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rafescvntyclubgf · 3 months ago

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“𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌” - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 + 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝙹𝙹 𝚡 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚘!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐂𝐍𝐂, 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐒𝐞𝐱, 𝐄𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤

10K

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓯𝓲𝓿𝓮

⚠️ warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

situationship, kissing, swearing, graphic violence, mentions of blood, gore, bullying, teasing, mutual intoxication during a sex act, ownership kink, pet names, drug usage, drinking, blood, knife play, choking, oral male receiving, threesome m/m/f, rough sex, talking about the reader like she's not there, blood licking, finger sucking, hand kink, mask kink, stalking, gaslighting, physical violence, the reader wants them both, dark Rafe, dark reader, dark JJ, unprotected sex with multiple people, dvp, rough sex, oral female receiving, using objects during sex, cum tasting, squirting, creampie, anal play, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, size kink, ignoring a safe word, breath play, hair pulling, bondage, impact play, degradation, dirty talk, praise, pussy slapping

Reader’s POV:

“Okay, so, what is an antagonist?” The boy leans back in his seat, crossing his big arms over his broad chest, his white t-shirt strained. He stares you down, hoping you’ll crack and give him the answer. “M’not telling you, Rafe,” you correct him before he can even ask with a light laugh and a smile that has him returning the same.

“C’mon, pretty. Got no clue what’s goin’ on. I learn better this way,” he croons.

“You learn better by me telling you the answer?” You ask weakly, to which he shrugs and smiles. “This one. I’ll tell you this one. You’re making me think I’m doing a bad job, Cameron,” you add in exhaustion as you spin the cap off your water bottle, staring back at him tiredly.

“A bad job?” He asks in disbelief, eyebrows tugging together as a little scowl pulls on his pretty lips. “M’just givin’ you shit.”

“You’re not-“

”The character who opposes the main character in a work of literature,” he recalls the flashcard word-for-word, making your jaw slack in delight and irritation. His tongue pokes through his smile as he looks back at you playfully. “Best tutor I’ve ever had, princess.”

You feel your cheeks warm up; you take a quick sip of water to guise your smile. You were trying to do your best to stay focused on your session, but he just made it so hard. Rafe Cameron was a distraction, and he knew it, too. It’s hard to ignore his lingering gaze; how he leaned in a little too close when asking a question. His rich cologne muddled your thoughts. Rafe’s raspy, deep voice makes it almost impossible to get your words out confidently.

He’s so damn charming, and you know better than to encourage him, but sometimes the temptation is too strong. You clear your throat, pinching your eyes shut, cutting off his deep, dark stare cold turkey. He chuckles airly, clearly aware of his effects on you, though you’d never admit it.

“Thank you,” you respond with a smile as you straighten out the deck of neon flashcards. “Alright, next we have protagonist.” Rafe tries to bait you again with a look that has your mind spinning. “Enough,” you scold annoyedly.

He lifts his hands in surrender as he leans closer, resting his big forearms on the table. His gold chain falls out of his shirt, glinting in the library light. Your eyes follow the slight space between his cotton v-neck and burly chest. “Ya know, y/n. JJ is a lucky-”

“Am I interrupting somethin’?” JJ chirps, with a teasing edge in his ask, stopping Rafe before he can finish. The blonde leans down, wrapping his large arm around you, pressing a rough kiss against your cheek, earning a giggle and smile. Rafe rolls his eyes at the exchange between you, making JJ laugh teasingly. “Envy does not look good on you, brother.”

Rafe lifts his eyebrows, huffing out a laugh. “Bullshit, buddy. I look good in everything,” Rafe gloats. “All’s I was gonna say is how lucky you are.”

JJ gives him a taunting smile as he crashes down in the seat next to you, wrapping his arm around the back of your chair, looking back at his frat brother with a challenging gaze. “Right. You can keep remindin’ her, Rafe. I’m no Casanova, but keepin’ my name on your lips when you’re talkin’ to my girl isn’t going to get you anywhere,” JJ mocks. “Thought you had game?” Rafe balls up his notebook paper, tossing it at JJ hard and fast, nailing him in the forehead.

“I do,” Rafe answers confidently as his cerulean stare shifts from JJ’s to yours. Your stomach falls at Rafe’s words, slight guilt trickling in as he speaks nothing but the truth. JJ scoffs and laughs, kicking his boots on the seat beside Rafe.

”Yo, where’s Alexis?” JJ asks. You glance around the library, looking for her. I mean, she’s chronically late, but she would always send me a text or something.

”I don’t know,” you breathe as you lean over, snagging your phone off the table.

Alexis: Volleyball practice went late. Sorry.

Your ears perk up as you hear an announcement break over the intercom, catching everyone’s attention. “Attention students, faculty, and library staff. All classes have been canceled for the remainder of the day. Please stay calm and follow the campus safety procedures by filtering out of the nearest exit.”

You look out onto the crowded library, watching students look around, sharing hushed conversations about what’s happening that would cancel school altogether. You glance outside onto the dark campus parking lot, cop cars gathered by the masses, red and blue gleaming lights flickering in the night.

The backdoors of the ambulance swing open as a group of first responders race toward the vehicle with a covered gurney; an unmistakable shape underneath. You walk closer to the glass, squinting your eyes, trying to get a better look. Blood pools on the sheet, spreading like a wash of watercolor paint at the victim's stomach. The interior lights of the ambulance hit the sufferers face, all the blood leaving your own as you see Alexis.

You sit on the couch, drawing your coffee up to your lips, feeling the cup tremble in your hand. You swallow the bitter liquid fast, trying to ease your pounding head. It was a long night… The two of you up, following the story as it unfolded on TV, seeing that beautiful, friendly face plastered across the screen.

You were too wrapped up in thought to sleep; too consumed with the picture that would be forever etched in your mind as you watched her get hauled away only to die on the ambulance ride there. Alexis didn’t stand a chance: strangled, blunt force trauma, stabbed thirteen times, left to bleed out in the bathroom ‘til a teammate found her.

JJ sits next to you, your eyes glued on the TV as they show the suspected killer for the nth time. You always expect to see some blurry-faced man, maybe a deranged teen, but what you didn’t expect when an image of the suspect first dropped was a familiar white mask.

The news anchor’s voice drones on about another brutal killing in the night at a movie theater downtown, leaving the entire city on edge. “Yet another Ghostface killing,” she adds to her colleague, going on to talk about the same twisted methods he used to kill, all of which you remember from watching the movies. You had a visualization of the crime scene without an actual pictures— mental polaroids snapped with each new detail. You glance at JJ, who’s oddly unbothered, letting the new story play on like he’s listening to some mundane podcast.

The house is bustling: boys walking in and out of the messy estate, spent beer cans, and littered pizza boxes left over from the night before. None of them look fazed, everything seemingly unchanged like there weren’t people being murdered around town, with a crazed, masked killer on the loose.

Chills run down your spine as you watch the CCTV footage of a large figure in a cloak and a mask exiting the bathroom after killing Alexis before fading into blackness. It looked like a movie. One that you've watched on this very screen. Whoever this killer is, he’s real. He’s out there. JJ grabs the remote control, letting out an irked whine as the story continues, pointing it at the TV. “JJ!” You chide through a sharp whisper.

He looks over at you, cocking an eyebrow. “We already watched this, sunshine. Same shit on the hour,” he grumbles. “Nothin’ new, baby. Let’s watch The Office or somethin’.” He turns the channel, snuggling his big body into you more.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Shit… The knot in your stomach tightens. You take a sip of coffee, trying to act normal, but nothing is ordinary. What if something happened? You dig in your pocket, pulling out your phone, catching a message from Rafe.

Rafe: No tutor session today please. It’s Halloween. God damn. Can you cut me some slack for one fucking day princess?

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. He’s so annoying. You didn’t have anything scheduled with him anyway; JJ’s frat brother, just looking for a reason to drop you a line. JJ looks over your shoulder, reading the message before picking the phone off your hands. “Goddamn, baby. You got this man pussy whipped, and he hasn’t even gotten his dick wet,” he knocks as his lips meet your neck, kissing and biting at your skin. JJ reaches over your shoulder double-tapping the message, giving it a like. You shake your head and smile as you see Rafe instantly replying.

Rafe: Maybank stop bein a bitch

JJ: It’s y/n

Rafe: bullshit. Send me a pic, then?

JJ lifts his shirt, snapping a picture of his toned chest. He chuckles wickedly as he hits send.

Rafe: no. your girl’s got better tits than that

JJ scrunches his nose in disgust, looking down at the message like he’s trying to translate it. “Your girl’s got better tits. Fuckin’ asshole,” he mutters as he passes the phone back to you. You chuckle lightly, trying to slow your movements, but you’re desperate to see if there are any news updates. Your palms sweat, mind nagging with thought as you grow physically impatient. What’s wrong with me? These are real people dying, but even still, there’s this wavering excitement I can’t shake. It’s fuckin’ sick. I'm fuckin’ sick. And I know it.

A grainy clip plays on your phone screen as you browse the local news app— the crime scene from last night. You take another sip of coffee, following the chain of events, catching the irony: a Scream marathon playing at the AMC theater, the stabbing happening during Scream Two. The killer probably waited until the midnight showing of the Stab scene to take out the poor girl in real-time. Two slayed: the boyfriend in the bathroom and the girlfriend in the theater. You read the article carefully, taking in the differences of location: life taken in the back of the theater versus the front… She probably went out silently versus screaming out in terror. I mean, the person next to her didn’t even know she was dead until the end credits rolled.

“Baby girl…” JJ hums as he looks over, catching you looking a little too distracted. You hide your phone slightly, looking up into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Mhmm…” He stares down at you, giving you a knowing glance. His eyebrow arches, reading you like a book. “What’s up?” You ask as you drop your focus, looking down at your coffee like it’s the most interesting thing you've ever seen before taking another sip. His gaze hasn’t left you; you can still feel it burning into the side of your head.

“Baby…” He tries again.

You look up at him, hoping he’ll drop it, knowing he won’t. “Hmm…”

JJ quirks his pretty pink lips, leaning back into the couch a little to get a better look at your guilty face. “Really?” He mocks, his voice low and laced with amusement. “You gettin’ off on this or what?”

”What?” You gasp.

“What?” He echoes your soft tone impishly, with just enough sting to remind you of the reality you're skirting around. “You know what.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat of shame creep up your neck, pooling in your cheeks. “Stop.”

”Stop what?” He asks with a toothy grin, totally relishing in razzing you.

“It’s so bad, Jay…” You admit sheepishly as you tip your head back, relaxing it on the back of the couch. “Ya know?” You return your eyes to him, the man meeting your focus with a sideways glance.

“People are out there dyin’,” he ridicules you. The corners of his lips fight back a taunting smile, a slight glimmer in his eye, finding pleasure in humiliating you; he knows you’re not heartless. “This ain’t like those podcasts you watch, baby. And I know you like a good slasher fic, but come on…”

“Can you stop,” you whisper, feeling bad enough about it already.

“M’sorry, mama. Just givin’ you shit,” he grins. “You’re so pretty when you pout.” JJ leans in, pressing on your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly before leaning in for a gentle kiss. “I’ll stop.”

You fiddle with your pen, trying to focus as your professor continues, but your mind is miles away. You peek around the large lecture hall, looking at the gathering of students sizing up each. It might be someone from campus… Someone in this room right now. Someone I might know.

Stop.

There are thousands of people in this town and on this campus alone. The likelihood that I’ll know him directly is slim to none. Or her? I should be paying attention. I have a test in two days.

BUZZ.

Your phone vibrates in your book bag, making you jump, your nerves clearly on edge.

JJ: What do you want from Cash Wise?

Shit. You look up from the glow of your phone, spinning yourself up further. There’s supposed to be a party later tonight— a Halloween party at the frat. It’s still on, or JJ wouldn’t ask what I want from the liquor store. Right? Maybe we’ll have a chill night in. Who am I kidding… Those boys don’t give a flying fuck about the curfew, and neither does anyone else.

In a few short hours, liquor would be pounded, loud music would be flooding street after street downtown, parties raging, and people would forget all about what was lurking outside—what horrors walk amongst them.

If this is genuinely a copycat killer, there’s no way he’s skipping Halloween night… Maybe I should stay back at my apartment. Fake sick and watch the news. It’s not like I’m going to stop a serial killer…

But what if it’s someone I know? What if it is one of the guys I see daily at the frat house? JJ and I are casual. As much as I like him, there’s no way he’ll miss out on a Halloween party for me, if I’m being brutally honest. Sure, he might roll by the house at 3 AM, blackout drunk to cozy up in my bed, but he’s not stayin’ in and watchin’ the local news… What if something happens to him?

I’m just spiraling… Maybe there is no pattern. Maybe the killer is done. Some psycho with a vendetta against Alexis and the two other students at the theater. The three could be connected… I don’t know. It doesn’t fucking matter. There’s no way he’s done. I can lie to myself all I’d like. Tonight, people are gonna die, it's just a matter of how many.

There was no getting anything past JJ. He knew you weren't feeling sick. He knew you didn’t want to stay back for any other reason than to stand by and wait for the next story to drop. There was no way the boys were gonna let you skip either; they were gonna get you here one way or another.

If you didn't know better, you’d have no clue a masked man was terrorizing your city. Not here anyway… The energy in the room is infectious; laughter, music, and weed smoke fill the air. It’s just a fraction of the frat’s usual guest. Soon, this party’ll be wall-to-wall. JJ smiles at you, casually draping his muscular arm over your shoulders. A small, smug smile plays on his pink lips as he looks at his frat brother across the way. JJ’s ringed hand dips between your thighs, mouth pulled to your neck like a magnet, flaunting you in front of Rafe. “Fuckin’ shameless about it. Isn’t he?” JJ mumbles against the heat of your neck as he pokes fun at Rafe. He steals glances at you between his conversations with Kelce and Top, as he always does, his eyes lingering a little long taking in every inch of bare skin he's never seen before, studying the detail of your little Britney Spears costume.

Rafe finally makes his way over, sitting on your opposite side, making your heart beat faster. His pretty blue eyes twinkle as you match his gaze, the burly brunette giving you a panty-dropping smile. “I was a little worried there for a minute when you said you weren’t comin’,” he mumbles, recalling the texts from earlier as his eyes fall to your lips, watching a bashful smile form on yours. “I’m glad you could make it, princess.”

JJ chuckles, tightening his arm around you. “Don’t flatter yourself, man. She came for me,” he scoffs playfully.

”You look beautiful, y/n,” Rafe praises ignoring the blonde. JJ lifts his hand from your shoulder, thumping Rafe in the head.

“You’re testin’ me, Cameron. Stop tryin’ to steal my girl.”

Rafe smirks, leaning closer to you with a mischievous smile. “Can’t blame me for tryin’.” His eyes lift, matching yours; lips mere inches away. You can feel the warmth of Rafe’s breathing against your lips giving you the butterflies.

JJ reaches over, resting three plastic shot glasses on the coffee table before running them each so full of vodka that they spill over. “Oh, fuck,” he chuckles, already buzzing. He lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a swig. The clear liquid dribbles down his chin, landing on his orange shirt. His baby blue eyes match yours, giving you a playful wink. You feel your heart race a little faster as your eyes fall on his body: his costume hugging his athletic frame just right. His beachy, blonde locks are perfectly undone, his neck littered with fake tattoos.

Rafe’s hand rests on your thigh, just like JJ did, testing the waters, seeing how far he can get too, squeezing your bare leg. He moves a little closer, catching your eyes lingering a little too long on JJ, craving some of that attention for himself. His hand drifts a little lower, playing with the hem of your thigh-high stockings. You look back at Rafe: his beige locks brushed back off his face, just a little messy, letting his fridge fall casually on his forehead with a sailor’s hat sitting on the top. He snags his shot off the countertop, kicking his Noble loafers on the coffee table. He smirks as he reclines beside you, his velvet smoking jacket unintentionally pulling wider on his exposed chest. You look away fast, trying to hide your surprise as Rafe’s black satin pajama pants leave nothing to the imagination, letting you see the silhouette of what he’s hiding underneath.

“Fuck!” Rafe recoils as JJ flicks his fingers, snapping him right on the dick, making Rafe hiss out a pained breath.

“Stop bein’ such a slut, Cameron. Jesus fuck,” JJ snickers, nabbing Rafe shot off his hands as well, drowning it fast before Rafe can protest; the man still trying his best to catch his breath. You roll your eyes and shake your head, moving your shot glass over for Rafe before pouring another for yourself.

Rafe reaches over the back of you, punching JJ in the arm, making him grunt in pain, too. “Bitch,” Rafe clips.

“What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“Hugh Hefner, dumb fuck. N’aren’t you supposed to dress up? Seems like somethin’ you just pulled out of your closet.” Rafe plucks at the shoulder of JJ’s inmate costume. “That come with the Maybank starter pack or what?”

“Fuck you-”

“Fuck you.”

“Can we just drink?” You ask through a laugh, plucking both of their glasses off the table before passing them off and grabbing your own.

"You know, Cameron. It’s a dangerous game flirtin’ with someone else's girl,” JJ slurs as he lifts his glass slightly for a toast.

“Dangerous. Huh?” Rafe chuckles, lifting his glass as well. “What are you going to do about it, Maybank? Huh? Kill me?”

JJ smiles, rolling around Rafe’s words in his crooked mind, letting his question hang in the air momentarily. “Cheers.”

JJ smiles at you from across the room, and at that moment, everything disappears. The music, the thick crowd, the bumping of the bass pouring from the speakers all fades away. His lust-dazed eyes are locked on your body, studying how you move from across the room. Your hands shift as you dance with your friends, teasing him with the hem of your pleated skirt, your body feeling absolutely electric under his gaze.

You spin, pigtails turning with you, cinched at the bottom with baby pink puffs. You're not sure how many shots you've swallowed at this point… A few mixed drinks and a colorful pink pill from Rafe's pocket later, and your buzzed head is heavy, floating somewhere between tipsy and completely gone. You shut your eyes, moving your hips to the beat in your chest, feeling your body shifting slower than before. The room turns as you glance at your friend, laughing dizzily, too gone to care.

Fuck. Your heart skips a beat, then races away as you see a flash of white in the corner of your eye. You fumble slightly over your heels, clutching your friend for support as you catch a tall figure in a Ghostface mask. Wet liquid splashes up from the foundation, wetting your ankles and feet as you drop your drink.

You slam your eyes shut, trying to calm down, feeling yourself sobering up fast. This is the longest I’ve gone without thinking about any of this. It could just be a costume… Of course, it could be. It’s Halloween… That’s been a popular movie since the 90’s. “Can you hear me?” Your friend screams over the noise, catching your attention, jarring you back to reality. “I said ‘are you alright’?”

“Mhmm…” You nod and smile as you start to move again.

You look around a little more, feeling your paranoia mount by the moment. Why that mask? Here? In this city after everything happened? It’s probably just some frat boy thinking it would be funny to dress up as the killer. Or, he could have already had the costume. It could have been a coincidence that he hadn't thought twice about since, too desensitized to even see the problem…

How could someone be so careless? I mean, we all are. Aren’t we? All of us were out when the university told us to stay in. All of us were wasted when the police said that going out tonight would be a bad fuckin’ idea. But what if they aren’t being careless? What if the person under that mask is the reason why three people are dead?

The hair on the back of your neck stands straight, the music of the party seems to grow a little louder—too fucking loud, making it impossible to think straight. You survey the room again, trying to convince yourself it’s just some asshole, wordlessly praying you’ll catch a college kid with his mask pulled back, sucking face with some sorority sweetheart.

Your pulse spikes as you lock eyes with him again, the Ghostfaced figure even closer than before. He’s standing there, perfectly still, unlike the people moving around him, making him seem even more out of place. He’s just staring… Lifeless. You yelp as you fall, this time missing your friends completely, as you're shoved to the floor. You stand up fast, head swiveling, watching as a tall figure pushes through the dense crowd.

Your look down at your hands caked in dirt and sticky with spilled liquor. Your unease settles in the pit of your stomach like a weight. There’s two? You look forward, catching your footing again, feeling your heart jump as the original figure from across the room’s gone. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as your thoughts get the better of you. “Fuck!” You gasp as you feel a hand wrap around your arm, pulling you back fast. You spin around, heart hammering in your chest, half expecting to see the masked man before you. “Jay,” you snivel.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks as he steps a little closer, seeing the concern in your eyes.

“Uh - Uh, yeah. I’m fine,” you assure as you look over your shoulder, watching one of JJ’s frat brothers pull a girl in for a kiss as she holds his Ghostface mask up for him. Breathe… The scene you painted to offer you some semblance of relief plays out before you. Relief washes over you like a wave. Holy shit.

“Baby?” JJ tries again as he grips your shoulders tightly, trying to ground you. Your heart pounds in your ears, competing with the deep bass radiating through the packed frat house.

“Yeah, J. I’m fine.” You force a smile. “I thought—“ You start to speak, but the words get caught in the lump still lingering in your throat. “I need to use the bathroom. I fell… My hands are covered in shit.”

“I’ll be right here. All right?”

You weave through the crowd, knees and ankles wobbling from your wicked cocktail of drunkenness and fear. You clench your fists, trying to steady yourself in the moment, kicking yourself for letting your guard down like you did. Wishing you could rewrite the night to have your wits about you as planned.

As you reach the staircase, you tug your phone out of your pocket, checking the time. It’s past 2 AM already. If you were right, and the Ghostface killer was going to take advantage of the night, he would have struck by now. You climb the stairs fast, heart pounding, lungs burning; senses amplified in the moment. You claw onto the wooden railing for support, finding yourself completely unsteady in your sky-high heels, looking down at each step to avoid missing one.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

You rummage for your phone again, pulling out the device only to see an unknown number. You slide your sticky finger across the screen, accepting the call as you sink to sit down on the stairs, gripping onto the handrail for backing.

“Hello?” You ask shakily.

“Hello, y/n…” Your eyes double in horror, as a familiar voice fills your ears. Ghostface.

“Who… Who is this?”

“Oh, come on. You don’t recognize me? You don't know this voice? Bet you've gotten off to it. Why are you being so shy?” He taunts you in that smug tone you've heard a million times over.

“This isn’t funny. Alright?”

“Funny? You think I’m jokin’? I’m closer than you think. Matter of fact. I can see you right now, y/n.” You suck in a quick breath, holding it in as you look around fast, quickly calling his bluff.

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve been watching you all night. Little skirt, heels, pigtails…” his voice menaces on, fading into the crowd behind him, that same song you hear echoing in the playback of the phone. He’s here.

“Leave me alone.”

“Oh, I’m not goin’ anywhere, y/n. You're playin’ the role you've always wanted!”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“BULLSHIT,” he spits with a wicked laugh. “You better lock that bathroom door. I’d hate for someone to come in and GUT YOU LIKE A FISH! Will you hurry the fuck up?” His last line comes out in a familiar tone, pulling out the rug from underneath you.

“JJ WHAT THE HELL?” You hiss, listening as he thanks his frat brother for letting him use his voice changer.

“Relax, Jesus.”

“That wasn’t funny!” You shout as you pull yourself to your feet again.

“C’mon, sugar. It was hilarious. M’just havin’ a little fun. Aight? Calm down. When you’re done freakin’ out, get your pretty ass back downstairs and party with me,” he lays on the fratccent heavy, irritating you further.

“M’mad at you,” you mumble as you scale the rest of the stairs.

“It’s Halloween, everyone's entitled to one good scare.”

“Shit!” Your breath catches in your throat as you slam straight into someone’s chest. You stumble back slightly, eyes wide as you teeter on the top of the stairs. Rafe’s large arms wrap around your waist, catching you before you can fall back.

“Hey. Hey, princess. Fuck. You alright?” He asks breathlessly. You nod quickly as he pulls you closer, leading you to a safer spot, his beautiful eyes gentle with concern.

“I - I…” You stammer. “M’just a little jumpy,” your words ramble together, shaky and weak. “I’m fine.” He looks down at you, cocking his eyebrow, not believing a word of it. You feel embarrassment creep in as you notice he’s with someone else, too.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he respires, smiling as he nods, giving you the benefit of the doubt. “Have a great night.” Rafe wraps his arm around the stunning brunette's waist, guiding her down the stairs, leaving you alone at the top. You shove JJ’s door open, walking into the dark room, closing it softly behind you. Everything calms down; all of the sounds around you are truly quiet, the low roar of the party only bleeds through the bottom of the door, playing like white noise in the background.

You walk over to JJ’s nightstand, snatching the remote, flicking on the TV before walking to the foot of his bed, turning to the local news. The station casts shadows across the dark room and walls. There’s nothing new to report but reruns of the earlier findings… The reporters go on, focusing more on the lives of the victims versus the profile of the killer; the investigation seemingly at a standstill. The harsh reality quickly crushes the relief that you felt. If your gut feeling is correct, this isn’t over… It just hasn’t happened yet.

You roll onto your stomach, sinking into JJ’s bed, pulling out your phone, checking the rest of your sources. The music from the party outside becomes a little more noticeable, leaving you lifting your phone, pressing the speaker against your ear to hear the officers on the other end of the scanner. You snag JJ’s earbuds off his bedside table, pushing them in your ears, hearing the sound a little clearer.

Nothing… Nothing out of the norm as the two officers bitch about breaking up some college function uptown. All of this makes the situation more unnerving… The calm before the storm. A sudden jolt of terror surges through you as you’re yanked back to the edge of the bed, screaming in horror, quickly forced to your back, frozen in fear as you look up at two Ghostfaced figures looming above you. A scream bursts through your lips out of instinct, your body fighting its way back to the headboard. But it’s no use. A large hand comes to your throat, squeezing you tight, pinning you to the mattress, cutting off your airflow.

“Please, just-” You sputter and plead through trembling lips, reaching for a breath. They stand there ominously as you struggle, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You glance toward the door, trying to shriek, but nothing comes out but a hoarse cry. One of them leans closer, his knife glinting in the low lighting. No. No. No. He lifts the blade, holding it to your neck. Your eyes pinch shut in fear, knowing if you move, you’ll get cut by the edge.

“Heard you’re into this shit, y/n? Is that true?” A mechanical voice comes out through the mask, dripping with mockery. You suck in a breath as you feel the cold blade of another knife slide across your hot skin between your button-up and skirt. Your body tenses up as the blade works higher and higher up your body, clicking along the metal hooks and eyes of your lingerie.

“Stop!” You plead as tears well in your eyes. “Please, leave me alone.” One of them chuckles deeply, the timbre of his voice making you sick with fear. “What do you want?” The second Ghostface leans down, making you hold your breath as you wait for your answer.

“We wanna make you scream.”

Your stomach churns, twisting at their words. He leans closer, the chilled plastic mask brushing against your skin. The familiar cologne has your eyes doubling in horror. “JJ?” His name flees your lips before you can even stop it. Your mind starts to race as you try to rationalize the situation. Is it him? Is JJ the killer? Or is it all part of some twisted game?

“Surprise,” he hisses distortedly, coming out like nails on a chalkboard.

“JJ, please! This isn’t funny!” You cry out, still unsure if this is reality or fantasy. “JJ STOP!” You sob, choking on your tears, and your chest heaves, emotion spilling down your cheeks onto the mattress below. “JJ don't kill me. Please. P-Please.”

“Baby… Baby… Hey. Calm down. Okay,” he breaks character, making you gasp for a breath.

“What the fuck!” You sob.

He leans down, wrapping his big body in yours. “Shh-Shh… M’sorry. Okay. I thought you’d like it, y/n. Took it a little too far. All right? I’m sorry,” he whispers before pulling his mask back, letting you see his handsome, guilty face. Your bottom lip trembles as you look back up at him, scared shitless, your adrenaline and heart surging like you just took a bump. Your body, riding a vicious high. “I'm mean. I'm so fucking mean. That wasn’t right. Forgive me?” He asks through a breathy laugh as he peppers kisses along your tear-soaked cheek. You smack your hands against his chest in frustration, pushing him away but he crushes you under the weight of his big body, looking down at you with a smile that you could never stay mad at. “C’mon, princess…”

“Fine.”

“Atta girl,” he mumbles as he buries himself in your neck, giving you a big hug.

“What were you thinking?” You sniffle.

“What was I thinkin’? My girl’s a fuckin’ freak… Why not give her what I know she wants? You should be thankin’ me.”

“Thanking you? You scared the hell outta me,” you huff.

“That, pretty girl, was the plan. Now, will you let us have a little fun with you, mama? Or, are you gonna keep poutin’?” You look up at JJ, the fear that was gripping you moments before fading away into something different. Your heart’s still racing—fear exchanged for pure, unadulterated desire. JJ lowers the knife, tracing it up your thigh slowly. He takes the flat end, making you draw breath as he slides the cold blade against your soaked panties, pulling it up to check the mess. You see a hint of your arousal glistening on the blade already. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” He tuts, twirling it between his fingers. “Fuck you’re a slut... Tongue,” he orders. You submit to him as you lay out your tongue, looking up at him through your lashes. JJ sets the smooth side of the blade against your tongue, sliding it slowly, letting you taste yourself. Your pussy throbs, surprising yourself with how much you desire this blend of fear and passion.

You focus on the other Ghostface in the room, haunting above. His sheer size— that undeniable swagger even with a cloak and mask on. “Rafe?” He nods.

“You think I was going to turn down this? You know how much fun it is to scare you, baby?” He asks in a wicked tone that has your thighs drawing together with want. “Think we all know how bad I want you…” The big frat boy confesses behind the mask still drawn over his handsome face.

“You okay with Rafe bein’ here too,” JJ asks, his dark, deep voice vibrating against the shell of your ear.

“Mhmm…” You hum as you lean into him a little more.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes, Jay,” you respond as you grab JJ’s mask off the crown of his blonde mess of hair, kissing him on the lips before pulling it down over his face and making him laugh.

“You gonna let me fuck you, princess?” Rafe asks, and you swear you can hear the smirk on his lips. He tears off the black cape, stripping off his cigar jacket. You study Rafe’s flawless body, his muscular chest, and chiseled abs. A Ghostface mask, black satin pants, and some white Calvin Klein’s boxers are all that remains.

“Well…” You answer hesitantly, wanting to say ‘yes,’ but you and JJ honestly hadn’t talked about it before; you only talked about being casual. Why else would Rafe be here if it wasn't alright with JJ?

“Wouldn’t be a scream fantasy if there weren’t two dicks, now would it?” JJ answers Rafe on your behalf, knowing you were hoping that’s what he would do, as he strips off his cape, too. He snaps open his inmate uniform, popping each of the buttons open nice and slow, exposing more and more skin, leaving you throbbing.

“Guess you’re right,” you whisper in a mesmerized state.

“Mhmm, doll. You want his cock and mine? Don’t worry, I won’t be mad. I’ve always wanted to see how much my girl can take. Just say it.” Fuck. You let out a soft whine, realizing you’re not the only one living their fantasy.

“I want your cock and his. You - You can do whatever you want to me-”

“Anything?” JJ answers your babbling.

“I know the safe word, Jayj. Bet you can’t make me say it,” you taunt, surprising yourself with your words. The mood shifts at your comment, the once playful banter turning dark in a second. That was a challenge he was more than willing to accept. The two laugh cruelly, looking down at you as their prey. JJ’s head tilts slightly. Before you can react, Rafe takes his knife, slicing through the little knot at your waist, cutting open your button-up shirt. JJ rests the cool metal against the heat of your stomach, swiftly snapping his wrist, cutting through your delicate lace bra, leaving you fully exposed on the mattress. You can hear Rafe moan behind the mask, finally getting the glimpse of you he’s always wanted to see.

“Look at you,” Rafe sighs, his voice dripping with desire. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Jesus. I was fuckin’ right. Wasn’t I?” Rafe speaks to you with the deep hunger of a man who’s been starved. You can tell as much as he can wait to ruin you with JJ he’d love to be the one to fulfill all your needs single-handedly, but he’ll settle for the second-best thing. “You’re really into this scary stuff, aren’t you?”

“Mmm… Mhmm… She is. She’s a fuckin’ freak,” JJ hums as he cuts you out of your skirt as well. “Just like me.” You gasp as Rafe wraps his big hand around your throat, your hands instantly drawing to his wrist as he drags you to your feet. He pulls back his mask with his other hand, bringing it back just enough to claim your lips in a passionate kiss.

Rafe kisses you deeply, taking your breath away, the type of urgency that drives you mad just knowing how bad he wants you and how worried he is that JJ would change his mind still. Rafe pulls away suddenly, leaving you panting for a breath. When you open your eyes again, his mask is in place. You gasp in surprise again as JJ’s big hand takes hold of your head from behind, pressing you down to your knees before you can even think straight.

Your heart starts to speed up as both boys reach for their pants. Rafe pinches the soft material in his rough fingers, tugging it down his muscular thighs as JJ works on his. The textiles all fall to puddles at their feet. You reach up, cupping both of their cocks through the tight cotton material of their boxers, making both boys release a hungry groan as you squeeze their big dicks in your slight hands, feeling yourself already soaking through your panties.

You help JJ out of his boxers with a smile before moving on to Rafe, doing the same. Wrapping your fingers around their cocks you watch as their heads fall back almost in synch, abs clenching tight with the first stroke, the both of them stepping a little closer, wanting your warm, wet mouth around them.

You look up at Rafe, your mouth falling open as you feel JJ's swollen tip press against your plush, parted lips. You tease his tip with a kitten lick, making him grab hold of your head, guiding his dick deep in your throat. You take care of Rafe with your hand, pleasing JJ with your mouth, and taste his salty precum glazing your tongue.

Rafe takes a similar hold on your head, pulling you off JJ’s cock, yanking you toward his. “Fuckin’ lick that shit,” Rafe hums. You look down at the slit on his tip, watching a mess of precum seeping out the blushed head of his cock. You flick your tongue across, swirling it for good measure. Rafe’s fat head rams into the back of your throat, making your eyes prick with tears. The wet rolls heavily down your cheeks. You get pulled off again, even rougher than before. JJ grabs both braids in his large, ringed hands, using your mouth like a toy.

“Mine,” Rafe hisses. “Don’t you know how to fuckin’ share?” JJ releases you with a cocky laugh; the two pass your head back and forth ‘til you are a cock drunk mess of tears and moans. Tears block your vision. You try your best to blink them away as you feel both men using your mouth at the same time, alternating between strokes, fighting for space as they see how far they can push you.

Your eyes double as Rafe’s large hand pinches your nose closed. You reach out, gripping their legs, squeezing tightly, and letting your nails dig into the thick thighs. “M’fuckkk,” JJ moans intensely, his muscles trembling under your grasp. Rafe pulls off your nose, leaving you open-mouthed and sputtering for a breath.

“Keep your mouth open, slut,” Rafe rasps, delivering a rough slap to your cheek. You brush your hands over your eyes, flattening your tongue as the boys stroke their long, thick cocks fiercely. Their moans and praise fill the room as cum spurts from their throbbing tips, painting your cheeks, tongue, and mouth as you try to recover from the lack of oxygen. JJ grabs the back of your head, fingers twisting in your braid, lifting your face to look up at the two of their masked faces. Rafe grabs your cheeks harshly as well, rubbing his rough thumb across your lips, catching the cum on his finger before stuffing it in your mouth. You suck on his digit, cleaning up the rest of the mess. “Atta baby. Fuckin’ cum slut aren't you?”

“Mhmm…” You moan around his thumb.

“Tell him what you are, princess,” JJ mumbles as he tugs your hair, making your back arch slightly, tits perking up.

“M’a cum slut, daddies.”

“Daddies,” Rafe drawls in a charmed tone, loving his new title as JJ tugs you to your feet. He keeps his hold on you, pinning your arms behind your back with one hand, using the other arm to wrap around your throat, turning you toward Rafe.

Tears still brim at your waterline from a mix of excitement and defenselessness, doing nothing but turning Rafe on more. Your emotion trails down your hot cheeks, catching your makeup as it runs in little rivers. Your heart races wildly as it has been for days; this time in the throws of a fantasy.

The air is charged with tension as Rafe walks closer, lifting his mask slightly to lick along the side of your neck before biting down hard, making you cry. His hand reaches up, slamming over your pillowy lips. “You better shut the fuck up, princess. Don't want the boys to think we’re doin’ anything but pleasin’ this whore pussy. Hmm? I'd hate to stop. Wouldn't you?” He asks, tearing your panties away in the same breath. Rafe reaches over to the mattress. You go to look, but JJ squeezes your neck, forcing you still.

“Where do you think you're goin’? Huh?” He laughs against your neck.

“Put her on the bed, pin her wrists, we got ourselves a squirmer,” Rafe mocks before slapping your wet cunt, making you do just that. You suck in a breath as JJ squeezes you firmly, tearing you back before shoving you down on the mattress face first. He snatches your body with his strong hands, manhandeling you to your back before mounting the bed. He clambers to the head, holding your wrists, yanking you higher, before tacking your wrists to the bed.

Rafe walks toward you slowly, twirling the dagger between his big fingers. You feel your body tremble with adrenaline—the cold blade presses against your skin, making you whine. Before you can think, he turns it slightly, nicking your skin, making a small cut just enough to sting. A weak cry escapes your soft lips, awakening something primal in you. You lift your head off the bed, watching the blood bead on the tiny wound. Rafe lifts his mask, lowering himself to your inner thigh, sucking gently, breaking you out in a cold sweat as pleasure mixes with pain.

"Fuck, you taste like heaven," he mumbles, still close to your skin. The warmth of his admission fanning across your skin.

“You should taste her pussy,” JJ rasps.

“Yeah, buddy. She got a sweet little cunt?” He asks like you're not even there.

“Fuckin’ perfect.”

His focus drops to yours, making your eyes widen. “N’I bet you want that pretty pussy ate. Don't you?” He asks as he draws the knife across JJ’s bed, the sharp tip facing down, scraping against the comforter, working higher and higher. You let out his name shakily as he pushes the flat edge against your pussy hard, even the slightest contact making you cry out. Rafe lifts the knife, running that same edge against his tongue before lowering himself on the mattress.

Rafe massages your inner thighs with his big hands, splaying you wide as JJ's rough hands trace down your body grabbing your tits, pressing them together for his frat brother. JJ slaps your breasts, making your thighs pull in; Rafe’s strong arms loop around your thighs, forcing you to stay still. “The fuck did I say, Maybank. She’s a goddamn squirmer. Move again, pretty. I dare you,” Rafe warns, his dirty threats vibrating against your soaked core.

“Jay,” you whimper as JJ's fingers pinch your nipples, twisting hard, making you squeal and shift with overstimulation.

“No. No. Fuck, baby.” Rafe chides.

“Thought you wanted his mouth, mama. Why aren’t you listening? Huh?” JJ digs as Rafe grabs the knife again. He sheathes the blade in his leather holder before turning around. Your eyes widen as he slowly traces the handle up your thigh.

“Wh-What are you-Fuckkk…” Your question gets swallowed up in a moan as Rafe plunges the handle of the knife into your tight hole, fucking you with the weapon. The curved grip hits your sweet spot, eliciting the prettiest moans from your pillowy lips.

“Mmm’so fuckin’ soaked, y/n,” Rafe murmurs drunkenly as he watches it glide in and out. You whimper pathetically as you look down at him with doe-eyes, then back up at Jay.

“C’mon, princess. Fuckin’ manners. Say you’re sorry for not listening. Let Rafe know you’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll do what - whatever it takes,” you nod rapidly as you look down at the masked man between your thighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever it takes. I like that sound,” Rafe mumbles as he lifts his mask. “Based off those pretty, little sounds you we’re makin’ a few nights back, princess… I don’t think you can handle what I want,” Rafe chuckles darkly before spitting on your pearl, pinching and rubbing your clit.

“Do we care, Rafe?” JJ asks, making your eyes widen, rolling back a moment later as Rafe's plush lips suck down on your bud.

“Fuck!” You cry in a hoarse whine as Rafe assaults your pussy with his mouth and knife. JJ drops your hands, looking down at you from above. You panic as he reaches for his knife instead, resting the narrow side of his blade against your throat.

“Don’t fucking move,” he warns; you take two fistfuls of sheets as your pleasure builds, your damn threatening to break at any second.

Rafe pulls out the weapon, replacing the butt of the blade with the smoothness of his warm tongue. His big thumb rolls on your clit. “M’gonna cum. Fuck. Mpfhh,” you hiccup and gasp, trying to stay still.

“It’ll hurt if you move, baby doll,” JJ barbs, his voice oozing with condescension.

“Oh my god,” you pant as your muscles lock tight, your voice coming out in a broken string of curse words as you pulse around Rafe’s tongue again and again. He moans into your pussy, pleasing you until the very last moment. Rafe runs the back of his hand against his chin, shined with your sweet release.

“She’s got the sloppiest fuckin’ pussy,” JJ praises in his southern drawl.

“She’s a filthy little whore. That’s for sure,” Rafe smiles. “So fucking sweet, baby.”

“Mhmm… Still dripping ‘n she probably already wants to get fucked dumb.”

“What was that little dig before, buddy? ‘Bet you can make me say it…’” Rafe softens his tone, mimicking yours.

“‘Bet you can’t make me say it’,” JJ tries on your voice as well, taunting you further.

“Stuff two dicks in her cunt, and she might be eatin’ her words,” Rafe laughs as he pulls you off the mattress, pressing your heaving chest against his. His hard cock stands painfully straight, snuggled between your thighs as you try to compute what he just said.

“If she starts crying, just cover her mouth, Cameron.”

“Good fuckin’ point,” Rafe groans, and you just wish you could see the fever in his blue eyes. He grabs your hips, turning you around fast. JJ’s already got his cock in his fist, just waiting for you to sink on his tip.

“Rafe was right, doll… Two dicks,” JJ sighs. “Had you cryin’ off one. What do you think’s gonna happen with two? Huh?”

“Split her shit in two probably,” Rafe laughs as he squeezes the fullness of your hips in his massive hands. You lower yourself down on his length, your head falling back on Rafe's chest as you take him fully. Your hand draws to your stomach already feeling full, JJ’s dick big enough on its own. You squeak out a cry as JJ wrap his hand around your throat, using the other to tear off his mask before pulling you down to his lips. You lay flat on his chest as his tongue roll with yours, kissing you sloppily as Rafe's big hands paw at your ass cheeks. “Ready baby, JJ,” mutters.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble as Rafe bullies his swollen tip at your greedy hole as well. JJ grabs your hips, lifting you off his cock, giving Rafe a shot.

Rafe sinks in, long and deep, plunging into your fluttering core before yanking himself out altogether, making you clutch his wrists. “Been holdin’ out on me, Maybank. S’fuckin’ heaven,” Rafe rasps from behind. He grabs your hips, pistoning into you, making you fall forward from his rough thrusts as you cry out in pleasure, delivering backshot after backshot.

Rafe pulls out, leaving you empty for a moment; JJ quickly nestles himself in again the next. You rest your heavy head on JJ’s chest, watching over your shoulder as Rafe’s fat cock pushes in, too, making you wail in pain and pleasure. You bury your face in the blonde's body as they start to stroke, settling on a rhythm just to change the pattern, only leaving you more of a mess. Your soaked pussy pulls them in, swallowing them up, making both men moan and grunt with each motion.

Rafe lifts his hand, bringing it down to slap the curve of your ass as JJ snakes his hand down, toying with your clit. Rafe spats on you again, dropping a dollop of spit onto your taut hole. You bite your lip and shake your head. ‘No,’ the safe word is right on the tip of your tongue, and you're unsure if your body can take any more. “Ja- JJ-” Rafe’s large hand clamps over your mouth as his other thumb presses into your asshole.

“Shut the fuck up and fuckin’ cum,” JJ smiles. Your eyes roll back in your skull as you’re set flying over the edge. Your pussy gushes around their cocks as they pump you to the hilt. Rafe groans in pleasure, gripping your hips, forcing his cock as deep as it’ll go as JJ does the same. You feel their warm cum mixing with yours; your puffy, pink pussy so full you burst at the seams. Your eyes flutter shut as you soften into JJ’s chest, feeling like you could pass out.

Rafe moves first, leaving you a blubbering mess as the ridges of his big cock, slide out of your cum-stained walls. JJ pulls out a second, Rafe quickly tugging your ass cheeks apart, watching the cum seep out of your glassy slit onto the bed below. “Told ya she was a freak,” JJ hums against your kiss-bitten lips, sucking off the bottom as you flutter your lashes, fighting for consciousness.

“Just fuckin’ perfect for us. Aren’t you, princess?”

“JJ doesn’t deserve you,” Rafe whispers, his gaze intense as he brushes a thumb gently across your cheek, cleaning up what remains of the mascara mess. “You’re stunning, even like this. You know?” He praises.

“She knows, man,” JJ scoffs, making Rafe smirk.

“We’re doin’ that shit again, princess,” he leans in, giving you a gentle kiss. “With or without him. N’I'd prefer without.”

“The fuck, Rafe?” JJ grumbles sleepily as he wraps his arm over you, nuzzling your neck. “You wanna do that again, baby?”

“Mpfhh… Yeah. Take off your clothes,” you hum as you tug at the bottom of Rafe’s shirt, making both boys release sleazy laughs, pretty proud of themselves for how good they made you feel. Rafe moves closer, using the contract as an excuse to steal another kiss.

“Don’t tempt me... Text me when he goes to bed. Yeah?”

“Do you ever quit?” JJ yawns, shoving Rafe’s face away from yours.

“You two stayin’ in?” Rafe asks as he slips into one of JJ’s t-shirts, impossibly tight on his broad chest and thick biceps.

“You leavin’?” JJ asks curiously.

“Might go to Slice. I might go to Lambda Nu. Feelin’ a little worn out. M’hungry as all fuck.”

“Bring us back some pizza. Yeah?” JJ yawns. Rafe shoots him a look, knowing he’s two minutes from passing the fuck out. Rafe pulls the black cloak over his shoulders, giving you a wink as he pushes his bangs back, tugging on his Ghostface mask again.

“You wear a costume. You get a free slice. You owe me for yours, Maybank. I’ll get you whatever you’d like, princess,” he croons. Rafe walks over to you one last time, lowering himself to your lips before lifting his mask just enough to kiss you a little deeper this time, setting your heart ablaze. “Can't stop kissin’ you now that I started.”

“JJ didn't say if he’d kill you or not. You better stop,” you flirt as your lips brush against his, sucking off his bottom lip.

“Fuck, I'd like to see him try… Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight. Thank you.”

He chuckles against your lips. “You thankin’ me? What are you thankin’ me for? Huh? Best pussy I’ve ever had-”

“Fuck off, Cameron.” JJ shoves Rafe harder than before, making Rafe lower his mask before lifting his hands in surrender.

“Good night.”

You can’t help but smile, still caught in the afterglow. The sex was so raw and rough, leaving you completely wrecked in the most blissful sense of the word. You turn to JJ, catching him watching you with a warmth in his eyes. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.

JJ reaches over to his nightstand, tugging open a drawer, pulling out a joint. “What do you say, princess?” He asks as a mischievous smile spreads across his lips, matching yours.

The two of you make your way across his dimly lit room, tugging open the window; the lingering smell of sex wafts away, exchanging for the cool night air as JJ helps you onto the roof. The party continues to thump below, just background noise.

JJ flicks his BIC, lighting the joint, the flame briefly illuminating his features before he takes a long, satisfying haul. He puffs one more time before passing it to you. You lift it to your lips, tagging a drag, feeling the thick smoke circle in your lungs. “Not a bad night. Huh?” He asks fishing for compliments that you’ll more than happy to give.

“That was a fucking fantasy, Jay,” you smile as you lay back on the rough roof, watching the stars twinkle above you.

“I’m glad. Got kinda wild in there, baby girl. You okay?” He asks sweetly. You feed him the joint, resting it between his soft lips before turning toward him, playing with his fluffy blonde hair.

“I’m more than okay, Jay.”

“N’you were okay with Rafe bein’ there?” JJ asks.

More than okay with that too… You take a little breath as you grapple with that thought. “Mhmm…Yeah. Were you?” You ask, watching smoke seep out of his mouth; his lips tugging to the side a little.

He bites his cheek, looking away, fighting with the part of himself that actually wants to feel something. “Well, I… Shit. Sorry. I umm… I kinda got jealous. Not gonna lie. Usually, like Rafe flirtin’ with you ‘cause you're mine at the end of the day. Call me evil, but I fuckin’ love that shit,” he rambles as he studies the joint between his finger, eyeing the dent the two of you’ve already made in it. “Casual. I mean, I wanted that. No strings attached. But who am I kidding? We both know that ain’t true.”

“I mean you do keep callin’ me yours, Jay.”

“N’you’re not?” He questions, lifting his eyebrows playfully.

“‘Course I am,” you smile, and you mean it, but not in the way that you did before. There’s this pull now, two forces at play inside you, Rafe and JJ, the two tugging your heart both ways. You’ve wanted this for a while now, but it doesn’t feel as sweet. It took seeing you with someone else to make JJ feel like maybe he wanted more.

Jealousy? He’s the one who wanted casual, who insisted on no strings, and now he’s upset about the strings he’s suddenly tangled in. There was always that line that I could see with Rafe. The one that I had yet to cross, knowing that if I did, there would be no turning back. I’ve more than crossed it after tonight… And I don’t know if I want to go back.

You look away as well, trying to gather your muddled thoughts as you sort through the mess. “We don’t have to talk about that now, sweetheart,” he quickly pivots before sucking down a little more of the joint. “Look at you, relaxin’ n’ shit,” he rasps on his exhale.

“Who knew it would only take a threesome to get me out of my head?” You humor him, moving on to the next conversation.

“Anything new?” JJ asks as he nods to your phone, faux curiosity, in an attempt to divert you further. Hoping you’ll forget all about the little jealousy talk. You shrug and grab your device, pulling open the police scanner app, listening to the crackling of static through the speakers.

It’s a barrage of chatter: dispatchers and cops talking about the usual complaints. “Nothing new.” You take a pull from the joint, smoke curling around you like a ghostly fog smudging out the stars overhead. “Do you think Rafe is going to get us pizza? I’m hungry.”

“Probably for you,” JJ chuckles, rolling his eyes away.

“There’s a party at the Beta Chi house on Woodsboro Street.” A voice whizzes through the scanner, catching your attention.

“No,” JJ groans, throwing a little fit and stamping the ember end on the roof. “God damnit.”

“How many we got?” The police officer chirps.

“Over a hundred,” the dispatcher adds, commenting on the horde of college students gathered inside and on the lawn.

“Thought we had two units on College Row?” The officer asks.

“They’re responding to a break-in two blocks north at the cross street of Weathers and Loomis.”

“Jesus,” JJ huffs. “A hundred?”

“Possible fight. Send an extra car.”

“Fuck, I hate missin’ a fight,” JJ sits up, looking out at the sea of students still partying, seeing if he can catch some of the action.

Just another night. You laugh weakly before taking a deep breath, looking up at the night again; the weed smoke clears, giving you the perfect view of the star-sprinkled sky. JJ reaches out, intertwining his fingers in yours before laying back again.

A blood-curdling scream pierces the night air. Your heart drops as you sit up straight, looking over the roof's edge. Panic surges through the crowd below as people scatter in every direction, sprinting away. The police sirens wail in the distance, moving closer and closer as the party music drowns out the circus below. “Call the cops!” “Get the fuck out!” “Move. Move!” “Run.” “Somebody got stabbed!” “He’s got a knife!”

“Stabbed?” JJ breathes. Everything below you melts together as people spill out of the house like ants, pushing, shouting, and scattering in every direction. Cars swerve on College Row, skirting around students, fleeing for safety. Red and blue lights come into view, cutting through the dim. You look down on the crowd, watching as a figure emerges, cutting through the thick—draped in a black cape.

Your breath catches in your chest as you see a knife, glistening with crimson red, clutched in his big hand. Blood drips from the blade; he quickly wipes it away on his cape as he steps off the curb onto the road—a blue Jeep. Your eyes double as you see the driver and the other person in the car waiting, both wearing masks. You look down at the masked man’s feet, black satin pants dusting along the ground. Your heart rate climbs as the pieces clink together.

“All units, we have reports of a stabbing at the frat house: multiple victims, multiple suspects fleeing the scene. Proceed with caution. Repeat, proceed with caution!”

Rafe, Topper, and Kelce…

The scanner crackles again, breaking your thoughts. “Suspect is described as wearing a Ghostface mask, last seen heading east on Woodsboro Street in a black truck. All units, be on the lookout.”

Oh my god. You’re paralyzed as Rafe turns, locking eyes with you, waiting to see if you’ll react. He stalls until the last possible moment, banging his fist against the side of the Jeep in frustration before sinking into the vehicle, the three speeding off fast.

“What are you doing?” You ask JJ in a panic. His face glows in the light of his phone as he opens his call log, dialing out for Rafe.

“I need to make sure Rafe’s okay.”

A strange numbness settles over you as you realize he didn't see what you saw. You can hear the muffled dial tone ring. Rafe picks up almost instantly, his voice coming through the speaker with that familiar lazy charm. “The fuck do you want, bitch?” He taunts.

“Where-”

“Tell y/n the pizza she wants is burnt to shit, but I’ll wait until ‘til they make a new one. Aight?” Rafe cuts JJ short.

“Thank god, man,” JJ sighs in relief, burying his head in his hand. “Holy fuckin’ shit-”

“The hell’s goin’ on?” Rafe asks.

“Somebody got stabbed. A few people? We don’t know how many. We’re on the roof.”

“Stabbed?” Rafe asks in disbelief. He’s good… So good that, for a split second, you question what you know you saw: Thornton’s Jeep, three big bodies, a pair of Noble Loafers, and black satin pants. That’s Rafe’s knife… That blood was fresh. “Is y/n okay?” He asks protectively. “Can I talk to her?”

“Yeah, man. She’s good. Just shaken up. ‘Course you can talk to her.” JJ passes the phone to you, your hand trembling and clammy as you lift it to your ear.

“Baby?” Your stomach sinks, chills running down your spine as you hear his deep voice. “Are you okay?” He asks as a test; a probe, to see if you’ll break. You take a deep, jagged breath, steadying yourself, forcing the words past your lips.

“I’m okay.” The lie comes easily, slipping into place like it belongs there.

“That’s good, princess,” his voice softens, quiet enough, reserved for your ears only. “You’re not gonna say anything, are you?” He asks, and just like before, when you could hear his smile under the mask.

“No,” you whisper, and you mean it. You hear his deep, raspy laugh swell on the other side.

“That’s my girl.”

🔪🔪 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉. 🔪🔪

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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cute-sucker · 8 months ago

Note

boxer!rafe holding his baby for the first time, and knowing him he made sure you had a private room and good food.

tell me why he would be so jittery though ??

୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀 ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

boxer!rafe never had gotten as scared as he did when you had given birth.

waiting. rafe had been waiting for hours, holding a lucky charm that you had given him. the strands of the bracelet were frayed as he toyed with it, over and over again. the smell of the hospital was nauseating, and the feeling of being in a place that smelt like antibiotics and sickness made his skin crawl.

he had gotten the call that your baby was born in the middle of a fight. he was on top of a guy before someone stormed in the middle of the fight. that was uncommon, and the referee quickly had them separated before rafe realised it was your work friend, delany. she looked frantic, as she tried to mouth something.

the minute he realised what it was, he was pulling the ropes of the ring, and yelling at people to get out of the way. blood was splattered across his mouth, and his swelling knuckles stung with pain, as his sweaty t-shirt stuck to his chest.

your water broke.

he was there in minutes, swearing as he tried to close the car. he'd run into the hospital with a huff, demanding to know where you were. to be quite frank it may have been sweet to you - but it was downright scary to the nurses.

a bulky guy with blood splattered all over him, holding a silly pink baby bag. the first nurse let out an uncomfortable laugh before telling him to sit down. now, rafe would have started yelling, but there was this drumming in his heart that made him feel as if he was going to vomit.

he couldn't lose you, no, this was a critical part of all of it. he'd read those stupid books that you had gotten him about pregnancy, and how dangerous it was, and how many mothers had died and how to hold a baby, and, and-

(goddamn it, he was scared.)

"mr. cameron. would you like to come in?"

he looked up to see a nurse with a painful smile, he took a deep breath before nodding his head. rafe felt his hands shake, as he took a step inside the room.

there you were, pretty as always with that discharge night gown, and a relieved sweaty smile on your face. you look so calm, but his eyes zone on your hands. the baby isn't in your hands, and he found himself wondering where the baby was, but he watched you get up to touch him.

"hey, hey baby. calm down. you need to stay like that," he muses, coming closer to rub your shoulders. you close your eyes, a soft gasp coming out of your mouth.

rafe gives you a soft peck on the shoulder, "why didn't you call me?" he whispers in that gentle tone of his. you squirm, peeling open your eyes with those pleading doe eyes,.

"i didn't want to bother you. i knew-" you gasped out, "i knew you had that important match and shit, and i don't know i thought it was like a bad time-"

rafe cursed, "didn't i tell you it was the two of us together? i shoulda' been there for you. shoulda' have held your hand through this shit-" and he knew he's going on a tangent as your lip wobbled and he quickly licked his lips while shaking his head.

"nah, it doesn't matter now. aw, my sweet girl did this all by herself. let me," he muttered, rubbing tears off your cheeks, "where's the baby?" you sniffled, nuzzling your face in his hands, before pointing to the sinks where he saw a small tiny girl.

she's squirming in the nurse's hands, as she gets washed off. her tiny face is squished up as she lets out small squeals. he's struck by how small, how tiny, how he made that little thing with you.

"i-" he choked up unable to take his eyes off your baby, "thank you sweets. thank you." his head bowed down into your lap, the words like worship. he was a devout in your temple.

"here's the baby, ms. cameron."

you looked up at her, a little bundle of joy as the doctor put her in your lap. rafe felt like everything was complete, feeling his throat sting and his hands get clammy. god, what did he do to deserve this?

the baby was perfect, a tiny sweet thing and rafe's hands shook at his sides as you looked up at him with teary eyes.

"do you want to hold her?"

he swallowed hard, his voice that soft whisper you knew so well, "can i?"

you laughed something that was so sweet, ringing in his ear like a song he never wanted to end. yet, he couldn't help but look at you with approval and when he looked into your eyes all he saw was love. all he saw was the truth. finally, he reached for his baby girl, calloused hands cradling her.

he finally had found his family.

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eepwtf · 2 months ago

Text

UNPUNISHABLE—soldier boy boarding school au! x catholic boy

find part two here ⤷ part two

“i’m sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking. “God, ‘m sorry, i’m sorry.” but the words were hollow, meaningless, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart and the unbearable ache in your body.

he cut you off with a hand on your wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. “feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. the heat in his gaze made your stomach twist, your cock twitch in your hand. “bet you’ve been pent up for weeks, huh? poor fuckin’ thing...”

warnings; religious guilt and themes , power dynamics , getting off to underwear , degradation and humiliation kink , voyeuristic elements (mirror use) , handjobs , use of the words “filthy” , and “pervert”. wc: 5.4k

benjamin had been at this boarding school long enough to know exactly how it worked. the social hierarchy, the petty squabbles, the hazing rituals—they were as predictable as the smell of old books and stale coffee in the library. he didn’t care about most of it. he played his part: good grades, a cocky smile, and enough charm to skate by without making any real enemies. but the start of a new term always brought fresh blood, and benjamin had a sixth sense for spotting the ones who wouldn’t last.

and then, there was you.

you arrived late to the term, which was already a death sentence. the first few weeks were critical—the time when the hierarchy solidified, alliances were formed, and survival strategies were locked in. worse, you might as well have walked in with a neon sign flashing fresh meat. everything about you screamed out-of-place: the polished shoes that gleamed a little too much, the perfectly ironed shirt tucked with military precision, the rigid way you carried yourself, like you were bracing for a slap. you walked into the dining hall that first evening with your tray balanced so carefully it might as well have been a Eucharist offering, eyes darting around the room like you were waiting for someone to shove you back out the door. you didn’t even have to open your mouth for everyone to know: Catholic boarding school.

it didn’t take long for the other boys to catch on. they had a nose for blood, and you reeked of it. whispers followed you during study hall; cruel nicknames were hurled across the lacrosse field. someone replaced the water in your sports bottle with holy water one afternoon, which left you blinking back tears while everyone howled with laughter.

benjamin wasn’t sure why he noticed you, exactly. maybe it was the way you always seemed to be clutching a rosary in your pocket, running the beads through your fingers like a lifeline. maybe it was the way your cheeks flushed red every time someone snickered “Father” as you walked past. or maybe it was just boredom.

whatever it was, he found himself jogging after you one afternoon, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo as he called out, “hey!”

you stopped abruptly, startled, and clutched your books like they might shield you from whatever this was. “uh, hi?”

“you’re the new guy, right?” he asked, all casual confidence as he fell into step beside you.

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut you off smoothly, flashing an easy smile. “trust me, i’ve been here long enough to know. you’ve got that ‘lost lamb’ look.”

for a moment, you just blinked at him. his smile didn’t falter, though. Instead, he slung an arm around your shoulders like you were already old friends. “look, this place is a jungle,” he said, steering you toward the courtyard. “and you’re walking around with a target painted on your back. but lucky for you, i’m feeling charitable today.”

you hesitated, your whole body stiffening under his touch. “thanks, but i’m fine.”

“no, you’re not,” he said bluntly, his grin widening. “you’re fresh out of Catholic school, right? i can tell. you’ve got that whole... thing about you. like you’re waiting for a nun to materialize and slap you for breathing too loud.”

that earned him a faint flush of red creeping up your neck. you straightened your shoulders, clearly bristling, but instead of shoving him off, you sighed and let some of the tension drain from your frame. “yeah, well, i’m used to it.”

“doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it alone.”

from that moment on, things changed. benjamin took you under his wing—not that he’d ever admit to something so noble-sounding. it started small: little tips like which table to avoid during meals (definitely not the one near the windows, unless you wanted to end up as the debate team’s entertainment) or how to cut through the north courtyard to bypass the rugby team’s hazing gauntlet. when he noticed you sitting alone in the dining hall, bent over your tray like you were saying grace, he’d saunter over and drop into the seat across from you, grinning like you were his favorite person in the world.

“you’re not gonna survive this place with just prayer, you know,” he teased one evening, stealing a fry off your plate before you could stop him.

your ears burned, but you still muttered, “i don’t need your help.”

“sure you don’t,” he replied easily, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you squirm. “but humor me.”

you weren’t blind to the whispers that followed after that.

“never seen ben hang out with someone like him before.”

“you think they’re...?”

“no way. ben’s just bored. or maybe it’s, like, charity work.”

their words stung, but less than you’d expected. maybe it was because benjamin never seemed to notice—or care—what anyone else thought. he had a way of brushing off insults with that cocky grin of his, and slowly, you found yourself learning to do the same.

but for all his charm, benjamin was infuriating. he’d swipe your homework to “check something” and then return it with a smirk. he’d drag you into conversations you didn’t want to have, poking fun at your strict upbringing and coaxing stories out of you about priests, penance, and purgatory. he was relentless, and you hated that it made you feel a little less like the walls were closing in.

benjamin was everywhere. his laughter echoed in the halls, his golden hair glinting like sunlight, his voice as smooth and warm as honey. it didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing; he was inescapable. and at first, you didn’t mind. at first, you liked the way he looked at you, like you weren’t invisible. the way his arm slung so easily around your shoulders, the way he’d steal your fries or lean in too close just to watch you squirm. he made it look so easy, weaving you into his world with a smirk and a casual confidence you could never hope to emulate. he defended you from the worst of the hazing, diffused the cruel jokes with a well-timed barb or a cutting smile, and made sure you were never left sitting alone in the dining hall.

but then it started to change.

you started to change.

at first, it was subtle: a quickening in your chest when he leaned over your desk, close enough for his cologne to fog your senses. a tightness in your throat when his hand lingered on your shoulder, his thumb brushing the edge of your collar. he didn’t notice the way you froze when he stood behind you, leaning in to murmur some joke meant just for you. it was in the way he sat beside you during study hall, his long legs stretched out like he owned the space, his golden hair catching the light in a way that made your chest ache. it was in the way he teased you, his voice low and warm, always managing to say just enough to make you blush but never enough to cross a line. it was in the way he looked at you sometimes, his emerald eyes lingering just a moment too long, like he was searching for something in you that you didn’t even understand yourself. but you noticed.

you noticed everything.

the curve of his jaw. the warmth of his touch. the way his lips parted when he laughed, his head tilting back, throat exposed like an offering. it felt like blasphemy to see him this way, to want what you shouldn’t want. It felt like the serpent in the garden, whispering in your ear, coaxing you to look a little too long, to want what was forbidden.

and that’s when the shame began to take root.

it crept into your thoughts like a sickness, coiling around your heart. you began to see sin in every glance, every touch, every laugh that left you breathless. you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining things—things you couldn’t say, couldn’t even think without bile rising in your throat.

you prayed. oh, God, how you prayed. every night, you knelt beside your bed, fingers clutching the rosary so tightly they left indentations on your palms. you begged for forgiveness, begged God to deliver you from this sickness of the soul. you whispered Hail Marys into the dark, choking on the words as you begged the Blessed Virgin to intercede for you, to make you pure again. but your prayers felt hollow, empty. each whispered plea was drowned out by the memory of benjamin’s voice, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at you that day in the courtyard, sunlight haloing his head like a saint in a fresco.

you told yourself it wasn’t his fault. how could it be? he was just being benjamin, just being kind. he didn’t know what it did to you when he leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. he didn’t know about the nights you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the air between your beds a chasm you longed to cross but never would.

the fault was yours alone. your weakness. your sin.

and yet, no matter how many times you dragged the blade of guilt across your soul, the feelings wouldn’t go away. they festered, spreading like rot, turning your prayers into cries of anguish. you thought of the words of Matthew: “if your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. for it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.” and yet your eyes lingered on him still.

you began to pull back. at first, it was subtle: excuses to leave study sessions early, mumbling about assignments or the need to pray. you avoided his gaze, kept your hands clasped tightly in your lap when he reached out to touch your shoulder. you stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped letting him get too close, stopped letting him into the cracks of your armor.

but it was impossible to escape him. he was always there—leaning against your desk, lounging on his bed, sprawled out in the dining hall, his smile a temptation you couldn’t resist. you tried to flee from him, but he followed you everywhere, even in your thoughts. his voice was there when you knelt before the crucifix, his laughter echoing in the back of your mind as you begged God to cleanse you.

and the worst part was that he noticed. of course he noticed. the worst part was that you wanted him to. some small, desperate part of you wanted him to press, to dig, to uncover the thing rotting in your soul and absolve you of it.

“hey, what’s going on with you?” he asked one evening, lounging on his bed with one arm tucked behind his head. his shirt was rumpled, the top few buttons undone, and you hated the way your eyes were drawn to the hollow of his throat.

you couldn’t look at him. couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his green eyes, the confusion on his face, you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was your own weakness, your own sin. you couldn’t tell him that his mere existence was unraveling you, that every time he touched you, it felt like temptation made flesh. “nothing,” you said quickly, focusing on the textbook in your lap as if the words on the page could save you.

“bullshit,” he said, sitting up, his sharp green eyes piercing through your feeble lies. “you’ve been acting weird all week. did i do something?”

you flinched, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. you could feel the truth clawing at the back of your throat, desperate to be let out, but you couldn’t speak it. to confess was to condemn yourself. “no,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“then what is it?” his voice softened, but the hurt had already started to seep into it. you wanted to shove him away, to tell him to stop caring, to stop looking at you like that. stop making me feel this way. “you’re not... you’re not letting those assholes get to you, are you? ‘cause if someone’s giving you shit, i’ll—”

“it’s not that,” you snapped, harsher than you intended, your shame turning sharp as a blade. his expression faltered, and guilt twisted in your chest like a thorn. you dropped your gaze, your hands trembling as they gripped the edge of your book. “i just... i need space, okay?”

“space,” he repeated, the word flat and unfamiliar in his mouth. “from me?” he didn’t understand. how could he? to him, you were just the awkward Catholic boy he’d taken under his wing. he didn’t know about the fire consuming you from the inside out, the way his very presence felt like a test of faith you were doomed to fail.

the silence stretched out, suffocating. you could feel him staring at you, searching for something—an answer, a crack in your armor, anything that would make sense of this. finally, he exhaled sharply, the sound like a wound opening. “fine,” he said, standing abruptly. the bed creaked under his movement, the sound echoing in the quiet room. his voice was colder than you had ever heard it, laced with a bitterness that made your chest ache. “whatever you want, Father.”

the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone. alone with the shame, the guilt, the terrible longing that refused to let you go. you pressed your hands together, the rosary dangling between your fingers like a lifeline, but even as you tried to pray, all you could think of was him.

but the distance didn’t help. if anything, it made things worse.

benjamin was always there, in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to shut him out. the memory of his smile haunted you during morning prayers. the sound of his voice echoed in your ears as you tried to focus on your studies. at night, in the dim light of your dorm room, you could hear him breathing in the bed across from yours, and it felt like a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t have.

you hated him for it. you hated yourself more.

you had always been devout, a faithful son of the church. your rosary was your shield, your Bible your sword, your faith the fortress that had kept you safe from the temptations of the world. you clung to the Word of God like a drowning man clings to driftwood, trusting it to keep you pure, to keep you upright. but benjamin made you falter. benjamin made you doubt.

and worst of all, benjamin made you want.

the dreams had come slowly at first, creeping into your mind like thieves in the night. they were innocuous, almost innocent: his laugh ringing out like church bells, his hand brushing yours by accident. but they grew darker, heavier, like a storm gathering on the horizon. you began to dream of his hand lingering too long on your shoulder, sliding down your arm, his fingers warm, deliberate. you dreamed of his lips—pink, soft, sinful—hovering too close to yours, his breath ghosting against your skin. you dreamed of his hand, sure and unrelenting, sliding down your stomach, your cock throbbing under his touch as his name fell from your lips like a prayer you’d never dare to speak aloud.

you always woke from those dreams shaking, drenched in sweat and shame. your body betrayed you, your cock hard, insistent, as if it hadn’t just condemned you. the guilt came in waves, crashing over you, dragging you under. you’d fumble for your rosary in the dark, clutching it tightly, the beads biting into your palms like thorns. you’d sink to your knees on the cold, unyielding floor, whispering, “forgive me, Father, for i have sinned.”

your voice trembled, cracked, as you poured yourself out to a God who surely couldn’t love you anymore. you recited the Psalms until your throat was raw, until the words blurred into each other and the ache in your chest grew unbearable. you told yourself you were strong enough to resist, that the dreams meant nothing, that they were merely a test of your faith.

but the dreams kept coming.

and worse, some dark, treacherous part of you didn’t want them to stop.

one night, long after benjamin had left for the evening, you found yourself restless, the shame coiled tightly in your chest, suffocating. you paced the small dorm room, your rosary clutched in one hand, muttering prayers under your breath like a desperate incantation. but they didn’t help. they couldn’t stop the image of him from searing itself into your mind: benjamin sprawled out on his bed, his shirt half undone, his laugh warm and unguarded, his scent—clean, sharp, him—lingering in the air like incense.

you told yourself to stop, to look away, to think of anything else, but the pull was too strong. you walked into the bathroom, hoping the cold tile and harsh light would cleanse you, give you some clarity. but then you saw them.

benjamin’s boxers were draped carelessly over the counter, a remnant of his presence that felt like a physical blow. your heart lurched, your breath catching in your throat. you froze, your breath catching in your throat, shame flooding you before you’d even moved. you shouldn’t touch them. you knew you shouldn’t. this was wrong, disgusting, unforgivable. but before you could stop yourself, your hand was reaching out, trembling as it closed around the fabric.

they were still warm.

you brought them to your face, your chest heaving as his scent hit you like a blow. it was intoxicating, maddening, him. you inhaled deeply, the cotton brushing against your lips, and you could feel your body reacting, your cock straining against the confines of your jeans.

a strangled sound escaped your throat, half-sob, half-moan. you were shaking, trembling under the weight of your sin, but you couldn’t stop. the shame rose in you, thick and choking, but it only seemed to fuel the fire burning inside you.

your free hand slid down to the bulge in your jeans, your fingers fumbling with the zipper as you gasped for breath. “i’m sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking. “God, ‘m sorry, i’m sorry.” but the words were hollow, meaningless, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart and the unbearable ache in your body.

your hand slipped into your boxers, your cock hot and throbbing in your palm. the fabric of benjamin’s boxers pressed against your face as you stroked yourself, the sensation overwhelming, sickeningly good. you bit down on your lip to stifle a moan, tears streaming down your face as the guilt clawed at you, sharp and unrelenting.

you hated yourself for this.

you hated how much you needed it.

each stroke felt like a lash against your soul, each gasp a plea for forgiveness you didn’t deserve. you thought of the saints, their eyes turned heavenward, their bodies pierced and broken for their faith, and you wondered if they would weep for you or turn away in disgust. you thought of the thorns pressed into Christ’s brow, of the spear that pierced His side, and you felt like you were driving it in deeper with every desperate, shameful motion.

you were drowning in sin.

the rosary clutched in your hand felt heavier than ever, its beads digging into your skin like penance, a crown of thorns wrapped around your fist. each bead you touched felt like a tally mark against your soul, a reminder of the countless sins you’d committed in thought, in word, and now—oh, God forgive me—in deed.

benjamin’s scent clung to the fabric pressed to your face, clean and sharp, with that faint musk of sweat and skin that was undeniably him. you could taste it on your tongue, could feel it seeping into your lungs like incense burned in offering. it filled you, overwhelmed you, until you couldn’t think of anything else.

your body betrayed you.

your cock throbbed in your hand, slick with the evidence of your shame. the other gripped the rosary so tightly that the crucifix bit into your palm, the tiny Christ pressed there like a mute witness to your depravity. tears streaked down your face, hot and bitter, dripping from your chin onto your bare chest. you felt split open, like the veil of the temple torn in two, laid bare before God and man.

“i’m sorry,” you gasped, the words breaking on your lips, no more than a breathless whisper. “fuck, ‘m so sorry.”

but even as you prayed, even as you begged for forgiveness, your hips jerked forward, thrusting into your fist. the friction was maddening, too much and not enough all at once. you couldn’t stop. you didn’t want to stop.

the shame was suffocating, thick as smoke, but it only seemed to fuel the fire raging in you. the boxers in your hand felt like a relic, a profane artifact that held power over you. you buried your face in them, inhaling deeply, and a strangled moan escaped your lips.

your fingers tightened around your cock, stroking faster, harder, desperate to chase the release you knew would damn you. you bit your lip, hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle the sounds rising in your throat. they escaped anyway, broken gasps and half-sobs that echoed off the tile walls like confessions shouted in a cathedral.

the bathroom door creaked open.

you froze.

your heart stopped, then slammed back to life, pounding so loudly you thought it might burst. slowly, your eyes flicked toward the doorway, and there he was.

ben.

his green eyes were wide, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern as he stepped inside. “hey, are you—” he stopped mid-sentence, his gaze dropping to the scene before him.

your cock in your hand, hard and aching. his boxers clutched in the other, pressed to your face. the rosary tangled in your fingers, beads slipping between them like the blood of your guilt.

“fuck,” he breathed, his voice low and rough. his eyes darted back up to your face, and you could see the realization dawn in them. the pieces clicking into place.

the shame was instant, white-hot, burning through you like fire and brimstone. you dropped the boxers as if they’d scorched you, scrambling to cover yourself. words tumbled from your lips, incoherent and panicked. “i—i’m sorry, i didn’t—”

benjamin stepped closer, his movements deliberate, measured. his expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity? amusement? want?

your breath hitched as he crouched in front of you, his hand reaching out. you flinched, expecting anger, rejection, disgust. but instead, his fingers brushed against yours, prying the rosary from your trembling grip.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “relax.”

you shook your head, tears spilling over again. “i can’t—i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t—”

you wanted to protest, to tell him to stop, to push him away. but your body betrayed you again, leaning into his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers wrapped around your own.

“let me help,” he said, his voice low and rough, almost horse. you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

he guided your hand, his grip firm and sure, stroking you in a rhythm that made your head spin. his other hand picked up the boxers from the floor, holding them to your face once more. “go on,” he murmured. “you want it, don’t you?”

a sob tore from your throat as you inhaled deeply, the scent of him filling your lungs. it felt wrong, filthy, perfect.

benjamin’s hand gripped your cock with a firm, unrelenting pressure, his fingers curling around your length as though he’d done this a thousand times before. the confidence in his touch was maddening, a sharp contrast to your trembling body and fractured thoughts. his palm was warm and sure, his movements measured, deliberate—stroking you with a pace that was just slow enough to make you ache, to keep you teetering on the edge of sanity.

“shhh,” benjamin murmured, his voice low, soothing, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his hand. his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, his breath warm and unbearably intimate. “you don’t want anyone else to hear, do you? just me. just us.”

you whimpered, a helpless sound that only made his smirk widen. the way his fingers curled around your cock, stroking upward with just enough pressure to make your thighs tense, sent bolts of heat racing through you. his thumb grazed the sensitive tip, spreading the slick pre-cum there with an unhurried, almost lazy motion that had your hips bucking forward without your permission.

“desperate already?” he asked, his tone mocking but soft, as if he was speaking to something fragile. he pressed the heel of his palm against the base of your cock, applying just enough pressure to make you ache, to keep you right on the precipice of pleasure without tumbling over. “you’re gonna have to work for it, sweetheart.”

the bathroom was suffocating, steam and guilt mingling in the stagnant air. ben’s grip on your wrist tightened, steadying your trembling body as he tugged you upward, his strength unyielding. you stumbled to your feet, barely able to think, barely able to breathe as he guided you toward the sink.

"look at yourself," he murmured, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the tiles. his hand cupped your chin, forcing your head up, making you confront the reflection in the mirror.

your face was a mess: tear-streaked, flushed, mouth parted in desperate gasps. your chest heaved, sweat glistening on your skin. and below, the evidence of your shame—your cock, swollen and slick, gripped tight in ben’s firm, unforgiving hand.

"god, look at you," he rasped, the words rough and dripping with derision, yet tinged with something darker, something hotter. his green eyes burned as they flicked between your reflection and the reality of you standing before him, shaking, broken. "so filthy."

you whimpered, your knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his gaze, of his words. "how do you think God would feel, huh?" he asked, his tone mocking, cruel in its softness. his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, the contact sending shivers down your spine. "seeing you like this? crying and moaning like a fuckin’ sinner. bet the saints are turning away right now."

“stop,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, hoarse from the tears and the shame that choked you. but you didn’t pull away. you couldn’t.

benjamin’s hand tightened around your cock, stroking it with slow, deliberate precision. he watched your reflection, studying every flinch, every gasp, every broken sound that escaped your lips. "stop?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. "you don’t want me to stop." he tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours in the mirror. "look at yourself. you’re loving this. bet you’ve been dreaming about me, haven’t you? thinking about my hands on you, my mouth on you..."

your knees buckled at the insinuation, and his arm shot out, catching you around the waist, holding you upright. you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but your body betrayed you. your hips jerked forward again, seeking the friction his hand so cruelly denied you. “please,” you gasped, though you didn’t know what you were begging for—for him to stop, for him to continue, for absolution, for release.

he chuckled, low and throaty, the sound rumbling through your chest. "poor thing," he murmured, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "all those prayers, and this is where they got you. on your knees, jerking off with my fuckin’ boxers like a desperate little pervert."

your stomach twisted, shame coiling tighter, but the heat in his voice, the weight of his words—it ignited something inside you, something primal and unbearable.

benjamin leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. his lips brushed your shoulder, soft at first, then firmer as his teeth grazed your skin. he nipped at you, not enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp, your cock twitching helplessly in his hand. "fuck, you’re so easy," he hissed, his tone laced with contempt and fascination. his free hand slid up your chest, his fingers ghosting over the line of your throat before gripping your jaw. he forced your gaze to stay fixed on the mirror, his green eyes burning into yours through the glass. "look at yourself," he demanded, his grip tightening on your chin just enough to keep you compliant. "take a good, long look."

your eyes flicked to the mirror, and the sight made your stomach churn. your face was flushed, your eyes glassy and wet from unshed tears. sweat clung to your skin, your hair disheveled, and your lips swollen from where you'd bitten them raw. your cock was still hard, leaking against your stomach, throbbing with need as benjamin stood behind you, as he pumped you in slow, devastating strokes “does this feel good?” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. his voice dripped with mockery, sending a jolt of humiliation through you. "getting all hard for me, like some filthy little pervert? huh?"

your hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing the friction of his touch, and a broken moan tore from your throat. the sound echoed in the small bathroom, a damning confession of your weakness. benjamin smirked, his grip on your jaw tightening just enough to keep you in place. "that’s what i thought."

your knuckles turned white as you gripped the edge of the sink, the cold porcelain biting into your palms. you tried to look away, shame prickling your every nerve, but benjamin’s grip was unrelenting. he tilted your chin higher, forcing your gaze to stay fixed on the mirror. “don’t you fucking look away,” it was a command, sure, but also quiet request, one you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. “i want you to see exactly what you are. a filthy, desperate pervert, getting off to the thought of me. say it.”

your breath hitched, a broken moan tearing from your lips as your hips jerked forward, chasing the friction of his touch. the sound seemed to please him, his smirk widening as his other hand moved to your waist, holding you steady against the sink. “say it,” benjamin murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. his hand on your cock moved faster now, his strokes rough and unrelenting, dragging you closer to the edge. “say what you are.”

“i—i can’t,” you gasped, your voice cracking under the weight of your shame.

“yes, you can.” his tone softened just enough to make your chest tighten, to make you hate how much you wanted to give in. “say it, or i’ll stop.”

your head snapped up, panic flaring in your chest as you met his eyes in the mirror. he smirked at your reaction, his grip on you tightening just enough to remind you who was in control. “you don’t want me to stop, do you?” he teased, his voice a low purr as his fingers wrapped around your cock, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur. “you like this too much.”

“i’m a filthy pervert,” you finally choked out, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

“good boy.” benjamin’s smirk deepened, his hand moving faster now, dragging you toward the precipice. “now tell me what you want.”

“i—” your chest heaved, your hands gripping the edge of the sink so tightly your knuckles turned white. “i want you.” the confession tore free like a prayer, desperate and raw. “I want you to touch me, to—to make me cum—”

benjamin chuckled, the sound low and satisfied as he pressed his lips to your neck. “that’s more like it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval. “go on. let go for me. i want to feel you come apart in my hand.”

his words were your undoing. your body arched against him, trembling as the pleasure surged through you like a wave crashing against the shore. benjamin’s grip was firm, steady, grounding you as you came with a shuddering cry, your release splattering against the mirror in thick, messy streaks.

“fuck,” ben breathed out, his tone heavy with awe as he watched your reflection. his hand didn’t stop, coaxing every last drop from you, his strokes slow and deliberate now, like he was savoring the way you unraveled beneath his touch.

when it was over, you sagged against the sink, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. ben’s hand lingered on your cock, his fingers slick with your release as he pulled away, his smirk softening into something almost tender. “look at that,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to grip your chin, tilting your head back so your eyes met his in the mirror. “such a pretty mess.”

you swallowed hard, the shame creeping back in like a tide, but ben’s thumb brushed against your jaw, grounding you. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice lacking the teasing edge it had carried before. you nodded weakly, your throat too tight to speak.

“good.” his smirk returned, softer now, but no less infuriating. he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “because you owe me a clean mirror.”

#eepwtf’s works ! ( •)▄︻テحكـ━一💥#x male reader #x male smut #the boys smut #soldier boy smut #catholic guilt #top x bottom #soldier boy x male reader #soldier boy x you #was up and thinking about that one guy from hilda furacao when writing this #he’s such a loser #like what #hilda furacao #you’re invading my thoughts now

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alexiswritergirl · 9 months ago

Text

“I have a crush on my wife”

“I have a crush on my wife.” He thought to himself.

If he were to say this out loud, people would tell him “Well duh, you love her”, but having a crush is different from loving someone.

For him, he can never get enough of you because every second, it’s like he’s falling in love with you all over again.

You make him so giddy and nervous to the point where the constant feeling of butterflies is the only thing that makes him feel truly alive.

Every day is like a battle with several questions, like “How did I get so lucky” kind of questions, that are cramped inside his head, while every night is like a dream when you are in his arms.

His eyes always find their way to yours, completely mesmerized by you. He’ll have this curious look on his face, wondering what that pretty mind of yours is thinking about. And then he’ll quickly look away when you catch him staring.

Every time his phone buzzes, he instantly checks and hopes it’s you.

He is absolutely delusional for you. Always playing scenarios in his head where you go on dates, what he should say to you when he comes home, how much he wants to hold you….the list goes on and on.

He spends hours in front of the mirror to look just right because he knows you deserve the best. He’ll carefully readjust his collar multiple times and brush his hair just right, so he can look charming only for you.

He’ll never get used to how his name rolls off your tongue so perfectly or how pretty your lips look when you say I love you.

When he first met you, it was scary to think he developed a crush on someone. He didn’t know what to do and that ate him up every night.

Now, he sits beside you on the couch, stealing quick glances at you as you watch TV. He still can’t believe that you both have been married for 5 years now because it all feels like a fuzzy dream. He’ll awkwardly wrap his arm around your shoulders as if this were a first date. Even though you’re just wearing sweatpants and a stained t-shirt, his heart still beats fast for you.

When you turn to face him, his face flushes and he freezes. You giggle at him and ask him to pass you the remote. He complies and starts to feel antsy from the way your fingertips graze his skin when you’re just grabbing the remote from him.

He’ll then give you the “I want to lean in and kiss you” look, and when you finally notice those shy hints and give him what he’s been wishing for this whole time, time will utterly freeze over the both of you.

You have no idea what you do to him.

RIN, HIORI, Tokimitsu, NESS, ISAGI, NIKO, Yukimiya, Chigiri, (pre-wd) Kunigami, Kurona, Reo, Raichi, and Bachira

#blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #bachira meguru x reader #hiori yo x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #reo mikage x reader #niko x reader #yukimiya kenyu x reader #kunigami x reader #tokimitsu x reader #raichi x reader #kurona x reader #Alexis Ness x reader #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock headcanons

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munsonluhvr · 1 year ago

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ohhhh and i honestly need more professor!eddie x student!reader

imagine he’s her professor. he’s like 39 and she’s 19. and just a hot secret affair ahhh.. where she’s the one to intend this relationship first like seducing him and all and getting fucked on the desk all the time!! he sometimes has to hold her mouth shut because she’s so loud!!

SCHOOL GIRL CRUSH

a/n: thank u so much for another amazing request. I hope u like it! I loved writing this sm, im tempted to write a part two in the future.

synopsis: professor!eddie munson x student!reader. unable to resist your professor munson, you begin seducing him, making every visit to his office hours productive. lucky for you, all your efforts pay off in the end. word count - 4.7k warnings: 18+, explicit content // age gap relationship, throat fucking, p in v, cum eating, fingering, finger sucking.

Your ears are numb to the sound of your classmates engaging with Professor Munson, answering his questions eagerly to please the young and handsome teacher. You’re trapped in your own mind as you imagine Professor Munson bending you over his desk, his ungraded essays cluttered underneath your upper body. You imagine your thighs shivering and growing goosebumps as his fingertips graze your legs, hooking his pointer fingers onto your panties and pulling your undergarment down as slow as possible…

“Are you listening, y/n?” Professor Munson asks as he leans against his long wooden desk, his legs crossed in front of him. You sit in the front row, of course, to be able to gain his attention. Your legs are outstretched in front of you and Professor Munson taps your foot with his. “Care to share what you’re day dreaming about with the rest of the class?”

You blush, shaking your head quickly. “I wasn’t daydreaming, I was listening.” You lean forward on your desk, resting your elbow on the tabletop, your hand cupping your chin. Bending at the waist, you push your chest forward, allowing Professor Munson to get a front-row view of your breasts that are supported by your bra.

Professor Munson, or Eddie which is what he allows you to call him in his office hours, lets his eyes dip to your exposed chest but he catches himself quickly, coughing into a close fist. “I see; let’s switch to talking about the book we read last week that we didn’t get to talk about.” He says to the class.

You sit in the small classroom, your other classmates scattered about the room; there’s only about fifth teen of you, the classroom big enough to fit at least thirty students. Above the chalkboard is a clock that ticks rhythmically, and you watch for the next ten minutes as the class talks amongst themselves. Today was the day you’d go for the kill, feeling as if you and Professor Munson were playing a cat and mouse game since the beginning of the semester.

Professor Munson was young, probably in his mid to late thirties, and incredibly attractive. Though he was physical attractive, an angelic face with soft features that combine to create a beautiful face, Professor Munson also had a ‘swagger’ about himself, a confidence that you could sense from a mile away. He never dressed, nor acted, like any of your other professors, he wore black ripped jeans, various metal band t-shirts and utilized an informal teaching style. Nonetheless you enjoyed Professor Munson’s class, though you had to admit, you had an agenda. You wanted to fuck him.

It all started in the beginning of the semester when you first walked into the classroom. You were automatically enamored by Eddie, easily charmed by his charisma and good looks. It was then and there where you began developing a plan, each week bringing you a step closer to today.

Over the first two months of the semester, you had frequented his office hours, finding that even though the other girls in the class giggled about how cute he was, nobody went to his office hours leaving you hours to occupy his time. Professor Munson welcomed it happily: at first he quizzed you about the class readings, forcing you to engage with the conversations that happened during class. Though as the weeks went on, your meetings became more personal, and he started to ask you about your background, where you’re from, what your family is like. You were able to get some answers out of Eddie as well; it was fair game after all.

For a while you weren’t able to figure out if Eddie was understanding your motives, or if he found you as attractive as you found him. If he did, he kept it well hidden as a university Professor should. However, the last few meetings you had gave you no doubt in your mind that now was the time to try, to attempt to discover uncharted territory of what is Eddie’s body.

Two weeks ago, you had visited office hours in hopes of getting your midterm essay edited with suggestions from Eddie; why not try to improve your grade while trying to get fucked? You were planning on making it a quick visit, meant to leave Eddie with dirty thoughts about you. You had worn your shortest skirt, barely covering the paisley patterned panties you wore, a long-sleeved t-shirt with the three buttons at the top completely unbuttoned. With ease, and all the casualty in the world, you brought your paper, printed and paperclipped together, to Eddie’s office, coming around the side of his desk to drop it in front of him.

“Thank you so much for looking at my paper before the deadline, I just want to make sure I get it right,” you had said, your eyes soft and doe eyed.

Eddie nodded slightly, his eyes drifting from your face down to your completely bare thighs. “O-Of course, Miss y/n. I’m happy to though I’m sure there’s not much to be corrected.” You spied his hands resting on his desk, and you took the opportunity to make skin on skin contact.

You placed your hand on top of his, feeling the coolness of his silver rings that were scattered across his long fingers. You laugh softly, the reverberation causing your breasts to jiggle on your chest. “You’re so kind to me, Professor Munson.” Your fingers curled around his soft hand, and you let it rest there, taunting Eddie to almost say ‘See? You could have all this. Come find out.’ There’s no doubt in your mind, standing in his office, all alone, barely clothed, that he wanted to jump you, lifting that tiny skirt you wore to bunch up at your midsection.

Eddie’s eyes flickered to where your hands rested together and he coughed, rolling his chair under his desk to hide his lower half. You bit your lip, hoping that a boner was what he was attempting to conceal as he pushed his bottom half under his desk. You lift your hand off of his, stepping away from the side of your desk. “I’ll come to your office hours next week to see what you thought of my research?”

Eddie nods, his eyes no longer looking to make contact with yours. “See you then.”

The following week you had done what you said you would, making an appearance in his office hours for the thousandth time. You had begun to grow a confidence that was reassuring, probably contributing to your delusions: a professor could never let himself fuck a student, right? Not in your world. You played innocent, pretending as if you didn’t know what you were doing as leaned across Eddie’s cluttered desk to grasp your paperclipped essay with his suggestions scribbled across it, your breasts on full display. You pretended to not know Eddie was watching as you ‘accidently’ dropped your paper on the way out of his office, making of a show of bending down to show your ass that was fitted in a lace thong – and also pretended not to understand why Eddie gasped, then coughed, as you took a moment to pick up your papers that were scattered across the entrance of his office. When you were away from his office, sauntering down the hallway, you just had to pat yourself on the back for the show you just put on. ‘Damn, I’m good at this.’ You thought to yourself, a smug smile playing across your mouth. Eddie was beginning to be just where you wanted him.

“Well, I think we’ll leave it there for this week. Make sure to follow the syllabus and read what’s required for next week,” Professor Munson said, continuing to lean against his desk. “I’ll wait around if anyone has any questions.”

You were slow to gather your things, tucking them all away into your backpack. You peeked around you to watch the last of your classmates filter out into the busy hallway. At last, it was just you and Eddie.

“Professor Munson, I have a question.” You say, standing up from your seat. Oddly, you were nervous, your fingers trembling, your voice wavering. Perhaps you are afraid of rejection.

Eddie hums, his eyes flickering to where you stand. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

‘So much’ you think. “Well, I just feel like I’m not following the discussion in class. As if reading all the material isn’t enough to understand what we’re talking about. Perhaps I need a more hands-on approach?” You say, stepping forward to where Eddie rests against his desk.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Eddie says, his arms uncrossing from in front of his chest to holding him up against the desk. “A hands-on approach?”

You bite your lip, nodding as you step closer to him again, continuing to close the gap that exists between you and your professor. “Something more.. intimate, perhaps?” You let your backpack drop to the ground, freeing your hands. You wear a zip up hoodie that’s cropped at the waist, though underneath it your skin becomes slick with sweat and nervousness. You make a show of unzipping it slowly, the sound echoing through the classroom. Outside, students shout and chatter as they walk to their next class and for a moment you’re afraid of someone walking in.

Eddie’s eyes watch closely as your fingers work to unzip your hoodie, then shrug it off, dropping it on top of where your backpack lays across the linoleum floor. “A-Are you referring to when I called you out for daydreaming because, of course, our minds can’t stay occupied on a single topic for a long time; studies have proven that.” Eddie says, beginning to ramble. His adams apple bobs at the front of his throat, his voice quivering.

You smile, cocking your head to the side. Crossing your arms in front of you, you take the hem of your shirt into your fingers, lifting up and off with ease. “I’m not talking about that. I think I just need some lessons; you know?” Confidence courses through your veins, pushing the disbelief that you were stripping your clothes off for your college professor into the back of your mind.

Eddie says nothing, his eyes watching every movement you make. His mouth gapes open slightly, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He knows he shouldn’t be sitting against his desk watching, he should be stopping you, but he can’t move, his mind in a trance watching you, his student, bare yourself in front of him.

You watch closely, analyzing Eddie’s facial expressions. You interpret his face as shocked, bewildered. You decide to take it another step further, reaching behind you with both hands to unclip your bra, freeing your breasts that you’ve been taunting him with. Left in only your skirt and tennis shoes, you step once more to Eddie, finally close enough to reach out and touch him.

Your fingers play against his face, your fingertips beginning to trace his features. To your surprise, his hands reach out to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your skirt. Eddie maneuvers you between his legs, bringing you almost nose to nose with him. The sensation of Eddie holding on to you makes your core begin to tighten, knowing he’s finally beginning to lean into game you’ve been playing.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Eddie says, his brown eyes watching as the pad of your thumb brushes against his bottom lip. You lean forward, letting your lips hover over his. “Oh, but you know you want to, Professor Munson. I know I want to,” You say, your nose nudging into his as you let your lips get closer and closer to his.

Eddie swallows, the sound of his name rolling off your tongue creating a tender, painful boner to form against the tightness of his jeans. He wants to so bad, ever since you walked into office hours for the first time. So, innocent you were, though Eddie was no fool – he knew it was all an act. The way you were just barely an adult, only nineteen, his young pupil, yet you had the confidence and sexual charm of a grown woman. He had fallen right into your trap, a willing victim.

Without hesitation, you let your lips gently intertwine with Eddie’s, each movement soft and delicate. Eddie hesitates at first, your lips moving against his as his mouth remains stiff though he isn’t able to refrain for long, the feeling of your soft lips against his, the sweetness of your mouth flowing into his forced him to give in. Eddie’s hands begin to move lower down your body, his hands finding their way underneath your skirt. Before he pulls your panties down, letting the drop to your ankles, he lets his fingertips drag against your cunt, feeling the way your pulsing clit is pressed against the fabric of your undergarments. To you, the feeling makes your eyes roll back, the pressure of Eddie’s fingers pressing against your most sensitive parts making your knees weak. You whine against his mouth, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders to press your bare front into his.

It takes everything in Eddie to refrain from pulling your panties down abruptly, flipping you face down onto his desk when you whine against his mouth. Slow and steady; Eddie wants to relish every minute he’s under your spell. Instead, Eddie pushes the fabric of your panties to the side, letting your moistness to be revealed. You drip around his fingers, your body preparing itself for his arrival. Eddie’s breath hitches when he feels how slick your cunt is, how turned on you are from merely his presence, just from a minute or so of kissing. Eddie’s stomach twists with guilt, knowing his interaction with you goes against every university code of conduct, though he couldn’t care less. With a swift movement, he lets his pointer and middle finger plunge into you, your wet core swallowing his digits whole.

This time, the feeling of Eddie pushing his fingers inside of you causes you to moan loudly, throwing your head back, eyebrows knitted together with building frustration. Eddie takes the opportunity, now that your lips are detached, to leave a trail of gentle kisses down your chest, centering right between your breasts. With his free hand, Eddie cups your breast, letting his mouth envelop your hardened nipple. You hand grips Eddie’s upper arm tightly as the tip of his tongue flicks across your nipple, sending a spark across your chest, your eyes pinching shut with pleasure. In a rhythmic motion, Eddie’s fingers move in and out of your cunt, your wetness from arousal beginning to drip down your inner thighs, and down the back of Eddie’s hand, down his forearm.

Your thighs began to tremble against Eddie’s movements, his long fingers fluttering inside you, immediately attracted to the weakest spot inside of you. You feel pressure beginning to build inside your lower abdomen, the aching feeling of needing Eddie’s cock inside of you. Your eyes flutter shut; your body overwhelmed with the feeling of pleasure caused by Eddie’s thick fingers.

You’re caught off guard when you’re moved quickly, now the one sitting against the hardwood desk, Eddie standing above you. You frown at the feeling of emptiness in your cunt, Eddie’s fingers going missing. Through your eyelashes at Eddie, your lips in a small pout. Eddie lingers above you, his tall stature seeming even taller as you sit at the edge of his desk, the hard edge digging into the softness of your ass.

Eddie’s eyes gaze at you admiringly, his hand reaching out to touch your face in the manor you had touched his, his fingertips attending to all your soft yet beautiful features. The world around you slows to a vibrant hum, the hallways no empty, all the other students off to their next classes. You stare back at Eddie, feeling tension hang in the air similar to how humidity hangs in the air on a hot summer day. Thick and heavy. Slowly, his fingers come to a stop, his eyes never leaving your face. The pad of his thumb brushes the bottom of your lip then pushes between your lips. You part your lips, eyes wide as Eddie places his thumb on your tongue, your lips puckering around his finger. Your eyes flutter closed again, his finger moving in and out of your mouth as you suck gently on his digit, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin.

“Such a good girl,” Eddie whispers, his voice shuddering as he feels your mouth enclose around his finger. “Such a bright student.”

You can’t help but smile, the sound of Eddie complimenting you causing heat to creep up your neck to the apples of your cheeks. You sigh against his finger, letting your tongue cradle his thumb. Your clit begins to pulse, the anticipation beginning to kill you softly. Your eyes flutter open, letting your hands reach out to grasp his lower half, your fingers working to unbuckle his black, leather belt. Next, you pull down his fly, revealing a few inches of dark grey boxers, the outline of his cock growing more evident by the second. You let your fingers creep across the band of his jeans, using your upper arm strength to begin to tug downwards.

Eddie pulls his thumb out of your mouth, stepping back to allow you the space to pull his pants and boxers down. You push yourself off the edge of the desk, kneeling down on the floor, in front of Eddie, to pull his pants down to his calves. Satisfyingly, Eddie’s thick cock bounces free from the confines of his jeans, his pink tip at your eye-level. With no hesitation, nor second thoughts, you take his cock into your hand, your mouth opening to welcome him down your throat. Eddie’s member bulges as you guide him gently down the canal of your throat, your lips puckering in a way that that’s you engulf him. You feel him shudder underneath your touch, his eyes pinching shut, his hand finding its way into the thickness of your hair. His fingers intertwine in your hair, allowing Eddie a good grip to guide you how he pleases.

Eddie is only the second person you’ve ever fucked, though your positive the first time barely counts. And he’s certainly the biggest cock you’ve ever dealt with, surely ever seen. Your eyes begin to water as your throat expands to fit him inside, your throat walls beginning to ache at the work it has to do to fit him. Nonetheless, you move back and forth, tears beginning to threaten to spill over onto your cheeks, Eddie moving seamlessly in your mouth. Eddie begins to thrust gently into your mouth, his body moving in autopilot as he responds to the pleasure you provide by giving him head. You whimper and moan as he utilizes your throat in just the way he likes, Eddie deciding what temp you move at, as you hold onto his thighs for balance.

Eddie feels himself getting nearly close, though he has no intention of finishing now. He wants his time with you to last even longer. Eddie backs his hips away from your mouth, letting his cock slip out of your mouth, a single spit string attached at the tip of his cock to your mouth. He leans forward, gripping his hand tightly around your upper arm and lifting you off the ground. With authority, he spins to around, pushing you towards the wooden desk again. Placing a hand on the middle of your back, he pushes you forward, legs pressed against the front of the desk, upper torso bent across the classroom desk. Your eyes and fists squeeze together tightly, the anticipation of feeling Eddie pushed inside of you leaving you on the very edge. You’ve waited for this moment for months. All your wildest fantasies coming true.

Eddie gently kicks your ankles, spreading your legs apart further, gathering both of your wrists into his hands, behind your back. He leans forward, hovering near your ear. “You’re so beautiful, y/n.” Eddie says, his voice low. “I knew you were special when you walked into my classroom at the beginning of the semester – so perky, so eager to please.”

You nod against the desk, feeling the muscles in your shoulder begin to burn from Eddie holding your wrists behind your back. “I wanted to be a good student, Professor Munson. The best one you ever had.”

You hear the sound of Eddie moving behind you, feel the softness of his skin as he presses himself against you, his throbbing cock getting closer to your cunt. With his hand, Eddie guides his tip against your entrance. “How do you want it?”

Truthfully, you wanted it every and any way. “Hard, rough. I want you so bad, I’ve been thinking about this for so long, Professor Munson. Please, I just want to be fucked.”

Eddie can’t help it anymore, the sound of you practically begging for him, the way your voice contorts into a whine. It’s the hottest sound he believes he’ll ever hear. He lines himself up with you, his tip grazing your cunt. You sigh loudly, the feeling of him teasing your throbbing cunt makes your legs shiver and become weak.

Eddie takes a deep breath, feeling like he could come all over your bare ass, the sight of you bending forward across his desk just enough to do the trick. But he refrains. With one hand, he spreads your ass cheeks apart, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. Eddie’s heart beats against his chest, his fingers trembling with anticipation as he eases himself into you. Your slick cunt envelopes Eddie’s cock, tightening around him as he begins to thrust into you. His eyes roll back into his head, the feeling of you causing him to lose his breath.

Your eyes squeeze shut, a whine escaping your lips. Your arms extend from behind your back out to the side, gripping onto the desk. “Oh fuck, Eddie.” You mumble, sighing as you speak. Your body goes from tense to slack, the feeling of Eddie rutting into you bringing you pure pleasure. “Keep going, don’t stop.”

Eddie nods, though he knows you can’t see him. His body moves into you rhythmically, his cock driving entirely into you. Eddie watches for a moment, the way his cock moves into you slowly, your cunt swallowing him whole, and how when he pulls back, his cock is drenched in your arousal. He can’t help but moan in disbelief.

As Eddie takes you from behind, his motions are slow and even, though your body begins to crave more as the seconds pass. You feel Eddie’s long fingers drip your hip bones; his fingernails blunt against your skin. Needing the feeling of Eddie moving through you at a faster pace, you begin to roll your hips against him, essentially using his cock to fuck yourself. Eddie’s eyes widen, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip, as he watches you move against him. “Such a good girl, y/n.” Eddie says, leaning over to brush your hair that has gathered in front of your face. He watches as your face softens; your lips parting as little breaths escape your mouth. “Yes, Professor Munson,” you mumble, your cheeks flushing with a soft pink.

Your back arches, your bottom lifting higher into the air. You squirm underneath Eddie’s grip, his stance holding you in place as he takes over thrusting into you. Eddie feels his knees becoming weak, the sensation of his core tightening in his lower abdomen causing him to flinch. Eddie would love nothing to more than to come into you, thick ropes of his cum filling your cunt, giving him the opportunity to watch it drip out of you. He chooses to refrain, knowing that getting a student pregnant would be worse than fucking a student. As Eddie fantasizes about all the places he wants to come on you, he senses your legs tremble underneath him, your arms extending reaching out across the table, gripping the edge. “Yes,” your voice coos. “Right there.” You clench around Eddie’s cock, your core burning as if you’ve touched the sun, legs trembling as you reach a peak, an intense wave bringing your orgasm through your body, straight down to your toes.

Eddie watches mystified, the way your body shudders underneath his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, soft sighs and whines echoing across the empty classroom. Just you and him. Eddie is sure your orgasming, all because of his touch, is the most beautiful sight, pretty enough to be a historical painting, hung in the Louvre.

After a moment, your body relaxes again, becoming limp as sweat collects across your body and in your hairline. Eddie pulls himself out of you, reaching to grab your forearm. With his strength, he pulls you across the desk, bringing you to your knees in front of him. For the first time in several moments, and he gets a look at your weathered face. Your lips are red and puckered, dried spit across your cheek. Your eyes are glassy, red rimming your eyes, black mascara smudged under your eyes. Your cheeks are flushed, pieces of your hair clinging to your face. You look tired, exhausted, yet you’re still so eager to please, your hands beginning to move towards Eddie’s cock that rests at your eye level. You lick your lips, missing the flavor of him inside your mouth.

Eddie lets his fingers intertwine in your hair again, bringing you underneath his cock. You crouch down, looking up at Eddie through your eyelashes. You watch, arousal still collecting in your cunt, as Eddie strokes himself above you, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. “Come for me, Professor Munson. Let me find out how you taste.”

Eddie’s eyes open, his eyes finding yours. Just then, ropes of cum dribble out of the tip of his cock, splashing onto your cheeks, across your nose. You lean up, resting your tongue just underneath his tip. In a slow flow, Eddie’s come dribbles onto your tongue, the sweet, yet salty, flavor causing your tastebuds to flair. You sigh, satisfaction playing across your face as you swallow Eddie’s load, more of his semen splattering your face as you do so.

Once Eddie is finished, he’s out of breath, sweat causing dark spots across his ‘Metallica’ t-shirt. Eddie pulls his boxers and jeans up, glancing at you as he rights himself, zipping his fly and re-buckling his belt. You're slower to put your clothes on, liking the way it feels to have Eddie’s gaze on your naked body, his eyes taking in every curve of yours.

Once you put your clothes back on, bending over to pick up your zip up hoodie and beginning to put your arms in the sleeve, Eddie coughs, standing awkwardly off to the side. “This can never happen again, y/n. This was a lapse in my judgment.”

You pout, tossing him a glance. You bend over once more, picking your backpack up by one of the straps. “Professor Munson, please” you say, shaking your head. You run a hand through your hair, attempting to make it look as if you just didn’t get railed, by your professor, in a classroom. “We both know this is going to happen again, and again. Should I come to office hours next week?”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. Eddie knows it’s wrong to have relations with a student, likely to get him fired if anyone were to ever find out. But you were so enticing, irresistible. For a moment, Eddie wonders how many people you’ve been with. Where did you learn to be so appealing, to move your hips in such a way, pouting your lips and batting your lashes to draw in any man you please? Regardless, Eddie wants to know more about you, learn what else you want to do with him. “Yes, come to my office hours next week.”

#stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #professor Eddie x reader

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hon3y-y · 1 year ago

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ pov: hockeyplayer!suguru is your loving boyfriend<3

Inclusive to all fem readers<3 (no deep description of body type or skin color)

Enjoy<3

Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who’s hair flows behind him while he skates on the ice, flashing you a bright smile as he skates past you to score. He immediately blows a kiss to you and goes to celebrate with his team. He’ll go skating to the benches and practically throws himself over, “you see me babe?” He calls up to you. You nod, blushing as his coach tells him to sit down and grumbles “keep your head in the game, suguru. We haven’t won yet…” he’ll blow a kiss to you before sitting down, pushing away his teasing teammates.

Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who tells the opposing player standing next to him during the face-off, “by the way, I’m scoring off of this..” the guy looks confused and scoffs at your boyfriends cockiness, but ends up shocked when he does. Before he can fully process how fast suguru scored, he sees getou rush to where you are in the stands, calling out to his lucky charm.

I mean, he’s in front of his favorite person in the world? When is a better time to show off…

He’ll beg you to come to practices, showing you his smooth tricks and waiting for your approval every time. He absolutely loves praise and hearing you cheer for him, even during an empty practice? It scratches his brain in a way that pushes him to try harder, move faster, and win. He just loves to make you proud.

Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who’s own team is freaking out when you said you might not be able to make the game. He’s sulking, and his teammates are all trying to make him feel better.

‘She’ll come, don’t worry!’

‘She’s probably on her way right now.’

‘Just breathe, bro…’ which only makes him grumpier

After confirming you won't be able to make it, he’s out of it the first two periods, allowing the team they’re against to get ahead three points. During intermission you call him, saying you heard they were behind and you’d be able to be there the last period. Somehow he miraculously is back on his game and they end up only losing by one point. You apologized for missing the first half to which he shushes you, “my lucky charm made us lose with dignity, baby. I’m just happy you’re here.” He says while wrapping you in his arms, smiling like he won the Stanley cup.

When he goes home with you for the holiday, he plays hockey with your cousins and lets them win(cause he’s so sweet T-T. Probably dramatically throws himself onto the floor when they score making them giggle every time. Anyway..) That is until your nosey and annoying next door neighbor starts making comments on his plays. He rolls his eyes, leaning on his stick while focusing on the way the neighbor leans into you or comments on how pretty you look and suddenly there’s a puck flying, nearly hitting the annoying man. He goes to where you two are wrapping a protective arm around you, he’s acting shocked too. The neighbors eyes wide in shock sputtering nonsense as you try not to laugh, “shit man, usually I don’t miss.”

Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who runs out of the changing rooms as soon as he’s done and goes to meet you. His eyes sparkling, grin wide on his face as he moves his hockey gear to give you a bear hug. “How’d i do?” His voice is mumbled into your neck, tightening his arms and breathing in your comforting scent. You laugh at the ticklish feeling before facing him, “so good my love, couldn’t take my eyes off you~” making him blush.

Suguru is always worked up after a game, pulling you out to his car with a smirk on his lips. He’s staring down your shirt and smacks your ass when you pass him holding the door for you, “suguru! We’re in public—“ to which he just laughs and begins to tease you, “i thought you liked being watched? Didn’t have a problem when i made you cum on my fingers in front of satoru last week?” To which you gasp and immediately reach up to cover his filthy mouth. “I didn’t know he came in!” Your cheeks are flushed pink and you mumble a tiny ‘hmph’ before going to the passenger seat of the car.

You're confused when he doesn’t open it, turning to look at him and noticing his crossed arms. “That’s my job, princess.” And just like that, your putty for him again. You giggle and turn away as he strolls over only for you to stop him. “Open the back, gonna need it more…” you lean up to his ear and whisper making him bite his lip. “Anything for you, baby.”

NSFW below;

Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who currently has you in his lap in the backseat of his car, his hands grabbing and caressing anything he can. He plays with your tits through your shirt, nipping at your lip and rolling his hips up to grind his aching cock into your covered pussy. “Mmh—take this off, please..” he’s pawing at your shirt, helping you remove the item before immediately pulling your bra down to stare at your pretty tits. He tugs and plays with your nipples, chuckling when you push his hands lower “guru, play with this instead~”

Clothes are thrown around the car, both of you guys impatiently wanting to feel each other. You climb on top of him again, feeling your mouth salivate at the sight of how large he is (never failing to impress you)

The feeling of his tip pushing into you makes you let out a sharp cry, the stretch painful without the prep but your dripping pussy helps glide him inside. Suguru reaches up to caress your soft cheek, kissing your watering eyes while whispering words of encouragement. “I know baby,” he leans his head against the headrest, trying not to cum just by the feeling of his head popping through your tiny, wet hole. “Slow baby, you can take it~” his hands rest on your hips, moving to play with your clit and try to help you adjust.

When you finally sink down onto him fully, he holds you still, closing his eyes and trying to not succumb to cumming right there. Your face is twisted up as his cock nestles against every nerve you have, panting at just how full he makes you. “Su-guru, ‘ure so big—nghh!” You moan when he rolls his hips up.

With your hands using his shoulders as leverage, you begin to ride him. Suguru is noisy, he doesn’t mind showing his lover how good he feels. And as he leans into your ear, telling you how good you’re doing, you can’t be more grateful it’s you he’s talking to

“Good job baby—oh fuck!—riding me so g-good.” He moves his hands to your ass, spanking it and watching the jiggle it makes before grabbing it for leverage. He’s also a little impatient so it’s not long until he fucks up into your pussy, making eye contact with you so he can watch the way you lose yourself in the pleasure. His cock hit your g-spot harshly, you clench tightly around him with your eyes rolling back. You moaned uncontrollably, any attempt to shush yourself stopped by suguru. “Move ur’ fucking—hands.”

Your tears egged him on, enjoying your choked sobs that echoed in the confined space. The car had fog on the windows, shaking lightly and if anyone of his teammates saw, it would be nearly impossible to argue what the two of you are doing.

He slows down, changing his rough pace to slow loving thrusts. He pulls you to him, kissing you passionately and enjoying the intimate moment while reaching down to thumb your clit. You gasp into the kiss, brows furrowing at the double stimulation. “Don’t s-stop!” You beg, messily kissing him letting out shakey breaths. Suguru playfully smiles while nodding, “i won’t baby, promise…”

He adjusts the two of you, laying you down and lifting your legs to your chest before pushing back into you. He groans, and grabs your jaw. “Open.” You do as you’re told and feel suguru spit into your mouth, picking up his pace after watching you swallow it without instruction. “Good—fuckin—girl.” He emphasized with every thrust, nearly hypnotized by how pretty you look.

You tighten around him when he leans down to suck on your harden nipple, bucking your hips to meet him halfway. You’re being fucked dumb, eyes rolling whenever he fucks you full, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge with every drag of his cock. Your voice pitches, “Gon-na cum!”

Suguru wraps his hand around your throat, “yeah? Not even asking? What a brat.” He scoffs. You try and speak, wanting to beg and be his good girl but you can’t. You can feel it building, unable to have any control. His eyes darken, “really? Still not gonna ask?” And you start crying. Your brain is fried, the need to please losing to your own selfish desire to cum.

“S-sor-ry!” You yelp as it snaps. you cum hard, your eyes squeezed tight as your back arches up and your whole body tightening. You're shaking, throwing your arms over your eyes as you curl into yourself as intense wave after wave courses through you. With ringing ears, you don’t know when you finally regain senses but the first thing you feel is Suguru's rough hands caressing your cheek.

Suguru has pulled out of you, “holy shit, looked so hot babe.” You laugh at the surprised look on his face. You look down and notice the wet spot on his seat and try to sit up, embarrassed. “Woah, take a second to breathe, mama.” He jokes while pushing you back down.

“Guru, I’m sorry. Ill clean—“ he cuts you off with an annoyed groan, playfully smacking your pussy making you gasp. “You should only apologize because I didn't get it on camera.” You look up at him and smirk, “you didn’t cum yet, think you can make me do it again?”

Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who does make you cream on his cock again but this time on video. The same video that, with your permission of course, he shows to his teammate satoru with an open invitation to join in on that nights after party

Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru is just the best<3333

A/n: it’s finally done🙏 i have finals coming up so idk when imma write again💔

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hookhausenschips · 4 months ago

Note

Can I request plus size!reader where she is dating Charles but instead of her getting hate and stuff for her looks, the fans actually love her and question how Charles can handle all of her? THEY ARE THIRSTY thank you- 🦥 anon

Anon I love you, I enjoyed creating this. It might be extra cheesy but🤷🏽‍♀️🫶🏽

All Mine

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WC: 2.6k

Warnings: Thirsty fans, Charles is clingy, Y/N is a smartass but she loves her man

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Click here to join any of my taglists

Charles Leclerc had always been known for his charm both on and off the track, but when the news broke that the Ferrari driver was dating a plus-size Black woman named Y/N, the internet exploded in a way no one quite expected.

Instead of the usual scrutiny that comes with being in the spotlight, especially for women who don’t fit the stereotypical mold, Y/N was met with nothing but love—and a lot of thirst. Leclerc’s fans couldn’t get enough of her confidence, radiant smile, and how effortlessly she seemed to handle herself next to the F1 star. But that wasn’t all. The conversation online quickly shifted to something a bit more… provocative.

“How does Charles even handle her?” one fan tweeted, accompanied by a gif of someone dramatically fainting. Another user posted, “Charles out here pulling a QUEEN like Y/N? Boy, you better be built for this!” with fire emojis.

The more they saw of the couple, the thirstier the comments got.

“Charles, blink twice if you’re okay!” one commenter joked after seeing a video of the couple laughing together at a party, Y/N playfully teasing him.

In an interview with a lifestyle magazine, Leclerc was asked about the dynamic between him and Y/N. His face lit up with a wide grin. “She’s incredible. I think I’m the lucky one, honestly. She’s got this presence… it’s magnetic.”

Y/N wasn’t shy about showing her love for Charles either, posting candid moments of the two together on her Instagram. One video that sent fans into a frenzy showed them dancing in their living room, Charles clearly struggling to keep up with Y/N’s moves.

The comments were on fire.

“How is he not on his knees for her 24/7?” one fan asked under the post. “Girl, you are TOO MUCH. Give him a break!” another joked.

At one point, during a Ferrari fan event, a group of women wearing matching T-shirts that read “Charles, can YOU handle her?” held up a sign that read, “Y/N, teach us your ways!”

Charles saw it and burst into laughter, shaking his head. Y/N, who was watching from the sidelines, waved at the group, flashing her signature smile.

“Maybe they should be asking me how I can handle him,” Y/N later joked on her Instagram story, winking at the camera.

From the moment I stepped into Charles’ world, I knew it was going to be intense. I mean, the guy’s an F1 driver, one of the most loved on the grid. But what I didn’t expect was the complete opposite of what I thought would come my way. The moment people found out about us—about me—it was like the fans flipped a switch. And not the kind of switch where they throw shade. Nope. These people were thirsty.

It started small. A few comments under pictures I posted of us together.

“You’re glowing, girl! But, uh, how is Charles handling all of that?” with a winking emoji.

I’d scroll through my Instagram and see stuff like, “We need to check on Charles’ endurance off the track!” or “How does a man with that much stamina survive with a goddess like her?” It made me laugh, honestly. But the more I saw, the wilder it got.

One night, we were at home, lounging on the couch, and I showed Charles a few of the more… explicit tweets.

“Charles, you good, mate?” I read out loud, barely able to contain my laughter. “Blink twice if she’s got you needing an oxygen mask.”

Charles took one look at the screen, his cheeks turning bright red. “They really think I’m struggling out here, don’t they?” he said, shaking his head with that boyish smile I adored.

I grinned at him, nudging him with my elbow. “I mean, they aren’t wrong. You barely keep up with me when we dance.”

“That’s because you don’t warn me before you start those Beyoncé routines in the living room,” he teased back, pretending to huff in frustration.

But the comments weren’t just about Charles. They were about me, too. The fans genuinely loved me, which was wild considering how harsh people can be. They loved my curves, my confidence, and how I didn’t shy away from showing affection to Charles in public. I was always expecting the backlash, the snide remarks about being a plus-size Black woman dating a guy like him. Instead, I was getting comments like, “Sis, PLEASE drop the workout routine because you look FIRE!” and “Y/N, I need your energy. Charles is lucky to even be in your orbit.”

The first time I saw the group of fans at a Ferrari event wearing shirts that said “Charles, can YOU handle her?” I couldn’t stop laughing. I waved at them, completely blown away by how extra they were. I guess I should’ve been embarrassed or something, but I wasn’t. I was feeling myself. And clearly, so were they.

Later, when Charles and I were back home, I sat cross-legged on the bed, still buzzing from the energy of the event.

“They really love you,” he said, leaning against the doorway, watching me as I scrolled through the photos of us.

I looked up at him and grinned. “They love us. Mostly because they think you can’t handle me.”

Charles raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Oh, really?” he challenged, stepping closer, his voice low. “They’re wrong, you know. I can handle you just fine.”

I shot him a playful look. “Prove it.”

The next day, I posted a picture of us—his arms wrapped around me, me standing on my toes to kiss his cheek, the two of us smiling like we didn’t have a care in the world. The caption read: He can handle me just fine, thanks for asking.

The comments? Pure chaos.

“I BET HE CAN! 👀🔥”

“Girl, we don’t need details, but we’re imagining PLENTY.”

“I’m screaming—this whole thing is too much, and I’m living for it!”

Life with Charles was like this. Fun, light-hearted, but also deeper than the public ever saw. Sure, they saw the surface—how he adored me, how we were always laughing together. But what they didn’t see was the late-night talks, the quiet moments where he’d trace patterns on my back, or the times he’d look at me like I was the only person in the world.

The fans were obsessed, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them. But if they knew just how lucky I felt to have him? I think they’d really lose it.

It was the night before the race, and we were in our hotel room, another triple header. The race schedule had been nonstop, and though Charles loved the track, the constant travel and media pressure was taking a toll. He’d just gotten back from practice, exhausted, sweaty, and clearly in need of a break. I was lounging on the bed, scrolling through my phone, when I heard the shower turn off in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Charles emerged, his hair damp and messy, a towel slung low around his hips. He looked up and caught my eye, offering me a small, tired smile. But there was something else—something heavy in the way he looked at me, as if he was holding onto something he wasn’t ready to say yet.

“You okay?” I asked, setting my phone down and sitting up on the bed.

He nodded, but instead of going to his suitcase to get dressed, he walked straight over to me and flopped down on the bed, still only in his towel. Without saying a word, he pulled me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest.

“Charles, you’re still wet!” I squealed, laughing as I felt the water from his hair drip onto me.

He just buried his face in my neck, mumbling something I couldn’t quite catch. I ran my fingers through his damp hair, letting him hold me, sensing he needed it. After a few moments of silence, I spoke up.

“What’s going on, baby?” I asked softly.

Charles sighed, his arms tightening around me. “I don’t know. Just… I missed you today.” His voice was muffled against my skin, and there was a softness in his tone that I hadn’t heard earlier.

I pulled back slightly to look at him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’ve seen me like, every day. What’s really bothering you?”

He hesitated for a moment, then finally admitted, “I’ve been seeing some of the comments again.”

I frowned. “Comments? What comments?”

“You know,” he said, his green eyes locking with mine, “the ones about you. The thirsty ones. People going on and on about how… how they’d kill to be with you. And I know it’s harmless, but sometimes… sometimes I just don’t like it.” He sounded almost shy as he said it, like he didn’t want to admit he was feeling jealous.

I couldn’t help but smile, finding it cute that this confident, world-class driver was feeling protective. “Charles, you’re not actually jealous, are you?”

He looked away, his face turning a bit red. “Maybe a little,” he muttered. “I just don’t like the way they talk about you. They don’t know you like I do. They don’t get to have you the way I do.”

My heart softened, and I leaned in to kiss him gently. “You know you’re the only one who has me, right? No one else even comes close.”

“I know,” he said, his lips brushing mine softly before he pulled back. “It’s just—sometimes I get these thoughts. Like… they don’t deserve to talk about you like that. You’re mine, and I don’t want to share even the idea of you.”

I laughed softly, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I belong to you, Charles. All of me. No one else gets to handle me like this.” I gave him a cheeky smile, knowing that would make him laugh.

And sure enough, his expression lightened, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “Damn right, they don’t,” he said, pulling me even closer. “I’m the only one who can handle you.”

I smirked, enjoying this clingy, vulnerable side of him. “You sure you can handle all of this, Leclerc? Because some of those fans seem to think you’re struggling.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, clearly pretending to be offended. “Oh, please. They have no idea what they’re talking about. I’m doing just fine.”

I giggled, giving him a playful shove. “You sure? Because the way you’re acting tonight makes me think you’re feeling a little insecure, Mr. Ferrari.”

“I’m not insecure,” he insisted, his voice a bit defensive but still soft. “I just… I want to make sure you know that I love you. And that… that I’m the only one who gets to be with you like this.”

I smiled, resting my forehead against his. “I know, Charles. And I love you, too. More than anyone could ever imagine.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. We just stayed there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. Charles held me like he needed to remind himself that I was really here, that I was his.

Finally, I broke the silence. “You’re so clingy tonight. Is this what I should expect every time someone thirsts over me online?”

He laughed, his arms still locked around me. “Maybe. Guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

“I think I can manage that,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek before snuggling into his chest, both of us content in the quiet comfort of just being together.

Charles tightened his arms around me as I nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat comforting. The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows on the walls, and the sound of the city outside faded into the background. It was just us in our little bubble, away from the noise and the track and all the pressures of the race weekend.

I could feel him relax a little, his muscles unclenching as he held me close. I traced small circles on his bare chest, smiling to myself. I loved this side of him—the part of Charles that wasn’t the confident, cool F1 driver but the sweet, vulnerable guy who just wanted to make sure I felt loved.

“So,” I murmured against his skin, “are you going to get clingy every time someone slides into my DMs or comments on my posts?”

He laughed softly, his breath warm against my hair. “Maybe I will. You’re my girlfriend—can’t let anyone think they have a chance.”

“Oh, they know they don’t have a chance,” I teased, looking up at him. “They’re just living out their little fantasies. It’s cute, really.”

Charles pouted, his brows furrowing just a little. “Cute for them, but not for me.”

I giggled, poking his side. “Aw, is someone a little jealous?” I teased, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.

He rolled his eyes, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted, grinning. “It’s not every day I get to see Charles Leclerc all jealous and possessive.”

He huffed, but his arms stayed firmly around me. “I’m not that possessive,” he mumbled, though I could tell he was lying.

“Oh, really?” I arched an eyebrow, sitting up slightly to look him in the eye. “Then explain why you’re clinging to me like I’m about to disappear.”

Charles’ green eyes sparkled as he met my gaze, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Because you’re the best thing in my life,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And sometimes I just want to make sure you know that. That you’re mine.”

My heart fluttered at his words. As much as I teased him, I loved how deeply he cared for me. His jealousy wasn’t about insecurity—it was about how much he valued what we had. I leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I know, Charles,” I whispered against his mouth. “I know, and I’m yours. Always.”

He kissed me back, his lips soft and slow, like he was savoring the moment. When we finally pulled away, he sighed, his forehead resting against mine. “I’m sorry for being weird about it. I just… I don’t want anyone thinking they can take what’s mine.”

I smiled, brushing my fingers through his damp hair. “No one could, even if they tried.”

He pulled me back down to lay against his chest, his hand gently stroking my back. “Good. Because I don’t think I’d survive without you.”

I laughed, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a while, we lay there in comfortable silence, my head resting against his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. The tension from earlier melted away, leaving only the warmth of being close to each other.

Just when I thought he had drifted off, he spoke again, his voice soft and teasing this time. “So… you’re saying if they thirst over you more, I get more cuddles?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned, pulling me closer. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”

I smiled against his skin. “I do.”

Charles let out a content sigh, his hold on me never loosening. “Good, because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

And honestly, I didn’t want him to.

After a beat of silence, he added, “Just… promise me something?”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“If the fans keep getting thirstier, you’ll remind them who you belong to?”

I grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure they know exactly who’s handling me just fine.”

y/n

liked by fan1, fan2, charles_leclerc, and others

tagged: charles_leclerc

y/n: always asking how he can handle me, GIRL HOW CAN I HANDLE HIM. I’M SLURPING UNTIL IT’S FALLING OFF THE BONE😉😩🥵

[View all Comments]

arthur_leclerc: putain de merde, j’espère que maman mère verra pas ça [holy shit I hope mom doesn’t see this]

⤷ y/n: I will apologize later but rn…

lorenzotl: y/n please there are kids…

⤷ y/n: yes Lorenzo down my legs and soon to be swallowed

landonorris: I need you to log off

⤷ y/n: you’re not tall enough to speak to me like that you funky gremlin

charles_leclerc: Mon amour…

⤷ y/n: literally begging on my knees Sharl

⤷ charles_leclerc meet me in my drivers room 👀

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.

CL16 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @xoscar03, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @omgsuperstarg

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

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wittyandobsessed · 24 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Gregory House x Doctor!Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | stalking, harassment, intrusive behavior, obsession.

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

It all began with a routine consultation. Or at least, it was supposed to be routine.

You were working through your usual clinic hours, the steady rhythm of patient after patient, from coughs and colds to overly paranoid Googlers convinced they had rare tropical diseases. It was one of those days when everything seemed slightly off—the air felt heavier, and you couldn’t shake the lingering headache from the case you’d been helping House with earlier that morning.

The next name appeared on your chart: Jason Reid, 34 years old. Chest pains.

You sighed, straightened your white coat, and opened the door to the exam room with your usual professional smile.

Jason was already seated on the exam table, his casual posture at odds with the complaint he’d listed. He had the kind of smile people described as “charming,” and he wore it easily, as if he were used to being the most charismatic person in the room. His clothes were neat but not formal, and he looked perfectly healthy at first glance.

“You’re Dr. L/N, right?” he asked as you stepped inside.

“That’s me,” you replied, setting the chart down on the counter. “Chest pains, huh? What’s been going on?”

He leaned back slightly, one arm propped behind him. “I wouldn’t call it pain, exactly. More like…tightness. Comes and goes, especially when I’m stressed.”

You nodded, reaching for your stethoscope. “How long has this been happening?”

“Few weeks, maybe. It’s not constant, but you know how it is. Felt like I should get it checked out, just in case.”

“Always a good idea,” you agreed. “Let’s start with some basics. Any family history of heart disease? Smoking? High blood pressure?”

He shook his head, rattling off his answers easily. “Nope. No smoking, no high blood pressure, nothing exciting in the family tree. I’m pretty boring, health-wise.”

“Well, boring’s good,” you said, stepping closer. “Let’s have a listen to your heart. Can you lift your shirt?”

He hesitated for just a moment, then pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing a toned chest that suggested he spent time at the gym. He caught your brief glance—purely clinical—and grinned.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” he said lightly. “I’ve been working out. Should be a pretty good listen in there.”

You forced a polite smile, chalking it up to harmless humor. People said awkward things in situations like this all the time.

“Deep breath,” you instructed, pressing the stethoscope to his chest.

Jason complied, inhaling slowly. For a moment, there was nothing unusual—just the steady rhythm of his heart, the faint sound of air moving through his lungs.

“So,” he said, his voice casual. “You must get hit on a lot in your line of work.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in tone. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re smart, you’re obviously great at what you do, and…” His grin widened. “Well, you know, you’re easy on the eyes.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression neutral. “Deep breath,” you repeated, shifting the stethoscope slightly.

He complied again, though his grin didn’t fade. “I’m just saying, it must happen. A lot of guys probably think it’s their lucky day, getting you as their doctor.”

You didn’t answer, focusing instead on finishing the examination as quickly as possible.

“All clear,” you said briskly, stepping back and removing the stethoscope from your ears. “Your heart and lungs sound normal. No murmurs, no signs of anything concerning.”

He chuckled. “Guess I’ve just been working myself up, huh? All that stress, getting to me.”

“It’s possible,” you replied, already moving to the counter to jot down some notes. “But if the tightness continues or gets worse, you should follow up with your primary care doctor. In the meantime, try to manage stress levels—exercise, sleep, that sort of thing.”

Jason slid off the exam table, picking up his shirt but not putting it back on right away. Instead, he lingered, leaning slightly against the counter.

“You know,” he said, his tone dropping into something that made your skin crawl, “if you’re ever looking to blow off some stress yourself…”

Your hand froze mid-note. You turned to face him, your expression carefully blank.

“Mr. Reid,” you said evenly, your voice firm but not unkind, “this is a professional setting. I expect you to treat it as such.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no offense meant. Just thought I’d take a shot.”

“Don’t,” you said, your tone sharper this time.

For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he shrugged and pulled his shirt back on. “Fair enough. No harm, no foul, right?”

You didn’t reply, instead stepping toward the door and opening it. “You’re all set. Have a good day.”

Jason gave you one last lingering look, then walked out, his charm slipping into something less pleasant as he muttered something under his breath.

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as the tension drained from your body. It wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a patient like that, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Still, it didn’t make it any easier.

For a few minutes, you just stood there, taking slow, deep breaths to steady yourself before moving on to the next patient.

A week had passed since the unsettling encounter with Jason Reid, and while the incident had lingered in your mind for a day or two, the demands of your work had quickly swept it aside. Your days were filled with sarcastic banter with House, juggling his impossible diagnostics, and dealing with the occasional chaos in the clinic. Patients came and went like a revolving door, and you’d grown adept at compartmentalizing the more unpleasant ones.

But when you opened the door to your next consultation and saw him sitting there, that smug, self-satisfied smile already plastered on his face, you froze.

“Doctor,” Jason said, his voice dripping with familiarity. “We meet again.”

For a moment, you stood there gripping the door handle, your stomach knotting. You hadn’t recognized his name on the file—Jason Reid was too generic to stick in your memory—but his face was burned into your mind.

Pasting on your best professional mask, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. “Mr. Reid,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “What brings you back today?”

He leaned back on the exam table, his posture overly casual, and gestured vaguely toward his lap. “Well, Doc, I’m having some…discomfort. Down there.”

Your stomach sank further. Of course, he was.

You reached for the chart, skimming through it. “Discomfort where exactly?”

“In my crotch,” he said bluntly, his grin widening as he said it.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you immediately regretted it. The look he gave you was unnerving—smug, calculated, as though this were a game he was playing and you were the unwilling participant. You kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rattling you.

“Let’s get some specifics,” you said briskly. “What kind of pain? Sharp, dull, constant, or intermittent?”

He shrugged, the movement deliberately casual. “It’s hard to describe. Maybe you should take a look, Doc. See for yourself.”

You stiffened but forced yourself to remain calm. “I’ll need more information before we proceed. Any redness, swelling, or signs of infection?”

“Nah, just…feels funny. Like something’s off. You know?” His grin was back, and the insinuation in his tone made your skin crawl.

You sighed internally. There was no way around this. If he was reporting discomfort, you had to examine him, as much as you dreaded what came next.

“All right,” you said, your voice clipped. “I’ll need you to lower your pants so I can perform an exam.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he moved far too eagerly for your liking. You turned to put on gloves, taking a moment to steel yourself before turning back around.

When you did, you were greeted with the sight of him sitting there, pants around his ankles, entirely too comfortable in the situation. You forced yourself to focus on the task, your mind chanting, Professional. Just stay professional.

As you began the examination, Jason’s comments started.

“You must get a lot of practice with this,” he said, his tone suggestive.

You ignored him, keeping your focus entirely on the clinical aspects of the examination.

“Careful, Doc,” he added with a chuckle. “Don’t want to get too rough down there.”

You paused, shooting him a sharp look. “Mr. Reid, I need you to remain still and stop talking so I can finish this examination.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face. “Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You seem so tense.”

“I’m doing my job,” you replied evenly, though your patience was wearing thin.

When the examination revealed nothing of concern, you stepped back and removed your gloves. “There doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong,” you said, turning to dispose of the gloves and wash your hands. “If the discomfort persists, I recommend following up with your primary care doctor or a urologist.”

Jason pulled up his pants slowly, still grinning. “Guess that means I’m all good. But hey, if I have any more…issues, maybe I’ll come back to see you. You’ve got a great touch, Doc.”

Your jaw clenched, but you refused to let him see you react. “Mr. Reid, this is a professional environment, and your comments are inappropriate. I expect you to treat this setting—and me—with respect.”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew more predatory. “Aw, come on. You’re not seriously offended, are you? I’m just having a little fun.”

“This isn’t the place for ‘fun,’” you said firmly, moving toward the door. “This is your second warning. If you can’t respect boundaries, I’ll have to escalate this to hospital administration.”

His expression darkened slightly, but he shrugged, brushing it off. “Fine, fine. Don’t get your scrubs in a twist.”

You opened the door, stepping aside to indicate that the consultation was over. “You’re free to go, Mr. Reid.”

Jason stood, pausing just long enough to give you one last look—a look that sent a shiver down your spine. There was something about it that felt almost like a threat, though he didn’t say anything as he walked out.

Once the door closed behind him, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the counter. Your hands trembled slightly as you recounted the exchange in your mind, replaying the subtle menace behind his actions.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last you’d see of Jason Reid.

You were right to be wary. Jason Reid began to make regular appearances at the hospital, but no longer as a patient seeking consultations. Instead, he wandered the wards, his presence becoming increasingly invasive. At first, it was subtle—catching glimpses of him lingering in the corridors or seated in the cafeteria. He always seemed to be there, hovering just close enough to make you uneasy.

Each time he spotted you, he made a point of approaching, his demeanor annoyingly familiar as if the two of you had a long-standing friendship.

"Fancy seeing you again, Doc," he'd say, his grin never reaching his eyes.

You tried to maintain professionalism, reminding him that people without valid reasons—whether as patients or visitors—had no business in the wards. But Jason waved off your attempts to keep him at bay with dismissive comments.

"Relax, I’m just grabbing some coffee," he’d say, gesturing toward the cafeteria. Or, "I was visiting a friend," though he never provided any details.

The more you tried to draw boundaries, the more he pushed. His visits became more frequent, and his behavior escalated. He began seeking you out deliberately, appearing in places he had no reason to be. You’d find him near the nurses’ station, in hallways leading to your office, even outside the clinic where you worked.

"Are you stalking me?" you’d asked one day, your voice firm though your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Jason laughed, the sound grating and unnerving. "Stalking? Come on, Doc. I just like seeing you. Is that such a crime?"

"It is if you’re making someone uncomfortable," you snapped. "I’ve asked you to stop coming around here without a valid reason. I’m not going to ask again."

But your warnings only seemed to embolden him. Over time, his demeanor shifted from annoyingly persistent to overtly invasive. He began standing too close, brushing his hand against your arm under the guise of friendly gestures, and his comments became blatantly inappropriate.

"You’re tense," he’d said one afternoon when you passed him in the hallway. His hand darted out, gripping your elbow briefly. "You should let me help with that. I’m good with my hands, you know."

You pulled away sharply, glaring at him. "Touch me again, and I’ll report you to security."

Jason smirked, entirely unbothered by your threat. "Go ahead. I’m just being friendly."

And so, you did report him. You spoke to security, detailing his increasingly alarming behavior. Unfortunately, without concrete proof or a specific incident to pin him down, their response was frustratingly tepid.

"Unless he’s directly threatening you or violating any policies, there’s not much we can do," they said, their apologies doing little to ease your growing anxiety.

The situation came to a head one day when you were rushing through your duties, preoccupied with a demanding patient load. You stepped into the staff bathroom for a brief moment of reprieve, only to have your sense of security shattered.

Jason was there.

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you could process what was happening, he cornered you, his arm barring your path to the exit.

"Jason," you said sharply, your heart pounding. "What the hell are you doing here? This is a staff-only area."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. "I couldn’t stay away, Doc. You’re too irresistible."

Your stomach twisted in fear as his other hand reached for your shoulder, his intentions unmistakable. "Don’t," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "Get out of my way, now."

But Jason only grinned, his predatory gaze making your blood run cold. "Come on, don’t play hard to get. I know you want this as much as I do."

The panic surged as he moved to close the distance, his hand gripping your wrist as you tried to shove him away. You struggled against his hold, your mind racing with fear and anger, desperate for an escape.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a nurse walked in, her startled gasp breaking the tense moment. Jason released you instantly, stepping back with a disarming smile as though nothing had happened.

"Oops," he said casually, brushing past the nurse as he exited. "Guess I got lost."

You stood there trembling, your back pressed against the wall as the nurse approached, concern etched on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her eyes searching yours.

You nodded mechanically, though the truth was far from it. Your heart pounded in your chest, your skin still crawling from Jason’s touch. You managed to thank her before leaving the bathroom, your steps shaky as you made your way back to your office.

From that day forward, everything changed. You were constantly on edge, hyperaware of your surroundings. Every sound, every shadow, every unexpected movement set your nerves on fire. You couldn’t relax, not even in the staff areas where you were supposed to feel safe.

Your work began to suffer as the stress took its toll. House noticed, of course, though he didn’t mention it outright. Instead, his comments became sharper, his sarcasm cutting a little deeper, as if he were trying to provoke you into revealing what was wrong.

But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t tell anyone. The fear was too fresh, the humiliation too raw. So, you buried it, hoping that somehow, Jason Reid would finally get bored and leave you alone.

But deep down, you knew better. This wasn’t over.

The constant fear of running into Jason Reid haunted you, gnawing at every aspect of your life. You couldn’t walk down a hallway without glancing over your shoulder, couldn’t sit in the cafeteria without scanning the room, and couldn’t step into an elevator without bracing yourself for the possibility that he might be there. The anxiety weighed on you day and night, stealing sleep from your nights and appetite from your days.

It wasn’t long before the effects became visible. You were sluggish, less focused. Tasks that once took you minutes now dragged on. You found yourself forgetting small details, double-checking your notes more than usual, and catching mistakes that you never would have made before. Your work ethic, once a source of pride, was faltering.

House noticed. Of course, he did. He always noticed.

But he didn’t handle it delicately.

"Maybe try caffeine," he quipped one morning as you stood at the whiteboard, struggling to contribute to the differential diagnosis. "Or better yet, a brain transplant. I hear they’re all the rage."

The team chuckled, but his words didn’t land with their usual playfulness. Instead of shooting back a sarcastic remark, you merely looked down at the floor, biting your lip as you scribbled notes without enthusiasm.

He frowned, though he quickly masked it.

Throughout the day, he kept a close eye on you, watching as you moved through your tasks with a mechanical sort of detachment. Normally, you had a spark—an energy that matched his wit, his eccentricity. But today, you were a shell of yourself, and it grated on him more than he cared to admit.

By the time the team was sent off to run tests on the new patient, House’s patience had run thin. As you started to slip out of the room with Chase and Foreman, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Not you," he said, pointing his cane in your direction. "Stay."

The others exchanged glances but didn’t linger. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you alone with House in the silence of his office.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

You hesitated but obeyed, lowering yourself into the seat while avoiding his gaze.

House leaned back in his chair, studying you with an expression that was equal parts annoyance and curiosity. "All right, spill. What’s going on with you? You’re slower than a med student on their first day. Did you take up drinking, or did the little hamster in your brain finally die of exhaustion?"

That was it. The last straw.

Your hand clenched into a fist on the armrest, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

"Can you just back off for once, House?" you said, your voice louder and sharper than you intended. "Not everything is a goddamn joke!"

The room fell into a heavy silence. House blinked, clearly taken aback. You had worked with him for three years, and while you were no stranger to his sharp tongue, you’d never spoken to him like that.

"Wow," he said after a moment, his tone flat. "Somebody’s got their lab coat in a twist."

But even as he said it, his eyes searched yours, looking for clues to explain your uncharacteristic outburst.

"You know what?" you said, standing abruptly. "Forget it. I don’t have time for this."

You turned to leave, but before you could reach the door, his voice stopped you.

"Sit back down."

There was no sarcasm this time, no edge. Just a quiet command that you couldn’t ignore.

Reluctantly, you turned around and sat back down, your arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the floor.

House leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk as he studied you intently. "Something’s wrong," he said, his voice softer now. "And it’s not just work stress or me being my charming self. So what is it?"

"I’m fine," you muttered, refusing to look at him.

"Yeah, and I’m a motivational speaker," he shot back. "Try again."

When you didn’t respond, he sighed heavily, pushing himself to his feet. He walked around the desk, his cane tapping against the floor with every step, and came to stand in front of you.

"Look at me," he said.

You shook your head, your eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"Look at me," he repeated, his tone firmer this time.

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze, though your eyes barely met his before darting away again.

"Whatever it is," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, "you can tell me. I’m not as heartless as you like to think."

He reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

But the moment his hand made contact, you flinched—an instinctive, involuntary reaction that spoke volumes. You jerked away from his touch, your body stiffening as if he’d burned you.

House froze, his hand suspended in the air before he slowly lowered it.

The room was so silent you could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

You didn’t answer.

His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information he’d gathered over the past week: your distracted behavior, your lack of sleep, the way you jumped at small noises. And now this.

When you refused to meet his gaze, something inside him twisted painfully.

"Someone hurt you," he said, the words more a statement than a question.

You flinched again, confirming his suspicion.

House felt his stomach drop. Anger surged through him, a rare and terrifying kind of anger that he hadn’t felt in years. But he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his voice steady.

"Who?" he asked.

You shook your head, your throat tight with emotion. "It’s nothing. Just let it go."

"Let it go?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Someone hurt you, and you want me to just let it go?"

"I don’t want to talk about it!" you snapped, standing abruptly.

House stepped back, giving you space but refusing to back down.

"You’re scared," he said, his tone softer now. "And you’re not sleeping or eating because of it. That’s not nothing."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to break down in front of him.

"Please," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just leave it alone."

For the first time in a long time, House felt utterly powerless. He wanted to fix this, to fix you, but he didn’t know how. All he could do was watch as you turned and left his office, leaving him standing there with a heavy ache in his chest and a storm of emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

He didn’t know who had done this to you, but one thing was certain: whoever it was would regret ever crossing your path.

House couldn’t stop replaying that moment in his mind—the way you had flinched at his touch, the fear flickering in your eyes. It was unlike anything he had ever seen from you, and it haunted him. He’d seen you strong, confident, sarcastic, and unflappable. But now? You were fading. Slowly but surely, he could see the spark in you dimming, and it infuriated him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t just frustration; it was rage. A cold, simmering rage that built in his chest every time he saw you forcing a smile or heard you insist that everything was fine. He hated lies, and he hated being lied to even more. And yet, every time you brushed him off, claiming that nothing had happened, he could see right through you.

House wasn’t the type to let things go. He wasn’t patient, and he wasn’t tactful. He was relentless, especially when he cared—even if he’d rather eat glass than admit he cared. So he did what he did best: he inserted himself into the situation, whether you wanted him to or not.

For days, House kept a closer eye on you than ever. He began to notice things he hadn’t paid attention to before—how you avoided certain hallways, how you kept your back to the wall in elevators, how you flinched at sudden movements. It wasn’t obvious to most people, but to him? It was glaring.

He started following you, though he’d never admit it out loud. Whenever you left the office, he’d trail behind at a safe distance, leaning on his cane and keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. At first, he told himself it was to confirm his suspicions, to figure out who or what was making you act this way. But as the days passed, it became something more.

Then, it happened.

It was mid-afternoon, and the hospital buzzed with the usual chaos of patients, nurses, and doctors darting through the corridors. House had stationed himself at the corner of a hallway, pretending to fiddle with his cane as he watched you return from the cafeteria.

That’s when he appeared.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of smugness about him that House didn’t like. He walked toward you with a casual confidence that made House’s gut twist.

House’s eyes immediately zeroed in on your reaction. You froze the moment you saw him, your body tensing as if bracing for impact. Your hand gripped the edge of your tray so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The man leaned in closer than necessary, his voice too low for House to hear but his posture radiating arrogance.

House’s grip on his cane tightened, his jaw clenching as he watched the interaction. Your eyes darted around the hallway, looking for an escape, and for a moment, House considered stepping in. He could already feel the satisfaction of smashing his cane against the man’s shin.

But then, you managed to say something that made the man back off. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking as he stepped away. House caught the way his eyes lingered on you, as if he were sizing you up, before he finally walked off.

You stood there for a moment, visibly shaken, before you turned and hurried down the hallway, your head down.

House didn’t waste any time. As soon as he saw you return to your office, he followed, barging in without knocking.

"Who the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

You jumped at the sound of his voice, your head snapping up from your paperwork. "House, what are you—"

"The guy in the hallway," he interrupted, stepping closer. "Tall, greasy smile, too much cologne. Who is he?"

You stiffened, your eyes narrowing defensively. "It’s none of your business."

"Wrong answer," he shot back, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. "You looked like you were about to crawl out of your skin when he showed up. So, I’ll ask again: who is he?"

You stood, crossing your arms over your chest. "I told you, it’s nothing. Just drop it, House."

"Drop it?" He scoffed, leaning on his cane as he loomed closer. "You’re jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and now there’s some creep skulking around the hospital, making you look like you’ve seen a ghost. But sure, I’ll just ‘drop it.’ Great plan."

Your jaw tightened, and you turned away from him, busying yourself with the papers on your desk. "I don’t need you playing detective. I’m fine."

House’s voice softened, but his frustration was still palpable. "You’re not fine. You’re lying to me, and you’re lying to yourself."

"I’m not lying!" you snapped, spinning around to face him. "I just don’t need your help, okay? I can handle it."

"Yeah, because handling it is working so well for you," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What’s next? Waiting until he corners you in an empty room again?"

The color drained from your face, and House instantly regretted his words. He hadn’t meant to push that button, but the reaction confirmed what he’d suspected.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you said quietly, your voice trembling.

"Then tell me," he urged, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Because if you don’t, I’m going to find out anyway."

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "I can’t."

"Why not?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Because it won’t change anything!" you shouted, your voice breaking. "Security doesn’t care, HR doesn’t care, and the only thing I’m going to get out of this is more trouble. So just... leave it alone, House. Please."

For the first time in a long time, House was at a loss for words. He wanted to argue, to tell you that you were wrong, that he could fix this. But the defeat in your voice, the pain in your eyes—it stopped him cold.

"I’m not going to let this go," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "Not until he’s gone."

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned away, wiping at your eyes as you tried to pull yourself together.

House watched you for a moment longer, his chest tight with anger and guilt. Then, without another word, he turned and left your office, his mind already racing with plans to deal with the man who had dared to hurt you.

The tension between you and House was growing unbearable. He wanted to help you, to protect you, and—if he were honest—he wanted nothing more than to deliver a brutal beating to the stranger who had reduced you to a shadow of your former self. But you remained steadfast in your refusal to open up to him.

Your condition had worsened noticeably. You were pale, thinner than usual, with dark circles under your eyes. You seemed distant, distracted, almost as if you were walking through a fog. The vibrant energy that usually defined you had dimmed, and House hated it. He hated feeling powerless, hated that you were suffering in silence.

Frustrated, he had tried to dig up information on the man you had interacted with, but no one seemed to know anything about him. It was as though the guy had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the fear he had instilled in you.

Then Jason appeared again.

You were in a cramped storage room, rifling through files and patient charts, when you felt someone come up behind you. Your body tensed immediately, the air around you thick with dread. Slowly, you turned to see him—Jason, with that same smug grin on his face that made your stomach churn.

Before you could react, he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Panic surged through you like ice in your veins. The small room suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in as Jason stepped closer.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

Jason’s smile widened, his eyes raking over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “You know what I want,” he said casually, as if this were a normal conversation.

You backed away, trying to keep distance between you, but there was nowhere to go. “You need to leave,” you said, trying to summon every ounce of authority you could muster.

Instead of listening, he reached for you. His hands were rough and insistent as he grabbed your arm, pulling you closer. You tried to push him away, but he was stronger, and his grip tightened.

Jason leaned in, his face far too close to yours. “Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his breath hot and sickening against your skin.

Your heart raced as panic overtook you. This is it, you thought. This is really happening.

But something inside you snapped. Fueled by adrenaline and sheer survival instinct, you shoved him as hard as you could. Jason stumbled back just enough for you to twist away from his grasp and lunge for the door.

In your frantic attempt to escape, you tripped, falling hard against the doorframe. Pain shot through your wrist as you landed awkwardly, but you managed to scramble to your feet and fling the door open.

Jason stood there, chuckling darkly as he watched you flee down the hallway. “You can’t avoid me forever,” he called after you. “I’ll get what I want eventually.”

His words echoed in your ears long after you had escaped.

A few hours later, House found you in the clinic. You were holding your wrist close to your chest, trying to hide the pain, but he wasn’t fooled. He noticed everything: the way you flinched at sudden noises, the way your eyes darted nervously around the room, as if expecting Jason to appear at any moment.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, turning away.

House wasn’t having it. He grabbed a stool and sat down beside you, gesturing for you to show him your wrist. When you hesitated, he gave you a pointed look. “Unless you want me to guess and get it completely wrong, let me see it.”

Reluctantly, you extended your arm. House examined your wrist with surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing over the tender area with a care that was uncharacteristic for him.

“You’ve got a mild sprain,” he said after a moment. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

House’s piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. “Don’t lie to me,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual sarcasm.

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. “It’s nothing, House. Just let it go.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not this time. You’re jumpy, you’re not sleeping, and now you’re hurt. Who did this to you?”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you—it was too much. You felt the dam you had built around your emotions begin to crack.

“I can’t,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Yes, you can,” he pressed, his tone softening. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. Just tell me.”

Under the weight of his concern, the floodgates opened. You broke down, sobbing as you finally told him everything. From the first consultation with Jason, to his increasingly aggressive behavior, to the terrifying encounter in the storage room.

House listened in silence, his jaw tightening and his hands gripping his cane so hard his knuckles turned white. When you finished, he sat back, his face unreadable but his eyes burning with anger.

“That son of a—” he muttered under his breath, standing abruptly.

You flinched at his sudden movement, and he immediately softened. Setting his cane aside, he hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into a gentle embrace.

For a man who was often so abrasive, so rough around the edges, his touch was surprisingly tender. He held you as you cried into his chest, murmuring quiet reassurances that he would handle everything, that you were safe with him.

House wasn’t just angry—he was enraged. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, ignited something in him that he hadn’t felt in years. A protective instinct he couldn’t ignore.

But first, he focused on you. He made sure your wrist was properly bandaged, insisted you rest, and even called Wilson to cover your shifts for the rest of the day.

As you lay curled up on his couch, exhausted but safe, House sat in his chair, his mind racing. Jason had no idea what kind of storm he had unleashed. And House? He was going to make sure Jason never had the chance to hurt you—or anyone else—ever again.

House wasn’t just angry—he was enraged. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, ignited something in him that he hadn’t felt in years. A protective instinct he couldn’t ignore.

But first, he focused on you. He made sure your wrist was properly bandaged, insisted you rest, and even called Wilson to cover your shifts for the rest of the day.

Jason was in the hospital cafeteria the next day, leaning casually against a table as if he owned the place. House spotted him instantly. That smug grin Jason wore was enough to make House’s blood boil, but he forced himself to stay calm—for now.

House sauntered over, leaning heavily on his cane as he approached. “Jason,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fancy seeing you here. Again.”

Jason turned, surprised but not intimidated. “Dr. House, right? I heard about you. The genius doctor with the lousy bedside manner.”

House smirked, but his eyes were icy. “That’s me. And you’re the creep who’s been stalking my colleague.”

Jason stiffened but quickly masked it with a cocky laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” House said, his tone deadly. He stepped closer, his cane tapping ominously against the floor. “You see, I know everything about you now. Your pathetic little job, your failed relationships, and—oh, this is my favorite—those online forums where you like to brag about your ‘conquests.’”

Jason’s grin faltered, and House pressed on. “Here’s the deal. You leave her alone, or I’ll make sure everyone you’ve ever met knows exactly what kind of person you are. Your boss, your family, your friends—assuming you have any left.”

Jason’s face darkened. “You can’t prove anything.”

House leaned in, his voice low and menacing. “Try me.”

Jason didn’t take the warning seriously. House knew he wouldn’t—it wasn’t in his nature. So House set his trap.

Using the information he’d gathered, House manipulated Jason into returning to the hospital under the guise of another consultation. When Jason arrived, House was waiting.

He led Jason to an empty exam room, locking the door behind him. Jason frowned, sensing something was off.

“What’s this about?” Jason asked, his bravado starting to crack.

“Oh, just a little chat,” House said casually, leaning against the counter. “You see, I’ve got a friend in law enforcement. He’s very interested in hearing about your... extracurricular activities.”

Jason scoffed, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. “You have nothing on me.”

House smirked, pulling out a folder and slapping it onto the counter. Inside were printed screenshots, surveillance photos, and a detailed timeline of Jason’s harassment. “This says otherwise.”

Jason paled. “You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” House said, his voice like steel.

House wasn’t content with just scaring Jason. He wanted him to feel the same helplessness you had felt.

He had arranged for a security guard to escort Jason out of the hospital, but not before a very public confrontation. House made sure the team—and half the hospital staff—were present as Jason was marched out, humiliated and furious.

“You’re done here,” House said loudly, his voice carrying through the hallway. “And if you ever come near her again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The sight of Jason’s humiliation didn’t erase the pain he had caused you, but it was a start.

House wasn’t done yet. He sent an anonymous tip to Jason’s employer, detailing his predatory behavior and providing evidence. Within days, Jason was fired. His reputation was in tatters, his social circle abandoned him, and he was left scrambling to piece his life back together.

House made sure Jason knew exactly who was behind his downfall. A single note, left on Jason’s car, read:

Next time you think about hurting someone, remember this. And remember me.

House returned to his apartment that evening, where you were waiting. You looked better—still fragile, but there was a spark of relief in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Did you... do something?” you asked hesitantly, sensing that something had changed.

House shrugged, his expression carefully neutral. “Let’s just say Jason won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Tears filled your eyes, and before House could react, you threw your arms around him. He stiffened at first, but then his cane clattered to the floor as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

House held you tighter, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Nobody messes with you. Not on my watch.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt safe. And for the first time in years, House felt like he had done something right.

#oneshot #x reader #greg house x reader #house md #house x reader #gregory house

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krirebr · 3 months ago

Note

random hoeing:

Steve catching you in the rain, his white shirt completely soaked and transparent

Ok, this has to be Neighbor Steve.

Warnings: explicit language, more fluff than I normally do, completely unedited, 18+ - MINORS DNI

After Steve caught you ogling him during the heatwave, the tone of your conversations when you run into him in your building has gotten decidedly flirtier. But for whatever reason, that's where it's stopped. As much as you've tried to send signals that you are very open to more, he's never taken you up on it. Which is fine. It's fine. Totally fine. You are very cool with it. The thought of it definitely doesn't make you shrivel up inside. You are so cool.

All of that is the furthest thing from your mind right now, though, as you and your dog run through the rain. It'd been such a nice day, but as you hit the halfway point of your usual longer route, the sky unexpectedly opened up and you and your poor dog were hit by an absolute downpour. Now, finally home, you're both completely soaked and desperate to get inside and dry.

After some fumbling, you get the door to your building unlocked and opened. Just as you're about to get inside and let the door close behind you, you hear your name ring out. You turn around to see Steve hurrying up the path. "Hold the door!" he yells.

You freeze, doing as he asked. Holy shit. He's just as soaked as you, but while you're sure you look like a drowned rat, he very much does not. He– Well. He– He's wearing that damned white t-shirt again. Except it's not white now, it's translucent. You can see everything – that tattoo you spotted before, and a few more to go with it, an incredible set of abs, nipples. Holy shit.

He quickly ushers you inside, thank god, because you can't move on your own, your eyes still stuck to his chest. "Fuck, that came out of nowhere, huh?" he chuckles.

The moment you're out of the rain, your dog proceeds to do her best to shake herself dry, as if the three of you weren't already dripping all over the entryway. "Oh, shit," you mumble, reaching for her without really knowing what to do.

Steve just laughs. And then does it himself, shaking out his golden locks. Part of his hair flops down over his forehead, and you do your best to hold in your gasp. Really it's just so unfair that he could get caught in a rainstorm and come out looking like that. What the actual fuck? you think to yourself.

Except, judging by the way his head whips around to look at you, maybe you didn't think it. Maybe it was more out loud than you'd meant. Oh god. You immediately start babbling, which is unfortunately just as uncontrollable as the initial slip-up you're trying to make up for. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I just– I mean– Look at you!" You throw a wild gesture at him as he just stares at you with his mouth open, trying to take in your ramble. "It's cats and dogs out there and you look like that?? While I–" another wild gesture, at yourself this time. "I just– How is it fair that you're so beautiful??"

"You think I'm beautiful?" he finally manages to interject.

"Huh?" And that's when your brain finally catches up. Oh dear god. What is wrong with you?? You cautiously glance at him to find him staring at you, not upset, but like he's trying to figure you out. Fuck it, you suddenly think. You've already embarrassed yourself. You have nothing left to lose. "You wanna get dinner with me sometime?"

You swear that the smile that blooms on Steve's face is bright and warm enough to dry you both off. "I was starting to worry I was reading your signals wrong. Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to."

Your answering smile is strong enough to push all the clouds away.

☔

Thanks for the fun prompt, Eva!

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#ask kris #biteofcherry #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers drabble #cevans characters #chris evans fanfiction #drabble #asks are always welcome

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stxrshxpxd · 8 months ago

Text

”that’s my girl” part 7

masterlist

pairing: dr house x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: smut

prompt: reader manages to stop house from committing his daily dose of malpractice, and distracts him with something else.

“What the hell are you doing?” I interjected, having followed House into the patient’s room and watched him quickly reach for a syringe. I knew what he was doing in fact. He had just come up with a new theory as to why the poor sedated man in front of us was hurtling towards certain death, and House had to wake him to get answers out of him.

“I feel like a chat. I get lonely too sometimes.”

“He’s just had surgery, you can not wake him!”

With that, I grabbed his arm with both my hands just milliseconds before he could stick the needle into the man’s thigh.

“A little pain isn’t gonna kill him,” House argued and stared me down while I kept clinging on to his tense arm.

“You’re right. My bet is he just turns into a giant asshole,” I took a dig at him and he laughed shortly with dark eyes.

“Clever girl.”

“Stupid man,” I countered, grabbing the syringe from his grip and letting go of his arm. He turned to me fully, his smirk fading.

“You’re not waking him.”

“Last time I checked I call the shots.”

“I miss when you used to refuse to talk to patients,” I sighed, taking small steps back to keep the syringe out of his reach.

“I miss when you were just a pretty postgrad trainee who did what I told her to do,” House fired back with a stupidly charming smile and I gave him an eye roll in return.

“He’ll wake up in an hour.”

“We may not have an hour,” he declared back. I knew he was probably right, but I also knew the team had to work together to pull on House’s reins and keep him somewhat within reasonable ethical territory. And I realised I had to do it using my advantages.

“You may not get to sleep with me again if you wake him,” I continued arguing with a cocky smirk of my own, tilting my head as I blinked up at him. House shut up at that and his cold blue eyes scanned my face.

“But, hey, there’s always a hooker available right?”

He scowled and breathed heavily, refusing to say anything for a little while. I had hit a sensitive spot in him. I knew he was completely hooked on me. I wasn’t sure if it went beyond sex, but it clearly meant enough that he would rather pump the brakes on his obsessive puzzle-solving than lose me.

“God, you’re infuriating!” he said in a jokingly exaggerated groan, to steer away from real emotion.

“And you have no morals,” I smiled back viciously. “And yet I’m crazy about you. Count yourself lucky.”

I hooked my hand into the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him with me further away from the patient’s bed, to visually demonstrate my dominance.

“Makes me happy to know you’re so whipped for me. I can make you do anything I want,” I grinned proudly and House smirked back, his eyes half lidded as they gazed down at me.

“All thanks to that nice ass of yours,” he muttered and his face got even closer to mine as he reached down to clasp his fingers around my butt cheek. His breath fell sharply on my face and I squirmed as he smiled wider, smug about winning back his dominance.

“We are with a patient,” I scolded, if scolding could be done under the breath. I didn’t really want him to remove his hand.

“Good thing he’s unconscious,” he joked in a mumble and I laughed softly into the kiss he pressed against my lips.

“For another hour,” I muttered into the kiss and House took that as a prompt to find something to kill the time, backing me into the patient’s bathroom with his hands squeezing my waist.

It wasn’t long before his fingers had undone the button and zipper of my trousers and delved inside them. I swallowed half of my moan and bit down on my lip while my hands interlocked behind his head.

“Uh-uh,” House muttered, shaking his head. “I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”

My breath was already trembling at the feeling of his fingers drawing circles into me, and I nearly shuddered as he mumbled into my ear.

“That’s better,” he whispered with a smile I could just about see out of the corner of my eye as I let my moans spill into his ear.

His other hand was still clinging onto my waist as he held me against the wall. I shoved my hands into the back of his hair and clasped my fingers around his short locks, enjoying his slight groan.

“House,” I whimpered, my legs weakening as his fingers picked up their pace.

“Mm?”

“House,” I whined again and he responded by kissing my neck harshly. The slight sting of my skin trapped between his teeth only added to my pleasure and pushed me over the edge.

“That’s it,” House exhaled encouragingly as my legs nearly gave out, his one hand still keeping me steady by the waist.

My high faded and I regained some composure as I let a few deep breaths pour out of me, onto his shoulder. He stayed close to me for another moment and was in a rare state of silence. No one-liners or clever remarks. I felt a wave of affection come off him. Then he backed away slightly.

“Well, thanks. I’ve got clinic duty,” I shrugged with a playful smile and House protested with a scoff.

“I only came up here to stop my crazy bo-“ I took a beat. “boss, from torturing our patient.”

Patting his chest with one hand and the syringe in my pocket with the other, I turned around and left his quiet smile behind.

#house #house md #dr house #fic #imagine #smut #gregory house #gregory house x reader #house x reader

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appocalipse · 1 year ago

Note

hello! can I please request "I really, really want to kiss you right now." with steve and our shy!reader friend?!

here you go my love! hope you like it ♥ 1.3 k

The rain catches the two of you by surprise.

It pours down relentlessly, the cold droplets stinging your skin as you and Steve hurry towards his car, sadly parked way too far away from the charming flea market you had somehow dragged him to earlier that afternoon.

Well, not really dragged exactly — Steve himself had volunteered to give you a ride the moment he heard you telling Robin how much you wanted to go and see if you could find some new furniture for your apartment, maybe even some decorations. But you felt as if you had dragged him there because, c'mon, what kind of guy thinks walking around a flea market with a friend is any fun?

And to top it off, the summer rain had come out of nowhere, sending everyone desperately running for shelter somewhere. Some lucky vendors had their tents already set up when it started, others began trying to cover their wares with tarps or whatever else they had at hand. A good number of them simply started to pack up their things to leave though, as did most of the potential customers who had been taking a look around — you and Steve included.

He had left his BMW in the parking lot of a closed store. It had seemed much closer before than it does now, as you and him run through the rain, palms over your heads to try to shield your faces from the relentless water.

You accidentally step into a puddle. Water splashes around your ankle, wetting the bare skin all the way up to your calf. You mutter a curse under your breath, deeply resenting your decision of wearing a summer dress today. "Oh, great."

Steve chuckles, looking over his shoulder to you. Then what you can only assume is instant karma happens, and he slips and falls into a larger puddle, splashing water all over his pants and shoes.

You try to hold back, you really do, but the laughter is already building up inside of you, threatening to come out. And besides, he makes no move to get up, sitting there on the ground all wet, looking up at you like an abandoned puppy.

You giggle, which makes him laugh as well.

"Sure," he says, "go ahead and laugh."

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" you choke out, trying to hold back your laughter as you approach him, offering one hand to help him up. "Are you okay?"

But of course he is. Except for the blow to his ego, that is. And now, in addition to just being wet, his jeans are also partially stained with mud.

And the t-shirt — which is white, no less — starts to stick to his skin, giving you a view you didn't ask for but that's certainly hard to ignore.

Steve accepts your hand, but you use both hands and too much force to pull him up, so he almost collides with you when he finally stands, his face inches from yours. You both laugh, because it was supposed to be funny — his head almost bumps into yours — but he grabs your shoulders and the remnants of the laughter from before slowly die when you realize without a doubt that he's looking at your mouth.

And you at his. In the rain. Doesn't get any more romantic than this.

Except for the fact that Steve is Steve, the former King Steve, the boy who had a pretty girl on his arm every week, while you are...you.

You're not sure who pulls away first, who clears their throat, changes the subject. But before you know it, you're sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car, staring at the dashboard as lightning cuts across the darkened sky in the distance, a storm clearly brewing.

And it's worse. This feeling you have whenever you look at him or he says your name or anyone mentions his…it's somehow worse like this, in this moment, inside this car.

As if that wasn't enough, he offers you a jacket that he takes from the backseat. His jacket.

"Thanks," you murmur, taking the jacket and putting it on. It's warm. You remember the last time you saw him wearing it and resist the urge to close your eyes for a moment, inhaling his scent that still clings to the fabric. It's like a mix of laundry detergent, soap, and something uniquely Steve.

You feel a blush creep up your neck, and you look away, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.

He hasn't started the car yet, you notice. Perhaps he's considering waiting to see if the weather will get a little better? It doesn't look that bad that it's not safe to drive, you think.

“Sorry for dragging you here for nothing,” you say, when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything.

“You didn’t drag me,” Steve assures you, sitting half to the side to look at you. "And what do you mean, for nothing? You wanted to look at the furniture, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we didn't buy anything and now you're all wet."

He chuckles so quietly you almost don't hear. "I didn't come here to buy furniture."

You think about asking what he actually came for, but that would be a stupid question, wouldn't it? A hope of hearing something that he probably won't say. He came so you could buy what you wanted. He's a good friend like that.

Still, when you turn your head to look at him, there's something different in the way he's looking back at you. You smile, hoping to God he doesn't notice the nervous edge behind it, "What?"

Steve opens his mouth. He's pretty sure he didn't give those words permission to come out, and yet they come out anyway, hoarse and low, "I really, really want to kiss you right now."

You watch his lips move as he speaks, but it's like your mind can't process the words.

And once you do, you blink, not quite sure what to say to that. Your heart feels like it's trying to escape your chest, a wild thing thumping against your ribs. But there's something else in there too. Something warm. Something you haven't felt in a long time.

The front seats are close enough, so Steve reaches out, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across your lips. "I've wanted to for a while now," he whispers, leaning in closer.

You feel hot all over, the air in the car suddenly too thick to breathe.

Steve's fingers trail down your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip, teasing you. It's a slow, deliberate movement, as if he's memorizing every inch of your face, every second of this moment. "Do you want me to?" he whispers, and the teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flip over.

Your mind is spinning, but somehow you manage to force out the words, "Yes." You mean it. God, you mean it.

Steve's smile grows in that charming, lopsided way he has when he's happy. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as he leans in closer, closer…and then his lips are there, pressing softly against yours. Feather-light at first, like he's testing the waters, making sure this is what you want. But when you part your lips, letting him in, he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a slow, lazy rhythm, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him.

And then, all too soon, he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. "Was that…was that okay?"

You smile, leaning as close to him as you can without jumping over the gearshift.

"It was more than okay."

[join my 3k followers celebration! ♥]

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble

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lostberet · 11 months ago

Text

꒰‧₊˚☆༉‧₊˚. ROLL & DICE | min yoongi (m)(s)

୨ৎ synopsis: Your parents never approved of your boyfriend. Your dad loves his car, your boyfriend loves to win, and you love to celebrate his victories.

⋆.˚ genre: smut racer boyfriend!yoongi, established relationship, racer au, inspired by fast and furious kinda, ODETARI inspired, slight age gap (reader is 19, yoongi is 22). ⋆.˚ disclaimer: smut, car sex, parking lot sex car (public sex?), racing, reader gets a bit scared at how fast it goes, dirty talk, yoongi referring to reader as a princess, hoseok calls reader mama, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), hand kink, choking kink, spanking, big!dick!yoongi because he is, creampie. english is not my first lenguage, if i missed anything, let me know ⋆.˚ a/note: I am literally so in love with yoongi, I love him so much, he is my man he just so- UGH, I bite my pillow whenever I see anything relating to Yoongi, I'm so obsessed. Anyways, enjoy, comment and reblog! chiao!

masterlist || entry ||

It was noisy, stinky and slutty.

Your boyfriend's hand tested on your hip, holding you close to him as both of you leaned on the hood of his Dark Blue Mustang, the orange LED lights under the car lighting your feet. You wore a jean mini skirt, pink plump heels, and a tank top that also matched the pink of your heels. Your closet sure was more brighter than your boyfriend's who only wore a baggy black sweats and an oversized black t-shirt. You wore gold jewelry, he wore silver. Yoongi eyed the crowed before turning to look at you, leaning in to whisper in your ear before being interrupted by a loud greeting.

"Yo mama looks good today, Agust D, how'd you been?" A man with a heart-shaped smile walked over as he greeted Yoongi with a hug and a pat on his back, "Smile Hoya!" Yoongi greeted back, turning to look at you and extending his arm towards you, "My woman always looks great."

You accepted Yoongi's hand, smiling at his friend, "Thanks for having me tonight, Smile Hoya" Smile Hoya just waved his hand, for his street style, he sure looked very bright, "Call me Hobi, you're my main guy's girl."

You only smiled, hiding your face on your boyfriend's shoulder while Hobi turned to Yoongi, "Better not lose tonight, got thousands on this baby right here." Hobi stated while he patted the Mustang's hood.

Yoongi only rolled his eyes, "I never lose, Smiles." Hobi, swinging his index finger in the air, "Not with Kai in the house." Turning his whole body towards you, Yoongi hugged your waist, looking down at you, "She's my lucky charm tonight and always." And with a final laugh, Hobi left the two of you alone.

"Shut up, D." You teased before leaning in and pecking his lips. Yoongi only pocked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, "If I win, can I have this?" He asked before slapping your ass, causing your to jerk up. You let out a laugh and smacked his chest, pulling away from him, "Sure you can, only if you win."

"Engines ready!" Yelled a blonde, her bikini top was loose and her shorts were down a bit to where her pink thong was displayed. You looked at Yoongi as he prepared himself, checking the mirrors and losing his nerves. You chuckled a bit before looking in front. The blonde removed her bikini top, displaying her breast. Your jaw dropped as you let out a breathy laugh. You still couldn't get used to this stuff.

"Yours are way prettier, princess." Yoongi teased as he gazed his eyes down on the ground right in front of the blonde's feet. You softly hit Yoongi's arm, which he only laughed. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he stepped on the handle, letting the Mustang roar. His head turned to his left, where Kai was, his windows rolled down as he sent Yoongi a friendly raise of his hand, Yoongi only nodded once at him.

"Ready.." The blonde echoed once more, eyeing the crowd as they cheered, "Get Set," She commented as she raised her yellow bikini top. You felt your anxiety kick in as you rubbed your hands on your thighs. "Go!" The moment the blonde threw the bikini top on the ground, Yoongi stepped on the paddle, sending the car in motion. Your body pressed back on the seat, Yoongi played with the paddle as he drove the car, smirking as he noticed Kai being left only a few feet behind.

Yoongi reached over towards you and grabbed the walky-talky from your lap, "Smiles, tell me where to go." The other line fell silent before Hobi's cheery voice came on, cheers could be heard in the background, "Turn right into Avenue Street, and you'll get into the highway all down to Washington."

"Thanks, bud, see you at the finish line." Yoongi echoed before throwing the walky-talky behind on the seats and making a sharp turn to the right on Avenue Street. "The Highway??" You asked, holding onto the seat under you, "they cleared the highway up, princess." You frowned your brows a bit, "uh, yoongi.. that's illegal.." Yoongi only let out a deep chuckle, "I know."

Getting into the highway, yoongi changed the handle, causing the car to speed further, noticing Kai catching up. It all seemed to be going well until Hobi's voice echoed on the eat behind him, "D, police noticed the blockage, change of route." Yoongi breathed out a cuss, "princess, can you get the talky for me?" You nodded and turned your body, bending over the small space to grab the talky.

"Nice ass. You wore those cute undies i like?" Yoongi commented, making you turn faster than the speed of light, your face flushed, "you perv.." you huffed as you handed him the talky. Yoongi only grinned before replaying to Hobi, "if the police appear on my ass, we're splitting the money 75 to 25." Yoongi warned, causing the other line to laugh. "If they appear, you just gotta lose them, old pal."

Turning down the highway into a curvy road, Yoongi felt his heart stop, seeing the police car parked. Unable to do anything, he shook his head and continued down the road, causing the police siren to go off. You looked behind you to see the bright blue and red lights, "Seat belt, princess, we've talked about this" You nodded and quickly put on your seatbelt.

The speed of the car made you feel as if you were floating, an interestingly terrifying feeling. You gulped as you felt the sharp turns, "Yoongi.." you whispered, his hand holding yours that clenched your skirt, "You're okay, princess, I'm here."

On the right, Kai sped up, making a right turn to leave the highway and find another route. Yoongi mentally praised the guy. Yoongi had memorized all the streets in the city, that's what every great street racer does, always be prepared. Yoongi grabbed the talky, "Hobi, prepare that finish line, imma lose this shitty cop." Changing the speed, your boyfriend drove towards an exit, going into smaller streets, it was dangerous, but at least he'd lose the cop.

Running through some neighborhoods and allies, Yoongi was able to lose the cop, lightly rubbing your thigh, "see, lost 'em." You only let out a soft laugh, taking a breath in. Hopping back into the right route, Yoongi eyed each enterence, knowing Kai would pop out. As if calculated, Yoongi shifted a lane, Kai appearing beside him, "fucking dick."

The cars were neck to neck, and the sound of the engine echoed in your ears as you gripped the seat, closing your eyes. Yoongi eyed the car next to him, his brows frowning. He could tell from the multiple colors that the finish line had been set, and everyone was waiting for the winner. Yoongi reached behind him, and the sound of clicking and tapping could be heard, "what are you doing?"

Yoongi looked over at you, "winning this race." Your eyes trailed back to the road, your mouth opening a bit in suprise, "so that's how racers do.." Yoongi only giggled softly, setting himself before he grabbed a small control, handling it to you, "have the honor of winning this race."

Your eyes shined as you saw the remote, grabbing the remote and kissing Yoongi's cheek. You waited until Yoongi's call to press it. Kai seemed to have thought the same thing. However, he did it sooner. His car flaying forward. Yoongi only barked out a laugh, "idiot."

After 10 seconds, his car lost its speed, falling back to be neck to neck. Yoongi smirked as he stepped on the peddle, speeding beside him, "Now!" You pressed the button, this time his Mustang flying forwards, you let out a yelp in surprise at the speed, "Oh shit."

You closed your eyes, not wanting to think much about the speed, and before you knew it, the car had slowed down, Yoongi's laugh echoing in the closed space of the car. He did a U-turn and was soon coming to a complete stop. You heard cheers coming from outside the car, your sign that you've made it through the finish line.

You opened your eyes to see people crowding the car. You were about to step out when Yoongi stopped you, "Wait." He lowered the window on his side, Hobi pushing his way through, "You the man, D!" Hobi praised, "Cop was on my ass Smiles, I warned you.”

Hobi only rolled his eyes, "yeah, yeah, I know man–" the sound of sirens distracted the crowd, causing people to scatter to their own cars, "Enjoy your chase, Smiles" Yoongi smirked before driving off, Hobi stood frozen in the chaos before flipping the Mustang off.

The light sound of sirens echoed in the darkness of the parking lot, a few floors of the lower level, the area was dark, probably since it was an old lot. The cops wouldn't check there, and your boyfriend knew that. Yoongi let out a laugh as he looked over, seeing the chase of many cars by the cops, some actually even being pulled over, "We lost them, princess."

You only let out a moan, holding onto the hood of the car. Your boyfriend had you bent over the hood, skirt up to your waist, and cock balls deep inside you. Your pussy clenches around him, leaking from the multiple orgasms you've already had. Yoongi's sticky fingers from all the fingering rested on your hip, your heels weren't bringing in any support to you, having to stand on the tips, "fuck, yoongi.." You whined.

"yes, princess" Your boyfriend purrs, unbothered by your panting self. He pressed his hips more onto yours, feeling him push his dick deeper into you, "please.." your voice was low, yet he understood what you wanted. His fingers dug into your waist as he brought your hips back harder against his own, and the way he was thrusting into you had you feeling like the air was being punched out of your lungs.

His dick was so big, so long, so thick. He knew how to fuck, and he was fucking you so good. Your gummy like walls pulsing around his veiny cock making you moan out filthy words you never imagined that would ever come out of your mouth. He drove you to sin.

Yoongi's hand snaked towards your throat, his fingers wrapping around your throat, as his pace picked up, "You like my hands wrapping around your pretty throat, huh?" You heard him chuckle from behind, getting a moan out of you. Your boyfriend pulled your upper body against his chest, your back pushed against his chest, and a strangled moan escaped your lips, the sensation starting to make you feel light headed.

He was so damn good, and you felt yourself nearing your climax, with him still pounding into you from behind, your breast brushing against the hood as the car moved with the force of his thrusts, and you came, moaning loudly, your orgasm making your body shake, and the sound of your cries was drowned out by the sirens of the police, looking for many more of the racers.

Your hips stuttered, and your vision became hazy as he continued to pound into you, fucking you through your orgasm, and you whimpered at the sensory overload, "Slow down.. yoongi,.." you whined, your hand reaching back to hold onto his stomach, trying to push him back just a bit.

Yoongi then took your arm, pinning it behind you, his free hand slapping your ass, causing you to jerk forward, "Let me savor my victory, princess." You twitched under him, still not over your intense orgasm, feeling his cock twitch as he slipped in and out of you, furiously fucking himself into you. His head was thrown back, and soft moans left his mouth. His breath hitched when a load of his milky white cum shot out.

Your eyes rolled back, and it had him gritting his teeth, grinding into you until you couldn't stand, and his own legs barely kept him up anymore. He panted softly, gulping as you melted into him, both of his arms hugging your waist. Slowly, he got himself off you, holding you in place to not collapse.

The sirens had died down by the time Yoongi had helped you clean yourself up. You were shivering from the cold as Yoongi unlocked the car, gesturing for you to get on as he looked down at the street, "This is why your mom hates me." Yoongi commented, causing you to stop before getting into the car, "She hates the age gap and your car."

"Exactly, your dad loves me and your mom hates me." Yoongi leaned in and kissed your forehead, "My dad likes your car, not you." You corrected. Yoongi only shrugged, "tomato, tomato."

After settling you into the passenger seat, Yoongi handed you his jacket to cover your legs, "A win is still a win." Starting the engine, Yoongi leaned into the steering wheel, gaze fixed on you, "And you know how to win."

a/n. I love yoongi :c

#bts #x reader #bts army #bts x reader #bts fanfic #kpop #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts suga #bts smut #lostberet

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