#I’m naming that bitch blue guy

[zionanelequaso]

I WANT A SHINY NICKIT SO BAD ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY

LIKE

WHEN I FIRST STARTED GRINDING FOR IT I WAS IN MY DHMIS ARC SO WHEN I FOUND OUT IT HAD BLUE ON IT I WENT

RED GUY IS BLUE IN THIS PART. BLUE GUY.

THEN I KNEW WHAT I WOULD NAME MY SHINY NICKIT…

BLUE GUY!!!!

[prettyg1irlstears]

the pool deck (rafe cameron)

pairing: bfb!rafe

warnings: smoking, unprotected p in v sex, pool sex, breeding

you were spending the day with your best friend sarah. you were by the pool the whole day, just swimming, tanning and gossiping.

“oh no, we ran out of lemonade!” sarah says with a frown when he comes bavk from inside. “gotta go buy more.”

“i’ll wait for you” you smile while putting on sunscreen. sarah nods and you watch her disappear with her wallet in her hand.

ten minutes pass and you get a message from her: got distracted by john b. probably up to his place. sorry!

you just chuckle and shake your head. you still couldn’t believe that a kook princess would date the pogue king himself.

the sound of footsteps take you out of your thoughts and your heart skips a beat when you see their owner.

“hi ray” you smile, taking your sunglasses off to look at him and standing up from your sunbed. “how are you?”

”’sup, bunny,” rafe smirks, the nickname he gave you smoothly coming out of his mouth as he lights up a cigarette and taking a long drag. you were his favorite friend of sarah’s, always so sweet and caring, asking how his day was, all innocent.

“i’m doin’ good, how you doin’,” he blew the smoke out the corner of his mouth, watching her as she walked towards him. “you look good in that bikini.”

“thanks! i bought it last week,” you smile. and look at your bikini. “they also had a blue one but i thought this one was better.”

he chuckled at your words, flicking the ash off his cigarette “well, you have pretty good taste.” he commented, stepping closer to you, his gaze lingering on your body.

“thanks!” you smile and then look at the cigarette. you weren’t much of a smoker, but you took one when someone had them. “can i have a drag?”

hesitantly, he handed you the cigarette, his lips twitching into a smile. “sure, if you must.”

his eyes were focused on your lips, the way you suck on the filter, imagining how they would taste and feel wrapped around his dick.

rafe watched you take a long drag, your lips wrapped around the cigarette looking so tempting. he swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving you. he was getting hard. “you look hot as hell.”

“really..?” you smile shyly. you’re not used to getting attention from guys, and you’re definitely not used to comments like this. “i don’t get that often.”

his eyes roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your figure with a predatory gaze, his breath hitching as his cock hardened in his swimming pants. he coudln’t take it anymore, he reached out, grabbing your ass, squeezing it softly.

you gasp, looking up at him with a shocked and confused expression that only made him grow harder. “what are you doing, ray??”

his hand slips lower, his fingers finding the damp fabric of your bikini bottoms. he chuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. he wants you, wants to strip you naked and ravish you. “i'm going to fuck you in this pool soon.”

that takes you off guard, making you swallow as you try to talk yourself out of it. “that’s unhygienic.. i- i could get an infection or something—“ you stutter, trying to stay calm.

“you'll be the cleanest bitch in town after I finish fucking you.” rafe whispers, rubbing your butt cheeks. he was already imagining what it would feel like to have you writhing beneath him, moaning his name.

he leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. his tongue slides past your lips, exploring your mouth as his hand playfully slap your butt. if only you knew how much he wants to strip you and have you bent over the pool deck for a good, long, hard fucking.

“rafe— wait— sarah—“ you attempt to say between kisses.

his fingers dig into you hips, pulling you closer against him, his kiss turning more hungry as his arousal presses against you, his cock throbbing pants. “shut up and let me fuck you.”

you want to protest, to tell him that this is a terrible idea, that sarah will kill you when she finds out. but before you can respond, you have his fingers knuckled deep into your pussy

he devours your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours. he could feel your wetness coating his fingers and he couldn't wait to slide that sweet cunny onto his engorged cock.

you leave tiny moans and whimpers into the kiss as he fingers you, shamelessly moving your hips into his hand as your knees bend in pleasure.

he whitdraws his fingers before you can cum, a smirk on his face as he looks at you, his hands on your thighs. "get down on your knees, i wanna fuck you doggy right here.”

his eyes devouring your body as he watched you get into a kneeling position on the edge of the pool deck. he undoes his swimming pants and slides them down, revealing his big, hard and throbbing cock. “spread those legs f’me.”

you do as he says so and he positions himself behind you, his cock pressing against your wet folds. he reachs around and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling it gently as he begings to push into your tight pussy.

you gasp, your pussy gripping his cock tight. “ray..” you whimper, followed by a low groan from him.

he pulls your hair harder, causing you to let out a small whimper. "shhh, baby. i'm gonna make you cum." he begins to thrust into you, his balls slapping against your clit with each powerful thrust, your plump butt jiggling.

all you can let out are small ah ah ah sounds, and god, that could make him cum right on the spot.

he leans down and plants a kiss on your neck. "i can fucking feel your pussy clenching around me, sweet thing. you want me to fuck you harder? or do you want me to pull out and leave you wet and needy?"

“harder.. harder, ray..” you whine out, the thought of him stopping makes you wanna cry.

without missing a beat, he thrust into you harder, pounding your soaking wet pussy. the sounds of his hips slapping against your plump butt combined with your small and needy whimpers filled the air. “look at you.. taking your best friend’s brother balls deep inside you..”

your eyes roll into the back of your head, feeling the knot in your stomach threatening to burst. ”ray!” you moan out, your pussy clenching.

feeling the sensation of your tight pussy clenching around his cock as you reach your peak, he pulled your head back even further and slammed into you one last time, holding you there as he came inside you with a long grunt. "i fucking told you i was going to make you cum."

small whimpers are leaving your mouth, feeling his warm and sticky cum dump inside you and his lips attacking your neck, all while still coming down from your high.

he stayed inside you for a while, waiting until his panting calms down. after a while he gently pulled out, leaving a mess of his cum in your wrecked pussy. "there's my good girl."

even though you’re completely fucked out, you still somehow manage to get up on your knees, turn around and hug him, seeking out comfort.

feeling your small body against his, he pulled you into a tight hug, basking in the afterglow of your intense fuck session. his voice was deep and soothing as he soothed you in his arms. "come here, my little mess."

divider creds here

[toytle]

everything abt this is outdated but ykw. tag yourself anyway, i’m jean and fred

text ID under cut:

lasik (scott): 1) gifted kid burnout + eldest sibling syndrome 2) leader by choice(..?) 3) “this is fine.”

mom jeans (jean): 1) leader but not by choice 2) never forgets a birthday 3) gets away with things due to her reputation

fuzzy elf (kurt): 1) tries to be hip with the kids (is a kid) 2) honorary catboy 3) fingerguns his way out of situations

:3 (kitty): 1) impulsive shopper 2) livetweets everything 3) says ‘omg’ and ‘ttyl’ outloud 4) bakes muffins for her friends! they are inedible!

skater boi (evan): 1) cool guy syndrome 😎 (undiagnosed adhd) 2) steals food off his friends' plates 3) PARKOUR!

e-girl blueprint (rogue): 1) hopeless romantic 2) only child AND middle child energy 3) knows the best thrifting spots

“””team leader””” (lance): 1) tries a lot, fails a lot 2) anger is default emotion 3) probably named his car betty or smth

actual team leader (pietro). 1) cool guy syndrome 😎 (unmedicated adhd) 2) causes problems on purpose 3) motivated by attention

toad (todd): 1) thinks he's just soo funny. well, he is. 2) hasn't showered in a month 3) stays out of drama but Will grab the popcorn

bombshell blonde (tabitha): 1) self-loathing vs superiority complex: fight! 2) flirts with friends 3) parties to avoid being alone with her thoughts

scarlet bitch (wanda): 1) hates authority figures 2) cuts her own hair. and clothes. 3) in a constant state of overstimulation 4) deserves to snap tbh

hey it’s (fred)!: 1) cries easily 2) would literally murder for friends 3) treats plushies like living creatures

professor clean (xavier): 1) “hello el gee bee tee que community" 2) adopts every child he sees 3) knows everything and yet nothing at all

grrrr (logan): 1) that sounds like a you problem." 2) acts like he hates kids but tacks their drawings to the fridge 3) believes that violence is the answer

weather report (ororo): 1) everyone's bisexual awakening 2) has high expectations for everyone, including herself 3) live laugh love 😊😊😊 or else

mr beast but like actually (hank): 1) god, i could really use a drink." *makes chamomile tea* 2) longs to be a smooth rock basking in the sun 3) gives unwarranted life lessons

another blue one (mystique): 1) #girlboss 2) “gay rights but only for me" 3) loves her son but will dropkick other children

magnum dong (magneto): 1) heterophobic 2) "you have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair" 3) does not love his son AND will dropkick other children

[4ngels0uls]

god forbit i should live right? - C.B

don’t like? don’t read.

summary: carrington and y/n fuck hate each other so much that they would end up slitting each other’s throats, till carrington gets fed up and fucks the rudeness out of her.

paring: fem!reader + rude!carrington

warnings: SMUT, random tension, enemy’s to fuck buddies, unprotected sex, oral (fem!receiving), little pet names ( slut?, pretty girl ), strong language, kinda porn without a plot, etc.

a/n: i’m going to go rot in a hole🤗 also guess who found out carringtons last name😣

————————————————————

y/ns pov

“carrington you asshole!” you scream from across the house. you yelled this because he took your charger, your only good charger. your yelling because he had broken your other charger, and also he took your fan. you and carrington fucking hate each other, and jake and johnnie are fed up with it. “what the fuck are you yelling about now y/n?!?” jake also yells.

“carrington! not you!” you yell back. you and carrington used to be best friends when you both just had moved in, but now…. you want to fucking slit each other’s throats. “what the fuck do you want now y/n!?” carrington yells. you guys only hate each other so much is because he begin to become a total bitch to you after he hooked up with this one girl, till he got his heart broken. after that he started to become a bit more nicer than usual

“did you take my charger and fan?!” you yell at carrington. “yeah!?” he yells and you scoff. you go down the stairs to his room and go in there. “stop taking my shit bro.” you scold him as you grab your fan and charger. “i only borrowed it for a bit, jeez.” he mumbles. “bro you took it for a full day, i was literally at a meeting!” you scold once again. “yeah ok whatever.” he mumbles as you walk out of his room. ‘fucking asshole.” is all you can really think.

————————————————————

you sit in johnnie’s room with him has you watch him stream. carrington walks into the room. “John joh-. oh.” he says as he sees you. you look back at him and realize it’s him, then you look back to johnnie screen. “yeah ?” johnnie says as he doesn’t look over from his screen. “whatchu doing?” carrington asks, completely ignoring you. “i’m playing a game.” johnnie says quietly.

“oh okayy.” carrington says. “i’m about to go out for a bit then stream when i get back.” carrington continues. “where ya going?” johnnie asks. “just to a restaurant with a few friends.” carrington answers. jesus carrington sounds so much more relaxed when he’s talking to johnnie.. it’s actually not as annoying. you stare at carrington as he’s not wearing a shirt, because of how hot it is.

you suck your teeth and finally look away as carrington goes to look at you. he smirks and leaves the room. “alright johnnie i’m goin to go now.” you say as you stand up. “okay, see you.” he says softly. you walk out of johnnie’s room and start to walk to yours, till carrington spins you around. “i saw you staring at me.” he says quietly. “god forbit i should live, right?” you tell him. “i saw the way you stared at me y/n. you can’t play it off.” he says. you begin to feel your cheeks flush.

“and that’s exactly why your blushing y/n.” he says softly. you stare into his blue, piercing eyes, as he stares into your shit brown eyes. he lifts your chin and you swallow. he takes a fast glance at your lips then to your eyes. he smash his lips into yours like nothing. his tongue completely explores your mouth. he lifts you up and take you to your room as he shuts and lock your door and places you on your bed.

he continues to kiss you crazy. he pulls away to breath as he locks eyes with you. someone knocks on your door. “hey y/n?” jake yells from the other side of the door. “y-yeah?!” you yell back. “have you seen carrington. “no and i don’t care.” you say while lying. “oh okay.” jake says as he walks away. “no i don’t care.” carrington mimics you. “shut up!” you laugh as he chuckles. he kisses you again, he begins to kiss down your neck and jawline.

he goes back down to your neck and leaves a dark, purple hickey. “you like being rude huh?” he says in a whisper. you let a slight pathetic moan out. “pathetic.” is all he says and slides your pants down. “carrington.” you moan slightly. he groans at your noises. “slutty.” carrington says as he starts at the red lacy thong you have on. he hooks his middle and pointer finger in the strap of your thong.

he pulls the thong down to your ankles before tugging them off. he makes you put your knees up and you do what he wants. he places his face between your thighs. he places sloppy kisses on your inner thighs. you whine at his teasing and he chuckles. you buck your hips and he moves his mouth to your clit. you gasp at the waves of pleasure though out your body. “f-fuck carrington.” you groan as he fastens his pace with his tongue.

“fuck you taste good.” he mumbles against your pussy. he moves his mouth down and sticks his tongue in your hole. “fuck carrington!” you moan. you wrap your fingers around his brown locks. you close your thighs around his head and he holds the back of both of your thighs. you begin to grind your hips into his face, chasing your release. “fuckkkk!” you moan quite loudly as you feel the knot snap inside of your stomach making you cum all on carringtons face.

he licks your pussy clean, in which making you squirm like crazy. he stops and chuckles. he leans up and kisses you, making you taste your own release. he pulls away and smiles at you while you smile back. “fuck your hot.” he smiles. “other way around” you mumble and he smiles. he takes his pants off, along with his boxers. he lines himself up with your pussy and slams into you like nothing. you gasp when he just slams into you.

he chuckles as he begins to thrust his hips in the same place over and over. he finds your g spot and you moan loudly. he smiles “found it.” he mumbles before hitting the same spot again and again. “oh fuck me!” you moan loudly. “trust me, i am.” he says, while being cocky. you moan repeatedly as he slams into you. “such a pretty girl hm?” he says as the only thing you can think about is him fucking you like crazy.

you dig your nails into his back and he grunts from the stinging your causing. “fuck y/n..” he groans as he fucks you. “oh fuckkkk! i’m close!” you moan. “oh are you now?” he says. “y-yes!” you surprisingly say. “hold it.” he says with dominance. “what?” you grunt. “i said fucking hold it.” he grunts as his pace quickens. you try to hold release as much as you can. “please carrington!” you moan.

“please what?” he teases. “l-let me cum!” you scream. jake and johnnie have definitely heard you now. “shh pretty girl.” carrington says as he covers your mouth with his hand. “go ahead now, i’m right behind you.” he mumbles, trying to keep his act together. you scream into carringtons hand as you release your cum onto his dick, soaking his dick from your release. “fuck me carrington!” you scream into carringtons hand. “fuckkk!” he groans as he releases inside of you.

he collapses beside you. “fuck you feel good.” he chuckles as he talks. you get up on carringtons lap. “one more?” you ask. he smirks and nods. you line him up against your core and sink down on him. you gasp. “fuck.” you says, breathlessly. you put your hands on the headboard of the bed for support.

you continue to ride carrington as he holds onto your hips and groans, and moans under you. “mmm fuck carrington.” you moan softly. your pace is slow but fast. carrington grabs your hips and thrusts up into you. you gasp as he thrusts up into you, your tits bouncing with you as he pumps up into you. “fuck carrington!” you moan. “you feel so good y/n.” he groans. “so fucking tight around me.” he groans again.

“such a perfect body, hm?” he mumbles. at this point.. his words are turning you on even more. “oh fuck dadd- carrington!” you accidentally spit out ‘daddy’. he smirks and fastens his pace. you gasp. “fuck!fuck!fuck!” you scream. “you close?” carrington groans. “yes!” you yell. “fuck fuck! yesyesyesyes!” you say repeatedly. “in cumming!” you scream.

you cum all on carrington and the bed. carrington throws his head back and cums inside of you once again. you slowly pull off of him. you whimper before flopping right on the bed. “shit! i have to go!” carrington rushes up. “bye. i have to go i’ll see you soon.” he says carefully.

he rushes up and puts all his clothes on before rushing out the door and house. you sit there speechless. “fucking asshole.” you mumble before getting up and putting your clothes on. you walk into your bathroom and fix up your hair before going downstairs.

you walk into the kitchen and grab a drink before johnnie appears randomly. “how was your fuck with carrington?” he asks calmly before grabbing something out of the cabinet. “it was goo- stfu.” you say before johnnie chuckles. “good dick huh? i know from experience.” johnnie says jokingly before walking off. “what the fuck..” you whisper under your breath.

holy fuck. god forbit i should live right?.

————————————————————

A/N

HAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

anyways sorry for the post from when i was high😓

i was being a bit freaky.

[chewingcyanide]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secrets are best kept buried, just like your tangled relationship with your best friend’s older brother.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — unrequited love ( that heart wrenching shit ), cursing? weird mentions and descriptions of blood, cursing ( lots of it ), yelling / arguing ( LOTS of it ), heavy angst with a dash of laughter, kind of OMC x reader but not too much, jealousy, kinda possessiveness ( from jack… had to do it ), emotional distress and all that good stuff

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x f!reader , OMC x f!reader (briefly), best friend!luke hughes x f!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — i’ve returned from a million year hiatus with this BIG BITCH and i’m sorry for it. may write a pt. 2 w a happy ending bc i’m a slut for them. anyway, enjoy! request if you’d like. love you guys.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You had existed within the world of Jack Hughes since your freshman year of high school.

Existed. Not an integral part, nor a spoke on the wheel of many friends he already had. Truthfully, you were only acquainted with him because of his younger brother, Luke; your freshman biology lab partner, and eventual best friend. Years had passed since you first met Luke—no longer were you the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old crossing the threshold from child to near-adult. Now, you were an adult. Twenty, with two more years of college stretched out before you, seemingly everything had changed.

Well, except for the lead weight chained to your ankle—the fundamental and inexorable truth that you were still in love with Jack Hughes.

It started as most consuming things do: a small idea, watered by brief looks, a brush of heated fingertips against your hand, or arm, or waist—or anywhere, really. A head rush that sent you meters under waves of excitement and anticipation. Loving Jack was like having a fever that never broke; it persisted, a dull ache that squeezed your skull each time he was near. Even now, five years later, the flashing of blue eyes—never brimmed with what you knew was embarrassingly reflected in your own—was enough to make sweat bead at your palms.

It never grew into more than a hope, a wishful desire. But wishing seldom got anyone anywhere, and it surely hadn’t helped you. When the months turned warm and spring faded into summer, the overwhelming ache of freedom that came with warm weather and the end of the hockey season drew Luke and his brothers to Sanibel—a beach so wrought with memories of youth and foolish memories that the idea of going another year made dread settle like steel in your bones. They’d bought it after a vacation there a few years ago, and the rest was history.

But, of course, Luke—the youngest of three—never took no for an answer.

“You can’t miss this year,” he had insisted. The Devils had their hopes cut short once more—this time in an second round exit to Carolina. Ergo, the expected departure time had been bumped up significantly. Vancouver had missed the playoffs altogether.

You stood silent, tearing away skin from your nail-beds as Luke leaned against the kitchen counter. The cold metal of the fridge pressing into the bare strip of skin on your back was the only thing keeping you present in the conversation.

You hated how Luke did this—he’d take your silence over text as an invitation to barge his way into your apartment, destroying the barrier of safety and excuses a phone provided, and ask you face-to-face. And how could you say no? You never had before, and look where that got you. No closer to removing hooks branded with the name Jack from your heart.

“Luke…” you sighed, only dropping your hands when blood bubbled to the surface of your torn skin. Pain rippled down your fingertips, but you ignored it. The dread that quickened your pacing heart was too overwhelming a sensation. “I don’t know—maybe I should—”

“Skip out?” Luke rounded the kitchen counter and came to stand in front of you. “No way, Bells. You have to come. Otherwise I’ll be alone all summer.”

You could have scoffed if you cared more. Bells. That dumb nickname Jack had given you years ago—according to him, it was because you were such a silent walker, you required a bell to be heard. Aside from the embarrassment you got from being called a childhood nickname even now, it reminded you that your existence was always going to be tied to Jack. A piece of him carried with you, a cage keeping your heart from beating without him; the bright red ribbon tied around your wrist that screamed I Love Jack Hughes!

No matter what, it would always be him. You tried; God, did you try. Hearing stories of his hookups, the life of a single, superstar hockey player should have been enough to send your stupid childhood crush to its grave, but as if cursed by a necromancer, the mere mention of Jack brought it right back to life. It was a cruel cycle that just wouldn’t end. And you knew going to that damned beach house would only prolong the life of the indestructible feeling more.

Jack was tarnished jewelry, rubbing your skin green and raw and wrong, and yet—you could never seem to take it off, even when it made you look foolish.

Silence fell like thick fog. Luke’s eyes roved along your face, as if trying to read a book with the letters smudged. “C’mon, Bells. You have fun every year, and I don’t want to have a summer without you.”

“Jack and Quinn will be there,” you said, voice low. Pathetic anxiety swelled in your chest like the forecast of a hurricane. Even saying his name tightened your veins. “Trevor, Alex, and Cole, too—I don’t need to go, Luke. Won’t it be weird?”

An unamused look graced Luke’s face. “You go with us every year. Why would it be different now?”

You wanted to curse Luke for being so persistent. Part of you wished you could just scream that you loved his brother, but couldn’t. You never could. Loving Jack ensured you lost someone—Luke, who would never get over the thought of you potentially sleeping with Jack; and well, if that failed, you also fully lost Jack. Unrequited love confessions made fools of ghosts.

To Jack, you were a ghost. Haunting his life, disrupting some times, but never there long enough to be seen. And even if he did, he convinced himself you weren’t there, that you didn’t even exist. Maybe it were best if you moved on and let yourself rest. Ghosts haunt their murderers, but Jack hadn’t killed you, you’d killed yourself—hoping, wishing, praying he would take a moment to believe and see you. But he never did. So you floated through his life until the moment you were no longer confined by unfinished business.

And maybe that was what you needed. Closure, the severing of a tie that was only hurting you to hold on to. And maybe, closure would come this summer. To look on Jack and not feel your heart race, but settle into a quiet murmur, a healthy pace—to free yourself from the confines of this painful love and finally move on. Haunt the graveyard no longer; sitting by and hoping he would place flowers by the grave.

“Okay,” you said quietly, glancing down at your sweater. Crimson marks stained the white fabric. You’d accidentally wiped your fingers on the cloth. “You win.”

Maybe this would be the summer you let go of Jack Hughes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The cry of gulls and gentle breeze of salt-bitter air welcomed you back as the car breezed past the Welcome to Sanibel Island! sign. It felt like a taunt, as if you were passing into the circus, the main star of a show you never signed up for. With Sanibel came Jack, and the potential end to a love you’d clawed onto for dear life for the last half-decade. It felt strange, almost wrong, to imagine a world where Jack Hughes didn’t exist as the basis for all romantic interests. To hold someone’s hand and not compare the texture to his. To lose the anticipated blush that warmed your face each time he glanced at you. Because losing Jack was like losing a piece of yourself—all your life you’d associated love with him, and what would there be afterwards?

Sandy beaches rolled endless at the horizon, dotted with the figures of vacationers and locals alike. You glanced to Luke, his hand working the steering wheel as he drove the long-winded path to the beach house. Strands of your hair were roused by the invisible hand of the wind, no doubt knotting it, but you were too enraptured in what ifs and a potential future to much care.

“Are you excited?” Luke asked, looking to you. Elbow leaned against the doorframe, you managed to work your mouth into a smile. Even if it was twinged with apprehension.

“Of course. I love it here. I’m glad you guys were rich enough to buy it.”

Luke laughed.

And that was true. Summer here felt endless. Nights spent on the beach, the tickle of warmth from a stick-lit fire cradling you against the rush of cold blowing off the ocean. The bitter rush of alcohol that stung your veins. Hair made wet by the sea, drying beneath the warm fingertips of sunlight. Skin richening into a burn, soothed only by aloe vera and a cold shower. Laughter between friends and the restless nights talking. All of it was perfect. For you, summer was Jack. Brief and sweet, the thing you looked forward to seeing each year. But it never lasted long enough to truly feel, something you could never touch.

You wondered if you made it obvious. If Luke suspected, or Quinn; the eldest Hughes was always the most perceptive. Any time Jack said something that made your teeth clench with hurt, Quinn glanced at you. A reassuring smile. The extended hand in the dark. But if he knew, he never commented on it.

“Who’s already here?” you asked, eyes catching on the brightly colored houses lining the beach. Blue, pink, the odd green, melding together as the car breezed into the strip of land the beach house rested on.

You almost dreaded the answer. “Quinn and Jack,” Luke responded, voice a little distant—his eyes scanned for the house, too focused on his task to much care for the cringe you gave at the mention of Jack’s name.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was his house. Yet you found yourself hoping you’d at least beaten him here so you could mentally prepare for his arrival. As it were, you had about five minutes to do that.

Tires crunched against sand as Luke pulled into the driveway. Lead solidified in your bones until you felt as though you were going to sink straight into the earth. A deep breath expanded your chest, and you watched as Luke took out his phone—presumably to text that he’d arrived. Escaping the car, Luke stared at you expectantly. Your body pressed against the doorframe, eyes glanced out at the horizon. Smeared like a painting across the sky, a myriad of colors—oranges, pinks, yellows—foretold the coming of night. Maybe you could stay in here until everyone was asleep, to sneak past Jack and not have to—

The door to the passenger side opened, and there stood Luke, a hand on his hip. Making grabby hands like a toddler, he motioned for you to come. “What’s up with you, Bells? You’re so… quiet.”

You snorted. “That’s not news.”

“You know what I meant,” retorted Luke, grabbing your elbow with a gentle grip. “What’s got your head off to sea?”

Your brother! you wanted to scream, but found your tongue bolted to the bottom of your mouth. Offering instead a smile, you allowed Luke to help you out of the Jeep. Soft sand caught your feet, cushioning the drop. It felt strange to be back here again, but somehow, you knew it wouldn’t be the same. A rueful feeling ached your bones. This would maybe be the last time you’d ever come to the beach house. If your closure went as you intended… there would be no more summers in Sanibel. No more late beach nights. No more salt air creating a stick sheen on your skin. No more Jack Hughes.

“Just thinking about summer,” was all you said.

Like everything, its temporariness was what made it special.

Together, you and Luke began to unpack the bags from the trunk of the Jeep. “Any fun activities planned this summer?” you asked, hoping to alleviate the tension making your head pound.

Luke gave you a backwards glance as he practically leaned his whole body into the trunk. “New bar opened on the strip,” he told you. “I think we have to go.”

Your eyebrows crinkled. “We’re twenty, Luke. And this is a tourist town, they’re going to ID.”

Luke only smiled, clearly not thwarted by your pessimism. “Lucky then that you don’t have to worry. I’ve got it all figured out.”

You didn’t want to ask how, so instead you sighed, hauling your bag onto your shoulder. “Whatever. But I am not ending up in jail because you want to underage drink in public, Luke.”

There was no response to that. Slinking past you with elegance you thought his large frame incapable of, Luke began walking up the driveway and towards the beach house. It looked exactly the same as it had last summer—a gentle gray exterior, like the storm clouds that sometimes brewed over the sea, and a darker roof. White wood bordered the many windows, some with their own balconies. Rust spotted the metal of the garage, slowly encroaching from the outside. A simple wood fence enclosed the sides of the house, leading to the back where you knew a pool hid. Everything was exactly the same, yet so different. Last time you were here, it all felt so unknown, like the end of the summer would make or break the rest of your year. You’d hoped then that maybe Jack would notice, that it would finally be the year he looked at you as more than Luke’s best friend. You’d packed your cutest outfits, the bikinis your friends said would make any man double-take, yet nothing worked. It had been the same as every year before. Jack was nice, but indifferent. Friendly, but inattentive.

However, this year wasn’t like every other year. You didn’t come here with starry eyes and a child-like hope that Jack would pick you after years of oblivion. You came here to finally let go of him, to move on, to bury a love you’d kept on life support for years and years, in the hopes it would come back to life.

Feet making indents in the sand as you walked up the driveway, you saw Jack’s car—a silver Mercedes-Benz—parked a bit ahead. You hated the stutter in your step when you saw it, and you hated more the stoppage in your heart when you heard laughter rounding the side of the house. There was two voices, interwoven and nearly indistinguishable, but you’d know his laugh anywhere, know it blind. All the feelings you’d shoved aside in favor of an aloof disposition crawled their way out of shallow graves. A shaky breath, the fluttering of your eyes, and suddenly—there he was.

Trailing behind Quinn, soaked black swim shorts clinging to wide thighs, a bare chest coated in droplets of water, tousled hair styled by the unconscious hand of water. He smiled, maybe at something Quinn had said, you weren’t sure, and it all came back. How could you get closure when he incited such a deep, profound longing in your soul? When he tugged you towards him the the moon to the tide?

You’d stopped walking. When, you weren’t sure. Time became an endless thing as Jack’s eyes flickered to you. Those blue eyes shot through with something you weren’t sure how to describe, but he grinned—at you—and then he was walking towards you. All at once you wanted to lob a rock at Luke’s head for making you come, and then kill yourself for even thinking for one moment closure would be remotely possible when you still were in love with Jack.

His presence was all-consuming, like stepping to close to the fire. Fingers worn by years of use brushed your own when he took your luggage, carrying it with ease. Even older than you, Jack never lost that youthful sense of delight you’d seen on kids when they got a new toy. He’d always been the sun. For you, and for everyone around him.

You’d never deluded yourself into thinking you were the only one who loved Jack, or wanted him. But it didn’t stop you from wishing you were the one he’d choose.

“Bells,” Jack greeted, warmth oozing from his words, so much that you wanted to yell at him that he wasn’t being fair. How could he expect you not to want him? How, when he was so nice to you, yet so indifferent? “How was the trip?”

Blinking, you allowed him to gathering your luggage and begin walking back to the house. Water transferred from his body to your tote bag, but you found yourself not caring. He could ruin everything you’d brought and it wouldn’t matter. They’d at least be stained with his touch.

“Good,” you managed, trying to keep your feet even on the lumpy sand. Why they’d decided not to install an actual drive way would never make sense to you. “Not a lot of traffic. Luke didn’t kill us, so that’s a plus.”

Jack laughed. It rumbled through his chest and echoed like a victory trumpet in the air. “He’s a shit driver,” he said. “Shoulda convinced him to let you drive with me.”

Tar filled your lungs. Words failed you, and so stupidity, you said: “But you drove with Quinn.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. Readjusted your bag on his shoulder. “Quinn’s a big boy. He can travel alone.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth, “So you think I’m a little girl?”

Jack paused. Glanced over at you. The meeting of two sets of eyes holding extremely different emotions. After a moment, he cut the tension with another laugh. “You are two years younger than me.”

“So is Luke, and last I checked, he was the tallest,” you retorted, offering up a chuckle yourself. You didn’t want to give more, to give in. You had to keep that wall, even if there was already so many holes in it.

With his free hand, Jack tussled your hair, wiggling your head around. You batted him off, feigning annoyance, when really, you wanted him to keep touching you. You could have groaned. God, you were pathetic.

Entering the beach house was like entering freedom. It was typically decorated, that seaside aesthetic Ellen had done herself the first year the boys bought the house. Fishing net and shells in jars, accompanied by hanging hammocks and white coral displays hadn’t moved, and you felt the air greet you, blowing in from the open back door that looked over the pool—and the beach. Salty air snaked up your airway, a welcome sting. A missed one. You weren’t sure if you’d miss Jack or the beach house more.

Luke disappeared with Quinn, the latter offering a gentle smile—perhaps a little pity twinged in. That left only you and Jack, standing in the wide mouth of the living room, the sunset sky bathing your skin in those candle-light oranges you so loved. Beside you, the gentle pat, pat, pat of water dripping off of Jack’s shorts was all that was heard. You took a moment more to enjoy the feeling of peace you got from being here, before Jack snapped you back to the current with a throat clear.

“Want me to bring your stuff to your room?” Your room. The one you’d claimed all those years ago. A room that—after this summer, perhaps—would bo longer be yours. You’d spent hours decorating it, little trinkets imposed with sentiment covering the room. The sea blue sheets. The balcony overlooking the ocean. All of it would be gone.

You had to inhale to stave off the melancholia crawling up your throat like bile. “Yeah, thanks.”

It was hard not to look at Jack. He was always the center of attention—on the ice, off the ice; in his personal life, in the eye of the public. He just was. Never asked for it, always had it. Girls wanted him, boys wanted to be him. You imagined it got tedious after so many years, but at the same time, you wondered what it would be like to be that loved. So adored you could have anything and anyone. You found you’d trade it all for him, for Jack, if he simply asked. You knew he wouldn’t do the same. Why give up freedom for a small-town girl that his brother had dragged around for longer than he probably should?

Up the stairs, through a hallway, and there your room was. You tried to revel in it, in the finality of it all. Convinced you were never coming back here. That Jack would never carry your luggage for you again, making a mess of the floors just to help you out. Inside, you saw the bed was made just like how you left it. A small whale plush—affectionately named Hershey for the chocolate it had been holding when it was won at the arcade—was sat just before the pillows. You hadn’t left him there. Hershey was a cherish piece of history; Jack had won him for you, two years back. Whales were your favorite animal, a gentle giant, the crown of the sea. He knew it, and he had gotten him for you. Maybe that was what kept your hope alive, the little things, the moments where he was more than just an unreachable deity you prayed to repeatedly just for him to notice you.

You glanced over your shoulder as Jack placed your luggage down with a thud. He rubbed his hands together. “Found him downstairs,” he said, gesturing to Hershey, “figured I’d bring him home.”

Home. A word that made your gut turn. His home, but never yours.

“Oh, yeah,” you said lamely. “Wouldn’t want to lose Hershey. You tried so hard to win him.”

Jack scoffed. “I was playing against Trevor. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t win.”

“Don’t talk about Trevor like that,” you teased with a smile. Finding yourself slipping back into the dynamic. You’d try to make him laugh, just to make him smile. Just to make him see you could make him happy.

Jack only rolled his eyes. You attempted to side-step him, only for your foot to catch his own. A hand immediately came to your rescue, steadying you. A hot flush pinkened your cheeks and slid down your spine. His breath fanned over your temple, a catalyst for every single one of your nerves fraying. You hated that he could do this to you, without trying, without caring, when you tried so hard to avoid falling back into him like a fool. It wasn’t fair—but when was love?

Jack pulled his hand away, the phantom of his fingers imprinted on your skin. Marked. Just like you’d always been. “Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassment eating at you.

His laugh was a reward. “It’s fine,” he responded. It was always fine with Jack. Never hard feelings. You didn’t think he had a aggressive bone in his body, even after years and years of playing physical hockey. “Even after all the years, you still can’t stay on your feet.”

A reference to your clumsiness. Which wasn’t clumsiness. It was just Jack. You never stumbled around anyone but him. “Yeah,” you bit out, probably harsher than intended. “Guess I haven’t changed.”

But you had. And you needed to find a way out of the hole that was Jack Hughes before you were buried alive.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Letting go of things has never been easy. Marked with scratches and tears, everything you’d ever relinquished never left the same. How could it, when you’d spent so much time loving it, cherishing it, only for it to be cruelly ripped from your grasp? Letting go had never been easy, because you’d never been ready to lose what was taken, because it was never ready to leave you either. That’s why it was so easy to reason with yourself about finally moving on from Jack Hughes.

It wasn’t mutually assured destruction. There would be no blowing out of stars and creation of supernovas when you finally put the love to rest. Because it was you. It was never him. He didn’t love you—hell, he didn’t even know you loved him. Perhaps there laid the foundation for burial, a tomb within the dunes, marked with a single shell. When the time came, no claw marks would mar Jack’s skin. He was never yours to mark.

Two weeks had since passed. Settling in had always been easy, but this time, it felt like a final meal before execution. A good thing before the inevitable end. Nights spent by the pool, the reflection of the water a perfect mirror of Jack’s eyes. Drinking and laughing and talking—a chosen family, but one you’d soon depart. You’d always have Luke, the last cord of the fraying rope, unbreakable and timeless. But never again would you tug on that rope, just to see the other end. To move on from Jack would be to forget him, as much as you could.

The summer sun blistered overhead, biting your skin until red bloomed. Splayed out on a beach towel, you opted to suntan while the boys enjoyed the water. You’d get in, eventually, preferably when Jack was not in. You didn’t want the distraction of his body to further make you doubt your ability to handle change. Back facing the sun, you remained entranced by the book in front of you, instead imagining your love life was as explosive and beautiful as the story written for you. When you went to flip the page, something hit your back—a ball, you guessed, from the feeling of impact—making your already sunburnt skin sting like hell.

“Shit,” you cursed, placing your book face down in order to stand. Glancing to the side you figured the ball bounced off to, there sat the culprit: a black-and-white soccer ball, covered in patches of sand.

You heard some shouting, and opted to be a good samaritan and grab it. As you bent down to pick up the sandy ball, another pair of hands invaded your vision and brushed your own. Rightening, you saw a tall man—your age, presumably—who immediately began spewing apologies of all kinds.

He had that youthful look to him, the same as Jack. Golden curls fell around his eyes, slightly sandy, a bit wet, but gleaming like rays of sunlight. Familiar eyes, the blue of the sky after a storm, peered at you with a mixture of concern and apology. He was beautiful, in an artful way—a hand-sculpted effigy, lain in the town square to be worshiped. You figured with age and maturity he presently lacked, he’d be all the more beautiful.

But he wasn’t Jack.

“I am—so sorry!” he spewed words like bullets, hoping one apology landed. You bit down a laugh at the desperation leaking into his voice. “I wasn’t watching where I was kicking. Sorta shanked it—scratch that, really shanked it. Are you okay—I meant to ask—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off, sparing him. As endearing as his apology was, you could see red rising to his face—you knew what it felt like. “Although I don’t recommend you shoot for the Premier League.”

Upon realizing you weren’t angry, the boy relaxed. “Yeah, as if,” he laughed, tossing the balls back and forth between his hands. “You are okay, right?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Unless you’re secretly the Hulk, I don’t think you kicking a ball at me could do any serious damage.” Your fingers grazed the spot the ball struck. “Might have a weird mark on my back, ‘s all.”

Goldie Locks, as you’d taken to calling in him your head, circled around you and bent at his knees. His fingertips grazed the small of your back, rattling your spine into a shiver. You heard a subdued sound—something between a giggle and a sharp exhale of air through his noise—and twisted to look down at him.

“It looks dumb, huh?” you said, trying to feel the patter marked on your back with your fingers.

Goldie Locks shook his head. “You wear it well.”

“I better, or I’ll give you a matching mark,” you teased. He stood up, imposing. “Really, though, I’m fine…”

He caught on swiftly. “Jackson. Or Jack.”

You could have cursed the Gods and Fate and her trifling ways. Of course the first cute guy you find has to be him, but not be him. The great irony of life, you supposed it was. Finally ready to move on, and your tugged right back to square one.

A tight smile made its way onto your face. “Jackson.”

Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the voice of the man you quite literally could not escape interrupted him. “Bells? You okay?”

You thought briefly of faking fainting.

“I’m fine,” you responded, without looking at Jack. You couldn’t. But you wanted to. “He just hit me with a soccer ball and was apologizing.”

Jack imposed into your vision anyway. Jaw working, the rapid flex of his muscles that told he ran to you. Suddenly, the sweltering heat was no longer the cause for your sweating. “Hit you?” he repeated, glancing to Jackson with a raised brow.

Shoved into an unwanted spotlight, Jackson immediately backpedaled. “Accident. Didn’t mean to hit your girl.”

Your girl.

Your girl.

Your girl.

Those two simple words repeated like a scratched vinyl in your mind. Jack’s girl. His. It was something that would have made past you puff your chest. It made present you feel sick. Another pull towards him. Another lock trapping you inside of the room. In the past, you wouldn’t have said anything—wouldn’t have fought it. You’d have waited to see if Jack would deny it; he always did. Another nail in the coffin. How many were needed until you finally understood?

But you were now actively trying to fight the feeling seemingly hardwired into your blood. The instinct that told you to love Jack. “Oh, we’re not dating,” you told Jackson. Blue eyes flittered to you—was he surprised? For once you denied, distanced. Was he confused? “He’s my best friend’s older brother.”

You didn’t know why you added that part. It wasn’t necessary—Jackson didn’t care about your relationships to Jack past the words not dating. But here you were, petty pride swelling in your chest at finally getting to stick it to Jack. Finally being the denier instead of the denied.

“Oh,” Jackson quirked his brow. Glanced at Jack; he said nothing. “Is it okay if I have your number?”

That shocked you. And it clearly shocked Jack, as well. His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to you. Gauging your response. You would have said no before. Would have made some dumb excuse. If you accepted, you distanced yourself from Jack, showed indifference. Past you couldn’t have that.

Present you could.

“Sure,” you said.

This summer would be different.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date. Michael Neely in eleventh grade, but that was in major part because he looked entirely too similar to Jack—didn’t act like him, however. Didn’t smile like the sun’s envy. He just wasn’t Jack. For as long as you could remember, no one had been. Isolating yourself for years because of the off chance Jack would finally admit it, as if he’d been pulling a big joke on you and had actually wanted you back. But he never did. And you couldn’t wait around forever hoping he would. He never asked you to.

You went through your hair with a brush one final time before deeming yourself presentable. A knit green tank-top paired with denim shorts, warm vanilla perfume—one you’d used since Jack had offered a compliment on the scent—and a smile that you hoped appeared genuine. For once you were excited, not thinking of Jack, measuring Jackson up to him. You let Jackson be himself, undeterred by the ghost of your unrequited love.

The downstairs of the beach house was alive with loud laughter and conversation—you hated you could still pick out Jack’s laugh, could imagine his face when he did; the gentle scrunch of his nose, the squint of his eyes. You wondered if it would ever go away, that sixth sense. If you’d ever be truly and unapologetically free.

Rounding the corner, you were met with the sight of the three brothers playing what looked to be Chel, their eyes fixated on the large TV in front of the couch they were splayed on. You debated slinking out of the house, silent as they’d always teased you for being, just to avoid the awkward conversation you knew would come from the knowledge you—Bells, infatuated devotee of Jack Hughes—were going on a date with a boy you’d known a week.

Fiddling with your fingers, you stood at the back of the couch. Not wanting to interrupt their game, you went to simply tap Luke on the shoulder, hoping he’d eventually pause it. He wasn’t the one to do it, however. Luke and Queen groaned in annoyance when the screen paused, glancing over to the only person who could have done it. Jack didn’t spare them a glance. His homely blue eyes were on you, eyebrows furrowed. Following his gaze, Luke and Quinn gave you a once-over.

“Hell are you going all dolled up like that, Bells?” Luke asked, flicking you on the wrist.

You didn’t really think you were dolled up. “I have a thing called a date, Luke.”

That incited the expected awkward silence. As if drawn by a unbeatable force, you found yourself glancing to Jack. White-knuckled, he gripped the controller with such force you were surprised it didn’t break on him entirely. You briefly wondered what his issue was before Quinn spoke.

“With who?” Surprise laced his question, and you hated it. Hated that he thought you were incapable of moving on from Jack—or maybe he didn’t think you incapable, just averse.

“That guy from the beach, right, Bells?” Luke piped up, turning his body on the couch to face you. “What was his name? Jack?”

You ground your jaw. “Jackson.”

Luke shrugged. “Same thing.”

It wasn’t. You really hoped it wasn’t.

You turned to leave, intent on scurrying out like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, when a voice called you back. Always calling you back, just when you tried to leave.

“Bells,” Jack spoke, voice drawled. You didn’t turn. “Where are you going?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “On a date…?”

“Where?” You figured it could have been a growl if he were less careful. Luke and Quinn glanced at each other. You fought back a scream.

Why do you care? Why now? When I’m about to move on? I spent so much time waiting for you. I’m done.

You wanted to scream those words at him, but of course, like most confessions, they went unsaid.

“The cove,” you humored him, eyes flicking to your fingers. When had they started bleeding? The cove, of course, was as it sounded: a small chunk of land past the rock barrier at the beach, cornered in by mangroves and hidden away from sight, Jackson claimed it the perfect place for a seaside picnic. You weren’t one to argue.

When Jack made no effort to respond, you finally left. Jackson wasn’t even there yet, but you couldn’t stay inside anymore. Indecision and confusion were eating away at your gut, turning your mind into a war zone. You didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. Years spent in the shadow of Jack Hughes had taught you to fear the light, that if you even for a second let the rays touch you, came the consequence of losing the shade forever. And you’d tossed those fears aside, let yourself into the light, and that only made the dark come back in full force.

It wasn’t fair. Why weren’t you allowed to move on? To finally break the bonds that you yourself had made? Jack had never kept you near, and yet now he didn’t seem to want to let you go. Like a child unwilling to relinquish a toy just because it was theirs.

You tried not to dwell on it. Not when Jackson pulled up, his 4Runner breaking the noise of gulls calls and rumbling cars. Not when he led you out to the cove, picnic basket in hand, like an old-timey romance your mother used to watch. You tried, but just like everything concerning not thinking about Jack, miserably failed. Jackson was attentive, sweet, he did it all right. And as much as you hated yourself for thinking it, it was true: he wasn’t Jack.

“Are you a local?” Jackson asked you. Your mouth closed around a strawberry, staining your fingertips red—better than blood, you supposed.

The tide lapped gently at the sand before your feet, spanning out from beneath the quilt laid beneath you and Jackson. Always coming close, but never quite enough to wet your feet. Gnarled roots of mangrove trees split the sand, boxing the little cove in. You remembered coming here with Jack once, when he was trying to make up for throwing you in the pool with your phone in your back pocket. He hadn’t set up a picnic, only sat beside you in the sand and offered you Hershey. A silent apology. One you never forgot.

Trying to build over that memory was like trying to filter the salt out of the sea. There was too much to ever fully get rid of it.

A breeze tickled your legs. Sand parted between your toes. Everything felt normal; normal, you realized, wasn’t always right.

“No,” you responded after some time, tossing the strawberry head to the sea. “I come here every year with my best friend, his brothers, and their friends.”

Jackson nodded. “The guy from the beach, the one I thought you were dating—” You fought the urge to cringe, ���—that was Jack Hughes, right?”

Always the icon. Beloved, beautiful Jack Hughes.

You glanced at Jackson. He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve known him for years. His brother is my best friend.”

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” he laughed, a whimsical sound. Off-key; pitched too high. You didn’t think you’d be able to differentiate it in a room of others. “How’d that even happen?”

You grinned. Memories of freshman year. Restless nights spent studying in Luke’s room. False trips to the bathroom just for a chance at a glance of his brother. “Luke and I met in our freshman year biology class. He absolutely sucked. Had to tutor the poor kid so he wouldn’t fail.”

Jackson shook his head, the mess of golden curls crowning him danced with the movement. Raising a finger, he wagged it at you as if apprehending a naughty dog. “Hold on now. Biology is damn hard, cut him some slack.”

You giggled. Almost cringed. You felt like a schoolgirl again, trying to slow time as a cute boy walked past. “Maybe if you’re a loser.”

More time passed, the sun’s rays dulled to a warm orange instead of a blinding yellow. The sea calmed. Unseen birds chirped and sung their tunes, never to be understood. Jackson asked questions, answered some. He indulged, dug deep, hoping for treasure. It was strange, to fix your hair and bat your lashes in the hopes of impressing a boy who wasn’t Jack Hughes. Stranger yet you were enjoying Jackson, even fantasizing about a second date. The cold fingers of the wind rose gooseflesh in its wake; your arms rose to combat it, folding against your body in hopes to retain heat. Jackson peered over.

“Cold?” he asked, presumptuous and forward and hoping; one arm already out of his cardigan.

You nodded, murmuring a thanks as Jackson draped his sweater over your shoulders. At once the smell of salt and secondhand smoke snaked up your nose, invaded your airways. It was so different from the warm amber you imagined your skin would faintly smell of if Jack made you his—he smelled like heartbreak and sleepless nights and longing, something you feared was permanently smeared on your flesh. You found yourself heating at the scent, blushing, a slight twinge of excitement at the thought of being claimed by another boy. Foolishly, maybe, you thought it could purge Jack from you, draw over the marks he’d made all over your flesh.

You’d had boys like you before, liked them back—felt the head rush that accompanied youthful yearning. None had ever compared to Jack. Like a stain on your favorite shirt, he’d never come out of your heart, a scar that pulsed every so often, a reminder that he was still there. That he’d never go away. You realized now, looking at Jackson—the soft lines that sprouted next to his eyes when he smiled, a mess of curly blond hair that seemed to fall perfectly in front of his eyes, catered specifically to his beauty—that the memories of wounds weren’t always bad. They weren’t just reminders that you’d been hurt, but that you survived.

Before your mind could conjure any wishful images of you and Jackson, he spoke, “Tomorrow night, there’s a beach bonfire.” His finger extended, curled a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. “Something the locals do every year to kick off summer.”

You smiled—genuinely smiled, not just a flash of teeth forced in order to hide a grimace. Not the smiles you got so used to giving Jack. “And you’re telling me this because…”

Banter. He could tell you knew where he was getting, yet wanted him to spell it out anyway. “Go with me? I think you’d enjoy it,” he said, voice gentle over the lap of waves against the shore. You could almost feel the world hold its breath, awaiting your answer. Would you cling to a hope and dream, or go with what was sitting in front of you? “Plus, having a pretty girl with a perfect personality on my arm wouldn’t hurt too bad.”

“Hmm…” You faked contemplation, tapping your chin. When Jackson flicked your forehead, you scoffed, batting at his hand. “Well now I’m reconsidering my answer, ass.”

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, caught it midair, a fish hooked on a line. Feverish, a heat you’d only associated with one person your whole life rose to your head as Jackson’s eyes met yours. Not blue, green. Your mind didn’t even attempt to paint over them, to erase his color, to make him him. Lips wet by eager tongues, a mutual desire. When had you last even considered another man romantically, sexually?

The answer was: not since Jack Hughes barged his way into your life and trapped your heart behind a wall, tossing away the key.

Before anything could be realized, before you could experience your first kiss in what felt like forever, a dull vibrating ripped the moment to shreds. Annoyance flashed in your heart, and a part of you told you to ignore it—but you couldn’t. What if something had gone wrong? Apologetically, you tore your eyes away from Jackson and dug your phone out of your back pocket.

The name flashing on the screen had your heart clenching.

Jack.

“Yes?” Confused, clipped. Why was Jack calling you?

“Oh, uh, hey,” came Jack’s voice—you frowned at his tone. He sounded as if he didn’t even know why he was calling. “I was just… calling to see when you’d be home tonight.”

A scream bubbled in your throat. This is why he was calling you? “This could have been a text.”

Jack laughed dryly. “Guess so. Figured you wouldn’t have seen it.”

You didn’t want to admit he was right. “It’s what…” You took your phone away from your face to look at the time. 8:43. “8:43? I’m not sure, Jack. We’re still at the cove.”

Shuffling on the other end. Your eyes darted to Jackson; he seemed intrigued at who was calling you. “Right, well… Luke wanted to know, so…”

You frowned. “Then why didn’t Luke call me?”

“Playing Chel,” was all you got in response.

Pettiness whirled in your chest like a maelstrom. For once you had the upper hand; cards hidden against your chest, not splayed out for all to see. Maybe with the right move, Jack would fold after so many years of winning. It was childish, you knew that, but the child in you who’d hoped and hoped and hoped only to get turned down every single time awoke—wanted Jack to feel the burn she’d felt when he’d sunk his hooks into her heart.

“I may not come home tonight,” you told him, relished in the pause. Jackson’s eyes flickered to you, curious.

“What?” Jack asked, voice darkened with knowing and other terrible emotions. “What do you mean?”

He knew very well what you meant.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You resisted the urge to recoil at the scorching flame simmering in Jack’s tone; he rarely ever spoke to anyone like that, least of all you. “You met him this week, Bells. If you aren’t home by 10:30 I’m coming to find you.”

Rage flared. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because you could pretend like he cared. As if he had any right to tell you when you had to be home. “So what? Now I have a curfew?” You didn’t want Jackson to overhear the spat, but it’s clear he was watching, listening, picking apart the conversation. “Forgot the part where you were my mother, Jack.”

“You’re staying in my house,” he retorted sharply. “10:30. I’m not kidding.”

After that, the line went dead.

Fire lashed in your veins, threatening to burn your being to ash. How dare he? Just as you inched out of the cage, he tries to drag you back in. Why did he care now? Why couldn’t he have before?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Tears taunted you. Tried to slip past your eyes. You had given so many tears to Jack, expected him to bottle them and place them on a shelf, a reminder to never hurt you again. He never did. The moon’s rays were a solace, an extended comfort from who knew loneliness better than anything. Soft fingers touched your arm, didn’t push—only rested there, a reminder of consolation.

“He’s like an older brother, huh?” Jackson tried to alleviate your melancholy, revive your playful spirit like a necromancer.

It only made you sadder. If only Jack were like an older brother, if only your heart hadn’t chosen him to beat for.

“Yeah,” you chuckled dryly. “Let’s be glad he won’t be there tomorrow.”

A bright grin tugged on Jackson’s lips. “So you’re coming?”

You smiled.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

10:15.

The bright light of your phone screen cut through the darkness as you walked up the sandy driveway to the beach house. The departing rumble of Jackson’s 4Runner interrupted the ballad sung by the cicadas and crickets, a sound that followed you all the way to the front door. Sliding your sunflower-adorned key out of your pocket, you fiddled with the lock before finally managing your way into the house. The biting cold of the summer night was promptly chased away by the inviting warmth, but you found yourself unwilling to remove Jackson’s green cardigan. Plastic buttons twirled between your fingers, a few stitches unraveled. Well-worn, loved—smelled like summer nights and escape. You smiled to yourself.

The hum of the TV, along with its vibrant glow startled you as you crossed into the living room area. Despite the somewhat early time, you hadn’t expected anyone to be awake. But there Luke was, curled up on the couch, watching Grease. You could have laughed if you weren’t more aware; Luke had always had a major small crush on Sandy, his guilty pleasure movie, one that came with summer nights and hours talking into the AM. Rounding the foot of the couch, you plopped down next to Luke, startling him out of what appeared to be oncoming sleep.

“Back already?” he asked groggily, clearing the gravel out of his throat. He straightened, blinked a few times. “I take it you didn’t get laid.”

You glared at Luke, silently cursed his teenage-boyishness. “Not everyone fucks on the first date, dick,” you retorted, smiling. “Someone here gave me a curfew. Said he’d come looking for me if I didn’t come back in time; I wasn’t too keen on testing him.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Cockblock,” he muttered. “Which of them was it? Quinn? He seems like the type.”

“The other one,” you corrected, earning a confused look from Luke. “Exactly! That’s what I thought. Also, did you ask Jack to ask me when I’d be home?”

“No,” Luke drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I?”

That son of a bitch.

Was he just dead set on denying you happiness? Why couldn’t he just admit to caring even a little about you? Why dress up good deeds as the requests of others? Nothing about Jack made sense; it never had. You supposed that was part of the appeal, the mystery of it all. A puzzle gathering dust on the shelf, tried and forgotten for its difficulty. You’d always had a knack for choosing the hardest games.

You waved Luke off, not wanting to hear his conspiracies tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when you didn’t have the weight of a thousand unanswered questions close to caving in your chest. “Nothing,” you said. “Are Quinn and Jack awake?”

Luke eyed you. He saw through you—always had. Yet, for the sake of your dwindling sanity, chose silence. “Quinn isn’t, no,” he told you. “Went to bed like an hour ago.”

“Old man,” you commented, earning a laugh. “And Jack?”

Luke’s eyes flickered to the door leading to the back porch. A warm orange glow was visible through the drawn curtains. “He’s in the pool, I think.”

You nodded. Came to a resolution in your withering heart. “Right,” you murmured, standing. Before departing, you pressed a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “Night, Luke. Go up to your room, if you fall asleep here, I won’t be able to carry you to your bed.”

Luke rolled his eyes, nudged your leg with his knee. “How unfortunate.” Then, he stood, and disappeared up the stairs.

Dread swarmed in your stomach like a tornado, wrecking every defense you’d built up these past weeks to keep out a certain boy. You feared damage control wouldn’t be enough this time, that you couldn’t rebuild if Jack shut you down now. But you had to confront him, had to at least tell him to stop controlling you if nothing else. This summer was meant to be your closure, the final chapter in a book you never thought would end. It felt more like the procession to the grave, not the closing of a door.

What if losing your love for Jack lost you him?

The back door swung open with a squeal, piercing the once thick silence. With your presence swiftly outed, you forewent attempting discreetness, and eased out onto the pool deck. Fingers of frost grabbed for your exposed skin, only combated by Jackson’s cardigan. Bones rattling, you wondered why on earth Jack was going for a swim right now of all times.

You heard the lapping of water, roused by movement, before you saw him. The fluorescent underwater lightning cut through the darkness and reflected on your face, a myriad of whites and blues that was distinctly Jack. When you came to the pools edge, your eyes focused on him—clad in nothing but a pair of blue swim shorts—floating ok his back, eyes closed, as if imagining himself in a different place. You almost felt sorry to ruin the fabrication of his mind. Remembering your anger, you pushed aside the feeling. Why should he be given peace when he’d never given you any?

Before you could even open your mouth, his eyes opened, as if sensing you. He adjusted, treading water, as you merely assessed each other. Waiting. Who would draw first? You. It had always been you.

“I’m home now,” you bit out, your leash gone; Jackson wasn’t here to judge you. “Happy?”

Water lapped at Jack’s collarbones. You almost envied it for being able to touch him so freely. His eyes darted around you, then stopped on the cardigan. Forest green, like Jackson’s eyes. You knew he knew; you hadn’t been wearing it when you left.

“Cute,” he commented, sarcastic and dripping with cruelty you’d never heard from him before. He parted the water with ease, as if he expected everything to bend to his will.

Jack stopped where you stood at the edge. You looked down on him for once, a prick of pride stinging you as for once you had the high ground. For once, he wasn’t able to confine you with his overwhelming presence and being. Fingers curled around the edge of the pool, his hair dripping tears of chlorine-tainted water down his face, Jack merely watched you, waiting a scolding, the tantrum of a child who had what she wanted torn away.

You thought if unfair someone could be so beautiful, especially when he could never be yours.

“What is your issue?” you snapped finally, folding your arms, protecting your glass heart from his insults he’d fire like arrows. “I asked Luke, he said he never asked you what time I’d be home. Was it fun for you? To ruin my date?”

Jack scoffed. Arms corded with muscle flexed, rose from the water; a heave and he was on his feet in front of you, your leverage lost. Water bled off his body like a torrent, soaking your shoes. Droplets flicked on Jackson’s cardigan, the water staining through. You stepped back instinctively, throat tight. You hated how, even now, he had an effect on you.

“Ruin?” he echoed, eyebrows creased. “Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t like you were planing on staying out with him past 10:30. I was doing you a favor, giving you an out.”

Classic Jack; thinking he knew better than everyone else. “You weren’t, actually,” you hissed. “I didn’t need an out, Jack; I was enjoying myself. So much so I’m going out with him again tomorrow night.”

That was unnecessary to say, you knew. A bite only given to wound him, to prove you were capable of rising from your knees and tearing down the shrine you’d devoted to him for years. Because if Jack Hughes was no longer your sun, you didn’t need to revolve around him—shine only when he was near. Pathetic and driven by childish need to probe yourself, you wanted Jack to hurt—even if you knew he never would, that he couldn’t care less about who you loved and who you were with.

You just wished that he did.

A flicker of confusion. A frown, and then, “What?”

“Jackson invited me to the beginning of summer beach bonfire,” you told him, watching Jack’s jaw tense. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t—he’d always been so encapsulating. “It’s tomorrow night.”

His presence invaded every defense you’d placed up. Chin tipped to look at him, you felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if boxed in—everywhere you looked was him. Deep breaths made each muscle of his chest flex and tense, well-sculpted from years of punishing activity. You hated the flush that almost burned your face. You hated the thunder of your pulse that drowned out any noise but your racing heart. You hated the effect he had on you.

“You aren’t going,” he said simply, as if he had any say.

You frowned. “Yes, I am.”

Jack’s lip wrinkled. Condescension dripped from his voice. “No, you aren’t.”

You could have strangled him. You really could have. “You aren’t my father, Jack. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going.”

He smiled at you. Smiled like he thought you opposition was funny. “You met this guy this week, Bells,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Not only that, you have no idea who’s going to be at this bonfire. What if something goes wrong? You think Golden Boy is going to play the white knight?”

Ignoring what Jack had called Jackson, you turned to leave. You were absolutely not having this argument with him. Not when it was ultimately your decision and your life. Before you could even make it a step, a wet hand clamped around your arm, fingers closing around you like a vice—Jack spun you, unsteadying you. In an effort to save yourself a trip straight down, you threw up your hands, connecting palms with the rigid plane of Jack’s chest. Heat rose to your face, a feverish high sinking the logic of your brain. All of a sudden, you were sixteen again hoping Jack would come out of his room while you were in the hallway.

Breath deepened, you searched for an out—a way to defend yourself. The sword lying at your palms was cheap, but effective, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

But you did know better. And you knew he wasn’t; you just wished he was.

Jack smiled. Predatory. “Of Jackson?” Fingers loosened—you took the chance to escape, pulling yourself free of Jack’s hold. “If you’re going to try and make me jealous, maybe do it with someone who doesn’t have my fucking name.”

He breezed past you, disappearing inside like a shadow.

You looked down. Eyes grazing the cardigan. A wet handprint stained the arm. Jack’s handprint.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Smoke thickened the air into a husky, palpable haze. Dozens of conversations overlapped into one massive dissonance, drowning out the harsh crash of waves upon the shoreline. Bathed in an amber glow provided by a massive fire housed upon a hearth of triangularly-laid sticks, the beach was alive with drinking and laughing and dancing. Sand cushioned your feet, sandals dangling in your hands. Jackson haunted your side, keeping close. He led you in deeper, parting throngs of people like the Red Sea. Greeting a few of them, introducing you.

Excitement turned your blood hot. Rebellion made it all the sweeter. Despite Jack’s vehement opposition against your coming here, you’d done it anyway. When the boys had decided to get a few drinks at the new bar that opened up, you feigned sun sickness as a result of a day at the beach. Whether or not they believed you didn’t matter much—they’d left, which allowed you the chance to be here.

All you had to do was be home before them, which shouldn’t have been difficult. They’d be home in the early hours of the morning.

Mingling with Jackson was simple enough—people didn’t much care who you were. Just that you existed. Beers were handed to you, drank quickly. You wanted to have fun, to let yourself exist without the shackle that was Jack Hughes dragging you back from any romantic venture. A heated hand slipped in your own; Jackson smiled at you. Stomach knotted in a ball, you downed the rest of your White Claw and grinned back.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asked, bending down to better carry his voice to you. The proximity of his face warmed your chest.

“Mhm,” you hummed, relishing in the head rush. Being drunk wasn’t something you did often, what with being underage. There were parts you hated, parts you sought. Like the current buzz of warmth that whispered false confidence through your bloodstream.

The confidence that made you lead Jackson to the water’s edge, hidden from the glow of the fire, shadows outlined by the light of the moon. Rosy-cheeked, you tossed your arms around Jackson’s neck and peered up at him. Although his countenance was lost in the darkness, you could make out blown pupils overtaking his eyes, parted lips lightly doused in alcohol. Water lapped at your feet, danced around your ankles. You didn’t care. Everything in your mind was screaming at you to just do it—kiss him and get it over with, get over with Jack.

Jack.

You hated that even in a moment like this, your mind went to Jack.

It was then—arms tossed around Jackson’s neck, the waves kissing your bare legs—that you realized you’d never let go of Jack. You couldn’t. He was too well in your heart, the patchwork of two souls. If you could, you would turn tail and run, find happiness on the road of abandonment. You wouldn’t have to worry about being alone, isolated simply because people found a piece of your life more interesting than the whole. You wouldn’t have to rebuild your shattered heart when another summer passed by without Jack loving you. You wouldn’t need to remind your heart not to give in to his toothy smile and infectious laugh.

But then, you wouldn’t have Jack. His smile, the devil’s disguise, a shot of oxytocin to the system. Touching of skin, unintentional yet entirely wanted, setting ablaze the wildfire that burned down your castle of wood. Nights spent by the pool, his face illuminated by the glow of underwater lights. The way he made your heart break and mend all at once, the high of a drug that you could never quit. Every time, you relapsed, reminded yourself why you loved Jack—why he was your favorite love, your only one. He didn’t want you for anything, he didn’t even want you.

And maybe it was that; the hypothetical, the possibility. The construct you’d built inside your head, trying to fit into the narrative every summer, but never getting the part.

“Jackson?”

He looked down at you. Green, not blue. Never blue. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think—”

All at once, your arms were falling, cradling empty space as Jackson was ripped away from your touch. A splash of water sent droplets launching into your skin and clothes. You shrieked, stumbled, looked for the culprit. And of course—there Jack stood, huffing, as if he’d run to you. You could barely make out his face, but you didn’t need to; you’d know him blind, by touch alone. Your eyes went down to Jackson, body engulfed in the shallow water. You pieced it together, came into the frantic understanding that Jack had pushed Jackson.

Immediately, you went to help Jackson, only to be tugged back by your elbow. “Jack! What the hell?”

He didn’t grace you with an answer—didn’t even look at you, actually. Those stormy blue eyes were on Jackson, murderous and heated. He shoved you behind him. “What are you doing, huh?” he barked. “Did you know you were giving a minor alcohol? She’s twenty, you fucking idiot!”

Tears of frustration turned your eyes wet, and air became scarce. You wanted to do something, but what could you even do? Jack was accustomed to ignoring you. Stares nipped at the back of your head. Conversation dulled into a lapse.

“Jack, enough,” you begged, the sheer desperation in your voice normally something you’d hate—you couldn’t be bothered to care now. “Please. I’m fine. It wasn’t Jackson’s fault. He didn’t do anything.”

“Stop,” Jack interrupted, eyes flashing to you, a warning. “I told you not to come. Stay out of this, Bells.”

“I had no idea, dude, I swear!” Jackson responded, pulling himself up from the water. Soaked head-to-toe, and dully embarrassed. “She did it herself, I didn’t offer her anything!”

It soured your mouth he was trying to shift the blame to you, even if he was being honest. Your eyes flicked to Jack, and all at once you were reminded why you chose to love him.

His hair was tousled, worked one too many times by frustrated fingers. Eyes wild and concerned, so raw that you could’ve convinced yourself he was that cut by your situation. You knew it wasn’t you; he was just a good person, an empathetic one. But still, you liked to imagine. You’d spent your life imagining what it would be like for him to love you.

“Jack, please, just—”

“Don’t you dare blame her,” Jack’s voice was strangled, as if barely bypassing a wall of fury. “What the fuck do you think this is? The blame game? I don’t care who gave her the alcohol. You brought her here.”

“Please, Jack, let’s just go,” you pleaded, voice tight—embarrassment crawled up your spine like the cold. Everyone was looking, observing the screaming match you’d unfortunately found yourself a part of. “People are looking.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed, advancing on Jackson. Chest-to-chest. A size up; one you hoped wouldn’t result in traded blows. You’d never seen Jack so angry, so wrought with violence. He’d always been docile—kind.

“Why do you care?” Jackson finally snapped, shoving Jack backwards. You tried to intercede, only to be shut down. “She said she wasn’t your girlfriend. Stop acting like a jealous dick.”

Jack laughed. He turned around, facing you as he spoke. “She may not be mine,” he conceded, “but she sure as hell will never be yours.”

Everything was happening to quickly. Your mind struggled to process the entire interaction, how quickly it had all gone sour. Before you could question Jack, scold him, consider the root of his rage, you were being lifted by the middle, and promptly tossed over Jack’s shoulder.

Air fled your lungs, your head pulsed—both from the swift movement and your consumption of what was likely too much alcohol. Jack’s hand stayed on you, keeping you steady as he carried you through the crowd, cutting through blots of people who all looked just as confused as you felt. Anger sparked then, fanned by embarrassment and anger and frustration.

Slamming your fists into Jack’s well-muscled back, you spewed profanities at him. “Put me down, asshole!” He didn’t. Kept walking, over the boardwalk and into the parking lot. Jackson’s 4Runner taunted you. “Jack, let me go! Jack!”

And he did. Your feet felt unfamiliar as he placed you down with little preempt. He steadied you before you could fall, kept a hand on your arm even after. Your heart felt pulled in a million directions, throat filling up with sand—fossilizing in your own skin, mortification sawing pieces off of your soul. Jack looked furious, pacing in front of you. His silver Mercedes gleamed in the moonlight.

“Bells—” He cut himself off. His throat bobbed, ran a hand through his already messed hair. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Your teeth bared. “Me? And what about you, barging into my night and accusing my date of being a criminal? The fuck is wrong with you, Jack?”

Jack laughed. Mocking, mean. You half-wanted to punch him, felt the itch in your fingers. “Oh, forgive me for trying to help you,” he hissed. “What if cops had busted the bonfire, huh? If they’d got you? Do I have to remind you that you’re twenty, Bells? That’s a felony.”

He was right, and you hated it. “But did you have to do all that? Jackson didn’t even give me the alcohol, why did you push him into the water?”

“I already said I don’t care who gave it to you,” Jack grunted, closing in on you. A step back, and you felt your back press into the cold metal of his car. “He was with you. He let you drink.”

You rolled your eyes, tried to muster up a semblance of control. “He doesn’t know my age, Jack.”

“Then he’s a fucking idiot.”

Scoffing, you shoved him away from you. “Oh, is he? Or were we just on a second date, one that you completely ruined! He’s never going to speak to me again, Jack, so thank you for that!”

Faintly, you wondered how you went from adoring Jack to despising him. Maybe it was always meant to be like this. There was a fine line between love and hate.

Eyes flashing, Jack rounded on you. “A second date you shouldn’t have been on,” he snapped. “I told you not to go.”

“New flash: you’re not my keeper,” you said, feeling the anger wane into something worse—fatigue. You didn’t want to fight. Fighting with Jack felt like fighting a part of yourself. “How’d you even find me? You guys were at the bar.”

Jack paused; he noticed your deflated shoulders, sullen face. “SnapMap,” is what he said. He didn’t expand, and you didn’t ask him to.

Silence felt like the worse fog—thick and impenetrable, falling over you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what to say. What could you even say? Jack would never tell you why he was so upset, you didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to hear another made up story he’d spew just to tear apart the hope in your heart.

It hit you then that maybe Jack did love you—or care about you in some capacity, but he’d never admit it. Dancing in circles, a choreography that never ended, you’d never know what Jack truly wanted; didn’t know if he even did. Probably figured you’d screw it up, would ruin a friendship—his and yours, yours and Luke’s. It was a losing battle either way. Every word he uttered cut to the bone, because it was meant to. When the shift started, you didn’t know. Maybe when he realized you were not always going to kneel at his alter, when you tried to escape.

Maybe then he understood, and still avoided—lied, all to protect himself and his brother. He knew, you knew. One wanted, the other avoided. None of it ended well. Heaven was breakable, and he couldn’t dare threaten his own peace. Not even to have you.

You knew then where you stood.

“Why?”

He shook his head, chewed on his lip. “Don’t.”

“Please, Jack,” you whispered. “You owe me an explanation.”

Did he not believe in love? Had a girl hurt him? Was it really Luke, or something else? Why wouldn’t he just try?

“Bells, don’t.”

Your hand reached out. Hoping, praying—it brushed his shirt-clad chest. He didn’t move back, finally looked at you. “You owe it to me, at least. I’ll drop it, I’ll never ask again.”

“We’d just… we’d screw it up,” he managed out, the blue of his eyes richening into a navy. His eyes darted around your face. “I can’t…”

What did it matter anymore? Everything was being bared. All of it. Your fear disappeared into dust; the yearning for a conclusion to this twisted knot of a love died. Just like it always did with Jack—you’d want him, try to forget him, and fail. A never ending loop. But before there had been no chance, now—now you weren’t sure.

“Can’t what?”

Jack didn’t respond. He dug into his pocket. Grabbed his key. “Get in the car.”

The stark change of situation caught you cold. “What—?” You shook your head. You weren’t going to lose this opportunity. “Jack, no. Talk to me. Please.”

“Get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t budge for a moment, then finally, “Okay.”

The drive was silent, thick with awkwardness. What could you say? You’d been so close to coming clean, to finally—after five years—admitting everything. It seemed like Jack had too, but something stopped him. Something always stopped him. You wished you could pick his brain, lay it all out to see the moment he’d stopped seeing you as a ghost, as Luke’s high school best friend. All because you’d tried to move on, because you’d hoped for happiness beyond his black hole persona. But of course, he always managed to drag you back in.

“It’s not fair,” you muttered aloud, semi-an accident. Jack’s eyes snapped to you, the dark road rolling out in front of you.

He worked his jaw. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “What isn’t?”

“You,” you grunted, looking out the window. “I try to be happy, move on. You’ve never wanted me before, I didn’t think it would matter. But when I try, you turn it into World War III.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Barely even moved. You wanted to scream, to leap out of the car, if only to see if he’d care enough to come back for you.

“Why now, Jack? Why not before?” you whimpered. Alcohol made you pathetic, even more so than usual. “What changed?”

“Bells,” he warned, nostrils flaring.

“No,” you protested, swiveling your body his way. “I deserve an answer, Jack. Please.”

Silence still.

“Stop the car.”

Jack looked at you. Up and down, before his focus returned to the road. “No. Stop having a tantrum.”

That nearly sent you into a murderous rage. “Stop the car or I’m jumping out.”

Jack scoffed. “You’re not going to jump out of a moving car.”

You clicked off the lock. Fingers tested the handle. When you tore the door open, the alarm blared; wind whipped your arm as you gripped the door, the darkened road greeting your eyes. Thankfully, no one else was out this late. Jack grabbed you with his free hand, slammed on the breaks and veered off onto the side of the road, just beyond the dunes. Beachgrass surrounded the car, the distant buzz of crickets the only thing you could hear as Jack cursed at you. Unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door shut, Jack glared at you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped. You felt something akin to pride; he finally had a reaction to something. Cared enough to stop you.

“You won’t answer me,” you said, eyes darting around his face. The emergency interior lights of the car blinked into existence, lighting up your bodies. Jack’s face was flushed, eyes wild. “Please, just—”

“Fuck, stop saying that,” came Jack’s strangled plead, his head dropping.

You blinked at him. Confusion welled like a storm in your eyes. “What? Please?”

Silence. Jack’s head raised lazily, he looked distressed, mouth parted ever so slightly. A hand ran through his hair, mussed it more. “Fuck,” he cursed, low and gravely. “Luke is going to kill me.”

What was he on about? He looked like he was struggling, his hand gripping the steering wheel which such force his knuckles blanched. “What?”

“You’re his best friend,” Jack said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “If I… Bells, please…”

You had no idea what to do. What to say. “Jack, what do you mean? You aren’t making any sense.”

“I want to fuck you,” he bit out, leveling you with a furious look, as if he hated himself for that very fact. “But I can’t. If Luke found out, he’d hate you, or me, or us both. I can’t risk that, Bells, I can’t.”

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you. The very fact that he wanted to sleep with you sent you into a dizzy spell; normally, you would’ve wept with happiness at the sheer fact that Jack Hughes wanted you, in any capacity, but all you felt now was a resounding emptiness. He wanted to fuck you, to have you carnally, without anything attached. You loved him; not because he could give you brief pleasure, but because you knew how many freckles were on his back, how he drove with his left hand predominantly, how he quoted Camus but never actually read him.

It occurred to you then that this summer was different. Not because you were getting closure, or because Jack Hughes finally loved you back, but because you finally understood that the devotion you’d put in him for years should have been put in yourself.

You looked at Jack, and for once, didn’t feel that biting desire to touch him, to be wanted by him; now you knew you were, but for what? For once night, just to fade into obscurity? Either you had Jack entirely or not at all. You couldn’t tease yourself with a taste only to never be given the full experience. You didn’t think you’d survive the memory of it.

“I love you,” you said. Watched his reaction. The confession felt like the greatest heartbreak and the biggest relief.

He said nothing back.

And you weren’t heartbroken that he didn’t. You were relieved. Free.

[mattsfavoritestar]

NO CONTROL, matt sturniolo

part one

synopsis… matt made it clear to everyone that you were his. everyone but you.

warnings… fratboy!matt, collagestudent!reader, female reader, mentions of kissing, slightly suggestive, slightly possessive!matt, slightly obsessive!matt, mostly fluffy, mentions of alcohol and drug usage,

word count… 1174

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

“i just don’t get it? do i look okay? is it my breath?”, you ranted as you felt your friends hand rubbing your back. yet another guy you tried flirting with scrambled away with small apologies. you didn’t even want to try with the rest, they all avoided you as if you had the plague.

“probably just some dumb rumor someone started” your friend reassured. you sighed as you downed the red solo cup you were nursing for the past five minutes. “i wanna dance” you mumbled as you pulled your friend over to the more crowded area.

your head felt warm and fuzzy with the bass of the music bouncing off the walls as the alcohol melted into your system. you weren’t paying attention to anyone else in the room nor did you care to. till you were literally knocked out of your trance.

“yo, watching where you stepping bitch”, a series of gasp followed. your friend balanced you by holding your shoulders then pushed you behind her. you heard her voice berate him for being blind and delusional as he clearly bumped into you. you were already done with the day with the failed hook up attempts still fresh in your mind.

“c’mon i just wanna go” you grumbled. you had no energy to deal with whatever drugs this fratboy was high off of. one of the guys who were watching you from afar walked up to the fratboy and whispered in his ear. you watch his eyes widen and jaw slightly drop. you figured it wasn’t your friends lecture that gave him said reaction but more so of what that guy told him.

he gripped his hair in a panic as the harsh words from your friend aired right over his head. you watch him curiously as he started stuttering out an apology to you. “i’m so- i didn’t- fuck please don’t tell sturniolo” he begged.

sturniolo?

matt sturniolo?

“what are you talking about?” you ask in both annoyance and confusion. “i swear i didn’t know you were sturniolo’s girl-“ you ignore the rest of his apology as you felt the little alochol you drank earlier fuel your emotions into a rage. you swiftly turn around and march out of the party with your friend calling after you in confusion.

“matthew bernard sturniolo!” you called out with anger laced in your voice. you were annoyed with how your night was going, annoyed with that stupid coke addict calling you out your name, and to top it off you were met the face of someone who could pass as matt’s clone.

“woah calm down sweetheart,” chris chuckles. you were annoyed with one triplet already, you didn’t need another practically laughing in your face. “did you know?” you ask with a pointed finger. his hands shot up in the air, “i got nothing to do that, kid’s got no control of himself” he smiled.

you rolled your eyes, “where is he chris” you ask. chris nods towards the stairs, indicating matt residing in his room. you push past him as you heard yet another chuckle fall from his lips. too many eyes were watching you as you walked toward the familiar door. it wouldn’t be the first that these guys saw you head to matt’s room, only this time, it felt different.

you didn’t even bother knocking as you swung the door open. instantly hit with clouds of smoke with the soft voice of frank ocean playing in the background. matt was sitting on his bed with his back to his headboard as his head lazily rested back.

you strutted over to him but felt your anger slightly slip at the sight of his relaxed face and tussled hair. a smirk slowly painted his face as his heavy eyelids revealed his reddened blue eyes. “enjoying the view?” he says in a cocky tone.

“fuck off, i know what you did” you stated. you felt his hands slither their way onto your waist then swiftly pull you onto his lap. “yeah? tell me what i did baby” he whispered as he trailed his lips on your neck, occasionally leaving small kisses.

that alcohol in your system made your skin feel warmer. that, mixed with the fact that matt looked so good right now really wasn’t helping your interrogation. your body subconsciously pushed closer to feel more of matt as your words grew shorter.

“matt fuck. no- no stop.” you say as you find your self restraint.

he looked at you with his hooded red eyes, blown out pupils, and glossy lips. you had to compose yourself before you did the complete opposite of what you originally came to do. “why’d you tell people i’m off-limits?” you calmly ask him, you weren’t even mad anymore.

he shrugged, “just didn’t feel like sharing” he mumbled. you sighed as your fingers threaded through the back of his hair. “matt, we said no strings-“ you were cut off by his low groan. matt never took himself as the type of guy to like to have his hair being played with. if anything he always said that was for those corny ass couples. yet here he was melting at your touch.

“i’m not sorry if that’s what you’re asking” he says. you let out another sigh, “matt you can’t go around claiming me then go fuck other-“ a hand gripped your jaw as he makes you look directly at him.

“don’t even start with that shit, m’all yours” he says in a stern voice. you were at lost for words, entire topic completely blurring away. he pulled you into a kiss then drops his hand to your waist as his other holds your lower back. you pull away slightly, hovering over his lips. “i think we’re both a little too vulnerable right now” you whisper.

matt’s head drops to the crook of your neck. he inhales with a groan as the scent of your perfume fills his nostrils. “you always smell so good” he mumbles against your skin. you gasp as he flips you both over, you head bouncing onto the pillow. his entire body laid on top of you. “matt i can’t sleep like this, my legs might go numb” you laugh.

you felt him shrug, “i don’t care” he says. you remove your hand from his head to try reaching for your phone. matt’s head snapped up with a scowl on his face. “i gotta text-“ you were cut off as he takes your phone and tosses it to the bedside table. “text her tomorrow” he says as he takes your hand and places it back onto his head.

you laugh again, “matt you’re insane”. he didn’t respond but instead nestled his head right onto your stomach as his other creeps under your shirt. you didn’t care as you felt the weight of his hand under your bra, you knew there was no sexual intention behind it. as your eyes drooped down, you knew that you were going to be pissed with yourself in the morning.

[pboogerswbb]

a lil teaser... sooooo you guys want this or no?

it's Paige x reader

also toxic!paige warning lol

-

“Been missing you y’know-” Paige starts but I interrupt, knowing she had the tendency to talk herself right into my bed.

“Told you I never wanted to talk to you again, remember?” I say hating how shaky my voice sounds.

“Baby c’mon, you weren’t serious about that,” her hoarse voice filled with amusement.

“What, the screaming didn’t seem serious to you?” I sigh my eyes strictly on the road. Paige let’s out a chuckle and leans forward on the car seat.

“Ion remember non of that, just remember how bad I wanted to fuck that attitude out of you,” she chuckles and the car drifts off the lane for just a moment as i slap her only half seriously across the chest. I pull over on the road, parking the car. She was amused and it was pissing me off, bad.

“Get out,” I tell Paige sternly, rage and annoyance swirling inside me. She had no right to be making light of the situation. Not after how bad she had hurt me.

Paige lets out a laugh. “Man you’re crazy,” she tells me turning to face me. I face her too, the anger turning my cheeks even brighter. 

“I’m fucking serious. Get out,” I repeat my voice rising a little but it doesn’t have the desired effect. Paige just chuckles and shakes her head.

“KK always telling me I pick the crazy ones, I’m thinking she’s right,” Paige groans, not taking any initiative to get out of my car. I unbuckle my seatbelt and groan, leaning over Paige manspreading on the passenger seat, reaching for her door as she grabs my wrist, my face so close to hers I could smell the alcohol on her breath. The air in the car shifts, my annoyance turning into something that made my legs feel weak, as she licks her lips, her eyes on me. “M sorry ok,” Paige says, her voice low and hoarse now.

I fold, once again.

“I don’t wanna hear a word from you, mmkay?” I say with a sigh, clearing my throat and pulling back from her before I made some really, really bad choices. Paige's let's go of my wrist, her grip leaving my skin tingling.

“Yes ma’am,” Paige grins, satisfied by the effect she had on me.

I start the car and in silence we drive back to campus, the streets quiet on the dark Tuesday night. Paige fiddles with the zipper of her hoodie, her nimble fingers needing something to do - always looking for something to toy with. 

I tried to shake the feeling of each cell in my body screaming for her, needing to feel her skin against mine. I knew we weren’t good for each other. She wasn’t good for me. Part of me wished she came to tell me she’s done fucking around. That I’m all she wants, better than all the countless other girls that spent nights in her bed. That I was different, special. Worth letting everyone else go for. Frankly, even if she told me all those things, each word I wanted to hear, I wouldn’t believe her. 

When you were with Paige, it never felt like you were one of many though. She knew how to make you feel like you were the only one. It was in the way her blue eyes roamed my face, in the whine of her voice - like she would die if she didn’t have me. She’d remember your favourite movie and your mother’s name and the way you liked your coffee. All just to go see some other bitch later and repeat the same routine with her. Even with the girls she fucked, she had to be the best. Not because they meant anything, but because that’s who she had to be - the best. A winner.

[satorusugurugurl]

My Little Milk Cow

Summary: You and Satoru go to a Halloween party at a local bar with some friends. Only to get a little too into character~!

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x AFAB!Reader

Warning: language, role-play, breeding kink, nipple play, sex, unprotected sex, creampie, (a little animal play idk guys)

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Kinktober day four: Dress Up: Cowboy!Gojo! God to be on his farm! 😩🩵

“Oh my god.” Utahime laughed out loud as she took one look at your costume.

“What’s so funny?” You laughed along with her as Shoko wrapped her arm around Utahime, her eyes glancing you over with a roll of her eyes. “Not you too, Sho!”

“Sorry, you just look—udderly ridiculous.”

“I couldn't agree more. Oh, by the way, someone was looking for you earlier.” Utahime sipped on her beer. “His name was Old McDonald.”

“Oh yeah, he has a farm!”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your tight cow print top. “Hardy-har bitches.” They could tease you all they wanted, but you felt so confident in yourself. You were wearing a spaghetti strap form-fitting cow print top and matching pants. The horn headband matched your makeup, and you wrapped a finger around the tail attached to your pants. You, indeed, were as cute as a button.

“Why? Just why?”

“I wanted to match with Toru. It's a couples costume!”

“Why is he? A bull?”

“Oh Utahime~ you really lack imagination, don't you?”

That cocky voice belonged to none other than your boyfriend. A boyfriend you were having a hard time looking at this evening. And no, it wasn’t because he looked like a dork in his costume. It was the complete opposite. He looked too good in his costume.

Tight denim jeans hugged his long, lanky legs, which were tight enough to see the bulge in his pants. He wore a turquoise cowboy belt adorned with silver. Your eyes trail further up along the dark navy blue and black plaid shirt he is wearing, three buttons undone, giving you the perfect view of his collarbone while the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his toned, veiny forearms.

His outfit was perfect when it came to his body. But holy fuck, looking past his neck had you biting your lip and clawing at the floor to stop yourself from jumping on top of him. He smiled, his pretty lips curling up and showing off his dimple. All the while motherfucker tipped his black cowboy hat forward, blindfold, securely in place, hiding his beautiful eyes from the world. Not to mention, his ass was perfect, plump biteable perfection! Satoru was so good-looking all the time. But tonight, he looked like a whole-ass feast. You couldn’t believe that this man, who looked like he was hand-picked to be in the newest Western film in Hollywood, was your boyfriend.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Gojo!”

“Yikes~ sorry!” he draped his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close flush against the side of his body. “But what do you think? I’m a cowboy, and she’s my little milk cow~”

“Milk cow?” Shoko snorted, returning her attention to the bar and signaling the bartender to refill her shot glass. Just as she turned back, Satoru quickly looked around before reaching around your body and grabbing both your breasts that were straining against your shirt, giving them a firm squeeze.

The most embarrassing sound left your lips before Satoru could open his mouth to joke around. You moaned out loud in the middle of a busy bar. Shoko choked on her shot, alcohol spurting out of her nose. Utahime gave you a look that was plump and full of judgment. Denial settled in your stomach like a large meal as Satoru hummed incredulously behind you.

You struggled to find the words to justify the sound that left your mouth. But there was no coming back from that. From those sounds that left your mouth. All you could do was look away as Satoru’s warm hands released their hold on your breasts, slowly grazing your skin as he moved them to grab your upper arms. Your bottom lip quivered as his fingers slowly slid up and down your arms, teasing your pretty skin as he inched closer to your ear.

“Ooh, my little cow seems like she's sensitive here.” His knuckles barely grazed over your chest. “Need me to milk you~?” from the twitching bulge pressing against your ass, you knew what he meant. And you weren't doing any better with the wet, slick coating the inside of your panties.

“Yes, please.”

The drive back to Gojo’s estate was full of heavy petting and kissing. You were practically waiting each other up, barely making it inside of the house as Gojo pinned you up against the wall growling against your swollen lips. You were dizzy, as he pressed his knee between your legs bringing it up to grind against your throbbing core. Your body was on fire, every touch ignited more need in you. Especially when his hands found your breasts again.

"Oh, baby. You're getting full, aren't you?" He purred, moving a hand up to his head to slick back his long, white fluffy hair. "I can take care of that for you. I think my way would make it feel better."

"It would?" You asked, whimpering softly.

Gojo nodded before he bent down, setting his broad shoulderto your waist, lifting you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bedroom. "I'll fix it, baby~" You whined, thinking about the sweet pleasure that was going to come to you soon.

"Shh, it's alright, sweetheart." He gently put you down on the bed, kneeling in front of you. "I'm going to make it all okay, baby." Toru pulled your top up and over your head, growling at the large black bra that squeezed your tits. "Oh fucking Christ.”

You looked at your breasts. "It’s a push-up bra." You said, tossing your head back. They jiggled. “I really feel like I'm a cow."

They were so sensitive, and with each jiggle, your hardened nipples brushed over the fabric of the bra, making you shiver. All of this was because of Satoru. Damn him and his devilishly good looks!

Gojo growled at the sight of your pretty tits as he pulled your bra down. "Oh? You are my little milk cow, huh? Don't worry, baby, I'll drink all that milk for you." He smirked as he grabbed both of your tits, pressing them to his face and licking at your hardened nipples.

God, you tasted so good, it was almost criminal. Your sweat, the smell of your body wash, and your natural taste had Gojo feeling drunk even without drinking a drop of alcohol. He groaned. He was swirling his tongue around the sensitive buds, thinking about how good your milk would taste if you were pregnant. Maybe he should knock you up for real, make you his little milk cow.

You gasped, feeling his tongue working extra hard against your nipples. It was as if he was genuinely working to draw out nonexistent milk, wishing it would coat his tongue. God, he looked so good, blindfold still covering his eyes as he feasted on your breasts. He really looked like a cowboy. He was acting like one, too, raw, honest, and massaging you as if he truly wanted to milk you against his tongue.

You were losing yourself, getting caught up in the fantasy, so you blurted out the only thing your mind could think of.

"M-Moo!" You shouted out loud before seizing up, hesitating for a brief moment as your cry registered to your ears. God, what were you thinking? Did that seriously just come out of your mouth?!

Satoru had paused completely, looking up at you in shock, lips still sealed around one of your nipples for a split second. After that initial shock passed, he reached up. You watched as his long finger hooked under his blindfold, tugging it down, revealing dark, lust-filled eyes. The crystalline cerulean blue orbs fluttered back as he let out a groan you’d never heard before—a groan of pure, unadulterated need.

"Fuck!" He didn't know if he had ever been that hard in his life. His cock strained hard against his pants as he pressed you down against the bed, sucking desperately at your tits like a starved man at his last

"M-Mhmm!" You moaned in pleasure and relief. The more he sucked, the less pressure you felt. "T-Toru, so good, baby.”

Satoru groaned as he sucked harder, tasting how sweet you were. "Fuck, I could cum just from this."

"Mhmm, don’t cum too soon." You said, biting your lip and tugging it between your teeth. "I want to cum with you.”

Toru smirked down at you when he squeezed your tots like he had back at the bar. Imagining them being swollen with milk, god he needed to breed you. "Want me to make you feel even better, little cow?” You groaned, running the pale of your hands down his shirt, your fingers grazing over the material seductively.

"Yes, please, Master.” You cooed, sliding your hands down further, cupping his hard cock. "Will you give me your milk now?"

Gojo hissed in pleasure, pushing you into the mattress as he ground his hips down against yours. "Inside your pussy, Sweetheart? I'll give you a baby if you want. Then I could drink your milk."

Hearing him say that had you shivering at the idea of him breeding you and knocking you up. Fuck why did that sound so good?

"Yes! Fuck I want Toru!" You said, watching him grind against you. "Fuck, I want to have your babies!”

“Ask me then.” He reached down, unbuckling his belt and unzipping the almost too-tight blue jeans. “Ask me to breed you.”

“P-Please! Please breed me!”

Satoru couldn't hold back; he roared in need, ripping both your clothes off before flipping you over and mounting you. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, Sweetheart.” He rubbed his tip against your already wet entrance.

"Good," You mewled out, grinding back against him. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

With another growl, Toru hissed as he forced his cock fully inside your tight wet pussy. "Nnngh!!" You threw your head back. “Fuck! Fuck you’re so wet and tight?!” He whispered in disbelief at the feeling of how wet you were.

"A-Ah of my god, fuck!" You gripped the sheets, nearly cumming already.

“Heh~ I’m so good I’ve rendered you speechless?” Satoru questioned, holding your hips tight before beginning to slam into you. "Fuck, you feel so good."

"Oh god, Toru," You said, looking back at your boyfriend. The smell of clean linen and musk had you craving more of him. You wanted everything he had to offer you. "Fucking breed me, baby."

Toru's eyes snapped open at your request. Hearing such dirty words combined with his already throbbing cock. Had him on edge already. He growled, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and making you gasp as he slammed into you with all of his might. The headboard slammed against the wall as he slammed in and out, in and out of your pussy. The wet, squelching sounds bounced off the walls of your bedroom as he lost complete and total control over himself.

He needed to breed you. To knock you up. Fuck he needed it and wanted it. Those thoughts, the raw, primal, animalistic need to procreate with you, pushed him further. In that moment, with his cock slamming in and out of you, as you screamed, eyes rolling back, hands gripping the sheets. Satoru reached around, finding your breasts. He squeezed them, pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“T-Toru!” He watched as one hand released your grip on the sheets, darting between your legs and rubbing your clit as you approached your orgasm. “C-Cu—” Your words were cut off by a scream as your walls clamped down on his cock mid-thrust as you came.

“Nnngh!” Gojo clenched his teeth in a loud but surprised whine as he came hard inside of you, pumping you full of his cum. "Fuck!! S-Sweetie! Fuck ooooh~!! Fuuck!!"

You whimpered, moaning as you slowly came down from your orgasm. You were giggling as he kissed up your neck with a growl as he rolled you over, pressing you flat against his chest. Panting roughly, you looked up at his flushed face. "Wow, someone was pent up, weren't they.” You questioned, only to receive a smack on your ass, drawing out a squeak from you.

"Fuck you got me cumming like a fucking teenager."

Gojo groaned, his head falling to rest against the pillows as he wetted his lips. “It’s all your fault moaning like that in the bar.”

“Oooh, right, so sorry, my boyfriend is super fucking hot.”

“Ooh, I’m ‘super fucking hot’?”

“Yeah, the hottest cowboy I’ve ever seen,” Gojo whined as you slowly pushed yourself up, rolling your hips against him, watching his abdominal muscles twitch as his hands rested on your hips. “So hot~ I think I’m going to take him for a ride.”

“Well, by all means.” He reached for the nightstand, grabbing the hand he had been wearing earlier off of it. He plopped it down on your head before placing his hands under his head with a drunken smirk. “Giddy-up cowgirl.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

TAKE YOU DOWN A PEG ─── neil lewis ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I want you. Your bones. Your body heat. The bite marks your teeth leave. To see how bad and beautiful those eyes look beneath me." — Beau Taplin.

pairing. sub!neil lewis x reader

summary. gumshoe video’s got a rude customer who neil can’t seem to ban…

warnings. swearing, voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, breathplay, oral sex (m), cockwarming, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 5.3k

a/n. the hardest thing about writing this was scouring letterboxd for obscure films that i think neil would foam over. pls don’t beat me to death if my film references miss the mark 😭

Neil loves his job. Seriously, seriously, he does. It's completely self-satisfying, his personal passion project that’s taken up a large amount of his life, and brings him the uttermost joy of allowing him to do what he does best: recommend films. 

Gumshoe Video is like his fucking baby, and he takes care of it, immensely; he wipes down every tape every Sunday, he sweeps the floor and rearranges the furniture, he organizes the tapes almost constantly, and he does his hardest to provide stellar, passionate - if almost annoying - film advice. He wants the reviews up on this place, alright, otherwise it feels like he’s letting his baby down. 

Now, if there’s one thing Neil hates about his job, just one minor, teensy weensy thing, it’s probably you. You, the rude customer who came in three months ago and has come in everyday since. 

The day you and Neil Lewis met was one just like the rest. Gumshoe Video was promoting old spaghetti westerns; Neil was wearing a cowboy hat and opening deliveries from a video tape shop in Calabasas that had closed down; you were coming off work and were daydreaming, dizzily entering shops to get your mind off the irritatingly mundane job you had. Unlike Neil, you fucking hate your job. 

You had entered Gumshoe, browsing lazily through the Film Noir section, when Neil sprung up like a weed behind you, speaking animatedly about how the best film noir’s had to be Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, or Double Indemnity, and if you’d ever watched them before. 

As Neil blabbered on, your left eyebrow became increasingly raised. Finally having enough of him, you spoke. “So, are you one of those guys that talk all over the girl and ask them if they’ve ever seen Citizen Kane, or if I can even name five Ingmar Bergman movies for you?”

Neil spluttered, flustered with being confronted about his obsessive cinephile talking habit of carrying the conversation away like a track runner in a relay race going off with the baton in the wrong direction. “What? I was just —“

“— name dropping film noir’s, ‘cause I’m some ditzy, uncultured bimbo bitch who mistakenly walked in, right?” You said, rolling your eyes. Later, in retrospect, you’ll wonder if you were too rude; then, you’ll remember you don’t give a fuck, you were having a bad day, and Neil Lewis had one hell of an annoying face. 

Neil’s face grew offended, an irritated furrowed brow wiggling onto his features. “If you don’t want to watch what I recommend, you don’t have to!” he exclaimed, arms up placatingly in the air. 

“Uh huh, okay, and you don’t have to shove your pretentious cinephile knowledge up my ass.”

He just stared at you, boring his bright blue eyes into your own, face contorted so exasperatedly you might as well have climbed up to the stars, plucked the moon from the sky, and used it as a pillow. 

My god, Neil thought. Are you just a rude customer? Or did you get off on berating small businesses like a sadistic freak?

After a moment of you two staring each other down in the fluorescent artificial light of Gumshoe, both looking terribly affronted, you left. 

Neil would then rant about this “insane customer” for at least twelve hours straight to anyone who’d liste. The next day, the distasteful experience was extremely close to thereby fully exiting his mind, but didn’t, because you, yes, you, walked in again. 

You shot straight daggers with your eyes at Neil, but your expression became soft, demure, and gentle when you saw Jonathan manning the register instead. You trailed through the aisles unperturbed, Jonathan too busy sporting a hangover from working the late shift at that obscure speakeasy copycat bar (in which, as often as possible, he would sneak a shot to stay awake) to recommend films. 

In any case, that was Neil’s job, and Jonathan leaned over to whisper in his ear: “Neil, man, do me a favor and please distract that customer -- fuck, this headache’s killing me…”

Neil protested, shaking his head rapidly. “That’s her.”

“Her who?”

“Her! The - customer who -- who yelled at me!” 

Jonathan blinked blearily, clearly still too incapacitated to think about the matter much. “She yelled at you… and she’s back. Here. And why exactly is that…?”

“To yell at me s’more, probably!” Neil whisper-shouted incredulously. 

Suddenly, you broke Neil and Jonathan out of their not-so-quiet argument by slamming down Gumshoe Video’s copies of Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, and Double Indemnity. The irony did not miss Neil - honestly, it was a little on the nose, even for him. 

“Thought I’d see what all the rage was.” you explained “sweetly”, gesturing to Neil as you spoke, indignation seeping through your every word. Your grudge was, well, mostly unexplained, ‘cept for the fact you yourself were an avid cinephile, had watched those three movies more than you could count, and did not take Neil’s “have you watched these before” kindly. 

Thus started you and Neil’s long-winded rivalry slash animosity slash terribly caustic back-and-forth correspondence. 

You keep coming to Gumshoe Video, because, despite your anger towards Neil, you fucking adore the place. The films are downright amazing, the atmosphere is like fucking heaven with the walls lined full of video tapes, decorated in classic film props, campy lifesize cardboard cutouts making you jump at every turn, and Gumshoe Video’s concept is insanely different (and lightyears better) than the corporate monolith that is Media Giant. 

He keeps coming to Gumshoe Video because, again, Neil loves his job, and treats Gumshoe like he carried it for nine months and has been lovingly raising it for the five years it's been open. 

From that first incident, you and Neil’s relationship twisted a little into something like this: you come in, insult him on whatever costume he’s wearing, return the tapes you rented the other night, argue with him for exactly an hour and a half on the couch, insult him for another ten as you browse the store, ignore his film recommendations, and rent three more movies. 

He waits for you to enter, wears the ugliest costume he owns to visually assault you, gladly takes the tapes back, argues with you for 1 and ½ hours, fires back retorts as you insult him, recommends movies he thinks will make you jump out your apartment window, and gives you your movies. 

You’re the minor, teensy weensy headache Neil experiences everyday, but at least, at the very least, Gumshoe makes daily dollars from your rentals - kinda like the payback or relief fund a town gets after a hurricane’s run through it. 

But, (somewhat?) shamefully… there’s a reason Neil doesn’t just ban you from the store and live his life without ever thinking of you again. 

This reason occurred to him a month ago, when he was in the backroom, pasting barcodes and information stickers on tapes that were yet to be placed in the store. You were looking for the washroom, awkwardly stumbling through the back hallway of Gumshoe Video, and since you couldn’t find Neil — he, in spite of the nature of your relationship, trusted you to look around and rent the tapes by yourself, having done it several times while arguing with him at the counter — you had to brave through it alone.

Now, the thing about the room Neil was in — more of a shoe closet than a room, honestly — was that it was locked from the outside, and he didn’t have the key. The key was currently in the hands of one Lucien, who had gone to buy takeout for the two of them because of the late night cataloging of new tapes ahead of them. 

And… he was taking about a hundred years to come back because he was trying to get the cashier’s number at their usual Chinese restaurant. 

Anyway, imagine this: you’re looking for the washroom, and the door to a small room is propped open. You enter, don’t think much of the small stack of empty tape boxes acting as a door stopper, and let it close. The light in there is dim, just a shitty little ceiling light; Neil turns, tapes in his hand; you turn, after closing the door. 

Finally, remember: the room is more of a shoe closet than a room.

“Jesus -- christ!” Neil yelped, startled at your sudden appearance. “What  -- the hell are you doing here?” 

“I take it this isn’t the bathroom?” You murmured, ignoring his question and shifting uncomfortably. Seriously, the tape closet was only meant for one person in it at a time. 

If the lights were brighter, you would’ve seen how hard Neil rolled his eyes; they almost rolled out of his head. “Well, I don’t think so, given the lack of toilet, sink, and light, no.”

“Well, Neil,” you purred, hot breath curling around the sensitive skin of his neck, “maybe, just maybe, you should have a sign for the bathroom, so I don’t have my tits any closer to your face than I want them to.” You said this sweetly, voice husky, low, and oddly sultry, but Neil knew better than that: you probably wanted to fucking kill him right now.

You were right, though; your tits were flush Neil’s bandy chest, the heat between you two growing the longer you were this close in proximity. 

“Now get me out of here,” you said quickly after, ignoring how warm Neil felt against your body. You’d turned so your back faced him, hands twisting at the silver knob of the door - which, Neil honestly didn’t know why was there, considering it didn’t fucking work. 

Neil sighed. “The door locks from the outside.” 

“What?” You said, distracted by leaning down to press your weight against the door like it was just sticky. Moments later, “…What?” you all but shrieked, hands falling from the knob, turning to face him once more. 

And, again, if the lights were brighter you’d have seen Neil’s face better: he was bright fucking red, because, apparently not accounting for the small space of the room, you’d leaned and obliviously had your ass pressed right against him. It didn’t help that his large, warm hands, having long since dropped the tapes he was labeling, hung near the flesh of your rear, having nowhere else to go in the limited space.

Neil thanked the small mercy God graced upon him that there wasn’t any kind of friction, so his soft cock remained just that: soft, and barely noticed by you. 

“The door locks from the outside.” Neil repeated breathlessly, the amount of air in the shoe-box room being incredibly small, too small to share between the two of you. 

“Fucking…” You cursed under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “So, what, we have to stay here ‘till someone busts us out? What’re you gonna do if I go batshit and eat you or something?”

“For one, Lucien isn’t going to take that long to come back. Anyway, why’re you assuming you’ll overpower me - what if I go batshit and tear into you?”

You snorted, like the connotation he could overpower you was completely implausible. “Neil, Neil, Neil,” you repeated nonsensically, before lifting a hand up to his shoulder and digging your nails into him, the fabric of his shirt obviously not thick enough to distort your strength. “I could have you pinned down in less than a minute. I do other things than watch movies all day, unlike your lanky ass.”

Neil merely let out a chagrined laugh in response, hands clammy at the thought: you pinning him down— he then shook himself mentally, about to slap himself upside the head. Fucking hell, this situation was doing things to him. 

“You don’t believe me?” You retorted with a raised brow. Swiftly, your hands curled around Neil’s wrists, pinning them behind him and pressing his back against you. “How about now, huh?” you whispered softly in his ear, making his head swim. 

Your chin rested on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his neck, and it took everything in Neil not to let out a breathy keen — this was all too much for him: your touch, your voice, and the apparent dawning on him that he found you terribly, massively, attractive. 

“Fuck, I, er - - um,” Neil scrambled for a response, when the door to the tape closet suddenly opened. Your hands released him immediately, and you strided out, breathing in deeply. 

On the other side stood Lucien, plastic takeout bag in one hand, closet key in the other. “What happened to you?” he asked confusedly, as Neil filed out after you, gaze trained on your stretching figure walking off. 

“We got, uh -- locked, in the- in the tape closet.” Neil murmured, thoughts still fuzzy from your rough touch. 

“With her?” Lucien shuddered, handing Neil the chinese takeout bag sympathetically. “You need this food more than I do.”

So, there it was. Neil’s reason. He would’ve called you an insufferable bitch that he never wanted to see enter Gumshoe Video ever again hundreds of times by now — if your sensual voice insulting him didn’t get him all tight in the pants. 

He began having thoughts — thoughts of you. You, whispering vulgar, humiliating words in his ear, your hands carding his hair, pulling tight against his scalp, selfishly making him do whatever you wanted him to do, no matter his pleas. 

The fantasy was unlike anything Neil had dreamed up before, having always believed it should be him on top, him controlling the situation, him dominating — but it wasn’t a bad one. He’d come faster than he ever did before, just by imagining you were rolling your hips into his own… your strength pinning him down… your lips brushing past the shell of his ear, telling him he was so fucking dirty, so filthy for being this needy. 

However, that was all just a vague, distant pipedream, especially with how you seem to actually hate him. All the interaction he’d had with you consisted of poisonous, irritated words, insults and curses — which had him feeling both incredibly turned on, and sick at the fact he was attracted to you just by being mean to him. 

Sometime after that, nearing the end of the work day, Neil was the only one left there: Jonathan had taken the morning shift, and Lucien was, surprisingly, on a date with the cashier at their usual Chinese restaurant place. Looks like he succeeded in getting her number, while Neil had been pressed against you in that tiny tape closet, moments away from getting a hard-on. 

So, Neil was the only one there - and you were the only customer there. Your daily routine of stopping by and verbally attacking him was late today, so it was nearing midnight when you and Neil sat on the couch and began arguing. 

“I’m sure your “manly” ego isn’t at all pathetic and easily hurt by the superiority of Mia Farrow’s performance in Rosemary’s Baby.” You spat, leaning into the diverse array of old throw pillows that sat on the couch day after day. 

Neil rolled his eyes, hands up in the air animatedly. “My manly ego - and I don’t enjoy the sarcasm nor the air quotes you’re using - isn’t pathetic, nor easily hurt! Mia Farrow just wasn’t better than John Cassavetes was. I stand by the fact they were equal.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, your hand coming down on Neil’s knee to dig into him angrily. “Neil, I don’t expect you to understand her performance - I don’t think anyone does, not with that little cinephile brain you have. Do you do any thinking up there, or is it just The Treasure of the Sierra Madre on rewind?”

Neil flushed, both at the insults and how your hand was on his fucking leg. “What about you? What is it that makes you keep coming back here if you think my opinion is so… worthless and entitled?” 

You grit your teeth, leaning in closer to him. “Because, Neil, this is the only other video tape shop for miles, and I will not be caught dead at Media Giant. Trust me, I despise this - “arrangement” of ours, far more than you do.”

He huffed, his gaze trailing over your features, unable to come up with a response: he was too busy focussing, trying not to zero in on how your face was inches away from one his, your fingers oddly inching up his thigh. 

“Don’t go making this about me. Why is it,” your continued, hands traced dizzying circles into the fabric of his jeans, “that you don’t just kick me out? I come in here, day after day, berating you, ignoring your recommendations… shouldn’t I have been banned a long time ago?”

Neil gulped. “You’re still a - a customer, one who rents daily I might add—“

You smirked up at him. “Don’t lie to me. I know Gumshoe’s doing just fine… and I heard you, y’know? Last week… in your office.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He stammered out, racking his head for what he might’ve been doing in his office— fuck. 

Fuck, he thought, mind racing rapidly, he thought you had already left by the time he started— 

“I heard you, hiding in your office… stroking yourself, moaning my name.” 

You’d rented just one tape last Friday, for a movie date with a guy from work, and you almost left - before realizing Neil took your membership card and never gave it back. You waltzed back in, and to your obvious surprise, Neil wasn’t at the register. 

“Neil?” You called out softly, trying not to spark an argument with him that would span hours, because you were trying to show up to this date on time. 

You walked down the back hallway, and found his office door, which had a gleaming NEIL LEWIS printed on its foggy glass. 

Your hand had almost reached for the handle, his name on the tip of your tongue, when you heard a needy whine slip past the door. Shocked, you lingered and pulled your hand away, pressing your ear against the pane to listen closer. 

“God, fuck,” you heard Neil curse, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Need you so bad,” you heard him whisper to no-one but himself, before a low moan belted out of him. 

Your face grew warm, immediately, flushed at the news that Neil-fuckin’-Lewis was jerking off, in his office, mumbling your name. You squeezed your eyes shut, continuing to listen to his pretty voice, and after several moments of your lust-riddled mind drinking in his sweet noises, how he was so focussed on his pleasure while completely oblivious to your listening in, you found one of your hands coming up to tweak your erect nipple — fuck, his stuttered little moans had your cunt pulsing with utter need.

Neil was getting close, you could tell, hearing him buck into - what you assumed - was his wooden desk, sloppily muffled mewls leaving his mouth. 

You were biting down on your lip, hard, an incredible amount of self control in place. The man was so horny, sounding so fucking submissive it drove you insane: just the thought that he’d bend to your will and do whatever you wanted made your legs clench.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending who you ask, you felt your phone begin buzzing in the waistband of your modesty shorts - probably the date you were late for - and you had quickly fled. 

“Oh, jesus,” Neil blurted out now, alarmed, immediately in the flight part of fight or flight. “I- whatever you heard, I can - I can explain, really, so please don’t—“

Your hand gripped his thigh, keeping him from getting up. “Hey, hey, shh,” you said, bringing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know, just as well as you do, how bad you want me.”

Truly, Neil couldn’t control himself that night. You had walked in, wearing a delicious little dress with a sweetheart neckline, strolling around in 3-inch heels, cooing mockingly at his costume for that week’s theme — a criminal wearing nifty little handcuffs to promote the double feature promotion of crime films and dramas — purposely leaning down to make him feel smaller than you. 

Neil had flushed, looking away, willing himself not to let out a needy groan at your get-up, instead silently checking out your tape rentals and quickly handing them back to you. After you’d walked out of the store, he’d dashed to his office, feeling the tent in his pants grow warm, aching. 

Quite similarly to how he felt now, your eyes coursing over his entire form, so close Neil felt himself sinking into the couch. 

“Look how fucking hard you are already.” you whispered, hand drawing away from his thigh and reaching for the bulge in his jeans, palming him between the fabric. “Does it turn you on? The fact you got caught?”

Neil’s breath hitched. “Fuck, please, I—“ 

“You’re so pathetic.” You said, laughing at him. “I can feel how big you are, such a thick cock, and all you know how to do with it is beg.”

Your plush lips were curled into a cheshire grin, baring your sharp teeth at him, and Neil was ashamed at how badly he wanted those teeth to press painful bites into his sensitive skin. 

He was about to whine again, plead desperately, but he shut up when you slipped off the couch, sinking to your knees, fingers undoing his belt buckle and fly. Shifting his jeans down, you dipped your hand down the waistband of his boxers and pulled his cock out: it was angry, hard and begging for release. 

But you wanted to tease him before you got to the good part. First, your warm breath fanned over his cock, making him jump, trying to rut up into your mouth, and your soft lips slipping past his leaking head had his hands tugging at your hair, trying to pull you closer to him. 

You thinned your eyes and got up, hand pressing his cheeks together and forcing his jaw open. You spit into his mouth, then patronizingly patted his face, “Do that again and I won’t touch you - I’ll take my tapes and leave you a needy fucking mess on this couch.”

Neil groaned, your spit foreign and hot on his tongue like lava. “God, I… I just wanna — want you so bad.” 

You tutted, sinking back down on your knees to face his rock hard length up and pressed flat against his abdomen. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it, you desperate fucking pervert. D’you know who jerks off in their office to someone they barely know? Fucking perverts.”

He leaned his head back, a moan leaving his lips at your insulting choice of words. It felt like you were torturing him, but his body wanted nothing more than you. 

Your lips then ghosted past him for another moment before you started your assault on his strained cock: you laid tentative kitten licks all the way down his length, enjoying how he squirmed under you, wanting nothing more but your wet mouth around him. Then, without warning, you took him in your mouth whole, tongue dragging and curling around his cock. You devoured him salaciously, hollowing your cheeks, sliding his cock in and out of your full mouth at an alarming speed, hitting the back of your neck with each thrust. 

Your tongue felt heavenly on his cock: wet, warm, and sticky, lapping at him without stopping. Your teeth grazed against him lightly, and Neil’s back arched into your touch. 

He was practically convulsing now, drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the pure pleasure you were inflicting on him with no split second or moment for him to regain his composure. You wanted to see him fall apart, come undone just by your mouth, he realized, and he wanted to let you, wanted to let go — but, as fast as you’d taken his hard cock into your mouth, you let him drop from your lips. 

“Why did you - please, fuck -- why did you stop?!” Neil whimpered noisily, head rolling onto his chest to look down at your face: lips plump, faint tear tracks running off your cheeks, your gagged spit falling from your chin. 

“I oughta take you down a peg, Neil. Show you what a dumb fucking loser you are, pretending you’re so confident, so dominant, like you know everything there is about movies.” You responded nonchalantly, getting up and shedding your panties and leggings. 

“M’not dumb,” he whined, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes, “god, you’re killing me here.”

“You’ll live,” you grinned, climbing on his lap and lining your wet sex with the fat head of his cock. Then you descended down on him, watching blissfully as his cock disappeared into your folds.

Neil’s hands wrapped around your waist, burying his face into your neck. He mewled against your skin, drunk on your tantalizing scent, lips wet with drool and leaving a slick trail. 

Despite your dominance in this situation, completely controlling Neil’s pleasure, you couldn’t control your own: Neil’s cock felt fucking good, long and thick in all the right places, a curve that arched right against your cervix, veins rubbing against your walls pleasantly. He stretched your cunt completely, making you wince, but there was still pleasure there, the feeling of your crevices being filled with his fat cock making your toes curl. 

After a moment of getting used to his cock, you rose back up, then sunk down, your hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. Neil’s head shot back, a labored cry leaving him as you set a steady, almost too slow pace, torturously sliding his cock in and out of your tight hole. 

Your hands trailed across his still-clothed chest, and you grieved the chance lost to have stripped him, your touch teasing him every step of the way — but having him deep within you was probably better. 

“Your- fuck, you’re so -- so soft,” Neil squeaked below you, revelling in how you took him, bottoming out each time like it was nothing. 

You simpered at his words, how helpless he was, succumbing to the pleasure; to you. “Knew you were,” you slammed down on his cock, making Neil choke, “pretending to be arrogant. You just needed someone to put you in your place.” 

Neil hadn’t realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question until your hand came up to his hair, tangling through his locks and tugging. “Who d’you belong to? Who put you in your place?” you murmured lowly. 

He whimpered at your roughness, leaning into the sofa obediently. “You! You own me,” he pleaded, desperately chasing his own pleasure. 

“That’s it,” you said, shutting your eyes, bobbing up and down on his cock faster. Your ass bounced above him, and Neil’s hands rested on the flesh of your rear, massaging you. 

Greedily, Neil tried to thrust into you, but you weren’t having any of it, deterring his attempts by pushing him so he laid flat on the couch, your hands pinning his wrists above his head, the new position pushing him deeper into you. 

“You stay down, you dirty fuckin’ loser,” you said caustically, but your actions said otherwise: your walls were squeezing around him needily, your cunt sucking him in so far you could feel his balls brushing against your clit. 

The tip of his cock brushed past your g-spot each time you rutted into him, and soon enough you felt it: that pulsing, that heat, that familiar coiling within your insides. Neil was reaching it too, his face flushed pink and his breathing as heavy as it was back then, in the tape closet. 

You began thumping down on him, your fingers tightening around his scalp. Your pace had gotten feverish, bordering feral, both your minds focussed on one thing: release. You could feel your cunt tensing, your mind going foggy, and then, there it was: your pleasure ran through you like electric current, shocking your body. You felt numb, tingly like when the blood flow to your arm gets cut off for a moment, making your pace stutter. 

You didn’t stop, however, riding out your high on his cock, bouncing up and down on Neil’s thick length. He felt fucking delicious, piercing you in all the right ways, and you adored how malleable he was right now: so horny and submissive he stopped speaking and was merely letting dirty moans leave his mouth without any protest. His gaze, his focus, was elsewhere, lost in the deep haze of pleasure your cunt was subjecting him too. 

You leaned down, pressing small love-bites onto his skin like he’d fantasized so many times before, and it broke him out of his stupor. “Did you think of this, in your office?” you whispered, “did you think of me, my tits bouncing, your cock deep in my cunt?”

“Ugh,” Neil groaned, reveling in how your seductive voice sounded like music. He was much, much closer than he thought, and when you licked up his jaw, your hot breath on the shell of his ear making him sweat, your cunt still fucking him roughly, he let go. 

You felt it first, the familiar liquid bursting past his thick head and painting your fleshy walls creamy, like a new coat of alabaster that Gumshoe desperately needed. 

“So good, so wet,” Neil groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to yours. You stared at him, watching his lewd expression throughout his entire high, waiting for that beautiful blue gaze of his to open and face you again. 

“I’m milking you dry. Look how fucking full you’ve made me, you filthy pervert.” You were taking him for every drop he could offer, and it was delectable. 

You two were heaving now, both coming down from your highs. You’d effectively ruined the couch, your slick soaking the cushions and his jeans, as well as his come, which was leaning out of your still-stuffed hole. 

“I think you’ve gotta replace this manky ass couch, Neil,” was the first thing you said, your hands sliding down from their grip in his hair to his pink cheeks, rubbing his skin delicately. 

His eyes opened, watching you carefully. “It was about time,” Neil shrugged breathlessly. “Do you… do you actually - hate me?” he continued, murmuring self-consciously. 

You laughed, but it wasn’t sharp, not at him like before, no; it was tender, like a scarf Neil wanted to wrap around him in the winter time.

“I never hated you,” you murmured, tone reverent, “you’re just a little, how does it go…”

“Presumptuous?” Neil finished for you. 

You nodded, then grasped at his shirt and pulled him from the couch so he was sitting upright again. “Jus’ wanted to, ahem, “take you down a peg” like I said earlier..” you trailed off, cheeks growing warm remembering your earlier behavior during sex. 

This was all very new, to the both of you — you, in all your relationships and flings, were not the dominant partner. You guessed there was a first time for everything.

Then, you were about to get off his lap, but Neil held you steady on his cock. “Don’t go,” he said simply. “I’ve got Brief Encounter in the player, if you want to, y’know…” 

He wasn’t hard anymore, but it just felt good, cozy, having you two talk and regain your composure with him filling you nicely. It felt right. 

You smiled, a gummy, blissful smile. “Okay. I’ve actually never seen this,” you said, turning to face the tv, wincing slightly. 

“Really?” Neil said, an amazed joy seeping into his voice. 

“I’m joking,” you snorted, and you could practically see Neil pouting behind you. “But I don’t think we’ll be paying much attention…” you purred, clenching your thighs around his length. 

“Jesus fuck,” Neil groaned behind you, hands coming under your shirt, “you’re exactly like those movies.”

“I’m even better, baby.” 

[marblepasta-creepyhornet]

Hey, could you do some headcanons for the creepypastas x lonely reader? Thanks, and welcome to tumblr!

———

A/N: Awwww, thank you ❤️

Characters used: Toby, Jeff, BEN, EJ

———

Toby:

he was bullied when he was younger in school by kids his age, so it was hard for him to fit in so he was alone most of the time, not much changing after he was homeschooled.

He understood what it was like to be lonely, so he started to try and spend more time with you!

Despite your initial weariness in letting him in, he proved to be very trustworthy and nice the more time you both spent together

He’d even talk with you about his experiences, y’know, to help you feel less alone 🥺

Taking you on missions, late night walks through the forest, mini-sleepovers- the whole nine yards to make you feel less lonely.

Jeff The Killer:

Now, let’s not kid ourselves! Jeff’s a sadistic bastard and he could care less about how you feel-

But, let’s just say you’ve been at the mansion for a while; barely talking to anybody, not even responding when others need you/are trying to get your attention. Then it becomes an issue with Jeff (especially when he needs something)

What started out as annoyance from him soon morphed into worry then a weirdly overprotective side of him started showing.

A lot like Toby, he started spending time with you and hanging out (minus the extra effort, because, well, it’s Jeff. He doesn’t do anything extra unless it’ll benefit him)

Overall, Jeff starts out as not giving a fuck to then caring a lot (but won’t admit it 😒)

BEN:

Even after being in the mansion for so long, you still isolated yourself from everyone (Bad past issues), rather than joining everyone, you opted to stay in your room.

That was until Ben started to join in, showing up on the screens of your electronics to talk to you!

You couldn’t get this man away from you 😔

You’d be playing animal crossing and his character would show up like “Hey, bitch” and start hitting you with a net 😭

It’d start out as annoying, but just wait till you grabbed an axe and slowly turned to him-

Overall, he’d be smitten with just waiting for you on your own time. But, for now, he was okay with just appearing in your games :)

Eyeless Jack:

He couldn’t explain it, but he felt very overprotective of you.

He wanted nothing more than to talk to you and get to know you more.

But, he knew you struggled with loneliness before the mansion and as a result, isolated yourself.

On the rare occasion you were out of your room he’d have a note pinned to the fridge with your name on it, followed by a dark blue heart 🥺

When you opened it this time, it was a letter from Jack saying to check your pillow.

With confusion written on your face, you made your way back to your room, and when you opened your door you gasped.

Now, I personally headcanon Jack as a guy of many talents and that includes (I’m totally not projecting-) crochet!

On your pillow was a little Jack doll he crocheted of himself 😭😭😭

Next to it was another note, yet another blue heart scribbled on it.

“I know it’s taking time for you to warm up to everything, but if you ever feel lonely, you can talk to him” -EJ

[hellishjoel]

dark paradise 

5.2k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Your mind is flooded with the memories of your private time with Joel in his woodshed, but he hasn't reached out to you since the bonfire and it's been a week. You go next door to give him a piece of your mind.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, Joel in his 40’s), dbf/neighbor!joel, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, praise, Joel being a horrible communicator and texter

A/N: I edited this 12+ times and kept changing stuff, so therefore there’s probably mistakes. There’s your one and only warning lol. I’m so excited you guys are eating up the first part (off to the races), I hope the next parts to come keep ya’ll entertained ;)

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved.  He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin.  “On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face.  “I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch.

Time seemed to slow after your interaction with Joel in his woodshed. The days following the bonfire were filled with excitement but quickly followed by dread and anxiety. It had been a week. 

No text, no calls, no anything.

It wasn’t that serious. It was just Joel. Besides, you had a vibrator to fill the void until he finally decided to reach out to you. Whenever that may be. 

Days one and two were the most riveting. Every time you thought of Joel, your heart raced a little faster. You didn’t have a long list of sexual endeavors, so this was still noteworthy. Giving head to your hot forty-year-old neighbor. You wondered what else would come from it. More importantly, when. 

Days three and four felt routine and mundane. After picking around your breakfast and staring out the window to Joel’s empty driveway, you would wander to your back porch to read a book on the dock. 

You were lucky to catch glimpses of Sarah. Her summer was busy with her friends from school and working a part-time job to afford having fun the summer before her senior year. If she was free, you guys would jump in the lake, sit on the dock together, tell stories, and catch up on everything that was happening in each other’s lives. Well, not everything.  

Days five and six were torture. Your vibrator had died from its excessive use, and your fingers weren’t cutting it. You wanted Joel, you needed Joel. You hated to admit it, especially since he hadn’t paid a singular ounce of attention to you since the bonfire last Saturday. Even worse, after deciding to watch Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron with your family during a movie night, you started thinking even the horse was kind of attractive. 

Day seven started with your room covered in a pale blue light. You didn’t know what time it was. You weren’t sure how much you slept, but you knew it was very little. This ache was pestering your insides, spreading a rot like an old tree log. Your mind couldn’t fade away from the way Joel felt inside your mouth, the way he filled your throat, and you breathed through the choke. Or the way he finished on your face and your tongue.  

Your well-painted memory of it all was already beginning to fade. The details weren’t as crisp, you wanted to remember every detail and hold on to it for as long as possible.  

That’s what you were trying to imagine at this ungodly early morning hour. The birds weren’t even chirping outside yet. Your fan slowly circled, trying to cool you off from the sticky Texas heat. You wished your windows weren’t jammed closed.

You heard a thud outside, your body alert as you swiftly sat up and peeked out the window. 

Despite it being a Saturday, you watched a tired and slow Joel walk out to his old pickup truck and toss a brown bag lunch inside. Where was he off to so early?

He was wearing his chunky worn-in work boots, splattered with drops of white paint stained into the leather by the steel toe. They were heavy with each step he took on his rickety wooden deck. His faded dark blue jeans sat snug on his hips with his wallet stuffed in the back pocket. His dark hair dashed with silver grays was still damp from his morning shower.  

You watched behind foggy glass as he patted down his jeans and mumbled something, swiftly turning on his heel and lightly jogging up his steps before disappearing inside again. 

Seeing him after a week of silence bubbled up a hint of anger and annoyance in you. It annoyed you that he looked so good. 

Your feet found their way onto cold hardwood before you could waste another second. You would give him a piece of your mind in fuzzy slippers and an oversized rusty-orange Texas Longhorns t-shirt that was so draped over you that it covered your black sleep shorts. 

You tiredly navigated your way out of your room quietly, not to wake your parents down the hall. You crossed your arms and hugged them to your body, the early morning chill hitting you once you were outside. You crossed your driveway to his truck, slowing once you reached his perched-down tailgate. Joel had resurged from his house with his truck keys in hand, his steps slowing once you two shared eye contact.

You’d be standing here all day if you expected Joel to speak first. 

“Hey.” 

He gave you a small nod, his eyes dropping to the shirt that reached the tops of your thighs before they managed their way back up to your face. “Mornin’.” 

He closed the gap between his porch steps and his tailgate, setting down his toolbelt and box in the bed. He looked rigid, tight in the shoulders and chest. His close proximity made you step a few paces back, the length of the tailgate separating you from Joel. 

You were afraid that if he stood too close, he might feel how badly you wanted him by radiation alone. Especially now, fresh out of the shower, half-wet curls plastered to his forehead, still smelling a little musky with his body wash.

You finally let out an aggravated sigh, hip landing against the tailgate with your arms still crossed. 

“So… where are you going this early on a Saturday?” Your face still held a slightly pinched expression though you tried to ask a casual question. 

Your curiosity made the left side of his mouth tick up in a lopsided little smirk. 

“You wanna tell me the real reason you came over here?” Joel’s tactics were ruthless. It made you feel small, young. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You took in a sharp breath through your nose, eyes on his as your head fell to the side. Finally, the ticking time bomb inside you was counting down. All of your pent-up sexual frustration would be launched at this lumberjack of a man. 

“You haven’t texted me.” 

“Christ,” he muttered, annoyance passing over his face. “Sun’s not even up yet.” 

“Joel.” You pushed. 

“Haven’t texted you in a few years.” He said lamely. 

“I know, the last thing I have from you is asking me what you think my dad would like for a birthday present.”

“I value your input.” His teasing didn’t make you any less angry. Joel could tell. “I don’t text anyone much besides Sarah. ‘ts the only way I can get ahold of her. Don’t even remember I own a phone half the time.” 

“I know.” Your arms crossed tighter around your body. “But I have… needs.” Your voice awkwardly teetered as you evaded his eye contact.

“Needs? Do ya, now?” Joel’s accent came out swinging, his signature smirky-smile working in combination with his cocked up eyebrow. But your face held evidence of your disappointment. 

There’s a gentle lull. He should have texted you, and you shouldn’t be here telling him that. He knows. Or maybe you shouldn’t expect so much from a guy like Joel. No wedding ring, brooding, a bull with horns, Joel. Wouldn’t know it was his birthday without Sarah reminding him, Joel. Wouldn’t leave the house if he didn’t have to, Joel. Wouldn’t think to text his horny neighbor next door, Joel. 

“Didn’t text me either, sweetheart.” He points out, making your head snap up with wide doe eyes. Shit. He was right. 

You didn’t text him, either. You were just sort of expecting it out of him. You hoped he would lead the way, be the guide, reach out wanting more. But that wasn’t Joel. Were you both playing this devilish waiting game? You felt a little silly, your insides wrapping in knots as he surveyed you. 

“Well I-”

“You what?” 

He was the one grilling into you now. The sun began cresting over the water, bleaching your surroundings in a pale orange. The sun’s glare caused Joel’s eyes to squint slightly to block it out. 

You rolled your head to the side and wiggled around as you tried to stand still against his tailgate. Your frustrations were evident as you rubbed your crossed legs together. 

This wasn’t the same girl who took a leap of faith in his woodshed, who crossed the boundary between nothing to something, and set you and Joel up for a thrilling summer. You just wanted him to tell you that he wanted it too. To fuck around and do something different. Make this summer worth a damn. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted more.” You finally muster up, your voice smaller than you intended, shifty eyes looking over his. 

Your statement made him scoff, having to look away from you with a wicked smile. The orange luminescence of the sun warmed his otherwise cold face. He was amused, maybe even a little offended by your statement. 

“‘Course I want more.” He strained before pausing, his voice lowering as he took another step closer. “Look at you. Wearin’ my shirt.” He said before he towered over you, making the first point of contact as his hand reached for your hip and pulled you in closer, his fist clutching the worn-in orange t-shirt. 

You blinked a few times before looking down where he fisted the material. Shit. He was right again. 

Joel had given this to you the last summer you were in Danbury. You and Sarah took a late-night dip in the lake, and she wanted you to sleep over and watch a movie in the basement. You were too lazy to walk back home and change, so Joel gave you a towel and his Longhorns t-shirt.

You easily could have snagged a shirt from Sarah’s closet, but Joel caught you sneaking into his house and dripping water everywhere.

“Just take this. Go dry off. Get warmed up.” A statement laced with annoyance and precaution for his floors, but also attentive care. 

It was probably supposed to be just for the night, but you stole it. 

You remember that evening vividly. It was the first time you fantasized about Joel. Because the shirt wrapped you up and smelled of his musk and deodorant. It brought on a certain warm fuzziness in your tummy. The shirt had been incorporated so much in your wardrobe these last two years or so, you had forgotten its origin. But it was Joel’s.

And now you were standing here in front of him, his shirt draped over your body like an oversized blanket, showing the curves of your tits. He was fantasizing about you too. Fucking you while wearing his shirt.

There was an undeniable tension that now settled between the two of you, one you surely couldn’t satisfy in his driveway. But that didn’t mean Joel didn’t feel the same way. 

His hold on your hip tightened, your lips parting in surprise as his other hand came to your waist and hoisted you up onto the tailgate of his truck. 

He was hot, possessive of your body wrapped in his shirt. 

“Does it look like I don’t want you?” Joel’s voice was husky, lust filled. You liked getting this sort of reaction out of him. His question caused an ache in you, white heat pooling in the base of your stomach. 

Your neediness for him returned. Addicted to his touch, you felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through your body. Joel parted your legs with his body by standing between them, your little fists gripping his large biceps as you tried to regain your bearings. He was so big and burly, wide set shoulders, and a toned chest. You wanted to see him shirtless, examine his body when your time together wasn’t so limited. 

“Joel,” his name dripped off your lips with desperation, sweet like honey. He knew how you said his name when you wanted him. It brought back vivid memories of you kneeling in front of him in his woodshed.

Comfort brought you back, knowing it was safe to lean in and start kissing his stubbled neck. You didn’t want to kiss his lips, it still felt too intimate. Joel picked up on your hesitations and silently obeyed. 

Once you got to the base of his neck by the collar of his shirt, he let out a surprisingly loud grunt that he tried to jam down into silence but had failed. It caught you off guard, the ways he displayed his pleasure.

You moved back in, eager to duplicate the noise as you paid special attention to his sweet spot. You suckled and glided your teeth over the pinpoint before he forced himself away. 

“Keep it below the collar, sweetheart.” His twangy southern drawl was drenched in pleasure.

You smirked as you tugged at the collar gently with your teeth, letting it go and seeing it snap back into place around his tan neck. 

His lips found the crook of your jawline, his lips brushing your earlobe as he took it between his teeth and gently nibbled. The sensation struck a nerve down your center, a weak whine echoing against the collar of his shirt as you tried to stay quiet. 

The air had warmed up with the sun’s presence, the birds starting to chirp. Your parents could wake up any minute now, being the early risers they were. 

You pulled away to gauge his reaction. Joel was looking between you and the horizon carefully. He was debating. You both had so little time. 

“Your parents.” He pointed out, his voice ridged with pain as he planted his body between yours, his large palms splayed on your lower back and upper thigh with his fingers ghosting your sleep shorts.

“Work.” You reminded, lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, fingers delicately brushing over the faded Miller Contracting logo on his breast pocket. 

You’re compelled to tell him that you need him. Because you do. You need him terribly. 

There was a silence, a deliberation of the masses. Stop while you’re ahead, at least you and Joel realized you were on the same page about wanting more. You could let him go, you should let him go. Meet up another time when it was less risky. 

“You’re not pulling away.” Your whisper broke his thoughts. Your long lashes fluttered, and your eyes were filled with an eagerness only Joel could satisfy. 

He rolled his head around, jaw tight before shaking his head. 

“Well, you have needs.” His words were filled with grit, promise. Be quick. 

Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, feeling the planes of his back under your small palms. Both of Joel’s big hands moved under your t-shirt, your lips parting at the feeling of his calloused and rough hands traversing your soft body. He liked how soft you were, you could tell by the way he was delicately exploring you with his lips plastered on your neck. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whisper, grinding your hips against his desperately while one of your hands wound into the damp curls at the base of his neck. He could use a haircut soon, the longer strands winding around your fingers.

His body loomed so much over you that you were arching your spine, your legs desperately wrapping loose around his waist until he had sufficiently guided you onto your back. 

Suddenly his presence lifted. You didn’t realize you were seeing stars until he pulled away. He had way too much of an effect on you. 

“Don’t have time to fuck you right, pretty girl.” His words made you puff out a desperate sigh. 

“But-” 

“But you have needs.” He finished for you, your head feverishly nodding. The truck bed had odd ribs, half your back raised up an inch while your other half was on a little slant. It was uncomfortable to lay your head down on. Once Joel was tugging down your sleep shorts, you were quick to forget the discomfort. 

A heavy breath left you as Joel tossed your shorts over his tool belt in the truck bed beside you, feeling him pull your body closer to the edge of the truck bed with your legs pried open for him. 

Your eyes widened as he sunk to the ground, jaw dropping as your eyes looked to the sky. Holy shit.

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved. 

He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin. 

“On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face. 

“I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch. 

You wished every second with him right now wasn’t fleeting. You wished he could take his time. But the both of you were so wound up anyway, you were happy just to have him be a guest between your legs. 

Joel’s beard stubble tickled your thighs, his warm lips leaving a wet trail to your cotton underwear. Your hands needed to stay busy, one planting itself against one of the ribs of the truck bed and the other fisting his toolbelt that adorned a Carhartt patch. 

Joel’s mouth was absent for a moment. He was admiring you. Admiring you with your legs spread for him in his Longhorns shirt that was several sizes too big on you. Heat chased through your body, a sly little smirk on your lips. 

“Time is of the essence, Joel.” 

He didn’t say anything back. He was staring at the wet spot that had formed through the material of your panties. He hummed, cocky satisfaction filling him to the brim. 

Joel placed an excruciatingly soft kiss over your covered mound that had you writhing under him eagerly. His palm planted your thigh down again, feeling you quiver under his hold. 

You swallowed a lump down your throat as he pulled your underwear to the side, out of his fucking way. He was seeing you for the first time. It made your chest heave with shakier breaths. 

You were glistening for him, wet and gleaming in the sunshine that was starting to dance across the lake and over the truck. Panic flooded your core. He was taking his damn time. You needed him now. 

“Joel-” you warned again, but it was too late. 

His nose nuzzled against your clit as he flattened his tongue and licked up your center, tasting you properly. Your head dug into the truck bed, a loose moan leaving your parted lips as you closed your eyes and experienced a sweet paradise. His tongue flooded you with his saliva, Joel’s taste buds in galore as he tried you for the first time. 

You wondered if he thought about you tasting you like this before. The thought as well as his head between your legs left you humming in appreciation. 

Your free hand found its purpose, nestling your fingers into Joel’s hair while his head made gentle nods against your core. His jaw was slack, mouth lodged open as he consumed your sex in its entirety. He didn’t leave one centimeter of you unmarked. He commandeered the landscape like it was his territory, his possession. 

Puffs of his name left your mouth, you couldn’t help but be vocal when he made you feel this good. 

Joel’s tongue moved now with purpose, precision. He lapped at your entrance, tongue dipping in to feel your tight walls before moving back up and around your swollen clit. He was discovering you, what made you tick, what made you burn with passion and lust.

You held back moans of his name, bringing Joel’s shirt you wore up into your mouth by the collar to bite down onto. Your muffles were concealed by the material for now. 

You ground your hips lightly into his face, finding a rhythm you liked. He lets you. He wants you to feel good. 

Thumps of your heart pounded against your chest, Joel’s tongue still working perfect circles and swipes at your clit. He pulled away just for a moment to wet his fingers, you watch through hooded eyes. His amber ones flick to yours. Can I?

 You nod your head, a silent and desperate yes. 

He pursed his lips, face pierced with concentration as he pushed his middle finger into you, your walls welcoming the intrusion with a flood of arousal to allow him deeper. You took in a shaky gasp as he filled you to the knuckle.

“Fuckk-” you said a little too loud, your eyes widening as you covered your mouth and got a well-deserved glare from Joel. 

“Can’t hold yourself together, can ya, pretty girl?” His voice was as rough as gravel. 

You couldn’t even answer him back, the threads that held together your integrity were slowly plucking loose.  

You whimpered like crazy, the shirt swallowing as much of the noise as it could, but the rhythm of his finger and his mouth returning to your clit was sending electric currents through your entire body. You were short-circuiting with Joel’s tongue and fingers playing with your pussy. 

Joel’s mouth was warm, the taste of you a new hunger for him. You could hear his jeans scuff against the ground. He was trying to hold himself steady. The realization made you throw your head back, losing the shirt as a vice as you gripped his strands tighter between your knuckles. 

“Fuck, Joel--, ohmygod-” you whimpered quietly. The slurping of your cunt was louder than your words. The noise felt so loud in your pounding ear drums, you were worried it would wake the neighbors. The neighbors being your parents and Joel’s daughter.

You were close, even with just one of his fingers inside of you, you were close. You 

weren’t sure if it was because of your pent-up sexual tension, your vibrator dying, or your fingers not doing you justice. Maybe it was the fact that it was Joel Miller, but you were holding onto a very thin rope on the verge of snapping. 

You pulled your shirt up, releasing his toolbelt as your hand fondled your tits. You could feel him smirk against your thighs as you pinched at your hardened round nipples. 

“Such a pretty girl.. Taste so fuckin’ good too.” His words reverberate against your core, the vibrations tickling your clit and making you whine his name. His compliment caused a certain warmth in your chest.

Your head lulled from side to side. He wasn’t letting you know peace once he added a second finger. You had to take a moment to adjust but Joel could feel it, he knew exactly what to do and when. He was so seasoned, experienced, he’d be the first guy to make you cum like this. 

Your thigh against his head clenched tighter around his shoulder, keeping him in close against your core as he continued to work his tongue in figure eights around your clit. The soothing circles were creating a harmonious rhythm, your stomach felt like it was going to fall through a trapdoor. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

Then he tried something new. 

A loud gasp left your lips, your body scraping its way to sit up on your elbows as you watched him nibble and suckle at your clit. Your elbow had nicked his exposed flathead screwdriver in the process, a hiss seething from your mouth. It didn’t matter now. All your mind could focus on was Joel and his hellish tongue. 

The suckling at your clit unlocked something undiscovered, your lips parting in fascination before your head fell back and landed on the tops of your shoulders as you looked to the heavens with blurry vision. 

A lazy smirk was plastered on your face as he held you in place. You weren’t going anywhere.

Heated pants left your mouth, unable to breathe with the new sensation. The sucking was a distinct sensation, one you liked. You could feel his teeth just lightly grazing your sensitive bud. It made your thighs twitch, and your walls flutter around his still pumping fingers. 

Joel’s digits moved gently with their thrust, a gasp of his name flooding the air as he curled them deep, massaging your spongy walls. 

You were breathless. You could barely muster up anything besides his name weakly on your lips. You tried to tell him, but it was already too late. 

“J-Joel I’m-- I’m cominggg, shit,” you moaned out a little too loud. The whole valley around you echoed, or so it seemed. Joel’s protective grip tightened, your hips convulsing as you came over his tongue. He fucking loved it. He held you there and took you for everything you were worth.

You dropped to your back once more, his fingers still working a slow rhythm that he was insistent on not breaking until your walls stopped fluttering around his knuckles. You were still trying to come down to Earth when he licked you clean, your body twitching every time he flicked his tongue against your throbbing clit on purpose. Fucking asshole. 

Your hold on his hair loosens. You can’t help but make a face at the sight of him. Wild curly locks, mouth and chin covered in your slick, slightly flushed cheeks. He looked just as fucked as you did. He looked submissive on his knees, his eyes gleaming as he looked to you. 

You watch with obsession as he mindlessly pops his two fingers past his lips, licking them clean of your slick. Such a compliment. 

He guided your leg off his shoulder and put your underwear back in its place. 

You leaned up on your elbows, still seeing stars. Joel stood up from the ground and brushed any residual dirt and dust off his jeans. He brought his hand up and toyed with his jaw, meaty fingers adding pressure into the masseter muscle as he worked to relieve the tension that had built while going down on you with such dedication. 

You weakly sat up, the slotted ribs of his truck bed making indents in the flesh of your arms and thighs. Brands of your filth. Your big shirt fell back into place, your legs swinging lightly as they hung off the truck bed. You glanced at the back of your arm, seeing the scrape from his tools. You’d be fine. 

Once you turned straight to face Joel once more, you noticed he was fighting back a little smile about something, his hands on his hips and his knee cocked out.

“What?” You ask, trying to scoot further down the tailgate. 

“Nothin’.” He said gruffly, taking you by your hips and lifting you with ease like a ragdoll back onto the ground. His eyes stayed on the floor, your curious gaze following his down to your fluffy slippers. 

“Oh.” You muster up, clicking the toes together. 

“They’re uh… cute.” He tried to compliment, still with a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Shut up. They’re slippers.” You griped, your hand coming up to wipe away the glisten on his chin. He took over, pinching the collar of his shirt between his fingers and bringing it up to wipe away what was left of you. It was oddly attractive. 

He reached past his toolbox and belt, handing over your black sleep shorts after feeling over the material for a moment with a swipe of his thumb. 

You muster up a thanks, looping one foot in and then the other before you adjusted the band around your waist, the orange t-shirt falling back into place at your thighs. 

You couldn’t help but look around, the serenity of the early morning hours would only last so long on the lake. People liked to walk their dogs and jog, you didn’t want anyone reporting gossip. 

You turned back to Joel and assessed him. The Texas sun was already making both of your skin swelter, despite it being just past sunrise. 

You took in a sharp breath to say something, pursing your lips to keep them shut. Joel looked at you expectantly. 

“What?”

You shook your head and shrugged, holding your hands behind your back as you teetered on your feet. 

A stern expression passed over his face. “What?” He pressed harder. 

You tried to smother a laugh. “Your hair, Joel.” 

With an annoyed sigh, Joel amused trying to tousle his curls into place with the assistance of his truck’s driver-side mirror, grumbling a few curse words in response before leaving it be. 

You admire him, how handsome he looks so effortlessly. You suddenly became glaringly aware of how you looked right now. No makeup, baggy clothes, could use a shower. Fuck. 

“I gotta get goin’, already late.” Joel said as he returned  to the tailgate, lifting it with ease and slamming it into place with a few sharp snaps. “I’ll see you. And I’ll message you.” 

A small smile ticked at one half of your mouth, nodding. It was a promise. “Please call it texting, Joel.” 

He furrowed his brows as he looked over your face. “What difference does it make?”

You snickered and shrugged. “How old you sound.” 

Cue the classic Joel Miller eye roll. “Fine. Textin’.”

“How can you be working on a Saturday? That feels illegal.” 

This mustered up a short little chortle from Joel. “It’s not technically working, that’s why.” 

Your head curiously tilted to the side. “What do you mean?”

Joel shrugged, avoiding your eye contact as he looked past his truck and to the lake. 

This was what you had to deal with. Trying to get information out of Joel was an investigative effort, one you didn’t have the energy to dig into at the moment. You finally felt tired after your week of restlessness. 

You waved each other off, your face electric as you turned away from Joel and snuck back inside without a peep. As soon as you lay back in bed, feeling your heart thumping after your meet-up with Joel, you heard the door to your parent’s room crack open, and your father’s obnoxious morning yawn followed accordingly. Couldn’t have cut it any closer.

Finally, you felt sleep caressing the edges of your mind. Not a beat after your head hit the pillow, you felt your phone vibrate beside you. With hazy eyes, you turned it over in your palm and squinted at the brightness. 

joel miller Anything I can do to get in your good graces again?

You instantly smiled, lazy fingers typing a response. 

how about a movie night? 

He took a moment to respond. You could see him thinking it over in your mind’s eye. 

joel miller Fine. 

Your face lit up as you quickly took advantage of him owing you one. 

and I can pick the movie?

You could practically feel Joel’s eye roll from a mile away. 

joel miller Jesus. Fine. Tomorrow night. 

Tomorrow was perfect. Sarah said she would be on a camping trip and your parents would be visiting old school friends in a neighboring town for drinks and dinner. 

tomorrow night it is, mr. miller 

joel miller Whatever you say sweetheart.

---

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[elliemontana]

Ruin the friendship.

Ellie Williams x Female reader

Summary: Ellie and you are best friends since you were teenagers. You never kept a single secret from her, and you have “helped” each other out to get the girls you’ve been interested in… but she has been lying to you. So, one day, you guys get stoned, and she blackmails you to fuck her. Could you ruin the friendship?

WARNINGS: dom¡ reader x sub¡ Ellie, strap mention, weed usage, oral, dirty talk, fingering, begging, degrading (slut, whore), edging, pet names (good girl, princess).

———————————————————————

Ellie and you are best friends since you guys were 13 years old. You met in school and immediately clicked once you found out you were both into soccer and started practicing together.

It has never been a secret that you like girls, you told Ellie about your first kiss story the second day you met. And she also confessed you that she has always been into girls. Being queer is one of your favorite topics to talk about.

Ellie has always had game, and also you. You usually help each other out to get girls. If a cutie catches your eye, you immediately tell Ellie about it, you can’t keep your mouth shut around her, and she’s always happy to help you grab the courage to talk to them, and viceversa.

Today is gonna be a good day. It’s Saturday, and both of you were invited to the quarterback’s birthday party at 9 pm.

You check the hour in your phone. It’s 7:30. “Fuck. I’m gonna be late.” - you mutter. You’re wearing pijamas, because you’ve been laying in bed all day, watching tiktoks, and wasting your time.

But you have to pick Ellie up. You’re late.

You quickly dress up, putting on your black worn out jeans, black converse, black T- shirt and a Leather jacket. Full black is never a crime.

You pick up your keys and rush out of home, not saying goodbye to your parents.

You get inside your car and speed up to get to Ellie’s house, so you decide to call her.

“Waddup els? You ready? I’m on my way.” - you say as soon as she picks up.

“You have to be kidding me. I forgot.” - She mutters through the phone, with a low tone and a sleepy voice.

You frown.

“What the fuck Ellie. Are you sleeping or something? Get the fuck up. I’m literally 4 blocks away.”

“Shit. Wait.” - She says, and like that, she hangs up. She always does that.

You throw your phone in your backseat, and arrive to her place.

You get out of the car, and knock on her door, loudly.

“Ellie!!!!” - You yell.

“I’m coming!” - She yells back from her window.

So you wait, until she’s ready, right outside her door.

And just like that, after waiting for 15 fucking minutes, she opens the door.

“Hello there.” - She says, smirking. She’s wearing a green flannel, blue jeans and a black beanie.

“You made me wait too much, I thought we’d agree you’d be ready by 8 pm. But let’s go.” - You say and she nods, following you as you hop in the car.

You start driving and look at her again. She never fails to look amazing. She has this weird ass smile and look in her face. But she looks pretty cute.

“You look good.” - You compliment your friend.

“And you look like shit.” - She says back and laugh.

“Can you stop messing with me for one second, Ellie?” - You say, as you roll your eyes.

“No. How could I even do that? Besides…admit that I look better than you right now. I’m gonna get all the bitches for sure.” - She says, with a cocky smile on her face.

“Bye.” - You reply. “Bet I’ll get more girls than you but okay…”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ll see.” - She says and keeps looking at you.

She has always thought you were pretty attractive though. She has always liked the way your lips form a smile, and your glances, and your style, and your beautiful eyes, and your hands…even more when you guys are playing video-games…and the way you’re all focused, and get pissed when you lose. She loves that.

She’s a total tease, and loves to mess up with your mood, just for fun…because she’s your best friend.

She looks at you while your eyes are focused on the road. Her eyes travel to your hands, and how they squeeze the wheel. She bites her lip. She can’t help but squeeze her thighs. She imagines the things those hands do to other girls.

And suddenly she’s frowning.

Damn…why is she thinking about her best friend like this?

“You good? You’re too quiet.” - You say and that makes her flinch out of her thoughts.

“Yeah yeah. Are we almost there?” - She asks, as she clears her throat.

“Mhmm.” - You say.

You see all these random people getting inside of the birthday boy’s big house and you park somewhere near the house.

“C’mon els.” - You tell her and she walks with you.

The place is too crowded. There’s too many people, and they’re already drinking like there’s no tomorrow. The whole place smells like smoke and weed.

“God…I hope I can smoke some weed today.” - She says loudly, but you can still her through the music.

“Yeah? You brought some?” - I ask her.

“No. But I might know someone that has that.” - She says and winks.

This is gonna be fun.

———————————————————————-

The party keeps on going. You don’t know what time it is, but you’ve had a few drinks and you don’t care.

You and Ellie have been dancing together the whole night, jumping around, and laughing.

“Fuckkkkkkkkk….” - She says. “I’m having so much fun right now.” - She confesses, laughing.

“Me too!!” -You say smiling. “We haven’t even been on the pretty girls around.” - I joke.

She stops smiling.

“Yeah. Right.” - She says.

Suddenly, I see a pretty girl, looking at me. She’s drinking, and dancing with her friends, but she’s smirking at me. She’s wearing a tiny little black dress that reveals a little, and leaves a lot to the imagination.

Ellie makes me come back to reality.

“What are you looking at?” - She says, standing in-front of me with her arms crossed.

“That girl is cute, ain’t she?” - I say, pointing at her and she waved at us.

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“No, she’s not.” - She blurts out. She’s drunk.

“Oh c’mon Ellie! She’s so our type.” -You tell her, expecting a smile or a laugh from her but she just stays serious.

“Not my type.” - She says, grabs my hand and starts dragging me to the kitchen.

“Um…since when are you not into hot fems…” - You say, weirded out.

She ignores your comment, and takes a little bag out of her pocket.

Joints.

“Holy fuck. When did you get that?” - I ask her in surprise. You were next to her the entire time….Maybe she bought them when she went to the bathroom.

“Don’t ask. Want some?” - She says, and takes a puff out, as she puts the little bag in her pocket.

“Yeah.” - I say and try to grab the joint out of her hand, but she grabs my wrist tightly.

“No. Not here.” - She says, too serious. Her eye contact is too fucking intense.

“Well…where then?” - I ask. “We’re literally in somebody else’s house right now.”

She doesn’t say a word and grabs your wrist to drag you somewhere again.

“What the-“

“Shut up.” - She says, and takes me to somebody’s dorm room in the house.

“Um…” - You say, and she lets you go to close the door behind you.

“Wanna smoke with you. But not in-front of everyone.” - She says as she sits on the bed and you sit on a chair, that is close by the bed.

“Come closer.” - She says, and takes the lighter out of her pocket to light the cigarette.

You get up and walk towards her to sit next to her as she takes the first hit. She looks like she’s really enjoying it, inhaling the substance and looking directly in your eyes while she exhales it.

“May I?” - You say, putting your hand on her hand, to take the joint.

“Mhm.” - She says, and you take it out of her mouth, and inhale. She’s looking at how you take your time smoking it.

“Why are you so serious Ellie?” - You ask her. “You mad or something?”

You feel certain tension between you two. Something you haven’t felt. Ever.

-“No. ‘m not.” - She says as she looks at your hand, offering the joint back to her. “Why would I be mad?” - She says, and inhales.

“Um…I don’t know. You tell me. Have I done something wrong?” - You ask, concerned. You care about her. “Was it because I rushed you to be ready when I picked you up?”

“No.” - Is all she says.

You look down. She’s definitely acting fucking weird.

“Tell me Ellie.”

“No. I’m good.” - She hums.

“Was it…because I had more game than you today?” - You smirk, remembering the cute girl that was looking at you and expecting her to react somehow. But she doesn’t.

“Don’t bring that shit up.” - she says.

“Oh so it’s that…” - You say, and take a hit.

She stays quiet.

“Talk Ellie. Fucking talk.” - You say, now getting a little bit annoyed.

“Yeah. It’s about her.” - She says, making eye contact with you the entire time.

“Fuck…you like her or something? Ellie, I would never get in between you an-

“I don’t want her looking at you.” -She cuts you off.

What.

“Um.” That caught you off guard. “I mean…is she mean? Or is she a bad person? You’ve never been worried about who I mess around with…” - You say and she chuckles.

But that little laugh sounds sassy as fuck.

“I just don’t want her around you.” - She confesses.

Deep inside she feels like she’s saying too much, but she doesn’t really care anymore. She admits to herself that she has been swallowing her jealousy when you bring a girl into the conversations. She’s been trying to “help” you, while she threatens the girls you like, only for them not to call you back, or show up in the dates.

She’s been trying to fucking cockblock you, and you have no fucking idea why every girl you flirt with has been ignoring you after having sex.

“She might just be like all the girls you know?” She says, smirking. “And leave you waiting.”

That hurts your ego.

“Shut the fuck up.” - You say, a little pissed.

“You should listen to me, and stop fucking with all these girls, if they’re gonna keep leaving.” - She says, hiding her true intentions with you.

“You’re a fucking bitch for bringing this up. They like me!” - You reply.

“Do they?…” - She pauses. “Maybe you just don’t fuck them good enough.”

Oh.

“The fuck did you just say?” - You say. You’re mad and that has her smirking like crazy. She’s playing with you, and you have no fucking idea.

“You heard me angel.”

That makes your head ring.

“Maybe you just don’t fuck them good enough. Your stroke game is weak? Maybe you don’t have them squirming beneath you like you should, and that’s why they go…” - She teases.

You cross your arms.

“Fuck you. I fuck them real good.” - You say and that makes her clench her fists.

She doesn’t like the thought of you fucking another girl. Making them squirt all over your strap, making them scream your name in pleasure. She swallows her feelings and says:

“Talk your talk. But I’ve heard them talk.” She lies. “Poor you, thinking you actually made them cum.”

“Fucking shut up.” - You say.

“Or what?” - She replies, and smirks.

Oh my god. She’s insane.

If she wasn’t your best friend, you’d probably be fucking her dumb like a slut right now, and proving her wrong. But she doesn’t mean it like that…Does she?

I mean, She’s fucking hot, but she’s not really your type….

Masc lesbian? Dominant in bed? A fucking tease?

Nah…you like pretty, bratty, submissive girls.

You flinch when you feel her hand on your thigh, and you look at her tattooed arm, and how she starts tracing circles with her thumb on it.

Fuck.

Why did that make your fucking pussy throb?

How could you fuck her? You could never ruin such a beautiful friendship like this, could you?

“What are you doing?” - you blurt out. You can’t think straight. Your best friend is literally touching your leg right now.

“I don’t know. What am I doing?” - She teases, with her hand still on your thigh.

“Ellie…” You start saying but she cuts you off.

“You know what? Maybe you should just..,get your reputation back, you know?” - She says and you raise your eyebrow.

“What?” - You say, truly confused.

“Yeah…you know…maybe I could tell them you can actually fuck.” - She says looking at her own hand on your thigh now, as she brings it closer to your crotch.

The way she’s touching you has your pussy clenching. And you hate it.

Or do you?

“Yeah…you should tell them that…” - You hiss.

“Mhm..” - She says. “But what will I get in return?”

Woah.

“Uh…what? What do you mean by that Ellie?” - You say, when I’m the back of your head, and by the way she’s touching you, you know what she wants.

“Fuck me.” That’s it for you. “Fuck me good, and I’ll tell everyone that talks shit about you that you’re a god in bed.”

She’s fucking lying. Everyone says you’re good in bed, but she just needs you so bad. And she knows your ego is easy to hurt. She’s gonna get what she wants.

“You’re…you’re out of your fucking mind Ellie.” - You say, but then you feel her hand on your crotch. Touching you the way you’ve never thought you’d be touched by her.

And it has you fucking aching.

“Yeah? Am I? I’m just saying…If you wanna get your stupid reputation back…you’re gonna have to fuck me.” - She says, confident.

You look at her green eyes, the way her lips form a devilish smile and you wanna throw yourself at her.

What’s wrong with you?

“Fuck it.” - You finally say, as you grab her face and kiss her.

She moans into the kiss, and hums as she puts her hands on your waist.

You deepen the kiss, forcing your tongue inside of her mouth and she gladly takes it. Making out with you.

This feels good. Too fucking good, you’re a soaking wet mess, and you just wanna know if she is too.

You move your hand to her jeans, and quickly unbutton them, with one hand. Sliding your fingers inside of her boxers.

She’s soaked.

“Fuck.” You mutter on her lips. “Fucking wet already? Huh? Wanted me to fuck you so bad?” - You say and she nods in response.

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t fucking drenching for me too, bitch.” - She talks back.

“Oh yeah? You wanna talk back huh?” -You say, as you slide a finger inside of her with no warning, and you start plumping them in and out of her.

She moans in response and throws her head back.

“Cat got your fucking tongue huh? Gonna make you shut the fuck up.” - You say.

You enjoy being rough with her, and by the way she’s clenching your fingers, you can tell she likes it too.

You throw her on the bed and take her jeans off, leaving her with her boxers on.

You get on top of her kiss her neck, and all of her body.

You trail little kisses on her cleavage, down to her stomach and she’s a whimpering mess.

“Want me to taste you?” - I say.

“Lick my fucking pussy already.” - She replied boldly.

Alright.

You lick her perfect belly, and position yourself in between her legs, and you decide to keep teasing her. She deserves it.

You pull her boxers down a little bit, revealing her little clit, and smirking at how wet she is.

“Fucking whore. You just wanted me to fuck you dumb didn’t you?” - You say, and before she can say anything, you put your tongue on her clit, and start tracing little circles with it, you flick your tongue all over it, and suck on it like a pro.

She feels like she’s in heaven, with your mouth pleasing her, and her only. But the thought of you with other women, with their legs spread open for you hits her again.

The thought of that fucking pisses her off, so she grabs your hair, and presses your head against her center, forcing you to suck rougher on her pussy.

she’s using your mouth like a fucking toy, and groaning in pleasure.

“Suck on it bitch, c’mon. Fuck.” - She cussed out, smirking as she thrusts her hips onto your mouth.

That catches you by surprise, but you make sure to tongue fuck her, just to hear how loud her moans are getting.

“Oh fuck yeah…just like that.” - You look up at her, and she’s a moaning mess, her grip on your hair is now weak, and she’s shaking.

You grab her thighs roughly, and slap them.

She immediately flinches.

“You think you can just use my mouth like that, huh?” - You slap her clit and she moans, hands gripping the sheets. “Trying to make yourself fucking cum? Oh no, princess…you’re gonna have to beg for it.” - You say, as you slide a finger inside of her.

She’s a fucking mess. She wanted this for so fucking long, and now she’s getting it. Her best friend is fucking her pussy so good, she feels like she’s about to cry.

“Holy fuck!” - She says.

“Yeah? You like it don’t you?” - You say, and you can’t handle the ache between your legs. It’s even painful. The way your finger goes in and out of her so easily from her soakness blows your mind, and has you creaming in your boxers.

“Fuck yeah. Please…” - She says, not giving a fuck about begging, even though she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for at the moment.

You add another finger, and slide them in and out roughly, feeling her clenching on them like crazy.

She’s about to cum.

“Fuck yes yes yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me just like that.” - She begs.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum yet, you filthy slut.” - You command, and she rolls her eyes in pleasure.

She definitely likes when you call her like that. She never imagined she would like getting dominated and degraded by another woman, but everytime she was alone, she fucked herself thinking about how good you’d take her from behind.

As much as she wanted to do the same to you, you’re too much for her too handle. She’s so close to cumming all over your fingers right now.

“Oh my fuck- fucking god!” - Your fingers keep going in and out of her pussy, and you lick her puffy clit while you finger-fuck her.

You lick it up and down, flick it slowly with your tongue, leave little kisses on it, own it like a fucking pro.

“Who fucking owns this pussy? Huh?” - You ask and she can barely talk. She’s too drunk in the feeling of your sweet licks.

“You. You do.” - She confesses as she starts clenching your fingers, she’s close again.

“You’ll cum when I tell you to fucking cum okay?” - You say and she nods. “Good girl.” - You compliment her.

“If you can take my fingers this fucking well, like such a fucking whore…imagine how good you’d take my cock.” - I say and she puts her hand on her mouth, to cover her moans and i quickly slap her thigh clit again.

“Don’t fucking cover your mouth. I wanna hear you.” - She nods and puts her hand on my head, now caressing it. “You like that don’t you? The thought of cumming all over my cock, milking me fucking dry.”

“Holy fuck. Let me cum…please let me cum, I’ll do anything, please.”- She says…And I feel her walls biting my fingers…

“So desperate.” - I smirk. “Fucking cum baby, cum like you’d cum on my dick.” - I tell her and she cums so fucking hard, i even hurts my fingers. But I like it so much, I’m edging myself so good to this.

“That’s it baby, good, good fucking girl.” - I praise her and press little kisses on her clit, with my fingers still inside of her.

“Fuck…oh my god.” - She bites her lip and runs her hands through her hair.

I pull my fingers out of her and get on top of her to kiss her lips softly.

“You did so good.” - I praise her, and lay next to her. She looks at me and smiles. “You fucked me so good, just like I thought you would.”

I chuckle.

“Yeah? You gonna tell them girls I’m good in bed now?” - I tease her.

“No. You’re mine.” - She says. Suddenly serious again.

What?

“I actually lied to you, they never said you suck in bed. They always say you’re too good at eating pussy.” - She confesses and rolls her eyes. “They brag about it all the time. But the truth is…that I’m jealous.”

“They don’t talk to you after the first link because…I threaten them not to get near you…I tell them I’ll put drugs in their backpacks and get them expelled.” - she confesses.

Holy shit. She’s fucking Evil.

All this fucking time? She has been ruining your dates?

Why? Does she like you? She just said she’s jealous. But jealous as a friend or…

“What the fuck. And you lied to me right now?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I just…I just wanted you so bad. I’m…I like you. A lot.” - She says, looking straight into your eyes and you’re suddenly weak.

Your best friend, the girl that was screaming your name beneath you a few minutes ago, likes you.

Oh my god…

I’ve been so stupid.

You remember all those times she has frowned when you have mentioned those girls to her, that one time when she almost kissed you when she was drunk…that other time when you found her diary, and your name was written all over it.

You thought she just really cared about you as a friend…but after this?

What could happen?

Could you ruin the friendship?

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[blueicequeen19]

Hi, my love. I’m here with a request and a spicy lil thought. Jealous!Rafe marking his territory on Fem!Reader and not holding back in the slightest. I’m talking degradation, humiliation, spit kink, choking, you name it, I want it all. I can’t wait to see what you and your beautiful brain comes up with!

Warnings: all of them - dubcon?, public humiliation, spitting, choking, dry humping, degradation, party scene

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he watches you. You know you’ve fucked up. That’s your problem. Always too nice. So when the sweet guy at the party gets too friendly, too touchy, and too in your personal space, you know your punishment will be severe just by the look on Rafe’s face. You grab Rafe’s drink and brush past the guy, making your way over to Rafe with your head down.

You offer it to Rafe but he shakes his head, glaring at you with murderous blue eyes.

“Drink it.” Rafe demands in a low voice that goes straight to your core. You gulp, eyeing the whiskey in the glass.

“Rafe..”

“Get on your knees and drink it.” Rafe bites out, widening his legs as he leans further into the chair. You look around, meeting the cocky grins of Topper and Kelc before facing Rafe again. Your knees shake as you lower yourself to the floor, your cheeks heating with humiliation. You throw back the drink, the whiskey burning all the way down your throat and into your belly.

“Good girl.” Rafe praises, making your cheeks burn brighter. He leans forward in his chair, resting on strong forearms with a devilish smirk.

“You want to act like a bitch in heat and flirt with every guy here, I’ll treat you like a dog. For the rest of the night, you’ll stay on your knees.”

“But Rafe—.”

“Does my dog need a bone? Want me to shove my cock down your throat?” Rafe taunts, raising a challenging brow at you as his friends snicker. You sit back on your heels, willing yourself to remain silent.

“That’s what I thought. Keep your mouth shut and sit there and look pretty for me.” Rafe bites out, leaning forward to untie the strings on the front of your dress to reveal your prominent cleavage. You clamp your mouth shut as he slides his hands inside the cups of the dress to give each of your breasts a squeeze.

“These are nice, baby. Let’s show everybody.” You don’t get time to object before he yanks the thin straps down your shoulders, revealing you to his friends and anyone who walks by. You fight back tears of embarrassment as they gawk at you, your nipples hardening painfully.

“What’s wrong, baby? You wanted another guys attention. Now you have all of it. Every guy here is getting to look at your beautiful tits.” Rafe says in that condescending, mocking voice of his before leaning back in his seat to stare at you. A single tear slides down your cheek but Rafe catches it with his thumb and brings it to his mouth.

“You know your tears don’t work on me. I love it when you cry.” Rafe smirks, leaning back in the chair and letting you see the massive bulge in his pants.

“Rafe.. please..”

“Crawl towards me. Ass in the air.” Rafe demands, narrowing his eyes at you in frustration. He didn’t tolerate your disobedience. You lowered yourself to trembling hands as you crawled the few feet it took to end up between his legs. The cool air reached between your thighs as you made sure to do as he said, your ass and pussy practically on display for everyone else.

You looked up at Rafe through your fake lashes as he leaned forward, gently sliding his hand into the back of your hair and tugging back.

Your lips part on their own and Rafe takes the opportunity to spit directly in your mouth onto your tongue. Someone chuckles nearby but you’re too frozen in place to move or protest. Rafe does it again and heat crawls up your neck as his warm saliva coats your tongue.

“Swallow.” Rafe says in a low warning voice that shouldn’t be sexy. You obey, humiliation by the act and how wet you were.

“Now take out my cock and suck it.”

“But—.” Your eyes dart from side to side, a party still in full swing around you but Rafe tightens his hold in your hair, making you whimper.

“Choke on my cock or get out.” Rafe spats, his handsome face morphing into an angry scowl. You didn’t want to leave and you weren’t sure if this was a test or not. Would he come after you if you refused? Or would he replace you? Another snicker comes from his friends and your face beats further with humiliation.

“You know what, I have something better. I want you to ride my boot. Get yourself off on my laces like the desperate bitch you are.” Rafe smirks. Dread fills you because some how that is worse than sucking him off in front of all these people. Now he wanted you to dry hump him.

“Rafe—I—.” His hand finds your throat, bringing you in for a quick peck on the lips that leaves you hungry for more as he slips his foot between your parted thighs. His presses the laces against your slit and you whimper, hating your bodies reaction from the slightest bit of attention he gives.

“Make me happy and I’ll reward you.” Rafe murmurs against your lips, encouraging to move on your own in search of friction from his boot. Someone curses and there’s the sound of a zipper but you refuse to look, focusing on the feel of Rafe’s lips. “That’s my girl. Show all these people what a good slut you are for me. Make them all jealous.”

[gardening--tools]

me while playing fo4 because i’m an opinionated bitch and i disagree with bethesda’s character design

anyway. presenting,

a detailed look at every companion’s appearance, according to me.

(these are all headcanons. they might not be yours, but they are mine. i wrote this as a fic-writing reference, but i don't mind sharing so long as we're all nice about it. also, spoilers ahead for companion quests, both in vanilla game and dlcs. you've been warned okay love you have fun. sorry in advance that you can clearly tell who my favorite character is.)

cw: heights represented by the united states customary system. sorry metric users :/

Ada. Modified RobCo Assaultron. 2074 model. SN has been sanded off and replaced with "ADA", painted carefully (lovingly) in blue script. It's clear that it has been reapplied multiple times, as many times as necessary. Post-Mechanist quest, she requests to have the names of her fallen friends painted on her body as well.

Cait. Pre-addiction recovery, scrawny-strong. Blood, muscle, bone and not much else. Very short. Like, south-side of 5'3". Has a very rectangular body shape. Hard angles. Was bright strawberry blonde when she was a kid, but it got darker as she got older. Hazel eyes. Freckles year-round and all over. She doesn't burn super easily, but she doesn't really tan either. Just freckles. Nose is crooked from being broken too many times. Post-addiction recovery she is a beef. cake. With Sole's help and resources she gains plenty of weight post recovery. Other than the normal weight gain that comes after recovering from addiction, she finds she enjoys exercise—especially weight lifting—and that it helps her manage her cravings. Her biceps are unfair. If I can be honest, I really only shared this so I can start proselytizing for my Fat Cait Agenda.

Codsworth. Standard GAI Mister Handy. 2076 Model. SN: 01HND-7619-0163. This is only visible because the 2076 Handys had their SN's embossed. All other markings that were printed or painted on have eroded away. A cute fact about Codsworth is that, despite his 200 years of wear and tear, he doesn't have a single dent on his exterior panels. Not. A. Dent. Scratches, yes. Scuffs, sure. No dents. He takes his structural integrity very seriously, thank you. He will brag about this if you let him.

Curie. Pre-companion quest, Modified GAI Miss Nanny. 2072 Model. SN has been scratched off and replaced with what is probably "CURIE", but the combination of chicken scratch writing and 200 year old marker makes it illegible. Post-personal quest, Generic Female Synth Body. Average body weight, brown hair, brown eyes. (I know she technically has "Hazel Blue" eyes but I disagree. It's my post and I get to make the rules here.) Her only deviation from "average" is her height. Generic Synth Height is 5'10", for both male and female synths. Takes time to look neat—neatly trimmed nails, trimmed hair, etc—and enjoys it.

Danse. M7-97 was a vanity design* so Danse looks a little different from the Generic Synth design. Still has the brown hair, brown eyes, but is a touch shorter than the standard. 5'8". Latino or Hispanic. His hair is insanely thick, but his beard always grows in a little patchy and with the odd blond patch just below his right ear. (This was not an intentional part of his “design.” Genetics, even synthesized genetics, get funky sometimes.) Carries weight like a strongman weightlifter. Thicker than average, even for the Brotherhood, so he's always had to have his flight suits and PA specially altered. (Thicker than average in regards to BODY TYPE you sickos– This is not that kind of post lmao.)

(This post from slocumjoe is a huge influence for my headcanon for Danse! Thank you for going through your archive to find it!)

Deacon. The Average Guy Ever™. Average height, average build. I'm firmly in the "Deacon is a Good Spy, actually" camp, so. Uncanny ability to adjust how he looks just by altering his posture. His weight has always easily fluctuated, so he can go from stick thin to bulked up in a matter of weeks. No matter how many surgeries he gets, he cannot hide the freckles. They always come back. He would have had piano hands if he hadn't been a chronic brawler in his youth. Knuckles are very crooked now. Eyes so blue they're nearly grey. Ginger. Has long eyelashes that are frankly illegal for someone who covers his eyes all the time.

Dogmeat. Dog. He has six toes on his back left foot.

Gage. 5'11". In an alternate universe, would tell people he was 5'9" just to fuck with them. Was a towheaded kid whose hair darkened significantly as he grew up. If he spends a lot of time out in the sun, though, it will turn a sandy blonde/light brown. He keeps his hair short because otherwise it gets very curly and floppy and it really kills his "bad-guy raider" vibe. Would be one of those white boys who tans super well but also thinks wearing sunscreen is for the weak. Scarred to shit. Holds onto muscle for a really long time. Underbite. Slutty little waist because I think that's funny.

Hancock. John Prime was already pretty wiry to begin with, and becoming a ghoul has only emphasized this. 5'7" but seems shorter because he's always leaning on something. Draping, even. He's like if a man was also a liquid, somehow. His remaining hair is incredibly thin, but is the most vibrant golden blonde anyone has ever seen. Eyes are dark due to discoloration, but sometimes—if he's taken in a ton of rads—the edges of his irises will glow subtly. Several piercings on his ears, but he used to have more. Lost them on account of his nose falling off. (You know how it is.) Replaced them with an astonishing collection of rings. Cheekbones that could slice a brahmin. Missing his fourth toe on his right foot.

MacCready. Definition of scrunkly. Not a lick of fat anywhere to be found. 5'5". Has a Gunner tattoo on the left side of his forehead and he hates it. It's why he wears his hat so low. Had an ear pierced once, but it got ripped out ages ago. His left earlobe is split now. He very clearly needed braces growing up but obviously didn't have access to that. Bottom teeth are crooked. His cuticles are picked to shit. Sandy brown hair. Cuts his own hair, but only cares about the hair around his face. Line of sight. Sniper. You get it. Is generally too lazy/uninterested in the rest, and will neglect it until it gets too long, so. Mullet (hot).

Nick. See, the problem with my synth grandpa is that this is the only character whose design Bethesda completely and utterly nailed. Like yeah, he does look like that. You got it. You did it. Perfect, no notes. Like all other Generic Synths, he's 5'10".

Old Longfellow. Exactly what you would expect an Old Hermit-Mariner Driven To Eldritch Madness By The Fog and The Sea would look like. The wildest eyebrows anybody has ever seen. Like you could take a comb through those bad boys. His hair is past his shoulders and fades into his beard. Stark white hair due to the stress of living alone on an island and from What He's Seen. You cannot convince me that there are not some Lovecraftian nasties living in the sea. They Know Longfellow, but Longfellow Knows Them. 6' until he stands up straight and then he's like. 6'5". Liver spots across his face and hands. Looks like he has cataracts in both eyes, but somehow can see better than you.

Piper. By far the companion whose Bethesda!verse appearance I disregard the most. In my heart she is a South Asian woman. On the taller side, between 5'8" and 5'9". Super thick, dark brown hair that in fact does just Look Like That (unfair). Her hair grows from fairly far down on her neck. Deep brown eyes. Spends lots of time on her makeup, even when she's out in the 'wealth chasing leads. Prefers red lips and dark liner close to her lid-lines. Her cupid's bow is super pronounced and she does her makeup to highlight it. On the softer side in regards to physique. Has a burn scar on her right forearm from a cooking mishap back when she was still trying to figure out how to live on her own and take care of Nat at the same time. Bites her nails.

Preston. Personification of someone telling you that everything is going to be all right. Tall, 6'. Pretty standard physique for someone who grew up on a farm and then became a soldier in a wasteland militia. Very square hands. Lets his hair grow out a little bit because he (forgets about it) likes it. Brown eyes that look like honey when the sun hits them. Other than the two scars on his face—one running down his left cheek, the other a small nick on his top lip—he has a scar from a bullet wound on his right shoulder. Has a stick and poke tattoo of the Minuteman coat of arms on his left arm, just where his shoulder meets his bicep. Top lip is bigger than his bottom lip. Dimples when he smiles. Huge smile, smiles with his whole mouth. Legs like an adonis. Someone get this man into some 4' inseam shorts, STAT.

Strong. Super mutant. He was a Butcher, so he's a little beefier than your average mutant. Of course, this is only known to other mutants, as the subtleties of mutant physiology tend to be lost on non-mutated humans.

X6-88. Generic Courser Build. While Generic Synths are designed to blend in with the everyman, Generic Coursers are designed to inspire fear in every man. (booo bad joke tomato tomato) 6'3" but stands so perfectly straight that he seems taller. Has the superhero build, but like naturally. Keeps his hair in a short fade. Bottom lip is lighter than the top lip. Has little lines around his mouth from all his frowning. Has one (1) singular scar on his chin. He won't tell you where he got it (it's from him eating it on concrete steps. That was the one mission he asked for an extension on, so the evidence of him beefing it would heal.) Also chronically wears sunglasses. Behind those aviators are grey eyes that are so pale and sharp, they almost look white.

[4ngels0uls]

just shut the fuck up already! - C.B

don’t like? don’t read.

based off this

summary: carrington and y/n have sex so loud that it interrupts jake and johnnie’s video.

paring: fem!reader + boyfriend!carrington.

warnings: SMUT, use of y/n, “handcuffs”, little pet names (pretty girl, etc?), little bit of yelling, teasing, and strong language, etc.

A/N: (i know carrington is not like this. he kinda is tho?) god i love but hate writing. it’s a love/hate relationship 😣. also thank you to @miss-september

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1st person pov

“okay bye guys, we’re going to film!” jake yells as he walks out the door with johnnie. i look at carrington as i’m on his bed and he’s doing his 24 hour stream. “HELLO AT THE MALL!” carrington yells as he plays with a toy, stretching it. i look at him and the whole thing snaps on him. my jaw drops as i try not to laugh. carrington looks over at me and scoffs, with his mouth wide open.q till everybody asks who he’s looking at, since they don’t know he has a girlfriend. he smirks. “c’mere y/n” he says as he’s covered with the sand that exploded on him from the toy.

i walk over till i’m on frame and the whole chat starts speeding up. i go behind carrington and cover his mouth, at first he’s shocked, but then now he’s calm and holding his hand on my hand. i slowly let go. “jake webber control the weather.” he says quietly and i chuckle a little and he smiles at me through the screen.

i catch him staring at me and we both lock eyes together as we stare into the screen in our faces. i go back to the chat and read it as everyone realizes how we were locking our eyes. i leave the room to the kitchen and carrington follows. “i saw you… the way you looked at me.” he mumbles. i smirk and look at him. “and i saw the way you stared at me.” i say the same thing back. “you caught me.” he smirks and kisses me, holding my waist.

i wrap my hands around his neck and kiss him in the same pace. i pull away. “okay okay i’m going to your room.” i say while smiling. “okay, i’ll just grab a drink.” he says. i go back to his room and slouch on his chair. “sup bitches.” i say as a joke and i smile at the screen as i watch the comments fly by. carrington sneaks up behind me and covers my mouth like how i covered his. my eyes widen and i look into the screen and see it’s carrington.

he chuckles and let’s me go as he sets the cup down, on the desk. “hey you know when jake and johnnie come back?” i ask carrington. “a couple hours.. i think they’re making a video then coming to review when they come back.” he answers. “ohhhh yeah okay.” i smile and read the chat.

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“okay guys we’ll be right back.” he says to the screen in front of him. we walk out the room and as i walk he immediately pins me to the wall and kisses me, holding his hand against my neck. he pulls away and smiles softly and walks away to the kitchen again and i wink at him as he walks away and i head back to his room.

i sit in his chair again and spin “weee” i smile as i spin faster. carrington comes in. “hey guys i’m not feeling well tonight. i’m ending the stream.. hopefully i can stream tomorrow. peace.” he smiles and ends the stream. he kisses me immediately and lifts me up on his desk, pushing the cup off the desk making the plastic fall and spill the drink. carrington doesn’t give two shits about some juice that fell.

he picks me up and sets me on his bed. undoing the string on my sweatpants. i smile at him fidgeting with the string. eventually he undoes it and pulls my pants down, my black lacy thong getting revealed to his pure blue eyes. he smiles at the way they look, trying not to rip them off, knowingly their new. he gives me puppy eyes, asking if he can just rip them off. “yeah no, i just got these carrington.” i say. he gives a little frown and slides them off my hips down to my feet.

he smiles immediately when he sees my glistening pussy. he glides his fingers through my wet slits, i let a soft pathetic moan out and he kisses my neck immediately and leaves a trail of hickeys.

he slowly inserts his two fingers into my core, making me gasp. he chuckles at my gasp and getting his thumb to massage my clit slowly. i moan a bit as he fingers me. eventually he decides to curl his fingers, hitting the right spot. i moan loudly at his actions and he smiles. he fastens his pace, curling his fingers and pumping them in and out of me. i moan loudly as he continues to do this. he smirks up at my face as i squeeze my eyes shut. “f-fuck carrington!” i moan.

i arch my back pretty far till he begins to pump his fingers faster than before. i instantly latch my hands to the sheets, pulling them. “ohh fuckk!” i practically scream as i cum on his fingers. he slowly pulls his fingers out and smiles at me, taking his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. i smirk at his actions.

i buck my hips against him and whine. “holy shit your needy.” he says in a kinda harsh tone. i roll my eyes a bit. “don’t fucking roll your eyes or i won’t give you shit.” he threatens. “sorry.” i say quietly. “exactly.” he smirks as his talks. he stands up and undresses in front of me, i watch him move as he takes his shirt off, then his pants, then his underwear. he climbs back on top of me and hovers over me.

he flips me over. “ass up, arch your back.” he says with dominance. i do what he orders. he hits a hard slap on my ass. i wince quietly as i feel the sting. he smiles softly and begins to tease, rubbing his tip up and down my slits. “p-please don’t tease.” i whine when he slaps another harsh sting to my ass. “i squeeze my eyes shut at the pain. i breathe in and out slowly as the stinging slowly rushes away.

he finally stops to tease and pushes his long cock into my core, my pussy completely swallowing his cock. he groans at the sight, he watch as his cock goes into my pussy. he smiles. “your so pretty.” he fastens his pace. i begin to moan softly. “mm such pretty noises.” he smiles as he watch’s my body move with his thrusts. he begins to fuck me faster. i moan as i feel him move faster. he starts to also pound into me, going completely harder than before.

i moan even louder. as we hear the front door open it follows up with a familiar voice “oh honeys i’m home!” jake yells. carrington smirks and begins to fuck me harder, like he wants them to hear us fucking. i moan louder than before. “yeah tell them how good i’m fucking you.” he says as his tone is low. he wraps his hand around my neck, not harshly but not softly. he grabs his belt off the ground and pulls my arms behind me and locks them. my face against the pillow. he grabs my hips and fucks me faster.

“ohh fuck fuck !” i moan loudly. they can definitely hear us. i begin to clench around carringtons dick, making him groan. he fucks me a bit harder, eventually hitting that one spot, my g-spot. “oh fuck!” i practically scream. he chuckles. “come on, cum for me” he smirks. i finally release, my orgasm crashing over me, almost making me see stars. “mmm fuck!” i scream as i feel his cum on my back.

he smiles and flips grabs a rag and wipes my back, then undoes my hands, and now flipping me over. i grunt as i hit the bed. he smirks. “oh please dont please do-“ he smashes into my pussy like nothing. “oh fuck!” i scream again. squeezing my eyes shut. he smiles at the sight. he leans down and kisses my neck while he’s fucking me at a ruthless pace. “mm fuck!” i moan. “such a pretty girl.” he hums against my neck.

i bite my lip. “come on pretty girl, let them hear how good i make you feel.” he smiles. he pulls back, the hickeys on my neck starting to form. he fucks me faster, as he watches my pussy swallow his dick once again. “mmm fuck!” i moan loudly. “just shut the fuck up already!” johnnie yells as their trying to film their video.

carrington smirks and is determined to make me louder, he fucks me harder, once again. “carrington!” i scream as start to become sensitive. “mhm scream my name like that, pretty.” he smiles and groans. “mmm fuck!” he moans and throws his head back, cumming inside my tight hole. i moan as i feel him cum inside me. i begin to feel the knot in my stomach snap completely.

he smiles, feeling accomplished that he made me cum. he flops beside me and smiles. “i love you.” carrington smiles. “i love you too.” i smile back as i look over at him.

“oh finally.. THEY SHUT THE FUCK UP!” johnnie yells from the next room, making me and carrington laugh out of embarrassment…

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a/n

THANK YOU AGAIN TO - @miss-september for the request.

i finished it😆