, unmarred skin, even as it is stretched and squished by the metal-mirror, now that he finally has the chance to, after decades of nothing. Some quiet, drowned-out part of him whispers back that this is why he avoided anything similar for so long, that the evasion of his own reflection was not only by force of his vampirism but by some self-preserving instinct.

It’s excruciating in a way that is dangerously addicting, a sizzling fire that he cannot look away from. Pain for the sake of pain for the sake of entertainment.

Curiosity and her twin sister punishment.

If he dares to let his eyes drop lower, his hips will carry two hand-shaped brands of intimacy and trust that were only ever one-sided, burned into his skin deeper than any silver and scratch marks betraying the attempts to rid himself of the ever-present poison seeping from every pore.

They condemned him to be both poisoned and poison at the same time, always a victim and always a monster and always rightfully so.

Vincent swipes the mirror from the wall, heaving, watching it fall to the ground, deafening but too slow. He wants to fall to his knees, begging and ripping the metal to shreds, ripping his own reflection to shreds so that he will never have to look at it again. … So that it will never be looked at again.

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windwyrm · 7 months

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This actually started life a year ago as a thumb sized pen sketch on the back of a mc receipt. Maybe it should've stayed there.

#garrosh/saurfang #saurscream #garrosh hellscream #varok saurfang #today I bring you forbidden undone topknot Garrosh #tomorrow who knows?#insanity is drawing a million content for a rarepair so rare you can count the enjoyers on your fingers #orcs

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meanderfall · 4 months

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thinking about work tomorrow and getting sad

#'do not borrow tomorrow's grief' YES I KNOW #but i did a 6 and a half today and i wanted to die there were so many people #people who go shopping on the 24th are monsters actually #im gonna have to bring advil with me or something bc i know im going to get a headache from the amount of people and noise #can you believe one of my parents wanted me to come over and watch a movie after?#insane. after a day like tomorrow i will stab anyone who tries talking to me irl after work

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rustedhearts · 8 months

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crush (college!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: academic distraction comes in the form of one tall, handsome brunet named steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the scholar stud masterlist ✶ main masterlist

tags: college!steve, college!reader, fluff, a little cringe sometimes, steve's a cocky douche, smut!! silly ending because i just wanted to finish it.

a/n: why, yes. the notorious college steve has returned for this one day. i hope you enjoy his rebirth.

somewhere in indiana, october 1988. tillman university.

"And that concludes today's class. Folks, don't forget the exam tomorrow, bright and early eight a.m—"

The shuffle of notebooks and folders being swept from plastic desks drowned out the bellow of Professor Brown's instructions as the class scurried to leave. Everyone knew the pub just on the edge of campus was hosting 'Beer Olympics' tonight, and most of your classmates couldn't risk losing out on even one moment in that sticky, wood-paneled bar.

Including the handsome, silky-haired Steve Harrington, who sat in front of you and chewed on his pen for the entire hour of English 231: British Literature. At first, the incessant clicking of teeth against plastic and ink drove you insane.

But once, he whirled around when the cap went flying and landed on your desk, and the smile he passed you seemed sweet and bashful. The rosiness on his cheeks pretty, the hazel of his eyes against the fluorescents dreamy. He started murmuring to you during class discussions, begging for explanations on 'what the hell that Shakespeare guy was talking about.'

Steve Harrington might've shared a love for the stupid and the insane like the rest of the population on Tillman's campus, but he had the good grace to display it such a wonderful way that you didn't even mind.

You shuffled back to your dorm, bundled in a scarf and wool-lined coat, prepared to settle cozily into bed and study for tomorrow's test—your roommate, however, had other ideas.

"I need you to come with me," she whined as you removed your layers and tossed them on the bed. "This is my one chance for James to see how hot I am."

A cackle shot from your mouth, though you softened to pity as your roommate's shoulders drooped. James was her very own Steve: handsome, a year or two her senior, and a complete academic distraction. Her attempts to get his attention have lengthened weeks now, but all to no avail.

"I don't know...I have an exam tomorrow—"

"Oh, God, please," she groaned, falling back on her bed across the room. The springs yipped. "Chaucer is more important than the state of my love life?"

"What is the state of your love life?"

"Dead!"

You bit back a grin, swallowing all amusement when your roommate rolled onto her side and frowned at you. Like a little sister begging to be included, she rounded her eyes and jutted her lip.

"C'mon, please?" she whined. "You can bring your stuff to study, I'm sure there's a quiet corner. They have food, too! Come on, I'll buy you shitty bar wings!"

Eyeing her weepy, desperate eyes and your piles of highlighted notes, you mulled over the options with half-hearted sincerity. You were 95% sure you would ace this exam tomorrow, and the study session was for 'just in case.' Who were you to stand in the way of your roommate's apparent true love?

"And onion rings," you added.

Bouncing into a seated position, your roommate beamed and clapped her hands together sharply. "Anything."

✶ ✶

"Okay, here." Two plastic baskets of sticky barbecue wings and crispy, golden onion rings slid your way across a poorly-cleaned wooden hightop. "Are you good by yourself over here? I saw James by the pool table."

Grinning like a toddler with a treat, you reached for a wing with gentle fingers and nodded. "Yep, I'm perfect. Go get your man!"

Relief flooded her features, all dolled up and sparkly. She popped a quick kiss to your cheek and spun around, sweeping a hand over her hair to tame the frizz.

"Okay, I'm going in."

You watched her trot away in heels she could barely squeeze into with a giggle. She eased her way into a group of people near the pool table, lingering close enough to the blond-haired James without seeming desperate. You'd seen your roommate dizzy-headed around plenty of men before, but James turned her into something else.

The corner she found you was as quiet as a bar corner could be at eight o'clock on the night of a campus-wide event. Purses and backpacks piled in the corner of your booth, potently scented with sweet perfume and cigarette smoke. The lights were low back here, and most of your notes came scanned in the neon blue glow of the Budweiser sign hanging behind your head. Once your eyes adjusted to the hue, and the rowdy buzz of your peers faded away, you honestly found enjoyment in your little corner.

Until—

"Well hello, Oh studious one," a voice bellowed over the noise. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Steve Harrington, handsome, pink-cheeked, and a little bleary-eyed, sauntered toward your table with a beer in hand. He bent over your textbook, elbows creasing the onion skin pages, and flashed you a sideways grin. You thanked the blue lights for concealing the heat in your face.

"I'm quite surprising."

He chuckled, condensation dripping from the amber bottle in hand when he pointed the mouth of it toward the contents of your table. "And you're...reading. At a bar."

You clicked your pen, swiping a lukewarm onion ring from its basket. "I'm studying for our test tomorrow."

Steve lifted his gaze from the book, returning it to your face—his own blank and thoughtless. He's slow to lift the lip of the beer bottle to his mouth, and the swig he takes comes with furrowed brows.

The bottle pops away with a sharp release of suction. "Test?"

Giggling, you slap your hand onto your book. "Are you serious? Professor Brown just told us about it, like, four hours ago."

Steve straightened up, removing himself from your book. A large hand swept over the top of his hair, darkened with dampness from the exertion of Beer Olympic seriousness.

"Ohhh, that test," he snarked. "The test on...."

He trailed so far you worried he'd get lost, and as you tipped your chin down and fixed him with an incredulous look, you had mercy on him. "Chaucer."

Steve blinked again, eyes as glazed over and empty as a doe's. "Who?"

You succumbed to your amusement, a chorus of giggles bubbling over. "You're helpless."

Steve shrugged, cheek meeting his shoulder with an air of coolness. His body tipped sideways, one elbow returning to its place on your wrinkled pages to lean his weight on the table.

"Maybe so."

You took a small bite of your onion ring, which had lost all its crisp, and took your turn to blink blankly. But the boy was patient, knuckles rapping on the table in an offbeat tune as you lingered in the pause. Finally, overcome by his own impatience, Steve set his bottle on the table and slid even closer. You could feel the warmth of his body, exuding alcohol-laced sweat and a back alley cigarette soaked into the dampness of his t-shirt. Black cotton, thinned with sweat, drenched in leathery cologne applied hours ago.

"Maybe...you could help me then," he suggested, tone sauced with boyish charm.

Heat flooded your face like a dam bursting, rushing like a hot-blooded throb. You shifted on the sticky booth, boots clunking together beneath the table. The bits of soggy breading balled in your throat.

"I—" You swallowed, hands gripping the booth beneath you with urgency. "I-t-that could—"

Steve plucked his beer bottle from the table, sliding a step away from the table. His friends crowded around the pool table, where your roommate and her very own version of Steve were pressed against the wall, murmuring in close proximity.

"So, tomorrow?" He took another shuffled step back, a glint in his eye like he already knew his work was done.

He had you.

You swallowed again, tongue darting out to wet your dry mouth. "But...the test will be over by then."

Steve cupped his hand around his ear, eyes squinting as you grew smaller with every step back. "What? I can't—you're so far away! I can't hear you."

Amusement glimmered through, shattering your stunned stupor and bringing you back to life. Another mindless giggle tumbled from your mouth, and Steve savored it as he turned just enough to miss your pretty face.

"See you tomorrow!" he called.

You watched the plain of his broad back make its way into the crowd again, falling into a chorus of hoops and hollers and flushed, sticky bodies. You watched him douse himself in beer from a poorly-crafted beer bong held by a sloppy drunk. You watched him until you felt like a giddy schoolgirl, and did your best to return to your work and wait to take your leave.

And Steve stole glances when he knew you were no longer looking, hoping you'd really show.

✶ ✶

"I can't believe this is happening."

"I'm already nervous enough, please stop saying that."

"I'm sorry!" your roommate shrieked, hands slapping against her cheeks as she watched you fix your hair for the millionth time in the mirror on the floor. "I just...I just can't."

"Okay, but you can tell me if my outfit is good. Is it-is it okay? What does it say to you?"

You hopped to your feet, whirling around to show your carefully crafted outfit. You spent all night holding your roommate's hair back and pondering over your outfit in your head; daydreaming about what Steve would say once he had you in his dorm room, which he slipped by your table with beer-laced instructions to meet him at when the night dwindled down.

Now here you were, clammy palmed and losing your mind. Was this some sort of trick? A dare? Was he playing a joke on you?

“It says: ‘I want Steve Harrington to fuck me.’ But in a very chic, understated way.”

Huffing, you did your best to ignore the swirl in your belly at the thought of Steve mirroring your roommate’s beliefs.

“I’m leaving. You’re no help,” you half-heartedly scolded, swiping your bag on the way toward the door.

But if Steve Harrington wanted to fuck you, you certainly had no objections.

He had a sloppily scrawled sign on his dorm room door declaring it his place of residence (and whoever the hell Eddie Munson was). You swallowed as you brought your knuckles to the wood, smoothing your hair once more as footsteps shuffled behind it. It swung open with a gust of warm, woodsy air. His cologne filled the room like a potent candle, and you took a brief moment to suppress a cough before taking in his smooth, half cocked grin.

“Hey, pretty,” he drawled, leaning against the doorway with crossed arms.

Huffing a laugh, you fiddled with the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “Hi, Steve.”

Steve took a moment to drink you in, tongue inching between his lips to wet it as he shuffled back a step. His hand pushed the door open all the way, revealing a recently-cleaned bedroom adorned with two double-twins and a desk warm with amber lamplight. You immediately knew which posters were his—all sports related and signed.

“Come on in, get comfy.”

You took tiny steps inside, shivering when he breezed by in another whoosh of air to close the door behind you. The heat of his body, lingering close behind as you inspected the room, nipped at that gooey, mushy part of you that ached for him. The same part of you that rendered you a distracted, brainless mess in class when he spoke or flexed that strong arm with a grip around his pen.

“Thirsty?”

Whirling around, you found Steve standing near the desk, watching you with fixed and glinting hazel eyes.

Your face warmed twenty degrees. “Sorry?”

He motioned toward a mini fridge under the desk, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Something to drink?”

You breathed a laugh, swinging your bag off your shoulder. “Oh, um, sure.”

You had to look away when he bent to pull it open, the strain of tendons and cords of muscle in his tan, lean arms enough to make your mouth pool with water. Christ, you were ridiculous. You turned toward the dark, black fabric-clad side of the room where his roommate must’ve lived.

“So, um, the test was pretty easy this morning, but we can still—“

“Look at you. God, you’re so beautiful.”

The cold condensation of a Coke can pressing against your arm was the first to startle you—whirling around with a sharp-edged gasp. Then the sound of his words, rasped behind your ear, bringing goosebumps to your skin. His body, so close you could feel his warmth, smell the mint on his freshly-brushed teeth.

Standing this close, you could feel his breath tickle your cheeks, could see the shiny sheen of spit on his mouth from his tongue.

"W-what?"

Steve just shook his head, a dumfounded wonderment glistening in his eye. "You heard me."

Your jaw slackened, lips parting to utter some stupefied response, mind turning to soupy mush at the sudden proximity. Before you could even attempt some silly, bashful disagreement, Steve collected your chin in his hand. Pinched between gentle fingers, he guided your mouth up to his own until their softness touched.

The Coke can clattered to the ground and rolled toward the desk as his mouth closed over yours. You perked on your toes, fingers curling into fists as they lifted toward his shoulders, broad and firm. You couldn't believe this was happening. You always thought he tossed you looks during class, that he might've lingered a little too long when he walked to his desk just to watch you sit there.

You never imagined it could be true. That Steve Harrington wanted you the way you wanted him.

“You could’ve,” an interruption of kisses stopped you short, the click of spit and lips echoing off cinderblock, “at least…mm, pretended—oh! T-to study.”

“Couldn’t wait,” Steve mumbled against your mouth, teeth scraping your bottom lip, breath hot against your tongue.

Arousal flushed hot in your body, stomach squeezing in time with the fluttered successions of excitement provoked by his roaming hands. They stroked down your arms and toward your waist, slipping through the curves to hold you firmly. Another gasp bled into his open mouth when he tugged you close.

"This is so much better than Chaucer," he breathed, mouth sliding over your lips to your cheek where he pressed a firm and sloppy kiss.

"Mhm," you pipped dazedly, head tipping to follow his affections.

Thighs bumping the edge of the bed, you allowed Steve to guide you onto the black duvet of the mattress behind you. It rumpled with the hurried shuffle of bodies climbing over. Steve tugged you by the calves when you met the pillow, pulling you flat beneath him. He dipped with eager excitement to collect another kiss as your thighs bookended his hips.

"Test was already graded," Steve muttered, nudging your jaw with his nose to move it aside and fit his head in your neck. "Got...mm...eighty-five."

Heaving for air, you ruffled your fingers through the thickness of his hair: soft and slipping between your hands like silk. Blinded by the tingling buzz reverberating through your bones, you could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence aloud. Steve's lips suctioned to the column of your throat, and your body gave a jolt.

"Th-thought you didn't know anything."

Steve chuckled, and the sound grumbled through you like a firework. You gave another jerk, fingers twisting in his hair, hips canting up against the firmness of his jeans.

"M' not stupid," he mumbled into your neck, nipping with gentle teeth at your earlobe. "Just so distracted. Can't stop thinkin' 'bout you behind me."

"Oh, Steve," you scoffed, eyes opening blearily to blink at the tiled ceiling, browned with old water stains. His hair tickled your cheek, cologne bathing you in masculine comfort.

Steve lifted his head, peering down at you with rosy cheeks and swollen lips. "You don't believe me?"

You let your hands fall from his hair, smoothing over the firmness of his shoulders. The stretch of your thighs around him began to burn in the most delicious way, and the tufts of chest hair slipping from his grey t-shirt made you shift on the bed. You wanted him. Like a mad woman, some nymphomaniac, lust-ridden fiend.

"I don't know," you sighed, running a finger down his chest. "Let's just...talk about it later."

Steve watched you a moment, eyes scanning your face with scrutiny. When heat swelled in your flesh, his lips coiled into a grin, eyes alight with amusement.

"Ohhh, I see. Poor little baby just can't wait. Y' want me, pretty girl?"

You bobbed your head fervently, the beginning of a pout even toying with your lips. He rendered you ridiculous and stupid, and later, you might've even felt embarrassed about how easy it was for Steve Harrington to have you whining.

But right now, all you cared about were his hands, big and rough and warm to the touch, taking off your shirt.

"Don't worry, honey," Steve cooed breathlessly, eyes traveling to the newly exposed flesh. "You've got me."

As his hands explored and grabbed at flesh, your own slipped beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, splaying over the soft skin beneath. He was quick to shed himself of the layer, and you did your best to admire the build revealed as he trailed kisses between your breasts. He led them all the way down to your navel, and then over the curve of flesh leading to the waistband of your pants. Steve hooked his fingers in the belt loops and tugged harshly, practically ripping them from your thighs and down over your feet.

He captured his lip between his teeth as he settled between your legs again, fingers pinching and kneading at the flesh like soft dough. "And I've got you. Ain't that right?"

You grew dizzy with your nodding, so petulantly desperate and pleading. Steve grinned at it, index tracing the lace of your underwear with explorative wonderment as he watched your eyes well up. He was certain if he prolonged your pleasure any more, he'd have you weeping.

"Don't cry, honey," he soothed, peeling your panties off by the lace band. "Steve's gotcha."

In the back of your mind, you rolled your eyes and giggled at the ridiculous confidence Steve seemed to think he could get away with—but in reality, you were too busy lifting your hips to meet Steve's fingers, brushing just gently over your core as he undid his belt with the other hand. The buckle clinked and clunked with a toss, clattering to the tile floor somewhere near Steve's side of the room, where your backpack and all its contents spilled in the erotic chaos of Steve's impatience.

When the pair of you were bare, Steve breached the distance—flesh on flesh exuding heat that glistened in a haloed sheen. His mouth worked over yours a while longer, melting you down just a little more into absolutely nothing. Hands coaxing your limbs to release their tensions, your muscles to relax and ease into him. You trusted him more than anything, warmed by his gentle affections. No man had ever been so sweet and slow.

The crinkle of foil came like tv static, muffled and low. And then something larger than his fingers was brushing your core, slipping through the slickness pooling. He rubbed the tip along your most sensitive, delicate spot just enough to have you whimpering and twisting, before sliding into your entrance with slow, meticulous purpose.

Steve groaned as he pushed further, forearms planted on either side of your head. Your thighs quaked against his ribs, hoisted high and holding on tight. You reached for his hair again, desperate for more of him.

"You okay, honey?" Steve mumbled against your cheek, fanning hot breath into your ear.

You shivered at the grumble of his voice rattling through you, nodding once more. "Y-yeah. Keep going, please."

He huffed a chuckle, shifting his hips to push a little deeper and revel in the gasp you shot out.

"Please," he mocked, kissing your damp cheek. "So sweet."

When he sank in completely, you could've sworn you saw the light. A burning sting that had you writhing crawled through your thighs and up your back, settled even deep in your stomach where the thickness of him rested. He nuzzled into your neck with a low grunt of relief, giving you the space of his back to run your fingers down and kiss mindlessly. Steve seemed to be no better, losing himself in the warmth of your body wrapped around him.

"Steve, please."

Your voice stirred him from his hazy, lust-drunk stupor; he quickly readjusted to lift off his arms.

"Shh, shh, 've got you."

Like revving an engine, Steve gave a few short thrusts before settling into a pace of slow, deep humps that came like timed successions. You gasped and groaned with every one, nails biting into the warm, clammy skin of his shoulders. Once he knew you were satisfied and free of discomfort, Steve took his moment to brush your hair out of your face with a heavy, sweeping palm. He peppered kisses all over your face, delicate brushes of his mouth over your eyelids and nose, firmer across your mouth and cheeks.

Who knew Steve Harrington would be so sweet?

“Knew you’d feel so good,” he whined into your ear, pace quickening a bit with eagerness.

“So good,” you parroted, a high pitched and nasally lilt congealing your voice.

But he was just that good.

The room quieted to a blend of slick skin clicking and the bated, hoarse breaths of erotic thrill. You weren’t sure how long it truly went on, but the world just fell away around you. Blackened in a vignette of vision, hazed over with heavenly satisfaction. Your body buzzed in some muffled, distant way—you felt like just a mind in a body, being taken away. It was hard to focus on anything other than Steve, rocking into you and leaving kisses on your neck.

When your hiccuped breath shifted to sharp mewls, clawed from somewhere deep in your chest, Steve reared back and steadied his hands on your hips. He slowed to a glacial pace, watching his own cock prod at the flesh beneath your navel, your own slickness gather at his pelvis. He brought his thumb to your clit, pressing firmly into the delicate nub to focus a gentle, circular massage. You twisted and writhed like a woman enraged with demonic possession, and your grip on his forearms felt like something out of The Exorcist.

But it was all worth it to watch your face balloon with heat, flooding every vein with scorching pleasure until air became nothing but a lifeline. Steve was glad to even press pause on his own pleasure just to see you summit. Your chest trembled with a quaking roar, limbs succumbing to weakness in the daze. Vision clouded with grey static, streaked with a pool of tears.

When you were positively spent, Steve carefully unsheathed, squeezing his fist around his cock with firm pressure and bringing it to hover over your stomach.

“This okay, sweetheart?” he managed to grit out, neck bulging with veins, cheeks growing red.

You could barely nod, swiping your hand through the thin layer of sweat along his arm. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh God—fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Warmth splattered across your abdomen, like a gentle flicker of water across your skin. The squelching sound of Steve fucking his fist died down, mirroring the dwindle of moans and groans from the boy himself. He fell forward heavily, catching himself with one hand beside your head. His nose brushed your cheek, catching his breath against the clammy skin.

“Christ,” he heaved, jutting a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “We owe Chaucer a big one.”

Before you could giggle or scoff, the door swung open with a chittering screech. Steve scrambled to grab the comforter and shield your bare, sticky bodies, both your heads snapping toward the doorway as a shaggy-haired boy stomped through: his roommate.

“Harrington, what the fuck?”

#rolly!#steve harrington #college!steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve the hair harrington #joe keery #steve harrington x female reader smut #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington au #stranger things

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boldlyvoid · 4 months

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Neighbourhood Beauty

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Penelope is hosting Christmas at her apartment this year, she invites everyone... Including her new neighbour, who is exactly Spencer's type.

Warnings: flirting, love at first sight, kissing, making out, teasing, drunk bau friends, food mentions, Baker!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

She was sad the whole journey home from work knowing that Christmas was tomorrow and she was going to be alone. As she gets into her apartment complex, she runs into her neighbour at the mailbox. She’s got 3 packages in her hands while trying to figure out how to carry the last two, “do you want help?”

“Oh, please?” She sounds so relieved. “What a blessing it is to see you today.”

She smiles for the first time in a few hours, “Oh, anytime Penelope. Are these all gifts?” She asks as she takes the two packages in her hands. She’ll come down for her own mail later. Nothing interesting should be in there.

Penelope nods, leading them towards the elevators. “I’m having a big holiday gathering tomorrow— wait, do you have plans, are you going home to see family?”

“No,” she admits, sadly. “I couldn’t get a plane ticket, I tried but they’re so insanely expensive lately.”

“Yeah, I know,” Penny sighs. “I haven’t gone out to see my brothers in years, they’re in California.”

“It sucks… but you have lots of friends here, right? I’m sure they’re coming over tomorrow?” She asks, mostly so she can feel some sort of comfort if she isn’t doing anything tomorrow either.

“I’m having Christmas here for the first time,” she shares. “Dinner starts at 6:30 but we’re having a little bit of everything for lunch around 2, if you want to stop by at any time?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—

“You can, and you will!” Penelope insists. “You don’t need to worry about gifts or bringing any food, just show up. I hate the thought of you being alone next door.”

“Okay, I’ll come,” she gives in with a smile. “But I’m bringing a baked good… have you ever been to my bakery?”

“You own the bakery?” She’s so flabbergasted. “I thought you just worked there?”

She smiles, “I do… we do okay but I’m by no means rich enough to buy a plane ticket home.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing cause now I can eat whatever you bring tomorrow!”

—

She spends the whole night baking. She makes molasses cookies with powdered sugar on them in shakes of little Christmas trees and she makes chocolate croissants. One of which she brings to Penelope around 10 am so that she can have a nice breakfast before the party starts.

She showers, picks a cute outfit and by 3pm she’s anxiously waiting by the door trying to hype herself up to go over. She only knows Penelope. They’ve lived beside each other for 3 years now. She’s seen her friends coming and going and heard them talking in the halls but she’s never talked to them. But if they like Penelope, they’ve gotta like her too.

So she bucks up and heads over.

She knocks and within seconds, a handsome man is throwing the door open. “You don’t have to— oh, hi?”

“Hi… Penelope invited me? I’m her neighbour… Y/N,” she awkwardly introduces herself.

He’s at a loss for words— and breath, for a moment and then shakes himself out of it. “Spencer… Reid. Doctor… Doctor Spencer Reid.”

It makes her laugh, easing the anxiety out of her system. “Can I come in, Doctor Spencer Reid?”

“Yeah, yes, come in,” he steps out of the way and extends his arm into the room for her to follow. He closes the door after she’s inside and smiles. “How do you know Penelope?”

“I live next door.”

“Really?” He can’t believe it. “How long?”

“3 years now…”

“And you’ve never come over?” He looks offended.

She smiles, “Why, sad you haven’t known me longer?” She manages to tease him. She’s not always good at reading people but something about how he’s acting makes her think he likes her.

He blushes but nods, “Well, welcome. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” she looks him up and down. He’s very handsome. And a doctor… “how do you know Penelope?”

“We’ve worked together since I was 22…”

“And you’re now…?”

“42,” he presses his lips together, awkwardly. “Old…”

“No, no you’re not, I would’ve guessed 35 at the most,” she teases, stepping into his space, she places her hand on his arm. “You’re a very handsome 42.”

“Are you doing anything for New Years?” He asks, removing all his fear and looking at her with hopeful eyes.

She shakes her head, “no… I might be working but I can leave early, or you can come see me there?”

“Where do you work?”

“I own the bakery on 16th Avenue,” she smiles. “Penelope buys in donuts and things from me all the time, actually, I brought over baked goods this morning, they’re in the kitchen somewhere.”

“Did you make those croissants?” He lights right up.

She nods, “maybe I can teach you how to make some?”

“I’d really like th—

“Y/N!” Penelope comes running from the kitchen and wraps her arms around her, “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” she laughs. “Spencer’s been keeping me company.”

“Ahh,” she pulls away with a smile. “Well, come eat, there’s lots of snacks in here.”

She leads them into the kitchen where her other friends are around the table. “The ones with kids will be around later, they’re still putting batteries and things in their kid's gifts. But this is Rossi and Emily and Tara.”

She reaches out to shake everyone's hand, realizing only now that she never shook Spencer's, but he doesn’t mind, he stays close to her. They sit side by side, he passes her things from the table that she wants to put on her plate and he gets up to get her a drink and everyone makes conversation while also watching him dote on her. It’s been 20 minutes but there’s something there… no man has shown her this level of interest or flattery before and not to quote Lana Del Rey but, when you know you know.

They’re friendly as ever when there are people around them and they flirt like mad when they’re alone. She already has a date with him, but he’s just too cute and that shade of red he turns is starting to become her favourite colour.

“You seriously used all the ice?” Penelope chastises Emily, who pretends she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “Go get some more, we have guests coming who don’t drink alcohol they need ice for their sodas!”

“I am far too drunk to walk down the street,” she counters and points to Dave.

“Not me,” Dave touches his nose, he doesn’t volunteer to do anything and Tara does the same thing, she’s just as drunk as Emily.

Spencer goes to get his coat with a sigh, “I’ve got it.”

“I’ll come too,” she rushes to the door with him, putting on whatever coat fits her so that she can follow him down to the street for some extra alone time with him.

She reaches for his hand on the street, “So, what’s it like at the FBI?”

He holds her hand gladly, “it's… okay. I just teach now. Fieldwork put me in the hospital too many times and I like being alive.”

“I’m glad you’re still here,” she bumps shoulders with him.

His smile is beautiful. “So, about that date?”

“We could do anything you want,” she assures. “But my offer still stands.”

“I think I’d like a baking lesson,” he nudges her back. “It's the one thing I’m not good at.”

“So what are you good at?”

“Rambling, falling over, getting shot,” he teases but she swats his arm, leaning into him with a laugh. “Okay, but seriously, I have a Ph.D. in Chemistry, Engineering and Math.”

“Well luckily for you, baking is just science and a bit of math,” she teases. “You’ll catch on quickly, smarty pants.”

He pulls her in, chest to chest, standing beside an empty store with all their lights off. He cups her face, “what’s sweeter? Your chocolate croissants or your kiss?”

She can’t help but laugh, “you’ll have to tell me…”

He pulls her in for a kiss and sparks fly behind her eyes. As if every atom in her being is on fire, she melts into him. Kissing him deeply, she holds his sides and the hand he has on her cheek goes into her hair as they begin to make out on the snow-covered street.

She pulls back first, smiling softly, “so?”

“You, it’s definitely you,” he teases. “But the croissants are a very close second.”

She laughs, “Well, keep up the compliments and there will be lots more kisses and sweet treats coming your way.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the neighbourhood,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss but she stops him.

“Just the neighbourhood?”

“The whole world,” he corrects, which is the right answer. She lets him lean in closer, stealing another kiss.

She kisses him again and again, trying to pull back but he kisses her a third time, making her laugh. “We need to get that ice, we’re going to be late for dinner.”

“do you want to hang out after dinner?” He asks, “I can walk you home?”

“And stay for more kisses?”

“Or croissants,” he shrugs. Happy with either.

—

They’re pretty normal for the rest of the party, she meets the rest of his friends and all their kids. And they’re some cute kids. The youngest is his friend Matt's 2-year-old, she sits at the grown-up table with them and eats one of the chocolate croissants with the biggest smile on her face. Y/N can’t help but think about how much her own kids might like her baking one day… and Spencer sees the way she looks at the baby too.

His friends are so lively, the the party goes on until well after midnight. The friends with kids head out early, Emily and Tara get a cab home, Dave is passed out on her couch and Spencer isn’t going to leave until she does. And she’s helping Penelope clean up.

“You don’t have to stay,” Penelope assures her, drying off dishes while Spencer washes them. She’s been putting things in Tupperware containers and organizing the fridge.

“I want to help, as a thank you,” she smiles at her. “This has been a lovely night.”

“And not just because I introduced you to your new boyfriend?” She teases and Spencer drops a plate.

She laughs, walking over to place her hand on Spencers arm, “I mean, meeting Spencer is the best present you could’ve given me.”

Penelope swoons, “Okay that’s it, love birds. Get out of my kitchen, go home, go canoodle and get to know each other. I knew this was going to happen.”

“Why didn’t you tell me in advance?” Spencer whines as he dries off his hands. “I would’ve worn something nicer?”

“You look cute,” she teases.

“See, that’s why,” Penelope points at her. “I knew she’d like you for you, she’s a baker and you love everything I buy from her bakery and she’s so kind and you need someone to love you the way I know you love people back. This is perfect.”

She wraps her arm around his waist and leans into his space, “thank you penny, we’re going to go now.”

“Thank you,” Spencer agrees, following her out of the kitchen and towards the door.

Once they’re in the hallway, he asks, “Did you really mean that?”

She nods, “of course?”

He lunges for her, kissing her with her back pressed up against her apartment door. She reaches for the doorknob, twisting it open so that she can bring them inside and push him up against the closed door instead this time. He moans into her mouth at the feeling of his back colliding with the door and her hands are immediately roaming his shirt.

He’s such a good kisser, he is gentle and soft, and he isn’t overly eager and controlling. He lets her explore and slow it down as she presses in closer to him and his hands wander to her hips.

“Couch?” She pants against his lips, wanting to lay down with him.

“Show me?” He agrees, following her into her apartment and to the living space.

She pushes him down against the couch and climbs on top of him. He wraps his arms around her, cradling her body like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. He kisses her just as soft and she moves her kiss to his cheek and his jaw up towards his ear, “you’re so handsome,” she whispers.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “You’re absolutely stunning, I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

She smirks against him, kissing down his neck, “You deserve good things, Spence.”

“You’re too good to me,” he teases, hand slipping down to her ass. “How far are we taking this?”

She hums, “I’m good just talking and kissing all night?”

“All night?”

She nods as she pulls back to look at him. “I kinda don’t want to let you go. I’m afraid you’re too good to be real.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures. “I’m yours as long as you want me.”

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

#Spencer reid #Spencer reid smut #Spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid x y/n #Spencer reid x you #Spencer reid self insert #Spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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princessbrunette · 2 months

Note

deer!reader gets the zoomies and pope's trying to calm her down? ♡

˙✧˖° 🐬🛼🎀 ⋆｡♡

“oh my god, please get into bed.” pope chuckles, watching you from where he lays, a hand resting behind his head. you were wired up, pacing the room at the foot of his bed in your pyjamas. he’d taken you on one of the infamous pogue missions today, getting into all kinds of drama. pope had been stressed, hating that you could get into any kind of trouble. he did the best he could to keep you safe, as did the other pogues — in mutual understanding that you were a sweetheart who was not to be corrupted.

you’d been quiet throughout everything, all wide eyed and curious even through the dangerous parts. pope couldn’t gage you, half expecting you to burst into tears from all the commotion of the day as soon as he got you back through the door — but to his total surprise you were off like a rocket, rambling excitedly and grinning ear to ear.

“it was like— it was like this one scene from my book! i’ve never felt adrenaline like that before pope it was just— wow! and — and the way jj punched that guy in the face! he’s insane! and the way kie told that guy to shutup, like woah!” you squeal, twirling about excitedly as your boyfriend shakes his head calmly, used to the pogues shenanigans.

“yep, they’re all crazy. what’s gonna get you over here, huh?” he smiles lazily and you pause breathlessly in your tracks.

“not sure. i just feel so excited right now, popey.” you smile honestly and he sits up at the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him. reluctantly, you skip over— sitting right up by his side, looking at him expectedly with those wide curious eyes.

“look, i’m gonna be honest— i was stressed today. the most important thing to me, is keeping you safe, aaaand — that? that was far from safe. i’m glad you had fun, but i can’t in good conscience let you tag along to anymore pogue missions. okay?” his forehead crinkles as he knits his brows, watching your face fall a little, pensive.

unsurprisingly, you do as your told with little resistance. “mm, okay. but can you tell me more about your adventures? i wanna know.”

“mhm.” he loops a strong arm round the back of your neck to draw you in for quick kiss, a silent testament to how adorable he thought you were in the moment. “but tomorrow. not while i’m trying to get you to calm down.” he smiles, to let you know he’s not scolding you.

“fair.” you smile and he tilts his head, staring at you whilst he thinks.

“at the risk of sounding gross and vulgar, i do know one thing that usually gets you to calm down pretty quickly.”

your back straightens a little, perking up the same way a deer would after hearing a leaf crunch in the distance. “what’s that?” you question energetically, and instead of answering you — pope brings you in for another slow kiss, gently laying you back on the bed.

“well, it involves me being knuckles deep inside you. can’t give you any more clues though, i’m afraid.”

just like that, your brains mush. if pope had his methods to calm you down, who were you to intervene with such brilliance?

˙✧˖° 🐬🛼🎀 ⋆｡♡

#anon #pope heyward prompt #deer!reader

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virescent-v · 1 month

Note

“i don’t like being told what to do unless i’m naked” with em? 👀

Bossy

Summary: Emily's been a bitch. You fix her attitude. ;) Warnings: smutty smut smut, my normal tbh. quick and easy, like em Word count: 2.3k A/N: A little short thing to get me back into writing. Thanks Katt for the prompt :)

Emily was pissing you off. Ever since this case crossed JJ’s desk, Emily’s been uptight, more so than usual. You’ve seen her get overly invested in cases before, but something about this one was making her - for lack of a better word - crazy. She was hounding the local police more than normal, squashing peoples’ new ideas and theories before listening, and being short with anyone who tried to talk to her.

She’s snapped at you multiple times today alone, glaring at you anytime you tried to talk about one of your theories. You’d take it personally, but she was acting like this with everyone on the team. It was causing everyone to give her a wide berth, finding excuses to not be in the same room with her.

At the end of the day, Emily had frustrated every member of the BAU (including Penelope who was back in D.C.) and half of the local station to their limits.

And, of course, you were the one who had to room with her this trip. Lucky you.

The ride from the station to the hotel was tense, silence interspersed with the hum of tires on asphalt. The longer the quiet dragged on, the more angry you got at her behavior.

Emily and you had become fast friends when you joined the BAU a few months ago. You had meshed well with every member of the team, but your dark humor and sarcasm bonded you with the raven-haired woman. You’ve spent countless hours with each other, both at work and outside of Quantico.

You felt your phone buzz in your lap.

JJ: You have GOT to talk to her. She’s driving everyone insane!!

You: Why does it have to be me??? It’s bad enough we share a room!

JJ: Because she likes you most!

You: You’ve known her longer!

JJ: Nose goes!

You looked up to see JJ holding her pointer finger on her nose, sticking her tongue out at her. You rolled your eyes at her before typing out another message.

You: Fine! But you owe me coffee and lunch tomorrow!

JJ: Deal! Just make her Emily again!

You locked your phone, glancing up at Emily driving. Her jaw was tense, as if she was grinding her teeth. Both of her hands were white knuckled on the steering wheel. You bit your lip, trying to think of a way to bring up her behavior over the last few days.

***

Entering your shared room, Emily started pacing in front of the beds, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her hands fidgeting.

You sighed. “Em, are you okay?”

Her eyes shot to you. “I’m fine,” she gritted out.

You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly, making sure she saw. “No, you’re not. You’re frustrated about something. And it’s driving everyone crazy. So, again, what’s wrong?”

Emily stopped pacing, glaring at you. “What do you mean it’s driving everyone crazy? I’m fine.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re not. Look at you,” you said, your hand gesturing at her body, every muscle tense, her hands picking at her nails. “You’ve been short with everyone, shutting down theories for stupid reasons. You’ve yelled at every single one of us today and you’ve managed to alienate half of the local cops. Whatever’s wrong needs to stop, Em, I swear, or it’s going to make this case even harder to solve.”

Emily scoffed, not liking being told off. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the brunette, your eyebrows twisted in annoyed confusion. “Em, I have spent the last few months getting to know you. Late nights in the office, movie nights on our couches, shopping trips. I don’t know what it is about this case that’s getting to you, but it needs to stop. You need to get your head out of your ass, Prentiss, before it causes you to get benched.”

You watched as Emily stomped across the room to you, her nostrils flaring, her eyes darkening in anger. Her fists were clenched at her sides as she angrily whispered, “I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked, so you better watch what you say to me.”

Emily had moved closer to you than she ever has before, her outrage and annoyance palpable in the air. You could feel her huffed breaths on your cheek.

You shook your head, chuckling darkly, barely audible. Emily had never intimidated you before and it wasn’t going to start now. “If all you needed to calm down and be yourself again was a good, hard fuck, all you had to do was ask, Em,” you said, smirking as her eyes grew wide.

You watched as she took in a shuttered breath, her throat bobbing from the nervous swallow.

You could see the indecision in her eyes, the want and the nerves. How she wanted it, needed it, but didn’t want to cross that line with you for fear of wrecking your friendship, your work life.

You brought your hand up, pushing some of her hair behind her ear, taking note of the small shiver that ran through her. “Let me help you, Em. We’ll cross tomorrow when it gets here.”

Emily closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, they somehow had gotten darker, her pupils blown. She’d made her decision. “Fuck it out of me, please.”

You tilted your chin up a little, settling into the role Emily needed you to fill. “Strip. Slowly.”

Emily exhaled slowly, her hands grasping at the hem of her shirt, lifting it inch by inch. She watched you, but your eyes never strayed from her face. When she dragged the material over her head, your eyes never left her face. It furthered your in charge position, making Emily’s breath quicken in anticipation.

The brunette slowly dragged her bra straps down her shoulders, slowly exposing her modest chest. It took a lot of self control on your part, but you still refused to look at her body. You could tell that it was starting to get to Emily, but she wasn’t going to say anything, excited to see what you were up to.

As she drug her pants and underwear down her legs and stood back up, you made another few seconds of intense eye contact with her before letting your gaze slowly glide over her body.

You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about her like this. She was beautiful, striking in a way that made your breath catch the first time you met her. As your relationship with her grew, you were conflicted about thinking of her like this. You’ve come to cherish your connection with her, but you couldn’t help but want more.

You took your time looking her over, trying to memorize every inch of her in case this was the only time you’d be able to see her like this.

Emily’s toes started to dig into the carpet, her anticipation growing to a head, the nerves starting to creep up.

“On the bed, on your back.”

Emily didn’t need a second to think this time, eagerly moving to the mattress and laying herself across it. She settled her head on a pillow in the middle of the bed, awaiting further instructions. It was something that was exhilarating for you, unexpected. You didn’t think she would be this compliant, but you weren’t going to question it.

Your eyes dragged across her body again, watching the way that her skin started to flush at your attention. “You’ve been a bitch the past few days.”

Emily went to open her mouth, to argue.

“No, no. That wasn’t up for debate. You have been. You’ve let this case get to you.” You started to crawl across the bed, your body between her legs. You remained clothed, the fabric of your pants sliding across her bare skin and causing goosebumps to erupt across her skin. You held eye contact, loving the way Emily’s dark eyes seemed to get darker, deeper. You could feel yourself getting lost in them. “I don’t know why, and to be frank, I don’t care.” You let your hands trail across her shins, up to her knees, pushing her legs further apart. You could feel your own heartbeat speeding up, fluttering inside your chest. “I’m going to fuck your attitude out of you and then we’re going to solve this case and go home. Understood?”

Emily swallowed, her head nodding briefly.

“Good,” you said, letting your eyes fall to her bare body. You licked your lips as you looked at her exposed pussy. Through her coarse curls you could tell she was wet, wetter than you expected her to be since you’ve not even touched her yet.

You leaned down, your eyes back on her face as you gently blew across her sodden lower lips. Emily’s eyes closed, her back arching slightly, her hips trying to push further into the sensation. She was sensitive, something you were going to enjoy.

Before her back could make contact with the bed again, your tongue made contact, licking quickly from her entrance to her clit, loving the way her voice got stuck in her throat. You decided you didn’t want to tease her, wanting her to get off and relax. Your tongue made a few more passes up and down, enjoying each sound you could pull from her. When she got used to the movement, her body expecting the up and down licks, you switched to swirls around her clit, sucking lightly, before moving down to her hole, entering her with your tongue.

You paid attention to the sounds she made, the way she whimpered when your tongue made quick circles around her clit, how a moan would get caught deep in her chest every time your tongue entered her. You ate her out passionately, intensely, taking out your frustrations from the past few days on her.

You could tell she was getting close, the way her leg muscles started to tense, how her hands started to fist in the sheet beneath her. With each swipe of your tongue against her, you could feel her get closer and closer to the edge, the both of you desperate to push her over. As she started to moan more often, gaining volume, you reached up your hands, grasping a breast in each. With perfectly timed pinches to her nipples, Emily came undone against your mouth. You continued to lap at her pussy, swallowing down everything she had to give you.

Before her body had a chance to relax, you pushed in two fingers, enjoying the way Emily choked out a harsh gasp at the fast pace you set immediately. “You’ve got one more for me, Em. Give it to me,” you commanded, surprised at the strength of your own voice.

Emily’s bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she struggled to keep up with the thrusting of your fingers. You pushed up her body, using the thumb of your other hand to pull her lip free. “Uh uh, baby. Let me hear those pretty noises.”

Emily whimpered, her eyes catching yours, a million words being shared between you two. Respect, thanks, lust, love.

Your wrist was starting to cramp at the position, but there was no way you were going to stop. Not with the sounds she was making, not with the way that Emily was looking at you. With each thrust in, Emily grunted, with each thrust out, a moan. On one particularly hard thrust, Emily’s back arched, her hands fisting into the shirt on your back. Figuring you had found her sweet spot, you focused there, watching with almost primal glee as her head tossed back in pleasure.

With her throat exposed, your lips made contact to the skin there, kissing and biting at the tender flesh. You trailed your lips up to her ear. “Do you think two orgasms is enough, or should I fuck you into a third?”

Emily’s only response was a garbled moan, her hands trying to scratch at your back through your shirt.

You smirked against her skin. “We’ll see if your cunt can take another one after you cum hard on my fingers.” You curled your fingers at that, feeling the spongy spot inside her that caused her to sob in ecstasy, her legs tightening against your hips. On each thrust you made sure to hit that spot. You moved your head back, wanting to watch her come undone.

You could feel her walls tightening around your fingers, it becoming harder and harder to move within her. You brought your other hand up, wrapping it around her throat, squeezing enough to send a euphoric rush through her.

“Cum for me, Em, now.”

She hadn’t disobeyed you yet.

Emily moaned your name loudly as her walls clamped down on your fingers, forcing you to stay within her as she rode out her orgasm. Her hips undulated against you, riding each wave, reveling in the high.

You worked her through it, easing as her body started to come down. Gently, you removed your fingers, taking satisfaction in the whimper she let out at being empty. You brushed some of her hair out of her face, smiling a little to yourself at the blissed out look on her face. “Feeling better?”

Emily started laughing, a true belly laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

You smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Hey, you don’t get to be sassy to the person who just fucked you back into a good mood.”

Emily rolled her eyes, her hands caressing your shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes expressing even more gratitude.

You lightly kissed her, the first of many. “Don’t mention it. Next time, don’t wait until you’re a raging bitch before asking for what you need,” you smirked.

Emily pushed at your shoulder, shaking her head lightly at your antics. She pulled you down, relaxing under the weight of you, feeling herself drift off to sleep.

If anyone noticed Emily’s improved mood the next day, or the hickies on her neck, they didn’t mention it. The fact that you two solved the case before the day was over was good enough for them.

#emily prentiss x reader #virescent v fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x you #no use of y/n #welcome back to the emily prentiss smut fest #except this time emily is a bottom hehehehe #i wrote this in like an hour and a half after a thirteen hour shift so if it sucks no it doesnt

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landograndprix · 11 months

Text

xoxo gossip girls ✾ p.g

summary -— you hard launch your relationship with Pierre but the public isn't so sure about your 'homie hopper' ways.

requested -— yes :)

a/n -— kinda short. requests are open!

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nusername posted to their story

y/nusername

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 132,675 others

y/nusername summer dump 🌞🌊

tagged: pierregasly

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charles_16 don't know about this one guys..

hannah11 don't get me wrong i loved Max and Y/n but I always thought Pierre was more y/n her type than Max.

chilisainz also way more chemistry than Max and y/n..

zhou_ey girl who's next, Yuki? 💀

vbott keep that woman away from Yuki, he's too innocent 😭

pgas10 girl missed the luxury life after getting dumped by max and decided to hop onto her next victim.

mverstapp they separated as good friends, don't know why y'all are so mad at all this..max is also dating another girl?

yourbestfrienduser cuties 🥰🥰

☆☆☆☆☆

pierregasly posted to their story

y/nusername posted to their story

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nusername

liked by pierregasly, yourbestfrienduser and 197,651 others

y/nusername 💗💙

tagged: pierregasly, alpinef1team

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alpinef1team welcome to the family, y/n!

maxiel_3 don't get used to it, she'll be gone to join another team soon 🤪

charlosss good to see you back in the paddock 🥰

pgasman10 hoping you're going to bring some luck to the Alpine team :((

norry4 gold digger, say it with me people, g o l d d i g g e r

julia2000 absolutely insane to think she was here a year ago but with Max

lestappen116 honestly the audacity of some people, look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't hop from one driver to another if you were given the chance 💀

sainzcharlie1655 girl I know I would be the biggest red flag on the grid 😁

lestappen116 same, I'm gonna be a slut if I get the chance

supermaxx idc what y'all say, I think they're cute together 🥰

yukisan22 you better give that man a big fat good luck kiss before the race cause god knows he needs it

☆☆☆☆☆

pierregasly

liked by y/nusername, teamgasly and 235,623 others

pierregasly 4th in quali today, amazing start of the weekend. Excited to race!!

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teamalpinnie 👏 👏 👏

thomas76 let's go! Good luck!

gasleclerc1016 let's say thank you y/n 😊

dannyric thank you @.y/nusername ❤️

10_gasly_p thank you @.y/nusername ❤️

astonalpine thank you @.y/nusername ❤️

1han1ah good luck tomorrow!

pier_regasly let's go pierre!!!

y/nusername ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

pierregasly ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly au #pierre gasly smau #pierregasly

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c0ld0utside · 2 months

Note

Hi! I wanted to request a script with a mermaid reader. Something like a cub that doesn't look like the others, maybe sharp teeth, maybe something else, whatever you want. + a fisherman who accidentally caught them. You don't have to write this if you don't like the concept!

No, no you're onto something! This request is PERFECT AUGH-Fisherman Dad...is something I didn’t know I needed.

Here’s your fun fact for the day: Piranhas can bark.

Criticism is welcome!

Warnings (Let me know if I missed any): Reader/MC gets hit, Blood, Reader/MC gets gagged, Reader’s/MC’s hands get bound, Reader is put in a box

Growing up in his small port town, Cannon heard stories of sea monsters and their relatives. Mermaids, Sirens, Leviathans, Serpents, Krakens…the list goes on. Now that he’s an adult, however, he knows those were just stories parents told their kids to warn and teach them. Don’t go to the beach at night, don’t swim too far out, swim with a group, wear lifejackets.

If those beasts really do exist, he wonders how they handle storms as shitty as this one. Lightning and thunder clashed overhead and the rain poured down in tubs. The waves were large and rough, going way farther than they normally did at high tide. Ah well. Cannon’s just glad his boss is sane enough to not make him and his coworkers work in that mess.

Feeling like an old man despite being in his mid-thirties, Cannon stood up, popped his back, and headed off to bed. Hopefully, the conditions will be better by tomorrow. He doesn’t want to go to work on a rainy day.

…

…It’s raining. It’s not as bad as yesterday, but it’s raining. At least that means the catches will be good today.

Speaking of good catches, Cannon isn’t sure if he’s hallucinating. He didn’t bring someone with him since he wasn’t going too far out, so he had no one to ask. Normally, when a fisherman pulled up their nets, they got fish. Or none at all.

“Easy, easy…it’s alright,” Cannon says, mostly to himself. This is fine. Totally normal. Maybe this is a crazy dream and he’s going to wake up late. Cannon moves away to grab a knife and crouches back down next to the wet gremlin. “Not gonna hurt you,” He whispers, hooking the blade under the rope where it’s pressing into the fish kid’s neck.

What Cannon has in his net is half a fish and half a kid. A fish kid. A fish kid that looks like a mess, and who is currently hissing at him like a rabid possum and snapping at the wet ropes. Snapping. Like a piranha. Are they a piranha? He can see the pearly, pointy whites from where he’s standing, holding the rope down so the net stays in the air. The creature continues to thrash and hiss and bite.

He lowers the net and moves it onto the deck, careful to avoid the rabid little monster that is going insane. Cannon can’t blame them. If he was a little fish kid caught in a net while bruised up he’d be freaking out too.

The brat twists their head and bites down. Letting out a startled yelp, Cannon uses his other hand to smack them and pulls away. Yikes…it’s ugly and the blood is streaming down his hand, making a mess. “I just said I wasn’t gonna hurt you, bonehead,” He grunts, using his good hand to hold their head down while he cuts them free.

He’s caught off guard again when they push themself out of the net and start scrambling over to the edge of the ship. The kid’s tail flops around and drags as they try to get away. It hurts- Cannon can tell from the way the thing whimpers and hisses.

“Ah, ah, ah,” He tuts, grabbing some of the rope and walking over to the small fry. Small fry? He’s not thinking straight. Are there major arteries in hands? Maybe he’s losing too much blood from the bite.

Grabbing onto their tail firmly with his good hand, Cannon tries to gently pull them back. ‘Small Fry’ has different ideas, because they start screeching and barking like a madman. Their mouth snaps at open air over and over as they flail around. “Hey- hey, shhh, shhh…” He tries to soothe, but it doesn’t work.

Cannon was really hoping he wouldn’t have to do this. He doesn’t like what he’s about to do, but he has to. He shoves some of the rope into the kid’s mouth and wraps it around their head. He doesn’t make it too tight- they’re hurting enough as is. Before the kid can rake their claws- they have claws- down his arms, he grabs their hands and ties them together.

“Sorry, Small Fry, you’re not making this easy.”

He gets muffled snarling and barks in return.

“Can you breathe, little buddy? Can you understand me? …No? Alright, that’s…fine.” Cannon murmurs, looking down at their tail. Oh yeah. They weren’t going to be able to swim with that. Their fin is torn and there’s an ugly cut running up the tail. Not to mention those bruises from earlier.

“I can’t let you go just yet, Small Fry. You’re a mess, see?” Cannon says, pointing to their tail. Their gaze follows his and their glare hardens. “Don’t give me that. I’ll patch you up, alright? Now be nice.”

With that, Cannon grabs an empty tub and dips it into the water before pulling it out and securing it onto the deck. He then walks back over to the little monster, scoops them up, and carefully lowers them inside.

He is so glad it’s still early. Barely anyone will be on the streets. He’s also glad it’s cloudy- had it been sunny people would have seen the silhouette of a small mermaid in a closed fish container as he drives back home in his truck.

He’ll figure this out later. Right now it’s finally settling in that he just accidentally caught a mer…maid? Merchild? Yeah. A merchild. He caught a merchild and he’s taking them home. A merchild that bit him. The bandage work on his hand is messy. He'll change it when he gets home.

And half of him doesn’t want to let them go. They’re so…reckless. It’s no wonder they got so banged up. Wait- no, maybe it was the storm. Still, they need help and they don’t understand. They don’t get to not want help. They’re getting it because he said so and he doesn’t know how mer society works, but he cares.

Feel like making a part two for this as well.

You’re looking fine today! Take your vitamins!

#yandere #platonic #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere dad #yandad #Mermaid reader #dad yandere #yandere imagine

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doc-pickles · 5 months

Text

waking up in vegas | matthew tkachuk x hughes!sister (pt. 7)

series masterlist

summary: you work through some doubts before Matthew comes home from his road trip

warnings: none :)

a/n: i knooooooow you all wanted smut in this chapter and I promise you’ll get more but not today. I hope you enjoy!!

xoxo

nina

You’re in overthinking mode.

It’s been nine days since your first phone call with Matthew. And every night since then you’d both enjoyed your nightly phone calls a little more than usual. The way his voice is able to bring you to orgasm is driving you insane and you can’t wait for him to be home tomorrow.

And that’s where the overthinking comes in.

If you and Matthew hook up (which you most definitely will) what does that mean for your relationship? Sure you’re married and having a baby and living together but… All of those things seem separate rather than conjoined as they would be for a couple.

Yes, you’re married but it was an accident that you were still trying to correct.

Yes, you’re having a baby but it’s the product of a lot of tequila and bad choices.

Yes, you’re living together but it’s only because of said baby.

If you sleep together again, will it complicate your… whatever you had with Matthew? You don’t think it can constitute as a relationship, but just calling it a friendship seems like a disservice. You and Matthew had a long history together that would now be intertwined forever with your child. And even though you didn’t know what that would lead to you were excited to see where the two of you ended.

“We have plenty of time to worry before Daddy comes home tomorrow,” you smile down at your baby bump. It seems to have popped out lately plus with the way the baby had been kicking you nonstop it was hard to ignore the little one growing beneath your skin.

To keep yourself occupied you clean the house for the first half of the day before you decide to make cookies. They’re a chocolate and peanut butter recipe that Matthew used to beg you to make during the summers when your families would be at the lake house together. More than once the two of you had snuck out to eat a plate of them on the back porch together.

The smell of the cookies brought back some of your favorite memories of your youth with Matthew and all your siblings. Hockey games, late night ice cream runs, lake house shenanigans, countless holidays, and shared vacations all flash in your mind as you stand in the kitchen scrubbing dishes. Your situation wasn’t ideal, being pregnant and married to someone you weren’t really in a relationship with. But you realize with a start that you love Matthew, you have for years. And while that love might not be romantic, you knew it would be more than enough to carry your unconventional little family through whatever came your way.

You’ve just pulled the cookies out of the oven when you hear the security alarm beep before the front door opens. You check the time with a frown. It’s a little after 6 PM and Matthew isn’t due home until early tomorrow. It couldn’t be him coming into the house, but you weren’t sure who else it could be.

And then you hear him call out your name.

“Baby, where are you?” Matthew calls out from the front room. His voice is laced with a level of need and desperation that you feel deep in your soul too.

You round the corner, freezing as you see Matthew standing in the entryway. It only takes a second of the two of you staring at each other before he’s sporting a wide smile. Overcome with emotion you waste no time in covering the few feet between you and launching yourself into Matthew’s arms.

“I missed you so much,” you manage to say as his hands caress your back. “I thought you were back tomorrow?”

Pulling back you meet Matthew’s eyes, noticing the wide grin on his face, “I caught an earlier flight. I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

Every negative thought and worry you’d had earlier in the day slips from your mind as Matthew holds you. Without a doubt you know that no matter what happens between the two of you that he’d never let you down. The boy who’d begged you for cookies and the man who caught an early flight just to hold you a few hours earlier would never hurt you.

You lean into Matthew’s gentle touch, brushing your lips against his as you share a soft and gentle kiss that melts all your worries away. When you pull apart he’s wearing that little smirk you love so much, holding you close to his body as if you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold tight enough, “Matty I’m not going anywhere, you don’t have to hold me so tight.”

“I’m worried if I let go this will all be a dream and I’ll wake up in a hotel room lonely and missing you all over again,” he mutters against your neck. “Please tell me this is real, that I’m not imagining things here baby.”

You lean back a little bit to meet Matthew’s eyes, “It’s real. So fucking real. I’m here Matty, right in front of you and I’m not leaving.”

The two of you get lost in another kiss, simply holding each other and being content with each others presence. When you finally pull back Matthew furrows his brows, “Did you bake something?”

“I made my chocolate peanut butter cookies,” you laugh as Matthew releases his hold on you to bolt toward the kitchen. When you follow him he already has a cookie in his mouth, a delighted groan leaving his lips. “Good?”

“If I wasn’t already married to you I would propose right now,” Matthew moans out as he takes another bite. “And they’re still warm? Fucking hell woman.”

A deep laugh bubbles out of you as Matthew finishes his cookie and wraps you in his arms again. This time his hand comes down to cup your ever growing bump, “How’s Baby T?”

“Kicking me all the damn time,” you huff. As if to prove a point the baby kicks against Matthew’s hand. “Must get that from you.”

Matthew laughs and kisses you again, this time squeezing you tightly as he holds you close. He pulls back with a smirk and you can’t help the blush that instantly covers your cheeks.

“Why’re you blushing baby,” Matthew runs his fingers across your darkened cheeks. “You miss me?”

“So much,” you breathe out as you lean towards each other, foreheads touching. “Matty?”

“Mhmm?”

“Take me to bed.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey imagine #nina writes

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katiifaetarot · 3 months

Text

about me and why im a tarot reader

Todays Reading is a Mini Hype Sesh from Me!!! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

( im still feeling under the weather, im sorry for the shortness of this reading.

Tomorrow's reading will probably be short too and i am sorry. 😭 )

** I AM NOT A MEDICAL OR HEALTH PROFESSIONAL; PLEASE USE YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT AND DISCERNMENT TO DETERMINE IF YOU NEED OR WANT TO SEEK PROPER HELP OR TREATMENTS FOR YOURSELF OUTSIDE OF TUMBLR OR SOCIAL MEDIA!!

___________________________________________

There are 4 piles, and you will be picking through the Animal Spirit oracle cards that are right below this text!!! Feel free to look at the specific photos for each pile if you feel called too!

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✨️🧚🏽‍♀️please choose your pile and may your intuition and inner knowing guide you to the pile with the energy most suited for you and most suited to help you along your path at this current point in time, no matter what that looks like🧚🏽‍♀️✨️

PILE 1- HORSE

PILE 2- OWL

PILE 3- BUFFALO

PILE 4- BLACK EGG

** sometimes ( most of the time ) i will pick up on multiple energies that need attention or want to be expressed during the reading so i ASK YOU TO UNDERSTAND THIS DURING MY READINGS:

depending on how the reader(YOU) chooses to look at the situation or however the situation resonates for the reader(YOU) and because this is a general reading;

⚠️YOU HAVE to be able to use YOUR better discernment + better judgement skills to fully absorb the message and be able to do the necessary work to keep YOURSELF on track for the future YOU WANT for YOURSELF⚠️

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OKAY PILE 1:

You guys are free spirits 🥹 and have so much passion and determination to get yourself where you want to go and also, get yourself into environments that let your free spirit reign supreme!!

You need good times, good vibes, and a lot of FUN SITUATIONS happening in your life to balance out how hard life may get or how sad it might get too.

You seriously know how to make people feel welcomed to any party or honestly, ANY TYPE of function because you just want everyone to feel what you feel in these environments, which is: Fire Vibes🔥 and you just want everyone to be having a fun time too, just like you.😝

You have so much perseverance too. You are never afraid to go after what you truly want in life, even if its just looking for a good, wild, insane time!! Love this energy, thank you for letting me tap in pile 1🔥😝

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OKAY PILE 2:

Y'all are cunning asf!!! Smart asf!!! Intelligent asf!!!!

nothing gets past y'all for real. Like i mean--

N O T H I N G!!

Your intuitive nature is honestly so admirable, DAMN!! You know how to strike where it hurts, but also know when to bite your tongue.....and that's because you have a WICKED sense of intuition and duality!

But you're also smart enough to know when your backs against a wall to gracefully bow out, and thats commendable asf too!! You're mind is a super power and i give you MAD PROPS for dealing with the stupidity and dumbassery this world can sometimes bring.

You know who you are. No one can stop you once you set your sights on something.

Much like the owl, you prey upon what you desire and STRIKE! just at the correct times.

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OKAY PILE 3:

Whhewwwiieee, pile thhrreeeeee.

You guys are SO GREAT!! at just walking TF away from environments or people that literally do not respect you or your time and from mistreatment they show you!!!

You are steadfast in your goals and will NOT play games while you are trying to achieve great things for yourself.

you know who you are so viciously that YOU wont stand for people coming INCORRECTLY at you.

You're really good at deciphering who and what belongs in your life!! Y'all are bad @$$ for real😎🤭

you never back down from a challenge and will fight to the death for things you believe in and care about !! You pack a mean punch and you come with a warning too:

YOU ARE SUCH A BANGIN' HUMAN PILE 3, THAT YOU WILL BURN UP PEOPLE WHO ARENT READY FOR YOU!!!!!

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OKAY PILE 4:

Pile 4, you guys are powerful, and YOU REQUIRE change to keep growing and moving forward. You have a handle on your emotional needs and know exactly what you want and are looking for. Even if sometimes you mess up or get overwhelmed by the changes, you still keep moving because you innately know the lessons that are being taught to you.

You're so caring and bright and warm😭 Your energy is beautiful and a total ray of sunshine too!! Except when your angry, you become a fire storm of HEAT!! making sure everyone knows;

just because you're bright and sunny, doesnt mean you wont defend yourself. Intelligent and Pointed words are fair game when your angry, and honestly im here 4 it, because it seems you dont get mad often.

You're a force to be reckoned with.

___________________________________________

I sincerely hope you received what you needed and released what you don't !! See you again soon!! Take it easyyy and just breathe and fllooowwww!!! you got this! byyeee~🧚🏽‍♀️✨️

**please let me know how I'm doing in any way you can! that is the easiest way to support me and also a good way to signal to me that I should keep going + any helpful advice from the community would be welcomed and appreciated because i've been off tumblr for about 5years+ now and it's all different n' shizz 🥺 🥹 🙏🏼

___________________________________________

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

**ONCE AGAIN, I AM NOT A MEDICAL OR HEALTH PROFESSIONAL; PLEASE USE YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT AND DISCERNMENT TO DETERMINE IF YOU NEED OR WANT TO SEEK PROPER HELP OR TREATMENTS FOR YOURSELF OUTSIDE OF TUMBLR OR SOCIAL MEDIA!!

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

#tarot blog #tarotcommunity #tarot reading #tarotonline #witch aesthetic #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot journal #pac #spirituality #spirit animal #ancestors #animal oracle #looking for advice

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tainted-liquor · 8 months

Text

'Swing By Anytime˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Earth1610!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Personal Seamstress!Reader Ingredients: sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! TWs: cursing, you being Miles's M.J., Reader being mean as encouragement (you'll see babes trust) W/C: 1.1k? A/N: Purely for the sake of the plot, miles is like 18-20. NOT SMUT!

"Gorgeous! You're so pretty, girl! Alright, the changing room is to the left, you can put it on the hook. It'll be ready for you tomorrow when I finish making all the proper altercations." You squealed in pure joy. Since you had been a fashion major, outfits had just poured out of you like run-off. Of course every now and again there were people who wanted things custom ordered, which made you extremely happy. But you knew who your favorite customer was. And, speaking of your favorite customer, he should be here right now. There was a muffled tiny 'thwip' noise that you would have missed if you weren't straining to hear every individual sound over the beat of 'Shirt' By SZA in your studio.

You sighed with a small smile, walking to your studio's window. "Darling, I keep telling you this, I have a door, just strut through it whenever you want" you giggled as you lifted the window pane, coming face-to-face with the one and only Spider-Man. "Whatcha got for me today, my dear?" you asked as you beckoned him inside the studio, taking a set in front of the many vision boards you had pinned down to your desk. "Hey! sorry, snips, I'll use the door next time. And I brought this design plan, actually." He hummed with a smile that was hidden behind his mask. He had a habit of calling you snips due to always seeing you with some sort of scissors, not that you minded anyway. He walked up to you and handed you a folded-up piece of paper, which had a plethora of sketches for a new Spider-Man suit.

Your eyes widened with joy as you took a scan of the paper. Next to the various drawings, there was one circled design with many notes jotted down next to it with measurements, material, color shades, and substitute color shades. It was the most solid suit plan you had ever seen. You turned the paper around to see more notes, and the smaller parts of the suit enlarged. It was perfect from top to bottom. Everything you needed to know was on paper, which made your job unfathomably easier.

"You know I love you for this, right?" You squealed with a wide grin. "Fuck you! How dare you bring such perfection into my studio!" You joked, giving the Spider a tight hug. He chuckled quietly, muttering, "Had to make it easy for my personal seamstress! C'mon, snips, I'd never do that to you." he added as he gave you a pat on the back. Miles usually came into the studio to fix tears or rips in his suit, get patched up, and then swing back out. But recently, he's been talking about reworking his Spider-Suit. So, like a good 'friend' you offered to help him with his project. Of all your clients, only he had given you such a thorough and precise outfit plan.

He began to recall some of his adventures as his alter-ego, letting his mask hook over his nose as he ate some of your cookies on the ceiling. You listened to his experiences as you plucked each corresponding fabric from the fabric closet, placing them next to each other on the ground. You traced each required pattern with a white chalk pencil, referencing the measurements documented on Miles's paper and keeping seam allowance in mind. "Damn, that's crazy...so what'd you do next, B? You had to web her?" you replied as he raved about some Doc-Oc he caught on his way here. "Yeah, I got her in webs and turned her over to the police. She was dead ass putting up a fight too." He spat as he took the final bite of his cookie.

"That's insane...C'mere I gotta make sure I got this little web design right on your mask," You said as you beckoned him to come down from your ceiling. He zipped down, landing on both of his feet within seconds. You held up the small fabric sheet, allowing him to examine the thin markings where his web design would go. "Nice! Looks amazing. Wouldn't expect anything less from mi Costurera personal!" He exclaimed. You smiled delicately as you continued cutting out the patterns, leaving the spaces he wanted to spray paint on blank.

You spent the next 9 hours talking as you finished his suit and mask. He leaned back on your desk, arms crossed against his chest as you explained color theory, why you were sewing his suit inside out, and why you outlined the pattern with white chalk. It was getting dark outside, and you felt slightly drowsy as you finished the last stitches on his mask. "Alright, love, here you go. I'm pretty sure it's the right size, but put it on when you get time and come back if it's too small." you smiled as you hand him the mask. "Oh, dope! Bet." He says as he suddenly pulls off his mask, releasing his fluffy hair from the tight confines of the spandex. Your eyes widened as you slowly realized Spider-Man had casually taken his mask off in front of me.

You didn't hide that you were staring at his entire face, analyzing his features as soon as the mask came off. He chuckled as he put the other mask on, looking in the mirror on the wall to check out his new mask. "It's perfect! It's exactly like how I wanted, you're a literal angel!" he fanboys as he poses like a dork in my mirror. "How much do I owe you?" He asks as he turns around, fidgeting with the gloves of his suit as he pulled out a wad of money from seemingly nowhere. "Pshh, bitch you look amazing. Just take the suit. It's free." I insisted, leaning back in my chair and placing both feet on my desk.

His eyes narrowed as he advanced to me, grabbed my wrist, and firmly placed the money in my hand. "That was 10 hours of work. I'm NOT taking advantage of your labor." He stated, pulling off his mask purely so he could give me the most serious, slightly-offended look of his life. I nodded slowly as I put the money in my bag cautiously. "Good. Thank you, mi angelita!" He added, pressing a small kiss to my forehead. "C'mon, I'll swing you home. I know your studio closed hours ago" he reasoned as he scooped me up from my chair, throwing me over his shoulder and slipping his new mask back on. "Spidey, c'mon its really no trou-" I began

"Miles." He corrected.

I sighed as I packed up his suit, gently wrapping it in a cute little box and signing it with my infamous signature, "M.J." before wrapping both arms around his neck gently and giving him a small kiss on his temple, mentally preparing myself to swing through half the damn city at inhumane speeds.

Miles's eyes widened at the small detail, turning to look behind him slightly with a small smirk.

"M.J, huh?"

#across the spiderverse #atsv #into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales #miles x reader #miles morales headcanons #miles molares #across the spider verse #spiderverse #earth 1610 miles morales x reader

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bloodynectarine · 1 year

Text

And yet, here I am, yearning

Lucifer experiences what he (belatedly) recognizes as heartbreak in the middle of one of Diavolo's parties.

tags. gender-neutral mc, angst, missed opportunities, (kinda but not really) one-sided lucifer x mc, implied mammon x mc.

notes. today i bring you pain. tomorrow? who knows. i tried to write lucifer's sin getting in the way of his feelings for you. also, for this one to work, mc refused to attend any parties for quite a while upon arriving to the devildom.

Lucifer has been playing host along Diavolo all night long, and he can already feel his face hurt. Being on his best behavior was exhausting; as if demons were anything but cunning.

Half of the guests are here in a poor attempt to get on Diavolo's good side, and the other half just want to get a peek of the new inhabitant of the House of Lamentation. “Have you heard? That human is here”, an oblivious demon whispers to him, only to disappear just as fast, clearly in a hurry upon realizing who exactly was he talking to.

Of course Lucifer has heard.

His eyes scan the sea of people, searching between green, purple, and red garments, until spotting you in your bold white and gold suit. Even if you weren't the star of the show already, heads would've been turning your way with just your attire, such a daring choice. How fitting.

And just as last week when you tried the suit on for the first time and excitedly broke into his office for a little fashion show, you look… angelic.

The white makes you look exquisite under the light of the chandeliers, and each one of the multiple accessories you are drowned in is tastefully done.

They work as a warning, of course; not just anyone in the Devildom can wear jewelry of such a deep gold as the one in the choker that covers your throat, in the pins that hold your hair in place and in the multiple rings around your fingers. They speak of power.

But they also speak of love.

It's subtle, in the way it would've been impossible for you to stylize your hair alone, or to get into the intricate suit on your own without ending up looking like a mess. Everything about the ensemble you're wearing speaks of someone caring for you enough to handpick everything, to make sure you look perfect.

And if Lucifer remembers correctly (and he knows he does), Mammon was the one who stood by you every step of the way. He didn't even let Asmo step in for the makeup, or listened to Satan's advice for color and styling. How unusual of him, he thought at the time, to want to shoulder all the responsibility instead of leaving all the work to somebody else.

Looking at you now, he gets it. Everything about you screams Mammon, so it's no surprise to see him stuck by your side. He looks so pleased: the pins in his hair and yours match perfectly.

The second born seems to have a knack for holding your attention. Right now he's practically shielding you with his body while the both of you talk, taking over your personal space, getting closer than you would have allowed him to just a few weeks ago.

Uneasiness settles in his gut. When did you start to lean in instead of flinching away?

While he can tell you've warmed up to every single one of his brothers, your relationship with Mammon went from strangers to attached to the hip in what seems like the blink of an eye.

The two of you are a lot to handle when you are together.

You've encouraged Mammon's impulsive nature with your ride-or-die disposition, always ready to take part in his (often stupid, often insane) plans, orbiting around him.

In return, you can do no wrong in Mammon's eyes. He is the fire to your fuel, just as ready to indulge you, craving ―and lately demanding― every bit of your attention.

It's true that upon your arrival, Lucifer decided to trust you in Mammon's care, convinced that the two of you would at least work around each other…

He greets each guest that moves past him with a barely-there smile, and a nod of his head, not doing much more than acknowledging their presence, preoccupied with keeping an eye on you.

And that's why he sees it, almost in slow-motion, how your hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind Mammon's ear. It wasn't even out of place to begin with.

Leaving you in his care, he expected Mammon to be willing to help, as always. He was ready for him to slowly put his bravado aside, to bond with you, to call you a friend, maybe. But he never expected… this.

This feeling, that's tearing his chest apart. This urge, to reach for your hands and hold them prisoners in his. The desire, to come impossibly close and ask you, with all the pride of a petulant child, why him?

And not me?

The revelation is such that he feels himself tremble from head to toe.

How long has it been? When did he start to wish to take you away and keep you for himself? Has this feeling always been there, doomed, since the very first time he saw you? Or has it slowly crept into him, catching him at the worst of times, when it's already too late?

He remembers, he does, how in the beginning you always sought him out, to talk, for help, just to be near him. Your eyes full of stars, of wonder, every single time you looked at him. When did you start to move out of his reach?

Was he… the one to push you away? With his elusive nature, always distrusting, with the one hundred and one walls that surround him at all times. Has he ever… let you in?

Last week. What exactly did he said to you when you showed him the suit? You were clearly looking for praise.

He asked you to step outside, didn't he. Stop interrupting me in my working hours, MC.

What was your expression like, back then? Did he make you sad, upset? He didn't even remem--

“Lucifer, old friend, how are you enjoying the party? Does the demonus suit your tastes?”

Lucifer makes sure to set his cup down on the table before answering, adjusting his expression with practiced calm. If his shaking hands are too noticeable, Diavolo doesn't mention them.

And even if in his shock he hasn't taken a single sip, he answers, with a probably crooked smile. “Bitter. It's a little bitter.”

By the time he looks up and across the ballroom, you and Mammon are already long gone.

ao3 ― writing tag

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takenbypeter · 11 months

Note

Heyo you already know it’s gonna be Peter Maximoff! Sooooo reader and Peter are a couple but sleep in separate dorms?rooms? idk what you would call it but they obvi live in Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Anyways, reader told Peter she was going to bed a little earlier just to tell him. He agrees without putting too much thought into it and continues on whatever he’s doing. Until he’s getting ready for bed and goes into his closet and notices….. one of his shirts are missing. He is speeding around looking for it even though he technically doesn’t need it at this millisecond, it’s just the thought of him not knowing where it is that’s bugging him. He cannot find it anywhere in his room. So he goes out….. assuming somebody is messing with him. Wakes up the guys who might’ve done it like Cyclops, Nightcrawler, even the Beast cuz he just “KNOWS”. Probably cuz Peter knows he’s a bit (a lot) of a butthead to them and maybe someday they’ll want some payback and today was the day. But all of them denied it and Peter is going absolutely insane. He now gets all the X-men in one room and THEY ARE NOT LEAVING UNTIL THIS CASE IS SOLVED (his band t-shirts are a priority). Somebody has to be lying and he brings in the big guns. He’s woken up Xavier. (yes he woke him up, put him in his wheelchair, and sped him into the room) He would’ve just asked Jean to read their minds but she might try to protect Cyclops or something. The arguing got louder since the X-men were all now stuck in a room, annoyed at Peter for waking them up, and still don’t really know what the heck is going on. Reader wakes up from the noise to see what all the bickering was about. There she opens the door all eyes on her staring right at the supposed “missing” shirt she was wearing. Heads turning back to Peter most (all) of them with angry faces and reader with a confused look. Peter sweetly walks to reader without an anger in sight. (he’s never angry at her and thinks she looks cute in the shirt) He comforts her as if nothing had happened and puts her back to sleep. The team’s jaws just drops in utter disbelief. A couple minutes later he comes back to the angry faces and awkwardly apologizes. As soon as he noticed he’s got no sympathy he speeds aways. Let’s just say there was a bit of a goose chase throughout the night until they tackled him down. This is just a silly and LONG request. Sorry :/

Too Cute To Blame

Peter Maximoff x reader

Words: 1561

Authors note: hey hey bestie 🌺 so glad to get a request from you, I loved this idea so funny 🤣thanks for the request and enjoy

It was another one of those nights in the X-mansion. No missions, no actual fighting, it was just a normal day filled with a number of training and lessons to practically bore your mind, but you knew they were important. At least it was over for the day.

You were currently in your boyfriend Peter’s room as you two typically were, if not your own. It was getting late and he was spread out on his mattress with his eyes shut and his hands folded together behind his head while he bobbed it to his music that played throughout the room.

You listened too, initially starting the night cuddled against him until you got slightly bored and opted to read in his desk chair.

But as you checked the clock that he had displayed underneath some papers you realized just how late it was and that's when you decided to call it quits for the night.

Packing up your things you got up and leaned over him, “I’m heading to my room, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say and with his eyes closed he puckered his lips and you bent down to meet them for a quick kiss. “Goodnight,” you said and he repeated.

As you stood back up you looked around making sure you weren’t forgetting anything and that’s when your eyes landed on one of his band shirts. It was in his clean clothing pile on the floor with other clothes and before you could give it another thought, you took it.

You didn’t think it was a big deal but apparently it was.

Peter stayed up for about two more hours before he decided to at least attempt at sleep. After getting up from his lazy position he zoomed on over to his pile that he just washed and searching through it he realized the shirt he was planning on wearing was gone.

He knew he washed it, he absolutely washed it…didn’t he? Great now he was questioning himself.

Instead of thinking about it too much he continued his search practically tearing apart his closet, and dirty laundry bin in search of the black graphic tee.

It wasn’t a big deal or anything, it’s not like this was going to bug him for the rest of his life.

…except it was.

As he searches and searches, double checking every nook and cranny he finally comes to the conclusion that it’s not in here.

As a new thought popped into his brain he squinted while tilting his head, someone took his shirt.

“No he wouldn’t,” he mumbled to himself before he thought about it some more and let out a weary, “he would.”

And that’s when he sped off.

He knew exactly where he was headed to first. Scott’s room.

When he got to the place that he barely stepped foot in, he quickly put on Scott’s glasses before hovering over the boy, “hey,” he gave Scott’s face a little slap causing Scott’s eyes to flicker. When that didn’t do the trick he slapped harder, “hey!” That one seemed to do something as the mutant woke up, “what the f—“

“I know you took it,” Peter accused not wasting a second.

Scott looked around the room, his eyes landing on the darkness from the window,”what time ‘s it?”

Peter turned Scott’s head back to him while Scott easily pushed it away, “give me back my shirt.”

Scott let out an angry sigh as he turned to his side and covered his head trying to block out the light, “I don’t have your dumb shirt.”

Peter leaned back, still suspicious, “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care about you that much.” Peter lifted a brow at Scott’s words, that was true. Maybe it wasn’t him.

In the next second Scott’s light was off and Peter was gone for his next suspect.

Arriving in the blue mutant’s room he leaned over the boy deciding if he should slap him as he did Scott or choose a different approach this time. As he was distracted, he noticed Kurt’s eyes beginning to open and he took the opportunity, “where is it?” He demanded.

Kurt yelped not expecting this at all, but once his eyes fully opened he calmed down realizing what was going on.

“What’s happening?”

“Someone took my shirt. Was it you?”

“Do you really believe I was the one to take it?”

Hmm, sure Peter’s bugged the kid but honestly, the blue mutant had a point and off Peter went. He sped right by Jean Grey’s room knowing; one, she would either protect her dumb boyfriend, or two, she probably had no idea either way, so instead he headed for the labs that he knew Hank would probably be in.

“Hey!” Peter shouted so unexpectedly he caught Hank off guard as he practically dropped whatever science tube he had in his hands, “where’s my shirt?”

Hank gave him a blank stare behind his safety goggles, before responding, “do I look like I know?”

Peter pressed his lips together as his hands interlocked with his pointer fingers pressing against his own lips in thought while he practically scanned the beast, “you honestly look like you know…everything,” Peter said before once again taking off.

And like that he spent the night practically waking half of the mutants of the building up but still he got no answer, which is when he decided to get the big guns.

But not just that, no, he was going to publicly embarrass whoever took his shirt so they won’t ever do it again. Gearing his body up he grabbed the closest suspect dropping them off in the lounge area of the building. Then he filled the room, and one by one he brought in every single mutant he suspected until he got Charles, yes Charles out here.

“Oh great the psycho’s back,” mumbled Jubilee as Peter took his place in the middle, while Charles was just beginning to process everything.

“Peter, what is going on?” Charles asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” the gray haired boy pointed a finger practically scanning the room, “someone in here took something of mine, something very precious.”

“It’s just a shirt!” Shouted Scott.

“A Pink Floyd shirt, it's very important.”

“A shirt?” Charles squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers went to his forehead already getting a headache despite having been just woken up. “Do I have to watch you all like children?”

Peter winced suddenly feeling like this wasn’t the best idea.

“Just go to bed, we can figure it out tomorrow,” suggested Kurt.

“No, we're doing this tonight. No one is leaving till we figure this out.”

“Okay will whoever did it just confess I prefer not to use my powers on such mundane behavior,” Charles said, currently regretting his decision to bring kids together like this.

“It wasn’t me,” could be heard followed by a bunch of, “wasn’t me either,” which was then followed by “will someone just confess already?” Which was followed by a “Scott we know you did it just give it back,” causing Scott and Jean to defend him before turning the suspicion on someone else thus creating a full circle of mutants blaming mutants throughout the room.

As the arguments grew, so did the noise, awaking most other mutants who hadn’t been accused yet.

Including you.

You woke up from a deep sleep to sudden shouting and curious about the ruckus you put on some nearby pants as you entered the mutant filled room with your boyfriend standing in the middle of it all.

“What’s going on?” You questioned eyes squinting trying to adjust to the sudden bright light of the room.

Nearby young ones looked to you before looking down a little, and began nudging one another. As everyone was suddenly becoming aware of what you were wearing the room grew quieter and quieter but you, too tired to think, only kept your eyes on Peter who just realized you had entered the room.

It took only one second for Peter to glance down and easily spot the shirt he’s been desperately searching for. But instead of scolding you or accusing you like he did the others, he just runs to you immediately wrapping his arms around you while internally gushing about how cute you look in his old t-shirt.

“It’s nothing. Just an argument but it’s settled now.”

“Oh okay?” You said head still propped on his shoulder as he had his arms around you. Soon enough he removed his arms and just took your hand in his, “just go back to bed, everyone’s heading back anyway.”

“Okay?” You repeated not questioning the man's actions and everyone watched as he walked you out, leaving them there to question his sanity.

“So that’s it! We get yelled at, we suffer, but not—“

“Well you saw how cute Y/n looked,” Peter said interrupting Cyclops from the chair in the corner causing some to jump at his sudden appearance while most just glared. “Who could be mad at that face?…so uh…goodnight.”

And off he ran. Most went off to bed while others weren’t done with the whole situation.

“Oh he is so gonna get it," said Jubilee as she noticed Scott practically grinding his teeth in anger before he plus a few others tried to run after the speedy mutant.

#peter maximoff fanfiction #peter maximoff fanfic #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver fanfiction #quicksilver fanfic #quicksilver imagine #quicksilver x reader #xmen imagine #xmen fanfiction #xmen fanfic #xmen x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #request #requests

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izzy2210 · 9 months

Text

Clean-shaven

Based on @watercubebee's perfect perfect art, I love it so much I can't even, so here, a gift!

Hob is positively baffled when he finds his Dream in his bathroom, looking in the mirror, running his hands over his cheeks. “What are you- Is that a beard?” Dream nods, almost looking as surprised as Hob. “I think your, humanity, is rubbing off on me,” he studies himself in the mirror again, “I do not mind it, I think.” That makes Hob smile, wrapping his arms around Dream’s waist, “You’re handsome like that, duck. Do you want to keep it?” he asks, nuzzling his face in his neck, and Dream looks at him, puzzled.

“I.. do not know. Yet.”

“That’s alright, duck. Let’s do today with your beard, and you’ll see if you like it or not.” He turns Dream around by his waist, cupping his face, the stubble pricking in his palms. He runs his thumb over Dream’s cheek, looking at those pretty, pretty eyes. “Do you think I look good?” he asks, it sounds almost insecure. “Of course I do, duck. I love you. Let’s go eat breakfast, alright?” he asks, pressing a chaste kiss on Dream’s lips. “Alright.”

—————————————

At breakfast, Hob keeps glancing at Dream’s face, and acts like he doesn’t see it when he runs his fingers over his cheek every time he takes a bite. “You look pretty, duck, don’t worry.” He chuckles, and dream looks up at him, eyes wide. “I- It feels.. weird. And nice. I haven’t quite got the words for it yet.” Hob chuckles again, “Am I gonna get a poem about your beard later? Wouldn’t mind that.” He nudges Dream, who blushes a little.

“Oh, are you shy? So suddenly?” Hob smirks at him, and Dream shoots him a glare, not an unfriendly one, though. “Oh come on, love,” Hob stands up, setting their empty plates in the sink, he’ll clean those later.

“Are you teasing me?”

Hob jumps at how close Dream’s voice is, and shivers happily when his slender fingers dig into the plush of his hips. “Maybe.” It’s the truth, he doesn’t exactly know what his plan was, it’s hard to think straight when Dream of the Endless his pulling your hips against his.

His voice is gravelly, and tickles just as delightfully as his stubble. Hob throws his head back in a desperate attempt to look at him. “I do not think that is the right answer, my love. T’was a simple yes or no question, dear. It cannot possibly be that hard, can it? Would you,” his hand creeps up, running his fingers over Hob’s throat, who exhales shakingly, blushing like crazy, “try again, for me?” Hob whimpers, and apparently that’s the right answer, because Dream flips them, letting Hob push him against the wall.

“You are so hot like this, duck, it’s insane..” he smiles, while Dream pushes his hand on the back of Hob's neck, bringing him closer for a kiss. “Dream~” he moans, tangling his fingers in Dream's shirt, pushing himself impossibly close to him.

“I believe that you like how I look, then?” Hob can hear the tease in his voice, and when he opens his eyes, Dream is looking through his lashes, right at him. “I do, very much. Love you, duck.” He presses his nose against Dream’s, closing his eyes, enjoying the moment. “Mmh.” His hum vibrates ‘till it’s deep in Hob’s chest, entering his heart, it’s frantic beating trying to capture the sound. They’ve been together for however long, they don’t count the years, they count their moments, and there aren’t enough numbers for that.

Dream lifts Hob’s chin, making his lips fall open so easily, like it’s breathing that he’s doing. “Duck-” Hob’s moans and whimpers get swallowed by Dream, who feeds on it.

“I love you, fuck, baby..”

“I love you too.”

—————————————

“Do you wanna shave it, though?” Hob lays in bed, Dream’s head planted firmly against his chest, Hob’s fingers scratching at his hair. “I do. I like the feeling, but I like a clean-shaven face better. What do you think, my love?” Hob shrugs. “It’s not for me to choose, duck. I’ll help you shave, tomorrow, alright?” he asks, and Dream nods. “Don’t want you getting hurt.” Dream opens his mouth to protest, he can’t get hurt after all, but Hob shushes him. “Go to sleep, love.” “That is funny. Normally I am the one who says that after you have worked yourself exhausted.” Hob laughs wholeheartedly, “I remember that. Drooled all over a student’s paper. It was worth it though, we had a good fuck after.” He chuckles, and Dream buries his face in his chest. “Go to sleep, love.”

#dream sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #dreamling #hob gadling #the sandman #dream x hob #hob x dream #the sandman netflix #they are so adorable together I love them #AND I LOVE YOU BEE YOU'RE GREAT <3

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freedomfireflies · 2 years

Note

okay hear me out... lots of angst 👀 maybe even some angry harry or harry that freaks out cause he doesn't want you to see that side of him and doesn't want to hurt you... you know, the typical "use me" stuff 🤪

I don't know how much angst is too much angst, but I hope this does the trick 😭

“No.”

Your entire world has whittled down to this one moment. This one decision. This one plea.

“Harry—”

“No.” Resolute. He leaves no room for discussion or persuasion, his fingers curled into his palm, his eyes tightly shut.

He won’t even look at you. Won’t look at you, won’t touch you…it’s all you can do not to scream.

This isn’t unusual for Harry when he’s in this state. When he’s this bound to the demon in his chest. The one that feeds off anger and resentment.

He had started the day as the Harry you’re used to. Happy, pleasant, although still a nuisance.

He returned home as Scary Harry. The one who stews in silence as the wrath bubbles inside his stomach until it can overflow like lava from a volcano.

He never lets you see him like this. Never lets you under the hood of his subconscious and allow you to investigate its workings.

Today, however, you refused to let him go without at least trying to find common ground.

After all, you’re partners. On the good days and the bad days.

When you first suggested he try and fuck his anger out, he had brushed past you without even a blink of acknowledgment.

You knew he’d hate the idea, but you weren’t ready to let it go quite yet.

And now, twenty minutes later, you’re still tugging at his shirt as you plead with him, desperate to help in any way you can. To erase the look of anguish from his face if only for a moment.

And when you finally play your ace and call him by the nickname that can flip his mood on a dime…he caves.

Albeit bitterly.

You can’t resist the smile that pulls at your lips as you jump from his lap and take his hand.

You lead him to the couch. A safe option. A fast option. Anticipating he might change his mind if you don’t get the show on the road within seconds of his reluctant agreement.

You take great care of the large, surly man practically forcing you to drag him toward the sofa cushions.

You run your hands up his arms, drinking in the tensed muscles as you attempt to smooth them away. You kiss along his neck, finding his pulse point, leaving your name in lilac scars for him to find tomorrow. A reminder of how much you care for him. How much he means to you.

You can physically feel the anger bleeding from his heart into his mind, into his body, into the way he refuses to touch you.

You don’t take it personally, of course, having already anticipated his hesitancy. He’s afraid he’ll break you in the state he’s in.

You’re determined to prove otherwise.

You manage to slip your fingers under his shirt, tugging it up the length of his torso before swiftly pulling it over his head.

He grunts, but you don’t miss the way his breath hitches with eagerness. The same way it always does when you drink him in.

Your touch is like a hallucinogenic to him. Each delicate, eager graze of your skin against his. Each soft brush of your hips. Each gentle taste of you on his tongue.

If anything can pull him back from the edge of insanity…it’s you.

So, you do your best to focus every divine, sensual power you have on bringing your Harry back to you.

Once his shirt is off, you move to his jeans, gliding the zipper down until you can tug the material down his legs and throw them onto the floor behind him.

Next, it’s your turn.

You allow a moment to let him take control the way he’s so apt at doing. Affording him the opportunity to decide where the night is going to go. To do what your Harry always does and just…take.

When the hardened look in his eye proves he still isn’t fully committed to ruining you the way you’re hoping, you decide to erase any and all pressure.

Your fingers weave through his, pulling his hands from their place by his side and toward your hips.

You slip them beneath your shirt, tugging them up to your chest until he can feel the way your body awakens with just a look alone.

The second the rough pads of his fingers feel the peak of your nipple, warm yet still soft beneath his touch, the fury intensifies.

Which hadn’t really been your goal, but the dark wash of lust that passes over his expression is enough to make you suck in a sharp gasp.

And your erotic pants for breath are what he feeds off of.

Despite your better judgment (seeing as your cunt is now making all your decisions for you), you decide to push him even further.

And you do that by pushing your aching tits into his large, supple hands.

They grasp onto the needy flesh as he groans, shifting onto his knees until he can fully devote his attention to the pleasure he’s compelling from you.

You melt into the sofa cushions, ready to let him do whatever it is he sees fit to your body as long as you have a front-row seat to the angst.

The hard, pensive expression woven into his features. The rough pull of your flesh by his hand. The way you can see his intentions as if they’re being broadcast on his forehead.

He’s going to split you in fucking half.

The events of the day, of the week really, had toppled like dominos until he was forced into this state of denial and wrath and indignation.

Normally, his only remedy is taking an ax to the old wooden raft that rests in your backyard.

He’ll be out there for hours, hacking away until his fingers are bleeding, and the rage is gone.

And if that doesn’t do the trick…he drinks.

You figure this is a much more constructive alternative.

As he tugs your hips down, forcing his hand beneath your sweats, you feel nothing but relief.

Not from his touch, per se, but from the knowledge of knowing your plan is working. You can see the stress beginning to melt from his mind the second his fingers dip inside your aching cunt.

You arch, hands pulling at the fabric of the sofa as you brace yourself. He starts with two, which isn’t typically his style, seeing as he prides himself on his caring nature.

His words, not yours.

You aren’t exactly upset by the aggressive switch in technique, seeing as the rather full feeling it creates proves to be quite effective in yanking your pleasure to the surface.

“Think you’re so fucking clever, hm?” he taunts, other hand slipping up to your throat as he forces your head higher, eyes on his. “Make me use you?”

“Shit—”

“Make me need you?” His tone is venomous, so far removed from the loving sound you’ve come to adore that you aren’t sure whether to be stunned or aroused. “Know I fucking need you, don’t you? Know I need this tight, little cunt. To fucking have. To fucking taste—”

You know he isn’t really speaking to you. But rather to himself. To the rage.

“Shit. To fucking ruin—” He stops, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I could fucking ruin you, darling. Could fucking ruin you and never think twice about it. Could have you crying for me.”

You know he’s right. Know he could make you do anything he wanted if he set out to do so.

“And you’d fucking love it, wouldn’t you?” he seethes, eyes trained on the thrust of his fingers—now three—inside you. The sound, the stretch, the way they disappear inside you as you clench around him. “Fucking beg me to hurt you. Beg me to ruin this cunt like it’s mine—s’fucking mine, isn’t it?”

Your eyes roll back into your head, chest heaving so hard you aren’t sure if you’re actually breathing. “Har—”

“Fucking tell me, darling,” he demands of you again. “Tell me you wanted me to fuck you until it hurts. Tell me how you wanna feel my cock so deep inside you, so fucking hard that you understand. That you understand. Just like you fucking want to.”

Stars appear like angels around your eyes, the lack of oxygen doing wonderful things to your body as you roll your hips to meet the thrust of his hand.

He makes a noise that resembles that of an animalistic growl, removing his touch from your cunt as you gasp for the reason why. Feeling empty. Feeling betrayed.

Soon, his reasoning makes sense, and you’re afforded about two and half seconds between him fisting his cock and him burying it inside you.

He doesn’t offer a moment of relief. Doesn’t offer a second to catch your breath or even a kiss, which is a signature touch of his.

Kissing you as he first slides in. He’s convinced it somehow lessens the sting, or even makes the moment more tender, although all it really does is just…make you love him a little harder than you had before.

The first thrust is sharper than you had anticipated. Full of pent-up anguish and years worth of regret. None of it belonging to you, of course, but you’re happy to take it from him.

No matter how angry he gets, no matter how dangerous…he’s still your Harry. Nothing will ever change that.

And you’ll wear the mascara stains along your cheeks like a badge of honor if it proves to him that you’re his anchor, not his enemy.

He tosses your leg around his hip like it’s nothing, driving deeper inside you, buried to the hilt until you’re tugging your lip between your teeth to mask the whimper.

“S’this what you wanted?” he grunts between attacks. “This what you fucking wanted, darling? To feel me fucking ruin you the way you ruin me? To feel me so fucking deep inside you that you never forget who you belong to?”

Your fingers make a home in his hair, face burying into his neck as you reel, lips absorbing the salty skin at your disposal.

You feel the ache forming between your thighs, along your hip, down your neck. It’s beautiful and thrilling, and so fucking divine that you can’t stop the whine of desire that echoes throughout the living room.

You’re so caught up in the heat, in the feel, in the torture of his hard, determined thrusts that you don’t pay the consequences any mind.

“Yeah? Fucking claim you, darling, fucking take you,” he hisses in between his own groans of pleasure. “Fucking take you like—”

Just like that…everything stops. His words, his movement, his taking.

Your eyes shoot open. They find his, magnetized to something on your body. Something on your neck.

You feel his heart shatter.

Physically feel the pieces of his humanity crumble as his lashes flutter, the realization dawning on him in such a devastating way that you feel your breath catch in your throat.

“Har—”

His free hand reaches for your skin, fingers hovering above your throat as his gaze flickers along whatever it is that has him so fascinated. “Did…” A pause. “No, I didn’t mean…” Another pause. “Baby, I’m—”

Suddenly, he moves back, expression falling into one of regret and shame and loathing.

Confused, you bring your hand to your neck to feel for whatever it might be that could turn a noble man into a cowering young boy like the one before you.

Yet there’s nothing except the slight ache from the pressure that you know will subside before morning.

Your hand lowers. “Harry, what—”

“It’s red,” he hisses, hateful gaze finding yours and that's when you begin to understand. “It’s fucking—it looks fucking…I didn’t mean—” He stops, moving onto his knees as his head begins to shake. “I fucking knew this was a bad idea, I never should have…I never—”

“Harry, relax.” You hoist yourself up onto your elbows, head tilting gently to the side as you attempt to calm him. “You’ve left my skin red plenty of times before, this is hardly—”

“But not like this.” His tone is seeping vile disdain. “Not when I’m fucking…I fucking hurt you—”

“Whoa,” you interrupt, head shaking quickly in bewilderment. “Hold on, I never said—”

“I can fucking see it,” he snaps, thrusting his chin towards the mark. “S’what I fucking did—”

“Because I asked you to—”

“But I fucking knew better.”

There it is. The real truth he’s trying to escape, except his version of reality is outrageously twisted from what you know to be true.

You move to sit up higher, reaching your hands to take hold of his face, but not missing the way he cowers away from you.

You don’t let that deter you, instead grasping his cheeks between your fingers until you can peel his eyes away from the mark on your neck and onto your own.

“Listen to me,” you implore, lowering your voice to a more authoritative tenor. “I asked you to do this with me. I wanted this. All of this. Each and every second of it. Because I know what you’d do to hurt me, and this wasn’t it.”

A scoff. “You don’t fucking—”

“Did I say I was done?” Your eyebrow cocks upwards, waiting for his obedience as his teeth scrape together and he forces his mouth shut. “I know you, Harry. I know what your anger looks like better than you do. I know what your love looks like better than you do.”

You give him a moment to truly see. To understand.

“What, you think a little dirty talk and choking is gonna hurt me?” you proceed. “Gonna scare me away from you? Gonna ruin what we have?”

He forces his glare from your face and toward the sofa.

“Well, surprise, but I happen to like being choked,” you remind him quickly, and rather smugly. “And spanked. And toyed with. And ruined.”

You dip your head closer, letting your lips brush until you’re sure he’s only focused on you.

Then, you whisper, “So, give me your worst, baby boy. And I’ll show you exactly what I can handle.”

You watch as his brain struggles to understand. Struggles to accept. Struggles to see the truth for what it is.

That he’s not a monster and you’re not a baby deer.

To further accentuate your point, you slip your hand down your stomach and toward your clit, aching for a touch.

His eyes narrow in on the flick of your fingers. The way you slide them down until you can dip them inside. Feel yourself out. Bring them back up to begin again.

“So…” you pant eagerly. “You gonna sit there and watch me? Or are you gonna make good on your word to ruin me?”

You can tell he’s torn between doing exactly that or feeding into his doubt.

It’s not until you whimper at the touch of your own hand that his decision is made for him.

He slots himself back between your thighs, cock grinding down against your cunt as you whine, his hands burrowing themselves in the soft skin of your hips.

Then…he kisses you.

Kisses you as he slides in, reminding you that no matter how fucking dangerous he likes to think he is…

He’s still, and always will be, your Harry.

“Guess there is an upside,” he murmurs after a moment, nudging your jaw with his nose.

“Yeah? And what's that?”

A smirk. A rather devious one at that.

“You look fucking amazing in red.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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