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naburi · 2 months ago

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OPEN THE DOOR, YOU CHEATER

YUNA X READER - FT. EUNBI

TAGS: CHEATING, DRUNK, MOUTHFUCK, DEEPTHROAT, UNCONSCIOUS

2.3K WORDS

Being in your early 30s, you only need two things in your free time:good sleep and great sex. Late night in your hotel room, what you're seeking for is the latter. You are with your ex, Eunbi, who knows how to please you in more ways than your new girlfriend. Suddenly, a loud banging was heard, “Open the door, you cheater!”

“Open the door, damn it!,” she knocks aggressively. You and Eunbi didn’t mind the knocking at first as you are both consumed by the moment. You’re pounding her from the back, facing the open balcony, cold breezes enter the room contrasting the heat of your bodies. You’re holding her pony tailed hair, mouth open as she moans in rhythm of your pounding.

“Is that Yuna?” You turn your head to the direction of the door. Eunbi, still on all her fours, still panting, looks in the same direction. She couldn’t care less if your new girlfriend found out about you two seeing each other again. As far as she knows, she is just claiming what hers. She was your long-term girlfriend before you met Yuna, busy schedule and pointless arguments are the reason why the two of you grew apart. It doesn’t mean that your bodies weren’t longing for one another.

“Let’s go, do as I say,” you calmly say to her while you get her worn dress, small bag and high heels, not wanting to leave any evidence. You hold her hands going to the bathroom, you turn on the shower to abruptly clean your sweating body. Eunbi is leaning her fat ass at the countertop, digesting what is happening. “Why are we even hiding? I don’t give a fuck about her” she blurt out, now looking at her reflection, knowing no one can compete against her busty body. You put the towel around your waist after wiping your body, ignoring her remarks. Your girlfriend may not reach the same level of pleasure your ex gives you but you love her. She gives you the peace that Eunbi can’t give you.

“Don’t open the door unless It’s me, I’ll talk to her,” you instruct your ex to lock herself in the bathroom while you deal with your furious girlfriend. Naked and tired. Eunbi doesn’t agree with your plan but she knows she is not in the best condition to confront Yuna. You tried to give her a kiss before walking out, but she turned her head, avoiding you.

“Babe! Why are you here? I’m taking a shower when you knock,” you opened the door with your upper torso exposed, only wearing a wrapped towel in your lower half. You tried to give her an oblivious smile hoping that she would fall for it. “Do you think I’m a fool?” Yuna runs over you, her small frame moves you out of the way with aggression. You smell her breath with a stink of alcohol but she just walked fast towards the large bedroom.

“WHERE IS THAT DUMB BITCH?!” She blurted so loud, you just knew Eunbi heard that and is fuming with what Yuna just called her. She inspected the bedroom, removing the blanket, opening the wall closets, sweeping long curtains out of the way, even going out of the balcony. Your girlfriend is now taking heavy breaths, her face turns red as she gets more furious that she can’t seem to find even a trace of your ex.

You’re hoping that she finally stops checking in your unit as there’s only one place to look for: the bathroom. Both of you look eye to eye for a moment as Yuna also has the same realization as you. She rushed towards the bathroom, aggressively twisting the door trying to get to the woman inside. She knocks so aggressively, you’re hoping the door won’t fall off. “OPEN THE DOOR, YOU CUNT,” she said while continuing her rampage against the door. Eunbi is standing in front of the other side. Eyes glued to the door as she contemplates if she gives what your girlfriend is looking for. Her fists are clenched, while different possibilities are going through her mind. Should she drag the girl by the hair and fight her in the bathroom? Should she push the girl out and drag her through the unit? With Yuna’s aggressive state, while she’s still recovering her strength due to just having sex, Eunbi knows her chances of being on top of this brawl is slim to none. The door keeps getting slammed by the skinny girl, your ex thinks she just needs to find a way to outweigh the girl, pinning her down the floor.

Eunbi finally reached for the door knob but the slamming stopped. “I-I’m glad that you’re here,” you hug your girlfriend from behind as you try to talk your way out of this mess. You hold her two arms crisscrossing it in her body. Yuna took a huge breath. She leans back onto you “Someone says you get in the elevator with her,” she said softly, tears starting to form on her eyes as she’s trying to get a hold of her emotions. You hug her tighter as tears start to run down her face. “Who told you that? They are just Jealous of our relationship.” You met Yuna when she’s just a newbie in your company while you’re a Manager in a different department, thus the management didn’t interfere with your relationship. There’s still people who don’t like the two of you dating. They think your girlfriend will use you to move up the ranks. You know that you don’t need to pull strings as Yuna is one of the best performers in the company. Everyone is labeling her as just an Eyecandy in the company but her efforts and resilience can be seen in her work.

You sway your girlfriend towards the bedroom as you’re still hugging her tightly. You guide her to sit on the edge of the bed, excusing yourself to get her some water. Before you turn your back, your girlfriend holds your hand. Not saying a word, Yuna looks at you signaling that you sit beside her. It breaks your heart to see her teary eyes. You are about to sit beside her when you cup your face with two hands. She moves your head towards her, kissing you hurriedly, you can still taste the alcohol she drank tonight. She told you this morning that they will celebrate her colleague’s birthday, in a bar a few minutes away from your company building. The tinge of alcohol sets the mood of your make out session. From hurried kissing to hungry and passionate ones. You are also holding her face in place as the two of you exchange kisses like you haven’t seen each other for a year.

Yuna pulls down your towel, revealing your semi-hard cock. She pulls away from your lips, putting her attention in your hardening cock. “Sit,” your girlfriend said. The tipsy woman is now kneeling between your legs, her one hand is caressing your cock while she’s looking up at you giving you a drunken gaze. Her hot breath gives you chills when it runs through your cock. Not even licking your tip, she starts to engulf all of your shaft in her mouth. Your girlfriend always has a hard time, deep throating your cock thus it makes you wonder why she’s trying to swallow all of it from the get go. She starts gagging as you feel your tip move past her mouth down to her tight throat, gagging sound is coming from her but your cock is still getting deeper in her. A bulge in her neck can be seen as your thick cock is expanding her throat. This made you moan, surprise at the new found tightness. You felt Yuna’s nose hit the base of your cock as all of your shaft is inside the teary girl. Yuna’s eyes swell up even more as she tries to hold her position for a moment, wanting her throat to get used to the size of your cock.

Yuna left out a loud gagging sound as she pulls her head away from your cock, a thick saliva pours out of her mouth and some strings of it are still attached to your cock. Your girlfriend is looking at you, wanting to satisfy you more. She put your cock in her mouth in the same movement but now with certainty. She is trying to deep throat your cock again like she just did before. “Y-yuna-na,” you left a long moan as you felt her tight throat again, she repeatedly hit her face in the base of your cock signaling that she would swallow all of your cock inside her. She hit the base of your cock faster than the last, building a rhythm of your thick cock moving in and out her wet mouth.

Tears start to pour down in her eyes running her makeup. Your cock is glistening with her saliva, she keeps bobbing her head deep throating you. “Yu-Y-Yun-na,” you can’t compose a coherent word as you are repeatedly overwhelmed by the tightness of your throat. The tip of your cock gets compressed the further it moves deep within her. Despite her messy look, she still keeps up the pace with resilience as she wants to keep swallowing your whole cock. The look of her ruined face turns you even more thus holding her hair in a ponytail style. You bury your cock faster than she could take. This surprised your girlfriend as evident in her wide eyes. You didn’t try to be gentle with her as she stands up to get a better angle, you start to pound her face with all of your cock. Yuna’s eyes are turning white as her jaw is getting stretched open with your pounding and her throat keeps getting destroyed with every thrust you make. You can hear a muffled plop sound every time you reach her throat. Moans are coming out of her mouth as she’s gets turned on by how hard your fucking her mouth. She wants you to use her, and used her you did. You fasten your pace as her messed up face looks like it begging to get her mouth fucked even more. A continuously loud gagging sound coming out of her mouth as your fucking her mouth like it’s made to get used like this. Yuna’s face turns pale as she’s having a hard time breathing with your thick cock ramping down in her throat. She tried to hold her breath as much as she could as she wanted you to mess her mouth up. Your girlfriend taps your thighs signaling you that she needs to take a breath. A loud wet pop was heard as you finally pulled your cock out. Yuna catches her breath fast before positioning her head hanging down on the edge of the bed. Your girlfriend is laying flat on the bed while her head is hanging and wants you to fuck her mouth again.

“Use my mouth more,” she said with eagerness. You didn’t have to get told what to do as you positioned your cock in front of her head. Yuna’s tongue reaches for the tip of your cock, can’t wait to get fuck in the mouth again. You find her eagerness hot, you hold your cock to give her tongue a few slaps, teasing the eager girl. She caught your cock with her mouth and sucked it like she can’t live without it. This action from her made you thrust your cock deep in her throat again. This time is different, you can properly see how deep your cock is in her throat as your cock bulges out of her neck. “Yuna!” You called her name as you trying to fuck her mouth as hard as you could. You are determined to destroy her throat tonight. You keep pounding her while you observe the bulge form every time you put it in and how it deflates back as you pull your cock out.

Your girlfriend has just become your personal cock sleeve. From having a hard time to ducking your cock to face fucking her. Your girlfriend has made progress in pleasuring you. Her body has a potential for a great sex but her inexperience has been evident when you can compare it with your ex performance. She might not be able to give you the same experience as Eunbi does but Yuna gives you new found experiences. You now hold her head to ready it for a harder pounding. You fuck her face in a long and deep rhythm, her body rocks back with every time you pound her. Yuna’s tight throat has been getting used to your size as it comforts your cock perfectly. Your cock twitches, signaling you are near. You hold her neck while your other hand stays holding her head. You fuck her face deep as you want to explode deep in her throat. “Yu-na-a,” you called her name once more as long spurts of cum pours deep in her tight throat. You left out a long groan as you kept unloading cum inside her.

You pull your cock out of her as a combination of her saliva and your cums drip out her mouth. Yuna coughs up some of your cum but her eyes are still closed. She curled up on her side, asleep. “Yuna? Yuna!” You get worried that you knock your girlfriend unconscious due to mouthfucking her. You tried to wake her up by shaking her shoulders. “I need to submit this before the deadline!” Your asleep girlfriend blurted out. You realized that she’s your girlfriend is already dreaming, and she’s dreaming about work? You chuck as you find it hilarious.

The sound of a closed door shifts your mind back to Eunbi. You open the bathroom to look for her but there’s no trace of your ex.

End of part 1.

#k pop smut #reader smut #itzy smut #eunbi smut #yuna x reader #itzy x reader #yuna smut #yuna #shin yuna #itzy

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tongue-like-a-razor · 9 months ago

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Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

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theorist-fox · 3 months ago

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Fair trade

John Price x Reader

Cross posted from AO3.

This one shot deals with heavy topics such as emotional manipulation, emotional abuse from family, and self-objectification.

I'm begging you to read the tags before pursuing the story. Thank you so much for taking care of yourself first. 🦊

If you're looking for some aftersex comfort, recommending this by @/karlachismylife. 🧡

Summary: John helps you out of the toxic pattern your family has woven around you, and finds how utterly gorgeous you are behind it. He cuts your strings, and loves you the way you deserve.

18+

Word count: 10k CW: smut (cunnilingus, blow jobs, sex seen as a form of self-harm, sex seen as a way to feel useful), heavy angst, hurt/comfort, dubcon if you squint.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“No, we can’t come over, darling.”

To have a life planned out must be a dream. No worries nor fears, because everything is already outlined—a step-by-step guide, given to you at birth. A path, a purpose.

To give is your purpose.

It’s been ever since before you hit the eighteen mark; the birthday being only a threshold that signed your legal independence.

But you’ve always been, haven’t you? Shadowed by bigger problems ever since you were a small thing because there wasn't trouble that mattered less than you did.

The difference being that before you were shielded by your naïveté, by the bleeding heart they’ve carefully built for you, so you’d bend and break pliantly, even willingly at times, without ever realizing.

Now you're an adult, they'd implied.

Now they can use you at your full potential, and you won’t even put up a fight. You won’t set boundaries, because this is all you’ve ever learned. This is all they’ve ever taught you. Their perfect mold, kneeling in perfect obedience.

But how much can one take in a lifetime?

“Thanks for the help, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

But staring at the phone won’t make it ring.

When you’ve never had a moment for yourself but plenty of time to dedicate to others—where do you draw the line of this so-called purpose, then?

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“It’s next week, mum.”

“Oh. I must have mixed it up.”

This goal—this agonized prize, towering at the finish line you’re desperately running to, the one defined by your family the moment your first cry pierced the air—what is it, exactly?

It’s a cascade of praises. It’s a shower of love that reawakens you from your torpor like a bucket of ice-cold water. It's abrupt but somewhat needed until it slowly becomes fresh instead of freezing, and it hydrates your skin and soothes the thirst. You feel rejuvenated, coming out of your lethargy, and alive and thriving and—

It stops.

Your fifteen minutes of unbridled, limitless love just snatched away in spare seconds.

And you’re parched again. Sometimes, they leave you wanting until you’re on your knees. Sometimes, they never give it back.

And so, the questions arise—what happens when you’re not needed anymore?

What happens when the calls plummet?

When the visits diminish until there are none?

When you're a ghost haunting your own life because your purpose is slowly vanishing. When that prize stands in the distance as a rushing fountain of praises and kindness, but you've already given a hand, an arm, your legs, your voice, your heart. What then?

How do you move, exactly, if there are no limbs to which attach the strings? How will you speak, if they’re not shaping your voice?

How does your puppeteer lift you from the floor? Your ventriloquist—how will it force you to agree to every demand?

“You... met without me?”

“Sweetheart, we thought you were busy.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“You would’ve said no.”

But you wouldn’t have. You’re not even sure you can say ‘no’ to them.

Is there someone who will hoist you up, when you’re nothing more than a torso, and take you to the finish line?

“Uh, darling, mind calling later?”

“I’m not feeling fine, I was hoping—“

“I’m busy, love.”

A therapist for your mum.

A crutch for your dad.

An advocate for your brother, but you’re no one to them.

A child, once. A person, now.

A notification on their phone. A Google reminder of a birthday.

A missed call. An excuse.

A vacant shape in a family photo. A memory, then nothing.

Raised to serve. But what happens when there’s no one to serve?

“What you’re doing to me is not fair.”

“I don’t like that attitude. Don’t forget how much we did for you.”

Your hands are tight around the steering wheel. White knuckled fists and creaking leather. The car smells of stale tobacco, cigarettes you’ve smoked with your offhand limp out of the car window, then stubbed in the portable ashtray.

"We love you, of course we do. How could you ask that?"

It's raining but your window's rolled down, a ciggie snug between two fingers. Elbow propped on the car door, arm hanging out. The sleeve of your sweater is soaked, and the cigarette is sodden. You don't even notice it when you bring it to your lips and take a drag. Nothing fills your lungs.

It’s fine.

It's a habit. It's autopilot. You go. You exist.

“It really doesn’t feel like it. You haven’t called in weeks.”

“It’s just—we’re people too. We’re busy.”

“You’re not busy for my brother.”

“He’s—you’re different, darling.” You’re used. We’ve consumed you.

It’s a feeling of emptiness that spills out of every hole like heavy smoke, clouding your senses. A husk that billows dark tendrils from its eyes, moves mechanically like an alien imitating a human being.

It's fake. You're a dummy. Unhuman. A thing.

“I just need your help. I—I’m not fine. I’m not asking for much. Just an evening toge—”

"So much is happening right now. You can deal with it on your own, love.”

You close the car door once you've parked it in the garage. Up the stairs you go, dragging your feet on every step.

“Like you’ve always done.”

Would this world exist even if you weren’t in it? Would these stairs lead to your apartment, if you didn’t inhabit it?

Is your flat even yours? Sure, you’ve paid for it. The party you threw after your signature was placed on the contract is still a cherished memory.

But what were you even celebrating? Four walls. A roof over your head. A bed to kip.

It’s a lot, you’re aware. Not everyone can say they own all that. But do you?

They’re things. Can you own things?

Surely, you are owned. By them.

But you’re not even sure you need things. You can’t need, because things don’t need. And what are you, if not a thing? Because things are used, not humans. Humans fight back, eventually. Humans hold their pride dear, it's the only character that separates them from animals, from meat. You never bit back, not once. So what does that make you, if not theirthing?

Your purpose is not a choice you made, it’s theirs. You have to give—that is why they made you.

You own, so you can give them.

You earn, so you can give back.

Because who’s given you a roof when you couldn’t afford it yourself? And the food in your belly?

Darling, it wasn’t for free. You were expensive to raise. You were costly to craft, to mold, to perfect.

But they haven’t called. No one has. No one will.

The master left the strings—and what of you, now? Do you just lie limply on the floor, waiting for the next hand that'll hoist you up?

And if they don’t call to ask from you, how do you know you’re doing fine? How do you know if the finish line is close when they took your eyes already? How do you ask for help, if you don’t have a voice?

But that was the point. Their goal. They own you, and without them, you’re nothing but a heap of wood, infested with termites. Wooden rods on the floor, nylon strings cut short. You’ll grovel and beg, they’ll croon at you in mockery, bleeding you dry, but it will be enough for you—anything would be enough for you.

You unlock the door. John hears and his head peeks from the kitchen.

“Hi love,” he rumbles, and you feel it shaking your heart.

Does he need you?

John Price is a captain of the special forces who has gone through hell and back. He's witnessed things you've only heard from the mouths of journalists or read in black-and-white papers, and he came out of each one of them unscathed. Strong. Resilient.

He doesn’t need you.

“Sortin’ out dinner,” he adds, and returns behind the wall that separates the living room from the cooking area. “You’re gonna love this pasta, I’m telling you.”

Of course, he doesn't need you.

The house is pristine. He takes care of it while you’re at work since he’s off deployment. He’s going to be home for a while now, a handful of months. That’s a good thing, you miss him when he leaves.

It’s you who needs him. But you can’t need, so how does this work, exactly?

How do you explain that hole in your stomach that relentlessly craves to be filled? That makes you want to curl on the floor. Turn into dust and seep through the cracks of the hardwood.

Disappear. Invisible. Paper-thin.

Because maybe you're tired of being needed. Perhaps you want to break through that mindset and start needing something.

You chastise yourself for even concocting the thought.

You stand stock still at the door. You hear nothing but the blood rushing in your ears and John moving pans around the kitchen.

You see his head at the doorway again.

“Love?”

Your eye twitches, but you don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you. Then why is he here?

There are plenty of people out there who’d love to bend for him. Mouths he can kiss. Holes he can fill.

That’s what people are, no?

No. That's what you are.

You’ll make him need you. You’ll show him that you’re fundamental, not just another hole. That you cannot be replaced, because you can't afford to lose him. You can't.

It’s selfish, it is.

You cannot be selfish, it’s not what you were taught. But you will. Just today, just now. The first apparent tear into the careful pattern threaded by your family.

But it's not really a hole, is it? If you're carving it to escape a trap, only to fall back into another one of your own making.

You hurriedly toe off your wet shoes and walk with purpose to the kitchen, dropping your bag on the floor as you do. He quirks a brow at you and your silence, but his face soon morphs into sudden confusion when you come to stand in front of him and drop to your knees.

You know how to do it—how to make people smile.

Your empathy is unmatched. You read people's tics, their quirks. Gauge them from the way they move their lips, the words they use, the way they look at you.

And John—oh, he loves how you work with your mouth.

And if he needs your mouth, then by extension, he needs you.

Your hands palm his thighs as you flutter your lashes up to him. He's forced to lean back against the kitchen counter, but he's not looking at you the way he usually does—not with his lidded blue eyes, heavy and wanton.

John looks dubious instead. Even flinches when you press your cheek to the crotch of his jeans, stroking the fabric to your skin. Denim’s rough, and it especially hurts when the plump of your cheek catches the zipper’s teeth.

Good.

Let him take. And let it hurt.

“What’s goin’ on." He states, doesn't ask.

Please, take.

You’re already working through the button and the zipper when you answer, fingers shaking as you do. “I wanna suck your cock.”

Now, John wouldn’t normally complain, but you sound much different from the other times in which you actually do want to suck his cock.

He hums, allowing you to palm him through his briefs, gently but firmly pressing your hand where he’s still soft. You nose him through the cotton, flattening your tongue against his dick—you can feel it twitch under the muscle. Good, means his body is responding how you want him to.

His hands curl painfully tight around the lip of the counter.

It’s so silent except for your heaving breaths warming up his length and the buzzing fire on the stove.

You place tender kisses as you feel him harden under your lips.

He's looking at you to try and gauge the reason behind all this. It's clear to him that you're not being your usual self, there is something in your eyes that tickles him in the wrong place. You know he knows—you know he's gathered something's wrong. He’s ever so attentive, capturing every minimal change in the wrinkles of your face.

You're so akin to him when it comes to that.

You don't give him time to ponder for long, though. You take his cock out of his briefs and force it into your mouth.

John knocks his head back against the cupboard and fixes his eyes to the ceiling, wide open. A heavy breath leaves him languidly. His cock chubs up as it sits heavy on your tongue, and you can feel it fill up your mouth.

“Christ.”

Yes. It’s what you want, to hear him lose himself in you.

You start slowly, pumping your hand at the base along with the movements of your lips, mindful of keeping your teeth out of the way. Tilting your head sideways, you let the tip of his cock push against your cheek while your tongue lavishes the malleable skin around its length.

Your eyes swivel upward, and you're met with the view of his corded neck, tight and straining as he refuses to look at you.

No.

He needs to know it’s you.

He needs to understand that you can give this whenever he wants, that you're not just another mouth. That no one else is as versed as you are when you eat him up. Your tongue knows how to follow the vein along the velvet of his skin, all the way to the slit on the tip. Your hand knows how to cup his balls and brush the seam in the middle—how he shudders, each time you do.

He needs to know that.

He can’t let you go. Not him too.

He has to hoist the limbless torso that you are towards the finish line, where you’ll get your caresses and your praises and your prize: the crumbs of love you’ll lap until your famished heart stops rumbling.

So, you drift your free hand upward and thread your fingers through the curls on his pelvis, gently grazing the skin with your nails. Then, you drum the pads on his soft belly, feeling them dip into the flesh and hit the harder muscles underneath. You splay your palm in the middle of his stomach, where you can feel the blood rushing madly as his heart pumps all the same.

It’s enough for you, the bodily reaction to the softness of your mouth.

But why isn’t he looking at you?

Recognize that is me. That I can make you feel good. That you need me, that you still do.

In the desperation of the moment, you opt for the best you can do: you take him deeper. The hand at the base of his cock moves to flatten on his thigh, and you carelessly widen your jaw to take more, and more, and more.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft and then twirl it around, all the while hollowing your cheeks without ever daring to take your eyes off him. That way, if he decides to look down at you, he'll find you teary-eyed and wanting—perfectly on your knees, like a devotee, no matter how artificially placed.

Your lips slide so easily up and down his cock, coating it with saliva, teardrops and precum. They swell so beautifully around it like a plump peach being ravaged; he always flatters you for it. Calls you beautiful when you suck him off so fervently, eliciting choked moans from you as you drink up the praise.

You dive in and the head tips at the back of your throat, causing you to gag around it. The muscles of your neck clench and he curses under his breath. Your eyes water in joy and overexertion when he looks down at you at the sudden change in pace. You don’t care if it hurts, let him bruise your throat.

You can give him more. You can give him everything.

You push even further until you're nuzzling against the coarse hair on his pelvis. You choke around his cock, a weak and wet cough that causes drool to dribble at the corners of your mouth. You pull back then, to take a wet gasp around his length, and then push forward to flush your nose to his crotch once more.

The tips of your knees hurt; the tiled floor in the kitchen is hard and merciless against the bone. It'll leave your joints aching and rough. They'll pop when you stand up, they'll hurt tomorrow when you go to work.

Good.

The knot in your stomach is ever so tight, seeking to be released and let go. It contorts in wantonness and, you’ll realize later, mortification. Just because you’re used to giving yourself so freely in exchange for crumbs, it doesn't mean it gets easier every time—to watch yourself bend on a whim, to see your pride shatter into even tinier pieces.

You feel his hand thread through your hair and tears fall down your cheek because yes, now he’s going to fuck your face like you want him to.

Use me. Treat me for what I am. Become the fucking puppet master. Take my fucking strings now that they’ve dropped them and guide me through this fucking shit I was left in.

But instead, he pulls you back, his cock escaping your mouth with the same ease you got it in.

A ragged breath, thick and wet, leaves your lips as soon as they’re free. Your coughs turn into a hack, as you stare at the glisten of your spit coating his shaft. A string of thick saliva tethers your mouth to it. Tears roll down your cheeks as you recollect your breath, nostrils flaring in the attempt to take in the air you’ve deprived yourself of.

“What’s this.”

You swallow down the liquid pooling in your throat, salty precum and viscous saliva like tar, gluing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

“Let me.” You croak. The thought that you might sound pathetic doesn’t even cross your mind.

His brows twitch, but he keeps his voice even. “No. What’s going on? Spill it.”

Your pleading look morphs into a glare. Bloodshot eyes, tears, and snot. Spit and cum. Clumped lashes and runny mascara.

Whore.

Your chest heaves, not from the strain, but from being caught red-handed, and you don't know how to behave.

No one ever asks why you do it, they’re simply glad you do.

You’re helping, aren’t you? It’s what you were crafted for, brick by brick, bone by bone. Made to change like a chameleon based on other’s necessities.

It’s what you are—so let me do it.

“I want to suck your cock.” You say as crudely as you can manage. “I want you to come down my throat and then I want you to bend me over the table and fuck me until you’re empty.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, still holding your head by a handful of hair. His fingers aren’t tight, but your scalp stings nonetheless.

“Can do.” He shrugs. “Need to know why, first.”

You’re a heap of wood once again, piled up at his feet. Your limbs are jointless, just lying there, waiting to be thrown in the fire to rekindle its flame, so everyone else can be warm at your expense.

A broken puppet can still be used for other purposes until it's ash.

There's nothing in you, if not how wonderfully soft your mouth would be if only he'd let you wrap it around him again.

“Because I want to.”

He curls his nose, mustache following the stretch. “Hardly.”

“I do.”

He tugs at your hair and says your name in such a commanding manner that you can’t help but deflate. The glare in his eyes snuffs the defiant flame in yours.

"Please let me," you plead, and the way you sound is nothing short of degrading.

You don't care. You don't care if you reduce yourself to a puddle of pleas. You know you're not supposed to need anything, but you need this.

Your hands are sticky with dried spit and precum when they grab his cock again. You start pumping it fiercely, trying to make his orgasm hit earlier than what you had planned. He holds your head out of reach, meaning you can't wrap your lips around it—you'll have to make do with your hands.

Slut.

But it’s okay, you’ll be a slut, if it helps him realize that you can make him feel good with everything you have to offer. That he won’t find another as pliant and willing as you are. That if he wants to be served, you will be his thrall.

Everything you own, it’s so you can give him.

Everything you earn, it’s so you can give back.

He can mold you. He can break you and put you back together the way he likes. He can craft a new puppet out of you, you’ll hand him the strings. He’ll take you to the finish line and love you, then.

Only then.

You see his mouth curl, bile on his tongue, as he reins in his own lust. There’s something wrong about you tonight, and he’s starting to understand what it is.

And so, he leaves your hair, favoring the softness of your cheek. He thumbs the plump of your cheekbone and then rubs a line along your lower lip.

It's then that you take your chance and rush forward, planting a kiss on the tip of his cock. Tongue out to leave kitten licks at the drops of precum you are squeezing out of him with your hands, knowing he likes those tiny shocks it sends up his spine.

And just when you think he’s relented to your pleas, just when you have your lips plump and shiny, ready to wrap around the flushed head of his cock, he takes ahold of your chin and tips your head back.

“I love you,” he croaks.

Words he’s said already, but not as often as he should’ve. It’s his fault, he grievously considers, if you think you have to be on your knees to receive them.

He realizes it when you shock into a stop. When your eyes widen a tick too much.

Blind idiot he is.

"I love you," he says again, more firmly this time.

Your face screws up as if you're trying to wrap your head around this language you don't know. You haven't done much to reach that prize—if anything, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve edged him until the head of his cock has turned an angry red that must be aggravating to handle, impossible to quench without the welcoming warmth of your mouth or that of your cunt.

You blink up at him. Tears fall down your cheeks. “But you need to come.”

If you’d have shot him, he would’ve handled the ache much better than this.

"I need nothing." He supplies gently, tracing the corner of your lips with his thumb, getting rid of the mess he's inadvertently made of your mouth.

His statement hangs in the air, stale and musty and threatening, not as sweet as he thinks. It clogs your nose and tightens your chest, curdling your blood into frozen lumps. The noises around suddenly feel deafening: the bubbles popping on the surface of the boiling water, the wet sound of your skin unsticking from his cock as your hands leave it, their thud as they fall in your lap.

If you’re not needed, then what are you?

Carefully, he tucks himself back into his briefs as he kneels to your level.

He whispers your name and cups your cheek as he does. "I love you.”

You know he does, but stuck in the web woven by your family, you always thought it was a purely transactional sentiment. A fair trade.

He loves you because you kneel prettily in front of the sofa.

He loves you because you let him stuff you up and fill you to the brim with his come at the snap of his fingers.

He loves you because you're a lovely addition to his arm when you doll up for his work ceremonies or other functions.

He loves you because you cook a mean Sunday roast when he comes back from deployment.

And you love him because he's John, because what's there not to love.

With gentle blue eyes framed by bushy eyebrows, and droopy eyelids that give his often scowling look a gentler feel to it. The honey smatter of freckles on his nose, and the sharply trimmed beard on his jaw. Plump rosy lips, how soft they feel when he places them on yours, juxtaposing with the prickly ends of his mustache.

His encompassing heart and the way he's enlarged it for you to fit better, so you're all comfortable and warm in his life.

John gently presses his lips on your forehead as he speaks softly, "I love you."

Your eyes flutter closed. A heaving breath again, one that stutters as you try to inhale it. Fat tears fill the cracks in your lips and flow down your tongue.

John brushes the back of his knuckles across your cheeks. “Don’t need all this to love you.” And then he looks in your eyes, searching for any sign of skepticism, and regrettably finds a considerable amount of it. “You knowthat. Right, love?”

No, you don’t know.

But you don’t have the gall to tell him. Suddenly, it hits how pathetic you look. On your knees, begging for him to stuff your mouth with his cock so you can feel useful, so he can shower you with love once you give him a reason to keep you.

You kneel there helplessly, deflated.

Useless.

You gesture with your hands at him, feeling how limply they hang from your wrists as if you've never used them on your own in the first place.

There is very little you can do to humiliate yourself further, and yet you manage.

“But you need me.” You cry, as your face scrunches in a pain so deeply settled that John has no clue how to work around it. “I need you to need me.”

However, he tries. He tracks your tears with his thumb, stopping their fall right above your cheekbone.

"Don't need you, love." He says tenderly. "I want you.”

He shifts a little closer and cradles your face in both hands so that you cannot avoid his eyes even if you tried.

“Want you.” He breathes hoarsely, “Ain’t with you ’cause I need someone. I don’t need anyone, and I don’t want just anyone—I want you. ‘Specially when you’re not on your knees.”

Your nose is stuffy, and you can’t breathe right. Suddenly, you feel so unbelievably tired. Your face plops in his hands, and the humiliation feels ten times worse. It's hard, however, to interject with a word that would make him understand how deep this pattern runs.

He doesn’t let you, but only because he knows already.

"Like you when you get all chuffed ‘bout your plants sproutin’." He drawls. "Love it when you hop into bed and shove your cold feet against my thighs ‘cause I'm much warmer. Or when you make love to me. But not when you—when you pull this."

His voice is heavy. Your heart aches because you're so tightly wrapped in deadly silk, stuck in your family's cobweb, that you've never noticed how it must pain him as well, to see you reduce yourself to this.

"Bloody hell, love." He sighs, furrowing his brows. "I love you, yeah? I don't need—whatever this is. I don't want whatever this is.”

John's eyes close, his face screwing up in that way that tells you he's thinking. He shakes his head subtly, and you're afraid you've gone and done it now. He's going to go because he already has so much shit to deal with that your puzzled self would only be another broken case to add to his file.

But alas, dread doesn't even manage to settle on your heavy heart that he locks you in place with his blues.

One of his hands drifts to the back of your head. He leans in, enough for you to smell the tobacco on his breath.

You swallow dryly, lips parted in shaky pants. Eyes lidded and tired, nose scrunching in sniffles.

John presses a gentle kiss on your lips, no more than a peck. And then another one, and another, and another, until you can’t discern whether it’s the salt of your tears or that of his skin.

Your breathing becomes heavier and it mingles with his own when he comes to rest his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he murmurs tirelessly.

The hand on your nape guides you to him, and he kisses you again. Unlike the previous ones, this is bolder, yet tender all the same. He holds you in place while the rest of the world falls into impeccable silence.

The gentle smacking of lips is all you can hear, and even if only for a moment, it manages to silence the voice in your head—a mimicry of your family’s cries, their lying coos, their grating, consuming, plastic love.

You feel yourself uncoil under John’s touch and the deft work of his tongue on yours. Hands in your lap, you abandon yourself to him, but it's a different type of surrender; your eyes close and all your feelings, all your energy, flow into that kiss.

“I-I love you,” you venture, breathy voice brushing his lips.

John inhales sharply, and he realizes this might be the first time you said it because you wanted to and not because you had to.

His hand drifts from your cheek to your shoulder, down to your stomach and he guides you to lie with your back against the kitchen floor. His palms flatten next to your head.

Normally, John would have you on a fort of pillows and blankets and would never compromise about it—constantly making sure you’re as comfortable as they come as he ravages you. Beforehand, you'd get ready in the bathroom, having prepped yourself to a T. Shaved and moisturized and seasoned like a prized pig for him to consume, wearing the prettiest, skimpiest lace to frame the petals of your perfectly waxed pussy.

Because it’s a fair trade; he treats you like a princess, so you can be his pretty whore.

Yet tonight you think he won’t do any of that. There is a gentleness in his kisses that, while not uncommon, certainly feels unique. Your hands hover between your chest and his, unsure of where to place them. You hope he’ll guide you through this too, manhandle you into position like he always does.

But again, he doesn’t.

He barely feels like John at all. His behavior is so different that if you closed your eyes, anyone could be in his place right now. But that is only your perception, isn't it? Because John has always been tender with you, you were just too busy thinking about how to repay his kindness instead of living in the moment.

His lips leave yours only to busy themselves with the skin on your cheek, then down your chin and to your neck. You gasp at the goosebumps, and he stops.

His face comes into view and it is so flushed you think he must be collecting all his blood right in the apples of his cheeks.

“Okay, love?”

You blink. Your mouth tastes more like his cigars than tears and precum. It makes you feel less dirty, even if what you did (and have been doing your whole life) hasn’t changed.

You swallow thickly as he gazes into your eyes.

“Y-yeah, just—” A crease forms between your brows, “I should—I left you like that, and—”

He hushes you.

"No need to bother 'bout me." He reassures you.

He presses a kiss between your brows, smoothing the lines your concern has formed. You close your eyes, focusing on how warm he is in contrast to the tiles pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes. As if you have an answer for that.

His kisses trail down your face and your neck, turning more open and wet. The rising gooseflesh, however, does nothing to stop your mind from running miles ahead.

What do you want?

You must've been posed that question before because it's such a basic one. You try to think of contests in which one might ask that, such as your birthdays, or celebrations, or a teacher wondering what is it that you desire in the future: a career, a husband or a wife, a family.

But to desire is to choose, and you don’t think you’ve ever been given that possibility.

Hence why you're rattled, aghast. On your back on the floor, with John sucking love bites on your neck.

You give the answer you know will make him content.

“Fuck me.”

You’ll moan like a porn star. You’ll dig your pretty nails into his back so he can show off the marks you left on him with pride. You'll pretend an orgasm if yours is taking too long, so that his ego will be kept fed and full, and he’ll still find you appealing. So that he can go tell his friends and comrades how good you are, in and out of bed. What a gem. Wife material.

He’ll doll you up and tie the strings around your wrists. Make you dance and you will—coy smile, pretty eyes and all. A new puppet out of you, just for his sake.

John stills, and he shifts uncomfortably above you. His mouth is suddenly next to your ear, and he leaves a kiss at your jaw hinge.

“You don’t want me to fuck you.” He murmurs, and you swear there is a hint of guilt in the way he says it.

You feel dizzy at the thought of being caught. It’s scary to have your thoughts so out in the open after having spent an entire lifetime locking them up.

John nips at the shell of your ear. You venture with your hands and place them on his chest, still unsure of whether you want him closer or far, far away.

"Can I make you feel good?" He asks hoarsely. Your body responds naturally and it makes heat pool in your lower stomach.

You suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed at the idea his words have instilled in you.

You reply the only way you know. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes.” He says forcefully, almost as if he wanted the answer to stick to your brain for the days to come. The switch is so abrupt your heart skips a beat. “Yes, I have to ask. Of course, I have to ask.”

He props himself up, hips snug between your thighs. He could roll them against yours and seek the friction his chubbed up cock must physically need after you teased it.

But he doesn’t, and it makes you feel both inadequate and nervous.

“So, answer me, love.” He rumbles, as his pupils dance between your eyes. “Can I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure why, but it makes your eyes water and your heart hurt. Your brows draw together in a frown that rips at John’s chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, voice strangled in your throat. “Yes, please.”

John leans in to kiss your eyelids as you snap them closed.

And then he kisses your cheek, your nose, and your lips. His hand trails over your sweater. A gentle tug at the hem makes tears fall down your temple and into your hair.

You give an imperceptible nod at his silent request and he thanks you by pressing his lips to your jaw. He lifts it above your breasts, sitting atop the plain, skin-colored bra you're wearing. You haven't shaved, there's regrowing hair under your armpits and you're flushed to the bone.

You're not the doll you allow him to see. You haven't prepped yourself for consumption this time, and it almost makes you squirm, as you force your biceps flush to your ribcage.

He can't see that you're not the perfect little puppet you've always shown him. If you aren't perfect, willing, and breakable, then he can find a thousand more like you—better than you.

But he presses a kiss to your sternum, ignoring sweat, squirming, and whatnot.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, tongue out to trace the line of the bone. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You sob. It doesn't deter him, as he lines the plain fabric of your cup until his fingers meet the clasp conveniently placed to the front. With a quick snap, he undoes it, and your tits spill out to the sides.

He hooks your attention back with a look, and you understand he’s asking, once again.

He’s seen you naked a thousand times but you realize he’s never seen you this raw. Your cheeks are flushed and his eyes have never looked so gentle yet hungry.

You nod again and he dives in, wasting no time.

His hands grab the fat of your tits. Push them together. Thumbs teasing nipples as they pebble under his pads. Lips kissing anywhere they can land, latching on flesh until it darkens. His teeth graze the peaks of your breasts, and your back arches off the floor.

Each grunt that escapes him has your spine vibrate. You can't fathom the thought that he likes this, not when you’re tasting like a long day at work and wet rain, instead of buttercream and mango.

You try to snake your leg between his own, to give back what he’s giving you. Carefully, you stroke the curve of your foot against his hard length, but he pulls back with his hips and gently guides your thigh to rest once more around his waist.

“Don’t need tha’, sunshine.” He grunts, a murmur lost as his lips mouth at your nipples. "This 's more 'n 'nough."

His hands hold you by the waist now, fingers gripping the flesh with tenacity. His beard scrapes at the soft skin of your tits as he travels downward with his mouth, following the path lined by your sternum to the gap between your ribs.

He licks stripes as if your skin were covered with cream. His teeth sink softly where your flesh is plumper, causing you to writhe against him, and he chuckles under his breath as he remembers you’re ticklish.

Such tiny things he knows about you, you almost forgot it’s been years he’s known you.

His bites turn kisses, and they're chastely pressed on the line of your stomach, over your belly button, and to the seam of your jeans.

John looks up at you when his lips reach the zipper, and by doing so you notice his brows arching up, causing lines to wrinkle his forehead. Pretty blue eyes take you in and the mess that you've made of yourself. Runny makeup, bitten lips.

You know he can see how undecided you still are. Brows pinched in both pleasure and discomfort because this is so new to you.

But you nod a little sharply for him to go on, as your mouth curls down in the hopefully non-futile attempt at muffling your sobs.

John unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips to your ankles in such an agonizingly slow manner you can’t help but think he’s doing it to give you time to rebut, in case you change your mind.

You don't.

He takes them off together with your socks and brings your foot next to his face. Places a kiss on the side of it, sending tingles up your legs that tip to the apex of your thighs. He leaves small pecks down your ankle and your calf, closing his eyes and sometimes brushing his beard against your skin.

You look away, cheek flat to the tiles, now wet with your tears and the rain soaking your hair.

It doesn't deter John in the slightest, not even when he slowly comes down to a crawl, chest to the floor and nose on your mound. He tugs with his teeth at the cotton of your panties, nothing more than plain white cheeky underwear. So different from the way you always present yourself to him, with your expensive lace and your silks and your soft skin—painfully waxed so it could mimic the feel of your babydolls.

Gingerly, you reach down with your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, smoothing them back from his forehead. You cup the side of his face and brush your thumb to his flushed cheekbone. He leans into your palm and kisses it, uncaring of the stickiness left by your previous activity.

You feel something inside of you crash and break, then, like a glass vase falling from a height. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, because it makes more tears collect at the corners of your eyes and those are never predictors of a good ending.

He digs the tip of his nose against your slit, following the wet stripe that inevitably formed the moment you dropped to your knees for him.

“Can I?” He asks, sending little spikes of electricity up to your chest when his lips brush against the sensitive skin covered by flimsy cotton.

You feel your chest get so tight someone might as well be curling rope around it.

You feel so pathetic for crying just because you’re being asked about what makes you comfortable and what doesn’t. You’re such an advocate for your friends to go out there and demand for their needs to be met, that you can’t help but wallow in your hypocrisy when someone asks for yours.

He waits patiently for your consent, even if he's a breath away from your private parts, with his hands caressing the back of your thighs. Even if he's done this to you a thousand times already, with your squirming body giving him a show worthy of the cameras, had they been there.

He makes everything around you look so soft, even the tiles of the floor that are uncomfortably sticking to your skin feel like plush cushions.

You wonder briefly if this is how it should’ve always felt, had you allowed yourself to recognize your needs instead of seeing your body as a means to make others happy.

It comes out of your lips as a breath that’s followed by a wet sniffle, your head nodding softly, contrastingly to how tight you’re biting your own teeth.

“Yes.”

No amount of pressure on your jaw could stop the sob that escapes you afterward.

John closes his eyes and a warm shuddering sigh brushes your skin. You’re starting to realize that maybe you’re not the only one who’s being affected by this sudden change in your and his intimacy.

His fingers hook at your panties and he slides them to your ankles, letting them hang down one foot. You swing it carefully and kick them off as he returns his attention to the apex of your thighs, hooking your knees on his shoulders.

He starts tenderly, pressing kisses on the soft flesh of your vulva, paying attention even to the smallest bits you weren’t even aware could feel good. He latches on your outer lips, feeling how puffy they get at the slight suction.

Your thighs are corded and stiff under his grip, arms hooked around each plush leg, and palms flat on your skin.

John’s eyes are closed, although you wish he’d look at you as he travels with his lips along your slit. A kiss on your hole without probing too much, then one along the middle of your slit, which was getting impressively wetter as time passed, and the one on your hooded clit.

It sent jolts up your spine, causing your hips to buck against his mouth. His fingers tighten around your thighs in response, as if he’s trying to rein it in for you.

You appreciate it more than he thinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been placed on top of the queue so blatantly in your entire life.

The tip of his tongue darts out, but it’s obscured from your eyes by the regrowing hair on your mound and from his thick mustache. So, it takes you by surprise when he all but licks a thin stripe over the protruding part of your clit.

You hiss, and your head goes dizzy. You feel tiny pinpricks tingling in your brain, making you lightheaded and more than a little breathless.

During the whole relationship, you’ve been so focused on appearing like a full meal to his eyes, that you forgot how good it felt to be that meal on his tongue.

He laps at you again, eyes now wide open to gauge more of whatever you were giving him. You feel them as bright spotlights aimed at your face, but you can’t find it in yourself to display the act you’ve always given him.

You're already too different from the woman he's so used to seeing. You wonder if he likes you anyway; or if he likes you less, or more. When your eyes lock with his own, a dark flash tells you to go back to your ways. To flutter your lashes and pout your lips in small pleas, whimpering moans that always make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

And just as you’re about to give in to those old habits, John flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks all the thoughts out of your head. You tilt it back in a groan that has never, not once, left your lips in his presence.

He seems more than excited to hear it and starts eating you out like you’re his first meal in a century. This time, there is no plasticity in the ways you move. You’re not squirming away and acting coy about it, meeting his eyes to make sure he realizes that you're his pretty doll.

This time there’s you and the pleasure he gives you. There’s a hand in his hair that shyly tries to keep him still, as he puckers his lips around your nub and sucks it in his mouth. There’s the subtle canting of your hips to press your cunt closer to him, and the way he makes sure you don’t pull away from his tongue with his thick arms coiled around your thighs.

It’s so strange to allow yourself to feel so much. All this time you’ve been oblivious to all this as it happened in your same body because you were too busy focusing on how you appeared to his eyes. Even as he tongued your hole, your head told you it still had to be about pleasing him—because nothing in this world could ever be exclusively about you.

It hits you sharply that your beliefs about yourself, instilled by the callous teachings of your family, had bled through every aspect of your life. You already knew that, of course, but you never realized they had seeped into your intimacy as well.

Yet now you have proof of it, because you're sure John has not changed his tactics, it's you who's finally allowing your body to feel all this.

He twirls his tongue around your clit and you’re seeing stars. It’s such a strong sensation that you think you might have lost a marble or two in the process. Each grunt he emits from his lips vibrates through you and elicits similar sounds from your own mouth.

You’re not even looking at him, and you don’t care. It’s too good. He feels fucking heavenly and you’ll probably end up apologizing later for not having included him more, for not having paid enough attention to him as you should’ve.

But now—fucking hell, now—there's only how his tongue toys with each and every nerve ending of your sodden cunt.

You let him manhandle you, then, like he did so many times in the past. But now he positions you in an unflattering angle you would've never allowed before. He sits up on his knees, carrying your pelvis with him, close to his face.

To help yourself up, you place your hands on your haunches, propping your elbows on the floor. The tiles press harshly against the bone, much like they did on your knees when you’d knocked them down to suck him off not even twenty minutes prior, but now that pain feels so fickle compared to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He locks his arms around your lower belly, soft thighs pressed to his ears, and he dives in again.

Like this, you’re sure he can see every stupid, unflattering thing about you. But there’s the catch—it’s stupid. You’re sure you’re going to rethink all this eventually, but now everything that isn’t John and his lips on you is so unbelievably, fucking stupid.

“Taste like honey, y’ do.” You think you hear him say, as he nuzzles your cunt for all it’s worth.

He delves his tongue into your hole, plunging as deep as he can until he’s nosing your clit too. Facial hair scrapes the inside of your thigh raw, but that only enhances the opposite bliss happening thanks to his mouth.

You whimper, but not for show; it feels criminally good, and John knows it's real because your thighs shake so fiercely his vision goes wobbly too.

He chuckles, but it’s not derisive. His eyes are incensed, the light blue barely a rim around enlarged pupils. He looks in utter awe as he takes you in; face flushed, hair still wet from the rain and now from the sweat too. With an expression he's never once seen before, not on you. The sheer discomfort of the position but also the complete bliss that makes you forget you could have this on a more comfortable bed.

“Look at you—fucking beautiful." He murmurs with his lips to your cunt. "Criminal to hide this from me, love."

Your lips part into an oval, and your eyelids tremble, fighting the need to close your eyes and just feel. But he looks so unbelievably stunning you refuse, categorically, to take your eyes off of him.

And he apparently thinks the same, because his gaze never falters, not even when you tighten the grip your thighs have around his head. Nor does his tongue, as he plunges it again in your cunt, nose nudging your clit just right.

He might be fucking you with his mouth, but he sure is doing it with his eyes too.

And you’ve never felt so seen in your entire life. You’ve never felt so beautiful, so worthy, as right now. You wonder if he’s always been looking at you this way, but you were too lost in your own ways to notice.

You feel tears trickle down your temples again, mingling with your hair.

Jaw clenched tight, you breathe it out with all the strength you’ve got left in you.

“I love you.”

And John breaks into something different. You must have given him some final blow because his eyes shut closed and his brows knit together. An expression you've never seen, equally as pained as delighted.

He doesn’t answer, using his tongue for other purposes, keeping the stimulation both inside and out of you. Strong arms hold you still to his face, squeezing painfully tight around your hips. Thick palms flat against your lower belly, with his thumb tugging at your mons to unhood your puffy clit.

He goes on until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, arms giving out from under you. But he catches you anyway, hooking your legs better above his shoulders. The fact that your thighs are pressing against his ears gives you some sort of relief, knowing his hearing might have been muffled by your flesh.

So, you let go.

You moan loudly, fuck the neighbors, and whatever the world has to say. Fuck your head for sabotaging you, and taking you away from him.

You feel it build up slowly but suddenly; one moment it’s just fully encompassing pleasure, the next there’s a vine that stems from your ravaged cunt and curls around your belly, up to your neck.

Your throat blocks off, breathing shallow and sharp.

And then everything snaps.

John fights against the bucking of your hips just so he can keep his mouth on you and fuck you through it.

Your groan is so guttural you don't even think that was your voice. You don't even think, period. Your mind blacks out. A scorching heat develops from your sternum and coils around your chest like ivy in bloom.

You’ve had orgasms before thanks to his mouth, or his fingers, or his cock.

This, however, it’s so different you might consider yourself reborn.

It’s liberating. It’s new. It’s free and only, completely yours.

You don't even notice, as his tongue slows down, that your eyes are staring at nothing on the ceiling. That they fill with tears. And that you're crying.

You notice nothing, but just how good your body trembles, from the tips of your toes to the conscience in your head.

You don’t notice the sobs that leave your lips, as John gingerly places your body back down. Nor the way your chest heaves as if you’ve just learned how to use your lungs, while he hooks his arms behind your shoulders, and lifts you up to sit butt naked on the floor.

He holds you to his chest and you painfully sob against it. Not a thought about whether this is the right time to cry crosses your mind.

He cradles your cheek to his heart, while wet lips press against the crown of your head.

“Let go,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “’M here, love. Let go.”

You cry so hard you think you might crack like porcelain on that floor. Your heaving sobs echo against the walls of the kitchen like the cries of a newborn child.

And John has no intention of letting you go through it alone. He is there with his hands, with his lips, with the strong, steady heartbeat against your ear until your wailing abates. Only then does he cup your cheek to lift your face.

You weep under your breath when you notice the bloodshot whites of his eyes and the clumped lashes. The dampness on his cheeks and the redness of the skin.

He smooths your hair back. Kisses your forehead with such intensity that he just might suck away the self-hatred your family has seeded in your brain with his lips.

He looks at you, then. Lips pursed in a tight line.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, love.”

It’s inevitable the way your lips stretch in a smile that quivers and shakes in a breathless, wet chuckle.

You dig the heels of your hands in your eyes, sniffling painfully hard to get some air in your lungs. Your mouth is pasty and God, you must smell like proper shite.

But John leans down anyway and kisses your lips, uncaring of the salt of your tears, the snot, and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

And you kiss him back, this time threading your fingers through his hair, arms looped around his neck in an embrace you never want to break.

Noses flush against each other’s cheeks, lips parting only for you to take breaths because your nostrils are currently too stuffy for you to use them properly.

You sniffle and kiss and tug at his hair and hold him until you're both sated, but never enough. It won’t ever be enough.

A few beats of silence reign the kitchen as you sit on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. The water in the pot must’ve boiled away, forgotten on the fire that still buzzes silently. John’s chest is your tiny alcove as you rest your head against it, and he holds you until your heart’s content.

Everything you’ve ever learned shakes before your eyes. Every thread that knitted the pattern carefully woven around you is slowly unraveling. The fabric wears down the more he shows you love without asking for anything in return.

He's making you regrow your limbs, returning the eyes they stole, allowing you to see that at the finish line, there's nothing but lies.

Nothing but missed calls, skipped appointments, and neglect. Honeyed words, saccharine pet names to render you soft as dough, willing to offer yourself to their exploitation. Sucking on every last drop of your sap, until only a hollow marionette is left.

John hasn't refilled you with energy; he made you realize you were never empty to begin with. Helped you see that they never smothered your fire to ashes, but only dimmed it to a flame, one you can rekindle easily.

One he cannot wait, for the life of him, to see ablaze again.

He’ll fight with you, give you the wood you need to keep yourself warm and your heart safe. Cut your strings once and for all, until you can get back on your feet again.

He thrives at the idea of seeing you glow like you did moments before, in your most raw and real form; a woman he's yet to meet.

However, being human, he does feel a temporary disappointment at the thought that you had put up such a blatant front for so long. Anger that he’d never noticed, thinking you were just this pliant little thing.

But he should've never thought of you as a thing. Never should've seen you as this obliging, pretty doll hanging from his lips. He should've dug deeper, like he always does even on the field, instead of falling for lies.

He’s often asked himself how you’ve never seemed to need anything, often pegging the behavior to self-sufficiency. You always took care of everything by yourself and promptly refused any aid when he tried to give it to you.

His mind reels with memories of the times he’s offered a helping hand, and you’ve politely declined it. It shatters him to think that you did it because you were afraid you had to give something back and maybe were too tired to offer anything.

It’s then that his mind deep dives into a place that sickens him.

How many times did you have sex with him and see it as a bargaining chip? Or as a way to repay him for something he’s done for you just because he loves you?

He shuts his eyes briefly, forcing the bile down his throat and deciding to dwell on the subject later. This moment comes first. You come first. So, he takes you in, blinking his eyes open once more.

He blindly reaches back to turn off the stove, before returning his arms around you. He brushes his lips to your temple, and your muscles soften under the way his breath tickles your skin.

You tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his own, gauging the earnestness swimming in his blues.

“I love you,” he breathes for the umpteenth time, that day.

No ventriloquist forces you to say it back. No strings move your arms to loop around his neck, as you lift yourself on your knees to be level with his eyes.

It's you, who rests your forehead on his own, brushing your nose to his in a butterfly kiss.

You feel like flesh and bone, more than polished wood tied to nylon strings. No voice box if not your vocal cords vibrating when you decide it, asking and giving all the same.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

There is no hunger for love, no finish line to reach. It’s not a race, not today.

And with John, you don’t think it’ll ever be again.

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earthtooz · 2 years ago

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x : SLEEPY FAVOUR :*+ﾟ

in which: you've unwillingly become jing yuan's cuddle buddy for his afternoon naps.

warnings: fluff, 700 wc, bad writing lul, established relationship, dialogue-heavy, gn!reader teases a clingy!jing yuan.

a/n: two fics in two days. wow. who am i. enjoy. (i posted an itoshi rin fic yesterday pls feel free to check it out!)

“you cannot keep doing this, jing yuan.”

sitting up to look at the man, your complaint is hushed quickly by the general, who places a hand on your shoulder and pulls you back down into his arms. he wraps himself around you like a vine and you groan at the suffocating sensation. still, jing yuan does not let up, not giving in to your complaints and grumbles as he draws circles on your arm.

“when you messaged me earlier about paying you a visit, i did not anticipate for it to be because you were simply feeling lonely. and clingy,” you sigh and the white-haired laughs.

“then what else?”

“something of value? something that will contribute to the wellness of the luofu?”

“is this not of value?”

“calling me as your cuddle buddy for your afternoon nap is hardly of value.”

“i object. in fact, i would beg to differ. is the wellbeing of the luofu’s general something to take lightly?”

you huff, turning around in his arms to face him. jing yuan looks at you through half-lidded eyes, fatigue evident in them as he smiles softly. instinctively, your hand reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind of ears and at the graze of your touch, he shuts his eyes, seemingly peaceful and content.

“flaunting your title, are you?” you ask. “what happened to your humility?”

he’s quick to reply. “gone if it will prevent you from leaving.”

a smooth talker. your lover, jing yuan, has always had a way with words, laced with carelessness yet drenched in honey, there’s little of him you can resist. even now, you feel your frustration subsiding with one simple comment.

“and why should the general have a few hours of the day just to slack off?” you ask. “your afternoon naps can wait, luofu’s safety shouldn’t.”

“you say that, yet how many centuries of peace have we lived through?”

“why is everything i’m saying only inflating your ego?” then, just to spite him, you pull your hand away and his eyes open at the lack of contact that grounds him to a realm of peace and comfort. immediately missing your warmth, jing yuan finds your wrist and moves it to rest on his face once more.

you don’t give him the satisfaction, hoping to give him a piece of your mind by once again, retracting your hand out of his hold and his sleepy gaze darkens into something akin to displeasure.

“won’t you indulge in me?” questions the cloud-knight. “i have worked so hard today already, i have been looking forward to taking an afternoon nap.”

“and is that not possible without me?”

he shakes his head with the temperament of a child and a pout to match. what will the court think when they see this side of your feared and revered lover? “ever since you rest with me that day, no, and i will never go back.”

where did his perseverance go?

“you suggest these things as if i am not busy myself. i cannot listen to your every request and demand when i have mountains of work to complete too!”

“i have requested that they be pushed back until later. your schedule has been cleared out for the next few hours.”

“jing yuan!” you exclaim, pushing him away lightly. “you cannot do that!”

“i can, and i have.”

before you can even utter another word, jing yuan has rolled over to lie on top of you, placing half of his weight on you to act as an anchor, effectively preventing you from moving anywhere.

the press of his muscles against you and the tightening of his arms around your torso are like cannonballs against your determination, and considering that he discarded his armour the moment you stepped through the door, it’s only fair if you do the same.

“come on, my love, do you not care for your general?” he asks, borderlining a whine.

“fine.” you surrender, finally wrapping your arms around him as well. “only because i want him to be at top performance.”

“what about your lover? don’t you wish for any benefits for him too?”

“he is of lesser importance,” you tease. “in fact, he should suffer for what he puts me through.”

jing yuan chuckles and his laugh reverberates into your heart. “i would hate to be him, then."

"watch yourself, jing yuan."

"of course, anything for you," murmurs the white-haired before he finds purchase in the bend of your neck. surrounded by you, he wordlessly dozes off without a care in the world.

#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #jing yuan x reader fluff #jing yuan x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader

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theemporium · 1 year ago

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idk if you’ve seen it but there’s a trend on TikTok of playing a voicemail of a creepy guy in front of your boyfriend and I feel like brothers bff!reader would have to literally console quinn after trying that prank on him. boy would be murderous.

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

It was just meant to be a prank.

A friend had sent you it, laughing at the compilation of reactions the video included to the fake voicemail. It was entertaining seeing how these men reacted differently, or seeing how many of them instantly became protective of the woman in their life who played the fake voicemail.

You thought it looked fun to try out.

It was some random week in October when you decided to fly out and spend some time with Quinn. It was reading week back in college and you had worked pretty well at staying on top of your classes, so you deserved the treat to fly out and spend some time with your boy.

And other than the practices Quinn had to attend, he was practically glued to your side the rest of the week which made it easy to pull off the prank on a Thursday morning when you were sitting on the counter as Quinn made you both coffee.

“Oh god.”

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked, his back still facing you but the disgusted scoff gave him a clear understanding that you weren’t happy.

“Nothing, just an annoying lab partner,” you murmured, pressing your lips together to try and hold back your giggles. “I think he left me a voicemail.”

Quinn didn’t get much of a chance to say anything before the voicemail started. You watched him closely, the way his actions paused as he began to listen.

“This is the final chance I am giving you. You are being ridiculous, and like most women, not thinking logically. Consider this your last chance to put your emotions aside and think with your brain.”

The coffee was abandoned in seconds as Quinn whirled around, looking at you with an expression mixed between shock and disgust. He placed his hands on the counter, stepping towards you as he continued to listen to the voicemail.

“I am a good guy, one of the best you are going to find. So, I suggest you stop playing this hard-to-get game because nobody is believing you. You won’t find anyone better than me, not at college and not in bed. I have reservations for Friday night at the Italian place off campus. I expect you there and—”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Quinn gritted out between clenched teeth, a disgruntled scoff leaving his lips as he reached for his phone. “Give me a name.”

You blinked, almost surprised by the expression on his face. You didn’t think you had ever seen Quinn so angry before, not even on the ice.

“A name,” Quinn repeated as he looked over towards you, eyes darkened and jaw clenched. “That is…he’s a fucking pervert. And a creep. I don’t want him near you. I don’t want him in the fucking college.”

“Quinn—” you started, but he was lost to his own anger now.

“I’m gonna make sure he’s kicked out and sent somewhere far fucking away from you. Better yet, we can get a restraining order,” he continued as he scrolled through his phone, his eyebrows furrowed together as he searched for something. “I don’t want you going back with him just walking around. Does Luke even know? Does anyone—”

“Quinn,” you said again, a little louder this time as you rounded the counter to gently take ahold of his hands. You slowly pried the phone from his hands, a sheepish expression on your face. “He isn’t real.”

He frowned. “What? Babe, you don’t have to protect him—”

“I’m not protecting anyone, Quinn, I—” You took a deep breath before you continued. “It was a prank I saw on Tiktok. People were posting their partner’s reactions and I thought it would be funny.”

“Oh,” was all Quinn seemed to say.

“I’m sorry—” But you cut yourself off when he launched towards you, wrapping you in a tight hug as he clung onto you. Your arms automatically wrapped around his torso, nuzzling yourself further into his chest.

“You’d tell me if something like that was really happening, right?” Quinn murmured against the top of your head.

“Of course,” you answered honestly.

“Good,” he said with a small sigh, his arms tightening around you. “I’d kill any fucker that makes you uncomfortable.”

You snorted. “It was kinda hot seeing you get all protective.”

“I’m glad you think as much because even though I know it’s fake, my body hasn’t caught on yet so I am not letting you go for the next hour,” Quinn murmured, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I have no issue with that,” you replied honestly, biting back your own grin as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

#quinn hughes #nhl #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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nightxcreature · 3 months ago

Text

Roadhouse Rendezvous

Summary: Reader and Dean have a little fun in the Roadhouse Bathroom.

A/N: Number 3? For @jacklesversebingo 2024! I’m having so much fun writing these, I hope you enjoy this one! This is for the prompt, “I’ll give you $50 to forget what you just saw.” Prompt is in bold.

Warnings: Slight Smut, sexual innuendos for sure, cursing because I like that, caught in the act

My hands were lost in the flannel around his torso, pulling him hard against me as his tongue danced between my lips. His right hand was wrapped tightly around my throat causing the silver ring on his finger to cut deliciously into my skin. The irony of Ten Seconds to Love by Mötley Crüe playing on the jukebox out front isn’t lost on me when he suddenly shrugs off the flannel and shoves me against the door.

“Want you so bad, Baby.” He mumbles against my lips, the hand formerly around my throat making its way to the hem of my shirt, “Need you.”

I gasp as he nips my neck, slowly running his tongue over the sting, “Take me.”

A guttural groan leaves his lips and his kisses me deeply. I feel a tap on my arm as he instructs me to lift them above my head and my shirt soon finds itself on the floor. His big hands cup my breast and I can’t stop the moan that leaves me, “Hurry, Dean. I don’t have long before Jo realizes I’m gone.”

“She can run the bar alone for a while.” He mumbles into my neck as he reaches around to unhook my bra, “You’ve taught her well enough.”

I gasp again as he lifts me into his arms, placing my back against the door, “Besides,” he starts, a shit-eating grin on his face, “I want to take my time and enjoy this meal. It’s not everyday that I get to fuck my girl in her mom’s bar.” He winks and drops to his knees, sliding the skirt up my legs as he places them on his shoulders.

My hands find themselves in his hair at the feeling of his breath against my core and I slam my eyes shut, “Please.” I whisper.

I hear the chuckle before I feel him shake his head, “Oh, she’s beggin’ now? I thought you had to get back to work?”

With a roll of eyes I shove his face into me and he groans loudly as I snap, “Shut up and eat me.”

“Yes, ma’am” He says with a smile, reaching up my skirt to pull my panties aside, “Gladly…”

He slowly lowers his lips to my entrance when suddenly the toilet in one of the stalls flushes. I rush to jump off of him while he slams into the counter to grab his gun.

“Where the fuck is my shirt?!” I whisper yell, “I thought you scoped this bathroom out before bringing me in here!”

He shrugs sheepishly and hands me my shirt from where it fell under the counter, “The place is dead, who was gonna be in here?!”

I slip my shirt on just before Ash steps out of the stall, “Hey, I’m all for a little lovin’, but I think you ladies should find a room. Preferably, not a public restroom.”

I roll my eyes again and sigh, “Ash, I’ll pay you $50 to forget what you just saw.”

He gives me a shrug and turns to Dean, “And you?”

“And me, what?”

“Listen, my tall, handsome friend, $50 may cover what I did or did not see, but I’m going to need a little extra to cover the things I heard.”

The blush heating my neck is slowly making its way up my face and I could melt into the floor when he quotes back to us, “‘I want to take my time and enjoy this meal’ Really? It isn’t everyday you get to fuck your girl in her mom’s bar, and it won’t be today either if I happen to go out there and slip up to Ellen.”

Dean digs $100 out of his wallet and places it in Ash’s hand, “Just forget we were ever in here.”

“Oh, this moment will live in my nightmares forever. But I won’t tell anyone what I saw, your secrets are always safe with Dr. Bad-Ass.” He says with a wink, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a pretty lady waiting on me in my office.”

“Your fucking computer doesn’t count!” I yell as he bows out the door with a laugh, “How fuckin’ embarrassing.”

Dean snorts and I hear Jo yelling for help as the Roadhouse regulars start rolling in, “Get out there,” he says smacking my ass and pushing me toward the door, “I’ll steal ya on your break and we can do it in the parking lot.”

I grin and kiss his lips as I head out the door and behind the bar, “Your usual, Bobby?”

——-————————————————————————

A/N: A fun one for Jacklesverse Bingo! I’m working on Part 2 of Don’t call Me and should hopefully have it out tomorrow! 🫶🏼

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @k-slla

#jacklesversebingo24 #supernatural #spn fanfic #spnfandom #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester x you #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #spn smut #spn

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miniwheat77 · 1 year ago

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hiii!!! i’m wondering if you could do a smut about soap finding reader fucking herself with a toy (a dildo or vibrator) and he punishes her by fucking her with it and edging her multiple times until she cries 🙋‍♀️☹️ (i need him so bad)

Okay, I love this.

!CW! NSFW, Smut, unprotected p in v sex, edging, overstimulation, ruined orgasm. (Sorry if I missed any.)

*not edited*

It’s not unlike you to keep yourself busy while Soap is at work, but he’s made you agree to something.

Do not touch yourself while he’s at work.

Of course you don’t always listen to that, and keep yourself occupied. You spent the day out with a couple coworkers getting lunch and picking up some other stuff you needed, and when you got home you lost track of time.

You have your head tilted back, vibrator pressed up against your clit. You’re right on the edge when you hear the door open. Your eyes widen and you scramble to hide your toy before he comes in, redressing yourself. Trying to act normal when he walks in. Your room is much hotter than the rest of the house, and that was a dead giveaway to Soap. “Hey. Everything okay?” He asks. “Oh. Yeah. I was just charging my phone.” You lie. He smiles. “Gotcha.” He starts to undress himself, work clothes feeling heavy. Your eyes are glued to him as he pulls them off. His fit body flexing in sinful ways as he changes. He slides on a pair of sweatpants, leaving his torso exposed. He makes his way over to you.

“That’s all you were doing?” He smirks, crossing his arms. “What?” You look at him confused. Trying not to break. He’s acting different. “Because.. the room is kinda hot. You’re not usually in bed yet.. what were you doing?” He laughs. “I wasn’t doing anything Johnny.” You breath. You feel small compared to him. He can see you retracting from him. “Okay. Well.. than you won’t mind if I…” he traces his fingertips up your thigh and you breathe out, desperate for any kind of friction.

He slides his hand down the waistband of your shorts that you had just thrown on, and when he brushes his thumb over your opening, you’re already soaked. He tugs your shorts to the side, taking in a good look of you before laughing. “What? What’s so funny?” You breathe. “You’re lying to me. You were touching yourself.” He laughs. You start to defend yourself but he hushes you. “You can’t hide it lass. You’re soaking wet and your clit is blushing and swollen.” He smiles, standing up. Your cheeks heat up. “Give it to me.” He holds his hand out. You stay quiet. “Y/N, you’re really digging yourself a hole here. Give it to me. Now.” You sigh, leaning over to your nightstand and opening up the drawer, passing him the vibrator you had just been using. “Darling.. you’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Wait- wait. I’m sorry. I-I lost track of time and I was just trying to relax an-“ he pushes his fingers up to his lips, making a shushing gesture, quieting you. “You should have just said so. But since you lied…” he clicks his tongue. He grasps your ankles, forcing you down the bed. A gasp leaves your lips at his forcefulness. “We agreed to this, sweet girl. You’re not going back on it are you?” You sigh. Shaking your head.

“Good. Now put your hands above your head.” You look up at him confused, but do as he says. He grasps both of them, wrapping one of his leather belts around the bars of your bed frame, tugging the home tight around your wrists. “Woah- what are you doing?” You breathe. “I’m going to punish you. Because you’re a bad girl.” He chuckles. “What are you going to do?” You ask. “Stop asking, you’ll find out.”

He grasps your shorts, tugging them down your legs. “Poor pussy. So deprived.” He chuckles. He runs his finger over your clit gently, earning a gasp from you. He presses your vibrator up to your clit, letting it rest there. You squirm, tugging at the belt wrapped around your wrists. He circles your opening with it, letting it sink into your wet hole. A gasp leaves your lips, and you rest your hips back. “Johnny-“ you breathe. Your cheeks are already flushed, and the way you say his name makes it hard for him to do this to you, but he knows he has to make a point.

“I got this toy for you to use when I can’t be here for you.” He chuckles. “But what did we agree on darling?”

“For when you’re gone, but not to use it while you’re at work.” You breathe. “Yeah? Why’s that?” He asks. “B-because you will always take care of me- ah!” You cry. “Right baby. That’s right. So you’ve disobeyed me, and you lied about it.” He chuckles. “And I just can’t have that.” He smirks.

Your chest is moving with your heavy breathing and he knows you’re getting close by the way you’re acting. Your legs twitch every once in a while. “Johnny- I- I’m gonna cum.” You breathe. “Yeah? Are you?”

Your eyes widen when he draws the vibrator away from you. You finally realize what he’s going to do.

“Wait- Johnny. I’m sorry.” You breathe. “No baby. You knew what the consequences were.” He chuckles. He lets you squirm for a minute before returning to the vibrator to your opening. He purposely avoid your clit, rubbing it over your exposed flesh. You’re bucking your hips into him. After a couple more minutes, he pushes it back into you. “Do you remember your safe word?” He asks. You nod your head. “Good.” He pulls it out of you, plunging it back in.

He does this for what feels like forever, until you’ve got tears streaming down your face. You’re begging him to let you cum and he’s rock hard. He’s torturing himself too.

“Please Johnny, I’m sorry. Please let me cum- please please!” You cry.

When he draws it away from you once again, you tilt your head back. A sob leaving your lips. He chuckles at you.

He returns it to your clit, circling it. You’re right in the edge. “Johnny- I-“ your eyes widen when he lets you finish, but once you reach your peak, he pulls it away, ruining your orgasm. You squirm and cry, pussy throbbing from the ruined orgasm.

He returns the vibrator again, watching as you flinch away from him. Now you’re overly sensitive. “Ah! No. Too much-“ you breathe. He forces your thighs open, sliding it into you. “You’ll just have to let it be too much.” He laughs. He thrusts it into your pussy, fucking you with it. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? You were having so much fun, begging me for it. And what? Now you don’t want it?” He teases. You’re a mess, body squirming. He tries to hold your still but your thighs shake from the stimulation. “Ah- I’m gonna cum again!” You whine out.

You let out a frustrated cry when he pulls it away from you once you reach your peak, ruining another orgasm. You’re sobbing when he presses it to your clit.

He smirks, sitting up. He pushes his sweatpants down, exposing his cock. He nestles himself between your legs, resting your vibrator onto your sensitive nub, sinking his cock into your blushing hole. You’re throbbing around him.

Your eyes widen, and you try to close your legs together but can’t. “You can give me one more, right?” He smirks. He’s rough. Fucking you sloppy and hard, keeping the vibrator on your clit. He knows he won’t last long, watching you like this and being deprived makes for a fast orgasm from Johnny. You’re loud, moaning out and crying as he fucks his big cock into you. He can’t help but smile. “Give me one more. Just one more princess.” He bites his lip. Your bottom lip is trembling, thighs shaking against him. He can feel you clamping around him, knowing you’re close again. You clench your eyes closed. Gritting your teeth. You let out a strangled gasp when you cum again, wanting to cry even more as he finally fucks you through it. He removes the vibrator from your clit. “Yeah. Now you’ll be a good girl and let me fill this pussy.” He chuckles.

His last few thrusts are rough, sloppy and rough and the squelch from your overstimulated pussy pushes him over the edge and you’ve got silent tears streaming down your face when he cums, cock buried up to the hilt as he fills you up with his spunk.

He halts completely, breathing hard. You’re squirming under him. He can’t help but smile, letting out a small laugh at the gasp you let out when he slides out of you completely.

He unties your hands, smiling at the red marks on your wrists from the tugging you’d done. “Look at me.” He breathes. Lifting your chin to look at him. “This was me going easy on you. You don’t want to see me mad. You don’t lie to me, and that pussy is mine when I come home. Understand?”

You nod your head quickly, “yes Johnny, all yours.” You breathe.

“That’s my girl.”

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap x reader #soap cod #soap mctavish #cod mw soap #soap smut

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niceboyeds · 1 year ago

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Eddie is very independent until he meets you. after that he’s a clingy little puppy who needs his partner to be with him every second of the day.

when you need to go to the store he’s right beside you, pushing the cart (and adding in unnecessary items). if you have a doctors appointment he tags along, claiming it’s because the check out nurse gives out lollipops but it’s obvious when you leave him in the waiting room that he does nothing except stare at the door until you return from the back.

the only time you said something about it was when you woke up in the middle of the night to pee, leaving him in bed alone to sleep. it was maybe two minutes that you were gone and as soon as you opened the bathroom door, your sleepy and somewhat sad metalhead boyfriend was right outside.

“hey… why aren’t you in bed? did i wake you?” you questioned, taking his hand and rubbing it to reassure him.

“i could tell you weren’t there. got worried so i— i came to find you.” he rubbed the sleep out of his eye with his free hand and gave a soft smile.

“Eddie, baby, i’m not going anywhere. you know that right?”

“yeah i know.” he sighs and you give him a look, as if saying you aren’t sure if he believes his own words. he continues, “i know, i do. it’s just… what if one day something happens and i lose you? i just wanna spend all the time in the world with you.”

“i promise i won’t be leaving, not ever.” you wrap your arms around his torso and he squeezes you back tightly. “can we go back to bed Eddie? we can be together while sleeping.” you tease, knowing damn well he’s going to be up for a while now.

“or… we can be together in another way…” he smirks at you, bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

“c’mon goofball, let’s go.” you answer him, pulling him into the bedroom and crawling back under the covers. “bed. sleep. now.”

“fine, but i’m the little spoon.” you giggle at his request but agree. snuggling into him, you hold your clingy boyfriend as you both drift back off to sleep in the comfort of each others’ presence.

#i wrote this half asleep but #clingy eddie #he’s my favorite #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson blurb

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pubbybutch · 11 months ago

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Towers Built, and Towers Falling Down - 2

MEDIEVAL AU KNIGHT! ABBY X CHUBBY! PRINCESS! READER

CW: Bath Sex, AFAB Reader, Princess-Y Nicknames, Sweet and Caring Abby, No Explicit Aftercare, Sneaking Around.

Word Count : 2K

(This is a part two to this fic here)

MINORS MEN AND GENERAL CUNTS DNI

Steam fills the air in the stone walled chamber as jug after jug of hot water is poured into the large wooden basin, the servants file in and out of the door as the broad shoulders of Abby keep the door propped open while you sit watching idly from the small cushioned stool in the corner of the washroom. The various tapestries adorning the walls give an air of comfort, a needed distraction as you wait for the preparations to finish, the cold air from the open window causing your skin to goosebump whilst sitting in nothing but a light linen shift. One of the chambermaids proceeds to pour a sweet smelling oil into the warm water, as she dips a hand into the bath you break your silence, “What is that? The oil, I mean.”

She turns to you, curtseying. “Rose, my lady. As far as I am aware.” Lifting the jug, she bows again and leaves. The quiet that now falls across the chamber is comfortable as Abby steps inside, the door closing behind her as she does so. Turning from you to face the door you watch the muscles in her back and across her shoulders ripple as she slides the heavy iron latch down, locking the door and protecting you from any intrusion. Stepping behind the willow branch screen, you strip off the final layer of your shift and lay it across the stool you’d previously been sitting on. As you step out from behind the screen you watch Abby as she catches sight of your nude state and rolls up the sleeves on the tight grey peasant shirt she has on, “Well princess, the water isn’t going to get any warmer.” She speaks with a deep smirk and playfulness in her eyes as she holds out a hand for you to climb into the washbasin.

“Abby. Won’t you get in with me?”

She folds her arms and shakes her head, “I can’t.”

You wrap your arms around her waist, pressing naked curves against her clothed torso. “Please Abby?” Your eyes meet hers, wide and filled with a faux innocence that never failed to cause a pink tint to flood the knight’s neck and cheeks. “Princess. You and I both know that we shouldn’t.

“Just because we shouldn’t doesn’t mean we can’t.”

She huffs a sigh, but steps back from your embrace immediately missing the warmth of your thick arms and proceeds to tug the soft cloth of her shirt over her head leaving her in her thin chest bindings and linen trousers.

“Get in and I’ll finish getting undressed, princess.”

You nod in the negative, blatantly refusing to follow her instructions. With a lifted eyebrow and a smirk, Abby corners you against the basin and her body. “Wanna try that again?” You repeat your previous action, shaking your head but this time with far less vigor and conviction.

“One more time. Get in.”

A final refusal and suddenly you’re flying. Strong arms have wrapped around your thighs, large warm hands gripping under the curve of your ass and you’re thrown over her shoulder. Leaving you fully exposed. The water splashes around you with some spilling out of the tub as Abby unceremoniously plops you into the warm bath water.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” You gasp, feigning anger as you move so that a soft hand covers your heart. Abby takes your other hand into hers as she kneels down on the stone floor, she places a small peck to your knuckle before looking you dead in the eyes. “If my lady can find it in her heart to forgive me, I would be most obliged. Or pardon me, actually.”

“Actually,” you pause to bat your eyelashes at her, “my knight. I don’t think I can forgive you.”

“Oh, and may I ask why, my lady?” The smirk in Abby’s voice causes heat to crawl up your neck as she teases you in a similar way to how you’d teased her. It was revenge. And Abby was extremely good at revenge.

“Well- I- it’s because…”

“Because?” She prompts through her smirk.

“You haven’t earned my forgiveness! And certainly not a pardon.”

At this exclamation, Abby rises from her kneeling as she gets up with a stretch, with a few long strides she positions herself behind you. You try to turn to face her in this new arrangement, but are met with the sound of water spilling out over the rim of your wooden prison and onto the stone below. With a warm hand on your shoulder, Abby guides you back to face the wall as you had been previously.

Now with only your hearing to give you any indication of the blonde’s position behind you, you close your eyes in an attempt to focus in on the microscopic sounds she was making. ‘Rustling… maybe her trousers? No, she still had her belt on…’

As Abby gets undressed as quietly as possible knowing the in’s and out’s of your mind, how it works and how you’re most likely trying to figure out every move she’s making. Sliding the linen down her thighs and to the ground, she doesn’t let it fall but instead sets it gently onto the floor, the soft brown leather of her belt going with it, the small knife that was normally sheathed in it having been set to the side before you’d even gotten into the bath. Her chest bindings follow and she rubs the little red creases the material has left on her skin. As she finishes undressing, she bends to peek over your shoulder to see your eyes still tightly closed, the creases that line your face as it scrunches in concentration. The sight causes a light puff of air to escape her lungs, a quiet laugh.

The proximity of the noise causes you to jump, how she had managed to get as close as she had is beyond you and you tilt your head, eyes now open wide, and are met with the visage of an extremely naked mountain of a woman. “I- uh…” You trail off as you take in every inch of her skin, the freckles you wished that you could see every hour of the day, each little curve of her muscle causing heat to flood your whole body.

“Come on, princess. You have to shift up.”

You scooch forward and pull your legs in together as Abby steps over the rim and into the bath, as she sits down her body displaces a large amount of water. Thick muscled calves slide past the plush of your hips and thighs, long legs rub against your comparatively shorter ones as her hands move against the rolls of your sides and down to rest on the curve of your stomach. You lean into the warmth of her broad chest and she leans into your back, lips meet the nape of your neck and shoulders as she peppers chaste sweet kisses across the skin.

Taking in deep breaths, the warm, damp air fills your lungs as Abby continues her show of affection. Her hands that had remained stationary on your stomach begin to trail lower down the little shelf above your folds, she narrowly avoids touching your core as her nails dig little dents and raise the skin of your upper thighs. This elicits a high pitched whine to slip from your lips and the sound is met with a slight pinch to the flesh of your inner thigh, “Now princess, is that an appropriate sound-”

“No! But…”

“But what, your highness?” Her breath is hot on the shell of your ear. When you don’t say anything, she continues to prompt you, “Tell me what you want.”

As you wriggle further against the blonde sat behind you, her hands slide into place. One with the fingers spread wide to encompass the underside of your breast, rough skin squeezing the soft flesh. Occasionally a finger rubs up against your nipple, the water from her digits wetting the pebbled buds. Soft whimpers fall from your mouth as Abby’s mouth runs kisses and nibbles as she spreads your lips under the water.

Fingers running through the course tight curls of hair, one hand reaches round keeping you spread open as a single thick finger tip runs circles around your clit. Teasing. Circles, round and round but never applying full pressure or coming into full contact with the little nub. She occasionally slips a straight line across your clit, a chuckle falls from her mouth as you push against her hand - desperation becoming even more evident.

“Abby please-!” You whine.

“Words, princess.”

“Fuck me. Please. Fuck m-,” you’re cut off by your own body betraying you, a moan rattles out of your body as slides two thick fingers inside and gives into you, applying straight pressure to your desperate clit with the flat of her thumb.

In and out, she plunges her fingers deep inside of you, stretching. Your breathing is heavy. She continues at a steady pace, constant and smooth fluid movements help to build a tight pressure in your lower stomach. As she continues, the pressure builds and builds and builds. You writhe in her grasp, strong biceps wrap lovingly around you squishing the soft flesh slightly as she attempts to hold you in place as she continues to fuck your weeping cunt.

“You feel so warm around me, Princess.” The blonde whispers into one of your ears, before moving her mouth to leave a warning nip at the lobe of the ear at the other side, “keep your voice down, if you want to finish at any point soon.”

As you feel yourself getting closer and closer, your thighs close on impulse but Abby’s thick wrist doesn’t stop and her fingers don't rest. Not even for one second. You whip around, moaning as water seeps and splashes onto the floor with your movements.

A knock on the door causes you to freeze but Abby keeps going, seemingly not caring.

A muffled voice asks through the door, “Are you alright?” And as you struggle to catch your breath, you squeak out a quick but satisfactory ‘Yes! I’m fine.’

Abigail is relentless and her fingers keep edging you closer and closer. As you two hear the attendant leaves, you cum. One of her hands covers your mouth and you bite into the flesh while she barely winces, too busy keeping you quiet and whispering sweet comforts into your ear.

She bends you forward by your waist and slides out from behind you, you watch her firm muscled ass grab walk away and grab a bathrobe from a stool in the corner, her feet leaving a trail of wet foot prints to where she now stands with her arms outstretched holding the robe out for you to slide on. She watches with dark, needy eyes as you emerge from the water, she watches as droplets fall down your body and gathers in the folds of skin, gods does she want to fuck you again… but she settles for running her hands along the soft plush of your sides.

“I am slightly disappointed I didn’t get to return the favour, Abigail.”

“Oh really? How’s about you meet me in the stable tomorrow morning?” She quips as she gets redressed, you’re left to marvel at how only the very ends of her hair got wet, and you’re left nodding before fully processing what she’s said.

She presses a chaste kiss to your lips and leaves but not before peeking her head back in, “see you then, princess.”

If you liked this please reblog, thicc reblogs save writer lives.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #tlou x reader #tlou #knight au #medieval au #abby x reader smut #abby anderson smut #abby x you #abby anderson fan fiction #chubby queer reader #chubby reader #chubby wlw reader

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honeytama · 6 months ago

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out of control bloodline! matt thoughts some smut 18+ under the cut

ty for @ladyveronikawrites post for making me not be able to think straight

GOD HELP

pics where his sides are showing are probably the closest thing we’ll get to seeing him shirtless and yknow what? i’ll take it. mans probably has an incredible body and i don’t blame him for keeping it to himself 🙂‍↔️✋

LIKE,, loookk at the definition in his ribs and waist area sheesh

i know that there’s sleeveless tees just practical for drumming but something tells me he thinks of them more than that…. he loves the way he looks in them and thinks it’s funny when he has a little nipslip now and again. alsoooo, idk if they sell them like that really? so he cut them himself, what a creative guy w his scissors aw

enough (never enough) about the sides of his torso what about his arms ?? matty i love you and your oversized tees but we only get to see half of your nerd tattoos?? Wtff :( his biceps and shoulders are being hid from the world let them breathe king

he just looks so good

thinking abouttt being gf of bloodline!matt 😢 and attending his rehearsals in the days before shows. he always get a little nervy,, which make him get testy with his bandmates but with you he’s just needy :( he likes to see your face smiling and head bobbing as you sit on the floor across the room from him. he got you a special pare of earplugs with his initials on each one bc he knows his drumming and screaming (I’m fainting) is loud and he won’t risk you having hearing loss due to him :(

imagine running your fingers down his bare sides as you two kiss while he’s on break from rehearsing,, giving him goosebumps mhmm

his bandmates tease him for it, but he just gives them the finger bc he’s got his pretty girl sitting on his thigh while he’s on his drum throne. they all eventually leave you to suck face for what matt knows is going to be a good 15 min. good enough time for him to get you both off !

matt prides himself in his drum set up,, always making sure it’s finely tuned and cleaned just the way he likes…. but he finds more pride in feeling your pussy clench around him while you whine and cry on his dick :/

he has two favorite, practiced, positions,,, ones you were nervous to try at first bc you didn’t want to destroy his drums but you went ahead and trusted his strong drummer arms and large hands to hold you in place.

numero uno ☝️ riding him while he’s on his drum throne,, he lets you lean back and rest your hands on his snare while his hands grip your hips to pull you up and down his cock

he reminds you to wear your favorite skirts btw,, it’s the only way yall can do this quick enough before his buddies are back!

dos ✌️ he likes to take you over the top of his large, floor tom. folded over it and fucking you from behind sigh

it’s great bc the sound proofed warehouse or garage or studio they practice in muffles your screaming and moaning his name,, and hides the sounds of his hands slapping and leaving handprints on your ass as you bounce on him 🙄

but his favorite part and he tells you this,, is how flustered you look afterward as the guys return to get to playing again. while you and matt know that they have no clue about your trysts,,, your humiliation and shyness of the thought of them being able to hear you makes matt F E R A L

he just loves to point out your messed up hair :/ or your skirt that’s just hiked up a lil too high :/ while in front of them!! ugh

#BRING BACK THESE SHIRTS NOW BOY #ITS SUMMER ITLL DO YOU GOOD #matt dierkes #matt thoughts #matt dierkes x reader

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zweetpea · 1 year ago

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Interlude: Between wind and stone.

Cw: I don’t think anything, but if I’m missing something you can leave it in the comments

As you walk along the trail you couldn’t help but feel like someone’s watching you. You shake off the feeling and keep on your way.

“You won’t be welcomed in Liyue descender.” You hear a voice call from behind you. You turn around and see Dainsleif walk towards you.

“Every freaking time.” You pout. “I was promised hot dudes and mommy milkers, and yet twice now people have been hostile towards me.”

“You should go back to whatever forsaken land you came from and leave Teyvats people alone.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how. Honestly I’d love to listen to you, I have family, friends and a promising future back home. So far everyone has been very hostile towards me. There’s really no reason for me to want to stay. Yet I still can’t leave.”

“Follow me. There’s old manuscripts in the abyss that might help you get home.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Dainsleif sighs and pulls you closer by your hips. “If you be good and listen I’ll reward you.” You blush at his actions but quickly think of a comeback.

“Can I choose the reward?” You smile slyly, not unlike a fox bearing its teeth and taunting its prey.

“No. You get a kiss.”

“Can you at least kiss me on the lips?”

“Fine.”

“For a whole minute.” You stipulate.

“5 seconds.” He argues.

“45 seconds.”

“6 seconds.”

“Hey! Fine 44 seconds.”

“5 seconds.”

“You can’t-! Fine, how about 10 seconds?” You pout.

“Deal.” He finally agrees. He takes your hand and takes you through the abyss. At one point he has to fend off a horde of enemies and he just picks you up and carries you bridal style.

‘Is this going to be a normal thing? People just carrying me away without my permission?’ You think as he runs through this labyrinth of halls.

Finally we get to the library he mentions and he puts me down. We walk through and search for the books and manuscripts and texts we might need. The way Dain studies the books is so mesmerizing. He gets lost in them, you disappearing from his thoughts.

10 minutes in you hear a noise coming from down the hall so you sneak away only to find a hydro slime bouncing towards you bring you a sunsettia and some cooked fowl. The small slime stops at your feet and bounces in front of you. “Is this for me?” The spine nuzzles your leg in a sign of approval as you take the food and pet the little dear. “Thanks.”

You walk back towards the blond and he doesn’t even look up as he remarks, “You should be more careful around them.”

“Aren’t they your people? Why are you so hostile towards them?”

“I’m not hostile, but I don’t think that you should just go around eating everything that strangers give you.”

“Newsflash: I don’t exactly have a vision, I don’t have any mora, and I don’t have a weapon. Taking handouts is the only way I’ll be able to survive.”

“You’re supposed to have powers untold.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m a college student who’s studying computer science and engineering. I got sucked in here because I found Kate Kaslana and she got pissed at me.”

“Once you get back home you can make up as much as you want. ‘Computer’ what a ridiculous word.” Dain rolls his eyes. He grabs the book he’s reading and grabs some chalk. Then he draws a circle and a slightly smaller circle inside of the original, and finally draws symbols in between the two.

“Is this a transfiguration circle?”

“Transportation circle, actually.”

“I’m really going home.” You smile. “Hey before you finish I get my kiss.” You demand.

“I suppose that’s fair.” He gets up and takes your face in his hands. He then leans down and meets his lips with yours. You close your eyes and enjoy yourself. You put your hands on his broad chest and run them over his torso. Then, as quickly as it began, it ended.

“That was so nice.”

“Um… glad you thought so. Now time for you to go.”

“I don’t think so.” A deep gravely voice calls for the entrance. The two of you jump back in surprise and see an Abyss Herald. “You’ve foiled our plans for far too long Dainsleif. It’s our turn to get the drop on you!” He charges in, grabs you, holds you under his arm and makes a run for it through a portal.

#sagau #sagau genshin #genshin sagau #sagau cult au #genshin impact sagau #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #sagau x reader #genshin x reader #self aware genshin #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif x you #dainsleif x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin dainsleif #genshin abyss #genshin crack

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erideights · 7 months ago

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With my 6th sense. (2)

Pairing: Hunter x fem! jedi reader

Rating: SFW, nothing you should worry about, just tension between the sarge and the general

Wordcount: 2K

Chapters: (1) (3) (4)* (5)* (*not posted yet)

Warnings and tags: none, extremely slight mentions of war, tension and characters shenanigans

Summary: Another day, another suicide mission for the squad. This time commanded by a jedi general Hunter doesn't seem to really get along with.

A rough pair of gloved hands awkwardly but subtly tug at the collar of his new, extremely layered outfit that clings to his skin instead of his usual gear and armor. Hunter is still not on board with the fit change and the blatant lack of protection for such a risky mission. Though the chest plate and another, smaller plate cover his torso and right leg, it just doesn't feel right.

He gets the need to not be recognized as Republic soldiers since the political and military fallout would be a nightmare with no end in sight, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. And he doesn’t.

Narrowing his eyes, he crosses his arms over his chest and settles into one of the seats in the cockpit of the ship. His gaze is fixed on the holomap in the general’s hands, as is all his attention.

"I'd love to say our last recon squad managed to send back a better scan of the planet, but..." (Y/N) sighs and shakes her head slightly, an apologetic smile on her lips as she shrugs. The blue light from the holomap reflects on her youthful face, and Hunter can’t help but wonder how much field experience someone like her must have to be sent on a mission like this. She’s clearly not a kid, but she doesn’t seem like a 500-year-old Jedi master like the legendary Yoda he’s heard about.

Does he actually have doubts about her leadership and actual ability to act and adapt during this mission? Absolutely. But Hunter distrusts anyone outside his squad or other clones, well aware of the training they’ve all been through and their capabilities and limits. He doesn’t know hers. And that blindness it’s dangerous.

“I can’t give you more. The fact that we even know where Serenno is and have a rough map of the planet is a miracle in itself. So we’ll work with what we have and improvise as we go.”

“I like that,” Wrecker chimes in enthusiastically, pounding his fists together in a display of eagerness to blow things up.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that’s your style,” The jedi admits with a hint of amusement. “I’ve also heard that you like to cause chaos wherever you go and leave nothing standing behind, so I imagine that reminding you this is a stealth mission where we can’t blow anything up doesn’t exactly thrill you.”

“Buzzkill,” grumbles the big clone, exasperation evident on his face. Crosshair clicks his tongue, and Tech silently takes notes on everything being discussed.

“You wouldn’t be the first to call me that,” she replies with a playful smirk.

It’s strange how she effortlessly blends with the squad’s energy, her charismatic and fun aura making the clones not only listen to her but also interact with her as if they’ve known her forever.

Hunter, though not as maniacally as Tech, makes mental notes of the mission, paying close attention to every detail the Jedi outlines. Finding the scientific base where they store the droid schematics will be the easy part. Tracking the forested area and locating the entrance will be child’s play for him. Getting in and reaching the communications room for Tech to hack and steal the schematics without making noise… maybe not so much.

“They’ll shoot down our shuttle before we even get to fantasize about getting near the planet’s orbit,” Hunter interjects, tilting his head to one side. The way he looks at her, with such an overwhelming intensity reflected in his brown eyes, seems like a way of challenging her in front of his squad.

“They won’t if they don’t see us coming,” (Y/N) answers without batting an eye, her gaze fixed on him, her lips curving ever so, so slightly. If he’s trying to discredit her and make things difficult before the mission has even started, he’s in for a big surprise. Pressing a button on the holomap’s projector, a Separatist cargo ship appears in full view. “Commander Cody obtained some Separatist shuttle codes during his last mission. All we need to do is use them to pass as one of their ships, dock, and detach as soon as we’re in the atmosphere. We will land as close to the forest as we can to camouflage the ship, and for the rest of the way all of us will use our legs.”

“With the schematics of one of those ships I could mask our signal to mimic theirs once the proximity scanner detects us,” Tech adds without even looking up, his eyes glued to his datapad.

“I’ll get you those before we exit hyperspace,” she promises, nodding, pleased with their cooperation and the lack of complaints beyond, well, not being able to blow anything up. She’s sure Wrecker’s heart is broken since she mentioned that.

“Any other questions, Sergeant?” In her voice there's distant touch of… annoyance? Challenge? The jedi raises an eyebrow at the clone, silently pushing him the same way he did a few minutes ago with her. She doesn’t know what his problem is—whether it’s with her specifically or all Jedi in general—but she’s not about to let him intimidate her. She’d already be dead if she wouldn’t be capable enough to deal with way worse situations than a territorial man with trust issues and a heavy feeling of rejection towards others' command.

Besides, her mission isn’t to get along with him. Would his cooperation certainly make everything easier? Yeah, sure, but she will do just fine if at least the others listen to her.

Hunter grunts quietly, the skepticism refusing to leave his face even if he had to admit to himself, her plan seems to be well tied. "Just hoping we don’t get shot to pieces in these outfits."

(Y/N) just scoffs, rolling her eyes. Of course he had to complain about the whole ‘bounty hunter/scavenger/mercenary’ outfit. "You’ll be fine, sergeant. The entire point of this mission is to not trigger any blaster."

Wrecker, seated nearby and silent until now, pipes up again with a grin. "Yeah, Hunter, lighten up. We’re practically invisible in these things!" He gives a playful nudge to Crosshair, who rolls his eyes but smirks nonetheless.

Tech, ever the practical one, adjusts his glasses and adds, "Statistically, our chances of success are improved with stealth and subtlety. The armor is merely a psychological comfort."

Hunter shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s just hope those stats hold up when the blaster bolts start flying."

‘’Again…’’ she sighs softly, licking her lips in an absentmindedly gesture while she tilts her head to the side, eyes looking for Hunter’s from across the holomap. Thanks to the Maker Jedi training comes served with an extra bundle of patience. ‘’let’s try to not reach that point.’’

...

As the ship hums through hyperspace, the journey long as she promised, everyone settles into their own routines after wrapping up their meeting, either to prep or kill time. Wrecker's lifting a couple of crates like they're weights, Crosshair's checking and cleaning his rifle, and Tech's deep in his datapad, muttering calculations and plans under his breath. The low, constant buzz of the engines creates a background noise that almost drowns out the tension in the air.

But this isn’t her ship, it’s not a place where she can really take a breath and relax, especially with how territorial the sergeant —not so subtly— has shown himself to be. She'd rather avoid getting comfy only to have him show up with that death glare of his and say something among the lines of ‘That’s my spot.’ So she decides to do a final check on each step of the plan and her clothing, making sure the belt where she keeps her lightsaber is properly secured.

Nonetheless, a question has been bugging her since they all met back in the base, and despite trying to keep it to herself for what feels like forever (but is really just a second), she can’t really stay quiet. That’s not her style.

“I got a question,” she starts, casually leaning her arm on the seat where Tech’s sitting. She doesn’t even look at him, avoiding any awkwardness. She speaks to the whole group, knowing they can hear her from the cockpit. “Who’s the genius who landed back on Coruscant?”

Without missing a beat or even bother to look at her, almost the entire squad responds in unison, “Hunter.”

As if her body had just been struck by lightning, the jedi freezes and bites back a laugh, her lower lip trembling for a fraction of a second before she presses her lips together in a frown, trying to keep a straight face and to avoid, at all cost, to let her gaze slip to the sergeant. Clearing her throat, she nods to herself, breathing very, very slowly and swallowing hard. She knew it. She would have bet her life on it, and now Obi-Wan owes her 20 credits.

From the corner of her eye, though, she catches a subtle reaction from Hunter—a slight tightening of his jaw and a quick, almost imperceptible smirk. And until now, the sergeant was sitting a few feet away, absentmindedly twirling a vibroblade between his fingers. The gesture by itself was innocent, the jedi sure that was nothing more than a way to distract himself and pass the time, or a way to better focus on his thoughts like any other method there could be, but even if it was almost meditative, there was an underlying intensity to it.

His presence is just so loud, she cannot help but to end up sneaking a glance at him, catching his eye for a split second. He looks up, their gazes locking. There’s a moment, just a heartbeat, where the air seems to thicken too much for comfort.

“Got something to say, General?” Hunter asks, his voice low, husky. There’s a hint of challenge in his tone, again, like he’s daring her to say something and to just give him an excuse to… bark ar her. She wouldn't be surprised at all.

“Nothing. Just wondering if your knife skills are as sharp as your flying ones,” she shoots back, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. She couldn’t just keep quiet, right?

Hunter's lips twitch, maybe the start of a smile, but most probably not. “You planning on finding out?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs, arching an eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest, leaning back against the wall as soon as she reaches the cockpit. “Depends on how the mission goes I suppose.”

Without saying another word and clearly annoyed, Hunter puts the knife inside the holster strapped to his left wrist in one fluid motion, his gaze still locked on hers. His voice's raspy, low, and there's this feeling she cannot shake off, telling her there's something else behind his words. “You think this is a game, General? Lives are on the line here.”

“I’m well aware, sarge. Just because I smile doesn’t mean I’m not taking this seriously.” Her voice softens a bit ‘cause she understands his point and what war means, but that fire behind her eyes doesn't falter, that resolution intrinsic in her being doesn't weaken, her gaze fixed on his own.

And as expected since he caught her looking at him, the tension hanging heavy between them gets even thicker for a moment, the rets of the Batch already used to Hunter's not so subtle issues with other'safter many seconds carefully measuring his next move, or so she thinks, Hunter gives a small nod, acknowledging her words. “Good. Just make sure you're ready to do what's needed to even if it's not The Jedi Style.”

“Don’t worry, that's my signature move.”

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