#EAT YOUR FUCKING GRAVEL !!!

[localceilingdevil]

If you're still doing itties, you can have my very pissed off grandma if you'd like! :)

Silver-Strung Lyre is very normal and you can trust her with the karmic cycle <3

very pissed off grandma inbound !!!

[defiledtomb]

I found out about Cayde being "back" thanks to you, so bless you. I wonder how Bungie is gonna fuck with us this time?

I knowww. And past me is just shaking her head saying this was always gonna happen.

But either way, I'm super happy just to have him around again, I missed feeling like I wanted to stuff him into ravioli, hang on the washing line, wobble like laminated paper etcetc

[hecksupremechips]

Sometimes I think maybe I’m just not attracted to anyone at all but then I realize I’ve been looking at celebrities, people who are inherently unattractive and unfuckable

[evilgwrl]

ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (Two)

Note: I feel like this is so bad im sorry!!!!

CW: Angst, titty sucking, passionate asf sex, simon missed ur pussy and you very much and vise versa, breeding kink, PIV (no protection, pls use it irl), squirting, simon eats the FUCK out of ur pussy, multiple orgasms, praise, hint of degradation, possessive!simon, OVERSTIMULATION, slight daddy kink… sorry

Part One

It was a quiet ride, the subtle sweeps of cars fleeting by as Simon gripped the wheel, eyes trailing off to the side to look at you briefly. Your head was leaned against the window, your knees knocking together anxiously as your daughter babbled in the back, cooing about how Mummy and Daddy were now back together.

You tried to hide the shed of tears that filtered across your iris, every small childish mumble like a stab to the gut as you listened to the genuine happiness in her tone. You would turn around occasionally with a small smile as you reached out to tickle her foot, giggles filling the car.

Simon pulled in, the car bouncing slightly as it hit the gravel carpark, his hand swerving into a spot before he turned to the back. “You excited, baby?”

Ella’s face lit up as she fumbled to take off her seatbelt, “Get me, Daddy! Get me! I wanna see the lions!” It was refreshing knowing she still viewed Simon as her hero, no matter how distant he was in their lives. You knew that even though your ex-husband was rarely around, his time with them did everything it could to mend the time apart. Toby woke up at the commotion, the toddler having slept the whole way there despite his older sister’s constant bickering about what animals she had to see first.

Everything seemed to flash past you as you walked inside, the whir of kids and noise sending your brain into overdrive as your eyes flickered to Simon with Ella swinging around on his shoulders and Toby kicking his legs in the stroller. You looked away; breath shaky as you attempted to compose yourself. This was supposed to be a happy day, for all of you, yet seeing him with your children, something that was supposed to be normal, felt so distant and unknown. Gathering yourself, you plastered a fake smile, hands reaching out to pinch your son’s cheeks as you grabbed the stroller.

Your heart hammered in your chest for the remainder of the day, fingers tingling with anxiety that bled into your veins, consuming your lungs with what seemed like everything but oxygen. It was a series of squeals and commotions from your young ones, their elation evident through the bright glow of their face, soft red resting on the apples of their cheeks. As the day quieted down, Toby slumped in the stroller as you tucked him into the car seat, his new plush crocodile cradled into his arms, mouth wide open as subtle breaths snored out.

Ella was cradled into Simon’s shoulder, her shoes half hanging off as she clutched onto him, dead asleep. You settled into the ride home yet your anxiety only seemed to heighten. You were alone with Simon, with no kiddish voices to break the tension, brown orbs glaring into the side of your face.

“Should we talk about this morning?”

You scoffed. “You have some nerve asking to talk about this morning,” you screamed into a hush, “What you did was completely disrespectful. Not only did you break into my house and kick my date out, but you left our kids in the car! What the fuck were you thinking?”

He cleared his throat, almost like he wanted to hold back how he felt. You noticed the white in his knuckles as he gripped the wheel, right eye twitching as he stared at the squiggles of tar ahead. “I don’t want our kids growing up thinking it’s normal for parents to separate. They need their mum and dad together, y/n.”

The world silenced for a second, the screams of the wind rushing past you seemed to slow as your voice cracked, seeps of emotion pouring out as you choked on your breath, “Then you should have fought for your family, Simon. There is no us anymore, it’s just them. They’re all that connects us now.”

You felt like all the ivory had been sucked out of your eyes, endless pits of your pupil consuming you whole, blurring your vision with fog as you blinked, hot streams of liquid salt spilling onto your cheeks, brimming at the cracks of your lips as you sniffled. You could feel his hesitation as he looked at you.

His words regurgitated in his throat as he stammered, tangled limbs reaching out to grip yours as you pulled away.

“Just drop us home.”

Your eyes had dried now, soft stains of bare skin caving through your foundation as you smudged your fingers against it. Simon stuttered as he pulled up to the driveway, tyres screeching to a halt as you sat in silence.

The soft strum of fingers caught your attention as you turned around, the innocent face of Toby looking back at his parents, tongue blabbing out of his mouth. “Dadda! You have dinner?”

“No, sport. Daddy’s gotta go-“

“Yeah, baby. Daddy will have dinner with us.”

You blinked at your own words, Simon’s surprised expression meeting yours. The wrench in your heart would never subside, the entirety of the beating organ still belonging to your ex-husband, but being a mother was a sacrifice. And you would sacrifice yourself in every existence you become one if it meant your children didn’t have to battle the same internal wounds.

“They’re tucked in,” Simon said, voice soft as he noticed your withered body in the couch. Your hair was messy now, strands spitting out as you anxiously tucked them back in, smoothing them down with the dampness of your palms as you ran around all night, ushering to the demands of your children.

“Thank you.”

You felt ill, your tongue cascading down your throat as you palmed at your knees, desperate for him to leave yet desperate for him to stay. Simon stilled, keys jangling in his hand before he sat down next to you, his weight disrupting the couch as he shuffled around.

“I need you to know that I did want to fight for you, y/n. I have counted every single day since you handed me those papers, waiting by my phone every single night on deployment hoping for you to text me, call me, fuck - blow my phone up. I never wanted the temporary absence that we had apart become permanent. Everything I said,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as he looked away, “Everything I said on October 6th, 7 years ago, I meant. You weren’t supposed to get away from me - I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have let you get away from me.”

It was strange. Simon was never one for feelings, the brutality of his job allowed for any harsh emotions to crack through his fingers as he pulled a trigger, any dampness of tears would sweat through his skin as he pummelled a blade into an enemies head.

But it was you. And you weren’t violent, or any enemy, you were his wife, the person he vowed his entirety too.

Your anxious cascade cracked as you whimpered out a sob, chest heaving as you buried your face, tight with tears, into the pillows of your hands. You felt warmth spread through you, the texture of Simon’s fingers burning through you like wildfire, every ember he felt scorching through your flesh as he pulled you in.

Arms tangled together, intwining like wool as he wrapped you into his chest nimbly. A zephyr ran through you, your wrists clutched in his hands as you straddled him, the weight of you feeling like the grandest treasure upon him.

It was nothing strange, nor sexual but Simon recognised that cry, the differing pitch as you shuffled your frame into his. Simon knew you like the back of his hand, every crevice, every crease, every scar. He knew your backstory, and the one you made up to impress people. He knew the hex of the colour of your eyes and the print of your thumb. No papers would take that away from him.

Soaked eyelashes clumped into one as you looked up at him, orbs resembling once of a doe, innocence seeping through every inch of a salt-stained tear. His eyes met yours, apertures of cocoa reflecting your weary frame as you gripped onto him.

“Let me come home, please.”

Simon’s voice was desperate, it was raw, any shed of arrogance erased through the lines, eyebrows knotted together as he rubbed at the small of your back.

Your nod was subtle, but he could practically hear it, calloused hands gripping at the plush of your cheek and seeping through the tip of your spine, thumb rubbing at your earlobe as he clutched onto you.

Hot, seething pricks ran through your limbs as your lips connected, saline lining your mouth as he lapped at the heat of your tongue, rough groans leaving his lips as he savoured the taste.

Any diffidence left your body as familiarity sunk back into you. Hands pawed at the globe of your ass, gripping the flesh as anguished limbs wrapped around Simon’s waist.

With an easy tug, he lifted you, your hands wrapping around his neck as he pulled you in closer, teeth kissing. You never questioned Simon’s strength, and you wouldn’t start now as you felt your back hit your mattress.

He tugged at his shirt, the black fabric pooling on the floor as you sucked in a breath. Your eyes traced every scar, lighter flesh engraved into the skin of his torso, a short trail of hair disappearing into his pants as you stared at his burly physique.

Simon gripped at your shirt, the material practically ripping before his hands were at your chest, grabbing at your flesh desperately as you tangled your fingers into your bra, sliding it off. His mouth was hot on your chest, the sound of moans and pants filling the air as he positioned himself between your legs, teeth grazing the hard nubs, sucking with fervour as you whined, your hand at the base of his head, cradling it.

“Missed these so fucking much,” he practically whined, groping your tits as he pinched your nipples, lips sucking deep marks of possession into the soft skin. Your pants were desperate, begging him for more as you pulled his hair, fingernails clawing at his scalp.

Your hands fumbled with your pants, hips raising as he slid them off, clumsy fingers chucking them across the room as you laughed, lips connecting once more in a giggly state as his thumb pushed against the wetness of your panties.

“Missed how fucking wet you got for me. Such a good fucking girl,” he groaned, fingers rubbing at your heat through the thin cloth eliciting a pained moan from you.

“Simon - I need more, been so long.”

He choked out a laugh as his fingers hooked into the fabric, lace dribbling down your leg before he mewled at the sight of you. His hands held your thighs apart, your soaking cunt on display as it throbbed, slick folds glistening in the poor lighting.

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” he choked out to himself, placing your legs over his shoulder as he knelt down. Your back arched as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe of your pussy, his body seething for a taste of you as his lips found your neglected clit.

He lapped at you mercilessly, your cries and moans moulding into one with the filthy squelches of his mouth against your heat. Long digits circled your entrance, teasing you, before they curled in.

Your eyes rolled, pools of ivory exposed as you let out a guttural moan, your thighs tightening around his ears as he smirked against your pussy. Cocky fingers rubbed at the right spot, favouring the clench of your tight hole as he pulled every noise he could get from you.

You were barely cohesive as he lapped at your slick, the throbbing of your clit edging him on as he soothed your g-spot with the pad of his fingers. The coil you had only ever felt with Simon began to build, the familiar sensation pooling in your stomach as you stuttered out a whimper.

“Si- too much - I’m gonna-“

“That’s it baby,” he cooed, pulling away from your pussy for a second to take in your expression as you came, your face contorted with pleasure as your legs jerked, pussy wrapping tighter around his abusing digits as he fucked you through it with them. You looked down at him, saliva and your slick coating his mouth and chin as he grinned.

You stammered out a groan as his mouth attached back on your pussy, slurping up your liquid gold as you attempted to push his head away in overstimulation.

“Oh my- fuck - Simon - too much,” you whimpered your words commanding him to continue as he guzzled around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud as your legs shook uncontrollably.

It wasn’t long before the continuation from your previous orgasm rose again, heat swarming your lower belly as you screamed out, your hand slapping over your mouth as you felt Simon’s spare hand wrap around your thigh, squeezing tightly.

You pulled at his hair, tugging at the ashy roots before you were gushing around his fingers and tongue again, sloshing liquids soaking your sheets as he groaned at the taste, mouth lapping it up with vigour. You whined in humiliation, the overwhelming pleasure becoming too much as you heaved.

“Si - no more -“

“I’m sorry baby, too fucking good. Will never get enough of your pussy.”

His words were filthy yet only held the truth, his continuous slurps against your heat causing your body to jerk as you relentlessly bucked your hips. Simon’s abuse continued on your pussy, your pussy gushing and coming another 6 times before he was satisfied, the sheet under you drenched in both your slick and squirt as Simon milked your overwhelmed cunt, claiming he was “making up for the months lost”.

You were dry heaving, throat dry as he captured your lips in a kiss, the taste of you infiltrating into your glands as you groaned, his hands reaching to tug at your breasts as he took in your fucked out state, legs jiggling and twitching as your pussy convulsed at the number of orgasms he dragged out of you.

You felt like you had been lying here for hours, yet you weren’t satisfied. You would only be content when he was inside you, stretching you to the brim as he pumped a load inside your worn-out hole.

“Simon - please - I can’t… I need you now,” you were practically crying, tears shedding at the brim of your eyes, bottom lip jutting out as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, slicking back the sweat on your forehead.

“I know baby, done so well for Daddy, hm? Even after all that you still need to be plugged full of me don’t you?”

You nodded as a harsh slap landed against your clit, your body jolting as you squeaked. “Yes, please,” you cried, “Please Daddy.”

His hands were like clockwork, tearing at his jeans as they released his cock, a satisfied groan leaving his body as he gripped at the tent in his pants, a sticky wet patch soaking the material before his length throbbed out, angry tip slapping his stomach as a trail of precum glistened against the base of his cock.

His dick was flushed red, begging for release as he ran it through the squelch of your sopping folds, rubbing against your manipulated clit as you moaned.

Your hands gripped his head as he leant down to kiss you, his arm holding him up while the other positioned himself at your entrance. He stilled for a moment, cock almost pressing in before he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The words were soft yet meaningful, your eyes interlocked as he began to push inside, your mouth gasping open as you clutched onto his shoulders. It was hard when you were together all those years to get accustomed to his frightening length, and now it had been a year and the stretch was searing through you.

“I know, sweet girl, you can take it. Such a tight cunt for me, so fucking good.”

Fingernails clawed at his back as he pushed in, your whines muffled by the palm of his hand as he held himself up his elbows. “Holy fuck,” he spluttered as he bottomed out, his lips connecting to your neck as he sucked, resting inside you for a second as you whimpered.

The burn slowly faded as you rutted against him impatiently, the tip of his cock resting against your sweet spot as you gasped.

“So fucking impatient, always been such a slut for me. Haven’t you?”

You nodded, whining as he began to move, moving his hips slowly as he rubbed inside you perfectly, your mouth wide open as your head lolled back. A series of expletives tipped from your tongue as you choked on the air, Simon’s pace picking up at your dramatic noises.

“Fuck - taking me so well-“ he grunted, hands groping at your tits as he watched your pussy absorb his length. It was an obscene sight and he loved it. Every fibre of your being belonged to him and it was something he constantly craved.

“All fucking mine - shit - my fucking pussy,” he grunted, thumb rubbing at your clit as you mewled, twitching below him as he spat, “my fucking wife - got the tightest fucking cunt just for me.”

You clenched around him at his words, knowing it was true as his balls slapped against your ass, skin spanking against each other as the sound filled the room, ecstasy roaring through both of your veins as you made love.

The squelch of your pussy was taboo as he lapped in the missed sound. His eyes took in the way your body reacted to every movement, no matter how small. He took in the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, lower stomach bulging as he pounded into you.

“Fuck - Simon - oh my God,” your words were a mere blabber, barely making sense as you clutched onto him, pulling him down to meet your lips.

“I can’t pull out, baby - fuck - gotta cum in this pretty pussy. Give you another kid, hm? - shit -“

His hips didn’t falter as his pace fastened, chasing his own high as he rubbed at your clit, your breaths growing shallow as your orgasm began to build. “Gonna fill you with my cum until it takes. Need your belly round again and your tits full - such a good fucking mum, makes me so fucking proud.”

His words were the final straw as the build up in your stomach popped, your whole body convulsing as your pussy clenched around him, a loud groan leaving his throat before you felt the hot splashes of his cum pumping inside you.

“That’s it baby, milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl for Daddy, gonna break you apart everyday on my cock until you never forget who you belong too.”

He didn’t pull out immediately, his cum plugged inside you as some seeped out, rolling down the crevice of your ass below you. Your eyes shut, gentle pants leaving your lips as you felt Simon’s absence before a soft cloth was wiped gently across your sex and masculine arms were gripping onto you, carrying you into the guest room before engulfing you into a thrill of heat, Simon’s chest against your back as you fell asleep.

TAGLIST: @kiiwiipie @nijiru

Disclaimer: im sorry if this is disappointing im super tired :(((

[spittingstar]

doa

[crushmeeren]

okay okay okay but what if the reader got their belly button or nipples pierced and Katsuki or touya are SHOCKED but quickly realize just how much they love the new piercing(s) omg

okay, but this would be so HOT!!

༝ ᭝ ༝ i’m putting them both in this cuz i can’t stop myself ༝ ᭝ ༝

master list link ༝ ᭝ ༝ @pixelcafe-network

༝ ᭝ ༝ katsuki ༝ ᭝ ༝

“The fuck? What the hell is that?”

You freeze with your elbows to your ears, Katsuki only having stripped off your shirt halfway before stopping, and glance down to what he’s staring at. You roll your eyes playfully, batting his hands away and finish what he’d started. You toss the material over the side of the bed and flop back down onto the mattress.

“It’s a belly button ring. You know what those are, right?”

Katsuki sits back on his calves, rolling his eyes even harder, and levels you with a glare. “Yeah, dumbass, I know what a belly button ring is. When did you fuckin’ get one?”

You grin mischievously, hooking your thumbs into your underwear and slip them off as well. “A couple weeks ago,” you say causally, parting your thighs wider. You reach down with one hand to place a finger on either side of your pussy and spread yourself open.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “How the fuck did you hide it from me? I see you naked all the time!” His hands curl into fists on his thighs, lids lowering when he shifts his gaze to your pussy. The heat is evident in his expression.

You move your hand up to play with your clit, two fingers rubbing slow circles and pleasure prickles in your lower belly, toes lightly curling.

Katsuki’s cock twitches very obviously in his briefs and your confidence skyrockets.

“Obviously not in the past couple weeks. You’ve been so distracted with work it wasn’t hard to keep it a secret.” You raise an eyebrow, a smug, small smile on your lips. “Well, do you like what you see?”

Red eyes flicker to your face as Katsuki smirks. “Fuck yes. You’re so stupidly hot, princess.” He reaches out and lets his finger delicately play with the jewelry, coaxing a shiver down your spine and a soft moan from your throat. “So sensitive, isn’t that right baby?” He teases, tugging lightly at the ring.

You respond with a whiny “mm-hmm,” head tilting back into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting when Katsuki’s thumb takes over circling your clit. Katsuki’s warmth disappears entirely, leaving you cold, but before you can protest there’s soft, warm lips pressing a kiss to your pussy.

“Fuckk,” you choke out, something hot jolting through you. You tangle your fingers in thick, blonde hair. “You really like it Kat?”

Katsuki hums his confirmation and the vibration makes you yelp, a wet tongue dragging up between your lips and flicking over your clit. He pulls back slightly, warm breath tickling you. “Should I get a tongue ring princess? Bet that’d feel real fuckin’ good on your pretty little pussy, yeah?” He asks lowly, licking you like an ice cream cone before you respond.

You curse and tighten your grip in his hair, eagerly encouraging the idea. Katsuki grips the backs of your thighs, seals your clit in the searing heat of his mouth and eats your pussy like he’s trying to devour you whole.

He gets your chest heaving, flushed down your nipples, and you’re so sensitive that each touch makes your thighs jerk while you whine in protest.

Katsuki’s hard cock bobs when he yanks his briefs down, shaking his head with a grin.

“We’re not even fuckin’ close to done yet baby. You wanted my attention so badly, gettin’ that piercing. I’m just givin’ you what you asked for, princess. Now be a good girl and take my cock.”

༝ ᭝ ༝ touya ༝ ᭝ ༝

Shit happens.

More often than not, you roll with the punches. Cracking your neck and brushing it off, but this time it stuck to you like glue.

Sparse gravel crunched underneath your boots as you walked the familiar concrete path to the LOV hideout. Your arms swung a bit too quickly, buzzing with excitement to show Touya your new jewelry that you’re certain he’ll greatly appreciate.

Your phone had buzzed with a text from Touya, stopping you dead in your tracks. All he’d said was that they had to lay low because they’d run into some heroes, and that he’d be burning his phone. No other details.

That was two months ago. It isn’t out of the norm for this to happen, and you’d tried hard to stay busy, you really did, but no dice. You’ve been worrying about him from dusk to dawn, and vice versa.

You tug your blanket up over your shoulder to fight off a chill, curling further into your pillow, and pause your aimless scrolling to check the time. 2:00 a.m. You’re this close to turning off your bedside lamp and passing out when a creak at your window widens your eyes, almost comically so, and a rush of adrenaline tingles in your fingers.

You shoot straight up, heart jumping to your throat and blankets pooling at your waist. Your window opens slowly, and a fluffy head of white hair pokes in. The rising tidal wave of relief just about chokes you while you scramble out of bed.

“Touya,” you breathe, voice watery with emotion. You slam into his skinny frame as he stands to his full height, burying your face into his chest and locking your arms around his waist. His smoky, end of bonfire scent floods you with comfort.

“There there, drama queen, I’m fuckin’ fine,” he teases gently, but his voice sounds rougher than usual, and he loops his arms around your shoulders and squeezes tight.

You wrench your head back to stare up at him, eyes stinging, lower lip trembling horribly. “You asshole,” you mutter hotly, framing his cheeks and yanking him into a bruising kiss.

He takes it in stride, humming with satisfaction and skims his hands over your sides, bunching up your shirt. The rough texture of his lower lip burns against yours, and the warmth gathering in your chest drops to settle in your lower belly.

Touya ends up shoving you roughly onto the bed, stripping the both of you, hands a flurry of movement. The last piece of clothing is the large t-shirt you’re wearing, and when he pushes it up to your collarbone his jaw actually drops when he sees the new addition to your tits.

It’d be quite funny if you didn’t want him to fuck you so badly.

“Holy shit,” he says with an incredulous laugh. “When’d you get your tits pierced, sweetheart?” He finishes tugging your shirt off and blistering hands cup the swell of your breasts, thumbs running over your nipples.

“Careful,” you hiss, back arching to push your breasts into his palms. “They’re still sensitive,” you complain, moaning lowly when he squeezes and ducks down to kiss your sternum. “I - I got them done right before you left.” You can’t help but to tangle your fingers in his coarse hair as you speak.

“Goddamn doll, so fuckin’ gorgeous. I’ll kick Shigaraki’s ass for makin’ me miss this,” he murmurs into your skin, trailing kisses along your chest until he reaches just beside your nipple. “Gonna let me suck on these pretty titties?”

Touya rolls his hips, allowing the soft, warm skin of his shaft to slide over your clit. Your hips jerk up to meet him. “No teeth,” you warn, digging your nails into his scalp.

He lifts his head to grin lazily at you, one hand reaching down between you to steady his cock, his slick tip already pressing and begging to be inside. “No promises.”

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and shoves his cock inside you with one rough thrust. You shout his name, pussy fluttering around the unexpected cock splitting you open. He fucks you hard and desperate, tongue relentlessly playing with your piercings as he wrings all the pleasure from your body.

Touya’s mouth doesn’t leave your nipples for a second, tongue circling the jewelry as if to memorize the taste. His teeth graze the delicate skin and you smack the side of his head. His cock twitches and he moans, falling over the edge and into his own high.

Safe to say, Touya fucking loves your new piercings.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ LIKE THE WAY I FUCK ('CAUSE I GET ROUGH) — an undercover mission with your superiors leads to compromised positions (in more ways than one)

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + könig

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, canon-divergence, age difference, slight power imbalance, jealous/possessive behaviour, discussions of violence, tags to be added

// NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT //

Turns out, undercover missions involve a lot more make-up, perfume and dresses than you'd anticipated.

Being a seasoned task force operator, it's been months, if not years since you've been to a party outside of your barracks. Let alone one of this calibre; CEOs, billionaires on Forbes Top 50, politicians.

It's off-putting. 

All of it; it's stressful, and it feels as though your skin's crawling, having so much skin on display, so many eyes on you at once. You feel as though you’re an animal at a zoo, being inspected by families with their snotty-nosed kids.

"Sit-rep, Diamond?"

Swallowing around a dry mouth, you reply to your lieutenant's request through your earpiece, tone low and careful. "All as planned, Lt."

Ghost hums a low sound in reply, and your shoulders loosen slightly from their tense position.

You knew that your superior was already inside, having arrived ten minutes earlier. A small, selfish part of you wished that you'd have arrived with him, if only to see how he cleaned up.

Ghost? In a suit? It's like one of your deepest, most dirty of desires come to life.

Such thoughts that you'd never let leave your lips -- thoughts too likely to wreck your entire career and any opportunity to keep your relationship with the man.

"König?" Is Ghost's next question, although it's just the other man's name alone.

Right.

König.

The other superior featured in your dreams. Thoughts. Wank-material?

Whatever they are, they're becoming all too common, all too realistic, and all too risky.

"Successful entry," König replies, heavily accented voice low and quiet -- he's amongst people.

Your limo comes to a stop outside of the decorated museum, and a suited man opens your door with gloved hands. His upper lip is covered in a well-groomed pencil moustache, and you have to stifle a chuckle. Soap would’ve appreciated it.

With a small smile, you incline your head towards him, lifting up the fabric of your skirt so it doesn't brush against the gravel. It’s so… impractical, and you really can’t help but respect those that dress up like this on a regular basis. Looking down at your outfit, you let out a low breath.

When Gaz and Soap had burst into your room with shit-eating grins and a garment bag, you had just known that your dress was going to be... extravagant at best, and downright sinful at worst.

You were correct, of course.

So, here you are, walking down the red carpet into the building, cameras flashing and paparazzi screaming, in this... dress.

Silky black, strapless, and with crossing lines of fabric across your bare back. Chiffon skirts fall behind you, with a slit rising all the way up to where your thigh meets your hip bone. A gun hides beneath, strapped around your inner thigh, paired with your right, adorning a delicate yet hefty knife.

You look... not at all like a Sergeant on Task Force 141.

You look like a celebrity, one just out of her fans' reach. It's a surreal experience, and the mere thought of your two superiors (crushes) seeing you like this... It's frightening. Maddening. And, maybe, a tad bit exhilarating.

Gaz had insisted on doing your make-up -- having so many sisters made him a fully-fledged artist, apparently. And an artist he was, talented with the brushes of eyeshadow and flicks of eyeliner against your skin.

Soap, for his part, had begged for you to let him do your hair -- but considering his only experience was his mohawk, you were less than lenient. With a huff, he’d let you go to Laswell’s wife with the request, as long as he picked out your jewellery.

And now, hours later, your heels click against the stone tile as you enter the museum.

Soft lighting cascades all of the guests in gentle hues of yellow, laughter and polite mingling surrounding you as you enter the main ballroom, skirts brushing against your legs.

Chandeliers above glisten, a live-band plays beautiful jazz, and servers walk around with trays of champagne and finger foods.

It's nothing like you've ever experienced.

This mission, somehow, terrifies you more than the weight of a sniper in your hand and an order to neutralise.

"Target, six o'clock," Ghost's voice carries through your comms as you take position near the corner of the room. There’s fewer people here, and it allows you a moment to breathe and recalibrate.

Your eyes dart to the direction your lieutenant has supplied, and you catch sight of your target immediately. "Got eyes," you murmur softly, smile on your face as you pretend to fix your hair.

"Affirmative," König answers then.

"I haven't seen you before."

Whipping around to the source of the words, you find yourself face to face with a man who you've seen the face of too many times to count.

"Apologies for startling you," he inclines his head respectfully. He's got a few inches on you -- although you find it hard to consider him tall when you're with your superiors more often than not. His skin is closely-shaved, his blonde hair gelled to the nines -- and a smarmy, trust-fund baby smirk to top it all off.

Extending his hand, he announces, "I'm Phillip. Phillip Graves."

...Graves.

The last name of your target -- the son of your target.

"I'm Louise," you say with a sweet smile, taking his hand and shaking it. Your undercover name was going to have to come into play sooner than you'd hoped. "It's a lovely atmosphere, isn't it?"

"Positive, Diamond?" Ghost's deep voice instantly responds to your subtle codeword.

"Not as lovely as you, I'm sure," Phillip flirts, and you pretend to bat your lashes and hide your face from him.

"Ah... thank you, Sir. You're quite dashing yourself," you meekly reply, giving him a soft smile. 

Men like this were so easily played, you found. Not at all like the military men you were surrounded with on such a constant basis. Not at all like…

You can hear both König and Ghost swear underneath their breaths. Releasing the hold on your bracelet -- the one with the built-in comms button -- you shyly bite at your lower lip.

Phillip’s eyes track the movement, and if not for the stakes of this mission, it'd be almost comical.

"May I have this dance?" He asks, offering his arm for you to take. He’s adorning an obviously wealthy suit, dark blue and silky – and it rubs you in all the wrong ways.

You can hear your heart pound in your ears -- this wasn't the way the mission was supposed to go. But, then again, you didn't get into Task Force 141 by expecting every mission to go as planned.

"I would love to, Sir," you smile, wrapping your hand around his arm, allowing him to escort you to the main dance floor.

Subtly folding your hands together around his arm, you're able to push down the button on your bracelet. "You want us to dance in the middle of everyone? I'm not the best of dance partners..."

Phillip chuckles, but through your inner ear piece, you can hear König report, "Got eyes, Diamant."

Chills run down your spine. Either from this situation or…

Or something else that you're not entirely supposed to -- or allowed to -- feel. Not for those two men, and certainly not for your superiors.

"I'll lead you, darlin’," Phillip leans down to whisper into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. They’re thin, and chapped against your own skin.

His hand moves to sit at your lower back, just above your ass, and the other moves down your arm to interlace your fingers with his. It's an intimate position, your front pressing against his as he starts to lead you with the beat.

Of course you knew how to dance; you wouldn't have been picked for this role if you couldn't. 

However, you deliberately misstep a few times, just to play into Phillip’s ego -- his desire for control and intelligence. 

"For such a beautiful girl, you sure aren't the smartest," he jests, and it takes everything within you not to just swing your fist and leave him twitching on the dance floor. You could, realistically speaking, but that would cost you all the mission. And you would not let yourself, nor König or Ghost, down.

Instead, you nervously flit your gaze from him, moving in closer to his chest. By his squeeze on your lower back, you know it's the right decision. "I... I'm doing my best, Sir."

You want to crawl out of your own skin at the way you’re feeding into his misogyny, how you’re downplaying your own strengths.

He huffs, a demeaning, cruel thing.

"I want to shoot 'im," you hear Ghost mutter, and you'd be a liar to say that those words in that tone don't make you clench your thighs together as you sway against Phillip.

"Make it a competition, ja?" König quips. There's... irritation -- anger, maybe -- behind his question. It's so unlike the gentle giant of a man, and that fact alone has your breath coming out in a short pant.

Phillip, of course, thinks it's him making you so flushed.

With a vindictive smirk, he spins you, completely throwing you off balance. Maybe a tad too dramatically, you find yourself falling into his arms, giggling a little bit.

...It's worth it to hear Ghost grumble under his breath through the comms.

This whole situation doesn't feel quite real, and you know that their attitudes are nearly definitely due to the stray in plans. That's fine. That's all it can possibly be. It’s all that you’ll allow it to be.

But your mind has never been kind, and your imagination has always had the habit of wandering.

"Let's go get some drinks, hm?" Phillip asks, his hand falling dangerously close to 'inappropriate hand placement' territory.

You shoot him a seductive smile, nodding as he pulls you to the open bar, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, leaving you glued to his side. It’s a possessive position, and you find yourself wishing it was either of your superiors holding you in such a way instead.

"Don't drink anything he offers you," Ghost warns. You almost have the mind to chew him out for not trusting you with something so obvious, but... There's something about such subtle 

protectiveness that only feeds your elementary style crush on the man.

"I would love to," you reply as Graves leads you to the bar, hand only moving lower with every step the two of you take. Fear trickles down your spine, your hands squeezing tightly together at your front.

"Say the word and we get you outta' there, Princess," Ghost quips, sharp and to the point.

With your hands already together, you manage to reply an agreement in Morse code -- quick, successive taps of the communications button.

"Good girl," König replies, just a touch breathy from the quietness of his words.

You manage not to trip on your feet, but it's a close thing.

a small snippet, because i feel really bad for my lack of posts!! life is so insane atm its like a satire.

[rainrot4me]

I dunno if u do requests however ID FUCKING EAT UP A TOBY SMUT SO MUCH OMG I DONT HAVE ANY CONTEXT OR WHAT I WANT I JUST WOULD 104% SWALLOW DOWN A SMUT FOR TOBY ‼️‼️ anyway as yk i love ur works and ily and idk you but anyway have a nice day/night :3 <3 AND TY!!!!😈

carley ily this is for you 🫶

Refuge For Two

Summary: You decide to spend the weekend at your family’s cabin during a snowstorm after a particularly stressful week. When you find an injured Toby, your need to care for him turns into his need for you.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Injury, blood, wounds, fingering, thigh fucking, tics, inexperience, kinda first time, vaginal, desperation, cumming on thighs, slight restraint, biting, virgin

Words: 5.7k

As the tires of your Jeep skidded down the gravel path that winded to the cabin, relief finally settled.

Winter was always a rough time for you. As if seasonal depression wasn’t kicking your ass, your job definitely was. Working at a hospital had always kept you on your toes, but with the snow and ice set in, more and more accidents piled up in every room. It was nothing short of exhausting. 

So when you eventually had enough and called your parents asking to borrow the family lodge for a little rest and relaxation, you could’ve cried when they dropped off the keys to you the next morning. The cabin wasn’t far from your own home. You lived in a small town nestled off the side of the highway and the cabin was just up the mountains about an hour away. It was a perfect distance from your tiring job and busy life, giving you the time you needed for the weekend. And the drive wasn’t terrible. Dark clouds had settled in the sky, rolling over and swirling at the peak of the heavily wooded mountain. It made you all giddy to think of how comfortable it would be nestled up by the fire while snow coated the ground. Yeah, you needed this.

Pulling the Jeep under the carport adjacent to the large cabin, you shut it off and hopped out. The cold wind whipped at your face making your hair fling wildly. You hugged yourself, teeth chattering as you flipped the hatch open, threw your duffle bag over your shoulder, and hurried to the front door. 

The sun sat just above the mountain range, casting a blue haze over the dense forest through the thick cloud cover. To you, it was beautiful. The calm before the snowstorm that was soon to set in. You unlocked the door, hurrying inside and tossing your stuff on the kitchen island. The inside of the cabin was nearly just as cold as the outside, offering you little relief from the wind. Hurrying over to the living room, you gripped the few logs nestled by the fireplace and tossed them in along with a a couple of matches you found on the mantle. Warmth engulfed you immediately, the fire casting a comforting glow to the rest of the room. A couch and a loveseat sat close to the fireplace, a large rug bringing the room together nicely. 

Shuffling your shoes off, you kicked them by the door and rustled through the contents of your bag. Random warm clothes, a book you intended on reading, some junk food, and your phone. As you flipped the screen on, you noticed the no service notice in the upper corner before flipping the screen back off and setting your phone down. Whether it be from the high altitude or the dense forest surrounding you, your phone was no use this weekend. Somehow that made you happy, knowing you wouldn't have to worry about getting called in suddenly. 

You flicked on the small light above the stove and flicked the gas eye on, blue flames erupting from under the metal bars. You filled the kettle resting on the counter with water, placing it on the eye and grabbing a mug with a bag of tea. You quickly brought your bag to the small bedroom down the hall, changing into some comfier clothes before heading back to the kitchen at the sound of the kettle whistling. Pouring the piping water into the mug and letting the tea bag rest, you cupped the mug in your hand and turned to the living room. 

Through the pulled curtains, you could see the sun was setting low behind the dense trees, a dark pink tint painting the sky through the thick cloud cover. Snow had begun to fall, little flakes of white decorating the trees and ground. The sound of the fire crackling just pulled it all together, driving you to nestle into the corner of the couch with a blanket and sip your warm tea. This was the perfect retreat from your busy life. Nothing but the sounds of nature and fire to keep you company, an amazing contrast to the beeping of monitors and yelling of patients. This was the solitude you craved.

When finally the sun slipped under the ridge and the sky became completely dark, you flipped open your book and clicked on the lamp on the coffee table next to you. The snow had piled up a couple of inches now, the wind whipping outside the cabin and creating a low whistle all around you. It was slightly unnerving, but in the security of your warm cabin, you didn’t mind it all that much. You became lost in the pages of your book, your tea and the fire creating an atmosphere where your brain slowly crept away. So when you heard a loud thunk outside, you had to close your book and lean forward, unsure if your brain was playing tricks on you. But when you heard another loud thunk just outside the cabin walls, you jumped out of your seat and tugged the curtain back, peering into the dark storm. It took you a minute to adjust your eyes, but when you saw the figure of someone curled up near a large tree, panic coursed through you. You had to double-take just to make sure you were seeing things correctly. What the hell was someone doing this far up the mountain?? 

You wanted to shut the curtains and hide under a blanket, more scared than anything. But being a nurse, your caring instincts took over and you slid on your boots and jacket, quickly hauling open the cabin door. The wind blinded you briefly, the heavy snow whipping against your face and chilling you to the bone. But as you rounded the cabin and trudged through the thick snow, you came up on the figure, realizing it was a boy, curled in on himself and shaking violently. Sliding your hands under his shoulders, you hauled his arm over your neck and hoisted him up. He rested his body weight against you, dragging his feet as he let you pull him to the cabin door. Hauling him inside, you slammed the door shut and brought him to the couch, laying him down quickly. 

His body still shook violently, the warmth of the fire fighting hard to warm his body. His blue lips chattered, the patches on his face dark and stuck against his skin. Under the light, you could now see the large tear in the arm of his heavy jacket, dark blood soaking through. He wore heavy boots and dark jeans, his curly brown hair stuck to his forehead as he panted for air. But what caught your attention was the hatchet strapped to his belt. Alarming. You quickly realized he was just a boy barely scraping his twenties, he was taller than you, but lanky and not much larger than you. He reminded you of your patients, feeble and sickly. 

Snapping back, you quickly slid his arms out of his jacket, his long-sleeved shirt underneath torn to shreds at the arm as you finally caught the wound: three large gash marks cut into his arms, tearing the flesh and bleeding quickly. You panicked at the sight, wondering what on earth could have caused that. You didn’t know of any mountain lions in the area, but even then the claw marks were too big for them. There was little time to think as you sprinted into your bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit stuffed inside the medicine cabinet. Pulling it open, you groaned at the lack of sewing needles or sterilizing spray, just some alcohol wipes and rolled elastic bandages. It would have to do. You wet a wash cloth and brought the rest of the supplies back to the couch, where the boy was beginning to stir.

He tried to sit up, but your comforting hand pressed his chest back down against the couch. He was freezing and still shaking wildly, but at least his lips were returning to a somewhat normal color. “It’s okay. Lay down, I’m here to help.” You cooed to him, rolling his sleeve up to his shoulder and examining the scratches closer. They weren’t as deep as they seemed, but the blood was spilling quickly. If you didn’t hurry, he could likely pass out. You pressed the wet washcloth to the wound, the boy stirring immediately. He was mumbling something you couldn’t understand, his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist in an attempt to pull yours away, but you resisted. You pressed a hand on his cheek, reassuring him softly as you cleaned at the wound, the blood slowly clotting under the warm rag. 

He was still mumbling, whispers of no and please falling from his lips, but he had quit tugging at your wrist. His eyes were still shut, pupils moving quickly underneath in a silent panic. When the wound was clean to your liking, you tossed the rag and tore open an alcohol wipe, bracing your arm against his chest. “This is going to hurt…” You warned, angling his arm and pressing the wipe against the wound and braced for the panic that you were sure would come. But when he barely flinched, his mumbles unwavering, you raised your eyebrows in alarm. It was odd, but you ultimately chalked it up to his body still being numb from the cold, his pain receptors not fully awake yet. Once the wound was sterile, you wrapped the flesh-colored bandages around his arm tightly, encasing the wound and hopefully stopping the bleeding. You secured them in place before looking at the boy’s face, slightly jostled when you caught him staring at you through hooded eyes.

You rolled his sleeve back down, sitting up and off of his chest and giving him a good once over, satisfied you couldn’t see any more injuries. “That should keep it clean.” He glanced between you and his arm, rising himself up slowly to lean his head against the armrest of the couch. When he did, his neck twitched violently, eyes squinting shut. It caught you off guard, but he seemed to ignore it as soon as it happened. He smiled at you lazily, reaching his arm to brush the hair from his forehead. “T- Thank you.” He said hoarsely, voice still raw from breathing in the cold outside. Stutters. Tics. So all the twitching his body was doing wasn’t just from the cold. You recognized the movements, seeing them in other patients. Who was this kid?

You sat across from him on the couch, catching your breath. “What the hell are you doing out here?” You questioned, eyes flicking between his sickly face and the hatchet strapped at his hip. He took notice of this, sitting up further onto his elbows. “Uhh… Hun- Hunting. For bobcats.” He smiled quietly, unsure of his own answer. You wanted to question further, wanted to press as to why he chose the night a snowstorm was coming through to go hunting. But you didn’t. You just watched the fire crackle. “What’s y- your name?” He caught your attention again as he fully sat up, sliding his legs off the couch and landing his feet on the floor. He was recovering fast, the warmth entering his face again, his strength rebuilding strangely quickly. “[Y/N].”

“Thank you, [Y/N]. I’m T- Toby.” His shoulder twitched at your name, his eyes trailing to the fire as well. The situation grew tense quickly, your mutual silence growing too loud. “I’m a nurse. Couldn’t just let you die out there.” You smiled at him, standing and shuffling to the kitchen where you repoured your cup of steaming hot water, this time grabbing another cup. You placed a tea bag into each, cupping them in your hands and bringing one to Toby. He took it reluctantly, staring into the liquid and swirling it around before taking a sip. He sunk into the couch as the warmth pressed his mouth, the taste comforting him. He drank the rest in two big gulps, setting the mug down before popping up. 

“Well, b- better get goi- going.” He laughed awkwardly, springing around as if he wasn’t just on the brink of hypothermia. You sat up quickly, swallowing the rest of the tea in your mouth. “What?! You were nearly frozen to death. Absolutely not.” You bit harshly, blocking his way to the door as he scooped up his jacket. Toby looked at you curiously, unsure why you were giving him the decency like it wasn’t common courtesy. “The storm won’t stop till morning. Till then, there’s no way you're going back out there.” You huffed, sitting him back down on the couch.

You didn’t trust him. The hatchet at his side and the uncertainty of his story made you very suspicious. But he was just a boy, definitely not much older than you. You couldn’t send him back out there on a good conscience. Although his constant ticcing and jerking were catching you off guard, the genuine concern for him overrode any fears you could have. After fighting with yourself, you made up your mind. He wasn’t anything to fear.

“So, Toby. Are you from around here?” You mused, sipping down the rest of your mug before grabbing him and bringing them to the sink. Sliding off your boots and jacket, you tossed them near the door, scooping up Toby’s and neatly folding them on the loveseat across from you. He smiled. “Yeah. Got so- some, uhm, family who live near h- here.” He stared out the window as he spoke, fingers fidgeting with each other as he watched the snow whip through the air. You deduced that he wasn’t a very good liar. But whatever, you didn’t know him and he didn’t know you. 

As the storm outside thickened, a shared silence hung over the two of you. Around an hour had passed since you brought him inside, but little had been discussed between you. Toby stared out the window, looking for something you didn’t know. He had kicked off his boots and sat them aside, laying into the couch comfortably. His hatchet perched on the coffee table beside him. You kept to your book, occasionally glancing up to study him. It was odd, even though he had warmed up, his skin was still a sickly pale color, and the only sign of life was the dark red tint over his cheeks and ears. The bandages still clung tightly to his cheeks, a large one on his left covering a rather large wound from what you could tell. Peeking through the shreds in his sleeve, you could see the bandages on his arm were stained dark with blood. Closing your book, you reached for the first aid kit, stirring Toby to look at you. “Need to change your bandages,” You sighed, unwrapping the roll of cloth. “What got you anyways?” He flinched, rubbing his hands together. He was way too nervous for such a simple question. “Bobcat.” Another lie. If he wasn’t going to tell you the truth, there was no reason for you to push further. You slid closer to him, rolling his sleeve up again but the shreds of cloth kept sliding down. “H- Here.” Toby leaned back, hooking his hands under his shirt pulling it over his head, and tossing it to the floor. 

What you were met with took you back with shock. This guy was decently ripped. Toby was thinner, but his abs and chest muscles complimented him perfectly. His shoulder and arms were thicker too, veins stretching down his arms and muscles pulsing under his weight. Clusters of freckles ran over his skin, hiding the deep blush he sported. The clothes he wore hid his figure nicely, who would’ve guessed he was secretly ripped? The twitch of his neck brought your attention back to his arm. You could see the small smirk on his lips as you blushed, embarrassment creeping over you as you unclipped his soiled bandages. The wound was a lighter color now, the dark bruising around the wound healing nicely but the puffiness of infection still remained. “You’ll probably need stitches. But it’s looking better.” You grinned, tearing open another alcohol wipe and sliding it over the damaged skin. When he didn’t flinch or hiss, your confusion only grew. Maybe he had a good pain tolerance. Or maybe the cut had severed a nerve. Either way, he was going to need to have this looked at professionally. 

“It’s o- okay. My fam- family has a doctor.” He answered, lifting his toned arm up to let you slide the bandage under and wrap it tightly around once clean. You snugged the bandage on, leaning back to make sure everything was in place before packing the kit up and sliding it back onto the coffee table. “I don’t have any painkillers. Hopefully, the pain isn’t too bad.” You leaned back into the couch, straining yourself not to glance down at his chest again. He smiled, running his hand through his curled hair. “I’ll be al- alright.” He leaned back as well, angling his body to face you as you curled your legs closer to yourself. There was that awkward silence again. The tension between you two was thick, your eyes refusing to look at him for fear of embarrassing yourself again. Toby, however, kept his eyes all over you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him studying every inch of you. It made you blush. “How c- can I thank you?” He questioned, running his hand over his bandaged arm, admiring the neatness of it. You glanced at him, eyes flicking down to his stomach for a split second, but it was already too late. You caught the happy trail running up from under his belt line, his v-line angling lewdly against his pale skin. You blushed hard, eyes flicking up quickly, but by Toby’s expression, you knew you were caught.

He sat back smugly, pressing his back into the couch and spreading his legs just a little too far. The face you made was embarrassing. Your eyes wide, cheeks dark, and lips parted ever so slightly. Toby knew what he was doing. But he just started into your eyes, freckled cheeks rounded from his cheeky smile. “I think I- I know…” He cooed, pressing a hand flat on the cushion only inches from your knee. You shrunk into yourself, his soft words making you all kinds of squeamish. This was bad. You were young, sure. Your job was always your main focus, so you never really had time for relationships with someone, your experience only went as far as you did in high school with little hookups or sly touches. You were inexperienced, so to speak. You couldn’t embarrass yourself further by revealing how little game you got. You weren’t a virgin, but you definitely weren’t confident in yourself. And you definitely did not intend on getting laid this weekend. 

“Uhm… I’m not- not really…” You lost your words when his fingers brushed your knee, the cold digits sending chills through you. Toby sat up, looking nowhere but into your eyes, gauging every reaction as his hand slid over your knee and slowly up your leg. You placed your hands over him, stopping his trail mid-thigh. “Listen, you don’t, uh, have to…” His fingers gripped your thigh tightly, rubbing his thumb across the goosebumps on your skin. You glanced at his face, the deep blush on his cheeks heavy under the warm light. “I’ll st- stop if you say so, but I j- just want to thank y- you,” He mumbled quietly, eye flicking nervously between your face and the rest of your body. “Besides. It’s ju- just us out here.” 

You were insanely nervous, thoughts running a mile a minute as you contemplated your options. But when his fingers squeezed your thigh again, it made it harder to think. Your eyes flicked between his hand and that pretty face, his nervous smile making you flustered under his cold touch. Before you could stop yourself, you were nodding, slipping your bottom between your lips, and chewing nervously. Toby smiled, his bright eyes laying all over you. You slid your hands off him, gripping the couch underneath you as he slid both of his hands up your thighs, fingers brushing under the bottom of your shorts. He towered over you know, his tall figure encapsulating your easily as he ran his hands up your sides. You were a blushing mess, face burning when he brought his lips dangerously close to your skin. “Relax…” He cooed, arm jerking slightly before he slid his cold hand under the hem of your sweatshirt. He was met with goosebumps rising on your stomach, they trailed his fingers as he explored but his eyes were locked on yours. 

He brought his face down to press soft kisses against your cheeks. He perched on his knees, both hands now wandering over your body and reaching to unclasp your bra. You raised your back to help him, squirming when Toby dipped his head lower to kiss your neck. He slid your bra off, tossing it to the ground before he quickly palmed your tits, massaging the mounds under his cold hands. You gasped under the cold touch, nipples perking to attention in his hands as he sucked on your neck. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, his tongue slid up your neck to your jaw, raising his head up to meet your eyes. He flicked at your nipples, squeezing the nubs under his fingers and smiling at your squirming. “So c- cute.” 

You were burning up, a dampness already showing on your panties from the excitement. You could barely contain yourself when he sat back against the couch, pulling you onto his lap with your back pressed against his bare chest. He slid his arms around you, the tight muscles tensing and releasing as he slid his left hand under your sweater and quickly grabbed your tit, massaging lazily. His lips met your neck again, sucking on the warm skin as he slid his right hand down the waistband of your shorts, messing with the elastic. You whined under his touch, feet perched on either side of his thighs as he slid his hand to your panties and pressed further still. When his fingers slid against your folds, you finally gasped, reaching a hand back to grip his hair as he continued to abuse your neck with kisses. “S- So wet already…” He groaned, biting softly on your shoulder. He pressed his fingers further, his digits sliding through the slick between your legs and spreading your lips further. He hummed against you, fingers finally landing on your clit and making you flinch. When he circled the nub, it was sloppy and rough, making you whine. The stimulation was a lot, making your knees close together tightly around his hand. When he refused to let up, you hissed your sensitivity. 

“Toby-” You whined, sliding your hand down his arm and under your shorts, gripping his hand to stop his movements against your sensitive clit. “Slow… please…” You hissed, pressing your fingers on top of his and rubbing slowly, beckoning him to follow your rhythm. When he repeated your movements, you gasped loudly, laying your head back on his shoulder. “Sorry…” He mumbled against your shoulder, peppering little kisses across the skin. He continued to slowly massage your clit, his cold fingers a wonderful sensation against your burning core. It didn’t take long until he got the rhythm, pinching your nipple and rubbing your clit deeply, enough to make you buck up into his hand. You slid your hand into his curly hair, moaning loudly when he slid his fingers deeper to press against your entrance. When his fingers slid inside, you gripped his hair tightly, your moans reverberating off the walls. His fingers stretched you nicely, the slow pump of his wrist making your mouth hang open. It was pure bliss. His fingers curled against your walls as he pressed his palm against your clit, rubbing quickly. “Toby… Oh my… oh my God…” You moaned, grinding your hips in time with his fingers curling into you. He was kissing behind your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as he hummed. His pace only grew, fingers curling deeper as you felt your core knotting up wonderfully. His palm nudged against your clit harder, tugging the nub as his fingers pressed deeper against your walls. You felt the wave of ecstasy wash over you as you came on his fingers, walls gripping the digits tightly as he rubbed your clit through your orgasm. You were panting, leaning back against him as he slid his fingers out of your soaked cunt. 

Toby was smiling against your shoulder as he pulled his hand out of your shorts, admiring the way they glistened with your arousal. That’s when you felt it, his cock twitching under your back, trapped inside his jeans. You breathed deeply, pressing off of him and standing up. He whined for a moment, reaching for you until you began to slide down your shorts, then your panties. Toby sat back against the couch, blushing hard as your plump ass stood in front of him. It just made his cock twitch harder in his jeans, begging to be let out. Your sweater was next, pulled over your head, and tossed to the ground. It was all Toby could do not to just cum right there. Your body was so stunning, every curve and divot of your skin making him harder.

Before you could turn around, he pulled you back against him, setting you in his lap. He was quick to unzip his jeans, tugging his boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free and nudge against your back. You blushed hard, pulling your legs back to straddle his thighs, your bare ass pressed firmly against his twitching cock. You stabilized your hands on his knees, leaning forward lewdly as your arched your back. You glanced back, cunt pulsing with excitement as Toby spit into his hand and began to lazily pump his cock, eyes never leaving your ass. You pressed back against him, eyes pleading when he finally glanced up at you. “Toby…” You whined, grinding your ass down against his cock when he slid his hands to grip your hips. 

“Shit… Y- You’re so, so hot. Gunna fuc- fuck you soo good.” He mumbled, neck twitching with excitement. He gripped your hips tight, tugging them up so he could nudge his cock under you, pressing the head snugly against your entrance. You stared back at him, stomach fluttering at the desperate faces he was making. When he positioned himself, he gripped your hips again, pressing down slowly. The stretch was glorious, your pinched moans ringing as he pressed you down further and further on his cock. When he finally bottomed out, your warm walls pulsed tightly around him, adjusting to his thick length. He was groaning, fingernails digging into your hips as he pressed you to move, tugging you forward and back on his cock. You were a moaning mess, cunt throbbing around him as he ground your hips down on him. You gripped his knees tightly, grinding back against the length inside you as he pressed against your walls. It was heavenly.

This is exactly what you need. All of your stress of the week prior melted away as Toby tugged your hips up, sliding you up his length before pressing you back down. He kneaded your hips and ass, his cold hands massaging all of your sore spots and melting you into him. You were losing yourself on his cock as he thrusts up into you, your hips bouncing down to meet him. He was groaning, pressing his back against the couch so he could get a better angle to thrust up into you, his lips hanging open. His cock nudged deep inside of you, every thrust pressing against your walls and making you gasp. “You’re so- so pretty [Y/N]. Riding me so g- good.” He whined, gripping your hips tighter and jerking you on his cock. You could only brace yourself on his knees as he fucked you on his length, controlling your pace with his tight grip. 

“F- Faster, Toby… ahh-” You groaned, glancing back at him as your mouth hung open. He was focused on your ass, concentrating deeply to make sure he fucked you the best he could. Truth was, Toby was just as inexperienced as you. But he was bound and determined to treat you the best he could because, God, were you treating him good. He glanced up at your pleading face, hips stuttering as his arms twitched around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You laid your head back against his shoulder again, perching your feet into the couch and opening your knees wider. At this angle, Toby could thrust up into you better, nudging his cock deeper inside and sending you hollering. His cock stretched you wider, his thrusts pressing firmly against your g-spot with every move on his hips. You tried to arch, but Toby’s hand gripped you tightly around the waist, holding you still so he could piston up into you quickly. 

‘Oh my- oh my God!” You hissed, tangling your hands in his curly hair and tugging sharply. He moaned loudly into your shoulder, retaking his place of biting into your skin, but this time he didn’t hold back. His teeth pressed firmly against the muscle in your shoulder, making you roll your eyes. He slid his right hand down your waist, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit and circling deeply. That’s what sent you over. You squealed, mouth hanging open as you stuttered up into his fingers, chasing your orgasm. Toby noticed this, holding you tighter and thrusting as deep as he could, relishing in the way your walls began to clamp down against him. “Co- Come on,” He groaned, sucking on the bite mark he planted on your skin. “Come f- for me…” His fingers slid on your clit, pushing you over the edge.

When you felt that familiar wave crash over you, Toby was quick to press deep inside of you and hold himself there, letting your walls constrict around him as you cried out. The tightness made him wince, using all of his willpower not to spill inside of you, groaning when you clenched down again. Your clit throbbed as Toby slowly rubbed you through your orgasm, his still-cold hands wrapping you tightly against him. Before you could catch your breath, Toby was pulling out of you and quickly pushing your legs together. He slid his cock in between the gap in your thighs, holding your legs still as he quickly stuttered his hips up, rubbing his length between your sensitive folds. You hissed, the quick pace making you squirm as he fucked your thighs, your ecstasy slick on his length.

Before you knew it, he was spilling on top of your thighs, moaning desperately into your ear as he held your waist tightly. There was… a lot. Several stripes of cum coated your legs as his thrusts slowed down to a dull grind, riding his orgasm out. “Oh my- y fuck…” He groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. As you both caught your breath, he slowly sat you off of him, grabbing his torn shirt off the ground and wiping your legs clean. He was twitching all over, pleasure still riding through him as his tics became sporadic, almost intense. He grabbed a blanket and you grabbed him, your bodies laying snugged against each other as Toby threw the blanket over the both of you, surrounding you with warmth. He reached up, flicking off the lamp on the coffee table and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his body. 

“T- Thank you,” Toby mumbled, tucking your head under his chin as he breathed deeply. His twitching had calmed, only the slow stutter of his voice left. In the soft glow of the fireplace, you nuzzled into his chest, breathing his scent in deeply. The storm still raged outside, the wind whipping against the house and howling lowly. You could feel yourself drifting as Toby’s fingers drifted along your spine, little goosebumps rising in their wake. For the first time in a long time, you were relaxed and calm. The stress of work and life had left you as you just lay in Toby’s arms, swallowed by his scent. 

-

When you stirred awake from the sunlight shining through the windows, you immediately noticed the emptiness beside you. You sat up, the blanket sliding off your bare chest and sending cold chills across your skin. You pulled the blanket around you, shuffling to the window and peeking out. The snow was beginning to melt, the sunlight reflecting brightly off of what was left from the night before. As you turned back to the living room, there was no sign of Toby. No boots or shirts were scattered on the ground. No hatchet on the coffee table. But what you did see, was his hoodie still neatly folded on the loveseat across from you. You smiled to yourself, picking the clothing up and examining it. It was rather large, swallowing you whole as you slid it over your head. But it smelled like him. 

When the weekend was up and you packed your Jeep full, you sighed, craving desperately to stay and abandon work. You glanced into the thick forest, longing for some sign of Toby, but knowing you wouldn’t get one. Groaning, you slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, the warm air relieving you from the cold outside. 

As you drove back down the mountain, you couldn’t help but stare into your rearview mirror at the early morning fog lying low amongst the trees. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or your desperation making you see things. But as you glanced back one more time, you could’ve sworn you saw a curly-haired boy amongst the trees. 

But when you looked back again, there was nothing there. Nothing but miles and miles of forest.

Even still, you smiled.

This was a request for @carmoronic!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 23 - breeding & cnc

price x f!reader | 2.6k words cw: cnc, piv, breeding, abduction, gun mention, piss mention (not depicted), spanking, aftercare, implied kink negotiation a/n: the aftercare is fairly glossed over due to the word count. jsyk. summary: welcome home, sweetheart. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Turn right—here. Good girl.”

The hand kneading your shoulder squeezes in approval. John mutters the next instructions so low you barely hear them over the gravel road and the radio static. You keep straightening in your seat to maintain perfect posture, pressing your skull into the headrest just to hear him. He warned you against him finding reason to doubt your compliance.

You met John roughly two hours ago, and he’s had a gun trained on you for the last hour and fifty-five minutes. Wherever he’s taking you, you assume it’s either the end of the line or for keeps. With every curve and bend you take, your heart sinks further and further.

The shape of a cabin eventually appears between the trees. He leans over the shoulder of your seat, the smile in his voice clearer than the view outside.

“Can’t wait for you to see it in the daylight. Old, old growth. Dense. Sound doesn’t carry quite right.”

Subtle, you think bitterly, fighting off the tears needling behind your eyes. You can’t afford to break down again, not with what must be your prison in the headlights.

You park, kill the engine, and hand him your keys. The drill is the same as when he stopped to piss on the side of the highway. Stand, clear the door, and do not move five feet beyond him. The sound of his stream hitting the dirt next to your foot will haunt you.

The muzzle juts into your mid-back as he marches you up a footpath. You try to commit the details to memory. If you escape and somehow navigate the forest long enough to find help, every piece of information will help catch this psycho. 

All pine with burgundy trim and shutters. Hand-painted house numbers. A wooden wind chime. Picturesque if not for the circumstances.

He crowds you against the door to unlock it, bullying you through it once it opens.

“Shoes and coat, off.”

The switch flips as you toe off your boots. It’s nothing like you expected. There are no shackles on the wall. No standing cross in the corner. The table isn’t stained with blood, but covered in a gingham cloth. There’s a stack of wood waiting to be fed into the fireplace. Quilts on the couch.

Somehow, the normalcy—the coziness—is worse. 

John’s hand curves around your nape, and he stoops to kiss your head. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

He’s fucking with you.

Making you sit like this, the door ten steps away.

The fire roars, blanketing the cabin with its heat. You split time between watching the flames and the deadbolt on the entrance. Your eyes are puffy and stinging with tears. They slip out in bursts, riding the waves of panic and nausea roiling your gut. You started crying into your dinner and haven’t stopped. The spanking he gave you for refusing to eat didn’t help.

A breeze catches the chime out front. It beckons. You need to get out of here.

Behind you, another page turns.

“Face me.”

The thin, worn cushion beneath your knees is the only mercy he’s shown so far. You’re sure he thinks otherwise. You stiffly do as he says, grimacing from the dull ache of your rear and at the angle. From the ground between his spread legs, he appears even bigger. He’s relaxed, unworried by the woman kneeling at his feet. His broad chest rises and falls steadily, the cheap readers perching on his nose. His thick forearms slightly flex where they extend from his rolled sleeves, and his hands dwarf the book they hold.

He licks the pad of his thumb, staring at you over the book’s edge, and turns another page with an expectant look.

“Take it out.”

Acid blots the back of your tongue. It twists and untwists, apoplectic and souring.

You’re suddenly too aware of it, the bulge testing the tailoring of his jeans mere inches from your face. It’s in your periphery, like a shadow on the edge of the light. If you look, it gives it form. Makes it real. Makes all of this somehow more real.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Although the rational part of you knew this nightmare would eventually escalate and spiral to a point where you couldn’t strategize or disassociate your way through it, something compels you to refuse. You ignore the soreness under your skirt.

“No.”

John lowers the book, revealing the grim flat line of his mouth, then claps it shut. Disappointment rolls off him as he sets the text aside, plucks the glasses from his face, and folds them. 

As he gingerly places them atop the book, he sighs, exasperated. “Maybe you need something firmer than an open palm.”

The second he reaches for his belt buckle, you bolt. 

Surging up from the floor as if on springs, knees be damned, you launch toward the door. The entire couch scrapes on its feet as he propels himself after you. In an instant, hearing him laugh, you know it’s all for naught.

A hand curls in your shirt, yanking you backward. You collide into his solid chest and stumble over your feet to burst away, only for a foot to hook yours.

“No!” You barely catch yourself before John’s all over you.

The wrestling match is quick, brutal, and humiliating. You’re a mess of limbs running off of adrenaline, but every punch you throw and kick you lash out is easily deflected. From the blurred glimpses of his face in the tussle, he looks almost bored, so calm in subduing you. 

“Special forces, love,” he grunts as he pins you on your belly. “You’re not gettin’ away, so save your energy for what matters.” He grinds against your ass, chuckling breathlessly at your pitiful attempts to twist away.

“Stop—stop!” 

He wrangles your wrists with one big hand at the small of your back and sinks his weight into securing your legs. You yowl in pain, his kneecap digging into your thigh, and it spirals higher when he starts to rip your skirt off. The fabric gives with a few firm tugs, shredding in two over your ass. Your panties follow suit.

You sob and shake beneath him. Spit and tears commingle under your chin and cheek.

Hands as rough as sandpaper descend upon your ass once more. Gone is the perfunctory nature of his earlier discipline. Any measure of restraint. He cracks his palms over your cheeks wildly, with no pattern or predictability. “That hurt?” He asks in a low rumble, patronizing, the way you’d talk to a frightened animal that didn’t understand. His hands smoothing briefly between strikes like he’s doing you a favor by even trying to soothe.

At the sound of his belt loosening, you thrash. A thumb slides right over your puckered hole and taps the ring. 

“Stay fuckin’ still, or I’ll take this dry.”

The prospect of him fucking your ass unprepped has its intended effect. You sniffle and seethe as he slips off his belt, a single distressed wail breaking through your lips when the leather touches your wrists. He mutters about your poor behavior while he fastens makeshift cuffs.

John drags you back to the fireplace, half-walking you on your knees when they catch the floor. There might as well be a scorching trail in your wake from the heat of your humiliation. He maneuvers you over the rug in front of the hearth.

Fear bubbles like an unchecked pot seconds from boiling over. You can’t keep a lid on it.

“John, please–please don’t do this! I won’t tell anyone, just–just let me go!” 

Your babbled pleas bounce off him like bugs on a window. Flatten against his resolve. He sits his body weight on you again, ignoring your cries, and his shirt lands in a pile beside your head. Then the pressure lifts completely, and you watch his silhouette cast by the firelight yank his jeans and pants down. A gasp sputters out at the bobbing shape of his cock.

He chuckles, clearly amused, and shifts to better show his shadow. He fists the base of his cock. “All for you, sweetheart.”

Lowering to a knee, he lets his cock slap against you as he guides your ass into the air, deepening your arch to his liking. He hums, keeping one hand busy on himself while the other pries a cheek open. Mortification snaps your eyes shut. You practically feel his gaze drilling into you.

“Look…at…that…” His hand slides, and his thumb strokes through your lips. You barely gasp an inhale before it probes, dipping into where you’re shamefully wet. The discovery surprises the both of you, though while you freeze in terror, John moans. “Knew I picked a good one. Too pretty to not be desperate for it.”

He nudges your knees further apart and spreads your cheek wider to the point where it starts to hurt.

“Nonono–no please!” You screech.

His knuckles bump against your cunt as he guides his cock through your exposed folds, coating himself in what moisture’s there. It doesn’t feel like enough when the head of his cock notches at your hole. You know it’s not enough when he pushes in, stretching you over his length, and every inch burns. Pain and heat radiate from the inside out. Blunt and heavy like one of the iron pokers hanging out of reach on their rack. 

He tuts at your crying and squeezes one of your clenched fists twice. “Hurts doesn’t it? If you had only listened, been a good girl, you could’ve wet my cock and made it easier on yourself.”

John snaps his hips forward, claiming the last few inches of space and bludgeoning your cervix. It knocks a scream from your lungs and another when he starts to move. His grip remains on your hands, forcing two of his fingers into the tight curl of your fist. “You’ll come to learn, I don’t speak to hear my own voice.” The slap of his hips on your ass hurts almost as much as the drag of his cock along your walls. A punishment twice over. “When I give an order, you fuckin’ follow it. Understood?”

“Yes, yes, I-I understa–fuck, it hurts–”

“What was that? Do you understand or not?”

He accelerates briefly, jackhammering into you so hard you’re afraid you’ll tear. Your knees scrape the rug.

“I understand! I understand!” You shriek, face mashing into the rug. Your fist reflexively pulses around his fingers, drawing a breathy chuckle from above. He slows and snakes his other hand around to play with your clit.

“Good girl. Earned yourself some comfort.” 

You blubber, and one pathetic sound bleeds into the next. The ‘comfort’ he coaxes out of you gradually builds. You grow wetter and more ashamed, both relieved and horrified that the push and pull of his cock starts to feel better. Feel good. He winds your stomach tight through the title circles he draws, stealing involuntary gasps from you as he thrusts.

“Feels good, hmm? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Just as the first sparks of an orgasm burst, his attention diverts to your swinging tits. He tries to grab them both in one hand, pinching the skin meanly before settling for one. He presses it in on itself, rolling the nipple over his damp thumb. “I’ve seen you strugglin’ for a while, love. I knew the moment I saw you that you needed someone like me. Knew I could give you somethin’ better.”

He releases your tit, slowing to grind his hips in a circle, deep and slow. A new rush of fear shoots down your spine, threatening to claw out of your chest when his hand cups your stomach. He hums the first few notes of a lullaby.

“W-What?”

“Told you to not play dumb.” He kneads your belly, then glides his palm to your waist. “Gonna knock you up. Take you just like this,” He thrusts harder, patting your flank for emphasis. “‘Til it takes. You’re gonna be stuffed by the time I’m done.”

The last pieces of your dignity grind to dust beneath your cheekbone. The new wave of tears is like vinegar in a cut.

“J-John, I can’t–w-won’t–”

You shudder and yip from another harsh and bruising snap of his hips. He speaks with chilling certainty. “Yeah, you will. If you’re on those silly pills, I’ll dump ’em. You got an implant or one of those rings?” He laughs low in his throat. “Well, I hope you don’t.”

He finds your clit again, groaning at the sopping mess of your cunt. A pinch makes you whimper, the sound seemingly fuelling him to return to that steady, unforgiving pace. “My pussy,” he declares with each punishing drive. “My lovely cunt that will bear my children.”

Deep down, you know it isn’t a conscious thing. The twinges of pleasure amidst the fear. Emotion competes with chemical. He banishes the words from your mouth and purges them entirely from your mind with a slight shift and a renewed effort from his fingers.

“Yeah, yeah–come f’me–”

The warmth that builds is insidious, a pressure demanding release. A coil tightens, winding further with every plunge until it’s unbearable, and you feel nothing but your impending unraveling.

“C’mon, make it take–”

It breaks. With a scream, a shattering orgasm tears through your body. Your walls flutter and spasm around his cock. 

“Yesss, that’s a good girl–good fuckin’–” John swears loudly, squeezing your fist. He abruptly shudders, following suit so quickly you don’t realize what’s happening until it’s dribbling out from around him and down your thigh. His hips move uncontrollably, shallowly rocking into you as the last of his cum spills.

Your whimpering fades into shaky breaths as he stills.

A moment of silence passes. He wiggles the fingers locked in your fist. 

“Sweetheart?”

You squeeze the digits, releasing them as you quietly slur. “‘M’okay.”

You lose time after John carefully pulls out, frees your hands, and helps you slump belly-down entirely on the rug. You were down deep, fully immersed that now it feels as though you’re surfacing from a dive. You register a shiver from a cold, damp cloth and then the sweeping warmth of a quilt. You promptly stick your feet out, given the fire burning mere steps away.

“Thought once or twice you’d end it,” John finally speaks, rolling you to your back once he’s dressed. He peers through his cheap glasses, inspecting your wrists and elbows. The faint irritation on your face from the rug. You’ll remind him of your knees later.

“I squeezed your fingers, didn’t I? I’d’ve tapped out if I wanted to.”

The smile John gives you brims with affection. He kisses the backs of your knuckles. “Yeah, you did. Good girl, checking in like that.”

“The lullaby bit was insane, though. God, you missed your calling as a horror actor.”

“Don’t encourage me.”

He helps transfer you to the couch with a couple of more questions, then sets your water and phone within reach.

“Solid? I’m going to unpack the car while your food heats up, alright?”

“Yeah, okay…” You mumble sleepily and doze. You’re dimly aware of John in the kitchen fixing you a new plate, your body and consciousness taking their time to fully come down. But your reentry is interrupted by the sudden memory of what inspired all this. You sit up, eyes wide as you glance around the cabin. John’s in the kitchen, fixing up a new plate. “John?”

He swivels.

“This place is perfect! God, I can’t believe I was upset with you for buying this place! The shutters, the house numbers…That chime has got to go, though.”

He grins. “I was wondering when you’d realize. Now stay put. I’ll take you on a tour once you’ve rested and we’ve debriefed.”

You ease back down into the cushion and languidly stretch. On the edge of sleep, you watch John bring in your things and start to unpack. Big lug’s smiling to himself, oh-so pleased. You suppose that makes two of you.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 1

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Notes: Descriptions of DA scenario, mentions of drug use

Part 2

You tried to go over every thing you did throughout your day that might've caused your boyfriend to be so upset but couldn't think of anything. Maybe it was because you didn't stay up to wait for him to get home last night, even though you gave him till midnight. Or maybe you left some dishes in the sink that he had to clean up.

Either way, his anger was inconsolable and you knew better than to even utter a word as he slammed the doors and walked around the house with a hard set scowl on his face. You just took shelter in the kitchen as you nervously cleaned out the fridge, tossing the expired condiments away.

"This house is always such a fucking mess! You spend at least half the day here, you'd think it would look spotless!"

You knew he wasn't really mad about the cleanliness. You deep cleaned the house every single day till it was shining, he was just projecting. You weren't sure whether to respond to his outburst or just let it go but didn't even have time to make a decision once he came walking into the kitchen. The hairs on the back of your neck raised and your face heated up in anxiety as he stood there staring at you.

That's when you noticed the all too familiar state he was in. Dilated pupils, rapid breathing, slight sweat forming around his brows. He was high.

"What are you doing, huh? Throwing shit away? He said, grabbing the box of leftovers you had saved from a few days ago. "What if I still wanted to eat this? Were you going to bother to ask me?"

"I- uh- it's from a few days ago. I didn't think-

"Exactly! You didn't think! Just fucking throwing away whatever you want!"

You weren't expecting the box of expired food to be thrown at you, hitting you square in the chest, sticky noodles getting in your hair and falling into your lap.

"This is my fucking house! My fucking food! You don't get to throw away anything unless I say you can!"

You had barely recovered from food being thrown at you, you didn't realize he made a moved in on you and grabbing your arm tightly, jerking you up to your feet and pushing you towards the other side of the kitchen, the momentum causing you to lose your footing and fall to the floor.

Your senses were kicking into overdrive as you scrambled to your feet just as he grabbed a jar of pickles and launched it in your direction. It shattered on the wall besides you and you felt the sharp pain of small glass pieces cutting your skin.

You had never seen him this out of control before. There was something behind his eyes that scared you more than normal and you knew you needed to get out of his path of blinding rage. You made a run towards the hallway, him chasing you close behind but you managed to close and lock the bathroom door just in time.

"Oh, you wanna play this game now? Ok."

Your breaths were heavy, so much adrenaline flowing through your veins it almost made you woozy. There was a moment of silence, making you think he had walked away but was completely mistaken once you watched the whole door shake at the impact as he attempted to break it down. Another slam and you saw small cracks forming in the middle of the only thing keeping you safe.

You made a split second decision to escape through the window, sliding it open and trying your best to undo the screen that didn't want to cooperate. Another slam.

You looked behind you at the battered door and knew it could only hold maybe one more before he was able to get through- so like a rat trapped in a corner, you began banging on the screen until it popped off, quickly pulling your body to climb out, scraping your hips on the ledge in the process.

The gravel floor did no favors for you as you landed awkwardly, but at this point you couldn't feel anything. Or at least your brain wasn't giving you any time to register the pain. Springing to your feet, you ran out to the front of the house, your first thought to take the car but realized the keys were inside.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing on his porch going through his mail, seemingly looking like he had just gotten home from somewhere. You had heard rumors from some of the neighbors that he worked for the government or something, giving you some hope.

You began running over to him, not daring to look back to see if your boyfriend was chasing you or not.

He has seen you coming over and immediately looked concerned, putting his mail back in the mailbox and practically catching you in his arms once you reached him.

"Please. Help me- my boyfriend. H-he's gonna kill me."

You were crying now, trying to form sentences when he asked you what happened but couldn't.

When you spotted your boyfriend walk out the front door of your house and look over in your direction, a bat in hand your heart stopped.

"Please. Please," you pleaded, hiding behind his tall frame and holding onto his quarter zip for dear life.

"Here, get inside," he said, opening his front door, the both of you entering as he walked over to his kitchen counter where a gun, badge and handcuffs were set. He grabbed the gun and cuffs, clipping both of them on his waist band and turning to you.

"Stay here."

You nodded obediently and watched him walked back out. He didn't close the door so you were able to watch everything from the moment your boyfriend began waving the bat around crazily towards your neighbor to him pulling out his gun and pointing it at him.

"Get down on the ground!"

For a second you thought your boyfriend wasn't going to listen as he stared at your neighbor with fury but seemed to be coherent enough to drop the bat and put his hands in the air, looking over at you.

"Just you wait, bitch. You'll get yours."

By now, everyone was either peeping through their windows or standing on the sidewalk, nosey to see what all the commotion was about as your neighbor pushed your boyfriend to the floor and handcuffed him.

It wasn't long before multiple cop cars showed up, taking over the scene. Your neighbor made his way over to you and offered you a hand, making you realize that you were sitting on the floor, frozen to the spot, hugging your legs.

"The officers are going to want a report but I want you checked out by the paramedics first."

You took his hand but relied all on him to pull you up as your legs felt like jello. The feeling of relief and sadness overtook you as you fell into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Instead of being pushed away and teased for it like you were used to, you got pulled in tighter and long strong arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in a warm protective embrace.

He let you cry like that for a little until you calmed down enough to walk with him outside to the ambulance that was waiting. He didn't leave as they had you climb inside and lay on the stretcher so one of the paramedics could clean up the small cuts around your arm caused by the glass jar.

"How long have you lived there?" he asked, from besides you on the bench. You hoped he didn't feel guilty for not catching the abuse sooner.

"Not very long. He's been there for years but I just moved in about a few months ago. I don't usually leave the house since I work from home so that's probably why you didn't see me too often," you answered, wincing as the antiseptic touched your raw skin.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hotchner....I'm actually busy at the moment but you can reach out to my Communications liason, Jennifer Jareau at the office....yes of course....goodbye."

"So you're names Hotchner?" you inquired, wanting to talk about something to keep your mind off the stinging pain.

"Aaron. Hotchners my last name."

"Nice to meet you Aaron. I'm Y/N," you greeted, offering your hand for a shake. He took it with a small smile and shook it gently.

"I wish it was under different circumstances but I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks to you. I appreciate you by the way. You handled the situation really well."

He did that half smile again and played with his hands, almost nervously.

"Well unfortunately I deal with a lot of high stress situations like that so it was almost second nature."

"Cop?" you prodded, wanting to know if there was any truth to the rumors.

"FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit to be specific."

He didn't go into anymore detail than that but that was more than enough for you. So he's an Federal Agent. You literally couldn't have picked a better neighbor to run to.

- - - -

After the paramedic was done cleaning you up and you gave your report to the officer, Aaron came over, hanging up the phone.

"I know the house is technically not yours but he won't be back anytime soon and I'm sure you need to get cleaned up and everything. I'm gonna give you my card, I wrote my personal cell number in case you need anything but also feel free to come over if my car is in the driveway."

You took the card, reading his slightly sloppy writing and nodded with a smile.

"Thank you again Aaron. Really, you're a lifesaver."

He pulled you in for another hug, surprising you but you accepted it happily.

"No strenuous activity until those cuts and bruises heal," he advised seriously, making you laugh. You both pulled away and it took you a second to actually walk away, not really wanting to leave the comfort of his safe presence but you did and went back into the house, ignoring all of the mess and taking a long needed shower, thinking about everything that happened.

[keikikait]

ᴛʜᴏʀᴏᴜɢʜꜰᴀʀᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.7k

summary: rafe helps you after your car breaks down

warnings: dead dove, do not eat. stalker!rafe, smut? (it's just masturbation + some suggestive stuff), rafe is obsessed, please read at your own discretion!, innocent(ish)!reader, again, stalker!rafe, manipulation, rafe gets the reader high on coke (she agrees, but he thinks some weird things), idk anything ab cars but i tried, also i've never done cocaine but i tried to do some research

a note: happy halloween.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You didn't understand what was wrong with your car.

No matter how many times you took it to an auto shop, how much money you spent, it kept breaking down. Your check engine light would come on at the most random times, even after just getting it fixed the day before.  You were spending all of your money on trying to fix your clunker, a 1993 Lexus LS400 that your father was certain was a waste of time. In the long run, it would be cheaper to buy a new car, but you loved it too much to say goodbye. The AC was surprisingly cold, providing much needed relief for the hot North Carolinian summers. It didn't take much to fill it up, and you had beau coups of trunk space. It was your car and that's all that mattered to you.

You had decided to take your car to a different auto shop, across the thoroughfare onto the mainland. You had thought that a fresh pair of eyes would keep you from coming back the week after because your transmission was shot again. The mechanic was able to fix your transmission in no time, sending you off on your way with a hefty bill. It was raining, a summer thunderstorm on the horizon, and you couldn't wait to get home.

You had just passed over the thoroughfare back onto Kildare when your car started to rumble and shake. You feel like screaming as you pull over, banging your palms on the steering wheel. Your car rumbles and shakes, smoke billowing out of the hood. You reach behind your seat and grab your raincoat, putting it on and putting the hood up. You grab your phone and turn on the flashlight, reaching down to pull back the lever to pop the hood. Afterwards, you step out, pulling your hood tight over your head as you lift the hood and prop it up. You look around, waving the smoke away from your face, but you don't even know what you're looking for.

Gravel crunches behind you as another car approaches, casting a shadow over your hood. You freeze, sliding your phone open to the emergency call. You look over your shoulder as someone climbs out. 

Rafe Cameron, Kook prince of Kildare, in his own navy blue raincoat. He raises his eyebrows, a small smirk on his face. “Having car troubles?”

You tense up a little. You knew Rafe, of course you did, but your interactions with him were few and far in between. You were on the sidelines for most of his problems with JJ, John B, and Pope, not wanting to piss off the most powerful man in the Outer Banks. You finally find your voice, fidgeting with the sleeves of your raincoat. “Yeah. I just got it fucking fixed, too.” You sigh.

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as he looked at you. He had noticed you long before you had even crossed paths, but now, here you were. Standing in the rain, soaked and shivering. He walked over, joining you at your side, and he glanced into your engine, not even pretending to be able to fix it. “You know... this old clunker is gonna cost you more in the long run than if you just got rid of it. Might as well cut your losses while you can, angel.”

Your stomach flips at the nickname, but you ignore it. “It’s my car, Rafe, I can’t just like…abandon her.”

He chuckled, his gaze moving from the hood of your clunker to your face. Your big pretty eyes, your cheeks already beginning to flush from the cold rain. He stepped closer, pushing against the hood so it was angled more, blocking your view of the world around. He leaned against it, crossing his arms, and he stared down at you. “You can, you just don't want to. There's a difference. You like this thing. You're attached.”

You sigh again. “Well duh, Rafe, it’s my only car. I know that concept is hard for you to understand.”

“Is that any way to talk to someone who could help you?” Rafe asks, taking a step back. He glances under the hood again, although he’s just as clueless as you. 

“Help me?” You ask.

He looks over at you again, his expression blank. “I’m a pretty powerful guy, you know. It wouldn’t take much to… oh, I don’t know, maybe find you a newer car. Or,” his lips twitch up into his signature smirk. “Just pay for the repairs.”

“I don’t want to take your money, you know.” You say, crossing your arms.

“Why not?” He asks with a scoff. “It’s just money, angel. I have plenty.”

You sigh. You really don’t want to do this with him. “Look, just…thank you for stopping to check on me. I’m just gonna call a tow truck and wait out the rain.”

He watched as you turned to your phone, a heavy frown settling on his lips. That wasn’t going to do. Rafe suddenly reaches out, grabbing your wrist. “Or—“ he speaks before you’re able to dial, his touch firm but not bruising. “You could just come with me.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You say.

“But I want to,” he says. “It’s raining, you’re cold and alone, and you’re gonna wait on a tow truck who may not show up for hours. Your little car is about to get flooded. Come on, sweetheart.“

You hesitate, reaching over to put the hood of your car back down. “I don’t know, Rafe. I feel bad, you know? Making you drive me all the way to The Cut.”

“It’s nothing for me.” He says, gently tugging on your wrist to guide you toward his car. He looks at you from the side, his gaze taking in your worried expression, and he lets out a soft sigh. “You’re cute when you’re being stubborn, angel. But it’s unnecessary.”

You sigh. His truck did beat walking. “Fine. Lemme get my stuff.”

Rafe lets go of your wrist, watching you as you dig through your front seat, grabbing everything important. He crosses his arms over his chest, pulling the hood forward as his eyes run over your body, stopping on your ass, head tilting as he admires the way your jeans hug your body. He bites the inside of his lip, wondering what you would look like bent over his lap with two red handprints on your ass, slightly bruised from where his rings would catch the skin. 

Did he feel bad about constantly fucking with your car? A little bit. 

But was he happy that he now had you all to himself? Of course he was.

You were Rafe’s obsession, ever since he first met you a year and a half ago. He, at first, tried so hard to forget you, the little Pogue girl that had the sheer audacity to be friends with his least favourite person in the world, Pope, but as the days passed, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He started out by just thinking about you every so often, occasionally glancing in the direction of The Boneyard when he drove past, hoping he would see you in a bikini. 

Then, he started thinking about you every day, which turned into every night. He would lay on his bed, back against his headboard, and stroke his cock while scrolling through your Instagram feed. Just one look at you would send him close to cumming, and he can’t count how many times he’s cummed in his pants just from seeing you around Kildare. You had a few bikini pics taken from all angles, but his favourite ones were the ones of you smiling at the camera. Rafe has a favourite photo to jerk off to, something that sends him cumming all over his fingers after a few strokes. It’s a photo of you, taken from a high up angle, looking into the camera with your big beautiful eyes, holding a lollipop in your mouth. 

He loves it so much, it’s even his phone’s wallpaper.

Rafe wanted to corrupt you. He wanted to consume you, turn you inside out and fill you with just him. You didn’t need anyone else. You had him, even if you didn’t know it.

You shove your registration and some other important documents from your glove compartment into your bag, shutting and locking the door. You unzip your jacket, sliding the bag between your body and the fabric to try to keep it protected from the rain. You join Rafe back at his truck, climbing into the passenger seat. His car is neat, surprisingly, with only a tube of Aquaphor in one of his cupholders. Hanging from his rearview mirror, along with a car air freshener, is a Polaroid photo of him with his youngest sister Wheezie. There was also photo of you, which was now scurried away in his centre console, buried under a packet of Wet Wipes. He didn’t think you would appreciate that gesture, even though he did, and he didn’t want to scare you off.

Rafe takes the bags from you, carefully placing it on the floor of the backseat, his eyes running over you as you settle into the seat. His hands were shaking slightly as the starts the car and puts it in drive. He couldn’t believe this actually worked. He had been following you all day, tracking your phone as he kept his distance in his car. 

You didn’t even notice when he cloned your phone. Rafe had been tracking your every move for months, reading every single text and listening in on every single conversation. He knew it would freak you out if you found out, but he was just trying to protect you! You didn’t realise it, but you needed him. He was protecting you from the scumbags who were trying to date you. You were so sweet, too sweet, and he didn’t want one of those dirty Pogue bastards to take advantage of you. He had planned on making his move with you anyway, but your car breaking down was a gift from the gods. They were placing you right into his calloused hands.

The rain splatters against the windshield with a low tap tap tap, a steady rhythm that keeps the silence from feeling completely unnerving. The air is warm, the heat turned up high, and Rafe looks at you as he buckles his seat belt. “You better thank me.” His smirk is back, a wicked curl at the corner of his lips.

You roll your eyes. “Thank you, Rafe.”

He chuckles, glancing away from you briefly as he puts one hand on the wheel. “That wasn’t very convincing, angel…” His gaze returns to you, moving over the slope of your nose, your neck, down to where the rain has made your shirt cling to your chest. His mouth is dry, making it hard to swallow, and his knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping the wheel.

You look up at him, your head tilted towards him, your eyes big. “Thank you, Rafe.”

His smirk falters, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of your big doe eyes staring up at him. He bites the inside of his lip, staring down at you. He can’t believe that you were really right here, that he had you trapped right in his own little cage. There was something about seeing you look so innocent that made him want to ruin you. His breathing starts to come a bit harder, the urge to grab you and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe with your wrists tied behind your back making his entire body ache. He clears his throat before putting the car into drive, pulling off of the side of the road, heading back towards Kildare.

You notice his heavy breathing and his tight grip on the steering wheel. Your eyebrows furrow. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums, clearing his throat. His grip loosens on the steering wheel, clenching his fingers to alleviate the ache. He forces himself to relax his grip, taking a deep breath. After a moment passes, and the silence is heavy on his shoulders, he glances over at you again. “You ever done drugs, angel?”

You rub your lips together. You could be honest with him, right? “Yeah, once.”

His gaze runs over your face as you speak. God, you’re so fucking innocent, it was intoxicating. “Once?” he echoes, tilting his head slightly. “That’s adorable. What drug was it? Pot? I can’t see you doing anything hard core, angel.”

“Yeah, it was weed,” You say. “JJ got his hands on some, and he let me have a few hits.”

He glances over at you again, his fingers clenching as he tries to not show his jealousy. He hated all of your little Pogue friends, JJ included. He didn’t like the idea of you getting high with JJ -- becoming vulnerable. What if JJ took advantage of you? Rafe clears his throat, looking back at the road. “That’s cute, angel. Was that your first and only time?”

“Yeah,” You say, shifting in the seat. “I just… I don’t know if it’s my thing, you know? I had a pretty bad high. I thought I was dying.”

His lips twitched, trying to keep his temper under control. He had just gotten you into his car, he couldn’t scare you away. Of course that fucker JJ had a hand in your bad experience, he probably gave you too much and didn’t take good care of you. He would never do that to you. He would give you the perfect intro into the wonderful world of drugs. “That’s because he gave you too much, angel. A beginner should never go too far their first time. You need to start small, so you don’t have a bad experience. It’s all about moderation.”

You look over at him. “Well, it’s technically my fault. I took too many hits.”

Rafe laughs softly, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He glances over at you, his gaze roaming over you slowly, from head to toe, and back to your face. He had already decided that he was going to give you something, just to see you experience it. “What did it feel like? Being high.”

“I liked it,” You say. “I was laughing a lot, until I started feeling like I was dying. I don’t know, the floaty feeling… it was nice, you know?”

He hums, his lips curling into a slight smirk. He could only imagine what you would be like, all loose and relaxed, a giggly high. He wonders what it would be like to kiss you when you were high, how compliant you would be, unable to stop him. His mind starts to wander, thinking about the look in your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, all woozy and out of it. “Would you ever smoke weed again?”

“Yeah, I think so,” You say. “Just wouldn’t do it with JJ in the middle of The Boneyard again.”

“Good,” he says with a firm nod. He glances over at you again, the smirk still playing on his lips. His gaze is dark, his pupils dilated. He was itching for the right opportunity to show you something better, something that could get you addicted, addicted to him. “Would you ever try anything harder?” Rafe pulls to a stop at the red light. Turning left would bring you to the north side of Kildare, where Figure 8 is, while turning right would bring you to the south side, towards The Cut.

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Rafe. I would want to do it in a safe space, you know? Not at like a party or anything.”

He hums, turning right when the light turns green. “A safe space, huh?” He glances over at you, biting his lip. His eyes trace your face, how sweet and innocent you looked, and his mind was suddenly made up. He was going to introduce you to the most euphoric feeling of your life, and he was going to take care of you as you felt it. “What about if we did it? Just you and me.”

You shift in the seat again. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut, like something is telling you to run. “Do you just… have cocaine lying around?”

The light turns green. The car doesn’t move.

His lips twitch again, and his fingers drum at the wheel. “Yeah, angel, I actually do.” He glances over at you, noticing the way you were shifting. He could see the hesitance in your wide eyes, the look of fear. “You don't have to look so scared, sweetheart. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I'm gonna make sure you feel so good. Just trust me.”

You bite your lip, looking out the window. You had heard so much about Rafe from Pope, JJ, and John B about how psychotic, impulsive, and destructive he is, but he was being so gentle with you. You look back at him. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He turns his head, making eye contact. He knew you were scared, and it made his cock throb in his jeans. He was telling you the truth, of course, he would take care of you, and he would make sure that you liked it. He wanted you to come back to him for more and more. “You know, you really don't have to be afraid of me, angel. I'm only bad to people who do things to deserve it. I promise I'll treat you good. I will make you feel good, so long as you trust me, and do what I say. Can you do that?”

Your stomach churns. You shouldn’t do this, and you shouldn’t be in Rafe’s truck, but something about him made you want to stay. “Yeah, I can do that.”

His lips curl into a smirk, that same wicked curl as earlier. He was slowly breaking you down, making you do what he wanted, without you even realising it. He wasn't forcing you to do anything, he was just asking. How could you say no to him, when he asked you nicely? “Good girl.”

Rafe takes the left turn.

You let out a shaky breath. You were really doing this.

You look out the window as he drives through Figure 8, taking in the sights of the looming mansions. You glance back over at him as he drives straight past Tanneyhill. “Are you not there anymore?”

Rafe snorts, shaking his head. “Haven't been there in months, not since my dad died.” He glances over at you, the smirk still playing on his lips. “I'm living somewhere else now. A true bachelor.” He slows down as he turns into the driveway of a large white home that looked like one of many others that surrounded it, although, not quite as big. He pulls to a stop, pulling the keys out of the ignition and tucking them into his pockets. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”

You grab your bag from the floorboards of the backseat before hopping out, quickly rushing through the downpour to the front door. Rafe easily catches up to you, his stride much longer than yours. He leads the way though, pulling his keys back out of his pocket as he shoves the front door open. He holds it open for you, gesturing with a sweep of his arm for you to head inside. “Welcome to my humble home, angel. Make yourself at home.”

You stand in the entryway, not wanting to drip water all over his real hardwood floors. “Do you have clothes I can borrow? I don’t wanna get your furniture wet.”

Rafe smirks, his gaze running over your soaking wet body, his cock throbbing at the thought of how hard your nipples must be. “I think I have something you can wear, but yeah, you really should get out of those wet clothes.” He pulls the front door shut, locking it behind you. “Come on, I’ll show you to my room.” He grabs your hand, leading you through the empty house.

You follow him through the house, taking in the minimal, neutral decor. It honestly looked like no one lived there, the walls of the house were bare, the couches were all black leather, including the recliner in the corner. There was a large white rug in the middle of a living room, covering the floor. The kitchen was to the left of the front door, although it wasn't as barren, with stainless steel appliances and cabinets. The only personal things in the house were a large flat screen TV in the living room, a framed picture of a young Rafe with baby Sarah on the kitchen counter, and a hallway of closed doors that led to the extra rooms. 

His room is just as bare, although it’s a lot messier, boxers and t-shirts litter the floor and are strewn over an armchair set up in front of his TV and PlayStation. His bedside table is covered with empty plastic water bottles, a crumpled bag of chips, and another framed photo, although this one is of him and Wheezie.

“Cute room.” You say.

“Thanks.” He says, his gaze running over you again, his eyes lingering on your chest, imagining what your nipples look like before returning to your face. He walks over to his dresser, pulling out a green T-shirt and grey sweatpants. He tosses them towards you and you catch them. “You can change in the bathroom down the hall and throw your clothes into the dryer. Just set it to quick dry, okay? Otherwise, it’ll take fucking forever.”

You smile softly, holding the clothes in your arms. “Thanks, Rafe.”

“No problem.” He says, sitting down on the edge of his bed and leaning back. He watches you as you slip down the hall, headed towards the bathroom. Rafe waits a few moments, his fingers drumming against his thigh. He had been waiting to get you alone for so long, to make you his, and now, he was so close.

But he had promised to go slow, and even though it was killing him. He didn't want you to run away.

You peel your clothes off, hanging them over the sink as you change. You dry your hair with a towel before pulling Rafe’s T-shirt over your head. It smells like him; a warm, slightly citrusy smell that makes your head spin. You step into the sweatpants and tie them around your hips. They were a big baggy, but you didn’t mind. You put your clothes into the dryer and set it to quick dry before heading back into Rafe’s bedroom. You spin in a circle, looking at him over your shoulder. “How do I look?”

Rafe had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity, trying to resist the urge to go after you. He had changed himself, putting on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. He was almost half hard and as he watches you spin around, the look in your big innocent eyes, he has to dig his fingernails into his palms to prevent himself from jumping on you. He swallows, a dry click echoing in his throat, and he licks his lips, his eyes fixed on you. “You look good.” he murmurs, his gaze travelling over your body and how his T-shirt was loose enough for him to slip a hand under it without any effort. “Are you comfy?”

You nod, fiddling with the hem of the T-shirt as you sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I’m comfy.”

Rafe’s lips tilt into a smile as he watches you fiddle with your hem. You looked so sweet, his pretty little angel, all alone with him, no one to protect you. “You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re in good hands with me, I promise.” He scoots a little closer, looking down at you with his big blue eyes, his lips mere inches from yours. “Do you still want to do it?” God, please say yes.

“Yeah, of course I do,” You say quickly. “Just haven’t done it before, so I’m nervous, you know?”

God, he was going to hell for this. “I know.” He whispers, his gaze roaming over your face, drinking in every beautiful detail. His fingers reach out, gently brushing your jaw. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, angel. I promise.” He glances away for a moment, toward his bedside, toward the bedside table where he had a small bag of coke.

Fuck. This is actually happening.

Your back straightens as you crawl closer to him on the bed, watching as he gets out the bag of coke, along with a small circular mirror.

Rafe looks back at you, his gaze darkening as he sees you come closer, closing the space between you and him. His hand trembles as he opens the bag, using the edge of his credit card to separate the white powder laid out on the mirror. He couldn’t wait to get you addicted to him. He had wanted this for so long, had wanted you for so long, and he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “You gotta promise not to be scared, angel.” He whispers, glancing over at you as he grabs the rolled up bill.

You let out a shaky breath. “Is there, um…do I have to snort it? Or is there, like, another way? I just don’t know if I can snort it, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He smirks softly, his gaze travelling over you as you move even closer to him. He couldn't help but smirk slightly at your question. He was going to love this. He straightens out the lines with his credit card. “I can rub it on your gums if you want.”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. That works.”

He grins, glancing over at you as he pushes himself back, getting comfortable against the headboard. “Come here, angel.” He grabs the front of your shirt, pulling you closer so that you’re sitting before him, between his legs. He glances at your pretty face, his gaze dark and heavy.

You’re scared. He loves it.

Rafe grabs your chin, fingers squishing into your cheeks. “Open your mouth, angel…” You oblige and he grins. “Good girl, good.” Rafe licks his pointer finger before reaching over and swiping through one of the lines. “Alright angel, last chance, do you wanna do this?”

You nod.

“Good girl.” Rafe hums, grabbing your chin as his wet finger moves from the line of coke, rubbing it along your gums. His gaze flits between yours and his hand before pulling away. You looked so fucking good, letting him take advantage of you like this. “Leave it for a moment, okay? You don't have to suck or lick, just leave it in your mouth.” Your gums tingle, the taste slightly bitter.

Rafe watches you close, leaning back once he takes his hand away. He watches you intently, watching the way your expression changes as the drug takes flight.

He was in love.

The cocaine hits you fast, and you start getting squirmy, your pupils wide and blown out. He watches your face as you react to the drug, watching how your eyes flit around and how your breath comes in deep, slightly shaky. He leans forward, grabbing your arms. “Come here, angel, sit in my lap.” You can’t do anything, letting him move you around before settling you into his lap.

His arms slide around your waist, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you against him, like a precious doll. “Does it make you feel good, angel?” He asks, leaning forward, his nose brushing against the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You smelled sweet, and you were a perfect fit in his arms, so much so that he almost didn’t want to let you go. Almost.

You nod. You felt so good. Everything was heightened so deliciously, and you melted into Rafe’s arms, letting the scent of his cologne travel through you.

“I’m so glad, angel, I wanted to make you happy.” He whispers, leaning up and pressing a kiss to your jaw, his hands holding onto your hips, keeping you flush against him. He loves the way you move, how your body feels against his, how you were his. He wanted to make you want this again, and again, until you couldn’t think about anything but him, until you couldn’t go without it. Rafe kisses up your neck, hands sliding under the front of his shirt. Your eyes are fluttering and your whole body shakes as your ears start to ring. You squirm, and he grins, moving his head up. He gently bites your earlobe before whispering into your ear. 

“You did well saying yes to me.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here!

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21, @drewsphswife, @gilwm, @watchmerora (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

join my obx taglist here!

[ultravioletrayz]

KINKTOBER

╰┈➤ DAY TEN: TOYS w/ WADE WILSON

You can't believe you really agreed to that stupid bet.

Walking through the city, towards some gory commotion Wade wanted front row seats to (before helping to diffuse the situation), you're so uncomfortable.

"Ooooh, it pulses, too? Gimme a quick review, dollface." Wade coos, and you're grateful that his mask conceals the shit eating grin he's probably got on his dumb face as you jolt and tense mid-step. The little bullet vibrator stuffed deep inside your gooey cunt rumbles through your core rhythmically, laughing at you with the same taunting nature as Wade beside you.

"Fucking stop-" You whine, hands grabbing at your sides and gripping onto the material of your top, trying to maintain a fragment of stability as you shoot Wade a harsh glare.

"Faster? Got ya." He chimes, upping the speed of the pulsing toy to a cruel pace, making you inhale sharply and run on wobbling, dripping legs to the nearest alley, Wade laughing and following close behind with eager strides.

You tug the collar of your suit down so that you can breathe better, face buried in your arms, which are crossed and pressed against the wall as you pant and mewl into your warm skin. Wade had shoved the stupid thing so deep you swear you could feel it buzzing in your tummy, making your stomach tighten and your hips buck and wind in a pathetic attempt to either escape the sensation, or fuck yourself against the vibrator.

Noticing your obvious desperation to achieve some relief one way or the other, Wade comes up behind you, powerful chest pressed right between your shoulder blades and pushing you further up against the wall. One of his hands snakes it's way between your legs, squeezing your ass on the way down before firmly pressing the heel of his palm against the base of the toy, intensifying every tingling, throbbing sensation of bliss coursing through your oozing pussy.

"And I thought I was the attention whore in this little operation. You couldn't even make it a few more blocks before needing my help? Filthy." Wade mutters, making you feel a flurry of mind numbing humiliation at your current situation as he goes further and dips his hand beneath your panties, fucking it up into you, the sick sounds of your slick squelching against hard, girthy silicone accompanying the sounds of people on the street a mere feet away from the two of you supposed 'heroes'.

His fingers are slick with your arousal as he grips the toy tightly, pulling it out of your tight cunt with no remorse, making you cry out in surprise and disappointment. But then, he doesn't let go. Instead, he holds the vibrator tightly against your clit, rubbing it in small, teasing circles that hurl you into a leg-shaking orgasm, pussy drenching the crotch of your panties, the gravel beneath your feet, and Wade's gloved hand.

With a low whistle and smug laugh, Wade fixes up your suit, but not before plugging up your gaped, glistening cunt with the vibrator once again. He turns it down to a low, sultry setting as he leads you back onto the main street, pretending like nothing happened so that he can keep having his fun with you.

Best bet he's ever made.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Beloved Mine

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: Sam sends out an SOS that Bucky isn't in the best mood, so you see him to ease his mind.

Sammy: SOS. he's in a bad mood!

You read over Sam's text and snort. You quickly type out a reply and start to change from your pjs to some appropriate clothing.

On your way to Bucky's, you stopped by his favorite bakery, grabbing his favorite baked goods as well as a wide variety for his people. You also grabbed him a coffee and a drink for you as well.

Sammy: He almost shot the new guy in the foot. Please tell me you're on your way.

You: ETA 10 minutes.

Sammy: THANK GOD.

You giggle and continue to drive to Bucky's family mansion. At the gate, the security guard takes one look at you and immediately lets you in. You give him a pastry in gratitude before driving up the long gravel driveway.

You park beside Sam's car and hop out. The man at the door nods at you, opening the door wide for you to step in. You also hand him a pastry with a smile.

You head towards the back of the house where you hear a familiar, loud distant voice.

The closer you get, the louder the voice. You push through some of the men spilling out of the room until you're inside.

"-HOW MANY FUCKING MEN DO I GOTTA LOSE TO-honey?"

All eyes land to you. You give a sheepish wave, "Hi, sorry, is this a bad time?" You know it is but you feign ignorance.

Bucky sighs, running his hand through his brunette locks, "Just finishing up a meeting."

"Oh, I can wait-"

"No, no. It's fine. Think they all had enough of my shouting," he waves his hand, "Leave, you fuckers!" most of the people scurry out in an instant, not wanting to wait and see if Bucky changes his mind. A small group stay behind, Bucky's closest friends and confidants: Sam, Joaquin, Yelena, and Nat.

You approach them, setting yours and Bucky's drinks in front of him. You open the pastry box in your hands and hold it out to the four, "Take your pick!"

"You're Heaven sent!" Sam exclaims as he grabs a donut and shoots you a wink. You give him a smirk and a nod.

Joaquin grabs a danish, practically stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.

"Did you eat today, Joaquin?"

He shakes his head as he continues to chew the danish. You lift the box higher, "Take as much as you want."

He gives you a grin as he grabs two more pastries and follows Sam out the door.

"Ladies?"

"I'm good," Nat says with a shake of her head in decline.

"Hell yeah, donuts!" Yelena exclaims as she grabs the glazed twists. She hums in delight as she takes a bite, "Thanks, Y/N!"

You chuckle, "You're welcome, Lena."

The two women look to Bucky to see if he needed anything else. Bucky sips his coffee and waves them off and the two file out the door, closing it behind them.

You turn back to Bucky, "Yours are at the bottom," you place the pastry box in front of him.

Bucky's eyes narrow at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips, "Who called you?"

"No one called me."

"So if I check your phone-"

"Technically, Sam texted me. He didn't call me."

Bucky scoffs and shakes his head, "Of course he did."

You walk over to the other side of his desk. He leans back in his chair and you sit on his arm rest, "Bad day?" You begin to run your fingers through his hair and he leans into your touch with a sigh, "Another shipment got intercepted. We lost some guys."

"'M sorry, baby."

"I'm getting real fucking tired of Hydra. And none of my people can find shit out! Anytime they snag one of their guys, they kill themselves before we get any answers. Fucking cowards."

You wrap your arms around Bucky's bulking frame, "You'll figure it out. You always do. Besides, I'm sure Lena and Nat have something cooking, right?"

"Supposedly, but they won't tell me what yet. They're trying to iron out the details."

"Just let them handle it in the meantime. Now, how about a treat?" you grab one of the pastries that you know he loves and he takes a bite. He moans at the taste and his shoulders drop in relief.

He washes it down with his coffee and he looks at you with shining blue eyes, "You really know how to make a guy feel loved, honey."

You giggle, and wipe some crumbs off his chubby cheeks, "Well, duh, I do love you," you peck his lips, "Ease up on everyone, will ya? I know things are tense, but they're all doing the best they can. You can't afford to lose more people."

He slowly nods, "You're right. Fuck, you know, maybe you should step down and take over, hm?"

You throw your head back and laugh, "Oh, please, I'd run your family into the ground! No one would listen to me-"

"Baby, a majority of my people listen to you already."

"...I don't know how to lead people or how the inner workings of all this," you gesture around you, "goes."

Bucky shrugs, "I can teach you. Besides," he takes your left hand, thumb grazing over the diamond ring on your finger, "you should start learning some things anyway."

"Let me just live in ignorant bliss until after the wedding, Barnes," you pat his plump cheeks and he grins at you, eyes soft and full of love.

[playnextdoor]

My Babies

summary: your babygirl wakes up, and you and Abby share an intimate moment

cw: mom!abby x mom!reader, breastfeeding, one (1) kiss, fluff

You wake up to the piercing wails of your baby girl ringing through the bedroom you and Abby shared. Abby immediately shot up which scares the shit out of you, sitting up onto your hands. “Fucking hell,” Abby says in her graveling morning voice, stumbling out of bed as she slips on her worn-out house slippers. You watch as she drags her feet out of your bedroom, situating yourself against the headboard. Reaching for your phone on the bedside table, the screen nearly blinds you, the bold “4:58 AM” mocking you as you wish to sink back into the delicious warmth you and Abby shared. Abby slips back into the bedroom, her hand patting the small of the baby's back. A little smile creeps on your lips as you hear your baby girl whine and coo as Abby joins you.

“C'mere my baby,” you say through a pout, dragging the last syllable and making grabby hands towards the two. Your baby, just as excited to see,  jumping in Abby’s arms.

“Easy,” Abby says, handing you your baby, watching as she clamors into your lap, pawing at your (Abby’s) sleep shirt. Abby puts on her reading glasses, perched on the bridge of her nose as she grabs her phone, scrolling through the messages sent during the night. She puts her phone down before she slips under the covers, only her head poking out facing you and your baby girl. You make yourself comfortable, lowering your shirt so your right breast is freed. Eager is your little one, almost biting your nipple as she latches onto the bud. You wince, and an uncomfortable look washes over your face.

“You okay?” Abby asks, caressing the velvety head of the baby. Nodding, you look down and smile. Although you are ready to be done with breastfeeding, you will miss these sweet moments. Wake up so early that Abby doesn't even open her eyes as she heads to the nursery, and joins back with your squishy baby that you will happily feed her first meal of the day -caressing the baby’s face and watching as she suckles onto your nipple. “She's such a lil shit, yeah?” Abby shifts, face to face with the baby. Your baby girl smiles around your nipple, milk dribbling out the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, you are! My cute lil shit,” she attacks the baby with kisses that earn her little giggles. She wiggles around in your arms as Abby kisses her, audible smooches from your love below. 

“Abby! She needs to eat,” you laugh as you push Abby's face away, guiding your little one back to your nipple which she happily accepts. Abby stays by the two of you, head on your shoulder as she watches. Your little one’s hands creep their way up to Abby’s face, grabbing onto her nose, cheek, and anything she can touch, and Abby lets her. 

Smiling the two of you, the serenity of it all creates the comfortable silence of the early mornings of October seeping through the windows, orange and yellow illuminating the room you were in. You love every second of this and Abby agrees by catching your lips in a gentle kiss. And you three stay like this for a while, savoring the quiet and the gentle closeness,  as the day unfolds around you, still and perfect.

a/n: I wanted to get this out sooner than expected, but midterms kicked my ass, so enjoy this as I finished this during my ovulatory phase :)

[ghoulbrain]

The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y’while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

[punkitt-is-here]

youre pretty awesome uh i made fanart ofyou eating aquarium gravel

this is fucking awesome thank you