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lovers-rck · 3 months

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modern au where you accidentally send ellie, your bestfriend, a nude PT4

pt1 here , pt2 here , pt3 here

n/a hello y'all!!! first of all, thank you for all the support in this little series <3 i can't believe all the love that is receiving

this is an additional chapter, it's not necessary to read it if you don't want to because is all smut and it's not essential to the plot, but its made for those who enjoy read this kind of content so... enjoy!!

☆

ellie's kisses ignite your skin, wet and noisy they plant themselves on your sweaty skin thanks to the summer heat. her touch is hungry and shy at the same time, trying to engrave every part of you in her fingertips.

she can't believe what's happening. in her mind a battle rages where her thoughts fly by and don't stop. she's touching you, she's kissing you, is this real?

the fantasy she's been imagining before going to sleep for the last few months becomes reality the moment your mouth provokes a choked moan from her lips.

"ellie" you moan between kisses, a trickle of saliva connecting them each time he pulls away.

"what?" ellie murmurs in the same tone as you, her voice choked "tell me what you want."

instead of telling her what you want, you show her, and when ellie watches as you untie your bikini straps and bare your breasts ellie has to keep her mouth shut to keep from drooling. she quickly understands, and her tongue plays around your nipple, eliciting slight moans from you.

ellie massages and sucks on your breasts with a skill you never knew she possessed, and when you watch her in action, you have the urge to moan and let everyone hear how good she makes you feel, even with just one touch.

"they're better than in the picture" ellie murmurs against your skin, and you can't help but laugh. silly as always, you think.

"you idiot" she smiles and moves down to your stomach, marking a path of kisses.

"i'm just telling the truth"

you pull her hair in playful response, but when ellie lets out a choked moan you feel a warmth invade your body. your fingers play with the collar of her t-shirt, and ellie pulls it off, she has a sporty top that does wonders for your eyes.

she kisses your stomach, shamelessly sucking on your skin and leaving a trail of saliva all over you, so obscene that you feel sick for enjoying it.

"i didn't know..." you say, between moans "i didn't know this side of you."

you can hear ellie laugh as she throws off your shorts, tossing them on the floor "well, you never let me show you"

you knew what ellie's personality was like, playful, obscene and even provocative at many times, so you had an idea of what she would be like in intimacy (not that you ever imagined it...) but you were still surprised at the determination she had for her actions, how she knew where and how to touch to elicit sounds from your mouth.

her hands kneaded the soft skin of your thighs, admiring how her fingers dug into your flesh. with a sudden movement, ellie pulled you to the edge of the bed causing a giggle from you which she also joined in. "silly. i'm trying to eat you out and you're laughing."

that caused you to laugh even harder, pushing ellie's head away from your cunt with your hand – you couldn't stop laughing.

ellie bit your finger and took advantage of your complaint to grab your wrist and press it against the mattress, leaving you immobilized.

"cannibal" you said, inwardly enjoying ellie's control.

she only murmured a small "mhm", planting kisses on your inner thighs, gently biting and kissing the skin abused by her mouth. the laughter passed quickly, your hips moving towards ellie's mouth impatiently, eager for her touch.

"ellie" you murmured between moans "don't tease"

ellie left your thighs and moved back up to meet your face.

"tell me what you want" she murmured, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke "tell me what you want from me and i'll do it."

ellie could be provocative. she knew how to treat you, and over so many years of friendship she had learned to codify your personality; whiny and too proud for your own good, and of course she was going to take advantage of that once she had you the way she wanted you.

"don't do that" you murmured, looking into her eyes. she noticed how they were crystallized.

"don't be shy" she replied, leaving kisses all over your cheekbones and jaw "it's me, ellie. your best friend" she said and a playful smile planted itself on her face.

ellie really didn't need your order - she knew she could go on with her mission without you telling her, but something inside her wanted, no, needed, to hear what you wanted, almost as a confirmation that this wasn't a fever dream of hers, one where she was hallucinating.

"come on" ellie continued, one of her hands playing with the elastic of your underwear "i want to hear you"

the sensations are too much for you, so you surrender "touch me, please" you say, feeling your face flush with embarrassment "i need you"

ellie may be provocative, but she's not cruel – so as soon as she hears you, she returns to her kneeling position in front of you, grabbing your thighs and positioning them on her shoulders "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

you can't help but let out a moan as soon as you feel her fingers move your panties to the side and her tongue make contact with your intimacy. ellie's fingers sink into your flesh and hold you open before her.

the only thing that comes out of your mouth are stifled moans and groans, her movements not letting you have a breath. your hips chase her mouth and her tongue accompanies the movement - you grab her hair causing her to moan in your clit.

her mouth works wonders against your cunt. it doesn't take long before a knot in your stomach builds, creating so much pressure that you feel like you're going to explode at any moment - and you do, as you feel your climax.

ellie quickly notices thanks to the movement of your body and your moans, abandoning her actions and devoting herself to planting kisses on your thighs, caressing and helping you catch your breath.

"k know" she says, watching as your eyes are closed and your body suffer from little spasms "i'm here" you feel her hand grab your hand and caress it.

"do you want some water?" you hear ellie ask after a few seconds, lying down next to you.

you deny and grimace as you feel your wet panties "im okay, thanks" ellie nods and smiles at you. you can see her lips glistening from your juices and it's so obscene you swear you can finish again at such sight. "you have a little bit of me in your mouth" you murmur, your thumb stroking ellie's bottom lip.

"your fault" ellie answers you, lightly biting your fingertip. you let out a giggle.

the air feels heavy. the sun streaming through the window hits your almost naked body and ellie can't help but admire it once again.

"u little perv" you say as you see where her gaze was directed.

ellie rolls her eyes and reaches up to plant a small kiss on your lips "can't help it".

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #tlou

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toucancosmetics · 2 years

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With temperatures soaring, the hot sun is bound to cause damage to the skin. Also, heat dehydrates it, and sweat and impurities clog the pores and makeup, further adding to its state of distress.

#Toucan cosmetic store outlet online #skincare cosmetics night cream #new arrivals online cosmetics #affordable organic cosmetics #beauty cosmetic and personal care #beauty cosmetic outlet online #makeup store cosmetics #summer skincare kit #best winter skin care products #skin care kit for teenage girl #essentials skin care collection #best all natural skin care products #best skin care products women

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byeolgirl · 1 month

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HOW TO GLOW UP IN SUMMER !

Glowing up in the summer can be a fun and exciting journey to enhance your beauty, confidence, and overall well-being.

By: ★﹕stᥲrgιrᥣ﹒

strategies for girls to glow up during the summer:

1.Skin care routine: Start by establishing a consistent skincare routine that works for your skin type. Focus on cleansing, exfoliating, moisturizing, and using sunscreen to protect your skin from the sun's harmful rays. Consider adding serums, face masks, and eye creams to target specific skin concerns.

2.Stay hydrated: Hydration is key to achieving a healthy glow. Drink plenty of water throughout the day to keep your skin hydrated and radiant. You can also incorporate hydrating foods like fruits, vegetables, and herbal teas into your diet to nourish your skin from the inside out.

3.Healthy diet: Fuel your body with nutritious foods that support your skin health and overall well-being. Incorporate fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and whole grains into your meals to provide your body with essential nutrients and antioxidants.

4.Exercise regularly: Stay active during the summer by engaging in physical activities that you enjoy. Whether it's going for a run, practicing yoga, dancing, or swimming, regular exercise can improve your mood, boost your energy levels, and enhance your overall glow.5.

5.Sun protection: Protect your skin from sun damage by wearing sunscreen with a high SPF, seeking shade during peak hours, and wearing protective clothing like hats and sunglasses. Sun protection is essential for maintaining healthy and youthful-looking skin.

6.Hair care: Take care of your hair by using hydrating shampoos and conditioners, minimizing heat styling, and getting regular trims to prevent split ends. Consider trying out hair masks to keep your hair looking healthy and vibrant.

7.Self-care: Prioritize self-care activities that help you relax, unwind, and de-stress. Whether it's practicing meditation, taking long baths, getting a massage, or pampering yourself with skincare products, self-care can enhance your inner glow and confidence.

8.Dress for confidence: Wear clothes that make you feel confident, comfortable, and stylish. Experiment with different styles, colors, and accessories to express your personality and enhance your self-confidence.u don't need to buy from expansive brand

9.Positive mindset: Cultivate a positive mindset by practicing gratitude, affirmations, and self-love. Embrace your uniqueness, celebrate your strengths, and focus on the things that make you happy and fulfilled.

#becoming that girl #glow up #wonyoungism #wonyoung #dream life #it girl #creator of my reality #divine feminine #it girl affirmations #love affirmations #glowingskin #summer #love yourself #confidence #self care

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flokali · 1 month

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I just want to touch zhonglis horns or tail. Like they are so pretty

a/n: me too anon, me too ><

I love the image of a relaxed Zhongli who, after much coaxing from your part, allows a small pair of horns to adorn the top of his head. Well, it’s less that it’s small and more so that he’s big enough that almost anything that isn’t comically large looks small near him.

They look similar to Azhdaha’s horns in colour, earthy tones that make them look like Geo formations sitting atop their heads. However, Zhongli’s look just a tad bit neater, as if a gifted craftsman had taken the time to carve and polish them — which, may be possible considering how particular the former archon has become in regards to his appearance ever since your arrival.

His horns blend in their base with his hair, a dark brown colour that fades into a colour that looks akin to polished Cor Lapis. They sit comfortably atop his hair, curling upwards until the very tip where they finally look down. Long, thick vein-like carvings decorate them, their pattern looking much like the ones found in his pillars.

Whenever he uses his Geo element, which he rarely does whenever he allows himself to show his more draconian features, said carvings are filled up with elemental energy that glows a golden colour, instances in which they look much like rivers of gold flowing through him.

They’d probably be cold, at least whenever he’s not using any elemental energy, in which case they seemingly hum a soft warmth. But it never burns hot or freezingly cold, on the instances where you glide the pad of your finger through the, surprisingly, smooth surface it feels pleasant. Like an ointment that leaves your skin tingling, they seemingly buzz with energy native to Teyvat.

I also like to think that, when allowing more… draconic features of his to shine, Zhongli’s arms look similar to his Rex Lapis days. Back then, his arms were deep in colour with golden markings glowing - much like his horns, I’d think. Unlike before, the colour doesn’t seep into his neck, instead neatly ending near his shoulders and fading back into his human form’s flesh. But it’s just as striking, they almost look like gloves, but when you touch them they still feel like skin — the golden etchings in them, however, would probably feel more calloused, like scar tissue. In these instances, his arms run cold, much like stone. It’s only near the golden tissue that a semblance of warmth is found. During particularly hot summer days, they work wonders in keeping the heat away.

A tail… for some reason, I feel like he’d be extremely hesitant in showing it off. Only during private hours with you, where he’ll be absolutely certain no one other than yourself will see, will he show you. When he does, you notice how slim it is — only growing in size by the end, where it resembles a cloud. It’s essentially the same tail he possesses as Morax, where the end is filled with explosive colours that make it look like pure Geo energy materialising into the air.

Like any dragon, his tail is made out of scales - however his are surprisingly smooth, they blend into each other creating the illusion of there being no scales at all. They’re still sturdy, however, you’re pretty sure no weapon in existence could cut through them. His tail’s end… I think it’d be fur, long hairs combed into their position mimicking the clouds above Liyue Harbor during sunsets, unlike the rest of his body, I think it’d be surprisingly soft and, forgive my blasphemy, fluffy.

In these instances where he allows himself to be more vulnerable, showing bits and pieces of his most prominent and powerful forms, he grows to love your affection.

He loves it just as much when you comb his long, silken hair as when you detangle his tail. The feeling of your nails tracing the hundreds of scales that protect his tail make a shiver run down his spine, one that pleasures him as much as takes him by surprise every time.

Zhongli is rather secretive about his previous roles in life, which means that he has to trust you quite a lot to willingly expose traits of his that once belonged to the lives he once lived, which is why he’s so keen on keeping these attributes of his known only to the two of you.

If he so much as senses anybody coming near the room, his horns and tail quickly disappear - much to your disappointment. If anybody, much less someone like Venti, where to catch even so much as a glimpse of his more draconian features, you might need to physically restrain him lest he send them home with multiple injuries. It comes to a point where he mostly only cares about keeping a secret only between you and himself, rather than keeping his identity secret.

It’s why he treasures the soft moments where you lay in bed together, his head resting against your chest as you softly rub his horns with gentle motions. His ears are sharp, the beating of your heart is loud and clear to Zhongli, but it’s not bothersome at all — instead, it’s soothing to him, like the sound of soft rain against a window would be to some or waves softly crashing down into the sand. You’re too sleepy to notice, the warmth radiating from the man on top of you was simply too comfortable for you to resist the temptation of slumber, the soft purring that rumbled from his chest.

That was yet another feature of his you’d soon familiarise yourself with though, he still wanted to keep a few cards up his sleeve in case he felt you were drifting too far away from his embrace.

#๋࣭ ancient scrolls #๋࣭. hidden devotee #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin impact x reader #yandere zhongli #zhongli x reader #Genshin zhongli x reader #soft yandere zhongli #soft sagau #<- mostly written with the au in mind it #*ig #soft zhongli #Genshin x reader #sub zhongli #zhongli genshin impact

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kaleldobrev · 3 months

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Obsessed

Pairing: Felix Catton x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Felix Catton & Oliver Quick

Summary: Despite hating you, Oliver can't seem to get enough watching you and Felix being intimate

Word Count: 592

Warnings: Non-Consensual Voyeurism (Oliver being a creep essentially), Smut (P in V — Brief/Minor Descriptions), Cursing (4x), Praise Kink (hinted) & Fluff Elements

Authors Note: If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

The whole scene in front of Oliver was that of one he knew he shouldn’t be watching; but it was a scene that was too intoxicating for him to not look away. Even before coming to Saltburn, he had found himself every so often peeking in on you and Felix as an unwelcome voyeur in your activities.

Without having sex with either of you, he knew the exact movements and phrases that could get the both of you off; knew how long it took either of you to come; and knew every curvature of your bodies. You could say, he was obsessed.

Today was no different, as he was currently crouched down in the dark bathroom that you, him, and Felix shared; making sure he was completely unseen by either of you as he watched your usual routine.

The two of you always did such an awful job of being quiet that Oliver was surprised that no one else could hear the two of you in your blissful state — or maybe they just ignored the two of you as they were used to it by now, which made him wonder the kinds of things Eddie had heard the Summer prior.

Oliver didn’t like you in the slightest — he despised you — but he couldn’t deny how beautiful you did look in this current moment. Your hands flat on Felix’s chest, his hands with a firm grip on your waist, both of your eyes shut, and your head was slightly tilted up looking up at the ceiling as you rocked your hips as he bucked up into you.

The sheets were doing an awful job at covering either of you; the only thing that was somewhat covered were his thighs, but even then, the sheets were slowly making its way onto the floor as the two of you moved.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…” Felix whispered, his words matching each thrust. Each time he thrusted into you, you let out such a pornographic moan that could make a pornstar jealous, but it was also one of the most elegant moans he had ever heard in his life — something he never knew was possible until he had met you. “Fucking made for me,” Felix continued, praising you — he always praised you.

“All yours…” you finally managed to say; two words that made him flinch with absolute jealousy.

"So fucking close," you mumbled, as you started to clench around him; his grip around your waist getting slightly tighter.

Felix sat up just enough so he could start peppering kisses along your abdomen and chest, before licking a long strip from your belly button to just below your breasts, where he stopped. One of your hands went to his hair, gripping it gently, as his nose started to nuzzle against your skin. "Fuck I love you..." you heard him mumble against your skin. With that admission, you felt yourself start to come around his cock, and his hips curved into a smile against you, before going back to leaving more kisses.

Once the scene before him was done and over with, Oliver quickly and quietly left the bathroom before the two of you suspected a thing; as the last thing he needed was one or both of you to see him lurking at the two of you. He was already slightly on thin ice when it came to kissing Venetia (something he was able to fix into his favor); but he knew one more thing would send him packing — and leaving Saltburn was something he couldn't let happen.

Taglist:

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, please follow this link Please make sure you have your mentions on so I’m able to tag you Think you should have gotten tagged and didn’t? Think you shouldn’t have gotten tagged and did? Please check your preferences on the taglist form | Don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions, comments and/or concerns ♡

#felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #saltburn #saltburn imagine #saltburn drabble #saltburn one shot #felix x you #felix x reader #reader insert #female reader #oliver quick

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illyrian-dreamer · 5 months

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Our girl – Part 7

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader

Summary: Azriel and Cassian go feral trying to find you.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Violence, torture

<<< Part 6

Cassian was pacing, the roar in his mind loud enough to miss Feyre winnow into the room, her arm wrapped around an elderly fae, his bark-like skin unmistakable.

“Finbark,” Tamlin greeted, moving to help the male into a seat as he leant into his walking staff. Finbark had aged during the war, and it was clear the long distance winnow from Spring to Summer was not easy to endure in his condition.

Azriel kept close to Cassian, but unlike his mate, his rage had fixed him to an icy steel. Arms folded at his chest, he was beyond pleasentries, unable to greet Finbark as Tamlin had. Not while his mate was still missing, not when he wasn't sure who or how many he’d kill to find you.

The marbled room before him was filled with anxious tension. Tarquin had opened his home, with promise that his recruits had a lead on Y/N’s location. Finbark, Tamlin, Cassian, Feyre, Rhys, even Helion had come to support his friend. And while Mor and Amren worked with Azriel’s spies at the border, the rest of them were here, readying themselves for the essential intel to start scouting for his mate.

It was almost impossible to resist the urge to take to Autumn skies, to start ripping the heads of any guard or spy or missionary who served in Beron’s court. That instinct was outweighed by only one thing - Y/N’s safety. Start slitting throats, and Beron could easily follow the trail of blood back to them, and punish you for it. Especially in the ruthless, unforgiving manner that itched at both their limbs. It was better to wait for this lead - both he and Cassian had agreed. Better to know where to start the carnage before they set they world ablaze.

Excruciating minutes had turned to hours, and both Cassian and Azriel were at their wits end.

“Where is it, Tarquin?” Cassian gritted, his gaze an other-worldy darkness, unbound magic as bright as rubies twining his limbs. “You promised a lead.”

Tarquin’s face was a gruelling seriousness, one that Feyre herself had never seen. “Calm yourself, friend. It is coming.”

But that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy Cassian’s urge, so he turned from the male, driving his fist into a marble pillar, the thunderous smack silencing the room. Feyre threw Tarquin a sorry look.

A maid entered then, hurrying to deliver a letter to her High Lord on a silver platter, before fleeing on quick feet – a wise move.

Tarquin swallowed thickly while reading, not a breath shared amongst the rest of the room.

“We have the name of the Inn, and the last known sighting of Y/N.”

Azriel’s voice was deadly. “We already knew that.”

He had snatched the letter before Tarquin could respond. He scanned it with quick eyes before raising them to Cassian. “This is different. Her last known sighting was underground.”

Cassian’s eyes fluttered with rage. Naturally, Beron had chosen a concealed, subterranean lair to cloak his cruelty, making it even more challenging to locate his mate.

“It says here the entrance to the dungeons are glamoured, and are bound to an ancient magic.”

All eyes were on Rhys then. “Not even my magic can unbind that,” he said disappointedly, the tremble in his hands returning once more. Beron was a slimy bitch, and the thought of sinking his talons into his neck danced around in his mind.

“Then how the hell are we to find her?” Tamlin urged.

“Hounds,” Azriel answered, looking over the letter once more. “Provided here are coordinates, where a pack will be provided to us for the search.”

“What in the Mother?” Rhys frowned, running a hand over his face.

“Who wrote that letter, Azriel?” Feyre asked, a knowing itch scratching at her brain.

“It’s signed from Eris Vanserra.”

There were a few drawn breaths, and then silence.

“It is a trap,” Helion said plainly.

“Perhaps,” Feyre countered. “Perhaps not.”

“A trap would not be so wiling, so exposed,” Tamlin added. “I believe it is true.” He cast a look at Feyre, who nodded in agreement.

“And we are to risk everything on assumption alone?” Helion countered the male. “When was the last time a Vanserra was celebrated for telling the truth?”

Cassian wasn't listening to their exchange, the General’s mind ticking as a strategy formed – for this was as good as war.

“Soldiers,” he said with a distant look, eyes finding his mate. “We need soldiers.” Be it a trap, he didn't care, between he, Azriel and the others, nor Eris’s or his phonies stood a chance.

Azriel nodded in agreement. “Rhys, call to the camps. We need Illyrians.”

Rhysand didn't hesitate. “How many?”

“Hundreds.”

Helion shifted uncomfortably. “How many males do you plan to storm Autumn with? Power is one thing, but bring an army with you? You’ll start a gods damned civil war, right here in Prythian. Over a girl.”

Even as a High Lord, Helion stood no hope against Azriel’s strength, not as those siphons that usually kept his strength at bay now consumed him, pulsing in his veins, igniting his eyes with brilliant blue.

Marble cracked as Azriel threw the him into a pillar, a snarl curled at his lips, canines inches away from his neck.

“If you think my girl isn't worth waging a war for, you’re wrong. I’ll watch the whole of Prythian burn if she is harmed, and then some.”

Helion glanced around desperately, searching for an ally. But between Cassian’s fuming glare, Feyre and Rhys’s cold as night, and Tamlin’s own chest panting, he came up short. Even Tarquin showed no remorse.

“Please,” Finbark croaked from where he sat, his hands shaking as they rested on his staff. “Please, time is against us, we mustn’t waste it.”

Azriel withdrew at that, fingers flexing as he fought against violent urges. Cassian moved, his hand closing over Azriel’s scarred one as blue mixed with red.

Tamlin eyed the interaction curiously, before finding the letter from Eris on the floor, reading it over himself.

“The letter accounts for two females held in the dungeons,” he stated, slightly confused.

Feyre blinked, her eyes fixed with Rhys as she paled even further. Forcing a breath, she moved those grey eyes to Helion. “When was the last time you saw the Lady of Autumn?”

Helion blinked, his brow then furrowing at Feyre’s suggestion. It had been longer than usual, he had counted the days. But he assumed she was keeping hidden, playing into their secret like she had always done. His hand intuitively found his chest then, rubbing at a gnawing ache, and panicked eyes found Feyre’s.

“Months,” he whispered, his chest tightening with every breath.

“That ache in your chest, friend. Has it not been a few months since you confided of your pain to me?” Feyre added.

Helion’s eyed widened. How could he have been so senseless?

Pain turned to fear turned to an all-consuming rage, and feral eyes found Azriel and Cassian.

“What was that you said of an army?”

————

The lethal point of that sword pierced through your clothing, its icy steel pricking at your skin, causing an immediate, searing pain. And oh gods, did it hurt.

Your body, attuned to the peril through the bond, convulsed within, as if desperate to break free from your chest cavity, urging you to fight, protect, or flee as far as the gods allowed. In your anguish, screams and sobs erupted, fuelled by the intense desire to kill Beron, to snap his neck with your bare hands for even daring to harm you and your mates. Yet, the harsh reality held you at his mercy.

“STOP! I BEG OF YOU!”

Beron’s attention snagged to that voice beyond your cell, the weapon stilling as it lay pierced within your chest, stuck at your left breast.

“Please, Beron, I beg of you. I’ll rid of Helion, I’ll stay by your side. For the sake of the Mother, do not hurt this girl!”

Beron’s lips curled into a sickening smirk. “How brave of you, Seraphina my love,” he toyed. “How brave you become when finally faced with consequence.”

You had only a few seconds, but you used it to the best of your ability, calling on your power, begging it to fill your veins and swarm your skin. Your anger was of no question, but you were weak, and were only met with a faint tingle at your fingertips.

Cold eyes found you again, and you whimpered.

Beron chuckled at the panic in your eyes. “Ah, sweet Y/N. Are you feigning fear, or do you really care for the bond?” He drawled closer. “Why would you have tossed them aside if you care for them so, hm?”

His eyes darkened as he grappled at the sword again. “Try not to move,” Beron gritted, teeth bared and he pushed with two hands now.

Your own howls and screams, Seraphina’s pleas and cries, Beron’s grunts as deadly power coursed through him – it was a hideous symphony of torture.

From deep within your chest cavity, death clashed with life, and so began the war within your heart.

————

Azriel, Cassian and Rhys flew overhead, circling the location where Eris instructed to meet, scanning for traps while Rhys’s magic worked to unravel any glamours.

Tamlin, Hellion and Feyre scouted from the ground, Tamlin in beast form, Feyre’s water wolves sniffing out the promised hounds.

They had left Tarquin to the border where the Illyrian army began to arrive, Mor and Amren with them. They would try to negotiate with Beron’s own armed forces while waiting on Cassian or Azriel’s word to strike.

Azriel spotted him first, ginger hair almost disguised amongst the matching tree tops. But it seemed the Autumn Princeling was true to his word, a litter of dogs leashed in his hand with enough apprehensiveness to be sensed from the skies .

Three thuds were sounded as the males landed, stalking toward Eris with violent determination - the kind that sent most running. He spun quickly at the rustle of leaves, gulping at the three water wolves and Tamlin now prowling towards him, Feyre and Helion a few paces behind.

“Where is she?” Cassian spoke, his voice harsh and quick.

“I don't know,” Eris replied, his own face grave. One of his hounds whined, and others pulled at their leads, desperate to start scouting.

Cassian and Azriel shared a growl, unsatisfied with the answer.

“No tricks Eris,” Rhys warned. “It wouldn't end well for you or your court.” And he meant it, because as he spoke, Mor sent images of the Illyrian soldiers now in formation at the borders of Summer and Spring, ready for their word, ready to tear the land apart to find you.

“I am true to my word,” Eris replied, pulling slightly at the band of leather leashes in his hands. “I have trained these hounds in secret, since I first suspected of my father’s conspiring.”

“What you wrote of your mother, is it true?” Helion asked, voice desperate as an array of curved weapons and twining knives glinted in the sun – so unique to his own court.

Eris nodded morbidly, tears pricking at his waterlines. “I have let this go on for too long.”

No one offered him any comfort.

“And what do you get out of this, Eris? What is it you want in return?” Feyre had to ask, the lesson’s Alis had taught her all those years ago ringing through her ears. Make no bargain, help no one without knowing what the price might be.

“This is beyond my own desires. My mother hasn't been seen in months, I suspect Beron has taken her. If she’s there, is she is… alive,” Eris had to pause and swallow before he could continue. “See that she is returned safely, and I will make it worth your while.”

Looks were exchanged, before Rhysand nodded. “Will you be joining us?”

Eris’s eyes dropped, shameful shoulders slumping. “If he finds out I helped you, he’ll hurt me in unimaginable ways.”

“You coward,” Hellion spat, pushing past to grab at the Princeling. “You’ve known for months, Seraphina is down there, she–”

An outburst of agonising roars pierced through the forest, Azriel and Cassian falling to their knees, red and blue winking as they clutched at their hearts.

“WHAT? What is it?” Feyre panicked, forcing Azriel up by his shoulders, scanning him over with wild eyes.

Rhys was on Cassian, in his mind, digging frantically. “I don't know, I can't see past-”

Their screams intensified, their wings flexing and twitching with pain. Cassian howled as he clutched at the grass, and Azriel swore, barely holding himself up.

“The-the bond!” he gasped. “Make it stop!”

Eyes were on Eris then, and he looked back, bewildered. “I don’t- I don't know what he’s doing! I don't know anything!”

As quickly as it had begun, the pain left their bodies, leaving the males sagged and trembling on the ground.

“We must move quickly,” Hellion murmured, eyeing Eris with distaste once more.

Eris was already unleashing the hounds who began to kick and whine, desperate for their command.

“Please,” he begged to Helion, his voice a mere whisper. “Please, bring her back.”

Cassian and Azriel had recovered quickly, forcing themselves to stand. They shared a quick nod, ensuring that the other was alright, flexing their wings and readying to take the skies once more. Whatever was happening, time was against them.

“Seek,” Eris commanded with a wavering voice, and the pack leapt into a sprint.

Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand launched to the sky, Tamlin heeding the hounds on all fours, and Feyre on Helion’s pegasus – an army of their own.

Together, they would find them, or die trying.

————

You were loosing sense of reality, delirious with pain. You begged for it to stop, and then prayed for it to stay, to know that your bond wasn't dead, not yet.

You were in and out of consciousness, your body blinking awake as Beron cut at that tether ever so slowly, not allowing you weaken or lay unconsciousness for too long. No, he wouldn't grant you that peace - he needed you alive, to withstand the torture, to survive, so his Seraphina could serve as his slave, mateless and obedient for the rest of her days.

“Stay with me now,” he gritted, slowly, oh so mind-numbingly slowly, forcing the rapier deeper into your chest, the bond whipping and lashing as magic clashed within, demanding warmth, demanding life.

Your throat strained as you tried to scream, to exert just some of the pain that coursed through you – but no sound came out, your voice long lost amongst your cries and screams hours ago.

Beron had assured you he was not trying to be cruel – that this careful extraction, and no matter how painful, he’d ensure you’d survive. Then you can die, for all I care - he had claimed.

As you thrashed, your mind flashed with memories of your mates, as if the bond or cauldron itself was showing you what was worth fighting for. Azriel and Cassian - each more handsome than the other. One of them wild, emotional, passionate and heated, the other a perfect match of icy calm, selfless, unyielding and determined.

And you were a part of them, their anchor, the vessel where red met blue. You were what made them whole. And both of them flawed - oh so flawed. But their love was undeniable, unconditional, stubborn and powerful. You could see that now. You wanted them, you needed them, and if Beron was to break this bond, you did not want the life that awaited you.

So you fought with the little energy you had left, forging the bond to a weapon of sorts, sweat trickling as you writhed and grunted, your heart an open battlefield.

Beron let out a frustrated roar, his rapier met with another bout of resistance, your bond swelling to provide a wall of magic he would again need to pierce. But it was draining him too – of magic, of whatever part of himself he had given to create such a tool. His son, Lucien, oh gods – but what else?

Lips curled with distaste, he pulled his hands back, wiping the sweat from his brow, wiping those sinful hands on his pants. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

Flashes then, more memories. Tree tops, red ones, and distant yelping. You could not see them, but you knew that sound, heavy leathery skin flapping, pushing air under muscle. Your mates - the rhythm of their wings a lullaby. These weren't memories – they were visions. Your mates were coming for you - you only prayed they would find you in time.

You hadn’t realised you had faded out of consciousness yet again, your head lolling before Beron grabbed you by the chin, forcing to wake. “Ah ah Y/N,” he grinned darkly. “Don’t give up on me now.”

Your only response was a whimper, an attempt of a beg left hoarse and unheard as Beron took aim of the weapon, ever so cruelly forcing it deeper into your heart chamber.

—————

The auburn tree tops of the Autumn forest did little to soften either Azriel or Cassian’s landing. Their hands ripped at their leathers, clawing for their chest, to stop the phantom pain that carried through the earth somewhere below.

Feyre and Rhys halted their search, sprinting to help the males, scanning them inside and out for the third time in the past few hours.

Cassian held a palm up before Feyre could haul him to his feet, sweat trickling down his face as he panted, resting on hands and knees as the cuts from the branches were quick to heal.

Rhys had just about eased the pain from Azriel’s mind, but there was no point, as it had disappeared as quickly as it did the other times.

With a firm hand still pressed to Azriel’s chest, Rhys threw a panicked look around him. “I don't have enough magic to shield you and search for Y/N at the same time.”

Azriel shook his head. “Do not–,” he panted. “– for one second, spend your magic on us.”

Rhys’s face was grave, but he gave a small nod.

Up ahead, a collection of yelps sounded, Eris’s hounds now excited and frantic.

“Come quick,” Hellion called, the hounds leaping over one another, pawing and whining at the ground, his pegasus flaring it’s nose, wings tussling anxiously.

The group inspected the spot littered with dried leaves, a repetitive stretch of ground indifferent to any other area they had passed.

“There doesn't appear to be anything here,” Feyre murmured, running her hand through the dirt. “It’s just ground.”

“Do we dig?” Rhysand offered as Tamlin neared, pawing at the ground with bear-like claws.

But instinct had taken over the males that were doubled over not moments before. Their eyes matched in brightness, their hearts panting in their chest. Everything about this spot, chanted to them – yes, yes, yes.

They met each others gaze then, nostrils flaring.

“I feel it too,” Helion said to them with a pointed nod, his own chest heaving.

Azriel raised a scarred fist, shadows twining with raw, flowing power as he plowed a fist to the ground.

And was met with a thud.

Casting a quick look back at Cassian who nodded for him to continue, Azriel threw another punch, and another, until the ground beneath them fell through, leaves and dirt that had once been now disappeared as the glamour was broken through. Instead, an entrance was revealed, a ladder leading into the dark and damp depths of Beron’s hidden lair.

Cassian didn't wait to jump straight through the hole, landing on fists and knees with a powerful thud.

The passageway led both left and right, an ominous dripping could be heard in the distance, the only light offered by Cassian’s magic and the opening above.

Before could Azriel leap in, Feyre grabbed his arm.

“We need to keep searching for other entrances, ones that might get us closer to Y/N.”

Azriel nodded wordlessly, quickly meeting the eyes of the rest of the party.

“Be smart,” Rhysand warned. It would be hard advice to adhere to, each of them knew.

Azriel didn't wait to watch the rest of the group leave, Feyre and Rhysand in one direction, Tamlin and Hellion the other. He jumped just as Cassian had, following that thrumming, beating instinct, the frayed and weathered tether calling faintly from within.

Cassian nodded in one direction, Azriel agreeing to the other. They would split up to find you - it was the only way.

“Be safe,” Azriel grumbled.

“You too,” the War General replied, his voice predatory and lacking warmth.

Without their siphons, Azriel and Cassian’s magic was tempered, raw, unbound and wild. It twitched at their wings and hissed at their skin, because even it understood it was finally time to start paying some dues.

“We’re coming baby,” Cassian muttered under his breath, before the both of them turned their heels, picking up into a jog.

————

The first guards Azriel encountered hadn't so much as drawn their next breath before he snapped both their necks. And the next two after that.

Despite Rhys’s advice, he wasn’t being smart at all. He should question them, use his shadows to choke out any answers of how to get to Y/N that much faster. But there was a fierceness in him, one that moved his limbs and fuelled his breath before he could consider rationale. He hoped it had a purpose, that predatory instinct.

Azriel had reached the next clearing within minutes – a storeroom of sorts, guards armed, their weapons glowing in the light of the torches aflame at the walls.

Three of them died instantly, blue magic seeping through their nostrils and mouth, planting death from the inside out. The fourth was restrained by shadows, Truthteller firm against his throat as his body was pulled flush against Azriel, canines at his ear.

“Where is she?” he hissed.`

“You’re too late,” the guard gulped, wise enough to not fight and risk pushing himself further into the blade.

Azriel’s unsatisfied growl rippled through the room, contents in storeroom rattling.

“It’s true. Even if you reach her soon, you–”

A final breath was knocked from his chest as the satisfying crunch of a broken neck filled the room, Azriel letting his lifeless body fall to the floor. He had told him what he needed to know – he was getting closer. That was good enough for him.

Azriel moved through the storeroom like a shadow, his eyes scanning for the way forward. His instincts screamed at him, urging him to find her quickly, to silence the haunting calls that echoed in his mind.

As he advanced through the next passage, he caught a glimpse of movement behind a stack of crates. Azriel's senses heightened, and he summoned his shadows, enveloping himself in an inky cloak. He moved silently, like a wraith, closing in on the source of the disturbance.

A hushed conversation reached his ears. Guards were discussing a secret passage that led deeper into the dungeon, a hidden route that only the elite were privy to. Hazel eyes flecked with blue darkened with a mixture of determination and desperation.

Without warning, Azriel emerged from the shadows, Truthteller in hand, its blade shimmering with an ethereal light. The guards startled, their eyes widening as they faced the deadly Shadowsinger. Azriel didn't waste time with words. Just like the others, he used his shadows to incapacitate them, rendering them helpless on the cold stone floor.

His gaze focused on the guard who seemed to be the most knowledgeable. Azriel's eyes locked onto his with an intensity that sent shivers down the guard's spine.

"Where is the passage? Tell me, and I might spare your life," Azriel demanded, his voice low and threatening.

The guard hesitated, conflicting fear etched across his face. The seconds stretched agonisingly, the tension in the room palpable. Finally, with a defeated sigh, the guard revealed the secret of the hidden passage, his words a reluctant admission that pointed Azriel in the right direction.

Azriel sheathed Truthteller, leaving the guard to choke on his shadows instead. He vanished into the darkness, unflinching at the choking sounds he left behind. He’d find Beron’s men in hell, and kill them there too.

The calls in his mind grew louder, a symphony of urgency that spurred him onward.

As he moved through the hidden corridors, Azriel couldn't shake the fear that clawed at his heart. Time was running out, and he couldn't afford to lose you to the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

————

Cassian’s rage was brewing by the second.

He was yet to encounter anything but the unyielding, endless passageways of Beron’s underground labyrinth. He wanted to find men - to start killing, to save his fucking mate. Hell, he’d even take a torch of light at this stage.

But the only hint of life was his own breathing, ruby red magic providing much needed light. Damp air clung to his skin, and the distant echoes of his hurried footsteps reverberated off the cold, stone walls. The calls of his mate, distant yet urgent, fueled the fire within him.

It was that other worldly sense - the one that revealed itself along with the bond - that stopped in in his tracks, his breath synching.

Ears pricking to an off-shooting passage way, the unmistakable sound of a slither made his stomach coil.

It was instinct to finger at his sword, to press his palm into the leathery wrap at its hilt, ready for anyone, or anything.

An ominous wind blew through the tunnels, blowing the loosened strands of Cassian’s forward. Whatever was coming for him, it was big.

It’s scent caught him then – the unmistakable smell of a wyrm, a putrid mixture of rot and dampness. He’d only encountered one in his lifetime, on a dare with friends. The fight was easy then, Cassian had lured it from it’s burrow, and had easily defeated the creature thanks to his ability to fly, striking from above. But in here it was different - he barely fit in these tunnels, there was not enough room to even flex his wings. The wyrm itself would take the width of these paths, leaving no room to avert or dodge.

The ground trembled beneath him, a warning sign the wyrm was closing in. He could feel the creature's presence, a malevolent force that sought to consume him. The faint echoes of its slithering were louder now, and Cassian knew he had to act swiftly.

Drawing his weapon, a gleaming blade infused with the power of his siphons, Cassian pressed his back against the cold stone wall. The wyrm, blind but relentless, relied on scent and sound to track its prey. Cassian suppressed his breath again, minimising any trace that might give him away. He was stealthily still, wings tucked close to his powerful frame.

The wyrm entered the tunnel, its massive body undulating as it sensed the air, circular rows of rotten teeth bared as it’s forked tongue flickered, tasting his presence as it inched closer and closer…

With a swift movement, Cassian launched himself from the wall, a set of throwing knives set straight for the wyrm's mouth. The creature howled and thrashed as one landed its mark, lodging in its throat, the other clanging against its teeth. As it began thrashing, rocks and soot fell from around, the structure of the tunnel rumbling with impact. Cassian knew he’d be lucky to not be smothered by the damn labyrinth itself.

He’d have to kill the wyrm quickly for either of you to make it out alive. So the creature was as good as dead.

Without a second thought, Cassian launched through the air, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws of the wyrm. The creature's writhed with blind rage as Cassian grabbed at it's large fangs, forcing it's hideous mouth open.

His mind reeled as toxins belched from the wyrms belly, the heat of certain death within swarming around him. But his muscles pulsed, and clarity was a blessed treat as he heard the calls of his mate echo through in his mind. He would not die – not until you were safe.

Cassian roared as he forced the wyrm's jaw that much wider, one strong arm bearing its might as he used the other to unsheathe his sword, facing it upwards within the creature’s mouth.

In a daring maneuver, Cassian leapt back from the wyrm, its mouth snapping shut followed by a piercing howl. Cassian’s blade shot right through the roof of its mouth, pointing right through its flaring nostrils. As the wyrm thrashed in pain, Cassian drew his longsword, raking a vertical line down the exposed neck and belly, gutting the creature instantly.

There was no time to observe the beast any closer, to wipe the tacky black blood that covered his face and hands or even catch his breath.

With a heaving chest, Cassian pressed forward, following the calls of his mate that echoed louder then before.

————

Azriel’s roar of frustration sounded through the narrow passageway behind him.

Another door, and likely another room of guards that lead to fucking nowhere. He was desperate, magic lashing violently from him, the blue almost fully overtaken the hazel in his eyes.

He didn't bother with stealth, kicking through the iron door, bursting it open with a large bang as it flew from rusty hinges.

The sight before him was a curious thing.

A wide spanning room, and to his right, almost fifty guards, all of them armed. He blinked across him, and in front of an identical door was Cassian, chest heaving, splattered in some form of ink, red shining from beneath.

The stretch of leathery string pricked his ears, Beron's archers pulling tight on their bows as they aimed at males.

Cassian’s grin was feral as he met Azriel’s eye.

This was going to be fun.

————

Part 8>>>

AN: Hello lovely people!! I so hoped you enjoyed this next chapter, and the beginnings of feral Cazriel! Did you see Tamlin and Feyre agreeing together? 🥺 Also Eris is such a mumma's boyyyyy, I love it so much 😝 As always, thank you for your patience with this fic. I never expected the plot to be this intense, and it's taken a lot more brain power than I had expected haha! I hope I'm doing the story justice. I'm thinking we only have another 2 parts to this fic FYI, so very keen to wrap up this big finale as soon as I can. Comment to join either my general tag list or just the one for Our Girl. Thank you always for your support and kindness with this fic <3

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scarletlizzard · 3 months

Text

Part 2: Remembering

Sessions Series

Pairing: psychiatrist Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: therapy, paranoia, mentions of mental illness, stalker, little cigarettes and drinking at the end

Masterlist

Current Fall 2018

"How did you sleep?" Wanda asks as she sits in front of you. You shrug, putting your hands in the pocket of your hoodie.

"Not too great. I uh, I sometimes have these dreams. Nightmares really, about that night." You swallow hard and look at the breathtaking woman in front of you. Even casual, in a yellow sweater and jeans, she would always be the most beautiful woman in the room. You blush at your own thoughts.

"You said you don't remember everything about that night?" She asks, you nod. "I believe you're blocking it out, mentally. Suppressing a trauma so hard you can't get yourself to open back up about it."

"So you believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you." Her tone is wavering.

"Every time I have one of these dreams, it reveals little pieces to me," you lean forward. "Maybe I can remember who it was, or more about them."

"But they were wearing a mask?" Wanda asks, making a note. You nod.

"They spoke to me, though.. I'm not sure. Sometimes they feel so close," you sigh, shaking your head. Wanda is still writing.

"And what did your shadow say to you?"

"They told me to run."

Wanda is silent for a moment, her eyes searching yours for something. Did she really believe you? When she had a list of your mental disorders and police forms at her fingertips?

"When your shadow told you to run," She stands and looks to the fire that was burning behind her in the fireplace. Her hands held behind her back. "What did you feel in the moment? What was your first thought?"

"I-I didn't know what to feel. Panic? Fear?" Your cheeks heat up, as you think back to the haunting voice. You were almost too embarrassed to speak. "But after, after the fear sunk in it felt.. exhilarating."

Wanda smiles at the fire, her back still to you. "So in your fear you felt, excitement. For what, why?" She asks thoughtfully, and you're thankful she still had her back to you.

You had thought about this a long time, every day. Why? "My life is the same, every day. The routines, the job, the same bottle of wine. Everything. You know I used to paint?" You ask Wanda. She turns to look at you.

"Really?" She asks with a smile, sitting back down.

"I had some work in an art gallery actually, in the city. Back when I felt.. more alive," you sigh again, looking into her emerald eyes.

"What made you stop?"

"My mom got sick, I had to take care of her. Then she died and I moved here and.. things were never the same."

"Your OCD intensified, essentially trapping yourself in your daily routines."

"That's how it feels, yes," you reply with a nod. Wanda reaches her hand out to rest on your knee. Your skin ignites under her touch.

"We'll bring you back," Wandas words are sure, you find yourself resting your hand on top of hers.

***

Summer 2017

You ran throughout your house, footsteps following close behind you. Before you can close the door to your bedroom, a strong hand reaches out, hitting the wood hard and swinging it wide open. You fall to the ground, heart racing, chest moving rapidly as you crawl backwards. Your shadow steps closer, taking 4 heavy steps towards you.

Another head tilt down at you, examining you. Behind the mask, under the hood, red strands of hair peak out.

***

Current Fall 2018

You stared at the brunette in front of you, a playful glint in her eye. "What?" She asks, leaning forward.

It had been a couple of weeks since your sessions with Wanda had started. Your anxiety had taken a backseat, and the compulsive thoughts in your head were easing. The two of you had even been flirting back and forth even, lingering stares and touches.

Wanda knew it was unprofessional. You knew it wasn't right. But neither of you couldn't help it. Each time she touched you, you felt your skin ignite. Each crooked smile ran up your spine with a shiver of pleasure. You look at her hands and count 4 rings between the two of them.

"Nothing, I really shouldn't say," you chuckle to yourself and sit back against the couch. Wanda grins, twirling one of the rings on her finger.

"No point in being shy now, Y/N. We practically know each others whole lives at this point," She says casually and mirrors you, leaning back in her chair. You think about her words.

"Actually, I don't know much about you, Wanda. I mean, I know some details, but you seem to have the upper hand."

She chuckles and lifts out a hand as if offering to you, "Ask away."

"Where are you from? I notice on some of your words, there's an accent." There's a blush on your face as you think of the way she says your name, her tongue sharp.

"Ah, you caught that, huh? I was born in Sokovia. I've lived here most of my life, though, the American accent kind of snuck in," Wanda thinks fondly of her home, it makes you smile.

"Do you visit often?"

"Not as much as I'd like. Last year, I had to go home for quite a while to help out my brother, Pietro. He got himself into some trouble," Wanda sighs and shakes her head. "We're twins," she smiles.

"Twins! Wow, I'd love to see a picture of the two of you sometime." You think of Wanda being a twin, not being able to imagine he was anything like her. She nods and crosses her legs.

"I'll see if I can find one for your next session," She says with a smile. You nod and smile back politelty.

"What did you do before all this?" You ask her and point to the room around you.

"I lived in the city for a while, actually. But I found something more... worthwhile here." Wanda grins, goosebumps on your arm arise.

There's a comfortable silence, and the fire behind her crackles softly.

"Tell me more about your art," Wanda says, a glimmer in her eye and a warm smile on her face.

"I wasn't good, by any means. But I wasn't bad. I was creative, if anything," you laugh as you think back to your paintings. "There is one hung still, I think, at the gallery I told you about. It's my favorite one. My last one."

"What was it?"

You find yourself laughing hysterically as you think of the painting, leaving Wanda confused. She leans forward to rest a hand on your knee.

You start to sob at her touch.

You think of the large painting that hangs in a gallery. People passing by not realizing it would foreshadow your own current state.

"It's of a beautiful woman.." You speak between cries.

"A woman running from her own shadow."

***

Summer 2017

"What do you want from me? Just leave me alone!" You shout at the figure standing above you, watching as they shake their head.

The shadow kneels down, a gloved hand reaching up to brush their thumb across your lips. Their eyes are hidden behind the white faceless mask, yet you can feel their gaze burning into you.

A spark of adrenaline and excitement fill your own.

"Game on," your shadow says.

***

Current Winter 2018

You awoke quickly in sweat covered sheets, thunder rumbling from outside. You rub your groggy eyes and reach for the nightstand to flick on the lamp. Your hand reaches for the notebook and pen you kept for this reason, and you began writing down your dream.

They were happening more frequently now. The details are becoming clearer each time. You had never felt so close. You were closing in on your shadow.

Yet, everything felt wrong. There was something you were missing. You read and re read the journal the rest of the night.

"How are things going with Wanda?" Natasha asks over lunch. She had invited you out today, hoping to hear some good news.

"Pretty great, actually," you smile at her, not telling her that you were still chasing your shadow. "I've actually started painting again." You look outside the window of the Cafe, seeing snow begin to fall.

"Have you really?" Natasha says in disbelief, but a smile on her face. "I knew this would be good for you! Almost two months and look at the progress you've made.." She beams at you, a guilty feeling rising inside of you.

"I'm having my Christmas party early this year, I'm going to spend actual Christmas at Yelenas this year. You'll be able to come, right?"

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it," you smile, counting 4 snowflakes land on the window.

As you walk home from lunch, the snow beneath your feet crunches with every step. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing you had worn a warmer jacket, when suddenly you're aware of another set of steps from behind you.

You freeze, standing still. You inhale deeply, then exhale, and slowly turn around... to nothing. Empty air besides the light snow that stuck to the ground below.

Your hand reaches for your phone, dialing Wandas number. "Hello?" She answers on the 4th ring.

"Wanda.. can I come see you?"

"Do you need me to meet you somewhere?"

You look around, still seeing no one.

"No, I'll come to you."

You finish the walk home and grab your notebook and a warmer jacket before driving over to Wandas. When you get there, she's standing on the porch waving to you.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" She asks worridly, putting her arm around you and leading you into the warmth of her home. Wanda gets a fire going and watches as you sit on the floor in front of it. Instead of questioning it, she sits next to you, her warm body pressed next to you.

"What if it isn't real?" You finally admit, staring into the red and orange flames.

"What if what isn't real?" Wanda asks, looking at the notebook you clutched to your chest.

"My shadow," you whisper, feeling Wandas hand on your back. "You told me you believed me.. what do you believe?"

There is a silence between the two of you while Wanda sighs. She knew you would eventually ask this question.

"I believe that the mind is an extremely powerful thing. It's capable of persuasion and delusions. It can hide the truth from you.." she trails off, tears fall from your eyes.

She didn't believe your shadow was real.

"You believe... that I believe it's real. Right?" You ask and turn to her. Wanda nods slowly.

All this time spent chasing and running, you were tired. How many innocent people would have to get hurt before you gave up? How many more lies would you have to tell yourself and others?

You held out the notebook to Wanda. Her fingers brush against yours as she takes it from you and opens it up.

"My dreams, of a faceless shadow. That's all it is anymore. I'm done chasing it."

The rest of November passes quickly into December. You were back to your routine, ignoring the paranoid delusions of your mind. You continued your sessions with Wanda, trying to figure out why you had imagined up this person. You took medication. You still locked all the doors and windows. You painted. You dreamed.

***

Summer 2017

When the words came out of your shadows' mouth, you lift your leg, kicking them hard in the stomach and onto their back. You're able to run past them into the hallway, but you're quickly knocked down. Your shadow climbs on top of you, pinning your hands to the floor and straddling your stomach.

The two of you breathe heavily, adrenaline coursing your veins. "Such a pretty little mouse.." The shadow whispers.

***

Winter 2018

The party has long started by the time you walk in, a bottle of rum in your hand. The house is filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces. People in ugly Christmas sweaters, some in just red or green. You look for Natasha and wish her a Happy Christmas, along with a hug.

"I brought rum," you smile, holding up the bottle.

"Yes! Ugh, you know this is my favorite thank you," she laughs and hugs you again, clearly has already had a few. You decide to catch up with her, taking a few shots and pouring a cup of rum. After a while, the cup is empty, and you find yourself sweating in the heated house, filled with warm bodies.

"I'm gonna step outside," you say to Natasha, who is all but preoccupied with the girl in her lap.

You step out front, sighing in relief as the frigid air hits your skin.

"Alright, there?" A voice sounds, you turn to see Wanda standing in the driveway, leaning against her car. "Nasty habit, I know. I usually only smoke when I drink." She holds up the cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke.

You walk over, soaking in her appearance. "I'm alright.. alcohol goes straight to my head," You chuckle and stand in front of her. The alcohol also boldening you to reach out and take the cigarette from her, putting it between your lips. Wanda watches with playful eyes, putting a hand in her pocket. You take a slow drag, blowing into the air between you and handing it back to her.

Wanda wets her lips, shaking her head as she takes it back from you. "You're something else, you know that?" She says in a husky voice. You can smell a hint of vodka and mint coming from her as she leans closer. Your hands rest on her chest, tugging on her jacket. A familiar excitement swells in your chest.

The cigarette is tossed into the wet snow, her hands moving to wrap around your lower back. "I'm probably crazy," you whisper to her, a smirk on your face. Wanda chuckles and leans closer.

"I can deal with crazy," She whispers back, taking your bottom lip in between her teeth. Your blood runs hot, and you let out a small moan at the feeling. Wanda wastes no time connecting her lips to yours, both of you in familiar territory as your tongues sloppily twist together. Her grip is stronger than you remember as she pulls you against her chest.

"Your place?" You mumble into the kiss, not wanting to fully part. Wands hums and continues to kiss you. You feel her lips pull up into another crooked smile.

"Let's go," Wanda says after she finally pulls herself away from your lips, her green eyes darker than you had ever seen them before.

Goosebumps cover your skin. Everything in your body tells you to run. The feeling of your shadow was looming over the two of you.

You look to the house, then to the gorgeous brunette in front of you. There was no doubt in your mind that you would be going home with her.

#marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x fem!reader #elizabeth olsen

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boop-le-snoot · 1 year

Text

masterlist

untitled

I just had this vivid scene play out in my brain. Dropped to my knees in a local chain grocery store, had to pretend I was grabbin the bootleg brand chips from the bottom shelf. I'm definitely normal about this. Yea, I'm so abso-fucking-lutely normal about this.

So what if I'm ovulatin'? It ain't me sittin' here clenching my fuckin' thighs, no ma'am, nu-uh. Even my predictive text talks like Daryl now- okay, I may have a tiny little problem. I hope I never, never ever get the chance to look Norman Reedus in the eye.

4.5k words. VERY VERY NSFW. Just sweet and a little rough monkey lovin' where Daryl enjoys something for the simple sake of it feeling good. A little undercooked plot-wise but the smut has been grilled to a perfect medium-rare, slightly juicy, collard greens and mashed potatoes on the side with the mushroom sauce. Two packs of cigarettes later (he owes my lungs an apology),

Imagine you and Daryl going out on a - run, scouting mission, whatever - and hunkering down in a secure cabin for the night. It's summer, it's hot and stuffy inside, but luckily, the cabin has running water, even if it's ice-cold. So you wash up and apply some of the essential-oils-homemade-perfume-thing that someone at the community made for you.

You change into your PJs and come downstairs to amuse yourself til the sun sets completely.

He's smoking next to a crack in the boarded up windows and you, being on friendly terms, banter a bit and bum a cigarette off him. He doesn't mind when you use one of his knees to sit down. As you two joke, you ruffle his hair slightly, not missing the way his eyes narrow in pleasure.

That sparks a conversation about letting oneself to feel good things.

You say that it's different for women because they get judged for wanting to experience pleasure just for the sake of it and Daryl says he always thought it to be stupid. You say that he's not exactly the resident expert on that, which briefly makes his natural competitiveness overshadow his shyness and self-loathing.

Petulantly, he places your hand back in his hair and stresses the purring growl of pleasure as your scratch his scalp and let his moist tresses glide through tour fingers.

You laugh and say you're gonna braid his hair one day, in jest, and he growls back "yer pushin' yer luck, pretty girl," but his smile is hidden rather badly.

In revenge, you stomp out the cigarette and straddle his lap fully, attacking his head with a massage worthy of a spa parlour professional.

He grips your waist as his head hangs forward, a low rumble coming from his mouth as his nose comes that much closer to your neck.

Daryl takes a deep breath, and sensing you unbothered by it, says "ya smell good. like apple pie."

"Oh," he doesn't miss the slight hitch in your breath, "'member when I fixed up the 'lectric in number twelve? they paid me in some essential oil perfume they made. feels nice to... not smell death all day, every day. 's a nice change."

He nods, agreeing, remembering your strong feelings about doing some things just because they feel good. Not because it's useful or to survive, but just for a surge of happy hormones in your bloodstream.

Despite his best efforts to distract his body, one wiggle from you is all it takes for his excitement to be obvious. He freezes, but you adjust simply, politely, keeping your weight off his boner. Confused by your chill attitude, he lifts his head, forcing you to brush all of his hair out of his face.

Daryl feels vulnerable and exposed.

Your eyes slide down to his lips, once, twice, but you - just as stubborn as him - pick them back up. As he parts them to run the tip of his tongue over them in hopes of finding something to say, he notices it fully.

He notices the flush of your skin. His hands move on your waist, provoking another blink-and-youll-miss-it twitch of your fingertips and toes.

Gathering his ducks in a row, Daryl leans into you - your neck, not your lips, not yet - softly running the tip of his nose along your collarbone and up to your jaw.

"That feel good?" Voice gravelly low, it sends reverb through your chest.

"Yeah," you breathe quietly, your fingers in his hair shaking slightly. You lean more into him and that is all the encouragement he needs for the time being.

"Wanna make ya feel good," he admits, dry lips and scratchy stubble gliding along the length of your jaw. His breath is hot on the shell of your ear. "Can I do that, suga'-pie?"

"Mhm," you respond, his cheek now against yours - you rub into him gently, like a cat. The affectionate headbutt makes him chuckle quietly in his throat.

He continues nosing around your neck, feeling the muscles in your back and your thighs unclench one by one. You're practically on top of him, almost right there, over the throbbing erection in his pants, and he feels your control slip away bit by bit.

The flimsy wooden chair you two are sitting on creaks; Daryl doesn't place much trust in it. Planting his feet wide, securing his position, he inadvertently lands your cunt right over his cock. Both of you shudder and hiss at the contact.

The damn chair creaks again.

He curses under his breath, hands sliding down to your ass, hoisting you up and urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he stands up, sending the raggedy chair clattering to the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat, your hands grab at his shoulders, kneading into the meat there. A few steps later, both of you land on the couch heavily; it creaks, too, but your legs have room and your body can finally relax against Daryl as you stabilise yourself on the surface.

He's panting, open-mouthed, looking at you with those stormy blue eyes, searching for something in your earnest, open face.

The corners of your mouth tug up.

He runs his palm over your back, settling on your nape to pull you into him. Your mouths connect; the kiss is slow and unhurried as you take the time to explore each other's mouths. There is no need to rush, no risk of being caught or ambushed; it really feels good. Following someone's advice for once, Daryl lets himself become utterly lost in the sweet kiss.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging softly every now and then, tipping the cup of him ever-so-slightly for short groans to spill into the kiss. Sometimes, you let your hands traverse the hills of his shoulders, the plains of his chest, fingertips poking around the collar of it.

It's overstimulating but at the same time, it's not enough. To give you a hint, Daryl timidly strokes the single bare inch of skin between your shirt and your pants, feeling the goosebumps even through the thick, calloused skin of his working hands.

The way your hips respond: restless and fluid, pressing into him just that much closer, prompts him to slide his hands further under your shirt, mapping the bony ridges of your spine. The skin along it is sensitive on any mammal, that much he knows, so he expects the twitch, expects the breathy moan leaving your lips; he revels in it, the kiss growing humid and sloppy.

Your hands slip into his shirt, finally, your warm palms on his hot skin. He's burning up inside out and you're- you're diligently adding fuel and accelerant to the fire. Blunt nails scratching over his uneven skin, you snag his bottom lip on your teeth as moisture gathers in the corners of your mouths.

The need for oxygen is strong.

Daryl inhales deep as he rests his forehead against yours.

Both of you are panting. Necking like horny teenagers, not a care in the world, no worry for tomorrow; it's near impossible to focus on anything else but the pulsating need at the spots where your bodies are pressed together.

It's all too much but neither of you want it to stop.

"Holy shit," your awed mumble causes Daryl to smirk lightly; as you shift in place, he swears he can smell how wet you are. His jeans must've gotten ruined by now, if not by you then by the weeping of his own cock.

It feels almost regretful to proceed. This exact feeling, if someone could figure out how to bottle it, would have people sellin' their soul for it, Daryl is damn sure.

It's the moment before lightning spears open the stuffy air of a muggy, stormy day. The millisecond before a heavily pregnant cloud gives birth to a solid wall of ice-cold rain; the blink of skies as they generously cool the overheated earth, filling up its parched cracks with invigorating liquid.

"Fuck," Daryl groans, tossing his head back onto the backrest of the couch, watching you through lidded eyes, "whatchu doin' to me, girl?"

You offer him a shaky, sheepish grin before your lust takes over your senses, pushing you back up to him. Your mouth connects with his neck, suckling, licking, nipping at the caramel skin there.

Daryl tastes of cheap soap and clear sweat, that musky scent of gasoline and leather unfurling into notes of pinewood and smoke as you nose deeper; right next to his ear, tickled by his hair, he smells and tastes like the best dessert at the carnival inside the town fair.

A little greasy and drenched in spices. You can't get enough of him. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out flat and lick.

Daryl groans. It's open-mouthed and loud. His hands grab your hips firmly, dragging you over the tent in his pants.

Both of you hiss at the friction.

Your knees wobble as your stance widens in an attempt to cover more surface are, to bring the feeling closer to your clit. There's at least four layers of fabric between your skin and his and it is something that is so sweetly, arduously annoying.

He pushes down again, harder this time, offering another delicious groan that you can't help but swirl in your mouth and recreate. The noise attracts his attention; Daryl watches you, watches your face, the flush on your chest, your heaving breasts. Like many men, he licks his lips utterly unintentionally when his eyes settle on your hard nipples.

Inwardly, you find enough clarity of mind to chuckle. Men and breasts nevel fail to amuse you when placed in close proximity. You push them outwards and his mouth is immediately right there, shirt and all, rolling a stiff nipple gently between his teeth.

The soft, damp cotton adds an edge to it; you feel your underwear slide over your cunt, the fabric absolutely saturated with your arousal.

Daryl's hands knead your ass as he takes in his fill of your breasts.

"That's, fuck," you pant, needing him to know, "that's really fuckin' good."

"Yeah?" He groans wetly before taking in as much of your breast as he can fit in your mouth; there's no finesse to it, just raw, unadulterated need.

"Uh-uh," you nod: his eagerness is what takes the cake.

Daryl tugs your shirt up; up and over your head and fuck knows where it flies, forgotten the moment his lips are back on one nipple, his fingers on the other. He rolls, he bites, he sucks.

Your breasts are wet with spit and sweat.

His breath ghosts over the damp areas, pebbling the tender bud to a state almost frigid.

You moan, loudly, wetly and openly. You gasp, you squirm, anything to quell the restlessness. It's like an army of fire ants trotting their primal, tribal dance under your skin, reducing you to a disoriented mess with a one-track mind. Your fingertips are pale where you hold onto Daryl in a feeble attempt to ground yourself.

He's smirking when he surfaces up. There's spit glistening on his chin, his lips are puffy, the deepest, most delicious shade of maroon. It's obvious the state of your undress and the intensity of your want is echoed by him.

"Feel good?" He has the audacity! to ask.

"Yeah," your response is lackluster in words but the tone and the pleading expression on your face conveys it all: your desire, your desperation.

With you on top of him, the only relief to your aching cunt so far has been provided by his bulge rubbing against your clothed slit. It's not enough, it's not even nearly enough.

Daryl's biceps bulge as he effortlessly lifts you up, "c'mere," placing you back-to-his-chest.

Your legs fall open on your own accord, hanging limply over his muscular thighs. The meat of his cock digs into the cheeks of your ass; you feel it twitch along with you when Daryl's thick palm cups the mound of your pussy in a gesture both tender and possessive.

"Fuckin' shit," his low mumble travels down the shell of your ear, "this all fr'me, sugar?"

"Yes," you breathe out as he slides his middle and ring fingers up and down your slit. There is no hiding it: your cunt had soaked right through your panties and the cotton of your pajama pants.

With some more maneouvering that comes unfairly easy to him (in your opinion), your pants join your t-shirt somewhere in the deepest pits of hell (a far corner of the room). The panties stay on and for that, you're grateful - a little - as the simplest, straightest of touches on the sensitive meat of your cunt feels like clear honey being poured over a-

Daryl taps two fingers at the top of your slit, right where you outer lips part to reveal your swollen clit.

"Fuck!" You yelp.

"So responsive," he mumbles. He sounds fascinated as he spreads his fingers, the rough tips gliding along the skin and the thick meat sliding over the soaked fabric. You quiver and he can't resist running his mouth, "that feel good?" His smirk is a little mocking, a little breathless.

Your resolve hops between strangling Daryl and begging him, the rabbit of your heart leaping in your chest, doing a binky when your lover shows you mercy by moving aside the sticky fabric covering your crotch. It immediately cools and you wince as it touches the hot flesh of your thigh.

Daryl's inhale is sharp, deep and loud as he dips the same two thick fingers inside your slit.

You're swollen and so wet, its practically dripping. Your clit twtiches under his fingers.

"Jesus Christ," he exhales his disbelief, "you like that, huh? This all for me?" The question proves to be rhetoric when the arm that holds you by your waist tightens on you and Daryl grinds his hips up into the small of your back.

The pitch of his voice drops impossibly low, "bet you taste sweet," as he scoops up some of the fluid, fingers snagging on the snug ring of your entrance, before bringing them up to his lips. He noisily sucks your cunt off his fingers, slurping, "fuck yes!"

Your eyes flutter shut as you cunt pitifully clenches around nothing, no doubt making an ever bigger mess between your legs and on his jeans. Your soft whine is an earnest compliment to the man doing his best to clean up your mess.

Daryl repeats the motion several times, scooping up the sticky droplets of your cunt juice, immediately sticking his fingers in his mouth.

You feel a little sad you can't see it, but your imagination supplements that which is lacking. You imagine his brow, furrowed; his eyes, closed; the tight 'o' of his lips around his fingers. Your cunt flexes again, spasming.

Daryl's reward for it is to circle your clit with a featherlight touch of a single finger. His breath is heavy as he reaches lower, same finger sliding to your entrance: not breaching it, just circling, like a predator circles its prey. He must have the patience of a saint.

You, however, do not. Your hips have a mind of their own as they arch into him, your cunt so empty, it practically hurts.

"Tell me whatcha need," Daryl orders, the low of his voice seasoned with a pinch of pride and a pinch of desperation, "tell me, sugar."

"Inside," you keen, out of your mind, "I want you. Inside." There's drool gathering in the corners of your mouth.

Daryl obliges, but not before lubricating the entirety of his thick finger by sliding it over the outside of your cunt, causing another loud keen to fall from your lips.

When he pushes in, you swear you could cry from the sheer relief of finally getting something for your hungry cunt to wrap around.

Experimentally, he drags his finger in and out, slowly, tense as he watches your reaction, before adding in another. To say they're big would be an understatement: long and thick and textured, it's everything your cunt has craved for the past some minutes. Daryl pumps them in and out as you pant through the new sensation, acutely aware of the loud squelches coming from your hole with every plunge.

Your swollen lips and throbbing walls attempt to keep him hostage with every pull.

Daryl curses, something completely unintelligible, his rough voice completely lost to lust. "Gonna cum for me, eh?" He breathes as the contractions of your cunt become quicker, more rhythmic.

Your neglected clit pulses, your nipples are stiff as rocks, your breathing is uneven and shallow. You couldn't find your voice even if you tried; you don't try at all, letting your body do the talking. You fuck back onto his fingers to the best of your limited ability to move as short, loud, primal noises choke their way up your throat.

The throb of his cock against the small of your back is what sends you over the edge.

Daryl's panting, whimpering himself at the unabashed state of your being; you don't think he realises it, even, his eyes set on your cunt gripping onto his fingers.

When it clenches for one last time, you arch, you paint the walls of the room with curses and whimpers that would make even a prostitute blush as more sweet slick drips out your spasming hole and onto his fingers. Your legs tremble as your entire body goes limp in Daryl's hold.

Soft lips rest on the crown of your head, hot, uneven puffs of air frizz your damp hair.

As your brain does a factory reset, you become hyperaware of the hard, thick flesh pressing into you; a stark realization comes over your being, washing your body in a new layer of shivers. Your cunt still tingles, still aches for more.

"Daryl," you mumble, feeling him go stiff and hot, his name like the sweetest honey on your lips, "I want you inside me."

He shudders, he pants, his cock twitches pitifully once again in his pants. The tight denim had provided some relief, enough to focus on you, enough to stretch the time a little bit more. But now, with your body warm and lax and fucked out of your skull, how could he resist?

He didn't want to resist. He wanted to feel good.

In your dazed state, it was easy for him to pick you up, bridal-style, and carry you towards the singular bedroom in the cabin. He grinned at the clumsy way you immediately reached out to him, tangling your fingers in his hair, placing sloppy kisses on the nearest inches of skin you could reach.

The whine you let out when dropped onto the cool comforter?

Daryl's cock twitched demandingly.

The man stood at the foot of the bed, admiring the view: you, blinking up at him, breasts moving with each shallow breath, feet on the comforer and legs bent at the knee, a hint of flushed, swollen pussy peeking out from the crooked gusset of your underwear.

This may not be heaven but it was as close to it as he'll ever get.

The buckle of his belt clinked, denim shuffled as it was left somewhere behind him- Daryl wasted no time dropping to his knees, using two strong hands to bring your cunt up and into his face. The force of his inhale made your sensitive pussy quiver, it was something that made him smile against the fabric of your panties as moved it aside once more - this time with his teeth.

"Oh, fuck!" You yelped as the broad, wide, flat expanse of Daryl's tongue licked messily up your cunt, hole-to-clit.

"Mmm," he groaned, "fuckin' candy apple pussy," taking another taste. And then another, and another until your skin was raw from the stubble of his beard and you were left in a shaking, whimpering, wet mess of a human. His face was drenched. "Messy girl," he chided in a soft mock as your cunt provided him with another gush of arousal, "ya like bein' messy for me, don't cha?"

"Uh-uh," you arched, your usually concise vernacular reduced to whimpers, groans and two-syllable words that barely made any sense to your own ears, much less anyone else's.

Daryl was like a wild animal, lapping up the liquid, uncaring of the mess he made of you and of his own face.

"Please," you fought with your tongue and finally, finally won, "I wanna- uhh," well, maybe not quite.

Momentarily, he withdrew, wiping the side of his face on the inside of your thigh, "you want what? Tell me."

In your state, he could have touched you anywhere and it would have reduced you to a mindless, blabbering mess. So you settled on the next best thing. Your hand, the one that was in his hair, tugged him up - or tried to.

Daryl's responding growl, the shift of his shoulders, the absence of a single hand on your thigh - you knew the tug had him palming himself through his boxers. Another, purposeful tug was given, another growl followed as he stood up.

You weakly pushed yourself up higher on the large bed.

In the dim twilight of the bedroom, Daryl stood, shirt soaked through and through with sweat; his chest heaved as damp strands of hair fell over his face. They were unable to conceal the glistening layer of you on his chin, neither they could hide the blown pupils of his stare. There was almost no blue visible in his eyes.

You licked your dry lips, forcing them to cooperate, "c'mere," your hands stretched out towards him.

Daryl crawled on the bed and over you, sitting between your spread legs. Obedient, he leaned into you, placing sloppy, damp kisses over your face as you wound your arms around his neck. The tent in his boxers hovered less than an inch away from your bare cunt.

"I need ya'," you breathed, tasting yourself as you licked into his mouth, hoping to convey with you body what you couldn't with your words.

"Ya sure, sugar?" Ever the gentleman, Daryl pressed his clothed cock over your bare cunt, ruining his underwear even further; his muscles flexed under your palms.

"Uh-uh," the heat, the feel of his thick cock backtracked any progress you'd made on getting your vocal cords and your brain cooperate. There was nothing but lust and saliva gathered in your mouth now, something that both of you shared during another slow, wet kiss. Your teeth clashed, your tongues ran over each other, all graceless and sloppy.

With one swift, ragged motion of his hand, Daryl shoved his boxers down and over his cock, freeing it from the tight confines; that action alone was enough for him to let out a grunt as the cool air hit his leaking, flushed tip.

The same tip that slapped against your clit, jerking your body and his.

"F-f-fuck," Daryl wheezed, fisting his cock at the base, running the tip slowly over your lips, your clit and down to your hole, "m'not gunna last for shit like this."

Just get inside me!!! You wanted to scream. Instead, you wiggled your hips, you squeezed his shoulders.

The fat head of his cock slipped in, slowly, steadily. More wet, sticky noises got lost in the growl coming from Daryl's gritted teeth.

Your cunt was sucking him in, all wet and hot and snug and constantly flexing, rippling as it adjusted to his size. The roll of your hips that followed was utterly unintentional, driven by the most primitive of instincts.

"Oh, sugar," Daryl grasped your hip tightly, holding it in place, "fuckin' shit. What're you doin' to me, woman?" His speech slurred.

All you could reply was a series of small breaths, 'ah-ah-ah's' with every inch of his cock sliding into you, until you felt his heavy balls pressed against your ass.

If your eyes weren't clenched shut, you would have seen the wild look in Daryl's eyes, the way they darted between the blissed-out look on your face and the root of his cock secured against the entrance of your cunt.

Slowly, he withdrew, hissing at the smooth pleasure of your wet pussy sliding over his cock, and then he slammed back in.

Your body curled, arched; a shriek left your lips at the sudden realization. You held onto him tightly, his shoulders, his arms; the sweet feel of his skin, slick with sweat, bombarded your senses, drowning you in that natural, masculine smell of him.

You babbled some nonsense, something about how good he felt, how he fit just right and so nicely, how he was so good to you-

"You're so good to me," Daryl objected, Daryl stated, "s'fuckin' sweet. My sweet, messy girl."

The words alone brought you closer to the edge as he hammered away inside your oversensitive cunt. In fairness, he could have flicked your clit just once, or even taken his mouth to one of your hard, throbbing nipples-

Daryl's need to feel you come, to clench and gush around his rock-hard cock was at the forefront of his mind, followed closely by awe at the way your body molded perfectly against his. The way your thighs quivered as they attempted to wrap themselves around his hips, the desperation in your grip on his shoulders.

"Fuck!" He cursed, teethering at the very edge of his orgasm, "come for me, pretty girl, c'mon," he urged, swallowing his own moans and gasps.

"I- uh," you, too were almost right there. The coil in your stomach at its most tense, it sent small tremors inside your cunt, shocks of pure, hot, liquid ecstasy-

That traveled down Daryl's cock. Like damn rings during a heated game of muckers, the spasms of your cunt collected at the root of his shaft, one on top of the other, until he could do nothing else but rut roughly, sloppily into the equally sloppy mess of your cunt.

He felt it. It began somewhere at the deepest part of you, squeezin' the head of his cock firmly and traveling all the way down his shaft, until each ring of pleasure popped, releasing his seed into you-

Throbbing, your cunt pushed and gushed, a flash of lightning zapping your clit as Daryl's pubic bone ground into it with force. A hoarse scream tore from your throat, your body curling inward with the force of your orgasm. Strong, heavy spasms of his cock shooting hot ropes into you lulled you into the aftershocks.

It made both of your bodies limp with exhaustion. The cord had snapped and tension finally leaked out, dissolving like smoke and fog into the open air.

Sweaty, sticky and hot, the two of you panted your relief onto each other's cheeks.

Your lips connected with the rough stubble on Daryl's. Hair hung over his face, obscuring your smile.

"Whatchu grinnin' at?"

Boy, did he sound fucked-out. All smoke and gravel and spice and everything nice.

"Feels good."

"Heh," he chuckled, the noise coming from somewhere deep within his chest, "sure does."

#WHEW I NEED TO BE NEUTERED Y'ALL #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #twd smut #fuckin' tiktok editors wirh their fuckin sexy edits #fuckin norman reedus with his stupid fuckin face #ALL OF YOU GET OUT #of my head #please.

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deathbecomesthem · 18 days

Text

Eddie Munson x gn!reader | 1.2K

+18 ONLY - Minors Do Not Interact

Warnings: A handy over jean shorts and some nipple play.

A/N: This is a reupload with a lil bit of sprucing up. When I originally wrote it, it was dedicated to @courtingchaos, and that feels appropriate yet again.

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The unseasonable weather drove you down here, to the riverbed, where toes can dip in swirl at the cool water. Eddie was thrilled at the suggestion. It’s been too hot, and it always felt better sitting on the damp rocks. In his desperation for relief, he had cut away at an old pair of jeans that were just a little too tight these days. When you caught sight of them, he misunderstood your wide-eyed gaze. Drool gathered in your mouth while you took in the way the shorts hugged at him, emphasizing parts of him that have only been in your imagination all these years.

“Do not even fucking say it –“ his hand is out, eyes closed as if bracing for impact, “I know it looks stupid, but it’s too hot and the air conditioner took a shit.” He thinks you’ll make fun of him, but you can’t even form a thought. Your brain is on fire, burning with ideas. Flames licking at the inside of your skull with thoughts you try to avoid entertaining. While you’re still looking for words, any words, he huffs and reaches into the – very fucking tight – front pocket of his shorts and pulls out a black hair tie. Can it be worse? Yes, he can reach his arms up, exposing that trail of hair that starts at his navel, while he tugs his soft curls into a low hanging bun.

He's right, though, it’s hot and humid in his place. Even with the impure images whizzing through your mind, you can’t stay here. Movie night is out. You still struggle for words while he’s shaking his head and grabbing his sneakers.

“Don’t argue, we’re going to the river. I’m over this heat.” So you nod in ascent. Sure, let’s go to the river. “Are you ok?” He’s finally noticing the glazed-over look in your eyes, the mouth slightly open. It’s just Eddie. Yes, but you suddenly have the urge to unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole.

“I’m fine,” you try not to do it, try not to give him a shy smile that gives away your filthy thoughts. It inches across your lips anyway, and you can feel heat rising from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. His eyebrows pinch, a barely detectable movement of consideration at your behavior. So, you divert, “why not grab some stuff? Stay at my place after the river, my air works fine.”

His face betrays his own thoughts, when he dips his eyes to your chest heated and sweaty in the stifling heat of his apartment. With a throat clear, and an awkward bouncing step back, he runs through the rooms grabbing essentials before you both head out into the summer air.

The current moves the water, ever flowing cool relief in the heat of the summer. Right now, with the moon reflecting off the ripples, the paths along the bed are empty. The stars of this summer night are putting on a show, bright and sparkling. It feels like magic is in the air, the smell of dirt and showy blooms hang all around. And his scent. It’s there, his sweat and smoke with the faint hint of oil that never quite leaves his skin.

“You know what that is?” he’s pointing up to the night sky while your toes dance along the top of the water’s surface, “that constellation right there, the one that looks like a whale?” he’s moving his hands as if you can follow the path and see the image he’s trying to create with the movement, “that one is called ‘your mom’.”

“You fucking idiot,” you push him away from you, hand pressed against his sweaty forehead, while his laugh echoes out into the night. You try to poke at his side while he’s distracted, but as usual, he’s too fast. He always sees it coming, and you find your hand in his, stopped in its tracks, the cool metal of his rings pressed into your skin.

The cover of the dark outside of the glowing moon does nothing to hide the look you both share. And his eyes shoot down your body again, an involuntary gesture that feels like permission. You lean forward placing your open lips against his mouth and wait for him.

A clash of lips, tongues, and teeth. No gentleness, the fire was lit at the first glimpse of him tonight. At the thought of the shorts you break away and let your eyes take him in. They’re tighter now as his hard length fights against the soft denim. You bring your eyes back to him while you take your hand from his and place it firmly on his bulge. He moans at the feeling, mouth open, eyes wide.

“Is this ok, Eddie?” Your hand rubs up and down, feeling the shape of him for the first time. The muscles of his thighs tighten as he whimpers out his answer.

Affirmative, “yes, please,” whining from the back of his throat. With every stroke you feel the denim at the tip of his ever-hardening cock get wetter. The sounds he’s making are so sweet to your ears. They feed the desire already pulsing deep inside your gut.

“Does it feel good? Is this why you put on these little shorts tonight?” You can feel his cock jump at your words and his whine turns to a low growl. Oh, it must feel good, because his own hands are working under your shirt and searching for something to hold onto while his face nuzzles into your neck. His teeth take the skin of that tender place below your ear.

“It feels so good. I’m never taking these shorts off again.” He’s rutting up into your hand while he tweaks a nipple. When his head dips down and attaches himself to your peaked bud, your hand falters. His hot tongue flicks against you, and you’re both lost in the feeling.

“You gonna wear those little shorts around even when you stain them with your cum?” You stutter the words out around a moan at the shots of pleasure from the feel of his teeth against your sensitive chest. With every swipe of your hand, you find the slit of his cock and rub against it over and over until his mouth drops your nipple and opens in a cry of delirious bliss.

He lets out a whining moan with each thrust of his release, his forehead pressed against the sweaty skin of your chest. You both sit that way for a moment, skin sticky and breathing heavily with only the moon and the stars witnessing what just took place in that quiet spot at the river’s edge.

You break the silence, as a laugh rips through your chest that startles Eddie. It brings him back from wherever his mind went at the moment of his euphoria, and he pulls his sticky forehead away from your skin and finds his own laugh. You sat there with your shirt pulled around your neck and Eddie’s jean shorts soaked with his cum. Like teenagers seeking out any possible way to release the sexual tension.

“So, Eddie,” you’re pulling your shirt back down while he assesses the damage he’s done in his shorts, “how about we go back to mine now, yeah?”

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x gn!reader

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thef1diary · 9 months

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Don’t Date Him | P. Gasly

Summary: When you finally try to let go of the silly little crush on Pierre, he makes every effort to keep you from doing so.

Warnings: none just fluff

Word count: 2.4k

Pairing: pierre x fem!reader

It starts with recognizing that you'll never be anything more than a friend to Pierre. You knew each other for eight years now. All those years ago, you were new to Monaco, you had made the decision to pursue post secondary education in a new country. You are originally from France, which meant that you easily fit in the Monégasque culture. Since it is a small country, you and Pierre happened to find yourself in the same place multiple times.

Now, you were one of his closest friend. But that's all you'd be. Just a friend.

You don't remember the day you actually started liking him, but you do remember when you realized it. You usually tag along with Pierre when he goes to the gym, claiming that you'd only go if he'd accompany you. That day, you also accompanied him. Pierre and his trainer would be working out while you would do your own workout.

You don't remember when you started liking it when he would take off his shirt, or when he'd take a break to drink water and a small amount would dribble down the corner of his mouth.

That day, you had your headphones on, listening to music from your carefully crafted playlist with all your favourite songs. You were alternating dumbbells in your hands, doing bicep curls. You watched yourself in the mirror since your form wasn't the best, perhaps it was because you moved on to the next heavier weight which was slightly challenging.

You saw Pierre in the reflection, walking up towards you so you moved one side of the headphones so you could hear him. Pierre walked up behind you and placed one hand around your waist while the other was underneath your hand that was holding the weight. You sucked in a breath when his hand made contact with your bare stomach as you took off your zipper hoodie and now only in a sports bra.

"Relax your shoulders" he muttered. Releasing a shaky breath, you listened to him. You moved your hand that was holding the weight and saw how his hand followed it but never held it.

He didn't move his hand away from your body, instead as you were working out, he pulled you closer so you could feel the front of his body. Those mixed feelings made you very confused but you didn't have the courage to ask him about it.

Since you didn't get any other indication from him that he liked you, you had decided to move on from him. Pretend like you never felt anything for him which was a lot harder to do. You definitely started avoiding him more often and made it seem unintentional. You two hung out often, very often which meant that you needed to change that habit if you were going to get over your crush. You still attended races, but it was the summer break now and for a moment you wanted to delay your plan. You knew he'd make more plans since he isn't busy with the races, but you felt bad knowing that you'd have to deny him.

Charles invited you and Pierre to his yacht which you agreed to because you knew that there would be other people. You didn't trust yourself to be around Pierre alone. This crush is very stupid and what makes it worse is that it's one sided.

You were looking forward to the party, knowing that some other drivers and their partners would also be there. You decided to wear a white bikini with a white button up shirt that you decided to leave open. Taking a tote bag and filling it with essentials you need if you were going for a swim later. You accessorized with gold jewelry that stood out on your slightly tanned skin.

You made your way on to the yacht and saw Charles first. He walked up to you and hugged you, enveloping you between his arms. You two always hugged like that, it was honestly very comforting. Charles was like a brother to you, and you knew you could count on him because he made that clear from the first time you two met. However, you never told him about your crush on his best friend. That's exactly why; Charles and Pierre were very close so if Charles knew, then he would tell Pierre.

You talked to him for a bit then you felt a pair of arms hug you from behind, picking you up. You instantly knew who it was and you cursed yourself for recognizing him so easily. "Pierre! Put me down" you exclaimed but couldn't stop laughing as well.

He listened and spun you around and put an arm around your shoulder, side hugging you. You didn't pay any attention to that, instead you noticed what he was wearing. All white linen. Shorts and a button up shirt that was completely unbuttoned so his tanned chest was on display. You also noticed how his chain with the crucifix was also shining in the sun. He was wearing sunglasses so you couldn't see his coloured eyes.

He poked you in the arm and that's when you realized he was waiting for you to answer his question. "What?"

"I'm getting a beer, want one?" He asked again, looking at you with an amused face.

"Yeah, sure"

He nodded then moved his glasses down and gave you a wink before walking away. You didn't know what that was for. Before contemplating his actions, you were approached by Carmen. "He's an idiot"

She commented as she saw you watch Pierre but then you turned your head to face her. "What?"

"You like him, don't you?" She asked. "I don't know, maybe but there's no point because he doesn't see me like that" you admitted and it sounded so stupid once you said it out loud. It sounds like a stupid school girl crush. You are more mature than that.

"That's why he's stupid" Carmen stated which made you chuckle. "Yeah, I guess he is. But yours isn't as smart either" you jerked your head in George's direction who was having a beer chugging contest with Charles. Carmen shook her head with a smile on her face "he might not be the brightest but I still love him"

You pushed her away in a playful manner "yeah yeah I know".

Pierre came back towards you and handed you the beer, "what are we talking about here?"

You shook your head "nothing" but you saw Carmen looking at you with a smirk before she walked away.

You faced Pierre and he instantly sparked up another conversation. "Wanna go skydiving?"

You laughed at his excitement to go, he's been talking about it for a while now. "When?"

"Tomorrow? Me, you, and Charles?" He asked but you frowned, "I actually have plans tomorrow, but you two should go"

"You have plans with people other than me?" He asked and placed a hand on his heart. You smacked his arm "not funny".

"But seriously, cancel your plans. Let's go, we're gonna have so much fun" he tried convincing you and usually it would work but now you weren't going to give in. "Pierre, I'm not going to cancel my date for you" you saw his eyes widen and you realized your mistake. You didn't want to tell him about the date because he'd ask you so many questions.

"You have a date?" He asked and slightly winced when you nodded. "Who is it? And why didn't you tell me"

"That's why. You ask too many questions" You started to walk away but he pulled you back. "But.." he wanted to say something but couldn't get the words out. You listened, maybe just maybe he'd tell you what you always wanted to hear.

But he didn't say anything so you walked away.

—

The next day arrived quickly and you were getting dressed for your date. You met the guy on a dating app which is not something you normally do but when you started texting, you were actually interested in him. But he wasn't like Pierre. You cursed when you caught yourself comparing him to Pierre.

This was the time for you to move on. You did feel slightly guilty for using this guy to help you move on from Pierre, but you knew that if you didn't then you'd only think about him.

It was a dinner date at a well known, fancy restaurant which meant that you'd have to wear a dress. You didn't own many dresses, in fact it was Pierre and Charles who insisted on buying dresses while you resided in Monaco due to the nightlife there.

You decided on a light blue satin ruched corset dress with a slit down the side. You didn't want to show off too much skin but this one seemed elegant for the first date, especially a dinner date. You were putting on a pearl necklace when you heard a knock on the door. You checked your phone first, not seeing a message from the guy yet.

You opened the door and saw Pierre on the other side. He seemed out of breath and frantically looked around before making eye contact with you.

"Pierre, what are you doing here?"

He didn't answer your question, instead he invited himself inside.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to go skydiving with Charles today?" You questioned, trying to lighten the mood since he seemed stressed out or something of the sort.

"I didn't go"

"Why not?"

"Told him that I was sick" Pierre looked up at you since he was now sitting down on the couch.

You looked at him from the top to bottom and raised an eyebrow. "Liar"

"You don't think I'm sick?"

"You don't look sick" you pressed your palm on his forehead then cheek but he held it there once you tried to pull back.

"Now come on, I have a date to get to. I need to get ready" he let go of your hand and you turned around to go to your bedroom.

"You're wearing that?" You turned around to face him but he was holding his hands up in surrender, "I didn't mean that. You look amazing but do you remember where you bought that dress?"

You shook your head and waited to him to tell you. "Remember when we were at the mall and you immediately went inside this one store as soon as you saw this dress" he told you as he walked towards you. You didn't think Pierre would remember it.

"Then when you tried it on and showed it to me-"

"You liked it and said that blue looks good on me" you completed his sentence and he nodded.

"You know, when I said I was sick, it wasn’t entirely a lie" Pierre stated. "I'm sick of seeing you distance yourself from me"

"Pierre" you placed your hand on his chest when he was getting too close, you could smell his cologne.

"No, no, let me say this because if I don't now, I might lose everything I never realized I needed and wanted"

"I guess it's true that when you start to lose something, you realise it's worth. And one of the greatest things that has ever occurred to me is you. I was an idiot for being so oblivious to this and your feelings. I was afraid that if I told you, I'd lose you as a friend, but now I noticed that you're pulling away from me because you think I only want to be friends with you"

"I don't understand, Pierre. Are you saying what I think you are?" Your hand was still on his chest and you only noticed when he placed his hand on yours, then pulled you closer.

"I've been in love with you for years now. You're all I think about. Your smile; especially that dimple, your laugh, your godawful sense of humour that never fails to make me laugh. The way you cheer for me when I get a good result but also the times you're there to comfort me when I don't do as well as I could've. You're there to listen to me, even if it's at three in the morning for you and you have work the next day. I don't know why I've never told you. I guess I never realized that you reciprocated those feelings" Pierre poured his heart out into his speech and tears started welling up in your eyes.

"If you haven't succeeded in your plan of moving on from me, and still happen to have a little bit of love for me in here" he pointed to your heart, "then please don't go on that date. Don't date him"

"How did you-"

"George"

"Dammit, Carmen. They tell each other everything" you remember telling Carmen the details on a phone call the night after the yacht party because she couldn’t resist not knowing.

You were quiet for a moment. "This would end very badly if you did actually move on" Pierre commented and you hit his chest.

"I just need a moment to believe all of this. This isn't an elaborate prank right?"

"No. I would never do that to you"

"Good"

Pierre groaned, "come on now, I'm desperate to hear those three words from your mouth"

"I want pizza?" You laughed while he placed his head in the crook of your neck.

Your little bubble popped when you heard a knock on the door, indicating that your date was here. You were about to move away from Pierre when you felt him tighten his hold around your waist and he started kissing your neck. "Don't go" he muttered in your ear.

You held his face and made him make direct eye contact with you. "I love you Pierre"

You saw how his eyes brightened and the smile on his face when you spoke those words.

Then, for the first time, Pierre pressed his lips on yours. The kiss was full of longing need but also the love that you two never got to express until now. The man at the door was long forgotten and perhaps you wouldn't feel too bad about it since it was only the first date.

Before the kiss could turn into anything more, you pulled away. "You know, I did dress up for tonight"

Pierre's hands roamed over your hips while he lightly kissed your cheek "and you're very beautiful"

Pierre looked up at you, "let me take you out before I make you my girlfriend"

"What makes you think I'll say yes?"

"Are you not going to?"

"Ask me at dinner" you winked and kissed him on the cheek before you left the bedroom.

Pierre shook his head with a smile on his face "I am so in love with her"

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1blr #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly x reader #thef1diary fic

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