#Are we ready for next week??? Or are we in denial that its even happening??

[satans-knitwear]

Redecorating occured so i felt compelled to do a look complimenting the new wallpaper.

Treat me ~ Tip me

[alwaysonthemend]

Author's Note: Well, I’ve had this one halfway finished for like a week and a half but my stupid laptop broke. Finally got a new one so here we are! I dedicate this fic to @takenbythemadness – your post about Jake seeing a producer flirt with the reader inspired me in the best way. Hope y'all enjoy :)

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, choking, use of vibrator, overstimulation, dom Jakey, sir kink, pussy slapping, face slapping, dirty talk, orgasm denial, edging, passing out. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 4470

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Dating Jake Kiszka has been a roller coaster from the start – crazy and unexpected, yet fun and exhilarating all the same. Dating a rockstar comes with its ups and downs, but the two of you have managed to find a wonderful harmony with each other that even an earthquake couldn't shake. Jake makes you feel safe – protected and loved in a way that you’d never gotten to experience before. Jake has never been one for large and loud declarations of love – and he’s told you before that some of his past relationships have suffered because of it. But you have never doubted Jake’s love for you. He shows love in actions; small, little things that show you just how much you mean to him. All those other people that he’s been with in the past just weren’t paying attention.

He tells you he loves you in so many ways you lose count of them. He says it in the way he always makes sure you’re comfortable when the two of you go out. He says it when he always somehow seems to know that you’re feeling insecure or upset and he whispers in your ear how gorgeous you are. He tells you he loves you by sending you flowers to your job if you’ve told him that you’re having a bad day. He tells you he loves you when he buys you things he notices you eyeing in stores that you put back because they’re too expensive. Hell, he tells you every time you get in the car with him and your favorite songs are queued up to play. And of course, every night before the two of you fall asleep, he makes sure that the last thing he whispers to you before he drifts off is “I love you.” In fact, your relationship with Jake has been the best thing that’s ever happened to you. The two of you have a perfect synchronicity with each other – complete understanding of each other’s wants and needs.

Part of that synchronicity between the two of you is the dance that you were currently engaged in with him while he was getting ready for an interview and photoshoot. It’s a game that the two of you have played only a handful of times during your time together – but each one has been more than memorable. You're not really sure what causes it – sometimes it’s you starting it and sometimes it’s him. But it always ends with the same result: Jake fucking you so thoroughly that you can barely walk the next day.

Today is one of those days where that itch settles itself beneath your skin. You need it… badly. And there’s not much that you won’t do to get it. And the opportunity to do just that presents itself in the form of a cute producer who’s on the set today that has been intent on flirting with you from the moment you all stepped through the door. Jake was being forced to do an interview – despite his numerous and spirited protests, and he’d asked you to come with him. You’d agreed, hoping to find a chance to play your game. So, as much as you want to admire how attractive Jake looks in his all black outfit, you instead turn your attention to the cute producer.

“I’m Oliver.” He’d said, giving you a sweet smile as you and Jake had walked in.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” You gave him your hand to shake and the grip lingered longer than necessary – and Jake’s dark eyes hadn’t missed it.

“Are you Mr. Kiszka’s assistant?” He asked, completely ignoring Jake as he focused all of his attention on you.

Just as Jake opened his mouth to not-so-kindly let him know who exactly you are to him, you speak up first.

“Yes, something like that.”

Immediately, you see Jake’s shoulders tense and his eyes narrow at you. You just give him a smile and slide past him, just barely brushing your shoulder against his as you pass. Oliver follows you as you take a seat off to the side, in view of where the interview will be taking place. Jake gives you one last sharp look over his shoulder before walking over to sit in front of the camera.

Body thrumming with adrenaline, you turn back to Oliver and give him a smile.

“So what’s your job around here? It seems like it would be fun.” You lean in close to ask the question and give him your best flirty smile. You can see Jake from the corner of your eye, watching your every move.

“Oh, it’s very fun.” Oliver says, obviously happy that you’re engaging with him again, before launching into what he does with the company.

You do your best to listen – occasionally asking questions to keep the conversation going, but your attention is more centered on Jake as he does his interview. He’s giving wonderful and thoughtful answers to each question, but his eyes often sweep over to where you and Oliver are. Tiny glances that aren’t outright enough for others to notice… but you can. You know him too well and you can clearly see that your plan is working. Every so often, just to dig your own grave a little deeper, you reach out to put your hand on Oliver’s shoulder if he says something funny. Your conversation with him is hushed in order to not interrupt the interview, so Jake can’t hear what the two of you are talking about – all he can see is your flirty touches and the love eyes that Oliver is giving to you.

Eventually, your conversation is interrupted when the director loudly announces that the interview portion is over. You glance over to see Jake making his way towards you.

“We’ll need you back here in a moment for some pictures, Mr. Kiszka.” He says, and Jake just gives him a curt nod as he strides over to you and Oliver.

“Hi.” You say, plastering an innocent smile on your face.

“What have you two been talking about over here?” Jake asks, and his voice is laced with faux interest. To Oliver, he seems perfectly normal – but you can see the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“Oh she was just asking me about my job here.” Oliver tells him with a polite smile.

“Wonderful.” Jake says, voice falling a little flatter. “Y/n, can I speak with you for a minute?”

“Right now?” You ask, glancing at Oliver. “We’re kind of in the middle of a conversation.”

Jake’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits and you almost regret your words. There’s no going back on your game now – but the promise of what you know is to come spurs you on even more.

“Right now.” He says coldly.

“We can talk later, Jake.”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, another set member comes over and saves you.

“Mr. Kiszka? We’re ready for your pictures now. If you could just follow me?”

“Of course.” Jake’s tone is smooth as silk as he turns to leave, but his brown eyes lock onto yours and you can’t look away. They’re ablaze with anger and the parting smile he gives to you and Oliver isn’t convincing at all. You give Jake another sweet smile before turning your back to him, heart pounding. You’ve sealed your fate.

Oliver quickly launches back into your prior conversation, but you can barely pay him any mind – instead, your mind is awash with thoughts of the trouble that you’ve gotten yourself into. All that’s left is just a few promotional photographs of Jake and then the two of you will be on your way back home… and the thought of what lies in wait for you makes you clench your thighs together in excitement.

Both lucky and unlucky for you, the photographer is finished with Jake quickly, and you watch with wide eyes as he strides determinedly over to you as Oliver continues babbling on about something or other in your ear.

“Are you ready to go?” Jake asks, interrupting Oliver’s endless chatter.

You open your mouth to protest but you stop short upon seeing the face that Jake is giving you. One eyebrow raised – almost as if in challenge, eyes venomous and dark, and his mouth is set in a hard line. You snap your mouth shut and give him a nod.

Oliver, noticing Jake’s body language, stops short and stares between the two of you.

“I, um…” He mutters, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I think I’ve gotta go do… something or other over there.” He jerks his head towards where the director is talking with some of the other crew members.

“Oh.” You say, turning away from Jake to give Oliver your best doe eyes. “Well, it was a pleasure getting to meet you, Oliver.”

He smiles despite the tension in the air.

“It was great meeting you too. Maybe I’ll see you again some time.”

And with that, Oliver scurries away, leaving you and Jake to stand in stony silence. You glance up at him but all you see is his back as he walks slowly towards the door.

“Don’t make me have to wait on you.” He says coldly, and you frenziedly jog over to catch up with him.

The drive home is silent. You fold your hands in your lap, nervously fiddling with a stray thread on your shirt. Jake stares resolutely ahead, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have turned white. In a desperate attempt to ease the tension, you reach over to turn the stereo on. The smooth notes of Dan Fogelburg spill through the speakers, easing the awkwardness for a moment. Without looking away from the road, Jake reaches over and turns it back off, plunging you back into silence.

By the time you arrive home, you’re sweating and a dull ache has taken up residence between your legs. Jake slams the car door shut and you follow swiftly behind him, excitement and fear thrumming through you. You enter your shared home and Jake still hasn’t looked at you – instead, he walks slowly over to the kitchen and grabs a glass from the cabinet. He grabs a bottle of bourbon and pours himself a generous amount. He takes a sip, still refusing to even look at you.

“Jake, I-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His eyes finally snap to yours and you shrink back from his angry gaze. “I’ve heard enough from you today.” He drains the last of the bourbon. “Go upstairs and strip.”

“But-”

“I told you,” he slams his glass down on the counter, “to shut the fuck up.”

He’s not yelling, but there’s nothing but pure rage in his voice. Figuring you’ve dug your hole deep enough, you practically sprint up the stairs and into yours and Jake’s bedroom. It’s dark out, and the only light in the room is spilling from the floor lamp in the corner, bathing the room in warm light. With shaky hands, you strip your clothes off you, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Your heart is beating madly in your chest and your hands are clammy as you stand naked in the middle of the room.

You snap your eyes to the door as you hear the floorboards creak.

There he stands, anger rolling off him in waves. He’s barefoot now, and his hat has been discarded elsewhere. His black shirt is completely unbuttoned, allowing your eyes to roam freely over his gorgeous torso. His eyes are stony and his face is completely void of any emotion, leaving you with nothing to gauge what your punishment is going to be.

“Get on your knees.” He orders, slipping his shirt off his shoulders. You practically collapse onto the floor and you wince, thankful that the floor is at least carpeted.

Jake strides over to you, his dark eyes pinned on yours as you look up at him. Slowly, he reaches a hand out to you, gripping your jaw tightly. He leans in close, face just inches away from your own. You can smell the liquor on his breath.

“Do you remember your safeword?”

You nod and his grip on your jaw tightens even more.

“Words, y/n.”

“Gibson, sir.”

He releases his hold on you and straightens back up.

“Good girl.”

You release a shaky breath as you glance up at him through your lashes, mouth watering at the way he’s looking at you – like he can’t decide if he wants to yell at you or kiss you. You stare, waiting for his next instruction. You can’t help but notice how close you are to his cock, hiding behind his black slacks. You want it – badly.

“You just gonna sit there and stare or are you gonna do something?” Jake asks you coldly.

“You haven’t told me what you want me to do. Sir.” The brattiness in your tone makes Jake’s eyes widen momentarily before he smooths over his expression.

“You’ve been acting like a slut all day… flirting with that stupid producer right in front of me. You really think you’re in the position to be acting like a brat right now?” He gives you a sickly sweet smile but you don’t answer him.

His hand shoots out suddenly and tangles in your hair. You let out a surprised squeak as he pulls your head back roughly, exposing your throat. He leans back down, so close that his plump lips almost touch yours.

“You’re so fucking desperate for it that you flirt with that guy just to piss me off?”

You wrap your hand around his wrist where it's tangled in your hair. You bite your lip for a moment, debating your next choice of words.

“What makes you think I’m so desperate for you? Maybe I wanted Oliver instead.”

Jake growls and the sound makes wetness practically gush from you. You can feel it dripping down your thighs.

“You really think he could fuck you the way I do?” He pulls away from you suddenly and begins to undo his belt. “Think he could make you feel the way I make you feel?” He slides his pants off himself, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

You know that no one could ever come close to bringing you the pleasure that Jake brings you, but apparently you’re a glutton for punishment.

“Maybe he could, maybe he couldn’t. Only one way to find out, though.” You give him an innocent shrug.

Without warning, Jake’s fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze. Your vision swims and a choked, meek little noise falls from between your lips.

“That little twig couldn’t fuck you half as good as I can and you fucking know it.” His grip tightens even more and your chest burns as he cuts off your air supply. “Fucking brat.”

Just as your eyes begin to roll back into your head, Jake releases you. You take in a staggering breath and cough.

“Suck my cock. And maybe I’ll think about letting you cum tonight.”

You waste no time in sliding his boxers down his powerful thighs, and your mouth waters as you take in his dick standing proudly at attention. No matter how many times you get to see it, you’re always overcome with how pretty his cock is.

Teasingly, you begin leaving little kitten licks over his head, just barely brushing your tongue against him. Before finally, you slowly wrap your lips around him and sink down until his tip nudges the back of your throat. You relax your jaw and breathe in through your nose as tears prick your eyes. Jake brings his hand to the back of your head and pushes you even further down on him, causing you to gag around him. You brace your hands on his thighs as he begins to rock his hips, fucking your mouth so deeply its taking all of your focus not to gag even more.

“Fucking take it.” Jake grits out, and you wish you could see what his face looks like as he fucks your throat. You can imagine what he probably looks like – brows pinched together and his head thrown back in pleasure. He groans and you whimper in response, more wetness dripping down between your thighs.

Jake pulls his cock from your mouth with a lewd pop and you take in a gulping breath.

“Look at you…” He says darkly, running a finger along your jaw line as he takes you in – mascara streaming down your cheeks and your hair a tangled mess. “Ready to admit who it is that you really want?”

You nod, whining as your pussy throbs with need.

“Say it.”

“You.” You tell him, and your voice sounds just as ruined as you feel. “I want you, sir.”

“Get on the bed.” You scramble to your feet, legs shaky and thighs a complete mess as you climb onto the bed. You sit in the middle and watch as he drinks in your form.

The bed sinks as Jake climbs into it. He crawls over to you and props himself up on one arm. With his other hand, he runs his calloused fingertips through the mess on your thighs, so so close to where you want him most.

“You’re fucking soaked, angel. Jesus.”

You whine and spread your legs wider, desperate for any type of relief.

“Please, Jake..” You cry, eyes screwing shut as his fingers ghost over your folds.

“Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours, sir. All yours.”

“That’s right.” He says, swiping a finger through your folds and just barely brushing against your swollen clit. “All fucking mine.”

Without warning, he plunges his middle finger into you and you let out a wail at the stretch. He pumps into you as his thumb circles madly over your clit. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. He adds a second finger and you cry out again, before grinding your hips downwards to meet his hand.

“Ah uh. Nope.” He pulls his fingers from you. “Don’t fucking move. You wanted to act like a slut. Now you’re gonna lay here and take it like one. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Your entire body jolts as he slaps his palm against your cunt, drawing a pained yelp from you.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He inserts his fingers once more, fucking into you at an agonising pace. You moan and whine, but you diligently stay in place, resisting the overwhelming urge to rock your hips in search for more.

Slowly, Jake plays you into the edge of your orgasm, and your cries only increase as you draw nearer and nearer. Just as you’re about to fall over the crest of pleasure, Jake stops his movements completely and you whine.

“Did you really think I was going to let you cum that easy, angel? After how you acted today?” He shakes his head and tsks at you. “Silly girl. You don’t fucking deserve to cum yet.”

“Jake, please.” You whine, body strung so tight you feel like you might snap, “Please give it to me.”

“Give what to you, baby?” He asks, voice saccharine and filled with faux concern.

“You know what.”

“Oh, do I?”

Slowly, he begins to circle your clit again. Over and over again, he brings you right to edge before pulling back before you can finish. It’s agony, and tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he brings you to the edge for a fourth time before he pulls away.

“Fucking hell, please! Jake, please!”

Jake just chuckles at you.

“Baby gonna cry?” He asks you with a shit eating grin.

You clench your fists in desperation.

“If you’re not gonna let me cum you should have just let me take Oliver home instead. He wouldn’t make me wait for it.”

Your head snaps to the side as Jake’s palm connects with your left cheek. The blow is hard, causing you to bite down harshly onto your tongue and the taste of blood fills your mouth.

“You just don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?” He asks, but he’s not looking for a response from you.

He sits up and reaches over to your nightstand and pulls open the drawer.

“No…” You whine, regret filling you as you realize what he’s about to do.

“Yep.” He says, pulling the cherry red vibrator out and shutting the door back. “Act like a brat and you get treated like one.”

He clicks the button and turns the vibrator on, and you can immediately tell by the sound that he has it on the highest setting. He settles himself between your thighs, hovering the toy just above your dripping cunt.

“Color?” He asks you, dropping the act for a moment.

“Green.”

No sooner had the word left your lips and Jake pressed the toy onto your clit. You yelp and your thighs instinctively try to close but he stops you easily. The stimulation is so much and your whole body feels like it’s on fire as Jake begins to make slow circles on your clit with the vibrator. White hot pain and pleasure course through you and you whine loudly – high pitched and desperate.

“Jake. Jake! Oh shit.” You grind out through clenched teeth.

“I don’t give a fuck.” He says, and presses the toy onto your clit even more. “If you wanna cum, you’re gonna cum from this.”

You could sob at his words. It’s too much and your body practically vibrates as he continues his assault on your clit. And yet somehow, you feel the coil starting to tighten in your belly. It hurts but the pleasure is still there despite the overstimulation as you moan and cry out.

“God, look at you. You gonna cum from this, angel? I know you can.”

You squirm beneath his ministrations and crack your eyes open to see him staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust. He’s rocking his hips into the bed, grinding his cock into the soft covers as he looks for some relief of his own. Your eyes roll back into your head as you hear him groan.

“Cum. Do it, angel. Cum for me,”

The band snaps and you're cumming, hard and violent. Your head feels like it’s in the clouds as the pleasure courses through you. Jake pulls the vibrator away from your poor clit and turns it off, tossing it to lay on the bed beside you. You lay there, brain fuzzy as you come down from your high.

“You ready for my cock, y/n? Ready for me to fuck you?”

You nod your head feverishly, body too weak to do much else. Your whole body is covered in sweat as your chest heaves.

“Get on your hands and knees, angel.”

You comply, rising shakily to get into the position he asked for. You sink your weight down on your forearms so that your ass sticks up in the air. You wiggle backwards, renewed desire for his cock coursing through you.

Jake pumps himself a few times before he nudges his tip through your folds, sliding through your wetness before he presses his cock into you. Slowly, he bottoms out, and the both of you moan loudly. He places both hands on your ass cheeks, digging his fingers into the meat of them as he begins to thrust into you. The stretch feels so good on your abused cunt, and all you can do is whine with each thrust into your pussy.

“God, you feel like heaven wrapped around me.” He groans, still thrusting into you agonizingly slow.

“Jake…” You whine, pressing your ass back into him. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, picking up his pace slightly. “Who else can fuck you like I do, angel?” He punctuates his question with a particularly hard thrust that has you clenching around him.

“No one, Jake. No one.”

“Roll over. Wanna see you.”

Jake pulls out and flips you so that you’re on your back. He grabs your leg and tosses it over his shoulder before he guides his cock back into you. The new angle has his tip brushing against your cervix with each thrust and you wail his name. Sweat beads along his hairline and drips down his neck and his face is flushed as he pounds into you. Little grunts and moans fall from his lips and all you can do is just lie there and take it. Your tits bounce with each thrust and the sound of his hips hitting yours is loud and ridiculously pornographic.

“Angel, I’m so fucking close.” He groans out. “Give me one more.”

He places his hand on your lower belly, feeling himself inside as he fucks into you.

“You feel that?” He asks, voice sounding wrecked. “Feel how deep I am? God, fuck!” He curses, rhythm beginning to falter. He’s trying to hold on, waiting for you to cum first.

And you can feel him. He’s fucking you so hard and deep it’s like your brain can’t remember anything but the pleasure he’s giving you. You aren’t thinking – your mind reduced to nothing but Jake, Jake, Jake.

Again, that familiar feeling begins to claw up inside of you.

“Jake!” You scream, raking your nails down his back and leaving red marks in their wake. “Don’t stop. Please!”

“Fuck, y/n. I’m so- fuck.” He whines loudly and the sound pushes you over the edge.

You clench around him and you can feel him spill into you as your orgasm tears through you. Jake’s mouth is open in a silent scream as he cums. He keeps fucking you through both of your releases and you scream his name over and over as your climax keeps fucking going.

You open your eyes to see Jake’s chocolate eyes staring at you, filled with concern.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

As you become more aware of your surroundings, you notice that you’ve been cleaned up and Jake’s sweat-damp hair is beginning to dry.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” You paused for a moment before adding, “I think.”

“You scared me. Are you sure you’re okay? I shouldn’t have gone that hard…” He trails off, staring at you looking like a kicked puppy.

“Jake,” you smile at him, “I promise I’m okay, More than okay, actually.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“What exactly did I do?” You asked, sitting up to look at him more clearly. “Did I pass out?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.” You giggled, shaking your head.

“It’s not funny!” He protested, but his lips quirked into a smile despite himself. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Well, I was asking for it.”

“Fair. You were being quite the brat.” He said, laughing lightly.

You shrugged.

“Had to get you riled up somehow, didn’t I? Besides, that was totally worth it.”

“I am pretty good, huh?”

You slapped his chest playfully.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Angel, no one is going to hear the end of this.”

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if you're reading this, i love you!

taglist:

@sacredjake

@ignite-my-fire

@demolitionndann

@brujamagik

@mybussyinchrist

[hphmmatthewluther]

HPHM Ship Week: Day 3 - Sunset

Here we are at the end of this amazing event! Thanks so much to @hphm-ship-week for putting all of this together for everyone! It's been so much fun writing and seeing everyone's creations!

It had been a long day. A lot of Matthew’s most physical classes had all coalesced on his timetable, and so had spent the day doing Quidditch Practice, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and even had time to stop a gargoyle that had broken free from one of the school’s roofs. Suffice to say, he felt shattered. Having just returned the gargoyle to its spot, he went to climb back down before feeling a wave of exhaustion crash into him and drive him forward, forcing him down onto the tiled roof. He sighed, and leant his head back. The sky was that very light shade of blue it goes before going into the yellows and oranges, and the few clouds that circled overhead were tinted pink in the glow of the setting sun.

He must have spent a few minutes simply lying there, letting his body ache itself out and admiring the view. He watched as the sun sank lower, and the crowds of students below were enveloped in the growing shadows of the castle. It wasn’t long, however, before he heard a window below him open, and a grunt as someone else climbed up to the roof. Matthew felt another wave of exhaustion getting ready to hit him before it all seemed to dissipate at once as he saw Merula’s messy hair appear, followed by the rest of her.

“Neat spot you’ve found, Luther…hell of a climb getting up here, though…” she wheezed, lying down next to him and catching her breath. “I’m guessing that’s the gargoyle everyone was talking about?”

She pointed over to the stone statue on the far edge of the roof, which rolled its eyes and started to shuffle away, muttering something about “teenagers”. Matthew nodded in return. “Yeah, that’s him. I think Peeves must have talked him into it or something. He’s probably learnt his lesson now, though. Hopefully, hah…” he trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I’m just, um…”

Merula turned on her side and looked at him. “I know. You’re overworking yourself. This happened last year, remember? You’d drained yourself of energy and I had to be you for the day.”

Matthew smiled. “Yeah, you were pretty good at it. The only bit you struggled with was doing it quietly.”

“I was…I was fairly quiet!”

“You burst into a room and yelled out “It’s Merula o’clock!”, I really don’t think you can say that-”

Merula shoved him playfully, her cheeks going pink. “Oh…hush. I still did well. You want me to have another go?”

“I…I think I’ll be alright, but thank you.” Matthew said, now turning on his side to look at her. The sun’s rays were falling upon her face, illuminating her brown hair as if it were an orange and golden flame. “I wouldn’t mind working with you, though.”

“Charmer.” Merula chuckled, “But I nonetheless accept. As long as…well. I suppose we’d have to be careful about how we do it.”

Matthew nodded. They already didn’t want any of the students knowing about the two of them, and certainly not the staff. “I think we could pass it off as us still being in denial. They’ve caught us being a lot closer and-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Merula said, bluntly. “Look…you’ve spent the last three years here trying to “make up” for your first two. I’ve seen you go through it each time, and now we’re…well, whatever we are…I’m going to be nudging you an awful lot more than I already was.”

Matthew nodded, his face still red, and not just from the setting sun. When she wasn’t trying to provoke him, she could read him like an open book. “Y-You’re right, um…I guess trying to do absolutely everything isn’t a complete solution to doing nothing. I guess I’m just…afraid of going back to that.”

“You won’t.” Merula promised, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Because…you never were there. I mean, sure, maybe at the very beginning when you sulked in Ravenclaw Tower all the time, but trust me when I say that just by being around, you seem to make other people feel better…” she said, her smile more genuine than Matthew had ever seen it, “...I should know.”

Matthew suddenly felt immobilised, only able to blink and open and close his mouth once or twice. Merula had stumbled upon a weakness of his: the inability to accept a compliment. “I…I, um, you, you really mean, but that’s, um-”

She simply laughed, in that way she sometimes did where her nose wrinkled and her head tilted back, a soft pink covering her cheeks and nose. “I mean it. It’s why it pisses me off seeing you forced to work like this because nobody else can be arsed.”

Matthew tilted his head. He knew where Merula was coming from, but to him, at least, his friends did more than enough for him. “...You know…I could say the same thing about you.”

“What?”

“Well, I think you’ve had just as much influence on this place as I have. You’ve pushed people to get better, and you’ve grown in response to it.”

“Well, maybe, but…I never meant to-”

“Neither did I. But you did. You never stay still, and that’s why I try to keep up with you…because being on pace with you is a feeling like nothing else.”

She blinked. She would have said, if asked, that she was shielding her eyes from the setting sun, and not that she was trying to cover the red across her face. It seemed that they shared a weakness, despite all their differences. She briefly leant over the roof, and seeing that nobody was around, removed the hand from her face and placed it on his other shoulder. “Nobody does it like us, do they? We’re like the knights of this castle.”

Matthew leant forward a little, not needing Legilimency to know what Merula had in mind. He watched as the sky around them became a fiery orange, as on the other side of the horizon the dark blue of the night began to creep in. “I always saw myself more as a caretaker, but knight sounds a lot cooler.” he admitted, smiling softly.

“It certainly does.” she said, leaning even closer. “If anyone catches us, I’m hexing them off the roof.” she whispered, her eyes beginning to close.

“Fair enough.” Matthew whispered back, before closing his own eyes, seeing only a fiery gold as their lips found each other. His arms moved to her shoulders as one of her hands slowly moved up into his long brown hair. The exhaustion that had previously covered his body had faded, and he suddenly felt a great deal more energised as the two leant further into their kiss. Matthew wasn’t sure how long they spent up there, but when he opened his eyes again the sky was visibly darker, and the face of the woman he admired was now illuminated by the final few embers of the sun before it dipped below the horizon. But to Matthew, she still looked radiant as ever.

“We’ll have to remember this place. It seems like a nice, quiet spot, especially now we’ve scared the gargoyles off.” Merula observed, her hand still running through Matthew’s hair. “You feeling better now, Matthew?”

Matthew pushed himself up from the roof, that same flustered smile still on his face. No matter how many times they found themselves alone like this, Matthew still couldn’t quite believe that Merula had trusted this side of her to him, and him alone. “Definitely. Ready to go and grab dinner?”

Their hands found each other as they walked away as one, breaking only to climb back down through the window. As Matthew looked back at Merula, his knight in emerald armour, he somehow already knew that as wonderful and sacred as the orange sky was, it could only ever be temporary. It would need to give way to what came next, and whether that was day or night, Matthew knew that it was with her that he could find the strength to meet it.

[rorywritesjunk]

(😌😌😌 I got a tummy ache from eating too many cookies at work so here's the next part.)

pt 1 + pt 2 + pt 3 + pt 4 + pt 5 + pt 6 + pt 7 + pt 8 + pt 9 + pt 10 + pt 11 + pt 12 + pt 13 + pt 13.5 + pt 14 + pt 15

pt 11

It... It was miserable. Every time the door opened, Sunny would look up, expecting Buggy to march through the door, asking why she was so sad, that she should smile because he was fine! There was nothing to be sad about!

Four months of sadness, denial, anger, everything.

She visited her family during that time, taking a few weeks to see her parents, her cousins and aunts and uncles. She put on a fake smile, acted like nothing was wrong, no, she didn't have a boyfriend, she was far too busy with her apprenticeship to even think of that.

Her parents could tell something was wrong but they waited until the middle of her visit to ask.

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong." Sunny insisted, smiling brightly as she cleaned the kitchen. "Why would you think that?"

"Because we're your parents and we can tell." Windy told her as she sipped her drink. Blue, her husband, nodded. "We're worried."

"Well, nothing to be worried about. I'm fine." Sunny said as she started filling the sink with water. "Just tired, you know. There's a lot of business at that little shop."

"She's not working you too hard, is she?" Blue frowned. "If you're not happy there, you can stay home. You don't have to go back."

Sunny paused for a moment, listening to her father's suggestion. She could. Why should she bother going back? The last year she had been focused on fulfilling her apprenticeship to join Buggy on his ship but now that was out of the question. It wasn't going to happen.

"Sweetheart?" Blue asked. "You sure you want to go back?"

"I do, yea." Sunny replied as she started scrubbing a skillet. "I meet a lot of interesting people there, you know. I was able to go onboard a ship and meet Whitebeard! He's so tall!"

Her parents shared a look; her mom looked back over at her. "If you're sure, we won't push you. We just want you to be happy."

"I am happy, really." Sunny smiled. "I like what I do. Thank you, though."

~

She wrote in her journal that she missed Buggy. She wished nothing had happened, that maybe the last time they saw each other she should have told him how she felt, but back then she really wasn't sure. It had been just after his birthday, she was so happy to see him, it didn't occur to her it would be the last time they went out together.

~

Miss Pins seemed a little surprised to see Sunny when she returned. Did her boss think she gave up already?

Sunny decided she wasn't ready to give up. She'd keep trying. She would keep helping customers, building up her skills, and even if she couldn't gift Buggy a fancy captain's hat and jacket then fine, she would do it for someone else. Make them flashy, stand out, even if she didn't think they would be anything like him.

She worked hard, listening to tips from the older apprentices, helping Miss Pins with customer measurements, taking notes, everything. She wanted to be the best.

A few weeks later, after a particularly busy day ended with a customer making her feel uneasy, she went out to get a crepe. It was a little bittersweet, remembering getting there with Buggy several times, and as she sat down, taking a bite, she felt tears in her eyes. The food was tasteless, giving her no joy in the sweetness as she thought of him.

She chewed it slowly with a sniffle before swallowing. Was it always going to be like this? They weren't even together. They were just friends.

If she could see him again she would tell him how she felt. Sunny regretted not doing it before.

As she forced herself to enjoy the crepe, someone approached her. She tried to ignore them, not wanting to talk to a stranger, but when their hand reached out, their finger scooping a bit of the whipped cream off the crepe, she looked up, ready to shout at them to back off, but she froze when the hand returned to its owner.

He looked smug, his blue hair was pulled back, and he had a little bit of scruff on his face, but Buggy stood there, licking his finger clean.

"Miss me?"

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Matt Gertz for MSNBC:

The cycle of lies that drove the Jan. 6, 2021, insurrection is again underway. Five months before the 2024 election, claims that only fraud could explain a future Donald Trump defeat are already commonplace in the right-wing media ecosystem. Fox News stars and Trumpist influencers are priming their audiences to listen if Trump once again claims an election was “rigged” against him — and to come to his aid.

Twice last week, Greg Gutfeld told viewers of “The Five,” Fox News’ most-watched broadcast, that the public will only believe the 2024 results are legitimate if President Joe Biden loses. “If they aren’t that worried that Joe’s going to lose, given his sorry state, what are they planning? What are they doing to save the day?” Gutfeld asked June 13. He added that if “by some weird, miraculous chance” Biden wins, “how do you convince anyone that’s real? Have they even thought of that?” He concluded, “Even the Dems behind the scenes better hope he doesn’t win because no one’s going to believe it.” Gutfeld reiterated the point the next day, saying that if Democrats “somehow pull this out” by using “shenanigans” to win, “you’re going to deal with a public that doesn’t buy the election.” That same week, Gutfeld’s colleague Jesse Watters used his prime-time show to call for banning ballot drop boxes on the grounds that they are “ripe for fraud” and to warn of millions of undocumented immigrants voting. “Biden let 10 million illegal immigrants into this country,” Watters claimed (falsely). “How are we ever going to accept the results of the election in this kind of landscape?”

This fear-mongering about the potential for election-changing fraud has been a consistent refrain all year on Fox News. “The Democrats are going to stop at nothing,” host Laura Ingraham declared in January. “If they can, they’re going to game the system or yeah, maybe even cheat.” 

While the network paid a heavy price for its election denial in 2020 — including a $787.5 million defamation settlement with Dominion Voting Systems — its hosts are under constant pressure from other Trumpist competitors who loudly claim that Democratic election-rigging is an indisputable fact. “There are no ‘issues’ with the 2020 election — they stole it,” former Trump adviser and right-wing podcast host Steve Bannon claimed in March. “The only way they defeat Trump is to steal it. The only way they defeat Trump is they steal it. The only way they defeat Trump is they steal it. He is unstoppable.” We saw four years ago that these disinformation campaigns can trigger horrific results. Trump’s plot to subvert the 2020 vote did not begin when he falsely declared victory in the hours after Election Day. By that point, the then-president and his right-wing media cronies had spent months preparing Republican voters not to accept a result that ended in his defeat. Outlets like Fox News relentlessly bombarded their audiences with misinformation about mail-in voting and election fraud. Trump in turn regularly promoted that bogus coverage, describing it as evidence that “Democrats are Rigging our 2020 Election!”

[...] All this suits Trump’s aims perfectly. Mimicking his right-wing propagandists, Trump told Time magazine in April that the only thing that can prevent him from winning “in record-setting fashion” is if Democrats rely on “the things that they did the last time.” He warned that if that happens, political violence from his supporters may be on the table. In other words, Trump is ready for another Jan. 6-style assault on democracy if one proves necessary. And propagandists in the right-wing media are laying the groundwork to ensure his plot’s success

Matt Gertz writes in a column on MSNBC’s site that Fox “News”, Newsmax, and Stephen Bannon, along with the rest of the right-wing media ecosystem, are planning a January 6th Insurrection: Part 2 if Joe Biden wins again in November with the same tired election denialist claims.

See Also:

MMFA: The right-wing media ecosystem is laying the groundwork for another January 6

[sara-did-not-find-a-cool-name]

Nameless - last analysis

Helloooo, 

New week, new post, and last post about the video clip of Nameless, by Stevie Howie ! With his girlfriend, he released her version of the song a few days ago, we will have the possibility, in the next post to look at her verse and the cover of the song.

We already talked about a few scenes of the video clip like the ones on the bathroom, the kitchen… and now we will talk about the ‘chair scene’. This is a scene where, like before, man and woman switch their positions : one on the chair, one behind the chair. We can observe that when the man is on the chair, the woman behind him seems to be wanting to choke him, we feel the violence in her movements and her hand is around his neck as if she wanted to kill him. Whereas, when it’s Sydney on the chair and Stevie behind, the movement are way more sensual with hands that go all along her body. It’s relevant in this case because we see the relationship between a victim and a representative of the male gender and between a man and a woman. The two are very different : while the woman is angry and want revenge, the other one seems to want a sensual, sexual relatioship with the other gender. 

The next scene is a mirror scene. Stevie is looking at the camera while his reflection is in the mirror. Like before, the positions switch : sometime, there is only Sydney or Stevie and their reflections, but it can also be Sydney and the reflection of Stevie in the mirror and the contrary. It clearly says, once again, that he is talking for her. And, you have another clue of that, when Sydney is the reflection of Stevie, she looks at him as she agrees with what he says. We can see Sydney blocked into this mirror, like in her real body, unable to talk to the ‘real world’ and unable to come back to reality, maybe because of the thoughness you go through once you live as a victim of a rape. Then it’s her turn to look at the camera, accusing. 

What is interesting is that for the reflection of Stevie, if we consider the mirror as his inner-thoughts, we see that he is way more agressive, restless, showing to the audience what he really think of the situation. He looks bitter, ready to fight, violent, but his real self have to remain calm.

After those two observations, we see an evolution in Sydney’s behaviour : she stops looking at the camera as she is not able to confront her rapist anymore, as she is was dead inside (inside because she is in the mirror). But, we also have this expression in french ‘affronter son reflet’, which seems to become impossible for her.

At the end of this scene, even Stevie looks like unable to help her, devastated.

Then, the audience looks at a scene on a parking. I like that they introduced a parking scene because all the other scene takes another dimension. In the human spirit, rapes are mostly made in public spaces like parkings, and I think that this is why they chose it. However, in reality, they mostly happen in a private sphere hence the scenes that took place into the house. 

While you are dazzled by the lights of a car, like a revelation, to clear the crime up, you can look at Sydney, hands on the head, lost and unable to stand on her own, at the end of the road. But, you can also look at a man, fetter to a chair, blindfolded. I don’t think that this man is first a representation of a rapist but also of society. Society, until very recently, treated sexual assault as taboo and folded its eyes on the subject and I think that it is what Stevie tries to show through the directing of the video clip. The woman, who is subject to the same directing, is more affected by society’s morals causing women to turn a blind eye to on the subject, thus expressing the fact that women are forced to use denial, because of the difficulty of facing sexual assault.

During this analysis, I talked about violence and the facial expressions of Sydney. If you look closely the whole video clip, you will observe two things : Sydney never made any facial expressions like she was dead, and you can feel that the agressiveness is raising all along thanks to faster shots. 

What I find very important in this video clip is that they do not let the audience alone, underlining the fact that this is very hard for a victim to deal with. Few words are expressed on the matter :

“You are not alone

It was not your fault

I believe you”

Those words are very powerful in the context of sexual assault nowadays for victims. Instead of questioning wether or not the victim has been raped, like a lot of people do, they just encourage the victims through their journey. It shows how society make them silent, that the shame is on the wrong side. It is a tribute for them.

Finally, we are at the end of this -very long- analysis which was so interesting for me. I was used to listen to this song whitout putting words into all those details but I think I did the right thing when I see all this work !

Thanks for reading. Have great holidays !

[regular-lord-reckoner]

so, my dad had some doctors appointments yesterday so we can just kinda see where he’s at with all of this and what the next step is and i felt pretty confident based on everything we’d been seeing and everything i’d heard from my therapist as well as reading about this that the next step was going to be to order in home hospice care but apparently!!!

we’re doing physical therapy

i guess we’re...gonna see if he can get a little stronger, maybe then see if he can do some more infusions i guess and just go from there?

i dunno

i just feel confused and maybe this is just like...his denial about the whole thing powering him through this because i’m looking through the list of “what it looks like when someone with cancer is dying” and he’s checking several of the boxes but instead of preparing for that i guess we’re just going to push it to the absolute limit, i guess ??

and it sucks because i was just seeing on facebook someone from high school who’s also going through this with a parent and like...hers is at the point where her mom is having to have fluid drained off her lungs every week and she’s absolutely miserable and it’s just awful for everyone involved, especially her mom, but like....i get why she’s trying to power through it, because she’s still fairly young

my dad turns 77 this year

and we’ve asked him over and over again, “is there anything else you want to do before it’s time? any trips? visit with anyone? anything?” nope!!

he’s already done everything he’s wanted and lived a wonderful life

and by no means am i saying, “okay, great, so get the fuck out of here, then!!!” but like...he’s said over and over again he wants to keep his dignity intact and not have it be a miserable march to the end and i can’t help but feel like that’s what we’re signing up for here

i know my mom said emotionally she’s not ready for this to happen right now and i think he’s in denial as well, but like...guys, that’s not going to make it stop, i’m so genuinely sorry about it

and it sucks because it’s at the point where this 24/7 caretaking is taking its toll on my mom (and me, but to a much lesser extent) and it’s like...she goes back to work in a few weeks and i’m the one who’s having to pose the question, “are we at least going to consider getting home healthcare to come in to help him while you’re at work or am i supposed to do it?” and there’s no plan of action for that, but yeah, let’s have a dying man push his body physically and i guess that’ll magically fix everything? 

it won’t

i’m not saying it won’t be nice for him to at least be able to walk by himself (because he can’t right now) or that it wouldn’t be of any benefit for him to do a few arm curls with a 5 pound dumbbell but it just feels like denial is winning the war on reality and i’m the one person who sees it and it’s making this whole thing even more confusing and frustrating

maybe i’m wrong, maybe this will help and he’ll get strong enough to go back on his infusions and then he’ll go back to how he was before which was yeah, still stuck with this shit unfortunately, but like...more or less “normal” and able to like....walk from one side of the room to the other without immediately needing his oxygen and an inhaler and a breathing treatment, y’know?

i dunno.

i guess we’ll just see what happens and figure something out as far as getting him help, because regardless i just don’t feel comfortable being the only person here to watch him while she’s gone

i’m not a nurse and i have a physical disability; if he were to have some sort of medical emergency or fall down i don’t know what i would do and i think the closest medical facility that has an emergent department is at least 30 minutes away so like...i would really prefer having someone here who could help with that

literally the other day he asked me to hand him one of his medicines to take and like...i don’t know what the fuck this shit is or what it does or what can mix with what and fortunately my mom was there to be like, “hang on a second, you don’t need this right now; this is going to do such and such” and had to explain to him that it would cause him more problems than what it would have fixed so like...i almost wrecked his whole fucking day and he asked me to!!!! he didn’t know, but neither did i so like....please

we’re supposed to have a family friend and his wife that are going to move their camper onto our property so they’ll be close by if we need extra help, but they both have jobs as well and ones that take them outside the house and one of the friends has already offered to amend his work schedule and cut back his hours just to help us so there’s that, but still, neither of them have the medical know-how to help with this and one of them has serious health issues herself so she doesn’t need to be stressing herself out because she could literally die so like...yeah

it’s just a lot and i love my dad, i do, god fucking knows i am torn up about the possibility of losing him, but at the same time it’s like...we have something many people (and in my own history especially) don’t get which is the gift of time and awareness

we know that this is happening and we can prepare for it because we know

i didn’t have a chance with Ashley, but i get a chance to prepare for this one and accept it with as much peace and grace as possible while also doing everything in my power to help him go the way he wants to with his dignity and in as little pain as possible and yet it’s like....mmmm, no Anna, everything’s fine, we’re just going to continue on!!!

like okay, but....he’s never going to go back to the way he was before. even with treatments, even with physical therapy, i can see it. even if no one else can or wants to, i can see it. quite frankly, i can smell it, too. it’s not strong and i know the man showers, i’m not saying “ew, he stinks!” but like...death does indeed have a smell and when i get next to him or hug him i can smell it

maybe i’m wrong, maybe he’ll make a miraculous turnaround and kick stage four lung cancer/COPD/emphysema in the ass and live for another ten years!!!!

but i don’t think i am and i really, really need everyone else to get on board with me and accept that because the sooner they do, the easier this will be even if it’s still the hardest thing in the fucking world

i’m sure at some point i’ll have to do what i always do and play the role of truth coming out of her well to beg everyone around me to accept reality and there will be the resistance that there usually is and i’ll be told i’m wrong like i usually am and then when things play out almost exactly the way i said they would and we end up almost exactly where i said we would we’ll have the exact same conversation of, “you were right and you tried to tell me” once again but i’d love if it we could skip that part and just....all get on the same page because i am so fucking tired of carrying grief by myself

it’s like that one quote about how pain gets passed around a family until someone is finally ready to feel it

i’m usually that someone and i think Ashley was that someone before me but neither of us has to be and i hope to god that’s not the case here 

all of that said, my therapy is indeed paying for itself because i am taking care of me today

i slept in pretty decent, i went and got some yummy food and a fun drink and dessert and i’ve just taken some good edibles and will make my way out to the pool in a little bit

today’s a self care day and i will continue to if nothing else prioritize my mental health and physical well being and lean into those who support me and are there for me and will accept reality even if i fucking hate it because i’m taking care of me and i think i kinda like me a little bit so there’s that !!

also, i finally have a week off coming up soon which is my first vacation in like 8 months that i won’t be dog sick during so whatever happens i will at least not have to worry about clocking in and out and goddamn referrals and stupid emails and whatever else!!

hope if you’re reading this you’re having a good weekend and doing something nice for yourself today <3

[navalcriminalimagines]

Can you write another/the following part of "Oh, you're jealous"?

This is going to become a smut series. There's so much more to come! 👀

Warnings: pure smut, dom!Gibbs, boobjob, fingering, bathroom sex, orgasm denial, anal talk

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @madamsnape921 @specialagentastra

NCIS Discord server: https://discord.gg/7YDHXd3q

Yes, sir

You didn't stop the flirting, you actually increased it. Gibbs wasn't really jealous anymore, because he knew why you did it, but he'd play along. It would give him the right to punish you once he took you home and boy, did he have many ideas in mind.

He watched you dance with Tony. Your body was extremely close to his, he could see his Agent enjoying how your hips were swaying against his. It wasn't really fair for Tony, he clearly had a crush on you. But Gibbs also knew the man would have another crush by the following week.

When you walked to the counter to order another drink, you felt Gibbs's body pressing against yours. "You fucking brat." he growled in your ear, causing you to laugh. "After that drink, you're done. I want your head to be clear enough for what will happen when we get home."

"Who said I was coming home with you tonight?" you grabbed your drink that the bartender put in front of you and thanked him. You were discreetly grinding your ass against Gibbs's crotch and you could feel a consequent bulge in his pants. Before you could take a sip of your drink, he grabbed the glass from your hand, drank it all and took your hand in his.

Gibbs didn't care much if people saw the two of you entering the restroom. Actually, he hoped some people did. Especially men, that may think what a damn lucky bastard he was. Cause he fucking was.

He had a plan and he was going to stick with it. He pinned you against the wall and worked on your jeans. He didn't even bother to kiss you. "You're gonna regret everything you did tonight." He looked deep in your eyes, you were sure he could see your soul. You were pouting, waiting for a fierce kiss that never came.

Gibbs slid his hand into your panties and you jolted at the physical contact. "I hope DiNozzo didn't make you this wet." He said, with a husky voice and you shook your head no. "Tell me who's responsible for this." It was an order. You struggled to form words as he was rubbing your sensitive clit. "Y/N." He was still waiting. He wouldn't get further unless you talked.

"You-- That's all you." you finally said, throwing your head back against the wall. You tried to touch him, his arms, his chest, anything but he slapped your hands away.

"Don't make me handcuff you."

You had never been handcuff before and that idea did things to you. But maybe for another time, you weren't sure you could handle it right now. So, you inhaled intensely and kept your arms along your body.

As a reward, Gibbs entered a thick finger in your wet cunt, still rubbing your clit with his thumb. You moaned from the back of your throat and a smirk appeared on Gibbs's face, but you didn't see it as your eyes were closed.

You were so wet, he could easily entered another thick finger inside your core. "Fuck, Jethro--" you moaned and he took it as an invitation to go faster. "Yes! Right there, keep going!"

Gibbs fingerfucked you there in the bathroom of a bar. It didn't matter how loud you were, thanks to the music. He stared at you losing it under his touch and he loved every second of it.

You could feel an orgasm building inside your belly, you wrapped your hand against his wrist, digging your nails in his skin. When you were about to explode, Gibbs completely withdraw his hand from your panties and you let out a loud whine.

He smiled and sucked the fingers that was just inside you, tasting your essence. "I hate you." you complained. You wanted to beg him to keep going but it would be so easy.

"I told you, Y/N. This is just the beginning," he said, before closing the distance between your bodies. He kissed you intensely, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. "Until I say otherwise, you're not allow to touch yourself. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." you swallowed thickly.

"Good girl." he smirked and kissed you again, before exiting the bathroom.

You went back to the dancefloor. An orgasm denial was new to you, and you could feel how sensitive you were just by dancing. You kept looking at Gibbs from the corner of your eyes. The man was sitting with Fornell, talking but he was staring at you all along. "Man, she's not going to disappear, you can stop looking at her."

"Jealous much, Fornell?" Gibbs teased him.

"Well, I do wish I had someone to take to the bathroom. Details?"

*****

The car ride to Gibbs's place felt like an eternity. Before he drove off, he ordered you to open your jeans and touched yourself just lightly. You weren't allow to enter a finger inside your wet cunt, just rubbing your clit. But you were oversensitive already, just waiting to explode. When Gibbs sensed that you were close to cum, he grabbed your wrist - not so gently - to make you stop immediately. You whined again and he laughed.

"Poor thing." he teased.

He held your hand in his, rubbing small circles on your knuckles with his thumb. It was such a tender gesture, it made your heart melt, momentarily forgetting your orgasm denial. "I love you, Jethro." you said, not being able to stop yourself.

Since it's one long seat in his truck, he used his free arm to pull you against him. He took his eyes off the road just enough to kiss your temple. "I love you, too, Y/N." he whispered.

*****

Once inside his house, you didn't waste anytime and jumped in his arms. He chuckled, before responding to your needy kiss.

It required a lot of self control for Gibbs not to fuck you senseless right here, right now. He wanted to make you cum hard on his cock, making you losing control under him but that wasn't the plan.

Still kissing you intensely, he took you to the bedroom. He threw you on the bed nonchalantly. "Strip." he ordered you.

You stood on the bed and undressed yourself right in front of him. He looked at you like a lion looking at its prey. You could feel yourself dripping between your legs. It would only take a bit of stimulation to make you cum hard.

When you were completely naked, Gibbs grabbed your ankles and flipped you on the bed. In a second, you were laying on your back and he pushed on your knees to spread your legs. Your pussy was shiny from wetness and he licked his lips.

He dived in and gently licked your sensitive clit. You jolted immediately and Gibbs smirked. He made himself comfortable between your legs and started to eat you like a starving man. He alternately licked and sucked hard on your clit before putting his tongue inside your core. He tried to push it as far as he could, fucking you with it.

You were completely worked up. Gibbs felt you tensing pretty quickly. "Absolutely delicious." he growled. He had only pulled away for a brief second to talk but you instantly bucked your hips, looking for friction. He chuckled, and buried his tongue inside you again.

"Yes, Jethro! Please, don't stop!" you moaned, ready to cum on his face.

But he pulled away. "Damn you, Gibbs!" you cried.

"You don't deserve to the relief yet. You spent the entire day making me jealous, remember?" He moved to get on top of you and kissed you deeply.

“I’d apologize but I know about Rule 6 and— I do not regret it.”

“You just postponed your relief.” You looked at him with questioning eyes, but he just smirked again.

Laying by your side, he explained the rules for the next days. First, he repeated what he said at the bar: you were not allow to touch yourself in his back. Then, he made sure you remembered the safe word. And he let you what he had planned: he was going to edge you for days, you would be begging him like you never begged before. Meanwhile, he’d use you when he wants, how he wants. “Are you okay with it?”

“Yes. God yes. Use me.” You kissed him. “I’m all yours.” You whispered.

“That’s my good girl.” He kissed you more passionately, grabbing your hips to put you on top of him. You could feel the bulge in his pants, his cock was waiting to be freed and taken care of.

Unfortunately, you may cum uncontrollably if he fucked you. He wanted it. He wanted to bury himself deep inside you and fill you up with his cum and then fucking his load back in you again. But that was too risky for the plan. Especially since you just agreed to it.

Gibbs had never done anything like this. Not that his sex life had been simple or boring, but he always had limits. Probably because he knew his past partners were into all of this. But you were different. You were open-minded, ready to try anything at least once, and damn, you were so needy with him, always wet and ready for him, he felt like a fucking god. He never felt that before.

You loved sex. But sex with Gibbs, that was beyond loving it. You were craving for him, all day everyday. The man turns you on by just existing, it's too much sometimes.

"Ever tried anal?" He asked, as you were grinding against his rock hard cock.

"No... you?"

"Neither. My exes thought it was--" you kissed him to make him shut up.

"I don't give a shit about your exes. I wanna try it."

That thought only almost sent Gibbs over the edge. Thinking about his cock stretching your hole, feeling how tight you are around him, cuming deep inside your ass, and if he added the fact that he'd be the first, that was a lot. He grunted deeply under your touch. "You like that idea, don't you?" you teased him.

"We will go over the ground rules later, but for now, you're going to make me cum on those perfect tits."

"Yes."

"Yes, who?"

"Yes, sir." you smiled and kissed you one more time before going further down.

You took his pants off him, along with his briefs. He was painfully hard, you could see some precum coming out of the head. You licked it just lightly and he moaned. You gave him a few strokes with your hand before placing his cock between your breasts.

You pressed them around his length and started to go up and down. You could tell from the noises Gibbs was making that he wasn't far. You kept going, taking the head in your mouth a few times. "Fuck, you're perfect, sweetheart." he growled. "I'm gonna cum."

You went as fast as you could, until he tensed under you. You felt his hot load on your chest and chin, as he cried your name. You looked at him coming and it was a freaking hot sight. You've never seen him losing it like this before. He looked even more perfect than he already was.

You laid on his side as he was catching his breath. He looked at you with such loving eyes, you wanted this moment to last forever.

He cleaned his mess on your skin with his fingers and brought them to your mouth. You opened it, sticking out your tongue and sucked his fingers clean. "How are you feeling down there?" he teased you.

"Bite me. I need a fucking shower."

Gibbs followed you to the bathroom and you two showered together.

There was some very long days ahead for you.

[buddiebeginz]

Love your ideas.

I worry our fandom will lose its collective shit if the b word is used tho. >_<

I mean I don’t want to hear Eddie say that but I can see where the show might use that to further drag all this out.

The buddie shippers on Twitter are already worried about it. I think they’ll riot if Eddie actually calls Buck his brother

I think what people have to realize is for Eddie we may very well get a lot of denial from him even from himself. I mean look at how he handled things with Ana. We know he loves Buck but is Eddie ready to admit that to Buck or even himself who knows? And if confronted with a situation that makes him to start to question any of that he might just shut down and be like Buck’s my bro my bestie nothing more but when you look at things like the will scene or when Buck was struck by lightening we know that’s not true. I think we just need to be patient and see where abc is planning on taking Buddie. If we get some major confirmations that Buck isn’t straight in next weeks ep that to me is confirmation Buddie will happen eventually no matter how that Buddie convo goes.

For posterity, 7x04 predictions

It seems pretty obvious to me that Buck is going to blow up during basketball and somehow hurt Tommy on purpose. Chim will witness it and invite him over. At Maddie and Chim's house, Buck will confess to hurting Tommy on purpose and Maddie and Chim will tell him "obviously you're in love with Eddie, you need to do something about it". Maybe we'll find out in this scene that Buck has always known he was bi or maybe it'll be a new thing, but the sexuality realization will (for now) take a back seat to the realization that he's in love with Eddie. Then, at the end of the episode, Eddie, who has been watching Buck hate Tommy the whole episode, will come over to Buck's loft and try to comfort Buck by saying they'll always be best friends (possibly he'll break out the dreaded "b" word). Unbeknownst to Eddie, his reassurance will actually make Buck feel worse because Buck will have been planning on confessing his romantic feelings to him, but once Eddie defines their relationship as a friendship (possibly brotherly), he won't be able to. He'll play along but, unlike in the locker room scene, he won't smile once Eddie leaves - he'll look disappointed.

Imo, Chim and Maddie will be especially important in 7x04 as an outside perspective. They'll counter Eddie's claim that his feelings for Buck are just brotherly (which the audience would otherwise believe because heteronormativity) by bringing up all of the evidence that Buddie shippers have collected over 6 seasons. The heteronormative audience can fight shippers, but it can't fight in-show advocates who know what they're talking about because they're about to get married. Buck's sadness will do the rest.

What I can't decide is whether Eddie is actually going to tell Buck that he's planning to join Tommy's unit or if they'll just be flying helicopters for fun because Eddie missed it. Since Eddie is probably keeping it a secret from Buck, I think it's likely that he's at least considering leaving the 118. I bet he'll tell Buck in the loft scene that he won't leave if it will upset Buck, but Buck will of course tell him it'll be ok. What this does is it forces Buck and Eddie to really define their relationship outside of work. Right now they can stay in limbo because they see each other every day. If Eddie leaves, they'll need to start making time to see each other outside work, which will force them to decide how close they want to be going forward. I don't think that Eddie will actually leave but his impending departure will be a motivating factor for romantic Buddie.

[forever-rogue]

Hello Sunshine

A/N: Hello! I’m here with a 7am shower idea that I couldn’t get out of my head. It’s just a little sweet and soft Frankie. Enjoy! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

*Bold - Frankie ; Italics - Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: none

FRANKIE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Hey! What time did you want to meet up tomorrow for brunch?” you stared at the number you’d typed in and compared it to the one that the man you’d met the evening before had given you. You had been absolutely reluctant to go to the local bar’s speed dating evening before, but your best friend had convinced you to go. She was going to go as well, so you figured if you ended up suffering, she would likely too - solidarity in its finest form. Much to your pleasant surprise however, you ended up having a fun time...the multiple rounds of drinks probably didn’t hurt either. 

Marcus had been your last round for the evening, and he had been kind and charming; easy on the eyes and easy to make conversation with. He asked you questions and you were able to ask him ones back. Definitely a sharp turn from what you were expecting; and by the end of the night he’d offered you his number and asked you to for brunch on Sunday. You’d been...elated; it had been some time since anyone had actually managed to capture your eye.

Before talking yourself out of sending the message, you hit send and put your phone onto your nightstand. You weren’t too nervous in general, but there was something about sending that first message that always caused butterflies to erupt into your stomach. It wasn’t but a few minutes before your phone vibrated to signal a new message. Trying not to get too eager and excited, you reached for it and quickly opened the new text.

Who is this?

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the seemingly hasty denial of acknowledgment. It was no matter, you groaned at yourself, you probably should have included your name in the first place. No big deal, you quickly typed out your name and added, “we met at the bar last night? For the speed dating event?”

Your stomach flipped nervously as you wondered what he would say; hoping it was just a misunderstanding and he would realize exactly who you were. 

I didn’t go to any bars last night. I don’t know who you are.

Oh. Your throat constricted as you reached for the napkin with the phone and compared it again to the number you had texted. There was no way you’d mistaken any of the numbers. Sighing heavily, you slipped out of bed and edged towards your bathroom and tossed the offending object into the can. Things had seemed like they’d gone so well...you’d genuinely liked Marcus and thought the attraction and chemistry was there on both sides. Apparently you’d been made a fool once again. Heat flooded your face in embarrassment as you contemplated whether or not to text again. To hell with it, you decided, you might as well apologize if nothing else.

So sorry. The guy I met must have given me the wrong number. I hope I didn’t ruin your night. Sorry for wasting your time.

After that bit of failure, you decided you might as well get back into bed and watch a show until you fell asleep. You felt beyond embarrassed and just wanted to forget about the whole thing. Needless to say, it surprised you when your phone went off again.

No worries. Sorry if I was rude too. It’s happened to me before with a couple of girls. It  sucks. 

At this point, you found yourself smiling at the sentiment, and decided that one more little text wouldn’t hurt anything. 

Seriously! Why can’t someone just tell you if they’re not interested? It's so much easier. Either way - thanks for understanding and have a good evening. 

You too. Hope things look up soon for you.

His response had been instant almost as if he had been watching you type it all. Whoever this stranger was - and you weren’t even sure if it was a man or woman - they had turned out to be kinder than Marcus. But it didn’t do well to dwell on it; Marcus would get what he deserved and this stranger would get some good things. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Frankie put his phone on the charging pad he kept next to his bed, turning it on silent before crawling under the covers. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, he was surprised to see that he had a smile on his face. Not that was perpetually frowning or mad, but usually he wasn’t just smiling for no reason. 

Although he had a feeling he knew the exact reason as to why he was actually happy for once because of...you. The random stranger that texted him and sent a happy shiver up his spine. He wasn’t happy because of your little predicament, knowing the exact feeling of having been duped and given the wrong number several times. But the short conversation had been pleasant enough and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d hear from you again. 

Doubtful, he reminded himself, it was just a one off type deal and that was that. And yet...that didn’t stop him from quickly grabbing his phone again and saving your name and number as a contact. You know...just in case. 

Francisco Morales had sweet dreams throughout that night. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Frankie practically bounced into work the next morning, a smile on his face and spring in his step. So he seemed so out of normal form that his best friend and coworker, pointed it out to him and everyone. Frankie played it off like it was no big deal; in reality it wasn’t. You were just another stranger out in the world that flung into his orbit for a moment before leaving again. 

But that whole week felt different and somehow the world was a little brighter - filled with sunshine. Even if it wasn’t everlasting, he didn’t mind the feeling it gave him for the moment; the positive energy was nice for a change. 

Little did he know that across the city, you were existing in your own little world, going about your day to day in a similar manner. What a small world it was indeed. You had been incredibly tempted to look up his phone and see if you could find anything out about your mysterious stranger, a name, some sort of profile - anything  - but refrained. What if it was someone you ended up attracted? A beautiful woman or a good looking man that caused you to start all sorts of fantasies? No - you didn’t need all of that. You’d let it go or let whatever happened happen. 

Which likely was nothing. Right? Right. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Imagine your surprise when you found yourself at home with leftover pizza and a bottle of wine, resigning yourself to a quiet Saturday night when your phone vibrated. Figuring it was probably just one of your friends, or some sort of useless notification, you picked up your phone and found your jaw dropping. This wasn’t seriously happening, was it? 

Hey stranger. Hope this Saturday is better than the last one. 

Maybe they had the wrong number...or something. But no - they acknowledged the fact that last weekend had been shit and called you stranger. This had to be intentional. Setting your phone down for a moment, you grabbed your glass of wine and sipped on it, trying not to let the excitement of a single text get you too excited. They had done what you’d dreamed about all week...why not indulge in it? If nothing else, it might be nice to have someone to text with on occasion. 

Hi stranger. This Saturday involves me, the couch, pizza, and wine. I guess I really can’t complain. Hope yours is a good one too!

As soon as you hit send, you wanted to ban your head against the wall; was it too much? Not enough? Did it even warrant a response? Now you were just overthrowing everything. Shit, fuck, damn. 

But you weren't able to wallow in misery for too long before your phone went off again. Huh.

Sounds pretty good. Can't complain either, just at home with a beer and a movie. Missing the pizza though. Maybe I'll order some.

Definitely recommended! I don't know if this is odd, but you know my name and I don't know yours...do you have a name, stranger?

Not weird at all! Maybe I should have started with that. Francisco - Frankie.

Well Francisco-Frankie, it's nice to meet you. What movie are you watching?

Nice to meet you, no- longer-complete-stranger. Die Hard. A classic.

Oof. I'm afraid it ends here. Hot take - Die Hard is...notthatgood.

It's been a good but short time…how can you not like Die Hard!? What could you be watching that's so much better?

The Office. A modern classic and clearly superior to anything you're picking if you think Die Hard is good.

Fun fact - I've never seen a single episode of the Office. And never plan on it. Tell me, mystery girl, what should I get on my pizza?

I now make it my plan to convince you to watch The Office. Pepperoni, jalapeños, and tomatoes. Regular crust, none of that thin crust bs.

Challenge accepted. An odd combination but I'll give it a try. Results tbd.

Already listening - I'm a fan of it. I'll let you get back to your movie and order your pizza. Have a good night Francisco-Frankie.

You too, mystery girl.

There was an undeniably giant grin on your face as you set your phone back down. Had this actually happened? Surely this was some sort of dream; a random stranger actually striking up a conversation? And seemingly enjoying it? Out of this world.

As you downed your glass and got ready to refill it your phone vibrated once again. This time you didn't even bother to let a moment pass before picking it back up and opening the notification.

Can I text you again sometime?

Yeah...I'd like that.

You just about melted into the couch, happier than you had been in a long time. And all from texts from a man you still hadn't met. Who knew if you would ever meet him? Either way, this Francisco aka Frankie had proven to be a welcome disturbance in your life.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of weeks passed in the same blissful fashion. You'd go about your day with work and other responsibilities and obligations but you had your pocket companion with you. That's what you nicknamed Frankie anyways. 

What has started as some texting here and there soon turned into conversations throughout the days, slowly becoming more personal and introspective with each passing day. And despite still knowing what he looked like or anything...you thrived in it. You'd wondered if he'd looked you up - he hadn't for the same reasons as you - and that's why you got along so well. 

The two of you had a lot in common but still managed to have your differences. One thing that never failed to make you smile was what had turned into his version of a good morning text.

Hello Sunshine. 

Hi Fly Boy. 

Stay dry today, its supposed to be a pretty bad downpour. Talk later?

Of course. Be safe too.

The small sentiment was enough to send you reeling; it was funny how easily conversation flowed between the two of you. Like in some ways you'd always known each other, but still were finding out things constantly. You weren't sure where it would lead to...if anything but for now you appreciated your new found friend.

»»————-　♡　————-««

I have a work party this weekend and it's formal. Do I go for an lbd or something colorful?

Depends - do you want people to approach or admire from the distance?

From the distance, so I can leave fairly quickly but people still know I was there.

Definitely LBD then.

My hero! Perfect idea!

»»————-　♡　————-««

How do I get out of a camping trip this weekend?

Why would you try and get out of it? You said you loved camping.

I do but...just not feeling it this weekend.

Tell them you're feeling or that your new girlfriend wants to spend the weekend together.

New girlfriend? I wasn't aware I had one…

Its called a white lie Frankie. Use me as an excuse if you have to.

You're the best! A real lifesaver, sunshine.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Okay, here's a tough one. Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

All three. But if only one - coffee.

How do you take it?

Black with a little bit of sugar.

That's kind of the vibe I got! But you're wrong - the best answer is coffee in the am, afternoon tea, and then sometimes a hot chocolate for dessert.

Let me guess - salted caramel hot chocolate? 

How did you know?! Alright, Fly Boy, you know me too well already.

Just a hunch, sunshine. Okay - favorite color?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Do you think if I pretend to be dead I can leave work early?

Dramatic! I love it. How about a migraine? Last minute emergency?

Probably better. Migraine it is.

Just a thought. Beers with the guys tonight?

Yup. Girls night?

Yes! Talk tomorrow?

Of course.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Soooo I might have gotten myself into a predicament…

What happened?

Umm, I might have lied and told my friends that I started seeing someone…

Oh no.

Yeah...all because I couldn't admit that that guy had given me the wrong number. How do I explain?!

Maybe just don't say anything and then later say it died down or something? No need to drag it further.

You're right and I am an idiot. 

Nah, it happens to the best of us.

Hmm sure. Anyways, onto important things. Dogs or cats?

»»————-　♡　————-««

If you could only have one type of food for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?

Hmm, that’s a hard one. I’m torn between Mexican (the good stuff of course) and Italian and sushi. You? 

Pizza!

That’s not a type of food, Francisco!

It totally is. There’s different varieties, it can count!

That’s a cheap way to answer the question, but I’ll accept it because you’re cute. 

You think I’m cute? And just how do you know? Do I have a stalker?

Nah, too much effort. Besides, I’m usually busy talking to you. It would be kind of obvious if I was, wouldn’t it? I just have a feeling. 

Very funny, sunshine. I’m positive it’s the other way around. 

You’re the stalker? What am I wearing right now?

You know what I meant!

Of course I did. I’m the smart one in this duo, don’t forget. 

You’re too much. Want to watch a movie tonight? We start at the same time? 

Yes! Anything but Die Hard or other shitty movies along those lines.

You’re killing me here. One day I will convince you to watch it with me.

I look forward to that - but not tonight. Name your top 3 ideas.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Over the weeks, Frankie became an everyday part of your life. The two of you texted back and forth throughout the day as time allowed. It was nice - comforting to have him there despite the fact that he could have been anyone in the world. Well, you knew he was local to you from his area code but otherwise...a mystery.

You wondered if you’d ever encountered him out in the real world before. It was a definite possibility, but you would never know. Not unless you somehow actually ended up meeting him in person. The idea of proposing such a notion hadn’t seemed far off, especially since your days were filled with each other and there were undeniably flirty texts and insinuations. The few times you’d actually gotten the nerve up to just ask him, something always seemed to come and keep you from doing it. Namely - nerves. 

What if you were reading all wrong into this? What if he really wanted nothing more than a friendship? What if texting was the extent of it all? 

Naturally, you’d know your answer if you’d just fucking ask him. But that seemed like a momentous and herculean task and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be up for it. Perhaps things would just...happen one day. Despite getting to know him, he was still just this enigmatic aura. For all you knew you might as well have been fighting a robot. 

When then...one random night, a Wednesday evening when you’d just walked in the door with fresh produce from the downtown farmer’s market, your phone name. Shifting the large bags in your arms, you managed to fish your phone out of your pocket and answer it without looking at who it was. 

“Hello?” you kicked the door shut behind you and shuffled into the kitchen, unceremoniously dumping the bags onto the counters. At first you didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line besides some shuffling, but then eventually you heard a distant voice say something indiscernible. In confusion, you pulled the phone out from between your ear and shoulder and glanced at the contact. The name was enough to have your breath catch in your throat as you realized that your mysterious Frankie on the other end. He’d never called before...perhaps it had been a mistake? Even if it was, you were going to take full advantage of it, “Frankie? Hello? Come on Fly Boy, it’s me. If you can hear me, let me know.”

It was a few more seconds of shuffling and almost static like noise before you were positive you heard a quiet fuck. But then, in a moment that made your heart almost stop, you heard him, loud and clear, “h-hi….sunshine?”

“Hi Frankie,” you repeated as you felt your heart melt and legs turn to jelly, “I’m going to guess this wasn’t an intended call?”

“Umm, shit no,” he admitted with what you could only describe as a nervous laugh, “accidental pocket dial.”

“It’s 2021 and you’re pocket dialing people?” you snorted with laughter as you grabbed your earbuds to sync up the bluetooth so you could talk to him while putting away all of the fresh fruits and veggies you had acquired, “that’s such an old person thing, Frankie! What are you 50?”

“It’s not that weird,” he insisted with an indignant scoff as you giggled, “it can happen easily if you don’t lock your phone when you put it away and yeah...here we are. And for the record I am nowhere near 50! I am only 36.”

“Oof,” you opened the fridge and popped the veggies into the drawer, “I’m afraid that things end here, Grandpa.” 

“Very funny! How old are you then, huh? Oh my God - please don’t tell me I’ve been talking to and flirting with a teenager,” for a moment he sounded genuinely nervous as you almost doubled over in laughter at his panic. The fact that he had admitted to flirting was lost on you in your amusement he was so worried that he didn’t even notice the gaff, “sunshine!”

“I’m almost 30,” you reassured him and he instantly sighed in relief on the other end, “don’t worry. Besides, I told you I met the man I thought I was texting at a bar - at least I would have been 21.” 

“That still would have been weird,” he admitted as you made a small sound of agreement, “this is better.”

“Ha! Thanks for the sentiment,” you  rinsed and crunched on a carrot before hopping onto the counter to get comfortable. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should say your next words or not...but you decided to just do it, “this is...nice. I like hearing your voice. Makes you more real.”

“I like it too,” he agreed softly, a tinge of pink rising up in his cheeks, despite the fact that you couldn’t see it, “you sound like I thought.”

“Oh? Like an annoying twelve-year-old boy?” 

“Okay, okay, dramatic much?” he snorted, “just accept the compliment!”

“Fine,” you huffed, being very overdramatic indeed, “what are you up to tonight, Frankie? Want to cook together?”

“I’m yours - free, I mean free,” he corrected himself as you relished in his little mess up, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook. I’m a better baker.”

“Ooh, excellent,” you slid off the counter in excitement, “how about this - we’ll make something simple for dinner - I’ll walk you through it step by step, and then you’re in charge of dessert. Deal?”

“Deal,” Frankie felt a rush of excitement surge through him as he stepped into his kitchen and reached for his apron - the same one that Santi always made fun of him for, “what’s on the menu?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

And just like that texts turned into texts and phone calls. There was something so thrilling, like a huge surge of electricity shot down your spine and throughout your body every time you saw his name up pop or heard the sound of his voice. Frankie was...slowly turning into your constant companion and if you were being honest with yourself he was everything you had had ever wanted. 

And oh - how scary it was to be falling for a man you still hadn't met in person. Slowly, surely it would happen. Gods, you wanted it to happen so desperately. But you were painfully shy when it came to the idea of asking him out and little did you know, he was feeling exactly the same way. Frankie wanted nothing more than to finally ask you on a proper date, to spend all those times laughing with you in person. But he just...continually talked himself out of it.

He was just so shy, so nervous and he thought it would be impossible that someone like you would actually go for a guy like him. He was just...fly boy and you were his Sunshine. Frankie had given you the name early on, deciding that it was appropriate because you brought a little bit of sunshine into his life every day. It had almost brought you to tears - not that you'd admit that to anyone - not yet anyway. His nickname was simple - he was a former military pilot and now a part time ‘whenever he got the chance pilot’ - Fly Boy. It was perfect and he adored it as much as you.

And yet neither of you, pining silly fools had been able to make that final move. One day, you both reminded yourself constantly, one day.

And one day turned out to be sooner than either of you expected...

"Mmhmm," you murmured into the phone as you scoured the bookshelves of your local little bookstore. You had a rare afternoon off and to treat yourself to a nice coffee and searching for a new read. You'd fallen out of reading regularly and had made it a point to get back into it, aiming for a book month. Naturally, your friend had called you at that exact time, "of course pizza is always a good choice."

Frankie hummed under his breath as he walked through the aisles looking for the book you had recommended to him. He hadn’t thought much about the woman he saw a few rows over with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. He did note, however, that the tone of her voice was sweet - not that he was trying to listen in on her conversation. 

“Yes it is!” you laughed into the phone, trying to keep it down when you noticed the man in your peripheral vision and aimed to keep from disturbing him, “pizza is good for whenever you don't know what to make. And you know the best - pepperoni, jalapenos, and tomatoes. No contest.”

Despite not trying to listen in to your conversation, as soon as he heard you describe pizza, his perked up and immediately his heart started pounding. A nervous rush of energy flowed through him as he tried to get a better look at you without making it obvious. Holy shit - was this actually it? Was he about to meet his Sunshine?

“I even told Frankie,” you insisted with a small smile as you took a sip of your coffee, “he liked it too. Yes...of course I’m still talking to him...I-I really like him. I hope that one day I can meet him. I keep wanting to ask and then I get so nervous and talk myself out of it. He’s just...lovely.”

This definitely couldn’t be a coincidence, right? The particular type of pizza, Frankie, wanting to meet - this had to be you. And the more he listened, despite his initial efforts, he couldn’t help but zone in on you. And now, hearing your voice unfiltered and unaltered through the phone, he knew it was you. He just stopped in his tracks as he watched you, a silly little smile on his face as he realized that somehow the universe had decided to throw him a bone. 

“Mhmm,” you murmured into the phone, “of course. I’ll talk to you later!”

Ending the call, you shoved your phone into your pocket and reached for one of the books that had piqued your interest. Sliding it out and reading over the back, you quickly got lost in your thoughts until you heard a throat clear behind you. Assuming you were in someone’s way, you shuffled to the side without glancing at who it was. But then you heard it - quiet and shy but clear, “Sunshine?”

At the sound of the nickname you’d been given by only one person throughout your entire life, your heart fluttered wildly in your chest as your body froze. Surely..surely this couldn’t be happening…

Turning around, slowly, painfully slowly, you found yourself staring at a face both brand new and immediately familiar. You’d never seen him before, but instantly it was like you knew him, all of him. In some ways you supposed, you did. 

“F-Frankie?” almost getting choked up, your voice was barely above a whisper as the handsome man in front of you slowly nodded. A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as his whole features lit up with excitement. His brown eyes were soft and crinkled in the corners as his grew grin and a one singular dimple appeared. You weren’t really sure what you had pictured when you’d thought about your mysterious friend, but somehow this was right on the mark. You blinked a few times, trying to hold back your tears of sheer excitement, “you’re real after all!”

And then he laughed. A beautiful, glorious sound that caused a surge of warmth to rush through your entire body. He really was just as lovely as you’d dreamed. 

“Did you really think you were talking to a robot this whole time?” he asked as you flushed with warmth but stuck your tongue at him, “I can’t believe it’s really you. After all these months...finally. I’ve been wanting to ask you for so long but I didn’t think…”

“Me too,” you agreed, “me too. Small world, huh?”

“I was just looking for the book you recommended last night,” he admitted as you practically glowed with excitement. Holding up a finger, you turned around and quickly found the book in question and displayed it for him, “I didn’t think I’d find the book and the woman I’ve been talking to for months.”

“How did you know it was me?” you asked as you walked over to him and he offered up a sheepish grin.

“The pizza.”

“The pizza!” you snorted with laughter, “I should have known. Too obvious.”

“I like to think that everything happens for a reason,” he tried to take the book from your hands but you just shook your head, “what?”

“This is going to be from me to you,” you insisted as a tinge of pink welled up in his cheeks, “a souvenir from the day we met!”

“I’ll treasure it forever,” he promised and you could tell he meant it, “what are you doing tonight? Now?”

“I dunno,” you feigned innocence, “I was planning on going home to cook and talk to this guy I’ve been falling for for months, but that seems a little weird now.” 

“Will you let me take you to dinner -  a date? A real date?” he asked as you beamed at him and nodded. How could you ever say no. 

“Only if you take me to that Italian place you told me about!”

“Whatever you want, Sunshine,” he promised as he reached for your hand and gently laced your fingers together. It felt so easy, so effortless, and you didn’t even have to think about - natural. 

“You,” you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing his cheek, “just you, Frankie.”

“Sweet Sunshine.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[jordanstrophe]

 (They’re slowly becoming oc’s, thank you, Dot, for the continuational growth of my OC bowl)

Masterlist

CW: Medieval whump, slavery, noncon nudity (nonsexual) whipping implied, branding implied, manhandling, forceful caretaking/bathing

The carriage rattled to a stop as the guards opened the doors for the king. He then extended a hand to his new slave, who sat quivering in their seat. They held the torn shirt against their chest, the only thing they had left for cover as their freshly whipped back was exposed. 

“Come now, we have much to get done.” He waved his fingers, coaxing the slave to take it. Whumpee knew better than to disobey, their arm extending before hesitating. Their hand was covered in mud as they instantly flinched back, not daring to get a speck of filth on the king's garbs.

“I- I can’t.” Whumpee stuttered, tightening their grasp on their shredded shirt. “Yes you can. I don’t mind a little dirt, now take my hand.” Their tone was authoritative, but lulling as Whumpee couldn’t resist resting their hand within the king’s soft glove. Their hand was squeezed as they were pulled from the carriage, stumbling as they were caught within the king's arms, who only chuckled at their clumsiness. 

“Your majesty, the servants are ready.” A guard said. “Wonderful! Take this dear to the wash and get them cleaned up. I want them groomed before the celebratory bouquet tonight.” 

“Yes sir.” Almost immediately, two metallic hands grabbed Whumpee from each side, pulling them up the castle’s stairs. The cold touch shot shivers up their spine, feeling the stress build in their chest the further they were taken. 

This can’t be happening... Is this... A dream? A twisted hallucination? A slave of all things to be taken in by the king himself was like a child’s fantasy. 

The corridor was made from grey stone, the floors clothed in blood red carpets with matching curtains framing each window. Whumpee could hardly keep up with the guards almost dragging them deeper into the castle. The shirt slipped through their grasp as Whumpee gasped, digging their heels into the ground. “Wait! I l-lost my-” ”-Don’t worry, you won’t be needing it.” The guard laughed, coming to a halt as Whumpee crumple to the floor. 

They were gone as soon as they came, leaving Whumpee surrounded by a group of servants forming a line with curious prying eyes. 

“Oh dear, what a mess...”

“Look at all those scars! Are you sure this is what the king brought home?”

“Quiet! We don’t question his majesty...” 

“Just look at them, a battered slave! Must have been nothing but trouble.”

Whumpee slowly curled in on themselves with each word, hiding their chest within their arms. “Now sisters, that’s enough. Let's get to work.” Their arms were taken as they were practically lifted off their feet right into a large warm bath. It smelled of rich potent oils as they held back a choking breath. 

“It’s myrrh, costume for those who approach the king to soak in it.” A woman kneeling by their side. Whumpee gasped a whimper when they were covered in hands trying to wash them, touching them here and there, oil being poured down their shoulders. They winced when a cloth brushed against their back. 

“Gentle! They're wounded.” She barked. 

“What? The king is expecting them to look lavishing” She argued back. 

“Well make them look lavishing with ease! They belong to the king himself, we must treat them as such.”  The hands covering them hesitated in unison, before continuing with gentleness. 

Whumpee’s pupils were noticeably dilated with fear as they tried not to look at the faces of the hands that handled them. Their arm was taken, coaxing them to lean up. “Come on, I need to wash your chest.” 

Whumpee instantly sank further into the waters, ‘P-please don’t...” They rasped. “Don’t be shy now, this will only take a minute.” Their wrists were taken as they were pulled up until the water was at their waist. Whumpee choked back a sob before breaking into hyperventilation, turning their head away with blushing pink cheeks.

“Oh sweet mother of King Arvand the lll....” She gasped, her eyes glued to the branded sign on their chest. “Pl-please! It wasn’t my f-fault!” Whumpee cried, twisting their body away without any avail. They were slowly lowered back into the water, instantly curling within their arms. 

The branded Sigle, a mark put on a slave by their owner to signifying a pending trade to a rivalry kingdom. Not only looked down upon, but an act of treason to those who dare seek illegal goods from the enemy. 

“When did this happen?” She asks, Whumpee’s arm flinching at the most gentle of touches. “La-last week..." Whumpee hid their head under their arms. "Master put a sword in the forge one day until it was red and-I-.. I wasn’t to-told what I did wrong...!” They looked up at her with a broken voice and tear filled eyes. 

“But I didn’t deserve it.... I swear I didn’t! ....” They shook their head in denial.

“Did I?” 

Their voice was full of uncertainty. “No, you didn’t.” A sad smile painted her face.

“This needs to be brought to the king's attention, immediately!” A servant yelled. “No! Not yet... This week is the anniversary, remember? The king has just returned home. We speak nothing of this until the event has ended.” Her gaze turned back down to the slave. “Listen to me, this cannot be mentioned until the week is over, do you understand?” She asked. 

“I don’t even understand why I’m here!” Whumpee finally broke, ceasing all hopes that maybe this was just a vivid dream. 

“You’re here because you found favor with the king, little one, his majesty is gracious.” She smiled. “Speaking of which, he wants you at the celebration tonight, that’s an incredible honor.” She tried to get them hopeful, pinching their cheek that sent shutters down their shoulders.

But Whumpee knew full well they were probably going to mess that up as well. 

Next

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o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

[there-must-be-a-lock]

For Us Sinners

Soulless Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~4130

Warnings: This is 100% pure smutty religion-themed filth. Sam is dressed as a priest. There’s sex in a confessional, severe perversion of the Hail Mary prayer, and a lot of blasphemy happening. Like. A lot. Orgasm denial. Squirting. Non-explicit mentions of Winchester threesomes, gun play, and knife play. 

A/N: For @stusbunker​‘s “Jam Basket” fic exchange! This is for the lovely @rockhoochie​. I managed to squeeze a decent amount of her jams in here. Sarah, my dear, I hope this makes you even a little bit as happy as your friendship makes me. 

Thanks to @cracksinthewalls​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ and @fookinghelljensensthighs​ for lore, encouragement, and inspiration! 

You’re frowning at the trunk arsenal, wondering if it’s possible to sharpen a machete too much, when movement catches your eye. Sam rounds the corner of the old warehouse, and you grab a knife and a whetstone just to have something to focus on that’s not him and his stupid smirky face or the way his shoulders look in that suit. 

The whole priest thing is a really good look on him. 

“Dean’s not back yet?” he asks, without preamble, sitting on the edge of the trunk next to you. You focus very intently on your knife. 

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” you snark, to cover the way you’re blushing. “Why yes, I did have a super fun afternoon of doing fucking nothing! Waiting around for you two is exactly how I wanted to spend the last three hours, thanks for asking.” 

He laughs. “Weren’t you just telling me that I should stop pretending to be normal polite Sam?” 

“Whatever,” you mutter. 

“Lemme see that,” he says abruptly, and plucks the knife from your grip before you can protest. He takes one look at it and laughs at you, twirling the blade in his fingers. “Working out some frustration, huh?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“What’s really going on? You’re only like this when you’re hungry or horny.” 

“Bullshit,” you snap, but he’s totally fucking right. He’s way too perceptive these days. 

You’ve been refusing to play poker with him ever since this whole soulless deal came to light. He’s like a walking polygraph test… a very attractive, muscled polygraph who’s really good in the sack. 

He’s analyzing your expression with his head cocked. “The knife thing?” 

“I don’t know what you’re — that’s not—”

He holds the tip of the blade to your throat, and you stop stammering immediately. You close your eyes and swallow hard. 

“That’s not new, though,” he says thoughtfully. 

When you open your eyes, ready to protest, he’s tucking the knife back in its sheath and twisting to set it in the trunk. 

“How’d you know about that?” you ask reluctantly. 

He just smirks, that godawful not-Sam not-smile, with his dimples popping and his eyes glittering. 

“One of these days you’re going to realize that I’ll never judge you,” he says, low and sly. “C’mon. Tell me.” He puts on a prim, sanctimonious face, pointing at the collar, and says, “Confess your sins and all will be forgiven.” 

He ruins the pious effect by licking his lips and aggressively eye-fucking you. 

You try to laugh, but it comes out all squeaky. You’ve never been good at poker, and if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by, he can see exactly what’s written all over your face. 

“Shut up,” you say preemptively. “Asshole.” 

“This is totally doing it for you, isn’t it?” Sam asks. 

“Shut up.” 

His smile is gleeful. “Oh my god, it is!” 

“That’s not — I’m not—” 

You grit your teeth and stand up abruptly, and it’s not like you can go anywhere but you need to move; it’s impossible to think straight when he’s right there and he smells so good. 

He gets up so quickly you barely have time to blink before he’s in your space. He backs you against the warm metal of the door, caging you in with one big hand planted on either side of your head, and you have to tilt your chin up to meet his wickedly sparkling eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, soft and heated, lips curling up in a familiar dangerous smile. “Lying is a sin.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you huff, but you can’t stop staring at his mouth. 

“Besides, I can always tell. Admit it.” 

“You are so fucking—”

Without warning, he’s tugging at your zipper, yanking the button open, and shoving a hand roughly down the front of your jeans as he murmurs, “You are so fucking into this.” 

Before you can protest (not that you’d really want to) he’s got two fingers sliding into you, curling sweet and easy where you’re ridiculously, undeniably, outrageously into this. 

“Maybe a little bit,” you sigh. 

He’s just smiling, watching you squirm, playing with you like a cat might play with a mouse, and as much as you’d like to be angry about it, he knows exactly how to use those clever fingers. Then — 

“Dean’s back,” he says calmly, and before you can even process that, he’s sucking his fingers clean and walking around the car to greet his brother. 

You have about three seconds to button your pants, thank your lucky stars that you were on this side of the car, and generally get your shit together before it’s back to business. 

“It’s a goddamn garden statue,” Dean is saying. “Some crazy old bat donated it to the church and then just up and left town. First person disappeared the next day.” 

“So we wait til dark, take it down, break the curse.” Sam shrugs. “Easy enough.” 

“Like a chant ‘n’ smash,” you offer. Both the boys give you blank looks, and you try to pretend like your brain isn’t totally scrambled. “You know. Like a salt and burn. A good old-fashioned chant and smash… no? Okay, whatever.” 

Sam is barely containing his laughter. Asshole. 

“I could use a nap before we do that, I’m wiped,” Dean grumbles, taking off his clerical collar as he slides into the driver’s seat. Sam keeps his on. 

As you’re all getting buckled, he says, “Why don’t you just let us handle this one, Dean? You should take the night off.” 

“If you guys want some privacy to bone, you can just say so,” Dean grouches. “But get another motel room, don’t bring Baby into it.” 

“Yeah, we know. We will,” Sam reassures him. 

Dean does not seem reassured. He looks at Sam suspiciously. “So, what, you’re just being nice?”  

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sam says bluntly. “You look like shit and I don’t want you hunting with me when you’re this sleep-deprived.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, that I buy. Man, this whole soul-free honesty shit is gonna take some getting used to.” 

“You and me both,” you sigh, and Sam gives you a wink in the rearview mirror. 

 * * *

“That is the creepiest-looking angel I’ve ever seen,” Sam comments, striking a match. “And l’m including Zachariah in that. Okay, here we go.” 

He lights up the little bowl of herbs he’s concocted and says a few things in Latin, and then the smoke coming up from the bowl turns eerie green and seems to sink into the worn concrete. 

“Is that it?” you ask dubiously. “How do we smash it?” 

“That’s the fun part,” Sam says. He attaches a silencer and loads his gun, quick and practiced, and when you’re both out of shrapnel range he aims almost lazily while you try not to stare at his fingers. Bad enough that he’s still wearing the priest getup. Watching him shatter an angel with a few perfect shots shouldn’t be a turn-on, but…  

“Shouldn’t” is one of those words that lost most of its meaning when you and Sam started fucking. In the last two weeks, he’s managed to discover kinks you’ve never even admitted to yourself. 

Speaking of — 

“C’mon,” he says, and when the gun is deposited safely back in the arsenal, he grabs your hand without waiting for an answer, leading you around to a side door. The door isn’t even locked. Sam’s smile is gleeful in the moonlight. 

“What are we doing?” you ask, as he leads you inside. 

It’s almost completely dark, just a faint glow from the emergency exit signs to light the sanctum, until Sam takes out his matches and lights a few of the tall pillar candles that are arranged in nooks around the altar. The golden glow flickers and dances on the walls. 

Sam grabs you by the wrist, and you halfheartedly attempt to tug your hand away. He’s got that glint in his eye that can only mean trouble. 

“We really shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, as he pulls you over to the confessional. 

“What are they gonna do, condemn my soul to hell?” he says flatly, and you stifle a giggle. “We established a while ago that my immortal soul is fucked.” 

“Mine isn’t,” you mutter. 

He looks at you with another of those smirks and says, “That’s why you’re the one who needs to confess.” 

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” you sigh, but instead of answering, he crowds in close, pressing you up against the smooth dark wood of the confessional, and kisses you, all teeth and tongue and liquefying heat, until your lips feel bruised and your entire body is tingling. 

“Confess,” he whispers, and with one last grin, he points you toward one curtain and slips behind the other. 

If you’ve learned anything about Sam over the years, soul or no, it’s that there’s no point arguing when he’s made up his mind about something. 

Sam seems to have made up his mind. 

You pull the curtain closed behind you and sit on the little bench, and you have to breathe through some long-buried memories before the words come to your lips. 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper.  “It has been… a long time since my last confession.” 

The flickering candlelight cuts through small gaps around the curtain, casting dancing shadows through the cramped space. Your cheeks are burning. 

“Sam?” you ask tentatively. “This feels stupid.” 

He lets out a low, cocky chuckle, and his voice is all sorts of promising when he replies, “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while. Play along for me.” 

Fine. 

“Where do I start?” you mumble. “I drink, frequently. I have been dishonest. I gamble, and I do not dress modestly, and — I don’t know. What else?” 

“Do you have impure thoughts?” You can hear the smile in Sam’s voice. 

“Yes.”

“About what?” 

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, thinking about the way he looks right now. No preacher has ever looked so good in that black suit. “About… about you.” 

“Go on.” 

“About the way you feel inside me. About the way you fuck me.” 

“What did you think about last time you touched yourself?” 

Your breath hitches. “I thought… I imagined that you —” 

“Lying is a sin.” 

Fuck. 

That’s the thing about Sam; he won’t let you get away with politeness, or with half-truths, or with telling him what most guys would want to hear. 

Fuck him and his creepy polygraph spidey senses. 

“I imagined that it was Dean,” you whisper, cheeks burning. 

“And how did that go, in your fantasy?” There’s no trace of surprise or hesitation in his voice. 

“I was — he bent me over the hood of the car.” 

“That’s not the first time you’ve thought about him, is it?” 

“Sam, I don’t — this is weird,” you say, squirming slightly. 

“Why?” he says, and you keep waiting for the jealousy or the disgust to color his words, but all you can hear is curiosity. “Do you think about him while I’m fucking you?” 

You let out a long, measured exhale. “Yes.” 

“Have you thought about him walking in? Listening to us?”

“Yes. Sam, I don’t—” 

“Were you thinking about him a couple days ago, in the middle of the night? When you couldn’t seem to keep quiet?”

You shudder, pressing your thighs together. “Yes.” 

“Tell me.” When you hesitate, he continues, “I wondered… felt the way you were squeezing around my cock every time it got too loud. You wanted him to hear.” 

“I wanted him to — to imagine. I hoped he was awake, and that he was turned on, and—” 

“You wanted him to join in,” Sam supplies, when you falter. His voice sounds husky, now. “You were imagining both of us, huh? What else?” 

“Sitting in your lap, in the backseat, while he watches in the rearview,” you mumble, and now that you’ve started talking, it’s hard to stop: “I think about getting on my knees for both of you. Letting him have my mouth while you fuck me, or… one of you holding me down.” 

“Have you imagined us handcuffing you? Taking turns with you?” he asks calmly. 

“Well now I’m imagining it,” you huff, and your nervous giggle breaks the tension for a moment. 

“I know you’re holding out on me,” Sam purrs, when the silence starts to stretch. “Leave my brother out of it, if you’re getting all hung up on that. What else?” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble. 

“Trust me. God isn’t judging you and neither am I. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

You can’t bring yourself to spit it out, even like this. “That’s it.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is silk and steel now. “Why don’t I take a guess?” 

“Fine.”  

“Knives,” he says bluntly, and your inhale is too sharp to be innocent. “You like the way a knife looks in my hands, the way it’d be dangerous if I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“Yes.” 

“You want to know what it’d be like: cold metal on your skin. A knife at your throat, or... a gun to your temple.” 

You’re shaking. 

“How’d you know?” you whisper. 

“I pay attention,” he says simply, voice ragged, and then there’s a long pause before he asks, “Is that the end of your confession?” 

You’d almost forgotten where you are. You’re grateful the screen is still between you and Sam. 

“Yes,” you say, and because old habits die hard, you add, “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past lives.” 

“As for penance…” You can hear the teasing note in it, and some of your self-consciousness dissipates. “You can begin by taking off your clothes.” 

“Here?” you laugh. “Sam…” 

“Here. Now.” 

You let out a tiny, nervous whine of protest, but you’re too turned on to care, not when you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight. 

Then you strip, taking off your clothes with shaking hands and setting them in a neat-ish pile in one corner of the tiny booth. It’s chilly, and you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling goosebumps run down your bare skin. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Now... you can say ten Hail Marys,” Sam says, with that smirk in his voice again. 

“I — really?” you ask. 

Just as you’re thinking that’s all?, Sam is ducking through the curtain of the confessional, crowding you in and pushing on your shoulder until you sit back down on the narrow bench. Even in the barely-there flickers of light you can see the wicked smile on his face as he drops to his knees in front of you.  

“And you may not come until you’re finished,” he orders coolly. 

Then he’s hooking his arms under your knees, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward so that he can get that filthy smirking mouth on you. He licks a hot slick stripe up your center, swirling his tongue over your throbbing clit, and —

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the wood with an echoing thunk, because whatever Sam’s doing with his lips is sending sweet fluttering waves of heat through your belly. “Oh my God, Sam, that’s—” 

“If you keep taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he growls, nipping at your inner thigh, “I’ll double it.” 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” you start, and it’s been a while; Sam’s not the only reason you have to pause. “Fuck. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the — the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now—” Your voice breaks as you whimper, and you finish in one long rushed breath: “— and at the hour of our death, amen.”

“There you go,” Sam says, practically moaning the words against slick skin. You’re already having trouble thinking straight. 

You start all over again, trying to rush through it as quickly as possible, but you stutter as Sam fucks you shallowly with his tongue.  

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam says, curling two long fingers into you.

Except it’s bad. In the short time you’ve been doing this, Sam has learned your sweet spots like nobody’s ever learned them before, and he’s not touching them now. This is barely a tease, compared to what you know he can do to you. It’s bad, and it’s going to get so much worse. 

You start to stammer through the third prayer. You’re so wet — from the thrill of the setting, as much as what he’s doing with his tongue — you can hear the slick thrust of his fingers inside you, dirty and distracting. 

When you pause for breath between “Mary” and “mother of God,” Sam hums low against your cunt, and you know he enjoys this, you know he gets off on it, but he lets out these noises that never fail to make you feel feverish, and now is no exception. It doesn’t feel chilly any more. By “amen,” you’re burning up. 

“Three down,” Sam murmurs. 

On the fourth “grace,” he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, and you make a high, squeaky, mortifyingly desperate sound. Your voice keeps breaking as you stumble through the next lines, until you end on a long, relieved groan. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Six more.” 

“I can’t,” you hiss. 

“You can. And you will.” 

On “full,” Sam twists his knuckles, and you gasp, arching your back, squirming. He fucks you in the same rhythm as your words, dragging friction across your g-spot with every syllable, and when you try to speed up, rushing through it, you can’t even get to “sinners” without breaking off in a moan. He stops completely as you pant for breath, and as you mumble through the last lines, painfully slow, you’re rolling your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperate for more. 

“That’s five,” Sam says. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.” 

With his free hand, he grabs one of your wrists, guiding your hand to the back of his head. His eyes flick up to you, watching hungrily, until you slide your fingers through the silky strands and tug lightly. 

You sigh. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

“Hope not,” he says, smirking against the crease of your thigh. “I’m into some weird shit, but I like ‘em warm and breathing.” 

“Ha fucking ha, Sam, that’s — fuck,” you choke, as he fits his mouth to your clit again, and this time he sucks lightly in time with the slow thrusts of his fingers.  You forget what you’re saying, somewhere around “God,” and stumble to the end in bits and incoherent pieces. 

“Six.” You realize you’ve got a death grip on his hair, all your muscles tensed-up and rigid with electricity that’s got nowhere else to go, but when you ease up, he pumps his fingers in deep and growls, “Harder.” 

He adds a third finger, and it’s so fucking good, so fucking much, filling you with fizzing pressure, and it takes most of your willpower to stop yourself from going under. 

You grit out, “HailMaryfullofgrace.” Lightning lances up your belly, and you squirm— “TheLordiswiththee.” — twist your fingers in Sam’s hair— “Blessedartthouamongwomen.” — muscles quaking, cunt clenching around perfectly curled fingers— “Blessedisthe. Fuck. Fruitofthywomb. Fuck — Jesus!” — tension surging and swelling  — “Holy Mary, mother of God, prayforussinnersnow, fuck, Sam!” — you’re almost there, almost, and he stops, refusing to give you what you want as you gasp out, “And —at the— the hour of our death, amen.” 

“Seven,” he says harshly, and you can feel him breathing hard, damp hot air teasing your slick swollen skin, and his mouth is so close to where you want it. He gives you a second and then: “Keep going.” 

You babble out a few words at a time, and your voice is ragged and broken, but it must sound close enough to what he wants; he’s winding you up again, fingers crooking expertly against that sweet spot. The heel of his other hand digs into your lower belly, right over that point of white heat, and it’s so intense, suddenly, that everything goes sparkly and distant.  

“Pray for us,” you groan, and he sucks, fast and hard. “Pray for us — us sinners —” 

There’s this pressure, right there, right where his fingers are stoking a fire, and it’s blazing, and —

“Sam, I can’t. I can’t, I’m gonna—” 

He’s not holding back, and you can’t either. You buck helplessly against the incredible suction of his mouth, holding him with both hands fisted in his hair as you bow up and cry out. All that pressure peaks, crashing down in wave after wave of relief, pulling you under like a rip tide as you come dripping-wet and messy. 

It blinds you, for a moment. You’re out of your body for who knows how long, lit-up and paralyzed by the high-voltage shock of it. 

When you come back to yourself, Sam is scooping you up and swapping places with you in one smooth movement, manhandling you so that you’re straddling him; he’s got his pants open just enough, can’t seem to wait any longer, and the breathless urgency is so unusual for him that your head spins. 

You’re still clenching through the lingering quakes of your orgasm, trembling, boneless like a rag doll, and it’s not you sinking down on his cock so much as him pulling you, filling you up inch by inch as you squeeze and quiver around the thick length of him. 

When he’s as deep as he can be, his arms wrapped around you and practically crushing you to his chest, you both pause and take a ragged gulp of air. 

“What even was that?” you slur, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall and trying to adjust. He lets out a rough groan through gritted teeth. 

“That is what I’ll be seeing every time I look at a confessional now,” he pants, starting to rock up into you. “Never gonna be able to walk into a church without getting hard.” 

He wraps an arm around your ribs, and the heat of his splayed hand on your shoulder feels like it spans half your back. Your naked skin seems even more obscene as it brushes the stiff cloth of his suit, and you can feel your own wetness soaking the fabric in places. You shiver, roll your hips, and you can feel the way he reacts, shuddering under you. 

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes this a little too much,” you say, breathless. 

“Who said anything about too much? No such thing.” He barks out a laugh, bucking up in a way that makes you moan. “I’ve been to heaven, and trust me when I say, this right here—” He twists his hips viciously to emphasize the word. “— this is so much better.”

“God, this is so —” you whimper. He fists a hand in your hair and bites your neck, and you jerk helplessly against him. 

“God doesn’t care,” he growls. “God wasn’t listening to you just now.” 

“That’s not —” You’re pretty sure he’s missing the point, but with the way your cunt is throbbing at every perfect thrust, you can’t remember what that point is; you can’t remember anything. 

“God’s not going to answer those prayers,” he says hoarsely. “I’m the one who’s going to handcuff you and bend you over the hood of the car and fuck you until your legs give out.” 

“Holy shit, Sam.” Your brain is shorting out. 

“I’m going to make sure Dean sees you when you’re all strung-out and begging for it,” he promises. He jerks up with a vicious twist of his hips, and you grind down to meet him, every inch of your skin singing. “I’m going to hold a gun to your head while you ride me. I’m going to give you anything you want.” 

“Please.” Your moan sounds more like a sob, and you can’t see straight anymore; it’s all going distant, until the only thing that feels real is the aching, pulsing heat of him inside you. 

Sam claws at your back, dragging his open mouth up the side of your neck until he can snarl against your ear: “God doesn’t answer prayers, but I do.” 

He surges up to meet you one last time. Your vision flashes bright white as you come, one exquisite pulse after another rolling through you, and it feels like a purer sort of ecstasy than any religious experience you’ve had in a church.

This is worth a little hellfire. 

.

.

.

There is now a follow-up drabble here!

[cybertronian-cupid]

Can we get headcannons for human s/o with a bit of brat energy? Like, they'll tease their bot throughout the day and get them all worked up, but when asked about it in their private chambers they'll act all confused and innocent (even though its obvious that's what they were doing)

Tfp Optimus, Arcee, and Megatron please?

Megatron is more forceful with his taming, so read with that in mind. Hope you enjoy!💥~Gregoria🏩

............................. ....................... ............................

Optimus:

He finds it cute how they think he’ll be so easily distracted.

Oh their words certainly have an effect on him, but he only offers them soft smiles

And then they come to the berthroom.

He too feigns that he has no idea what they are talking about. Him? Aroused? Whatever for, it was a busy day and he wants to have a good long recharge.

It's when they start to get ready for sleep, all pouts and huffs and grumbles of him being too good that he makes his move.

It's his turn to tease, and he does it by keeping them pinned to his chassis, one digit idly gliding over their legs while he plays with his spike.

They can be as fussy as they want, he's all soft and feather touchy and chaste with them, but he handles his spike as rough and fast as he knows they want.

If they are good next time he may let them use it.

He does make them cum once, but it isn't nearly as satisfying as they want it to be.

Arcee:

She cocks a brow at their first attempt, mischief in her eyes.

Oh it's a game they want is it?

By the time they are both headed to s/o's place, her s/o starts playing really dirty. Caressing the handles, gripping and rubbing, adjusting the mirrors, ghosting fingers over the thin components they can reach, despite Arcee telling them to knock it off.

Arcee doesn't spare many words once the two of them are in the bedroom.

"You know what's going to happen don't you?" "Did I do something wrong?🥺"

She's going to make her s/o repeat every single word they said to her throughout the day, with each whine and attempted trashing against the paddle spankings.

Do they even have the strength to keep being a menace? Or are they too wet and hard and needy from their banter that they actually want to cum as soon as possible?

The real question is if Arcee will let them walk next morning with how many times she'll need to overload herself.

Even after aftercare and tucking her s/o to sleep, she'll still need to get a couple of overloads to be properly sated.

Megatron:

He seems to be ignoring them throughout the day, sparing them only an occasional glance and a quirked brow when they say something that usually has him nearly breaking whatever surface he can pin them against.

Seems to. They can see his jaw is shut tighter when he looks at them, the corner of his mouth twitching with his scowl.

They are giddy with excitement once he orders Soundwave to inform him in case of autobot sightings and carries them to his quarters.

He places them on the table with a feigned gentleness, claws drumming in a slow, steady rhythm on his desk once he sits down. Waiting.

They have a feeling they should apologize for their teasing or try to explain themself. Instead they grin and stick their tongue out at him, going as far as saying "Am I in trouble?"

That does it. A hiss of his engines and a blurry movement of mass displacement is their reward, before they are grabbed by their wrists.

They do falter slightly with his wicked grin aimed at them, sharp teeth on full display.

"You have no idea."

Turns out it is kind of hard to be talking back when there's a spike jammed down your throat.

And when you are being nearly suffocated by a valve right after.

AND when there's an iron grip on your genitals and growled scolding with orgasm denial to the point of tears.

Before he actually properly fucks them, he gives them a spanking that has them unable to sit comfortably for a week after. Especially if they've been trashing around when he told them to stay still.

"Nothing to say for yourself brat?"

He does check on them in between, and does in fact soothe and praise them once they start being good.

They were a brat, he might as well do this properly so it doesn’t happen again.

The aftercare however is intentionally sweet to the point of being sickenning, just to see if they have some snark left in them.

Some teasing from his side was bound to happen, he can be a bit of a brat himself.

[baekhansol]

prologue: pretty please

pairing: werewolf!jackson x f!reader

genre: werewolf au, fluff, smut, angsty ending | rated: mature

word count: 3.6K

warnings: lying, fluff, oral (f receiving), slight orgasm denial, sort of nipple play (reader on self), unprotected sex, knotting, sort of awful sex I'm sorry jackson, angsty ending, and lmk if i am missing anything!

note: so this is the prologue to a series I am writing!! i hope you all really like it! I actually decided today it fits as more of a prologue than a chapter one, so :p please enjoy and maybe give me feedback idk also i know the smut in it sucks i'm sorry

You often found yourself in the library during the day, studying and doing homework or taking a break and watching anime. You had been sitting there for an hour or so, and it was starting to get busy. It always did around midterms and finals; you were just glad you found your own small table to sit at.

You were working on a paper when someone came up, smiling a bit awkwardly. “Hey, would you mind if I sit here? I’ll be quiet, I promise,” He says, hesitating to sit down. He had an accent that you couldn’t quite place, as it only happened with some words.

When you finish the sentence you were typing and look up, you do your best to hide your surprise at how handsome he was. He was absolutely stunning, making you question your own appearance. “Oh, um, sure,” you say, your cheeks flushing with heat as you make room for him.

“I’m Jackson, by the way,” He says as he pulls out the chair and sits, getting himself comfortable across from you.

“I’m Y/N,” you respond, still blushing.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, offering a charming smile as he pulls out his laptop.

The next week at the same time, he showed up again and asked, “Y/N, is it alright if I join you?”

You nod, a shy smile finding its way onto your face. “What are you studying?” you eventually ask him, tilting your head slightly.

“Business,” Jackson says, glancing up at you with a smile. “Actually, it’s my masters and I’m focusing on international business. What about you?”

When you tell him, he listens intently and asks polite questions- the right ones, too. Not the usual ones you always get.

The next week you’re running late and stop at the vending machine to grab your favorite candy. Going to your usual table, you do a double take when someone is already there. You pause awkwardly, only to realize it was Jackson waiting there with a second cup of coffee.

“Oh, hey Jackson,” you say, blushing as you join him.

He smiles at you, pushing one of the cups towards you. “I got you a coffee, just the way you like it.”

You suspiciously tilt your head, taking a sip, only to be surprised that it was the way you liked your coffee. “How did you know?” you laugh, getting out your laptop.

“I know some of the workers,” he sheepishly admits. You laugh and open the candy, offering him some.

“I shouldn’t, I’m on a diet,” he says with a pout.

“Oh, come on,” you scoff, raising an eyebrow.

He playfully rolls his eyes before grabbing a piece.

Soon, every Tuesday you would meet up with Jackson in the library. Before midterms, it became every Tuesday and Thursday until finals, when it was almost every day. It was on one of these Thursdays that he asked you, “Are you free tomorrow?”

You tilt your head, wondering what he was getting to. He seemed to always have plans on Fridays during your normal study time, and you tried not to study too late since the library closed early. “Uh, no, I don’t think so? Why do you ask?” you respond.

“Well, I was thinking that I could take you for a date! If you wanted to, that is…”

You could tell he was a little nervous, and you realized you were staring at him blankly. You let out an embarrassed laugh, nodding. “Yes, sorry, I was just… yes, I would like that,” you admit, shaking your head some.

“Great! I can pick you up after your class tomorrow? Just make sure you dress warm!” he says with a grin.

“You already have a plan? What is it? Tell me~?” you ask, pouting a little bit.

“Nope, it’s a secret!” he laughs, smiling brightly. “You have to wait until tomorrow to know!”

The next day, you woke up early to get ready. You wore warm clothes like he said, and did your makeup cutely but not excessively, especially since it seemed like you would be outside. In class, you were extra fidgety and kept checking the clock. It felt like time slowed, but you knew it was from your anticipation.

Right on cue as class ended, your phone vibrated. Checking it, you noticed a text from Jackson saying he was outside the building.

You all but run out of the classroom down to the parking lot, finding him standing outside grinning.

“Will you tell me what we are doing now?” you ask, giving him your puppy dog eyes.

“Maybe,” he teases, leading you to his car. He opens the door for you and even shuts it, getting in on the other side. “Does hiking sound okay? Then takeout and a movie at my place?” Jackson asks. You see a hopeful glint and the worry in his eyes, and your smile grows.

“That sounds wonderful!” you tell him.

“Great!” he says, starting to drive. “You’ll love it! I go here quite often, and it’s very pretty. I’ve seen some deer and some really neat birds before there.”

“Oh, really? Do you know what kinds of birds?” you ask, curious.

“Well, I’m not sure since they’re not the same as back home, but definitely some owls! I went out later than I should have. And I don’t know if it was a falcon, eagle, or hawk. But those too.”

“I think we have all three here,” you laugh.

“Well, that really doesn’t help identify it any, now does it,” he laughs with you.

“Not in the slightest,” you giggle.

“Well I guess if we see them, maybe you’ll know,” Jackson says, turning onto a gravel road.

“What am I, a bird expert now?” you laugh more.

“No, you’re just a native here,” he responds with a little pout.

“Still not a bird expert,” you point out.

“I know, but you will know better than me,” he reasons.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you say, shaking your head as he parks in a small parking lot.

“We are here!” Jackson says, turning off the car. He leads you over to the map by the trail entrance, glancing at it once before heading down.

“We’ll follow the blue markers this time,” he says, pointing them out on the tree.

“What do they mean? You didn’t give me time to read the map,” you say with a huff.

“They mean we’re going the correct way,” he tells you smartly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“I know. And there’s nothing you can do about it but follow me and find out,” he teases you, taking your hand and leading you.

You’re both careful not to trip over any of the roots or loose rocks, and you start getting glances of white.

“Is that a river?” you ask, glancing at what looked like ice.

“Uh, maybe,” Jackson responded in an unbelievable manner. Of course he knew, he just wasn’t going to tell you.

Eventually, you made it to more of a clearing. Jackson didn’t even have to point to what it was he wanted to show you. You stood in awe instead.

Winter was definitely there, and you knew that since the little fountains on campus were frozen over. But this, this was a sight to behold. The entire river had frozen over, and what must usually be a gorgeous waterfall had frozen over. The water had frozen against the rocks, sharp spears of it dangerously hanging from the main body of water. You swore if the sun was just right, you could see some of the water on the very inside running down inside the thick, frozen ice.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Jackson asks you, his voice hushed. All you could do was nod.

The next Tuesday, you got to the library first. “Want to go on a second date?” you bluntly ask him when he joins you.

He laughs before smiling, nodding. “Of course, I’d love to,” Jackson assures you.

You’re not sure if you can ever end up choosing a favorite date by the time finals end. Your last “date” was taking him to the airport. He was going home for the break, and you wanted to take him.

“I guess this is as far as we can go, huh?” you ask sadly, looking at the security checkpoint.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jackson says, fidgeting with his ticket as if he were nervous.

“Well, I’m sure everything will go well…” you say, almost more nervous than he was. “I mean, you’ve flown lots of times before, so this shouldn’t be any different…” you start to ramble in an attempt to console him.

He chuckles a little, gently putting his hand on your shoulder before tilting up your chin.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” Jackson softly asks, his dark eyes meeting yours.

Your heart leaped in your chest. You thought of him as your boyfriend, but you weren’t sure if you were official or not, so it made you a little nervous. But at his question, your lips smiled on their own, and you nod as much as you can for his hand holding onto your chin. “Yes!” you whisper.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, causing you to blush and nod. Once given consent, he kisses you sweetly.

“I promise I’ll be back soon, okay?” Jackson says as he pulls away and picks up his things.

“Alright… be safe,” you tell him, feeling your cheeks burn.

“I will,” he assures you, kissing your cheek before leaving.

A few days later, when he was over jet lag, you face timed him. You were eating breakfast at the time, and he was eating dinner.

“How are you?” You ask, happy to see him again and hear his voice.

“I’m doing much better now that I get to see my beautiful girlfriend~” he coos playfully, causing you to laugh.

“Okay, okay. How was the plane trip? How are things going back home?” you ask, wanting more details.

“It went well, don’t worry. I am home safe, although it is a bit hectic at times,” he assures you.

“Why is it hectic? You’re on a break~ you need to relax!” you tell him with a huff.

“I know, I know, don’t worry, I am,” he again assures you.

“You better be,” you huff back, pouting slightly.

Just like that, your library dates were replaced with virtual ones. Some days you could only talk for a few minutes, some days you went on for hours. Every now and then, he even would sing you to sleep. You always slept well when he would.

When the holidays came, he ended up sending you a cd of songs he recorded to help you sleep.

When the semester started up again, you would meet in the library Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays this time. You sat at the same table, but also flirted more when you studied. You made sure to keep up your grades, since they were incredibly important to you.

After the initial start up hump of the beginning of the semester, you started to remember something strange about Jackson that you had forgotten or just hadn’t had the time to realize before. It wasn’t quite a gut feeling of danger, but a feeling of something was wrong. He would get sick nearly every month for a few days without fail. In the last week of January, Jackson was out sick for over a week.

The following Monday, Jackson comes back to the library, and you immediately perk up. “Jackson, how are you feeling? Your roommate told me you were sick,” you ask him.

“I was, but I am feeling much better now,” he assures you, smiling.

You felt a tug in your stomach, and you knew he was lying. “Jackson, you get sick more often than… well, anyone I know. What’s wrong?” you insist.

He sighs, his smile faltering. “I have an immune disorder. I don’t like talking about it much, but I often get sick,” he tells you.

So, you believed him.

You believed him until your introductory anatomy course went over autoimmune disorders. He didn’t fit any of the basic descriptions for them. You ended up choosing to do a paper on the topic, so you ended up pressuring him more when he was at your place for a movie date night.

“Jackson, I’ve been working on a paper for autoimmune disorders. I may have to narrow it down to one in particular… So, I was wondering what one you had?” you ask him, wanting to be a supportive girlfriend.

He sighs and seems irritated about it, and you couldn’t quite tell what was wrong. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I feel like I can’t tell you…” he admits, shocking you.

You felt like you had told him everything. You told him about your asthma, how your therapy sessions went, what you wanted to improve on, your insecurities about your body, even sexual things you had thought about eventually exploring with him.

But he couldn’t tell you this? After you told him about your mental health issues? You were shocked and speechless.

After a moment, you finally catch your thoughts. “Jackson… you know you can tell me anything, right?” you say softly, frowning and not realizing you were tearing up.

Jackson’s face softens, and he pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back. “I’m sorry, I know. You’re right,” he soothes, sighing slightly. “I just… don’t want you to hate me or think I am a freak or anything,” he further admits.

“Jackson, I love you. I could never,” you whisper. It was the first time you had said that.

His heart melts at your words, and he started tearing up. You pull away, and he cups your cheeks.

He lets out a short sigh, making up his mind. “Alright baby. Well, I’ll just say it,” he tells you, now opting to hold your hands. Jackson gently squeezes them as he admits, “I’m a werewolf.”

You pause, staring at him as you replay his words in your mind. You then pull away and laugh, shaking your head. “No, seriously Jackson,” you say, feeling anxious. Why would he lie to you?

“I am being serious,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Then-then prove it,” you say, but it comes out as more of a question.

Jackson sighs softly, tilting his head some. “Alright. Count to ten and come into your room,” he says, going in.

You huff, counting out loud.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

You stand up and head towards your room.

“Six.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“Nine.”

“Ten.”

You turn the doorknob and say, “I’m coming in now.”

You open the door and are immediately greeted with a massive wolf. Oddly enough, he had the eyes of Jackson.

You quickly shut your door, knowing you weren’t allowed to have pets in your building.

“Um…” you begin, staring at him in confusion. You look around the room, wondering where Jackson was, only to notice his clothes on the floor. “So, you’re really-?” you begin, looking at the wolf again.

He nods and you groan, covering your face with your hands.

You hear him jump off the bed, and after hearing snapping and popping, you glance up and see Jackson pulling his pants back on. You quickly look away, your cheeks heating up as you try not to stare at his well defined body.

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smirking because he knew.

"Well this is rather awkward. What immune disorder do I choose to write about now?" You say with a laugh.

"Sorry babe. Let's go watch that movie now, yeah?" He suggests, taking your hand and leading you back to the living room.

After learning about werewolves, Jackson would take you on hiking dates. Sometimes he would run around as a wolf, and other times you would ride him like a horse, which was probably ridiculous to look at, if anyone ever saw you. But he liked to show off.

After finals, you stayed with him for a week. You weren't ready to go home yet, but you already had to move out of the dorm you were staying in.

You were cuddling with him and watching a movie. You felt your insides burn with anxiety, having been wanting to tell him something for a while, but too embarrassed to say. See, once you admitted you were a virgin, Jackson took things very slowly with you. You enjoyed giving him blowjobs after he taught you about how he would knot, and the furthest he went on you was giving you oral once.

But now you felt ready to progress your relationship further, but you didn't know how to say it.

"Jackson," you say, feeling your cheeks heating up.

"Yes, baby?" He says, looking at you. He knew something was up and you needed to tell him something, but he honestly had no idea what it would be.

"I… think I'm ready," you admit, nibbling your lip.

"Ready for what?" He asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Having sex," you bashfully admit.

"Oh," he says, surprised. "Right now?" He asks, trying not to sound too eager.

You shake your head. "No, not right now. But soon," you assure him, feeling embarrassed.

"Well, I don't mind waiting a little longer," he assures you, kissing the top of your head.

One minute you were grinding on Jackson, making out on the couch. The next, you and Jackson were both naked in bed. He lays you down, hovering over you as he kisses you.

“Jackson, can I give you a blowjob?”

“Don’t worry about making me feel good. I want to eat you out,” he says, pulling away from you and spreading your legs.

“Yes please,” you say, nodding softly.

He kisses your thighs, teasing you by biting and marking them. He knew this made you needy, as your thighs were sensitive. Jackson eventually kisses your clit, causing you to moan. He smirks as he licks your folds, maintaining eye contact as you blush.

“We’ve done this how many times? And you always get so bashful,” Jackson gently teases, quickly going to work.

He sucks your clitoris, his tongue flicking it as your juices leak out and onto his chin. Your hand grabs his hair, tugging as you moan. Jackson uses his strong arms to keep your legs open. He notices your hole clenching around nothing, boosting his ego.

Jackson inserts a finger, curling it up against your g spot, which causes you to cry out his name.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispers against your folds, pausing his kisses to your mound as he adds a second finger, working on stretching you out.

“Feels so good,” you whine, gasping as he adds a third finger. “I’m close,” you pant, reaching down to rub your clit. Jackson stops you and pulls out his fingers with a smirk.

“Jackson?!” you gasp, pouting that he took away your orgasm.

“I want to cum with you,” he explains, smiling sweetly.

You sigh and lay your head back down, nodding.

“Are you sure you don’t want to use condoms?” Jackson checks, raising an eyebrow.

“Positive. You said yourself I wasn’t fertile,” you admit, blushing some.

“Alright,” he says, teasing your folds with his tip. Jackson watches as your hole clenches around nothing, desperately wanting his cock.

“Please Jackson,” you huff, not liking how he began to rub his cock against your folds.

“I’m getting myself lubricated,” Jackson smugly responds, grinding into you, tapping his cock against your swollen bud.

“Fuck~” you cry, pulling your hair. “Please Jackson, I want to have sex with you,” you beg, tearing up in need.

“Hmm, alright,” Jackson says, slowly sliding his tip inside of you. He grabs your hands and kisses you, letting you adjust to his girth. He slowly slides in, huffing into your ear softly.

“Jackson, please move,” you beg once he bottoms out.

“Yes ma’am,” he teases you, starting with slow thrusts. Jackson greedily watches your breasts bounce with each thrust, a near-feral grin finding its way on his face.

“Faster, please,” you murmur, doing your best to keep your eyes open as you squeeze his hands.

He readily obliges, and you groan as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room with both of your moans.

“I’m not gonna last that long,” he admits with a laugh.

You nod and he lets go of one of your hands, rubbing your clit. You grab your breast and pinch your nipples, stimulating yourself as you near your high.

He suddenly begins to cum with a loud groan of your name, his thrusts harder than before. You cry out in pleasure, which soon turns into a whimper as he begins to knot you.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, you’re doing so good,” Jackson begins to praise. It takes all of his strength not to collapse on top of you, but he manages to nuzzle into your neck and kiss your sweet spot there.

You groan softly, brushing your damp hair out of your eyes. “I love you,” you say, smiling tiredly.

“I love you too.”

You wake up the next day naked and alone in bed. You look around, wondering where Jackson went. “Jackson?” you softly call, looking for him.

But something about his apartment was… off.

You carefully get up, your legs feeling a bit weak, and go use the bathroom. His toothbrush and razor were missing.

You go out into the kitchen and living room, and still no Jackson.

When you go back into the bedroom, you notice that his phone was missing. You open the closet and his dresser, and there were no clothes.

For one whatever reason, Jackson was gone.

[hoe-imaginess]

baby socks | hawks

Hawks x Reader

summary: Hawks isn't ready to be a dad. He doesn't think he'll ever be—but now, he might need to rethink some things.

word count: 3.4k

a/n: short and montage-y. follows the idea that Hawks realistically isn’t looking to be a family man, but might be converted... for reasons 

inspired by an idea from @gabb-yeet​ ty friend <3

⤰⤰⤰

After two long, stressful weeks, your concerns were no longer contestable. Two weeks during which you waited, and hoped, while your mind did manic rebounds between joy and fear.

A third week came and went without your period, and you knew then that there was no denying the truth growing inside of you.

A pregnancy test from the local drug store gave you final confirmation. The other two you took while riding a wave of denial reverberated the inescapable.

You were pregnant. You were pregnant with Hawks’s baby.

And you had no idea what to do.

⤰

His visits were rare, but thoroughly cherished.

You loved to be in his arms, to feel the supple caress of his feathers around you; tickling a warm, blissful exhilaration up your spine. 

He loved your hands on him, and always esteemed their softness as you touched his temple or cupped his cheek, as though your gentle embrace extracted the day’s stress right from his skin.

Hawks could make you laugh as easily as anything. Your smiles came easy and organic—there was nothing more in the world he loved than to see your smile.

But now here you were, eyes hot with imminent tears as you showed him the pregnancy test, as he took a step away from you. He simply looked at you with bewilderment, then averted his gaze, somewhat shamefaced by his own shock.

“Wow,” he muttered, eyes and tone lacking any of the passion for this confession that you might have hoped for. “I… thought you were, ya know…” He gestured stiffly to his mouth, denoting your birth control, you guessed. “And we were careful–”

Hawks stopped then, noticing how swiftly the emotion drained from your face. He took a breath to dispel his confusions, and pushed his goggles up into his hairline so he could rub feeling into the bridge of his nose.

“Okay,” he started, like he was trying to wrangle his thoughts back in line. You saw his gloved hands fidget about, eager for orientation. “Um… Well, I wasn’t really… ready for this.”

“Well, neither was I,” you returned, hoping to convey to him that you were the equal of his wariness in this dilemma; you had no ambition to bestow obligations on him.

The proceeding silence took a substantial toll on your already crumbling poise. His gaze took an idling perusal of the ground, at the space between you two, unwilling to meet your eyes.

Then, as if a saving grace to his discomfort, the pager at his belt sounded off.

Your heart stung at the interruption. He sometimes had to make your time together short on account of duty, but surely he could spare a minute more to discuss this—something of this magnitude. 

“I have to go,” he murmured, after reading the message on his pager. He was still reluctant to meet your eyes, but found a heartbreaking sadness in them when he did. He swallowed hard. “I’m… sorry.”

“Hawks,” you started, searching feverishly for the words that might keep him there with you. “I’m—We need to…”

“I know.” There was a flash of somber determination in his eyes, something that aspired to reassurance, but failed. “I’ll be back.”

His arm moved, almost as if to reach out and touch you. But he seemed to think better of doing so, and instead he moved to your window, and flew from it as he had a hundred times before.

Except this time, you watched him go not with an enthusiasm to see him again, but a despairing anxiety.

⤰

His return was a no less cumbersome affair.

Hawks sat on your couch, looked around the room with thorny cautiousness, as if he were in an unfamiliar environment, as if he no longer found peace in your presence like he once had.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, still partial to keeping his gaze lowered.

You’d sat down next to him on the couch, with a condemning distance between the two of you that made your chest tight with despair. You looked down at your feet, at the soft carpet beneath your toes, and curled them restlessly into the fluff.

“What do you mean?” you answered, even as you feared clarification.

“I mean… have you decided?”

Your head came up to look at him, a mounting trepidation quickening your pulse.

“Decided?” you repeated.

Realizing your apprehension, he perked up, and a flash of apology softened his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His hands hovered to assuage you, and that tender, sweet look in his eyes that you’d so missed made itself known. “Listen, I just mean… you said you weren’t ready for this either, so I just thought you’d be thinking... I don’t know.”

“Do you…” 

You trailed off. Was he really after a verdict? Was he asking not how you two might endure parenthood together, but rather, whether you two needed to at all? 

Your mouth felt dry; you wet your lips anxiously. “I mean, are you asking me if I want to…?”

“It’s your choice,” he amended quickly, but uncertainty still cast its shadow over his face, gambling with his otherwise assuring words. “Whatever you decide I’ll… I’ll do what I need to do.”

There was no enthusiasm behind his promise, only a reluctant acceptance. You’d hoped for so much more.

⤰

Hawks couldn’t join you at your prenatal appointments.

He tried, once, when not a minute after showing up on the same block as the hospital, he was spotted and swarmed by fans. Thinking better of making a move that might lead you to suffer some unwanted media attention, he pulled back.

Later, after you’d trudged through the appointment alone, he called you to apologize.

You told him it was fine, and that you understood his need for discretion during all of this. After all, any whiff of information that the press claimed from this situation might prove detrimental to Hawks’s career. He was young, and a top hero; even if the two of you weren’t married, you knew part of his appeal was his bachelor status. Even if you’d both decided on this together, you were still worlds apart.

And from then on, there was an unspoken agreement that you would have to traverse most of your pregnancy alone.

⤰

When Hawks wasn’t thinking about hero work, he was thinking about you.

He was thinking about you, and his relationship with you—how it had been so ideal and complete. It was an escape from the labors of his day that often times felt more injurious than anything. Seeing you remedied that. Your presence was alleviating; your affections curative.

But now when he thought of the relationship, the happiness was sabotaged by a cloud of uncertainty—uncertainty for the unknown. From the very onset of his hero career, he’d planned to strictly dedicate himself to the betterment of society, no matter his personal sacrifices.

But how faithfully could he keep to that philosophy when it would no longer be his sacrifice alone, but also yours? 

Hawks had thousands of admirers. Among them were beauties that would have undoubtedly been the apple of any other man’s eye: stunners who flashed him pretty smiles behind pretty lashes, flattering him with their worship and exaltation—but they were tributes he couldn’t afford. He couldn’t devote himself to one person when the rest of the country demanded preservation.

But you were the exception.

You two had met under such fleeting circumstances that he could have never guessed the journey on which the short encounter would take him. But then you two kept running into each other, over and over, until he’d found the opportunity to indulge the humor of it. 

Is this just a coincidence? he’d joked with you. Or maybe you’re plotting something? Understandably, I’m a little suspicious.

You’d laughed so sweetly in response: a laugh that made his face warm and his wings twitch.

He had little control over what happened next. The warmth had sprouted. It had all gone so well. Doubts and fears about indulging a relationship with you slowly dwindled to a dormant worry. You were always so understanding and accommodating; you never harped on his business, and never guilted him for prioritizing hero work when it was necessary.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

But now, he had no idea what to think.

His feelings hadn’t changed for you, not at all. But this was an impossible situation, with an impossible answer. He was going to be a father. That was an unavoidable truth now, one he had yet to completely wrap his head around.

He wished it were easy. He wished he could bask in the anticipation of fatherhood, that he could be there to encourage your enthusiasms and grant you his part in this endeavor. You deserved that. You deserved support and happiness throughout this. But he didn’t know if he could deliver. 

On patrol, Hawks saw mothers carrying their young infants in the street—something he’d given little thought or contemplation before. Now his soaring wings would come to a slow as he tried to imagine that it was you down there holding a baby in your arms, his baby; a baby with his hair and eyes—or maybe yours, or maybe a mix of both…

He’d shake his head and turn away from the spectacle, knowing his thoughts would spiral, and that they would serve only to distract him.

⤰

Hawks stopped visiting as often as he had been. It was a palpable evasion, and it cut you worse as the days went by.

He kept up with your texts, mostly. But the longer they went unanswered, the worse your anxieties grew. Whereas before an unanswered message would scarcely disturb you—he had a demanding job, after all—your reservations had all but crashed now. It left you in a state of unending worry; gut-wrenching conclusions toppling over one another until you’d exhausted yourself with grief.

You would spend hours curled up on the couch, waiting for his response, eager to be quelled of your dread. Didn’t he realize the longer he kept away from you, the worse you were for it?… The more guilt you felt for deciding you wanted to keep this baby?

Your hand would curl over your stomach, and you would wonder how something meant to bring so much joy had so far served only to bring you sorrow.

⤰

During a break in his late-night patrol, Hawks called you.

Bleary-eyed, you woke to the phone’s tuneful ringing, and reached for it clumsily on the nightstand.

“Hello?” you croaked once you’d answered the call.

As if he’d been idle, and not expecting you to answer, he cleared his throat. “Uh, hey.”

You waited, brain too fogged by sleep to think of your own mediation to the silence. It was then he realized that he would need to take the lead, lest he make this late-night disturbance in vain.

“Hey,” he started again, with hesitation. “I just… wanted to talk.”

“It’s late, Hawks,” you murmured, blinking away haze as you peered at your alarm clock. It was nearly past three.

“I know. Sorry. Listen, I…” The mere notion of elaborating on the toilsome thoughts in his head made his chest tight. The onslaught of guilt and confusion struck instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the self-condemnation constricting his throat. “I just…” Now his confidence digressed, his sentiments running faster than what words could articulate.

“I just didn’t know what to do,” he admitted finally, certain but woeful in his repentance. “I… guess I still don’t.”

You sat up in bed, let the blood flow evenly through your body to aid your thinking. “I’m confused too, Hawks, but I…” The thought of the turmoil you’d suffered all alone these last few weeks brought pitiful tears to your eyes, and a stutter to your breath. “I need your help.”

Touched by the sorrow in your tone, he raised his head to the night sky and breathed in his grief, then breathed it out.

“I know,” he said. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

For the next half-hour, you stayed on the phone with him, talking through mutual worry and braving the shame of confessing the anguish you felt because of his behavior.

He promised that he would take care of you. Both of you, he said. 

And you went to bed that night with a little smile on your face, hoping the soothing optimism you felt would last.

⤰

Baby socks.

It was baby socks that did it.

With his wings withered down from a particularly exhausting battle, thereby shedding the token of his celebrity, Hawks indulged himself by doing something he rarely did: take a trip to the supermarket. 

Still, it wasn’t something he did often. Even disguised in casual attire, sick mask and a hat complimenting the facade, there still remained a risk that he may be noticed. But the risk seemed worth it that day; the distraction that the mundane offered from his knotty thoughts was what he needed.

Still, wherever he went, so too did his anxieties, following him and reminding him of their need for resolve. In fact, maybe it was an unconscious decision that he ended up right here: staring down the baby supplies aisle, hesitation in his every step, almost as if the ground was hot coal. Unconscious, because part of him knew very well that despite the promises he’d made you, he still needed to come to his own terms with his convictions.

So it was part-obligation, and part-unbidden curiosity that pulled him down the aisle, his golden eyes giving a nervous perusal of the products on display.

He saw the rows of diapers, and tried to imagine using them: cleaning up an infant’s mess, suffering the smell. Hawks winced with a wrinkled nose. 

He’d rather endure one of those interviews, for that one magazine, of who the interviewers always asked about his political preferences, almost like they wanted him to say something controversial. He hated those more than anything, so to say it was preferable to changing diapers wasn’t a very good outlook on his imminent child-rearing.

He was on a path to conjuring up more unpleasant visions of fatherhood, when he came to the clothes section.

It was a parade of bright pastels and fuzzy cotton; animal-print designs and cheesy phrases glaring at him from every shelf. It was banal to the point of nausea.

But then, the baby socks.

He couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw them: ornamented with fluff and lace, so small and delicate that it was almost impossible to believe a human foot belonged in there. But it did; a baby’s petite, soft foot—his baby’s foot, would fit snuggly.

Hawks envisioned it, then envisioned it some more, the array of merchandise fueling his imagination.

Then there were the pacifiers. The beanies. The onesies—

He had a stupid smile on his face as he loaded his cart with whatever caught his eye.

⤰

Your water broke while Hawks was on patrol. 

He’d given you the number to his personal hero pager, with a promise that he’d leave work to his sidekicks if he was able and rush to you immediately. 

Unfortunately, the odds were stacked against him; an aspiring group of villains, all of whom used wide-range quirks that made their capture difficult, took the better half of an hour to subdue. 

By the time Hawks had done his work and left clean-up to the authorities, you were already in labor. And by the time he’d checked his pager for your emergency message—something he’d been doing almost hourly, now that your due date was close—and rushed to the hospital, all your work was done.

When he finally arrived, he was met by his newborn’s red cheeks and sweet cries. 

“A boy,” you breathed out with a tired smile, sagging into the hospital bed. 

Sweat streamed from your temple; dotted your brows and nose. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in the sight of the little human in your arms, he would have moved in to worry over your fatigue. But there he remained transfixed, golden eyes going to pinpricks as he gave the baby a hard inspection; his shock morphed into excitement, and from excitement: joy. 

⤰

There was no paternity leave for heroes like Hawks. Crime in the streets demanded his attention almost as much as his crying baby. 

But it was a rare night that he could be home with you, taking his parenting duties in stride, and finding them far less strenuous than he would have ever imagined. 

In fact, he was starting to enjoy them. But the most treasured time was after all work was done, when you, him, and his son lay on the bed together, his little body between you two. It was restful, and strangely, to Hawks, the most at peace he’d ever been.

Whatever chores he’d done in his time with you fell far from the work you did every day taking care of the baby, and the moment you hit the sheets, an easing fatigue started to take you. Hawks might have indulged rest, if he wasn’t so engrossed in the spectacle his infant son was making. 

Hawks watched him with adoring fascination, his honed eyes taking in every little wiggle, every soft twitch, every gentle stretch.

“Look, look,” Hawks entreated, reaching over to nudge you from a much needed sleep. “He’s kicking his little legs.” 

You groaned quietly, kept your eyes shut. “He’s been kicking my insides for months now,” you responded groggily, but with the smallest of smiles. “Nothing new.”

Removed from all nuances that didn’t involve his son, Hawks was unfazed by your comment, and his enthusiasm continued undeterred. He lay there, the baby between the two of you, and watched his son test his little muscles for the first time.

The smile never left Hawks’s face.

⤰⤰⤰

[awsuntanz]

a ramble about helium chapter 4 (and dakota’s wonderful characterization)

its 4am, forgive me for any mistakes. i’ve never written anything like this before, aha.

All of these quotes are from Chapter 4 of @heytherestilinski‘s fic Helium!

The way Dakota (the author) fleshes out conflict and allows their painfully realistic characterization to shine is so...perfect. I find myself heavily relating to Dream, George, and even Sapnap at times. 

Here are some lines that I didn’t think would stick out to me (but did):

After a quiet moment, to his soaring heart’s approval, George speaks up again.

This entire kitchen scene portrays that feeling of having a conversation with someone who matters to you. Whether it would classify as something important to someone else or not is irrelevant- to you, in that moment, it feels like you’re holding the world. It’s soft, and tender. You don’t want it to fall flat. You don’t want to let it go. (This scene may or may not have encouraged me to say goodnight to a special someone I was thinking of while reading this).

Sapnap dumps the responsibility of the cart back onto Dream. As he walks past him, he says, “You suck at flirting.”

I really enjoyed the stupid banter between Dream and Sapnap at the grocery store. It not only served as some nice comic relief that kept our guard down before the conflict at the end of the chapter, but it’s also something us readers would definitely hear from (and say to) our friends in real life. Good comic relief is something that eases us in naturally and allows us to immerse ourselves and enjoy the moment while maintaining that element of surprise that keeps us interested :)

He turns away from Dream. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Dream may be less controlled in his emotions and impulses, but he is very open in sharing them. George has more of a filter on everything. Controlled. Not wanting to push Dream (or maybe even himself) off the edge.

“You wanted to this morning,” he says, low.

“Yeah, because we were in your house, not the middle of the grocery store.”  

Rejection. Denial. George’s response holds some truth to it, but comes off as a haphazard excuse at the same time. He doesn’t appreciate the way Dream pushes for that direct confrontation and frankness when it comes to approaching their situation (and honestly? Neither would I). 

George halts to face him again, with a half-whisper, “Not exactly the best place to ambush me, Dream.” 

I like the use of the word ambush here because of the strong negative connotation it implies. It’s as if he’s saying that Dream sought out to make him uncomfortable. As if this was pre-planned and intentional, and not another one one of his silly impulses.

Dream stares at him wildly. “I didn’t ambush you. You brought up your expectations, not me.” His voice grows tight. “Are you seriously still going to act like this?”

We’ve had enough of “Dream, why? Dream, no! Dream, quit being an idiot!” from the readers. This time, he takes that blame and tosses it over to George instead. Conflict grows stronger.

“Like I’m—I’m this stumbling idiot who forces you into every bad situation,” he says. “It’s exhausting, and doesn't make me feel good about myself, and—” He runs a trembling hand through his hair. “It’d be nice if you took some responsibility, for once. That’s all.”

God, I’m so guilty of how George does this to Dream. Taking responsibility isn’t very fun when you feel like the other person is constantly making irrational, immature, and as we’ve established earlier, overall impulsive decisions when it comes to what they say and do. We assume that the other person should be able to understand us- We’ve put up with them for all this time, haven’t we?

Realizing that having a mentality like this is toxic and draining to the other person as well is... difficult. It’s difficult to remember that they’re trying, and that they genuinely care about you too. The very same things that make them irritating are what make them a loving and caring person as well. It takes growth from the both of you to learn and understand each other. And growth takes time.

It’s 4AM at the time I’m writing this, and I’m far too tired to quote the entire phone scene, so I’m going to assume you’ve read it. 

A few lines from George:

“Can...can you stay on, for a bit? Can we just talk?”

“Please, Dream.”

“I just want to hear your voice.”

A few lines from Dream:

“George.”

“Stop,” he warned. “Stop that.”

“Don’t say that.”  //  “What is wrong with you?”

“Fuck, George. Why are you doing this to me?”

The reason Dream brings this up is because it highlights a moment where their general character roles in the fic are switched. In this scenario, it highlights a moment of hypocrisy. George is desperate, and vulnerable. The phone call dialogue showcases him doing something that he knows he shouldn’t be doing. “Can we not talk about this? Can we pretend this phone call didn’t happen?”

Now, plenty of ugly nights and long weeks later, he steps closer to George in the grocery aisle as an unconcerned passerby skirts around their cart and conflict.  

I’m not sure why I like this line. It feels like a gentle reminder that in the grand scheme of things, your conflict is small. Insignificant to the rest of the world, mattering to you two and only you two. Makes everything a bit more personal, I guess.

He looms over him, wishing he could melt the bristling anger from his brown eyes, and wishing he had it in himself to be angry, too.

I relate to both sides of this. That gut-wrenching feeling of not being able to find your own anger at someone who is angry at you. The feeling of knowing that your anger is frustrating and hurting someone else, too. Either way, it feels absolutely terrible.

“You called me,” Dream recounts, even though he can tell George remembers it as vividly as he. “You talked to me.” He lets out a short, frustrated breath. “Then you got mad at me the next morning, and iced me out.”

Doing the same thing that you hated the other person for doing, and taking it out on them afterwards. Yeah.

(dakota. dream. can you pls stop calling me out through george i would really really really appreciate it thank u) /hj /lh 

“Because you let it happen,” George says, but he looks more vulnerable than before.

blame game here we go againnnnn

Dream stares down at him. “So it’s all on my shoulders,” he reiterates flatly. “It’s all my responsibility, now?” 

“Yes,” George spits, his sharpness startling them both. He meets Dream's gaze, unwavering, and recollects himself with a deep breath.

 “Yes. Because you made it your responsibility, when you sent me that text.”

George was ready to throw that blame right back into Dream’s face. When I saw that whole scene in Heat Waves, I realized how much I related to George in that particular situation. I knew it would come back, somehow. George wouldn’t be able to let something as huge as that, something that shifted the entire course of their relationship...slide so easily. Even with Dream’s eventual promise to work on himself. The whole time, I was thinking, “He’s too nice. He’s too patient,” and, “I wouldn’t be that nice. I wouldn’t be that patient. Not on the inside, at least.”

And you didn’t fail me. That final jab, although relatable- It hurt.

Now that the screens are off, the distance is gone, and the barriers are thinner than ever before, George’s flaws are becoming more transparent. We start to see other parts of his character that had only been foreshadowed in your previous work. I had no idea how Helium would unfold at the beginning, but I’m now very sure that you did not disappoint.

Seeing how you’ve evolved as a writer in both more subtle and more noticeable ways has been awesome :) I’m excited for the next chapter.