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moondustbaby · 3 days ago

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In the Worst Way

blue collar!Rafe x wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

cw: smut, oral (m rec), piv, unprotected sex

mdni 18+

summary: It’s Friday night and Rafe’s had one hell of a week. You? You’re the cure. He walks through that door looking like sin, and you take it upon yourself—devoted wife that you are—to wreck him in the worst (best) way.

⸻

The screen door creaks before you even hear the rumble of his truck engine shut off.

Heavy boots on hardwood. Keys thunking into the bowl. A sigh—long, low, bone-deep. You know that sound. Rafe’s had a long week.

You peek your head around the kitchen doorway, and there he is—hat turned backwards, jaw rough with stubble, hands dirty with the kind of grit that doesn’t come off even with soap.

“You look like hell,” you tease, leaning against the counter with a slow smile.

He drops his tool bag by the door and just looks at you for a second. Quiet. Eyes burning with something you recognize immediately—something he doesn’t say but always means.

“I missed you today,” he says, voice rasped and worn thin.

You smile, but it’s the kind that trembles at the edges. “Long week?”

He doesn’t answer. Not with words. Just closes the distance between you in three slow steps and cups the back of your neck like he’s grounding himself. Like he doesn’t want to speak because if he does, he might break.

And you—well, you know exactly what he needs.

So you slip your arms around his waist and press your lips to his neck, soft at first. His breath catches.

“You need me to take care of you, baby?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Fuck. In the worst way.”

⸻

The bedroom light stays off. You tug him by the belt loop down the hallway, into the dark like it’s sacred, like this quiet space is yours and his alone. The hum of the old AC unit, the creak of floorboards, the sound of him breathing ragged behind you.

You sit him on the edge of the bed and kneel to untie his boots. He watches you in silence, his chest rising and falling faster than before. Your fingers work slow, tugging laces loose, slipping leather free from his socks.

“You don’t have to—” he starts.

“I want to.”

Boots thunk to the floor. Then socks. Then his shirt—damp with sweat, clinging to his chest, and you pull it over his head, dragging your nails down his torso as you do.

He groans, low and guttural. Hands twitch at his sides like he wants to grab you but knows better. He’s letting you lead.

You kiss down his chest, tracing the dust-and-sunline of his skin, down to the waistband of his jeans.

Your fingers make slow work of the button. Zipper. Tug.

He’s already half-hard, cock straining against the fabric of his briefs. You look up at him through your lashes.

“Bet you were thinkin’ about this all day,” you murmur.

Rafe’s jaw ticks. “Baby. Don’t play with me.”

But you do. Just a little. Mouth brushing over the bulge in his briefs, tongue dragging over cotton. He groans and fists the bedsheets.

“Take it off” he grits. “C’mon, baby. Please.”

You do. Slowly. Dragging his briefs down and watching his cock spring free—thick, heavy, flushed with heat. You wrap your hand around him and stroke once, just to watch his head drop back and his thighs tense.

“I love your cock,” you whisper.

And he moans—needy, ruined already.

You flatten your tongue against the tip, licking up the bead of precum, then slide your lips over him, slow and deep. You hollow your cheeks, bob your head, take him until your eyes water.

“Fuck, that mouth,” he groans, one hand tangling gently in your hair. Not pushing. Just holding. Grounding.

You work him slow, savoring it, letting him melt for you. His legs tremble. His abs twitch. His voice breaks when he says your name.

But you don’t let him come. You pull off with a slick pop and wipe your mouth, standing up to straddle his lap.

“You gonna fuck me, Ray?”

He looks up at you, dazed, desperate. “Hell yeah, I’m gonna fuck you.”

You tug your dress over your head—no bra, no panties. His breath stutters. Hands grab your hips like he’s starving.

“Jesus, baby. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You kiss him—messy, wet, full of teeth and tongue. He grinds up against you, cock trapped between your bodies, leaking against your stomach. You shift your hips, drag your soaked folds over him.

“Feel that?” you whisper. “That’s what you do to me.”

He growls and flips you beneath him in one rough motion, arms braced on either side of your head.

“Fuck this,” he mutters. “Need you. Now.”

You spread your legs wide, tilt your hips. He sinks into you in one slow, deep thrust.

You both groan. Loud. Filthy. Like you’ve been waiting all week to feel this.

And maybe you have.

⸻

He fucks you slow at first hips rolling deep, dragging his cock along every nerve. Your nails dig into his back. Your breath comes in gasps.

“So good,” you whimper. “You feel so good, Rafe.”

He buries his face in your neck, breathing hard.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “This pussy’s mine.”

You nod, moaning as he fucks into you harder. “Yours, baby. Always.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

“Say my name.”

“Rafe—fuck—Rafe, I love you.”

That breaks something in him. His rhythm stutters. He grabs your thighs and pushes your knees up, deeper now, rougher.

The headboard bangs against the wall. The mattress squeaks.

You’re soaked. Wrecked. Your orgasm builds sharp and tight and mean. You can barely breathe.

“Gonna come,” you cry.

He grabs your face. “Look at me.”

You do.

And when you come—legs shaking, back arching, voice wrecked—he’s right there with you, fucking you through it, eyes locked on yours as he spills inside you with a strangled groan.

⸻

He collapses on top of you, breath hot and heavy against your skin. You wrap your arms around him, fingers tangling in his sweaty hair.

Neither of you speak for a long time.

Eventually, he props himself on one elbow and brushes your hair from your face.

“I missed you this week,” he says again. Softer this time. “Every damn minute.”

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

His hand slides down your side, over your hip, resting low on your stomach.

“You’re everything, you know that?”

You nod, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You are too.”

He rolls over, pulling you into his chest. You lay there together in the dark, tangled and sticky and spent—but full. Full of love. Full of each other.

And it’s only Friday night.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: i heard one guitar twang in “worst way” and suddenly i was barefoot in the kitchen begging my blue collar husband to break the bed. no further questions. thank you for the req @raegan07 !! 🫶��

♥️ lani

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dvrktvnnel · 5 months ago

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thirsty ~ bang chan

genre— horror/smut {MDNI!!!}

pairing— vampire!Bang Chan x reader

word count— 2.2k

warnings— blood, gore, very suggestive, choking/gagging, fingering (fem receiving), sucking, blood play/kink, chasing, no protection(wrap it up yall !)

summary— railway inspired fic mwehehehehe

“Thank you for coming,” you said. “I know its not easy to come on such short notice and we’re pretty isolated put here.”

“Ah, it was a rough ride,” Chan answered. “But the train never sleeps.”

You opened the door to let him in, his sleek black coat and leather bag of equipment made him look like a mad scientist. His odd colored eyes completed the look. It suited him well, since he was here to help you study vampires and werewolves. Word of mouth was he knew his shit. If that were the case, then he should be able to help you with a cure.

He walked with you through the corridor. You couldn’t help but notice, and it was so strange, how the other vampires would reach out to him like a savior. With everyone else who’d been here, they were gnashing their fangs and waving their claws at them.

“They must really hate me,” he chuckled meeting your gaze.

“Must, or they think you’re here to save them.”

He shot you a cold look before quickly hiding it behind a cold smile.

“That would be insane.”

You should have doubted him more. It only took a second. You led him to the room filled with vampire blood, hanging from iv racks. He set his bag down roughly, one of his sharp tool pierced a bag. Blood spewed from the tear, and he snapped.

He wasn’t who you thought he was, no, he wasn’t what you thought he was. No vampire would act like that. The way he tore through the guard you called when he shoved the blood bag against his lips was animalistic. He was like a wolf devouring prey.

A hybrid.

You managed to knock him out from behind, running out of the cell and locking it behind you. You stayed and watched him for a while.

He was asleep right now. God was he beautiful, but the blood staining his clothes was eerie. You shivered at the thought of what he’d done to people. What he could do to you.

What he will do to you.

You stood outside the cell he was in. Blood bags hung around him, IVs dripping steadily onto the floor. The sheets were soaked red. Your eyes traveled up his body, taking in every detail of his flawless skin. his veiny arms, his broad chest, his plump lips, his odd eyes staring coldly into your soul. Your blood ran cold, and he twitched.

He didn’t say a word when he got up, thrashing around the room like a wild animal. His eyes were wide with fear, confusion, hunger.

He grabbed one of the blood bags off the pole, biting into it and moaning as he sucked it dry.

You swallowed hard as you watched him. His eyes locked onto yours and he stumbled forward. It was like tunnel vision; all he saw was you.

and God did you look so fucking delicious to him.

You should have turned around; you should have told someone he was awake. But no, you were in a trance. He reached his hand through the bar and stroked your neck with his bloody fingers.

“You look so delicate,” he whispered.

You shivered at his icy touch, the cold burning past your skin. He leaned in closer, his cheek rubbing on the steel bars. You could see the smoke swirling in the air as it burned him, contrasting the cold air his breath blew against your ear.

“Let me taste you,” he whispered again. “I’ve heard so much about you, I want you t be mine.”

You snapped back into reality, and you pushed yourself away. Your eyes refocused, you didn’t even notice they had gone blurry. You took a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“What the hell are you?” you asked.

He laughed darkly, watching you through hooded eyes.

“I bet you scream so pretty,” he said, his voice almost sounding whiny.

He stuck his tongue out, dragging it up the bar that you touched.

You shouldn’t have reacted that way.

You turned around to leave when you heard it. The sound of metal scraping, screeching and bending in ways it shouldn’t be capable of. You whipped around and saw him pulling the bars apart, smiling maniacally.

You didn’t wait any longer, you ran as fast as you could down the hall. You told every guard you passed that he was awake and escaping.

You could hear him coming. The sound of flesh tearing and blood spilling, his growls as he thrust his claws into their necks. Their screams.

You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t resist. You saw him lift a guard with one hand before slamming him into the ground.

He wasn’t struggling. No, he was playing, he loved the chase, he loved it so much. He didn’t want to catch you yet; he wanted to catch you when you were out of breath with your clothes torn and your hair a mess.

So, he let you run and hide.

You reached the door you had come through, but it didn’t respond to your keycard.

“Fuck!” you shouted under your breath.

You don’t know how he did it, but the power was out. The lights flickered before going off, and the cell chamber went on lockdown. You were trapped.

In a second Chan was right behind you, his claws digging into your side and drawing blood. You screamed in shock, trying to break free.

“More please,” he whispered in your ear with a sadistic smile.

You gasped as he dug his fingers in deeper just before throwing you aside. You clutched your wound and got up, running away from him.

He had let the other vampires out, and they slaughtered the rest of the guards. One of them grabbed your arm, but before it could do anything Chan gashed its throat.

“It’ll be safe when its just you and me,” he said.

You scrambled back to your feet and ran again. It was still late at night, the sun wouldnt rise for hours. You managed to find a closet to hide in, the sounds you heard would haunt your nightmares for years. That was if you even made it out alive.

It took all your strength to stay awake, and after a while the sounds stopped. A dead silence hung in the air with the stench of blood. Slowly, carefully, you opened the door. The heavy metal scraped against the cold stone floor and echoed through the halls.

In the center of the corridor, you saw him. He was sitting atop a throne of bodies, his head resting on the back of his hand like a king. His eyes were locked on you, he knew you were there the whole night.

With a burst of adrenaline, you made a run for it. The sun had just started to rise, you could make it outside and then you’d be safe.

He let you run.

You ran down the corridor, passing the bodies left to decorate his new lair. You slipped in a pool of blood, falling onto the unforgiving ground. You felt your ankle roll and heard it pop, the blood you fell in spattering against the walls.

He was on you before you even realized it. His weight pressed you down, the blood soaking into your clothes snd staining your skin.

“Don’t you worry about the casualties,” he hissed.

He took a deep breath in, his hands holding your waist. He teased the wound he left earlier with his finger, tracing the punctures he’d left. He gave you a rough squeeze and blood oozed out again. You yelled in agony, and he moaned against your ear. His tongue trailed up the side of your neck, thick blood spreading across your skin.

“Baby,” he whispered. “Trust me now.”

You broke free and stood up, bracing yourself against the wall.

“I can hear your heartbeat racing, you’re trembling, come with me.”

You clutched your side and shook your head, desperately trying to avoid his enchanting stare. You pushed off the wall and stumbled out into the courtyard.

The sun was blinding, you could barely make out what was what, who was who. The guards rushed to your aid, they were shouting and yelling but you couldn’t understand them. Your head ached and you felt dizzy, everything looked blurry and red.

The sun only got brighter, and it scorched your skin. You fell to the ground and the guards circled around you. Blood sprayed your face as Chan ripped through them.

You were his now.

You could barely see him, tearing them apart and draining their blood. The dry grass was painted a dark red all around you.

A second silence fell, only the hollow wind blowing gently in contrast to the horrors that had happened.

A shadow fell over your face, and you opened your eyes. Chan stood over you with a crazed smile. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, and bit down hard. Blood spurted out, speckling his face. He let it drip off his chin, and you couldn’t resist sticking your tongue out to catch the few droplets.

It was like a drug.

You grabbed onto his leg, and he knelt down, lifting your head to rest on his thigh.

“More, please,” you begged.

He smiled wide, his fangs on display for you. He took another bite and sucked hard. You crawled more into his lap, twisting to face him. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you pulled him down.

He pushed your hands off of him, sliding you off his lap. Before you could protest, he took off his jacket and straddled your waist. With one hand under your head and the other pinning your wrists, he pressed his lips against yours.

Blood poured into your mouth, spilling out from between your lips. You hungrily swallowed what you could, choking on the rest. He didn’t let up, moving his tongue against yours and almost down your throat to make your gag.

His blood was so good, it felt so good going down your throat. You gulped it down, it was like you had been thirsty for years, and he was finally quenching it.

He pushed you down harder into the ground, the dirt turning into a bloody mud beneath you. You tugged on his shirt, needing to be closer to him.

He broke away and you gasped for air, coughing up more blood. Your clothes were torn, your hair was a mess, blood was all over you.

Now he would take you.

He lifted you off the ground and carried you back inside. You couldn’t control yourself, you were clawing at him and biting his neck and shoulder.

You were teething.

He took you to the cell with the blood bags, laying you on the table. He took his shirt off and got back over you. He kissed you again, and you dug your claws into his back. Your scratches left deep, dark red marks.

He killed like an animal, and he feasted like a beast, but he fucked like a demon.

He kissed you like he was just as thirsty as you were. He bit down your neck, growling and kneading your flesh. His hands slipped under your shirt, his claws scratching your soft skin.

Chan moved down your body, his mouth was desperate but his pacing was too slow for you. He slid down from your neck to your stomach, you threw your head back and arched your back when he bit down on your wound.

When he sucked, you moaned lewdly. He returned the sound, his low and deep. His claws dragged down to your pants, pulling them off easily.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered. “Enjoy the ride.”

His fingers slipped in easily, the sharp points on his fingertips made you scream and he moaned again. He moved back to your neck, biting down hard. His fingers thrust in and out of you quickly, and you bit down on his neck.

His back was nearly raw, and you couldn’t tell the difference between your releases and his blood. He was relentless, you weren’t able to keep up with him. Before long, you were out of breath and exhausted.

Once he wore you out, you felt his fingers slide out one final time. He brought his fingers to his mouth and moaned as he sucked them clean.

He smothered your lips with his again, biting your lip and sucking the blood. You felt him line up, his hips snapping as he thrust into you in one movement. The table creaked and squealed, the force of his movements pushing it up against the wall and thudding loudly.

Your eyes rolled back, and he bit hard onto your bottom lip to keep your head from falling back. You knew he wouldn’t have fit if he hadn’t fingered you so roughly before hand, and you were certain that he tore you from the inside to make room.

You could feel every vein, every twitch, every pulse. He pinned your hands down, keeping you still as he thrust into you. He didn’t stop until you finally felt him cum, his hips snapping into place and going deeper than you’d ever felt.

He slowly opened his mouth, his teeth unpiercing your lip. He released your hands and the fell limply off the table. You couldn’t say anything, you just felt indescribable.

He propped himself up on his elbow, and cradled the back of your head with his other hand. He lifted your head and licked the blood from your mouth, then whispered between his teeth.

“You’re mine now, forever.”

i wrote this in a day help me, i’ve never written a story this fast but i was DETERMINED (so ignore any errors)

i plan on writing more fics i promise🙏

@vampzity @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @losrpark @dollywoo

#bang chan #stray kids #vampire au #skz #railway #fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #skz fanfic #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #jeongin #—❥dvrktvnnel #—❥lixi’s nightmares #—❥lixi’s bedtime stories

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austinbutlerslovers · 4 months ago

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New Neighbor

Label 18+

Summary Your new neighbor is a hot fit biker. The strong silent type, and all you can think about is how to make him yours, because you love a challenge, and you always get what you want.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Handsome new neighbor •Female in heat • promiscuous girl • teasing • Benny playing hard to get • trying to dominate Benny • manhandled by Benny • rough sex • size kink• girl on top • P in V • doggy style • rendered senseless • orgasms • after care

New Neighbor

The first time you catch a glimpse of your new neighbor moving in, you nearly drop the tray of muffins in your hands.

God, was he hot.

Standing at least 6’ ft broad-shouldered with muscled arms exposed under a sleeveless tee, he looked like he’d been carved straight out of some sinful fantasy.

His sandy brown hair was just long enough to curl at the ends, and that goatee? Pure rugged perfection. Add in piercing blue eyes and the Harley parked outside, and you were officially a goner.

He didn’t seem like the chatty type—strong, silent, mysterious even. And if there was one thing you liked, it was a challenge.

You watch him from your kitchen window longer than you intended before deciding theres no way in hell were you going to let the other nosy neighbors get to him first.

You threw together a welcome basket, just an excuse to knock on his door, and maybe—just maybe—see if those biceps felt as good as they looked.

Before heading out, you made sure to tug your top down showing just enough cleavage to grab his attention, then with your heart racing and confidence high, you knocked on his door, basket in hand.

A moment later, the door swung open, and there he was, leaning lazily against the frame, his eyes sweeping over you with keen interest.

Up close, he was even hotter —unfairly good-looking, with a slow, knowing smile that knocked every damn word right out of your mouth.

“Hey,” he drawled, his voice deep and smooth. “What’s this?”

You blinked up at him, your brain scrambling to function.

“I, uh… welcome basket.” You shoved it toward him wide eyed and breathless.“Just a —little something to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering just enough to send a heat rushing through your veins. “Nice of you,” he says, taking it from your hands. “Name’s Benny.”

Your lips curve into a flirtatious smile seeing he’s interested. “If you need anything, Benny, don’t hesitate to ask.” you add, your eyes shamelessly wandering over his biceps. “Any little thing you can think of.”

Benny’s brows lift, and that damn handsome smirk widens even more. “I can think of something right now,” he says stepping aside and ushering you in.

You don’t hesitate, walking inside as he shuts the door behind you.

The place is neat, though distinctly his- a leather jacket draped over a chair, a duffel bag half-unpacked in the corner, and tools spread across the kitchen counter. His riding gloves sit beside an open beer, and a stack of mail is tossed haphazardly on the table.

“Nice place,” you say, sliding onto a stool as he hands you a beer.

“Didn’t think I’d be entertaining this soon,” he smirks, leaning against the counter.

“Am I entertaining?” you tease, taking a sip.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he drawls, his gaze lingering on you as you cross your legs, playing up the way your skirt rides up just a little higher than whats modest.

The conversation flows easily, filled with teasing remarks and stolen glances. Benny watches you with a knowing smirk as you lay it on thick, your hand occasionally brushing his arm, your smile lingering as you look at him through your lashes.

At one point, he chuckles, shaking his head. “You don’t hold back, do you?”

You tilt your head innocently. “Why should I?”

He exhales a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Woman after my own heart.”

You look away grinning. “And something more.”you admit finishing your beer.

His smirk deepens and there’s something different in the way he looks at you, something careful despite the obvious heat between you.

He’s holding back for such a hard man, with all his strength and rugged intensity— and you can tell.

When you finally leave, you’re half-disappointed he didn’t bend you over the counter and render you senseless like you wanted.

But it was fine—you liked a slow burn, and by the way his eyes lingered on you as you walked away, you had no doubt he was thinking about you, just as much as you were thinking about him.

The sound of Benny’s Harley rumbling to life jolts you awake. You scramble to the window in the morning, watching as he straddles his Harley, his muscles flexing under his tee. He looks like a goddamn dream, and you bite your lip, watching him drive off.

Today was the day. You were gonna look cute, you were gonna see him again, and this time, he wasn’t gonna be able to resist you.

You throw on the tiniest pair of shorts you own, tie a tee at the waist, and step outside—only to realize the sky has darkened and the air is heavy with moisture.

A drizzle starts, and as you glance toward Benny’s porch, you spot his laundry still hanging on the line.

Then, like the universe is testing you, the sky opens up.

“Shit,” you mutter, dashing toward his laundry, snatching towels and jeans off the line as the rain soaks through your own clothing in the process.

You’re hauling an armful of damp clothes toward his door when the rumble of his engine startles you.

Benny pulls up just as you reach the porch, dismounting smoothly. He takes one look at you, drenched and clutching his laundry, and smirks.

“That’s cute,” he says, striding over to help.

“I wasn’t gonna let your stuff get ruined,” you insist stepping inside as he holds the door open for you.

He follows, shaking off the rain as you both drop the clothes onto the counter. The air between you shifts—humid and thick with something unsaid.

You glance at him, both of you soaked, his shirt clinging to the hard lines of his chest as he watches you, the water dripping down your form, your shirt practically see-through, your breaths coming in short, uneven pants.

“Persistent little thing, aren’t you?” He says his voice low and filled with quiet longing.

You meet his gaze, pulse hammering as every nerve in your body ignites with anticipation. “I always get what I want Benny,” you whisper, stepping closer, your hands sliding over his firm biceps.

A smirk plays at his lips as he takes you in, his blue eyes dark with desire. “You’ve got me,” he says, his voice low and rough and before you know it, his hands are on your waist gripping you close as his mouth crashes against yours.

The force of him steals your breath, his body hard and unyielding as he walks you backward toward the bedroom.

Clothes come off piece by piece, your hands trailing down his toned chest until you lay back on his bed. He unbuttons his jeans, holding them at the waist as you slip your panties down.

You watch, breathless, as he digs through a drawer, retrieving a condom and when he finally pushes his jeans down, your eyes widen as they slide down his hips, your breath hitching at the size of his cock.

He grins at your expression. “Better than you imagined?”

You swallow hard, heat rushing to your cheeks. “M-much more,” you stutter, barely able to form words.

His smirk deepens as he rolls the condom on slow and patient as his gaze locks on yours. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, sweetheart.”

He climbs over you, his abs flexing with each movement, every curve of his body defined and powerful. The length of his cock brushes against your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth against your skin as he positions himself above you, his biceps flexing as he holds himself up.

But you’re not about to let him take control that easy.

You push against his chest, surprising him as you force him onto his back. He lets you, his grin widening as he settles against the mattress, his hands immediately finding your waist, holding you firm.

“You gonna take me?” he grins his eyes dark with amusement and something more dangerous.

“Mmhmm” you say defiantly biting your lip as you climb onto him, straddling his hips.

Your hands trail down his chest, feeling the firm ridges of muscle beneath your fingertips as you slowly lower yourself down on him. His cock is thick, stretching you wide, forcing a deep moan from your lips as your body adjusts to the sheer size of him.

“C’mon, sweetheart, take me,” he taunts, his voice thick with heat. As you struggle his hands cup your breasts, thumbs grazing your nipples as he thrusts up into you, making you gasp the stretch so deep it makes your eyes squeeze shut.

He keeps goading, bucking his hips, filling you deep and you moan taking each hard thrust until you regain your senses, practically bunny bouncing on him.

“Fuck thats it ,” he rasps, watching your body take him. “Look at you.”

You do—you watch him, watch the way his jaw clenches, the way he pants, the way his hands grip your hips firm as you begin to ride him harder. He meets you thrust for thrust, his groans of satisfaction driving you faster.

“Taking me good,” he grunts, his eyes locked on yours, his praise making your body burn hotter as the room fills with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your breathless moans and Benny’s deep, husky praises.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his hands, squeezing your hips claiming you harder. “Doing real damn good.”

You shudder your head tipping back as you orgasm rocking your hips against him in sweet bliss.

Suddenly, the room spins as Benny flips you onto your back in one fluid motion, his strength sending a thrill through your dazed body. Your hands fly up, and he grips your wrists in one hand, pinning you as he kneels between your thighs, positioning himself once more.

“You didn't take me all the way” he rasps. “Now I gotta finish what you started” he breathes, his cock pressing insistently at your entrance.

“Please Benny,” you practically moan and your eyes roll back as he pushes into you all over again, stretching you to the brink, satisfying you so deep you can hardly breathe.

He grips your wrists firm, his muscles flexing hard as he slams against you, each thrust making the bed creak as you wail, your cries filling the air loud enough to wake the neighbors.

The pressure of his cock, the intensity of him, it’s almost too much—but you don’t want him to stop.

You come in seconds, your hips pushing up as your orgasm rolls through you, the pleasure so high it steals every bit of breath from your lungs.

The second your body slacks, he pulls out, only to flip you onto your stomach, making you gasp as he drags the thick head of his cock through your slick heat before pushing back in with one deep claiming stroke.

The bed shakes as he takes you from the back, his hands pulling you into every hard unrelenting thrust as he fucks you incoherent against the mattress.

“Benny,” you moan, your face flushed, your cheek pressed to the sheets as the bed rocks beneath you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he fucks you harder, faster, rendering you senseless, each snap of his hips, pushing you deeper into mind-numbing bliss.

“This what you wanted?” he demands his voice loud and rough.

You whimper, desperate, breathless, your fingers clutching at the sheets. “Yes—Benny—y-es,” you cry, barely able to form words as he pounds into you over and over, his pace unrelenting pushing you past every limit.

His rough fingers find your clit and your eyes roll back as he goes harder, deeper, until all you can do is moan, your body shuddering as he finally groans, burying himself deep, his release pulsing from his cock as you come together.

For a moment, all that fills the room is ragged breathing.

Then Benny laughs breathlessly pulling out, your body aching from the loss, “Damn sweetheart,” he exhales laying onto his back. “Hope you didn’t have any plans after this.” He says pulling you to his chest.

You grin, looking up at his handsome face, your body weak and spent. “I think you just made ‘em for me, Benny,” you confess, and as he looks at you his blue eyes darken. He pulls you in for a long lingering kiss, pouring all his feelings into it, already hooked on you—Because you like a challenge and you always get what you want.

END 🏍️

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months ago

Text

In the infirmary the air is always still.

The heat-swollen wooden door creaks as Nico opens it, and creaks louder as he shuts it, shoving against the laughing summer winds. The difference is immediate and startling – there are souls here, anguished ones, flickering at the edge of his vision, screaming in the very back of his mind. Sobbing. They sit by the wide, rarely-closed windows and watch the left-behind, and they are miserable, and they are angry, and they are grieving, and they are grateful. They linger like the smell of antiseptic under the powerful eucalyptus, like the faint sting of copper under the lavender. There is no forgetting the fallen even in the softest of nights, where the lights are low to let the injured sleep, where the moon pours gently and warmly onto restless cots, where Will hums, deep and slow, around the rhythmic shift of his pestle and the crush of something in his mortar.

Nico taps the counter as he approaches, not sure if he’s wearing his hearing aids under his hair. Will’s lips turn up, head dipping in greeting. Nico climbs up on the counter next to him, careful not to knock anything over – and, at the last minute, making a show to check for mud on his shoes, grinning at Will’s rolled eyes – and settling his elbows on his knees.

There is lots to watch – Will’s work is methodic. Less so when he is following injured Ares campers, badly strumming his guitar and screaming medical instructions as lyrics, but as he grinds white powder against stone, shifting his body with every movement, he slips into the same kind of trance his siblings do when they play, when they shoot; the same seriousness Annabeth gets when she is in charge; the same intensity Percy gets when he swordfights, the same focus Rachel gets when she paints. A connection with his body that his clumsiness usually does not allow. When Will works the bandages around his wrists lay forgotten. His hair curtains his face, his nose twitches. His tremoring fingers hold steady.

Usually.

Tonight he grips his tools tightly; force enough that tiny spasms flicker his muscles and drain the blood from his tendons. The worry line in his bottom lip is well over-worked and cracked, blood spilling into his teeth. His shift began at ten o’clock that morning – he has been standing in place long enough for the creases between his brows to become tanlines. The infirmary ghosts steer clear of him, even, loitering by the door and cupboards. Nico can hardly even feel the accidental weight of their gazes. Instead surrounding them, as its own maple-thick presence, is Will; Will and the buzzing, chittering something under his skin, Will and the tension on his face, Will and the pulverized white in front of him.

“I’m prepping,” he murmurs, when Nico doesn’t ask. “For tomorrow.”

To his left is Chiron’s leather medical bag, full almost to bursting with wrapped squares of ambrosia, bottles of nectar, rolls of bandages, salves, poultices, Tylenol, and more Nico can’t name. Pill bottles and surgical thread, scissors and IV bags. If Nico leaps off the counter and stomps on the floor the over-weighed shelves lining the walls will clatter to the ground. They were three times emptier this morning.

“...Is tomorrow the apocalypse?”

Will looks at him flatly. Nico holds up his hands.

“I’m just saying!” He peers behind the nurse’s station, where more unicorn draught than he has maybe ever seen in his life lines the already-overflowing shelves. “I’m pretty sure we were less prepared for actual war.”

Will’s teeth sink further into his poor torn lip. This is the wrong thing to say.

“We were.”

Nico tongues the edges of his teeth. Will avoids his eyes, digging his pestle harder into the stone edge, powdered grind popping and spritzing through the thick air. A small bead of red grows on the edge of his chapped bottom lip, challenging him until he curses under his breath and reaches for something to wipe it away.

“You’re stressing,” Nico observes.

“Stress is normal,” Will says sharply.

Nico raises an eyebrow. Will deflates.

He flexes his hands like he’s just realizing how much they hurt, stepping back and stretching. The stone pestle thuds gently on the wooden counter, white powder clouding off it. Will follows his curious look and slides the thick bowl over, checking his hands for dirt or polishing grease before relinquishing him. Immediately Nico pokes at the tiny little mountain, wrinkling his nose at its chalkiness.

“Gracie and Yan spent the morning with the naiads,” WIll explains, smiling slightly. The crease between his eyebrows smooths as his eyes scrunch. “I needed good shells. The naiads needed company.”

“I saw them playing,” Nico says. He snorts. “I was not aware they were doing any kind of organized task.”

Will’s smile grows, dimple winking on his left cheek. “Organized might not be the word for it.” He takes the powder gently back from Nico, brushing his fingertips through it to check and nodding. “But they had fun, and that’s all that matters.”

He tips half the powder on a piece of paper, careful that nothing spills. Nico slides off the counter without a second thought, digging around the cupboards for the right size jars and a marker. He pauses before (badly) scrawling on a label, hoisting himself back up on the counter and handing the jar off.

“I didn’t know what to write,” he explains.

Will nods without looking, accepting the jars and carefully picking up the paper so the powder is tucked in the little valley. “Figured.” He pours the powder into the first jar, tapping the sides to even it out, then ties on a cloth cover and passes the jar back. “It’s crushed shells. Calcium Carbonate.”

Nico shakes the marker and dutifully records as such on the label, sure there is most definitely not an ‘s’ in calcium nor as many letters as he crammed in there but not bothering to double check. It’s not like Will won’t be able to puzzle it out.

“What for?”

“Healing, generally.”

“I got that far, dickhead,” Nico says, kicking a snorting Will in the hip. “I was more wondering what the use of pulverized calcium-whatever might be in combat medicine. If you can find the time in prepping for the apocalypse to tell me.”

The dig makes Will’s expression sour, slightly, and his hands clench against the edge of the countertop. But Nico keeps a careful distance between them; leg still half-extended, resting nearish enough to Will that he can feel the heat of him on his ankles. He hums, quietly, letting his voice force its way through the rigored air and bounce off the huffing, whining ghosts, resting finally on Will’s shoulders. On the ends of his curls, the bends of his elbows. The sharp edge of his many calluses.

He exhales, long and low, and slides the bowl, jars, and paper over to Nico. Nico takes them, and Will slumps, resting his head on the cool countertop, arms tucked under his torso so he can feel the pressure.

“Calcium carbonate is good for dyspepsia,” he murmurs. His light eyelashes catch the flicker of his favourite desk lamp as they flutter closed. “And caustic burns. Dyspepsia won’t be an issue tomorrow, but I’ve treated enough people on the other end of Connor’s bombs to assume the risk.”

“Bombs fall under maiming, I’m pretty sure,” Nico points out. “Like, almost totally positive.”

Will sighs. “And yet.”

“...Okay, yeah, and yet.”

Nico’s not as careful as Will is. Or as practiced, rather; it takes him three times as long to fill the jars and he still spills at least a quarter of it on the table and himself. He sweeps it quickly on the floor so Will doesn’t notice. The raised eyebrows assure him his folly is not missed. The slight smile promises that Will doesn’t really mind.

“Have you always prepped this much for Capture the Flag? Or just ‘cause the Hunters are visiting?”

Nico is careful to keep his own bitterness out of his voice. Will squeezes his ankle, anyway, brushing the thin skin over the bone until he exhales, until tense shoulders relax, until the heat under his chest wanes and cools. He keeps his hold until after still, pad of his thumb scratching gently as Nico inhales, exhales, inhales.

“No.”

Nico blinks.

“No what?”

“No, it’s not just because of the Hunters.” His hand slips away as he stands, reaching for the newly-packaged jars. Nico shivers against the sudden cold. “And no, we were not always so prepared.”

All at once, the ghosts go still. From every angle of the infirmary, they stop, pause, freeze; the still air gets thicker, sharper. Nico holds his breath. He pinches the inside of his lip between his teeth, inhales, and pushes himself off the counter. Will looks straight ahead.

He is struggling with the calcium. There are too many jars. He moves them around, as Nico watches, sliding one onto the shelf, taking one off, reorganizing, sliding it back on. Staring, hands full. Bleeding lip straining underneath his canines. Nico watches. And watches.

The ghosts watch, too.

“We’ve gotten very soft,” he says finally, quietly. His fingers twitch. He withdraws his hand quickly, wrapping it tightly around the bandages on his wrists and pulling, breathing, pulling. “In the last couple years.” He blows out a breath. His voice is so thin Nico has to lean forward to hear it. “We didn’t used to be.”

The worn cotton slides against spatter burn scars, scrape, scrape, scrape.

“We lost to more than just wars.”

Vaguely, Nico knows this. The cleaning harpies, the lava wall. Dionysus’ threats. No maiming or no dessert. The hundreds and hundreds of ghosts, hungry eyes, watching him and wailing.

But the dead so easily become background noise.

“I remember,” Will admits. “Even before, when we had a fully staffed – infirmary –” he swallows – “I remember. I remember them all.” His breath stutters. His hands clench. He breathes in. He yanks, so hard the skin of his wrists go stark white. He breathes out. “They had families.”

Nico swallows. Of course they did, of course they do. Mothers in Manhattan apartments, wringing their hands at every strike of lightning. Making sandwiches for sons who will never come home. Sobbing in the park, hating themselves. Hating the skies.

More than anything in the world, he wants to ask who. There is a haunted look in Will’s eyes he never sees in full, and he wants – he wants – to pull on his shoulder, to turn him around, to stare into the glass-blue eyes and watch as they well with tears, as he gasps, as he breaks, finally. There is a part of him that longs for paper and a pen and endless frozen hours to document the tiniest shifts in his expression, to map out every twitch of his mouth and preserve the widening abyss of his pupils forever. To immortalise the flashes he knows he sees, gone before he can check, of pain and rage and hurt and fear. The split-second of hate that he knows Will gets, sometimes, when someone complains the infirmary is too slow or too little or too late, when someone rolls their eyes and mutters why do they get that stupid chariot, anyway, what did they ever do to deserve it. When there is the briefest of snaps to Will’s spine, clench to his fists. When he remembers who is and what he has lost and what he wants to do with it. When he stares into corners like he can see the ghosts hovering there, too.

For once, Nico sees it in full. And he is drunk on it, the proof of it, the sick vindication of oh you are just like me. The pleasure in that dark, thoughtless fury, bubbling and broiling behind eyes darker than blue-black midnight.

“When they said halfbloods didn’t make it past sixteen, they fucking meant it,” Will murmurs. There is a crack under his clenched hands, and he glances down, and watches, for one second, two; broken shards of the glass jar cling to his twitching fingers, red pooling and pools and spills down the creases of his hands, down the piles of powdered white. He blinks. He leans back.

Nico wants to ask who. He wants to know so badly, wants Will to list them from beginning to end, the people he lost, the people he misses, the thick cloud of grieving screaming dead that follow him at a distance. He wants to put a name to every last haunted pair of eyes.

“Anyways.” He pushes Nico back when he stands, nudging him clear of the mess with his foot, plucking the shards from his skin without flinching. “It’s better now. Safer. ‘Cause I’m prepared.”

Prepared, indeed. He cleans his hands quickly and methodically, wrapping them easily and sweeping the mess away. He walks straight into a ghost on his way to the biohazard bin and shivers.

“What time is it?”

Nico snorts. He gets to his feet, tucking his shaking hands into his pockets. “What, like you’re tired or something, Solace? Some robot you are.”

Will laughs, and it is sharp and dark and Nico relishes in it, shivering as it travels down his spine and zaps through every single one of his systems. It is the darkest hour of the night and he can feel it, can taste it.

“You fuckin’ got me there.”

He spins around the room, hands on his hips, eyes lingering on the younger girl snoring upside down on the cot, on the boy slumped in the chair next to her. His ring finger taps, taps, taps against his legs.

“I should get to bed.”

“Probably,” Nico agrees.

Will doesn’t move.

“I didn’t –”

He stops.

He breathes. He closes his eyes.

In.

Out.

“I need you to tell me I got everything.”

He opens his eyes and stares at Nico, and there it is, the second time in one night, the glassiness, the pain. The anger. Nico shivers.

“You got it,” he says lowly. He stares straight back, eyes wide, breath still and silent. “Go to bed.”

Will stares. Slowly the clarity in his eyes clouds, and his pupils shrink to pinpricks as he fades, as he goes somewhere else. His breathing slows. His hands go still, fingers limp. The bandages hang unravelled down to his knees.

“Yeah,” he says. He nods. “Yeah, it’s time to go.”

He turns quickly like he has to convince himself and strides out of the infirmary too quickly for Nico to catch up, even if he tried. Nico watches him instead, traces the slump of his shoulders as he trudges the ten yards to the glowing Apollo cabin, standing on the porch for one second, two, hand on the doorknob, back straightening before his slips in. Nico watches as his shadow grows and shrinks through the half-open windows, stops, stops. He watches as the light shifts, as the moon climbs higher, as the cabin grows silver, and he can hear, if he strains, the slightest rumble of Will’s easy exhales.

He pushes to his feet and slinks back to his cabin.

— — —

Two hours later Will wakes, barely muffling a scream into his picked-bloody fingers, and stumbles back to the nurse’s station.

— — —

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calmcoldevening · 8 months ago

Note

Back at it again with a prompt idea!

What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back

And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3

(maybe they fall in love later O.O)

What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)

Art the clown x immortal!reader

Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes

• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.

• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.

• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.

• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.

• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.

• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.

• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.

• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.

• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.

• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?

• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.

• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.

• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.

• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.

• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.

• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)

• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.

#slashers x reader #slashers x you #slashers fandom #slashers #slasher x reader #art the clown #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you

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waitforyrlove · 5 months ago

Text

slytherin ! matt doesn’t let you break free from his game.

you were running late for Herbology, the kind of late that made your stomach twist with anxiety. As you rushed into the greenhouse, your hands frantically dug into your bag, searching for your herbology knife—the one essential tool for today’s class.

it wasn’t there.

panic set in as you rifled through every pocket, your fingers brushing over parchment, quills, and an array of useless things that weren’t what you needed. The knife, the one Professor Sprout insisted you always bring to class, was gone.

“Everything alright?” your friend asked from the workstation next to you, a curious look on her face.

“No,” you muttered, shaking your head, “I can’t find my knife.”

“Did you leave it in your dorm?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, though doubt was starting to creep in. You never misplaced that knife—it was practically second nature to check for it before every Herbology lesson.

your eyes darted across the room as you scanned for any sign of it, but something—or rather, someone—caught your attention instead.

Matt.

he was leaning casually against one of the greenhouse tables, his sleeves rolled up and his trademark smirk firmly in place. His green-and-silver tie was loose around his neck, and he was twirling something between his fingers.

it was your knife.

your stomach dropped, a mixture of anger and disbelief bubbling to the surface. You didn’t even need to look twice to confirm it—it was unmistakably yours. The silver blade glinted in the sunlight, and the worn leather grip bore the tiny scratch you’d accidentally made during your first Herbology class.

you stormed over to him, your heart pounding with irritation. “Is there a reason you’re holding my knife, Matt?”

he looked up at you, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. “Oh, this is yours?”

“Yes,” you snapped, crossing your arms, “Give it back.”

Matt tilted his head, as if considering your request, but the smirk on his face only widened,“You really should take better care of your things, sweetheart. Leaving them lying around for anyone to take?”

“I didn’t leave it lying around,” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing too much attention. “You stole it.”

“Stole is such a strong word,” he replied smoothly. “I’d say… borrowed.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin, “Whatever you want to call it, I need it back. Now.”

he chuckled, leaning in slightly so his voice was just for you, “What’s the rush? Herbology’s barely started.”

you clenched your fists, your frustration mounting, “Matt, I’m serious. Give it back.”

“Hmm,” he mused, leaning back against the table and twirling the knife once more, “I could give it back. Or…” He trailed off, his smirk taking on a mischievous edge.

“Or what?” you asked warily, already dreading his answer.

“Or you could do something for me first,” he said, his voice light, but his eyes sharp.

you groaned, already regretting every life decision that had led to this moment, “Why can’t you ever just do something without making it into a game?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he countered, his smirk never faltering.

you stared at him, your anger battling with the realization that you didn’t have a choice. You needed that knife. Herbology was one of your better subjects, and you couldn’t afford to fall behind—not because of him.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

his smirk deepened, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I need some information. From Ravenclaw.”

“Information? About what?”

he straightened up, his expression growing slightly more serious. “I need information. There’s someone in Ravenclaw—Connor Ashworth—who’s been running his mouth about me, talking shit, I want to know what he’s saying and who he’s saying it to.”

your jaw tightened at the word harmless, but you bit back your retort, “So you want me to spy on him?”

“Exactly,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “Find out what you can, and then your precious knife is all yours.”

you glared at him, hating how easily he manipulated the situation to his advantage, “And what happens if I refuse?”

he twirled the knife one last time before slipping it into his pocket, “Then I guess you’ll be doing today’s lesson without it.”

you stared at him, your mind racing. Every instinct told you not to give in, not to let him win. But the thought of standing in front of Professor Sprout empty-handed, trying to explain why you didn’t have your knife, made your stomach churn.

“Fine,” you said at last, your voice heavy with resignation, “I’ll do it.”

“Atta girl,” Matt said, his smirk widening as he straightened up, “I knew you’d see reason.”

you didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you turned on your heel and stormed back to your workstation, your mind already working on how you were going to pull this off.

the next day, you found yourself in the Ravenclaw common room under the pretense of borrowing a book from one of your friends. It was awkward at first, trying to subtly steer the conversation toward Connor without raising suspicion. But luckily, your friend was more than happy to gossip.

“Connor’s been acting so smug lately,” she said, flipping through the pages of her Charms textbook. “I overheard him talking to someone about Matt the other day. Something about a duel? Or maybe it was a bet. I’m not sure.”

you leaned in, feigning casual curiosity, “What was he saying?”

“Mostly that he got the better of Matt in some argument. Honestly, it sounded like typical Connor—blowing things out of proportion to make himself look good.”

you nodded, trying to piece together the information. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything about a duel, but it was clear that whatever Connor was spreading, it was enough to bother him.

for the rest of the afternoon, you lingered around the Ravenclaws, picking up snippets of conversation here and there. By the time you returned to your common room, you had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

that evening, you found Matt waiting for you in the corridor outside the library.

“Well?” he asked, his smirk firmly in place, “What did you find out?”

you crossed your arms, glaring at him, “Connor’s been bragging about a duel with you. He’s telling people he humiliated you.”

Matt’s eyes darkened, his smirk faltering for the first time, “Did he say anything else?”

“Just that he’s been talking to some Hufflepuffs about it. Apparently, he’s trying to make sure the whole school hears about it.”

Matt let out a low laugh, though there was no humor in it, “Interesting,”

“Now give me my knife,” you said, holding out your hand expectantly.

he glanced at you, his smirk returning, “Oh, I will. But I think you’ve earned a little reward for your hard work.”

“I don’t want a reward. I just want my knife.”

Matt pulled the blade from his pocket, holding it up between his fingers, “Fine,” he said, stepping closer. “But you have to admit… we make a pretty good team.”

you snatched the knife from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment, “This isn’t a team. This is blackmail.”

he chuckled, taking a step back. “Call it whatever you want, sweetheart. You’ll come around eventually.”

you glared at him, slipping the knife back into your satchel, “Don’t count on it.”

as you turned to leave, Matt’s voice followed you down the corridor.

“Careful out there,” he called, his tone light but laced with something darker, “You never know when you’ll need my help again.”

you didn’t dignify him with a response, but his words stuck with you as you made your way back to your common room.

no matter how much you tried to distance yourself, Matt always seemed to pull you back into his web. And as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you wondered if you’d ever truly escape.

the days after your reluctant deal with Matt passed in a haze of frustration and unease. Every time you saw him, whether it was in the corridors or during meals in the Great Hall, he gave you that infuriating smirk. It wasn’t just teasing—it was a reminder. He knew he was in your head, and he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

you tried to go about your life as normal, but the weight of Matt’s games lingered like a shadow. And deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.

it wasn’t over.

it was a Thursday evening, and you were in the library, trying to focus on your Potions essay. The soft scratch of quills and the faint whispers of other students filled the room, a soothing backdrop that helped you push aside your annoyance with Matt—at least for a little while.

but, as always, peace didn’t last long.

you heard the sound of footsteps approaching your table, and before you could even look up, a familiar voice broke through your concentration.

“Working hard, I see.”

you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to face him. Matt stood there, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his green-and-silver tie hanging loose around his neck. He looked relaxed, but the glint in his eyes told you he was here with a purpose.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice flat.

Matt slid into the chair across from you, leaning back like he owned the place. “Don’t look so thrilled to see me.”

“I’m not,” you said bluntly.

he chuckled, unbothered by your tone, “You wound me, sweetheart.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to keep your temper in check, “If this is about Connor, I already did what you asked. I don’t owe you anything.”

“True,” Matt admitted, tilting his head slightly, “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have something else in mind.”

you groaned, dropping your quill onto the table, “Of course you do. What is it this time?”

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied you with a look that made your skin prickle, “Let’s call it… an opportunity.”

“An opportunity,” you repeated, skepticism dripping from your words.

he nodded, his smirk widening. “There’s a little… gathering happening in the Forbidden Forest this weekend. A few of us are planning to check out some magical creatures that are supposedly nesting there.”

you raised an eyebrow, “And what does this have to do with me?”

“Well,” Matt said, his tone light but calculated, “it just so happens that I could use someone with your… resourcefulness. You’ve proven you’re good at sneaking around, and you’re surprisingly quick on your feet. Plus, if anything goes wrong, it’s always good to have someone who can keep a cool head.”

you stared at him, disbelief etched across your face. “You want me to sneak into the Forbidden Forest with you?”

“Half of the fun, yeah.”

“Absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head, “I’m not risking detention—or worse—for one of your ridiculous fuckin’ schemes.”

Matt’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked even more amused by your resistance, “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? It’ll be fun. You, me, and a couple of others… what could possibly go wrong?”

“Everything,” you shot back, “Everything could go wrong. And I’m not getting dragged into another one of your messes.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into something more genuine, “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you spend an awful lot of time thinking about me.”

You froze, heat rushing to your face, “I do not—”

“You do,” he interrupted smoothly, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “And that’s okay, sweetheart. I’m flattered, really.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but no words came out. He always had a way of throwing you off balance, and it drove you insane

“Think about it,” he said, rising to his feet, “We leave Saturday night. Meet me by the edge of the forest if you change your mind.”

“And if I don’t?” you called after him, your frustration bubbling over

Matt glanced back at you, his smirk firmly in place, “You will.”

and with that, he was gone, leaving you fuming at the table

the Saturday night came faster than you’d expected, and despite every logical argument you’d made to yourself, you found yourself standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, your heart pounding in your chest.

Matt was already there, leaning casually against a tree with an air of nonchalance that made you want to strangle him.

“I knew you’d come,” he said, his smirk lighting up the dim surroundings.

“Don’t make me regret it,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“Oh, you will,” he replied, his tone teasing, “But it’ll be worth it.”

as he led you into the dark, twisting trees, you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d gotten yourself into this mess—again. But one thing was certain: when it came to him, there was no such thing as simple.

the night air was cool, the thick canopy of trees above blocking most of the moonlight as you followed Matt deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Every snap of a twig underfoot felt louder than it should, the silence pressing in around you, heightening your awareness of everything—especially of Matt, walking just ahead, his movements confident and sure.

“So,” you broke the silence, trying to steady your nerves, “What exactly are we doing here? You haven’t exactly given me details.”

Matt glanced over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll find out soon enough.” His tone was teasing, but there was a hard edge underneath it, something that told you he wasn’t entirely joking.

you rolled your eyes but didn’t press him further. The last thing you wanted was to get caught up in one of his games again, but part of you—damn it, part of you—was already intrigued. That damn curiosity of yours had a nasty habit of getting the better of you when it came to Matt.

he led you through the dense forest, your footsteps now muffled by the thick undergrowth beneath. The deeper you went, the more the sounds of the castle faded away, leaving only the occasional rustling of leaves and the faint hoots of owls overhead. Your senses were on high alert, the air around you thick with an eerie tension. You could feel it creeping up your spine.

finally, after what seemed like forever, Matt stopped in front of a small clearing. A large, ancient oak tree loomed at the center, its branches twisted and gnarled like something out of a nightmare. The atmosphere was heavy, and for a moment, you almost regretted following him.

“Alright,” Matt said, turning to face you, “Here’s the deal. I want you to stay here for a bit, keep an eye out. I’m going to check the area around the tree for any… potential problems. If anyone shows up, you’ll need to be the lookout.”

“You brought me out here just to… stand guard? In the middle of the night?”

Matt’s smirk deepened, though there was something darker behind it now, “You’re good at sneaking around, aren’t you? You’ve proven that before. This isn’t a job for amateurs.”

you couldn’t help but scowl at the implied insult, though you had to admit, he had a point. You had been sneaky, both in the library and when you’d stolen the book from his dorm. But you weren’t about to let him get under your skin.

“So,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest, “you’re just going to leave me here while you do whatever shady thing you’re planning?”

“Not exactly,” He stepped closer, his voice lowering, “While I’m out there, you’re going to make sure no one follows us. You’ll be the eyes on the ground, and when I’m done, we can go back to the castle without anyone suspecting a thing.” He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours, “And in return, I’ll consider our… little arrangement settled.”

“I’ve already done more than enough for you,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I know,” Matt replied, his lips curling into a playful grin, “But you’ve got something I want, sweetheart. And you’ll do this for me. Because you don’t want to know what happens if you don’t.”

his words sent a cold shiver down your spine. You hated that you felt the weight of them. Hated that you couldn’t just walk away from this. But despite your protests, you nodded. What else could you do?

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll stay here. But don’t expect me to stick around if this goes sideways.”

“Gooood girl.”

and then he disappeared into the darkness, his footsteps light but purposeful as he vanished from your view.

the clearing fell silent once again, and you were left standing alone in the cold night air, your mind racing. What the hell was Matt up to this time? What kind of trouble was he getting himself—and you—into.

you strained your ears, hoping to hear something, anything that would clue you in. But all you could hear was the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that you were missing a piece of the puzzle.

minutes dragged into what felt like hours. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, trying to stay alert. The longer you stood there, the more uncomfortable you became. Your stomach twisted, and your thoughts raced, replaying every interaction with Matt up until this point. His games. His smugness. That damn pull he seemed to have over you.

you rubbed your arms to ward off the chill, your eyes scanning the shadows for any movement. Nothing. Still nothing. Was this some kind of twisted test? Or was he really just out here checking for threats?

the sound of footsteps broke your focus.

you snapped your head toward the noise, your heart slamming against your ribs. A figure emerged from the darkness, cloaked in shadow, moving toward you with deliberate steps.

you held your breath. Was it Matt? Or someone else? A cold sweat trickled down your spine as you instinctively took a step back, the forest suddenly feeling like it was closing in around you.

“Matt?” you called out softly, not sure if you wanted the answer.

the figure froze. Then, you heard the unmistakable voice of Matt, low and smooth in the dark, “You should relax a little. You’re doing fine.”

you exhaled, almost too relieved to speak, “What took you so long?”

“Just making sure the area is clear,” he replied, stepping into the clearing. He seemed to have been gone longer than expected, and there was something different about his energy now. His movements were a little more guarded, his smirk a little more controlled.

“You didn’t run into anyone, did you?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but your nerves were getting the better of you.

Matt studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “No,” he said slowly, “I didn’t. But I’m starting to wonder if I should’ve brought someone else. You look a little too tense for my liking.”

you shot him a glare, irritated by his usual arrogance, “I’m not some pawn in your little games, Matt.”

his lips curved into a smile, though it was less playful now and more dangerous. “Of course not,” he said, stepping closer, “You’re much more than that. You’re a challenge.”

the air between you felt thick, charged with a tension that made it hard to breathe. He took a step closer, his presence closing the space between you until you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You didn’t move, didn’t step back, despite every instinct telling you to run. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled you in despite everything you knew about him.

you swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as he leaned in, just a little, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t realize it yet,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper, “but you’re already a part of my game, sweetheart. And you’re playing it just the way I want.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, your lips parting slightly in surprise. You tried to ignore the way your body seemed to betray you, heat creeping up your neck, a flutter of something unfamiliar settling deep in your stomach. You didn’t want to be pulled in. You didn’t want to care. But his presence was intoxicating, his proximity making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, you both just stood there, neither of you speaking. His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, and something shifted in the air between you, a promise lingering in the space.

you could feel your pulse racing, could feel the dangerous pull between you, the way he was slowly drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You should move away, you should pull back, but the words were stuck in your throat, and your body felt frozen in place.

Matt was close enough now that you could feel his body heat against yours, his every breath seeming to sync with yours. His eyes darkened as he tilted his head slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his warm breath mingling with yours.

“Don’t tell me you’re not tempted,” he murmured, his voice like silk, dark and enticing, “You feel it too. I know you do.”

you felt it—the electric charge in the air, the undeniable pull. It was maddening, how easily he could make you forget your own thoughts, your own boundaries. His lips were so close. If you just leaned in a little more…

you didn’t know how long you stood there, your heart racing, your breath shallow, but the moment felt like it stretched on forever, thick with uncertainty and temptation. You could feel the weight of the decision, the gravity of what was happening, pulling you down into it.

then, just as you thought you might give in, he pulled back, his smirk returning, though this time it held something more, something predatory.

“I thought you had more sense than that,” he said, his voice low and mocking, as though he’d just tested your limits and found them wanting.

you didn’t know if you wanted to punch him or kiss him, and do whatever intrusive thought you had in your mind. Instead, you took a step back, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control of your emotions.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

he only chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving you, “I always do.”

with that, he turned and began walking back toward the path leading out of the forest, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing, your mind a blur of confusion and desire.

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˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— 3 days in a row slytherin ! matt??? who’s this

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bloodibambiidoll · 6 months ago

Text

The Butcher’s Angel ⟡ Cooper Abbott x Reader ⟡

✬ You go to see your bestfriend after a failed hook up and her dad, who you’re just slightly obsessed with, is the only one home ✬

This one goes out to my shawties @cxrrodedcoffin & @babygorewhore ily sister wives🤍

Warnings: Bestfriend’s dad!Cooper, made up daughter, talk of murder(he’s a serial killer, duh), obsessive behaviors, blood, glove kink, spit, blow job, hair pulling, daddy kink, choking, biting, marking, size kink, reader has tattoos and scars, unprotracted sex, pet names (angel, kitty, etc.) 18+MDNI!

Your fist bangs your best friend’s door for the fourth time and you’re starting to think she isn’t home. Which is odd, considering that her car is in the driveway and as far as you know she didn’t have plans tonight. And you tell each other everything. Which is why you came straight here when the guy you’ve been hooking up with stood you up again. As far as you can tell her dad’s car isn’t here either and you really don’t feel like going home to your empty apartment sad and alone. So you decide to just open the keypad on the garage side door and let yourself in. If she isn’t here asleep she’s probably out with her dumb ass boyfriend and will be back later on. You’ll just wait for her. No big deal. Or so you thought.

Mr. Abbot’s car is in the garage and the door to inside is open and you can hear rustling around in the kitchen. Your heart rate suddenly picks up because if she’s not here and he is, that means you’re alone with him. And you might have the tiniest obsession with your best friend’s dad. He’s just so kind. And handsome. He is so tall and firm, you just know you’d feel small in his thick arms. His smile is warm and inviting and there’s always been a place at his table for you for as long as you and Lina have been friends. And you know he’d fuck you like a real man should. Dominate you entirely and make you his. Especially considering that he was the butcher. You know he has some pent up energy to get out. And you’d love for him to use your body to do just that. You don’t care how sick that makes you.

You didn’t mean to find out. You were snooping around in his room one day when Lina was in the shower, just innocent curiosity. But what you stumbled upon was anything but innocent when you opened a hidden drawer in his wardrobe and found a duffel bag filled with tools and sedatives. It wouldn’t have been that out of the ordinary if it wasn’t for the hidden camera monitor. When you turned it on there was a man in a basement begging for his life. You panicked and quickly put everything back exactly how you found it. Afterwards you sat with the information for days. But in the end you decided not to go to the police. Instead your crush on him grew into obsession. You followed the butcher’s every move through the news. You knew his work schedule from the calendar on the fridge. He didn’t have any social media but that didn’t stop you from staring at the few photos on your best friend’s profile, analyzing every detail of his body.

You’d lay in bed at night and fantasize about him coming home after and kill and fucking you covered in his victims blood. You’ve spent hours dreaming about the way his thick cock would feel stretching you out and how fucking sexy his body would look over yours while he pounded you into the mattress. It was starting to become a problem, he was taking over your every waking thought and even your dreams too. You aren’t sure if you want your best friend to be home anymore. Part of you wishes she won’t be. And it’ll be him, waiting to make all your dreams come true.

You take hesitant steps forward, your platform Mary Jane's squeaking against the cement of the garage floor. When you break the threshold you don’t see anyone at first, it’s only when you step in far enough to get a view of the dining room that you see him. Cooper. He’s sitting at the head of the table with his hands that are covered in black leather gloves folded in his lap, looking toward you with a welcoming smile. One not unlike the ones he gives you any other time you come over. But his eyes hold a hint of something else, there’s a tension there, a slight twitch in the corner that you probably wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t spent hours analyzing the features of his face.

“Oh! Mr. Abbot!” You squeak out as your steps come to a halt, your hand raising in an awkward wave. “I didn’t think you’d be home I was looking for -“

“You think you’re sneaky, but you’re not…” Cooper’s tone is warm but there’s a hint of condescendence there. Like you’re a silly little girl that knows nothing while he knows everything and more. “See, at first I thought maybe my daughter was snooping through my things. And that, that, would’ve been an entirely different disaster. But once I realized it was you. Well, I spent some time wondering what to do with you and looking at you now, I think I finally have an answer to my question…”

“I - I’m not sure what you mean?” Your spine tingles and your entire body shakes in anticipation of his answer.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, sweetheart.” Cooper chuckles darkly, his large hands flexing in the leather gloves causing them to squeak lightly and his boot clad foot starts to bounce slightly on the wood floor. Each move he makes only causes your heart rate to increase. With fear or desire you aren’t sure. Probably both. “I know you got into my bag. You thought I wouldn’t notice? You didn’t think I’d notice the way you look at me like you not only fear for your life but also want me to fuck you like a little bitch in heat? Just like you are right now.”

“Mr. Abbot, I don’t know what you’re -“

“Hush. Stop trying to lie to me. Come here.” His tone remains level and welcoming despite the commanding words on his lips and you can’t help but clench your thighs together when he snaps his gloved hand before pointing a large finger to the ground in front of him. Your legs carry you toward him almost subconsciously as you scurry across the room to stand in front of the man that’s filled all your sickest fantasies for months. You stop a foot shy from him and look down at him nervously with your hands folded in front of you. “You’re so beautiful and so naive. You wanna know how I found you out?”

“Sir, listen, I really didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I was just looking for Lina but if she’s not here right now that’s totally okay! I can just go!” Your words are rushed and you talk exaggeratedly with your hands, it makes Cooper chuckle as he shakes his head lightly.

“I told you to stop lying to me.” He smiles up at you but this one is different from before, there’s a twitch in the corner of his eye and in the tilt of his lips. Almost like one wrong word would make him snap. “Don’t act like you aren’t excited that it’s just us here. I know you are. Do you want to know how I know? Say yes.”

“Yes, sir.” His tone doesn’t hold room for argument so you just nod as you wring your hands together in front of you and sway on the balls of your feet.

“I know because you thought I wouldn’t notice you snooping around in my room and taking my things but you were wrong. I know because I have exactly 8 plain black t-shirts and ever since the day things in my special bag were rummaged around I’ve only had 7. I know because you know my deep dark secret, and have for months now. But you’ve still come over here regularly, you’re alone with me and instead of fleeing you came at my command like a kitten to milk.”

You aren’t sure what to say because he’s right. You did steal one of his shirts and go through his bag. You’ve done things with that shirt that you’d never willingly admit out loud and you’ve spent countless nights mulling over the content of that bag. Cooper takes your silence as a chance to reach out and cover your hands with one of his large gloved ones. And it’s only then do you realize that the black adorning his hands is covered in crimson liquid. Blood. A small gasp leaves your lips but you don’t move from his hold as you look down at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“But my question was, why didn’t you tell anyone? Hmm? I wasn’t positive until right now. But you don’t mind, do you? You’re drawn to this… darkness. If you weren’t you would’ve gone to the cops. If you weren’t, you’d be running right now.” He tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes roam your figure as if he’s contemplating what to do with you. “I thought I’d have to kill you, you know? I was trying to think of the best way to make it look like an accident, to make sure it wouldn’t come back on me. But I think you’ll be far more fun for me alive.”

“Sir…” You’re shaking where you stand, your entire body feels like it’s on fire. But not with fear. Shock and desire fill your very being and crawl into every crevice of your soul.

“God. Do you realize what it does to me when you call me that, little girl? It makes my cock twitch in ways it shouldn’t. Everything about you makes me want you in disgusting ways.” Cooper’s fingers tighten around yours and it causes his hand to brush against your dress slightly, streaking the white material with red. His eyes widen as he lets out a hard breath through his nose. “Take it off. It’s ruined. Take it off.”

“What?” Your jaw drops as you look down at him, did he really just ask you to take your dress off?

“Take. The. Dress. Off.” Cooper growls, the leather covering his hand coming up to grasp onto the material of your dress and pull you the rest of the way close to him. The look in his eyes is crazed as he stares at the red streaking the soft material. “Take it off and throw it in the fire. It’s ruined. The only thing I want to see ruined is you.”

His tone oozes authority and leaves no room for argument. It has your pussy clenching around nothing as your fingers lace through the hem of your dress and pull it over your head before you even fully realize you’ve obliged him. You’re left in nothing but a tiny pink thong, your little white socks, and your Mary Jane’s. The dress flattered your tits perfectly so you decided against a bra. Cooper groans low in his throat at the sight of your body on display for him. You’re even more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. And he’s imagined you, that’s for sure. He’s spent hours fantasizing about what you’d look like all spread out beneath him or with your pouty, glossed lips wrapped around his shaft. He tried to fight it at first, he’s old enough to be your father but in the end that glint in your eye was what flashed through his vision while he tugged the cum from his cock.

“Go throw it in the fire and then come back and kneel before me, angel.” Angel. This isn’t the first time he’s called you that. But this time his voice is dripping with lust and it makes your head spin. You follow his instructions, you walk to the small lit fireplace on the other side of the dinning room and throw your dress into the flames. You get lost watching it get eaten by the fire for a few moments before the sound of Cooper snapping his fingers brings you back to reality and sends you scurrying across the room to him. You hold eye contact with him as you lower yourself onto your knees in front of him where you fold your hands in your lap and good up at him expectantly.

“Look at you. So obedient.” Cooper smiles down at you fondly as he takes you in. The little tattoos littering your body. Your gorgeous tits. The scars on your body that make you perfectly imperfect. He wants to tear you apart even more. But there’s something else that he’s never really felt there before too. The need to put you back together after. He hand grips your jaw causing the blood covering the leather to smear across your chin and you should be disgusted but it makes your core quiver. “So beautiful. Open that pretty mouth for me, angel.”

You obey, just like he knew you would. He’s had you wrapped around his finger for months and you’ve been none the wiser. You weren’t the only one keeping tabs, he’s been watching you too. Waiting for his chance to pounce and now he finally has you right where he wants you. On your knees, with your tongue hanging out of your mouth, looking up at him eagerly waiting to take anything he will give you. His gloved hand grips your chin before he leans down and spits on your tongue. You swallow without even asking and it makes his already rock hard cock twitch when a little hum leaves your lips. Cooper uses his free hand to unbuckle his belt so he can pull his cock out. Your eyes shine like you just found a treasure you’ve been searching years for as you take in the length and thickness of it, a bead of precum dripping down the tip. Cooper’s hand cups the back of your head, smearing red crimson in your hair as he pulls your head down toward his throbbing dick. It’s perfect, if you’re being honest. No guys your age have even come close to this and you know he’s going to ruin you for any other man.

“Yeah, baby, that’s a man’s dick. Why don’t you be a good girl and suck it for me?” You flick your tongue out and lick him from the base to the tip before lightly taking his head in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. You tease the tip a little more before taking as much of him down your throat as you can and swallowing around him. “Oh, fuck, yes, that’s so good. Good little kitty.”

You pull back to spit on his dick before taking him down your throat again, massaging the underside with your tongue. You bring your hand to pump the small amount of him you can’t fit down your throat in time with the bobs of your head and Cooper thinks he might go insane.

He hasn’t felt like he was going to cum from a blow job this fast since he was in his early twenties. Your free hand comes up to palm his balls that are slick from your drool dripping down his cock and it causes him to practically growl. The hand on the back of your head shoves you all the way down on his cock. He fucks your face at a brutal pace, reveling in the way your drool, gag, and moan around him. He fucks your face until he feels himself nearing his end. Cooper grips your hair into a ponytail so he can pull you off his cock and take you in. Your make-up is running down your cheeks and the blood he smeared on your face mixes with the drool dripping down your chin to between your beautiful tits. Your hair is mused from him tugging on it and you’re looking up at him like you’d do any single thing he’d ask. He’s never seen anything more perfect.

“What a perfect mess I’ve made.” Cooper smiles down at you sweetly rubbing his bloodied hand across your cheek a final time before leaning back to pull the gloves off. They squeak as he takes them off his big hands that you’ve spent hours fantasizing about and your eyes may as well have hearts in the center. His hand reaches out to caress your blood free cheek and he glides it down your jaw, your neck and down your shoulder before continuing down to the valley of your breasts. He traces the curves of them before taking them in his hands and squeezing, pulling the prettiest little moan from you. “You’re so fucking soft. Stand up for me, princess.”

You push yourself up off your knees so you can stand in front of him, your head barely reaching the top of his due to the sheer size of him. Cooper reaches out and roughly grabs your hips, pulling you between his muscular thighs. He leans forward to place rough messy kisses on your tits, one of his hands finding purchase on your ass and the other traveling between your legs. His fingers caress the lacy material of your dripping thong and he groans against your chest. Cooper presses his fingers against your clit through the material and rubs firm circles while taking a nipple into his mouth and it has you throwing your head back with a loud moan.

“Oh, baby, you’re so fucking wet for me.” Cooper pushes your thong to the side so he can run his fingers through your slick pussy lips, gathering your wetness. He pulls his hand up, examining the way your juices shine and string together on his fingers in the low light. He takes them into his mouth and you watch his eyes roll back at your taste. “And oh, so fucking sweet. I bet you’re tight too. Let’s find out.”

Cooper’s fingers run through your folds again before he uses two of them to circle your entrance and thrusts them knuckle deep inside of you. He curls them just right while pressing the heel of his palm against your pulsing clit and it makes you feel like you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast. He pumps his fingers in and out of you quick and deep, hitting all the perfect angles. All while switching between firmly grabbing each of your asscheeks and sucking eagerly on your tits. He lands a harsh smack on your ass right as his fingers caress your g-spot and it has white hot pleasure washing over your body.

“Oh my god, oh fuck, I’m cumming!” You whine as your hips subconsciously thrust against his hand while you ride out your high. Cooper fucks you through it, not pulling away until your body starts to go limp. The sight of him bringing his fingers to his lips again and licking them clean like he’s savoring every morsel of your taste makes you dizzy.

“Mmm, next time I’ll have to taste that sweet pussy from the source. But, right now I need to feel you squeezing my cock. Come sit on it.” He leans back in the chair so he can unbutton his shirt and you literally feel a bit of drool drip out of your mouth at the sight of his perfect body. Cooper folds his shirt neatly and sets it on the table and then he pats his thighs as he looks up at you expectantly. You don’t waste any time straddling him on the wooden kitchen table chair with your hips raised slightly. He takes his cock in his hand and runs it through your wet folds before tapping the slick head against your swollen clit. He lines up with your entrance and you surprise the hell out of him by slamming your hips down flush against his, taking him all in one thrust. The stretch burns, but god, the feeling of him filling you up outweighs it tenfold.

“Oh fuck, you’re so big.” You whine and throw your arms around his neck, pressing your bare chest against his broad one. It pushes him deeper inside of you and you both moan at the feeling.

“And you’re so fucking tight.” Cooper growls in your ear before looping one arm around your waist and the other behind your back so he can grip onto your shoulder. He plants his boot clad feet flat on the ground and starts to fuck up into you roughly. You lean down and place messy open mouth kisses on his throat, you latch your lips onto him and start to suck and he grabs onto your hair and yanks your head off of him in response. “No marks. Don’t forget we aren’t supposed to be doing this.” Those words should disgust you, send you running for the door. But the reminder that this is so fucking wrong only makes your walls clench around him.

“Sorry, daddy, you just taste so good.” You whine and look into his normally chocolate eyes that are now nearly all black. His nostrils flare and he yanks your head further, exposing the column of your throat. He latches onto your neck and bites so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if it left a bruise. If that didn't, the way he was sucking on your skin right now was absolutely going to. His brutal thrusts never let up as bites down again before pulling away and planting a gentle kiss on the mark already forming there.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t claim you. You can blame it on one of your little boyfriends, I don’t have that luxury, sweetheart.” Cooper grips onto you tightly as he stands from the chair and manhandles you onto the table on your back. One of his big calloused hands grips onto your throat tightly, pinning you against the wood beneath you. “And I don’t think you know what you just did with that little nickname. You’re never escaping me now.” He chuckles darkly before slamming his hips against yours so hard the table squeaks and threatens to scoot across the sleek wooden floor. The hand on your throat doesn’t let up as he fucks you with reckless abandon. “Say it again.”

“Daddy! You feel so good! I don’t want to escape you! I’m yours! Please keep me!” You aren’t sure if you’re begging for him to fuck you again after this or if you’re pleading for him to not take your life but you think it might be a little bit of both.

“You’re a dirty little girl, aren’t you?” Cooper’s free hand grips onto your jaw, forcing eye contact. “Obsessing over an old man. A killer. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Anything you want daddy, my life belongs to you now.” And you mean it, even if he decides to kill you after this you’d be able to accept that because of how good he’s fucking you right now.

“Oh, you’d give your life to me?” Cooper looks at you almost inquisitively for a moment, like he’s really taking in your words. “That’s just… adorable.”

He smirks at you before leaning down to connect your lips in a brutal kiss. His tongue snakes its way into your mouth and dominates your own, exploring every inch. He’s fucking you so hard now that the table is tilting on its legs and the hand on your jaw snakes between your legs to find your clit. Cooper sucks your tongue into his mouth and your manicured nails scratch down his back causing him to moan loudly around it. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pressing your heels into the fat of his ass to pull him deeper inside you. Your hips raise up to meet his own as you fuck like animals. Cooper’s hand on your throat squeezes so tight it makes you dizzy and when he leans down to bite your lip so hard it draws blood it sends you over the edge. Your pussy convulses around his cock as your nails dig into his back so deep he wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the skin. He wouldn’t mind if you did. At least he could hide those.

“I’m going to fill this little pussy up and claim you with my cum. You’re mine now.” Cooper grips your hips, pulling your body down to meet his unforgiving thrusts as he chases his own high. It doesn’t take long for his cock to twitch inside you as he fills you with ropes of his cum. He grinds his hips against yours until every last drop fills you before looking down at your fucked out form. “You’re an absolute mess, my perfect fucking mess. My good girl.” Cooper hums and his hand comes up to caress your blood and spit covered cheek as he admires you like a priceless painting. “I’m going to keep you. I ought to lock you up so you can’t ever escape me..”

Divider by @anitalenia

#cooper adams #cooper abbott #trap #trap 2024 #cooper adams x reader #cooper abbot x reader #cooper adams x you #cooper adams x y/n #cooper Abbott smut #cooper adams smut #cooper Abbott fanfiction #cooper adams fanfiction #josh harnett #josh hartnett fanfic #josh hartnett smut #Dolly writes

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guilty-pleasures21 · 7 months ago

Text

Halloween special!

Don’t worry, my Jason Todd girlies, I’ve got you covered too!

Credits to @sirencardos for giving me the storyline (p.s. I added a little twist at the end 🤭). Thanks, babe and happy Halloween!

Warnings: none.

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He had to tell you. Well, he had to tell you eventually … He didn’t have to do it right now. His mind ran through all the close calls he’d had in the past year that you’d been dating and his stomach clenched tightly with nerves.

You grin as you sink back onto his sofa, settling in for your weekly movie night, but your features quickly melt into a puzzled frown when you feel something hard beneath your butt. You pull it out and your confusion grows when you see the belt with multiple pouches hanging off it, each one holding a different tool inside.

“Jason?” You hold the belt out to him and tilt your head in question. “What is this?”

You twist the belt around, studying it carefully, then suddenly, your eyes widen in realisation. “Oh my god! Is this-”

“That’s my tool belt!” Jason replies quickly, grabbing the belt out of your hands. “I wear it whenever I’m fixing up my bike. It just makes it easier to grab whatever I need.”

He turns around, shielding the belt from your view, then quickly goes to hide it in his spare room. Shit! How could he have been so careless?! He must have forgotten to keep it away when he’d taken it off after a particularly exhausting mission. What an idiot he’d been! He says nothing more about it when he returns to you and thankfully, you don’t push the subject any further.

You hang your jacket on its usual hook as you walk into Jason’s house, animatedly discussing the drama that had happened at your workplace that day. You’re so focused on your story that you almost don’t notice the creased brown leather jacket hanging off the hook at the end. Almost.

“Jay?” you ask, closing your fingers around the hem and stroking the worn material. It looked … familiar … almost like …

“Oh my god!” you squeal, suddenly realising where you’d seen the jacket before. “This looks just like Red-”

“That’s Dick’s!” Jason lies, snatching the jacket off its hook. He shakes his head and sighs, as if disappointed in his brother. “Can’t believe he left it here again! I swear he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed onto his shoulders. I’ll keep it in my bag so I don’t forget to give it to him when I see him again.”

F*ck! What the hell was wrong with him?! What if you really had recognised the jacket and drawn a connection between him and the vigilante Red Hood?! No, the thought was too terrifying to consider: you were the best thing that had ever happened to him since he’d come back and he couldn’t risk losing you by letting you find out his secret identity.

“Oh, okay.” You deflate slightly, your expression a little crestfallen as he takes the jacket away, but your features quickly light up again when he asks you to continue your story.

“Jason?” Your sweet voice breaks into his thoughts and he looks up to find you looking at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” What had you been talking about? Shit, forget about losing you to his secret alter ego, he’d lose you way before that if he was being a shitty boyfriend. “Sorry, baby, I was just thinking about … this ice cream place I wanted to take you to. I can’t remember the name. I’ll ask Steph if she remembers. What were you talking about?”

He sets his chopsticks down by his plate of sushi and reaches across the table to take your hand in his. The bright smile returns to your face at his revelation that he’d been thinking about you and you repeat what you’d been talking about earlier.

“I was just talking about how much I love Halloween!” you explain excitedly. “I planned my costume out months in advance. I can’t wait for you to see it! I worked really hard on it.”

You squeal at the very thought of your costume and Jason’s lips curl into a smile. He didn’t doubt that you’d put a lot of effort into your costume: he could still remember how detailed your Wonder Woman costume had been last year. You’d really paid attention to all the small things, even getting a lasso that you could press a button on to make it light up! And f*ck, you’d looked so sexy in it that things had heated up between the both of you enough for him to finally confess his feelings for you. “I can’t wait either, sweetheart. You gonna give me a clue?”

You purse your lips in thought, considering his request. Your boyfriend was really smart and he always had a knack for solving mysteries and figuring things out way too early in advance, so even a small clue would probably have him guessing what your costume was within a few hours.

“Nope,” you decide, shaking your head in disagreement. “You’re just gonna have to wait to find out!”

Jason returns your excited smile and you both turn your attentions back to your dinner.

He tapped his foot on the ground as he sat waiting for you to put the finishing touches on your costume. It was your anniversary today, but instead of a date, you’d be going to the big Halloween parade the city liked to throw each year. He didn’t mind, of course - he knew how much you loved dressing up and admiring other people’s costumes - but he’d still gone ahead and gotten you a gift. Jason dug his fingers into his palm as he thought about the helmet sitting in his car, waiting for you to see it: he’d tell you his secret today. That would be his gift to you: his revelation that he was the one and only vigilante Red Hood who prowled the streets at night taking down bad guys. Well … it would be his gift to you if he could work up the courage to show it to you.

“Jay? Are you ready?” you yell at him from your bedroom, the excitement evident in your voice. Maybe he should just get it over with and tell you the truth before the two of you got too involved with one another. He’d had a pretty good track record with Halloween so far, so maybe today was the day he’d finally be honest with you and it wouldn’t backfire on him in a spectacular display of failure.

“Yeah!” Jason calls back, standing up and turning to face you. But maybe he should wait until after the parade: he didn’t want to spoil your fun, after all, and it would be nice to spend just a little more time in blissful ignorance with you before you decided that all the danger wasn’t worth it - that he wasn’t worth it. He pulled another breath into his lungs, then looked up as you walked out of your bedroom. His heart stopped at the sight of you.

“Ta da!” you say, smiling as you proudly display your costume to him. “Isn’t it great?! I decided to go with a mask instead of his helmet, just because I wanted you to be able to see my face, but check out the jacket! It’s, like, the exact same colour as his! And the boots-”

He tuned out the rest of what you were saying, too stunned by the character you’d chosen to dress up as: the f*cking. Red. Hood. You’d dressed up as him for Halloween this year. Ho. Ly. F*ck.

“I just think he’s so cool!” you continue, oblivious to your boyfriend’s sudden moment of malfunction. “He’s my favourite superhero! Well, he probably wouldn’t call himself a superhero, but I think he’s great! He’s just not afraid to bring people to justice when they deserve it, you know?”

You wrap your arms around Jason’s neck, bringing your bodies close together, and fix him with a playful smirk. “Maybe you should dress up as the Red Hood next year. I bet you’d look so sexy in his outfit.”

You stretch onto your toes and catch his earlobe between your teeth, nipping it teasingly, then you lower yourself back down again. You drag your hand down his chest, admiring his broad and hard muscles, and lick your lips appreciatively. “But we probably wouldn’t make it out of the house if you did.”

You give him a suggestive look and Jason feels his entire being melt into a sappy puddle. You would pounce on him if he was dressed as the Red Hood? Drag him into your bedroom and refuse to let him go? Holy shit! This was the best possible outcome he could ever have expected: hell, it was better than anything he could have even dreamed of! It was official: Halloween was the single greatest holiday ever invented.

“Actually, sweetheart, I have something to tell you.” He takes your hands in his and clears his throat as he recalls the speech he’d spent hours preparing. “I … haven’t been completely honest with you. I-”

“Wait!” you stop him suddenly, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Let me guess! You … secretly hate sushi?!”

You grin up at him, mischief gleaming in your eyes, and Jason snickers softly at your joke. “No, I-”

“You’ve been lying to me about your eye colour: they’re not actually green,” you try again, your guess becoming more elaborate. Jason shakes his head and chuckles as a wave of relief sweeps through his entire body.

“No, that’s not it either. I’m actually-”

“You’re actually the vigilante Red Hood and you’ve been hiding your secret from me for the past year because you were afraid that I’d get scared and leave you?” Jason’s jaw drops open in shock as you smile at him softly, a knowing look on your face. What the f*ck?! How the hell …?

“You knew?!” he asks you, eyes wide with disbelief. “The whole time?! Why didn’t you say anything, sweetheart?!”

Your smile widens and you rub your thumbs across the backs of his hands reassuringly. “Because you seemed so desperate to hide it from me, Jay. Every time I tried to bring it up you’d just shut me down and come up with some lame excuse!”

He winces slightly at the truth of your words: his excuses had been pretty lame. But he’d never had someone he’d felt the need to hide his secret from before! Someone he wanted to protect and look after and just enjoy a normal, ordinary life with. He grins at you, all the weight finally lifting off his shoulders. “Sorry. I’m just not used to it, Y/N.”

You raise your hand to his cheek and stroke his skin gently, then you bounce onto your toes again and press your lips to his.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him patiently. “I’m not really used to this either.”

You shoot him a sheepish smile, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “But oh my god, Jace, I was so relieved when I finally figured it out! I was going crazy having all these wet dreams about Red Hood and then feeling so guilty about it after! Honestly, finding out your alter ego was the most … peace-bringing thing I’ve ever found out in my life!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still curled into a stupidly wide grin. “Wet dreams, huh? What kind of dreams, princess?”

You giggle softly as he pulls you into his chest and starts peppering your face with affectionate kisses. “You’ll just have to wait to find out, Jay. You’ve waited this long, right? What’s a few more hours?”

You blink up at him innocently, driving him crazy with anticipation, but he doesn’t push you.

“Fine.” You’d waited this long too, after all, and if the only punishment you were going to give him was a few hours of waiting to pounce you and spend the night ravishing you, then he’d gladly accept it. “Come on. Let’s go show off your costume.”

You laugh as he leads you out the door and down to the street. “Do you like it though? Did I get everything right? I’m not missing anything, am I?”

“You got it perfect, babygirl,” he tells you, swinging his hand in yours as you walk down the pavement. “I actually think you wear it better than I do …”

It was just a quick one, but I hope you guys enjoyed 😋! Happy Halloween/Diwali/Dia de los muertos everyone 🥳!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x oc #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x oc #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood x fem!reader #red hood fluff #jason todd fluff

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xlettex · 3 months ago

Text

Indelible || osamu miya Tattoo Artist Au - Oneshot

You deal in flowers, fleeting and delicate. He deals in ink, bold and lasting. You should’ve known better than to let Osamu Miya linger, but he always had a way of getting what he wanted. And now? He’s got you right where he wants you—under his hands, under his needle, and marked in a way you’ll never forget.

pairing - osamu miya x reader genre - romance-ish, erotica/smut rating - 18+ MINORS DNI chapter word count - 4.0k content warning - slight dirty talk, oral (receiving), fingering, praise, overstimulation

The space smelled like warm amber and sunshine, petals carrying the heady fragrance of summer in full bloom. Even with boxes still unpacked and stray leaves littering the floor, your little flower shop felt alive—vibrant with the hum of something fresh and new. It should have been peaceful.

But then he walked in.

Osamu Miya leaned against the doorway as he had nowhere else to be, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The sharp scent of ink and faint traces of smoke clung to him, a stark contrast to the soft florals that surrounded you. His presence alone shifted the air—made it heavier, warmer, and harder to ignore.

And the worst part?

You could already feel yourself leaning into it.

Osamu Miya was a problem.

A problem with broad shoulders, ink-stained hands, and a way of slipping into spaces that weren’t his.

His tattoo studio, Kitsune Ink, sat just next door, and from the moment you moved in, it seemed like he had made it his personal mission to hover. You’d barely been here three weeks, yet somehow, he had already woven himself into the fabric of your routine.

He showed up almost every day. And somehow, you’d gotten used to it. The most frustrating part? He knew it.

“Ya know,” he drawled, stepping fully into your shop as if he belonged there, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone struggle this much with a shelving unit before.”

You sighed through your nose, glancing down at the half-assembled wooden shelves sitting in a pathetic pile near the window. The instruction booklet crinkled in your fist, a silent admission of defeat.

“It’s not that bad.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound deep and warm, and yet entirely mocking. “Sweetheart, the instructions are still in your hand, and ya look like ya wanna fight ‘em.”

Your glare was half-hearted at best, and Osamu—predictably—did not look even slightly deterred. Instead, he just shook his head, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie before crouching down beside the mess of wood and screws.

You hadn’t asked him to help. You never did. But that never stopped him. First, it was fixing a wobbly table. Then, it was carrying in heavy bags of soil without a word, only tossing you a glance like it was obvious he’d do it. Now, it was the shelves.

Three weeks.

Three weeks of stolen glances, of his steady hands, brushing yours as he passed you tools, of ink-stained fingers grazing your wrist in passing. Three weeks of his scent— smoke, leather, sandalwood, something unmistakably him—lingering in your space long after he left.

You knew this game. You just didn’t know who was going to fold first.

“Why do you keep helping me?” you asked, arms crossed as you watched him make quick work of the shelving.

He didn’t answer right away. He was focused, dark brows drawn together slightly as he secured the base, testing its stability before reaching for another screw.

"Dunno. Maybe I just like watchin’ ya get all frustrated."

He smirked, slow and lazy, his gaze dragging over you from head to toe—a deliberate, unhurried once-over that made your skin prickle with awareness.

Then, just as easily, he looked away. Like he hadn’t done a damn thing. Like he hadn’t just set your nerves on fire.

Your stomach flipped.

Not at his words—no, those were typical, he meant to poke, to tease—but at the way his voice had softened. At how easy it felt to have him here, kneeling in your shop like he fit there, like he fit with you.

You scoffed, reaching blindly for the nearest thing you could grab—a handful of delicate petals from a bouquet resting on the counter—and tossing them at him.

He barely flinched.

The petals fluttered down onto his shoulders, catching in the folds of his hoodie. And instead of brushing them away, he simply tilted his head back to look at you.

Grinning. Sharp. Knowing.

Something tight curled in your chest. The air between you felt charged, expectant, like you were waiting for something—

Or like he was waiting for you to give in first.

But you wouldn’t. Not yet.

So you turned back to your work, ignoring the way his presence still lingered.

A few days passed.

And, just like before, Osamu kept showing up. Every day, without fail.

Sometimes he found an excuse—a crooked sign, a shelf that suddenly needed adjusting. Other times, he didn’t bother with one at all.

And you?

You started waiting.

Not on purpose. Not at first. But when the door stayed closed too long, when the shop felt too quiet, you found yourself listening for the chime. Expecting him.

Today was no different, the shop was bathed in golden afternoon light and the air was thick with the scent of fresh blooms. Your fingers worked carefully, arranging stems into a bouquet—soft pink peonies, delicate baby’s breath, sprigs of eucalyptus. Each piece tucked in with purpose, in perfect harmony.

The task was familiar, something steady to lose yourself in. Until–

The door chime jingled.

You didn’t need to look up.

You already knew who it was.

“You know,” you said without missing a beat, voice laced with dry amusement, “for someone who’s supposed to be a super busy tattoo artist, you sure spend a lot of time here.”

Osamu smirked, entirely unbothered as he strolled in, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Like always, he walked in without hesitation, as if the space were already his.

And maybe, in some ways, it was.

“Strange, huh?” he mused, gaze flicking over the shop like he was only now realizing how often he found himself here. Then, with that signature, lazy grin, he added, “Maybe I just like the view.”

Your fingers fumbled slightly with the ribbon, the slip small enough that most people wouldn’t notice.

Osamu wasn’t most people.

But you covered it quickly, exhaling an exaggerated sigh. “Flirting with the florist now? Didn’t take you for the type.”

He leaned against the counter, tilting his head as his grin stretched wider. “Maybe ’m just tryna get a discount.”

You scoffed. “You don’t even like flowers.”

“True,” he admitted easily. “But ya like talkin’ to me, so I figure that’s a fair trade.”

Your jaw clenched. Heat licked at the edges of your skin—annoyance, you told yourself. Just annoyance. You focused on tying the ribbon, refusing to meet his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He hummed, something close to amusement laced in his tone. “Yeah? And what’s that say about you, sweetheart?”

You stiffened as his voice dipped lower, smooth and measured like he was testing something.

“Not once,” he murmured, “have ya told me to stop comin’ around.”

Your hands paused. Damn him. You opened your mouth—because of course you were going to argue—but then—

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the shop, sweeping in without warning.

The chime above the door rattled against the frame, petals stirred from the counter, and the silk ribbon you had been tying fluttered between your fingers. A warm breeze wrapped around you, tousling strands of your hair, brushing against the bare skin of your arms—

And then—

Your skirt lifted. Just for a second—just enough.

The hem fluttered, the soft fabric riding up a little higher along your thighs before settling again.

His gaze dropped.

Slow. Intentional.

His smirk stilled, his brows lifting just slightly as the fabric lifted—baring a little more of your thigh before it slipped back into place. And then, just as slowly, his gaze dragged back up—

Measured. Unhurried.

Taking in everything—the smooth stretch of your skin, the way the sunlight kissed the bare expanse of your legs, the delicate curve of your hip where your skirt had briefly ridden up.

And then—it hit him.

His smirk twitched, almost thoughtful. He tilted his head, his eyes lingering, searching— Like he was expecting something. Like he was looking for something. And not finding it.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the lack of dark lines. Then, voice low, teasing, edged with something just a little more real than before, he murmured—

“Wait a minute.”

The teasing lilt in his tone was there, but beneath it, there was something else. Something real.

His gaze flicked over your bare arms, the delicate curve of your shoulders, then lower—down the line of your thigh where the warm glow of the afternoon sun kissed exposed skin.

And that’s when it clicked. Something flickered behind his gaze.

“You don’t have a tattoo, do ya?”

His voice had dropped, a little quieter now.

Not mocking. Just curious.

Your stomach flipped. Your fingers twitched around the bouquet ribbon, and for some stupid reason, you suddenly felt bare in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

“What does that have to do with—”

“Holy shit.”

He grinned, really grinned like he’d just discovered something mischievous and fun.

You lifted your chin stubbornly, crossing your arms. “Not all of us like defacing our skin, Miya.”

“Deface?” His voice dipped low, smooth as ink. Dangerous. “That’s a bit harsh, ain’t it?”

You scoffed, but he wasn’t letting up.

“What, ya scared?”

Your fingers tensed. “I am not scared.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower—teasing, challenging. “Mm. Sounds like somethin’ someone scared would say.”

Your glare was immediate, but he just chuckled, straightening up.

“Ain’t a big deal, sweetheart. Just funny, is all.” He gestured vaguely toward his own ink-stained skin, the sharp lines that curled up his forearms and peeked from beneath his sleeves. “You own a shop full of flowers that’ll wilt in a week, but ya won’t let somethin’ permanent sit on your skin?”

You hesitated.

You’d never thought about it that way.

Noticing your silence, he seized his opportunity, nodding toward the black ink marking his own arms.

“Think of it like this,” he murmured, “flowers die.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking between your face and your bare wrist.

“Ink stays.”

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip. You hated that that actually made sense. Still, you lifted a brow. “Aren’t you fully booked?”

His grin softened, just a little—something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice low, warm.

And then, slowly, too casually, he reached forward, brushing a loose petal from your wrist with deliberate slowness, his fingers barely grazing your skin. They should have lifted away. Should have left no trace.

But they lingered. For just a second too long. Warmth spread through you, up your arm, into your pulse, curling deep in your chest.

“For you,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly—just enough for you to catch the amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’ll make room.”

The air between you too thickened.

A pause.

Long enough for your breath to become too shallow, for your pulse to quicken just slightly beneath his lingering fingers. And then—

He leaned in just a little more. Not much. Just enough for you to feel it—the shift, the space between you shrinking, stretching something taut between you.

His voice dipped, smooth, lazy, and entirely devastating.

“So…”

He tilted his head, his smirk downright sinful now.

“…you gonna let me mark ya up, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched.

And Osamu?

Yeah. He noticed.

You should have said no. Should have walked away before this went too far. Before he did exactly what he’d been waiting to do all along.

But you didn’t. And the next thing you knew—

You were in the back room of Osamu Miya’s tattoo shop.

The scent of disinfectant and ink replaced the soft florals of your shop, the steady buzz of a tattoo machine in the next room filling the space between you. Everything about Kitsune Ink felt different—sharper, heavier, a stark contrast to the delicate beauty of your world. Dark walls, bold artwork, and the faint scent of something deep and earthy clinging to the air.

Osamu fit here. Too well.

You were sitting in his chair, his gaze flickering over you like he was figuring something out.

“Still got time to back out, y’know,” he mused, one brow lifted as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that same lazy confidence that had gotten you here in the first place.

You stiffened. “I didn’t come here to back out.”

“Mm.” He didn’t look convinced.

You exhaled sharply, fingers curling against the chair. “I want a flower.”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Predictable.”

His smirk was slow, knowing, and when he spoke again, his voice dipped—low, smooth, just shy of mocking. “If that’s what ya want.”

A pause.

Then, his gaze flicked over you, slow and deliberate. “So, where’s it goin’, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught, pulse fluttering in your throat. And then—

Before you could second-guess yourself before you could stop the words from leaving your mouth—

“My hip.”

A beat of silence.

Then—something shifted. His smirk deepened, slow and knowing, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Like he was making sure he heard you right. Like he was waiting for you to take it back. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“…Yer hip, huh?” His voice was low, a little rougher around the edges.

You swallowed, gripping the arms of the chair just a little too tightly. “Yeah.”

His smirk twitched.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

“Good choice,” he murmured, flicking a switch on the tattoo machine, the soft buzz filling the space between you. The soft buzz filled the space between you.

Your breath stalled. Before, it had just been an idea—a teasing exchange that you could still walk away from. But now, with that unmistakable hum vibrating through the air, it was real.

He noticed.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Didn’t tease. Instead, he let the machine run, his fingers adjusting the settings with practiced ease—giving you just enough time to sit with it.

Letting you feel the weight of the moment.

And then, slowly, too casually, he took a step closer, then another—until he was close enough for the scent of his cologne to wrap around you until your thighs brushed his jeans when he sat down beside you.

“Skirt’s gotta come up.”

Your breath hitched.

The words were so simple, so damn smug, and yet your pulse jumped anyway.

But you refused to react. Refused to let him win.

Lifting your chin, you reached for the hem of your skirt—slow, deliberate—pulling it up just enough to reveal the front of your hip, the soft dip where skin met the waistband.

The lace of your panties peeked out just slightly, delicate against your skin—barely there, but enough.

Osamu didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

But his gaze flickered down—just for a second—before settling back on your face, and you swore you saw something darker behind his smirk.

Something insatiable. Something barely restrained. Like he’d been waiting for this—aching for it. Something that made your fingers curl against the leather seat. And then—before you could process it before you could stop him—

His hands brushed against your waist.

Soft. Deliberate.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat.

He didn’t press, didn’t tighten his grip—just let his fingers rest against your skin, just barely there, warm and steady, as if testing you. His thumb skimmed just above your hipbone, tracing the spot where ink would soon meet skin.

You were sure he could feel the way your breath shallowed, the way your pulse jumped beneath his touch.

His smirk curled at the edges, a little too smug, a little too pleased. His fingers slid just a bit higher, dancing along the sensitive skin of your lower belly. Your muscles twitched under his touch, goosebumps rising in their wake.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Yer so tense"

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Though..." His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. "I can think of a few other ways to help ya...loosen up."

His hand drifted lower, teasing the edge of your skirt. Your breath hitched, anticipation coiling tight in your core.

"You're playing with fire, Miya," you warned, but your voice came out breathy, wanton.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Ain't afraid of the heat, sweetheart."

He nipped at your jaw, teeth grazing just enough to sting, before soothing the spot with his tongue. His fingers inched higher, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt, tracing slow, deliberate circles against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Ya gonna stop me?" His voice was low, thick with challenge, his gaze half-lidded, full of promise.

Your heart pounded, heat pooling deep between your legs. You should tell him to slow down, to think this through. But the words caught in your throat—lost to the pleasure of his touch.

His hand slid higher, higher—until his fingers slipped into your panties, pressing against your slick folds.

A soft moan spilled from your lips, your hips canting into his touch, chasing more.

"That’s it," he purred, teasing, approving, circling your clit with maddening slowness.

His lips found your neck, trailing kisses, biting and sucking a path down to your collarbone. His other hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers grazing over your breast before cupping it fully—kneading, testing, claiming.

You arched into him, lost to sensation, lost to him.

"Osamu," you gasped, barely recognizing your own voice. "We shouldn’t..."

But the rest of the protest melted into a whimper as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, rolling it just enough to make you shudder.

"Shhh."

His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, laving the sting with warm, wet heat.

"Let me make ya feel good."

His fingers picked up speed, rubbing tight, devastating circles over your clit.

Your hips rocked into him, desperate for more, for anything. "Oh god," you panted, head falling back against the chair. "Yes, right there..."

He chuckled against your skin, the sound low, knowing, sinful. "Knew you’d like that."

Then—two fingers, pushing inside you, stretching you open with a slow, delicious drag. His thumb never left your clit, pressing, circling, teasing as his fingers curled, finding the spot that made you gasp, arch, and tremble.

"Fuck, yer perfect," he murmured, voice thick with praise, with intent. His fingers thrust deep, matching the pace of his thumb, building you up, pushing you higher.

"Come for me, baby."

Your climax hit like a tidal wave—crashing, overwhelming, sending pleasure rippling through you. Your fingers scrambled for purchase, grasping at the chair, at him, at anything to keep you grounded.

He worked you through it, prolonging every pulse, every aftershock, dragging out your pleasure until you had nothing left to give. Finally, slowly, you drifted back down, boneless, sated, ruined.

He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

"There now." His tone was smug and teasing, but laced with warmth. "Feelin’ more relaxed?"

You hummed, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "Much."

He grinned, his eyes dark with promise. "’m just getting started."

He leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "And remember," he murmured, voice low and rough, "you gotta be quiet for me, sweetheart."

His teeth nipped at your earlobe, just enough to make you gasp. "Can’t have anyone hearing us, now can we?"

A shiver ran through you, heat pooling low in your belly at the filthy thrill of it. You nodded, biting your lip to hold back any sounds.

He smirked, clearly pleased. His hands trailed down your body, fingertips grazing overheated skin, leaving fire in their wake. He traced the curve of your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist, his dark gaze locked onto you—watching, waiting.

Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them down your legs with a slow, deliberate drag. The cool air against your heated flesh made you shudder.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice thick with want. His fingers slid through your slick folds, teasing, exploring, making you squirm.

"Still so wet." His lips curled into a smirk. "Fingering you wasn’t enough, huh? You need more."

A whimper escaped you, humiliation and arousal twisting together, your cheeks flushing hot. "Please, Osamu," you whispered, needing more, needing him.

He chuckled darkly, dragging the pad of his finger in slow, lazy circles over your clit. "Please what?" His tone was infuriatingly smug. "You want me to fuck you with my fingers again?" A sharp, teasing press against your clit."Or maybe with my tongue?"

You moaned softly, hips jerking up toward him, seeking more, needing more. "Either. Both. I don��t care, just—please."

He stilled for just a second, his smirk deepening. "Been picturing this since the day I walked into that damn flower shop."

The confession sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, a delicious kind of ruin settling in your bones. And then—

He sank to his knees, pushing your legs further apart, spreading you open just the way he wanted. A feather-light kiss, barely there. Then another. Higher. Then another—slower, teasing, deliberate. Higher.

Until—

“Oh!" Your cry spilled out before you could stop it, a sharp gasp as Osamu’s tongue delved into your heat, dragging long, slow strokes through your slick folds.

Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling desperately in his hair, holding him there, keeping him pressed against you.

He groaned against your core, the deep vibration sending shockwaves through your body. His tongue flicked lazily over your clit before circling it with teasing precision, drawing out a shuddering gasp from your lips.

"Quiet," he murmured against you, pulling back just enough for his breath to brush your soaked skin. "Or do ya want everyone to hear what a little slut you are?"

A broken whimper escaped you before you bit down on your lip, nodding shakily.

He chuckled darkly—low, smug, knowing. And then he dove back in.

His tongue worked you over like he had all the time in the world, alternating between long, slow licks that made your thighs tremble and sharp, precise flicks that had your spine arching off the chair.

It was too much and not enough, all at once. Your thoughts blurred, words dissolving as your body moved instinctively, your hips rolling, chasing the friction his mouth offered.

He let you.

Let you grind against him shamelessly, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread open for him—for his tongue, his mouth, his relentless pace.

You were gone. Completely undone. It wasn’t long before you felt it—the sharp, unmistakable coil of pleasure tightening deep in your belly.

"Osamu—" you panted, voice wrecked, breathless.

"I'm gonna—"

But he already knew. He felt it in the way your thighs tensed, in the way your walls clenched around nothing, in the desperate way you tried to press closer as if you could sink into him completely.

He hummed against you, the sensation pushing you right to the edge. Then—a final, devastating suck on your clit.

Your body snapped, pleasure crashing through you in a wave so intense it left you breathless.

He held you down, his tongue never relenting, never slowing, dragging out every last tremor, every last aftershock, until you were left shaking, boneless, ruined. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips still glistening with your release

"Mm.” His voice was low, rough, dangerous. His eyes—blown dark with lust—dragged over you like he was already thinking about the next time.

"You taste so fucking good." He let the words roll off his tongue, slow, savoring. "Could eat you out for hours."

A fresh wave of heat flooded through you. Your body still hummed, oversensitive, tingling from the aftershocks of your release. You barely had time to catch your breath before he straightened, running a lazy hand through his hair.

"Now," he said, his voice back to normal, like he hadn’t just wrecked you. "I believe I owe you a tattoo."

You blinked up at him, dazed, boneless, your mind still too foggy to process what he’d just said.

He chuckled, amused at your expression, before gripping your chin between his fingers and pressing a quick, possessive kiss to your lips.

By the time you registered the warmth of his mouth, he was already reaching for the tattoo machine—the sound of which had never stopped buzzing in the background, masking the sounds of your pleasure.

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu osamu #hq osamu #osamu miya #haikyuu smut #oneshot #tattoo artist au

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corusretails · 9 months ago

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#tool bag #punching bag #asolf hand bags #leather bag #laptop bag #laptop bags #up the baguette #zak bagans #ita bag #qsmp bagi

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armory-rasa · 1 year ago

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COUCH POUCH!! Free Pattern & Tutorial

...called thus because they use upholstery-weight leather for the bag body, that in my case was in fact skinned off a couch. 🤣 Turns out they are relatively quick and easy to make, so I tidied up the pattern for printing and took pictures to document the process when I made another five of them.

First off, print your pattern, 100% scale:

The bag shape was a modified version of the pattern I used for the Morpheus sandbag, but sized to fit in the roughly 11" squares that my couch skin came in. It makes a bag that sits very well on a tabletop, thanks to the flat base.

Though it turned out to not be the most efficient use of material, because that plus-shaped pattern tessellates well, if you're cutting them out of a full hide, but makes a lot of waste when you're cutting them out of squares of material. A more efficient design would have a half-rounded front and back, and a gusset between them, like so:

Ah well. It's not like I have any shortage of couch skin, though for the next round I'm going to experiment with a more efficient pattern.

First step, trace and cut out the bag body from your chrome-tan leather:

Like I said, this was upholstery leather, but anything that's flexible and ~1.5 mm thick will do.

The flap and front need to be a stiffer leather though -- I used 7 oz latigo, but veg-tan would work equally well. (And then you could ✨tool it!✨)

Cut them out, and then use the pattern to mark where your holes are going to be. Mark the holes on your bag body too:

The latigo pieces get hand-stitched to the bag body, so I used a stitching groover to carve out little channels for the thread -- it's not strictly necessary, but it makes your stitches lay a lot more neatly:

Punch the holes shown below:

I used a ~5 mm hole punch for those, and a 1.5" slot punch for the belt loops. Some of the holes on the front piece you're not punching yet, because they need to go through both layers.

I put a dab of contact cement on the pieces (circled in white) to help hold them in place when I go to punch the stitching holes:

(Make sure you're not putting glue between the belt loops)

Wait fifteen minutes for the contact cement to dry until tacky, and then line up the holes and the edges and press the pieces together:

Punch stitching holes:

Saddle-stitch both pieces in place (takes 28" of thread per):

Now you can punch these holes:

(I used a slightly smaller hole punch than for the others, but it doesn't really matter.)

Now press the right sides of the leather together and sew up the seams from the inside:

A regular sewing machine should be able to handle this, though you will need thicker thread, a heavy-duty leather-sewing needle, and a walking foot attachment. (If you don't have a walking foot attachment, it is SO WORTH getting one, even if you don't expect to sew much leather. Seriously, I use it for everything -- once you go walking foot, you don't go back. 💀) Because you can't pin leather without leaving permanent holes in it, tiny binder clips can be helpful for keeping your material lined up.

What they look like when you're finished sewing:

Cut 19" of lacing for the drawstring, and 11" of lacing for the toggle:

I use the 1/8" EcoSoft lace from Tandy, I think it's stronger than real leather would be at that thickness. The only important factor here is that you need something with a bit of texture and friction -- a silk cord isn't going to stay closed, it's going to slip open.

MANY BAGS.

For these I used a wooden toggle -- cut another 8" of lacing, looped it through the toggle twice, and then made a tight square knot on the back:

But another option is putting a concho or a large button on the flap. The bag I copied this design from, in fact, uses a concho toggle:

Thread some beads on the laces to keep the ends from getting lost, and you are DONE! 😁

Happy Bagging!

#instructional #tutorial #couch pouches #liveblogging projects #leatherworking

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after-the-end-times · 1 month ago

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Collars Don't Come From Hot Topic

Rating: M 🖤 Words: 1,630 🖤 Tags: Accidental Subspace, Non-Sexual Subspace, Established Realtionship, Established Dom/sub dynamics, Future fic - 90s, Steve takes care of Eddie @subeddieweek Day 3 Prompt -Accidental Subspace Ao3

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Eddie was working on a short story when Steve got back from his weekly trip to the mall with Robin.

Every week they would get to the mall before it opened to walk with the old people; they got to have a specific time set aside to chat and Steve was able to make sure Robin was getting some exercise.

"Got you something!" Steve sang out, swinging a black bag toward Eddie.

"Oooh, I love getting stuff! Gimme!" Steve plopped the bag on the table beside his notebook, white jagged lettering on the bag, Hot Topic.

He dumped the bag sideways, a black band of leather sliding out, a choker.

"I saw it and thought it'd go with a lot of what you wear. There were different ones, but the leather would go with your jacket and the silver matches your rings! The girl who checked us out said it was a good one."

"Looks cool, I like it!" Eddie took it off the cardboard and held it up to Steve who took it as Eddie pulled his hair out of the way. "Buckle it for me?"

From behind, Steve lifted it over his head, placing it snug against his throat. He'd seen a lot of people wearing these lately, mostly punks and goths, but for Steve he'd wear it happily.

"How's that feel?" Steve asked, hooking a finger between the necklace and Eddie's throat. "Not too tight?"

Eddie tested it out, moving his head around, breathing deep.

"Nope, feels good. Thank you for thinking of me." He tilted his head back, Steve leaned down a peak a kiss to his lips. Eddie grinned mischievously, "Especially, since I know how you and Robin get when you're in gossip and chat mode."

Steve laughed and booped Eddie's nose. "Never too caught up to remember you, babe."

Eddie grinned, a blush gently heating his cheeks. He glanced back to his notebook and back up to Steve, "So, what was on your List of Housework to get done today, on this fine Saturday?"

"Need to mow and then prune back the bushes that have gotten a little too out of hand. You wanna help?"

Normally, Eddie didn't do much of the yard work, unless something was a two man job, but today felt different. "Sure."

Surprise flashed across Steve's face for a moment, before splitting into a grin. "Great! You can hold the lawn bags! Dumping the grass is a bit easier with an extra set of hands. Grab your gloves from the tool closet and meet me out front."

Steve left out the side door, heading for the mower in the shed. Eddie stood, moving to grab his gloves without a second thought.

He met Steve out front, who handed him two lawn bags, "Open one of these. I dump out the mower's bag twice for the front yard, so just stand here and I'll bring it to you."

Eddie nodded and worked on opening the bag, which turned out to be a little more difficult than he realized, ending up halfway inside the bag before bringing it down in front of himself.

Steve had already gotten the mower running and was two back and forth's into the yard.

And Eddie waited.

It was a nice day out, warm with a slight breeze, comfortable even in the shade of the house.

Steve finished half the yard and unhooked the bag from the mower, carrying it over to Eddie.

"Alright, open it up. I need to get this bag fully into it so nothing falls out." Eddie followed the directions, hooking the paper bag around the mower's bag. "Good. Might want to cover your mouth and nose with your shirt, the grass can go flying."

Eddie held the bag with one hand, pulling his t-shirt over his nose with his other.

"Good. Don't want your allergies acting up, baby. Alright, there we go. I'll just get the rest of the yard, then we can go to the back yard, yeah?"

Eddie nodded, standing beside his bag, holding it so it wouldn't dump.

Steve walked back to the mower, glancing back at Eddie quizzically, giving him a little wave. Eddie smiled back.

And he waited.

The wind whispered across his skin, feeling cool and refreshing. The birds chirped in the trees around him.

Steve finished the yard, pushing the mower over to Eddie, they repeated the earlier process, before heading to the backyard.

The back was technically bigger, but over the years they'd laid gravel and bricks to make a fire pit area and deck space, so there was about the same amount of grass to mow as the front.

Steve asked Eddie to open the bag and Eddie did.

Steve pointed to a shady space by their shed Eddie should stand to be out of the sun and Eddie did.

Steve mowed.

Eddie waited.

"Baby?" Hot hands slide up his jaw, cupping his face. He blinked. Steve was standing before him. "Hey, there. You back with me?"

Eddie blinked at him.

"Ok, that's ok. Let's go inside, get some water. Worked up quite a sweat out here. Come on."

Steve turned him toward the house, placing a heavy hand on his lower back to guide him to the door.

Inside, Steve sat him back at the chair he'd been writing in earlier.

Eddie watched as he stepped over to the cupboards, pulling out two glasses, then grabbed the pitcher of cold water from the fridge, setting them on the table near Eddie.

Steve sat beside him and poured the water, holding a glass up up Eddie's lips. Eddie blinked at him once before his eyes slipped closed and he drank the water Steve slowly tipped for him.

Steve set the glass aside once he finished it all and took Eddie's hands in his, rubbing the backs with his thumbs. Eddie took a deep breath.

Thoughts were flitting around his mind, too quick to grab on to. He tilted his head questioningly.

"Baby, I think you slipped into your floaty headspace while we were working."

Eddie's eyebrows pinched in confusion.

"Think it might've been the choker. I can take it off, maybe that'll help?" Eddie whined, jerking a hand from Steve's to cover the front of the choker, eyes wide with worry.

"Ok, ok, that's fine, baby. You can keep it on." Steve held his hand out, Eddie placed his back in it, Steve continued to rub the backs. "Don't worry, I'm not taking it from you. Just wanna take care of you. Why don't we take a little break from yard work? Come on, I'll put a movie on."

Steve stood, holding Eddie's hands so he'd follow with him. He sat Eddie on their couch, going over to pop a movie in, and then sitting back beside him, wrapping an arm around him.

As the movie played, Eddie's thoughts became a little firmer. He tilted his head to look at Steve, who felt the shift and met his eyes.

"Hi." His voice felt hard to push out. He rubbed his cheek on Steve's shoulder.

Steve slid his hand into Eddie's hair. "Hey there, babe. You coming back to your body a bit more?"

Eddie hummed, mmhmm.

"Good, that's good. You hungry?"

Eddie thought about it, tilting his head and pursing his lips so Steve would know he was thinking about it. He nodded and hummed out a uh huh.

"Alrighty. Let's pause this and go make something. Come on." Steve stood, holding out his hand for Eddie to take, and then pulled him up.

Accident or not, Steve used a tad too much strength and Eddie stumbled, falling into Steve's arms. He giggled, smiling up at Steve. Steve grinned back.

They walked into the kitchen hand in hand. Steve stood Eddie against the counter where he could keep touching him while he made them something to eat.

They sat back in the living room with their food and the movie playing. Little by little, Eddie felt more solid. By the time the movie ended and their empty plates sat on the coffee table, Eddie was able to think again.

He turned to Steve, speaking low, "Do you really think it was the choker?"

Steve turned sideways on the couch to face him. "Yeah, babe, I do. It's the only thing that makes sense. I was thinking about it and it is kinda like a collar collar, you know? I know we decided that a collar wasn't something we were interested in, but...maybe we should rethink that."

Eddie nodded. "Yeah. I mean, maybe not immediately, though? This seemed to work pretty well."

He touched the front of his choker gently, just his fingertips brushing against it.

Steve smiled at him. "Ok, not yet then. However, if we want one for an actual, harder scene, we're going to look at the proper collars, ok?"

"Yeah, ok, sounds fair." Eddie nodded and then hesitated, looking down as if he could see the necklace. "Can I keep this on, though? For today at least?"

Steve leaned over, smiling, and kissed him gently. "I bought it for you, it's yours. You wear it as long as you're comfortable."

Eddie smiled back, leaning in, asking for another kiss which Steve happily gave him.

"Can we watch another movie?" Eddie asked, guilelessly, knowing they still had yard work to do.

Steve laughed at his blatant attempt to get out of going back outside. "Yeah, babe, let's watch another. You pick this time."

Eddie hopped up excitedly, feeling rejuvenated after floating away for so long. He popped in a movie, swung by the chair to grab the blanket, and plopped back down against Steve.

At some point they would need to talk and reassess their dynamic and interests, but that was for another day.

Today was for yard work and movies.

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#steddie #subeddieweek #steve x eddie #I guess I have a writing tag now #sub eddie munson #sub eddie week #dom steve harrington #ficlet

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