#OH GOD BEN WHY IS YOU LIKE THIS?! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

makoodles · 1 year ago

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🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

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reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good.

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron.

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to—

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight.

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left.

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless.

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress.

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed.

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly.

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead.

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back.

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face.

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together.

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give.

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him.

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed.

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had.

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp.

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him.

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again.

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest.

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good.

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical.

But he’s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him.

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you.

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face.

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone.

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible.

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive.

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized.

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby— let me, please— fuck.”

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth.

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold.

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer.

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips.

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that.

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you.

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated.

“You don’t know that.” You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up.

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up.

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

#why was it so hard to find a cute pic of him with no big fuckin union jack splashed across him #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod smut #cod fic #kyle gaz garrick

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slasherscream · 10 months ago

Note

the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION

❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥

Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke.

Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while.

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking!

Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes.

Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.

David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.

❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥

Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking.

Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you… Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while.

Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.

#crazy ass boys gang #this was SOOOOO fucking fun to write nonny #i remembered how scary some of these fucking attack dogs are midway through writing #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jordan li x reader #josh washington x reader #kevin khatchadourian x reader #black!reader #jd x reader #sebastian valmont x reader #nathan prescott x reader #david mccall x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #umbrella academy imagine #jordan li imagine #gender neutral reader

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christopher-the-cube · 7 months ago

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Let me get this straight:

- there was no dance number

- barely any good songs

- no mention of the weird Korean ben with the side part

- Sloane and Ray were written off with one (1) line

- sure Ray walked out but why on earth did Sloane disappear if she was there with them in hotel oblivion I guess we’ll never know

- we were told Reggie erased everyone’s memories about Ben’s death but ??? it was physically impossible for him to have erased ghost Ben’s memory. Like, did Ben never discuss that with Klaus? It looks like he didn’t even realize it was Reggie who shot him, did he never ask Klaus how he died? 😭

- they showed us sparrow ben obsessively drawing Jennifer in s3, sort of insinuating he survived the Jennifer incident in the sparrow timeline but he straight up didn’t recognize her at all now? It’s like they were meeting for the first time?

- where did that subway even come from

- um. Five and Lila

- how the hell are their kids alive in the last scene if the siblings never existed

- why the hell are the Swedes and pretty much everyone from the commission there alive at the same time if they were meant to be taken from different time periods and that’s meant to be a true and pure timeline without any time travel whammy

- seriously wasn’t there a scene with an old timey black and white picture of the Swedes they would NOT be there in 2019-2024-whatever-year-it’s-supposed-to-be

- why does grace have a stroller in that last scene whose kid is that

- on that note what’s up with Lila’s family, to me that kind of insinuates all of the 43 WERE born in that timeline but… there’s no mention of any of the children or any of the siblings bio families

- which completely ruins the last plot point of ALL of the marigolds having to be destroyed, please even if the other children weren’t born there they straight up still had a half a jar of marigolds in Diego’s van 😭😭😭

- ALSO what was Abigail’s motivation, am I crazy or did she go like “fuck you reggie for wanting to destroy the world to punish you I am going to destroy the world” ???????

And I’m not even touching the whole Five characterization thing oh my god

#literally what was that #tua spoilers #the umbrella academy #tua #tua s4 #I’m processing #literally cried

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

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Making Me Crazy

Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, the tiniest amount of fluff, just pure, raw smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, overstimulation, thigh riding)

Title from Cola by Lana Del Ray.

Summary/Warnings: Request from @little-wicked10! Ben overhears you doubting his generosity in bed, and immediately sets out to prove you wrong.

Author's Note: Top ten horniest things I've ever written. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5k

Supes should be required to announce their presence whenever they walk within earshot of other people. If they were, you wouldn’t have snapped at Butcher that, for the last time, you were not sleeping with Ben. You wouldn’t have scowled and hissed that maybe you made come fuck me raw eyes at him, and maybe you liked him as more than a semi-reformed—you’ll call it about 70%, which was a passing grade—supe teammate, but you weren’t going to fuck him, because he was probably selfish in bed, and your lack of self-worth did not extend to falling to your knees only to get nothing in return.

But Ben hadn’t shouted a warning that he could hear you, and now you were gaping at him—standing at the foot of your bed with a cocky smirk—and trying to find a way out of this. Figure out whatever lie you could tell him that would make him just shrug off what he’d heard and walk away.

You weren’t really confident you’d find one.

“We’ve, ah, we’ve been over this, Ben. I’m not having sex with you-“

“Not now.” He waves you off with firm words that shouldn’t be settling that deep in your core. “But you will.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re awfully confident given I just said no-“

“But you’re going to say yes,” Ben drawls your name, lowering himself down to hold your gaze. “Because I am not a fucking pussy who can’t get a woman off. And I’m going to get you off, over and over until you’re fucking screaming for more, until you’re so fucking cockdrunk you only know my name.”

“Ben-“

He smirks. “Good, you’re already starting-“

“Shut up.” You snap, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’m not fucking you just because you say you’ll get me off, or so you can proved some sort of point-“

“I don’t have fucking shit to prove.” He shrugs. “And I would get you off, baby. Christ, I’m doing you a damn favor-“

That makes you laugh. “It is not a favor to have sex with me. I could go downstairs, flash my tits at Butcher, and even his ass would jump on me-“

“Butcher couldn’t handle you.” Ben snaps, and you’re suddenly very away of how he’s towering over you, how he’s broad and muscular, how big his hands are, how soft his hair looks, how there’s a bulge in his pants that has to be padded to look bigger-

You swallow, forcing your eyes to his focused, darkened, almost dizzyingly lustful ones. “Ben-“

“I could handle you.” He smirks at you, leaning down until his nose bumps yours, and you can smell his cologne and the whiskey on his breath and something heavier that’s musky and heady and might just be him. “I could fucking ruin you, doll. Make you never want another cock again.”

“Oh.” He must have slipped you something earlier, or there must be a gas leak, because there’s no other explanation for why you nod, lean forward a little further, a little cautiously, and whisper an agreement against his lips. “Okay.”

Then Ben crashes into you, tangling broad fingers in your hair and kissing you with a bruising force that makes your head spin, and you know exactly why you agreed. For this. For Ben, and a chance to taste if he was really that good.

And goddamn him, he was. He was better than good. He was a demanding tongue down your throat and firm hands pulling and rubbing at this skin of your hips and waist. He was a massive, warm body lowering over yours and forcing you to crawl backwards on the mattress.

He was a fucking sex god, and you feel like you’d just committed the worst sin of all. You’d doubted him. And—as his knee shoves between your thighs and you start to see spots when his kiss only deepens—you know you’re about to repent.

And when Ben rips off your shirt and bra in one brutal movement, kisses a sloppy line over your jaw, down your neck, and right to your breasts—kneading with one hand as he pulls your nipple into his mouth—you decide that whatever he demands, you’ll offer. This is already mind-numbing pleasure, and if the only relief he’s offered you is grinding against him and his mouth swallowing every whining moan, you’ll take it.

Then he moves his leg away, chuckles at your needy sound from the loss, and you know he’s onto you. That he’s got you bent to his will.

“Don’t lose your mind yet,” he mutters against your skin, nipping at your breast. “We’ve got a damn long way to go before you can afford that.”

“I’m not, fuck-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as Ben tears off your pants, teases two fingers over the wet spot on your panties, and shoves them aside to expose your bare pussy to the air.

“You’re fucking wet, doll.” He rises back to your face, kissing and sucking all over your face but your lips, where you’re gaping and gasping his name. “All of this for me?”

“It’s- Ben-“

Your voice turns to a squeak as he spanks your cunt once, running three fingers over your folds as the sting fades to pleasure.

“And don’t fucking think about lying.” He hisses in your ear. “I’ll know.”

You swallow, your voice soft and hoarse. “It’s for you.”

“You think I’m fucking hot?” Ben shoves one finger into your pussy, grunting as you squeeze around him. “Fuck, baby, you want me to make you feel good? Want me to prove to you how fucking wrong you were?”

“God, yes.” You squeeze your eyes shut, arching your back as Ben adds a second finger and begins to pump. “Ben, fuck me, please-“

“Tell me what you want, doll.” He picks up his pace, scissoring and crooking his fingers deep inside you until you’re writhing below him. “Say it, say you want my cock-“

Ben rubs right against that spongey place inside you, dangling over the edge of what you need—what you might die without—and you moan. “Fuck, I want your cock, Ben, I want it so bad-“

“Good girl.” He mutters against your skin, his teeth grazing right at a sensitive spot behind your ear. “But you’re still going to need to fucking earn it.”

You have a brief moment of lucidity where you realize what he’s said, and your eyes fly open. “What the fuck do you mean, I have to- Ben!”

He starts to fingerfuck you at a rapid, almost frantic speed that’s made of lewd sounds, desperate, breathy pleas escaping your lips, and a quickly growing bomb of fire in your gut that’s set to burst so soon-

“Cum of my fingers, doll, fucking soak my hand-“

You scream as the bomb goes off, and you’re overwhelmed with your orgasm. It floods your body and launches you into space, higher, higher, and when you fall easily back down to earth you realize Ben hasn’t stopped. His pace has increased to furious, and you’re already on the edge again. You’d be embarrassed by how quickly you came apart for him—how wrong you were—if Ben was slowing down.

But he’s not. He’s dragging you closer and closer to vaulting back into blinding release, and it’s right on the edge of pain and pleasure. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and God, you just want him to fuck you-

“Ben,” you gasp, grabbing pointlessly at his wrist. “Fuck, I need you, need you so bad-“

He pulls your lower lip between his teeth, his fingers bending and pressing right against that spongy spot inside of you, and this orgasm is only more powerful. You can barely hear his low, growled promise right in your ear.

“Fucking earn it.”

When you regain your head, your pussy is clenching and fluttering against nothing and strong hands are gripping your waist, maneuvering you with no effort at all. And when your vision returns from a hazy blur, Ben’s below you. Holding you on his lap, your legs tight around his thigh.

You stare at him with wide eyes, and he chuckles, rolling your hips with a firm grip as he starts to bite and suck along your collarbone.

“Fuck yourself on my thigh, baby.” He growls, licking right up your throat like a fucking animal, drawing a high whimper from your lips. “Make yourself cum like the dirty little cockslut you are-“

You start to grind on him like he’s flipped a switch in your body. You’re overwhelmed with orgasms, and your cunt is sensitive and raw, but fuck that’s nothing compared to the sheer want for Ben in your body.

So you throw your all into it. Soaking his jeans with your needy cunt, grabbing at his shirt until he tears it off for you to scratch uselessly at his chest. Fuck, you even put on a show for him. Wiggling and rolling your body in his hold, watching him through lidded eyes, diving to kiss at his neck and drifting a hand down to touch that huge cock, straining in his pants-

“Fuck-“ Ben yanks your hand away, his voice stern and low, and you whine. “I’m not fucking done with you, doll, you need to fucking control yourself-“

You just moan, tugging at his hair in a silent please, and his face falls into one that might be—if you didn’t know better—awe.

“Christ,” he mutters your name, running a rough hand up your back to grip at your throat. “You need to my permission to cum, babydoll?”

Babydoll. That does things to you that you’re past trying to hide.

You’re past trying to hide most everything.

You nod, making a choked plea that’s meant to be Ben, but comes out high and feral, and Ben smirks, gripping your hips until you’re sure he’ll leave a mark.

But his words are low on your skin, and his dick is pressed right on your clit, and God, you hope he marks you. Maybe then you’ll feel like this forever.

“Cum,” Ben growls your name in your ear, and there it is. You scream as you reach another, higher state of euphoria, and you’re so close to just exploding when Ben hauls you up his chest and tosses you down onto your back, rising onto his knees and lowering his face between your thighs.

You don’t get warning when he shoves his face right into your cunt and starts to eat you out like he’s never eaten anything before. Like you’re the sweetest fruit or candy, or saltiest and most carefully crafted meal, or just straight fucking heroin into his bloodstream. He goes down on your with his whole fucking face, pulling your raw, swollen clit between his lips before flicking it with his tongue until you’re a whining frenzy, keeping your thighs split open with his hands and barely flinching as you start to buck and fly off the bed, the orgasms falling through you like rain. One hand even sneaks between your legs, and Ben focuses his sinful mouth on your over-attended clit as his fingers plunge back into your cunt, and you destroy yourself on his everything.

You must have squirted somewhere in there, because when Ben finally rises up his beard is shining with your arousal.

But it might also just be that. This might just be so fucking good, Ben might be so good, that you could flood a desert with how much you need him inside you right now. Really, properly inside you-

Ben must read your mind, because he smirks at you, prowls over your loose and fucked-out body, and drags you into a long, slow, shockingly soft kiss that makes you sigh into his throat, his hand rubbing a comfortingly patten on your waist.

“You’re being such a good girl,” He says your name against your lips, and you think that alone sends another small, shuddering orgasm through your body. “Good girls deserve some cock.”

You make the most needy, lustful noise you’ve ever made in your life, gasp slightly as Ben rises over your body, and scream when his cock slams into your dripping, aching cunt without warning.

“God-“

“I’m not God, babydoll.” Ben’s words are spoken against your lips with a smug satisfaction, and you almost blackout as he rolls his hips. “I’m fucking better. Hold on.”

You obey blindly—spun out and faded on how he’s splitting you open, filling you up more than you’ve ever been filled—and wrap your arms around his neck as he starts to fuck you.

This is heaven. God, you hate how right he was, but you might be ascending. You were already ruined from his hands and mouth, and this is being razed. Fucking decimated. This is Ben’s cock hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t know existed, and his hands grabbing and pulling at your tits, his balls slapping against your skin and his mouth leaving little marks wherever he can reach skin, his fucking fingers rolling your nipples and his thumb rubbing on your raw clit until your mouth falls open, and you cum without sound.

He doesn’t stop. You’re drooling, making high, gasping moans of his name, and completely wrecked under him, but Ben doesn’t slow down. He’s grunting and groaning in your ear, chasing his own release deep into your pussy, and you want him to have it.

He’s really fucking earned it. Especially as his thrusts start to stutter and the bed starts to shake in a way that makes you think it might break, and the low, primal noises that leave him as he comes inside you drag one last, smaller orgasm from deep in your core.

He’s going to brag. When Ben pulls out, you’re sure he’s about to mock and taunt you about being right, but he just sets you down carefully between the sheets, walks into the bathroom, and returns with a damp, warm cloth to clean up the mess he left between your thighs.

Then he looks up at you, and now he’s going to grow cruel. To keep dirty talking or fucking you until you’re in a daze you don’t know how to return from, when you just want to rest. Or maybe he’ll just leave you to deal with the soreness of your pussy and throbbing on your skin from all his biting and sucking, and you’ll never speak of this again.

But he doesn’t do either of those things. Ben’s eyes meet yours, still guarded but not hardened, where you can see deeper into him, and he’s a little more human in there. Like you’d worshipped and repented, and now you get your true reward.

And this is it. Green eyes meet yours, he blinks at you with a frown—like he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at—and then crawls back over you. Ben settles at your side, and your body against his own warm, solid, one. He doesn’t speak, but he touches you carefully, like you might break, and it’s louder.

And you might have had a few other things about him wrong as well.

Because Ben doesn’t move through the night, and you wake up still in his arms.

End Note: Found a way to make it emotional too. Am I even me if I don't?

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

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@panicking-outside-the-disco @ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde

@heyimolive @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007

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poorlittlegreenie13 · 4 months ago

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People who post about how Yellowjackets is an explicitly queer show & then say just things like “Jackie and Shauna are unambiguously in love!” “Misty is canonically a lesbian” without mentioning Van & Tai I fucking hate you so bad oh my god. Yellowjackets IS an explicitly queer show you guys just hate black women and butches and you’d rather make a case for why Travis is transfemme than just fucking acknowledge the married black lesbians on the show. The only evidence you should EVER use to call Yellowjackets “canonically queer” is Taissa, Van, Simone, and Ben. If you erase their identities bc you want Natalie to be butch just actually shut up. Words mean things. You’re all like thirteen just lying on the internet & your biases are showing real bad.

#yellowjackets

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figthoughts · 6 months ago

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combat knife — soldier boy ⋆˚࿔

summary: snorting crushed pills with ben is all fun and games until you pick up his combat knife…

warnings: smut, swearing, drug use, degradation talk, use of ‘sir’, knife play (dom!soldier boy x brat!reader) 18+

*ೃ༄

“i said shut your mouth,” soldier boy commanded, his big hand wrapped around your throat, “why don’t you ever fuckin’ listen?”

“ben! just one more line…. please?” you whined, giving him your best puppy dog eyes as you straddled him on the couch. “c’mon, i’ll be so good,” you glanced down at the crushed bennies on the coffee table, wanting more, despite the last bump still making your head spin slightly.

“fuck, alright,” he grunted, “just quit your bitchin’ and moaning. s’doing my fuckin’ head in.”

“yeah, course. whatever you say, sir,” you smiled down at him as he grabbed his combat knife off the coffee table and scooped some powder onto the blade.

soldier boy rolled his eyes, trying to hold back a smirk. sir. goddamn it. why did you always know what to say? he swallowed as his cock twitched and he shifted his hips under yours.

“watch it.” he warned as he lifted the knife up to you. he watched you bring your nose just above the powder. “and watch the fuckin’ blade. i’m not dealing with you if you cut your damn lip again. get all pathetic and whingy.”

“oh, shut up. not even.” you narrowed your eyes, trying to prevent the grin from growing on your face.

you closed your eyes and snorted. fuck. that feeling never gets old. you felt the euphoria wash over you and you let out a pleased hum.

“feel good, baby?” he smirked. god, he loved you like this. all carefree and high on his drugs, practically letting your body melt into his. he fucking loved it.

all you could do for a moment was just nod. the air around you felt thicker as you breathed it in. you rubbed your nose and sniffled, looking down at your boyfriend. fuck, he’s handsome.

“words, babygirl.” he raised his brows.

“s’good.” was all you managed to moan out as a smile grew on your face. you closed your eyes and breathed in more of the thick air through your nose.

“you’re so fuckin’ sexy when you’re like this,” soldier boy smirked, “all messy and smiley, not a damn thing in that little head of yours, huh?” he poked your side and your hips jerked involuntarily. your eyes opened and flickered to his.

“there she is,” he cooed, leaving the knife on his chest, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

“mmm, shut up,” you felt your cheeks heat up slightly under his intimidatingly smug gaze.

soldier boy studied your face as he held you in place by your hips. “uh-uh, be good for me now. i let you have another bump, so don’t be actin’ like that.”

you closed your eyes and let out a soft hum as the thick air cuddled around you like a warm blanket. you felt good. soldier boy kept his eyes on you, watching every little movement you made. he could tell you’d had more than enough.

“look at you, can’t even speak.” he chuckled mockingly, giving your hips a squeeze. “so fuckin’ desperate to get like this, aren’t ya?”

you smiled sheepishly, your eyes still squeezed shut. he wasn’t wrong. there’s nothing you liked more than this; sitting on your boyfriend’s lap, his hands all over you as your brain slowly turns to mush from the drugs. it felt good.

soldier boy loved it too, seeing his girl get all soft and so, so compliant. he couldn’t help but want to touch you.

he squeezed your hips again, causing your eyes to flutter open. he smirked and let one of his hands wander down to your inner thighs, closing in on your core. your breath hitched.

“something wrong, angel?”

“n-no…”

“that’s what i thought. be a good girl and keep that mouth shut. i’m sick of sayin’ it.” he moved his hand up the leg of your pyjama shorts, his fingertips tracing along the hem of your panties.

soldier boy grinned as he saw your eyes drop down to his hand, your lids heavy and your mouth parted, the drugs obviously hitting you harder now.

he slipped his fingers into your panties, finding your pussy already soaked. “god, you’re such a slut… already so wet, baby.”

you groaned and covered your face with your hands. yes, you were already wet and he hadn’t even done anything yet. you felt his fingers gently begin to rub your clit. sparks shot up through your nerves, forcing a moan out of your mouth. god, this felt good high… it always does.

“look at me.” soldier boy muttered firmly, his fingers still teasing your pussy.

you reluctantly dropped your hands and found his eyes, a smirk growing on his face as he studied your expression.

“always so embarrassed, huh? i don’t know why… you know you love it when i make you cum on my fingers,” he teased, his fingers speeding up slightly as they moved through your folds.

you let out a moan and dropped your hands to his chest, trying to steady yourself.

“yeah, that’s it. give in, baby. show me what a little slut you are for me,” the smirk remained on his face, his eyes tracing your every feature as his fingers pressed against your clit, forcing your hips to jerk forward.

soldier boy’s grip on your left hip tightened, holding you still. “keep. still.”

you looked at him with your jaw dropped, your brain fogged over from the drugs and the feeling of your boyfriend’s rough fingers against your pussy making breathy moans fall out of your mouth.

“fuuuckin’ look at you. pathetic,” he laughed, keeping up the speed on your clit, “a fuckin’ mess… and all i’ve done is rub your pretty little cunt.”

you whimpered at his words and tried to roll your hips on him, feeling his cock twitch beneath you. you needed more.

“uh! i said keep fuckin’ still.” he squeezed your hip, this time hard. you whimpered and he grinned, moving his hand from your hip to your jaw, forcing you to look down at him.

“yeah, keep whimpering, fuckin’ slut.” your lips parted as more soft moans rolled off your tongue. his fingers picked up the pace on your cunt. you felt yourself clench around nothing.

soldier boy must’ve felt it too. he let out a deep groan and tightened his grip on your jaw. “you gonna cum, baby? huh?” he taunted, letting out a throaty chuckle.

you whimpered again, feeling the familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. fuck. he kept up his relentless pace on your soaked cunt, unable to hide the smug look on his face as he watched you melt onto his hand.

“such a mess.” he laughed.

you whined and squeezed your eyes shut as your cunt kept clenching, desperate to be filled.

soldier boy’s cock could feel every movement of yours. he let out a rough breath, trying to keep himself under control, despite his cock beginning to harden under you.

“fuck, harder… please, sir. so close.” you begged, looking down at him. you tried again to move your hips, desperate for friction against your soaked pussy.

soldier boy pulled his hand out of your shorts. “i said shut up and keep still,” he yanked your face towards him, “can’t even do that, you braindead little slut.”

you whimpered loudly at the loss of his touch and frowned. you didn’t particularly like when he talked to you like that, especially when you were so close to cumming all over his thick fingers.

“ben…” you whined weakly, your head spinning from the drugs and the ache from your cunt.

“shut the fuck up. listen to me or don’t cum. your choice, princess.” he stated firmly. you frowned more.

soldier boy looked at the pout on your lips and cocked an eyebrow, letting out a mocking laugh. “pouting now, are we? c’mon, just do what i fuckin’ say, it’s not that damn hard.”

you let out a huff, the frown staying on your lips. your eyes drifted down to the knife on his chest. before you could think, you found your hand wrapping itself around the handle and putting the blade against soldier boy’s neck.

now, you weren’t stupid… well maybe you were right now, but at any other time you knew that a knife wouldn’t do shit to your supe boyfriend.

and he knew that too. he laughed and looked up at your pouting face, “really? this is what we’re going with?” he wrapped his hand over yours on the handle, pushing the knife against his throat more.

“go on, pet. try your luck.” he mocked with a smirk.

you could feel yourself getting huffy and desperate, just wanting him to lay off a little and give you the release your body so desperately craved. you pushed the blade harder against his neck. “fucking do something,” you whined, “need your fingers back…”

he smirked, “oh, yeah?”

you shoved the knife harder into his neck, still not doing any damage at all, “yeah! touch me, now!” you tried to demand, although it came out more like a desperate whine.

“alright, babygirl.” he laughed and yanked your waistband open, shoving his fingers back against your cunt.

your breath hitched and you tried to keep the firm look on your face as soldier boy’s fingers began to soothe the aching throb of your cunt.

“harder, now.” you said breathily.

he grinned and moved his fingers against your clit harder, resulting in more moans coming from you.

soldier boy kept his eyes on you as he worked his fingers against your slick pussy. he was enjoying this, letting you have your moment of dominance, the feel of the cool metal against his skin. he thought you were so cute, acting like a tiny blade could do any damage to a supe like himself.

normally, he’d have tied your fucking hands together for an act like this, but he couldn’t help it right now. this was amusing to him. he knew that you knew a knife wouldn’t hurt him, even if you tried your hardest. a weak little girl like you was no match for him. not at all.

you cried out as the pressure began building in your stomach again, “fu-uck!” your hips jolted forward as your pussy clenched. you were close. your hands dropped slightly as you moaned and ground your hips down onto his hand and hardened cock.

“nuh-uh,” soldier boy forcefully grabbed your wrist and moved the knife back against his neck, “fuckin’ keep it there. you started this.”

you pushed the knife against his throat again, your eyes finding his. he still had that stupid smug smirk on his face. you whined as you rocked your hips against his fingers. you could feel his cock twitching in his sweatpants beneath your cunt.

“that’s it, babygirl. make yourself cum. good girl.” he chuckled as his fingers moved faster and rougher on your clit. he could feel your cunt clenching around nothing, so fucking needy and desperate for his cock. you always got like this when he got you high with him. and he loved it. a guaranteed needy little hole for him every time.

“g-gonna- gonna cum…” you mumbled out, your words almost slurred as you tried focus on your release.

soldier boy smirked, “that’s it, baby. cum for me. cum on my fingers and show me who’s boss, huh?” he teased, his free hand pulling the knife back harder against his throat.

“oh, fuck!” you cried out, right at the edge of letting go. you leaned forward, unconsciously pushing the knife against his neck harder.

soldier boy grinned as he felt the metal press into his skin more, thanks to your heavy-handedness. obviously, the blade did no damage, not even pricking his skin slightly. this is fun, he thought.

he kept rubbing your pussy as firmly and expertly as he could, keeping his eyes locked on your scrunched up face, wanting to push you over the edge.

“come on, pet. cum for me.” he cooed mockingly.

you felt the coil in your stomach snap and your cunt clenched and unclenched as you whined and whimpered through your orgasm.

soldier boy’s fingers didn’t stop though. he pushed you through your orgasm, not relenting the harsh force against your clit. he felt you try to pull your now sensitive pussy away.

he smirked and held you still, wanting to draw out the immense pleasure for as long as he could.

“oh, god… oh… f-fuck… so good…” you rambled on like some cockdrunk virgin, your eyes barely open as you looked down at him with a stupid smile on your face.

soldier boy smirked. you were so beautiful. so fucking cute. especially like this, when you’re barely coherent post-orgasm. he loved the way you reacted to him. to his touch.

as your mind cleared, you let out a deep breathy sigh. you pulled the knife back from his neck, “sorry ‘bout that,” you murmured softly, a slight sheepish smile playing on your lips.

“no. put it back. we’re not done.” soldier boy said gruffly and yanked the knife back to his neck, his hand slipping back into your panties.

A/N: hiii, hope u enjoyed! i didn’t really have a plan for this story, but yolo, right? idk. all ik is that i want soldier boy so bad !!!!!

feedback and requests are always welcome (love some inspo)!!! <3

#༢ུ࿓ fig writes.ᐟ #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #jensen ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #soldier boy drabble #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy fic #soldier boy x you

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ofpd · 4 months ago

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1st century roman siege of jerusalem dashboard simulator

🐮 barkamtza

why does this shit always happen to me

#oh my goddd the ONE time it seems like people actually wanna hang out with me. #turns out they meant to invite kamtza instead #everyone hates me and i was SO fucking nice i offered to pay for the party #god i'm so pathetic. kms kms kms #they're gonna pay for this i swear #delete later

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📜 zekharya-ben-avkolas

Ok so obv it's not ok to sacrifice a blemished calf but the blemish is just on the eyelid? So maybe it's ok? But also and i don't want people to start going around thinking that it's ok to sacrifice blemished animals. But the thing is that if i don't bar Kamtza will tell the Romans we insulted them and that will be bad probably. And like no one likes bar Kamtza anyway will people really miss him..... but ugh neither of these seem like good things to do i don't feel like it's my place to make a decision about this :/

32 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏺neronero

off to war wish me luck! 🇲🇪🏹

🏺neronero

nvm guys. ✡️✡️

🏛 vespasian

my turn lol

53 notes

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport reblogged

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

Hey everyone! These are difficult times, and some friends and I have put together some mutual aid resources for our community to have access to wheat, barley, wine, salt, oil, and wood! More info below the cut. Take care of yourselves! 🫶

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

fuck

7,235 notes

⚔️ biryonei-yerushalayim

anonymous asked:

Hey, I'm trying to ask this in good faith, and I hope you can take it that way. how can you possibly defend burning our grain stores. I understand that you want to radicalize more people but you're taking things too far. Jerusalem's blood is on your hands.

anon, what you need to understand is that the blame for the carnage in jerusalem lies primarily in the hands of the roman invaders and secondarily in the hands of the rabbis for refusing to resist. would you have told the hashmonaim not to resist their oppressors by any means necessary? just because this is getting inconvenient for you doesn't mean we shouldn't be doing it. it's frankly offensive that you'd imply that we, the defenders of jerusalem, should incur any blame for her current state.

#biryonim.answer #grain storage discourse

231 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael

did anyone else see the "zealot blocklist" going around lmaooo

#how do these liberals expect anyone to take them seriously #do they not have anything better to do.

7 notes

📚 stammaim reblogged

stopbeingpoor-deactivated3830102

ughh why is my servant so incompetent! i deserve the best flour why doesn't he get it...

stopbeingpoor

ykw i'll go get some myself. i'm desperate at this point i gotta do something

stopbeingpoor

EWWWW update: i stepped in something NASTY. this is why i don't fucking go out oh my god im gonna die

stopbeingpoor

gonna throw my gold & silver away for the good of the peasants or whatever it's not like it's any use to me when im literally dying -_-

📚 stammaim

lmao look at this it's exactly what yehezkel was talking about! ur gold won't save you!

#yehezkel #marta b. baitos

162 notes

🕎 yalla-hapoel

🌿 amicus-iudaeorum asked:

Hey, love your posts! They're very informative about the Jewish perspective on this war. I'm just wondering whether you condemn the actions of the zealots? I don't really feel comfortable following someone who supports that.

are you fr.

#if youre seriously concerned about this idt this is the blog for you i fear

28 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael reblogged

📖 ben-zakkai

⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️ lol

🛡 goel-yisrael

? what does this mean

🗡 abbasikkara

dw about it bestie

🛡 goel-yisrael

ok 💗 yay 💗

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👩🏽‍🌾 discoursedumpblog

I've compiled a list of some of the most rabid zealots on this website. Remember, don't engage, just block and move on.

152 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏛 vespasian

some jew got an audience with me & called me king (im literally not lol thats so disrespectful to the actual king + if i was king then he shouldve met w me much earlier??), i think i should kill him

🏛 vespasian

AND my shoe is being so annoying. horrible day 👎

📖 ben-zakkai

omg just came across this old post

🏛 vespasian

OMG sorry i don't mean it anymore 🙏

14 notes

🫒 a-simple-yid

yirmiyahu tzadak...

#not to pretentiously quote tanakh but literally like. #hashiveinu hashem eilekha venashuva hadeish yameinu kekedem.

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#this doesnt make sense in terms of timeline of course. esp bc i mention the stammaim. but it's ok #long post #jumblr #txt #this is all entirely gemara-based tbc. gittin 55b–56b #you all better appreciate the effort that went into this

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zephyr-ro-emenki · 5 months ago

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There's so many Peter in Gotham Fics that nobody has touched the untapped Goldmine that is Miles in Gotham Fics. Even better if they're both transported to Gotham.

Because with the Peter in Gotham Fics, you have Dick as either that universes Peter (it's rare but it happens) or more commonly that He is that Universes Richard Parker (Add in Jason being that universes Uncle Ben and Peter's Mom being either Babs or Alfred's Niece) and the Batfam either recognizes Peter's from another universe, think he's a Clone of Dick, or that he's a Time Traveler.

But nobody has Touched on Miles being a perfect Variant/Son of Duke Thomas.

Aside from the Spider based powers Miles can Turn Invisible and generate Electric Shocks/Venom Blasts. You wanna know what that sounds like a variant of? Duke's Meta ability. His Photo-Kinesis and Umbra-Kinesis allow for the manipulation of Light and Shadow respectively, with Duke able to manipulate them both with extreme precision. And what does Miles powers seem to do? Manipulate light and shadow to make him invisible, and release built up Light by converting that energy into Electric Blasts. If Miles Appeared in Gotham, they would all assume that Miles was Duke's Kid/Clone/Variant, and he'd have no evidence to refute any of it.

Duke does technically have a Cousin called Jay, so having his full name be "Jay Aaron Thomas" would give Miles his Uncle Aaron, but we could also have Duke have an Uncle Aaron of his own.

Now picture this:

It's a MCU Miles and MCU Peter who got brought to Gotham at Different Times, with them both being 17 (or Miles Being 15 and him having taken up the Spider-Man role just a month before and being mentored by Peter) and crashing together. Miles knows Peter as Peter is his Mentor/Died and Miles Took up the Mantle of Spider-Man, but Peter can vaguely remember his search for the Vulture meeting an Aaron with a kid Nephew named Miles. And so, they both decide to work together to find a way back, go to the Gotham Library to search up the best way to get Miles or Peter back to their own times and back to New York, and Babs is just sitting there shocked because she can clearly see Duke is on patrol on her Monitor and halfway across the City, so how is there a second Duke with a Mini-Dick next to him walking into her library looking like they're beat to hell and back?

Well, now as both Peter and Miles are panicking because they're in a new universe, Babs is trying to get Dick and Duke down to her Library stat because she is absolutely not letting whoever hurt her, well (Family?/Cloned Family Members?/Time Traveling Nephew's???), let's just say Her Spider's, and not get them DNA Tested and medically checked. And both Miles and Peter are panicking because, oh my God, why the fuck are their DAD'S HERE?!?!?!

And of course they bolt, and all the usual shenanigans ensue with the Batfam now having to track down 2 new possible family members (Clones are Family Too) AND see if these new Spider Themed Vigilante's, who both call themselves Spider-Man, are trustworthy and are trained enough.

#peter parker in gotham #miles morales in gotham #peter parker #miles morales #batman #batfamily #spider man #spiderman #dick grayson #duke thomas #peter parker and Miles Morales in Gotham

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avithenaftali · 5 months ago

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October 28, 2022, 7:11 P.M.

For whatever reason I enjoy thinking about Diana Wynne Jones' writing as a whole and picking out unexpected or resonant trends. For example, some things that comes up often is:

She'll fabricate a world (right down to its cosmology), fill it with memorable characters, set one or two short novels in it... and then never touch it again. On to the next one. Rinse and repeat for her entire career.

The concept of multiple/parallel universes appear half a dozen times in different novels/sequences, but always in completely different ways. The multiple worlds of Chrestomanci function very, very differently from the multiple worlds of The Homeward Bounders, which themselves function so different from the Ayewards/Naywards of Deep Secret, or the walls between the worlds in Dark Lord of Derkholm. More importantly, all these approaches to multiverse explicitly contradict each other. There is no larger DWJ multiverse; there is no way to coherently combine any of them, much less all of them. I love her for this. Every book is its own project. Franchising be damned.

With one exception (which is the Dalemark quartet, oddly enough), none of these worlds are sealed-off secondary worlds. Our own Earth appears in all of them, though usually from the 'wrong' end of the telescope. Meaning, it's stuff like reading Charmed Life and assuming you're reading a magical secondary world fantasy for most of the book... up until the point when Janet is pulled into the story due to Gwendolyn's spell. The reader instantly understands that Janet is from our own world, from the 1970s when the book was written. She never makes it home, either. She never sees her parents again. She's a supporting character who becomes permanently stuck in the world of Chrestomanci, as a casualty of Gwendolyn's spells.

It is interesting, though, how there are almost no sealed-off secondary worlds in DWJ's oeuvre.

There are lots of neat things to say about how DWJ did this, and why she'd do it, and the implications in the storytelling. But tonight I'm thinking mostly about how it can be a moment, narratively, that makes you halt and have to recontextualize all these things you thought you knew (or were assuming) about the nature of the story.

In Ursula Le Guin's The Dispossessed, Urras is obviously the metaphorical capitalistic stand-in planet for our own Earth... up until a moment right near the end, where we realize our own Earth exists in this novel too and is an ecological wasteland due to unchecked climate change.

Urras may be the distorted-mirror, uber-capitalist version of our own world. But it's also a planet with a functional ecosystem. It's a planet where society is careful about maintaining that ecosystem. We're not going to be Urras, says Le Guin. We'll be lucky if we become Urras. To become Urras means we wised up in time to not go extinct.

And suddenly, little subtle moments in the worldbuilding around both Anarres and Urras—their shared attention to their own ecology—come into a different light. All because our own, devastated Earth turns out to be present in the novel too.

And in Howl's Moving Castle, Howl is a magician who fits into the fairy tale landscape of Ingary as naturally as anyone else—until the chapter when he has to go home to retrieve a lost spell, and you realize home is in another world, aka home is our world, aka Howl is fucking Welsh and found his way into Ingary by pure accident. And Ben Sullivan, Ingary's missing royal magician, is no native of Ingary either.

To Sophie, it just means that both magicians travelled to Ingary from the same enigmatic foreign land, which is as strange to her as any spell.

To us readers, it means "oh my god he's Welsh too? Just how much is Wales secretly connected to Ingary? Next thing you'll tell me Ben Sullivan's a rugby player as well—"

#diana wynne jones #ursula le guin #howl's moving castle #chrestomanci #the dispossessed #cohost post

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losers-clvb · 6 days ago

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meeting the family soldier boy x female!reader

summary: you take ben to meet your crazy family. you're a bundle of nerves, but ben assures you everything will be fine. he just has to keep his mouth shut -- a nearly impossible task for the supe.

content: swearing, mentions of sex, ben may be slight ooc (he's just not craycray right now), mentions of ben and reader's respective pasts, fluff, surprisingly respectful ben (but he's still makes his own comments.

word count: 4.6k

note: i went a little off-the-rails with this one. i envisioned it as yapper reader from it will come back and talk too much, but there is no outright connection with her. i'm in love with what i've created here, so expect more of this family.

m.list

“Ben.” You groaned out his name, again, when you felt his hands on your hips, again.

Seems like fifth time was the charm, because he backed off.

“You’re no fuckin’ fun.” He muttered with his usual I-need-to-get-what-I-want attitude, rolling his eyes. You swore he was worse than a teenage girl with his small temper tantrums.

“We’re already running late.” You flicked your eyes to the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Which, I’ll remind you, is your fault.”

“Didn’t seem like it was my fault when I woke up with your hand around my fuckin’ cock.”

Maybe part of this, a very small and insignificant part, was your fault.

“Yeah, well, I woke up to it poking me in the back.”

Tousling your hair to try to get it to go the right way -- whatever direction that was --, you felt his eyes rake up your body.

“Not my fault my girl is so damn sexy.” He took a step forward, prompting you to spin around and stick a hand out to stop him.

Ben pouted -- actually pouted -- at your rejection.

If it were any other day, a day that didn’t include you practically biting your nails to the bone in anticipation, you would have been happy to get back into bed, maybe move to the couch or, Ben’s favorite, the bathroom sink so you could watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.

Unfortunately for you both, home was hours away, but your family was just a quick drive across town.

Lucky you!

“I told you to watch that mouth, mister.” You waggled a finger at him, narrowing your eyes to show you meant business.

“ ‘Damn’ is hardly offensive, doll.”

“I’ll show you how offensive I can be if you keep it up.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” He reached for you again. The swat to the back of his hand was instantaneous.

“Behave.” Your voice was stern, but the swallow after betrayed it. “Please.”

It wasn’t as if you were embarrassed of Ben. No, you didn’t give a shit if the old lady at the grocery store thought he was too touchy, or if your boss thought he swore too much.

But this was your family.

The people who raised you, who had to deal with your awkward phase of only wearing green for an entire year, the ones who teased you when you had your first crush. Their opinions mattered, even if you knew some of your aunts were far too judgy.

In theory, the fact that Ben was a supe worked to your advantage. America’s Son as your boyfriend, what girl wouldn’t love to bring that home to mom and dad?

Then the drinking and drugs and stubborn fucking attitude reminded you of all the reasons why they wouldn’t like him. Not to mention the fact that he was older than your grandfather.

Oh God, your grandfather. The eighty year old was going to hate Ben. He had hated your first boyfriend, who was top of his class at the nearby university. Though, perhaps the old man had a point, seeing how you had found the dickhead in bed with his professor.

“You ready, doll?”

Ben’s gravel woke you from your thoughts. He knew you had been thinking too much. He always knew when you were thinking too much. You inspected yourself one last time before nodding.

“I guess.” You sighed, swiping up your purse. You allowed him to sling an arm over your shoulders, but sent him a warning glare when his fingers fiddled with the strap of your dress.

“No need to worry, sweetheart,” he held the car door open for you, kissing the side of your head, “parents love me.”

You climbed into the car and frowned up at him.

There was no way parents loved him. He was the kind of guy they warned against, the one you brought home to spite your mother when she mentioned settling down.

“Don’t look so fuckin’ skeptical.” Ben scoffed when you just looked at him with your I don’t believe you face. Ignoring the amused smile on your face, he sauntered to the driver’s side of the car, slipping in.

“You’re telling me that you, Mr. Fuckin’ Weed and Whiskey,” you imitated his voice on “fuckin’”, he rolled his eyes, “have gotten a girl’s parents to like you.” The last part of your sentence came out with a laugh of disbelief.

“I’ve got it in me.” Ben defended, making another point pop into your head.

“You’ve never had to do this before.” You scoffed, the realization that you had no idea what to expect from this making your anxiety grow.

“Doll, I wasn’t worried about meetin’ mom when I had ‘em bent over the counter.” Ben tried to dismiss while pulling onto the road.

“Yeah, that makes me feel so much better.” You muttered, chewing on your lower lip. He did a double take, eyes flitting from the road to your nervous expression.

Clicking his tongue to get your attention, he brought his hand up to cradle your chin. He wiggled his thumb into your mouth, forcing you to release your skin to allow space for the intrusion.

“You may be my first, but I promise, you’re gonna be my last.”

The words washed over you, coating you in a peace you hadn’t known until you met Ben. He liked to do this, remind you of his love without actually saying it. You’d heard the words a total of two times in your relationship. It never felt like they were missing, not when he held doors open and spoon-fed you soup when you were sick.

His thumb retracted once he was sure you were calmed. Tangling his fingers in yours, the drive was filled with a comfortable silence, something Ben had taught you to be okay with.

Part of the reason why you were so hesitant to introduce him to your family stemmed from your childhood.

Where Ben had been raised as a nuisance, you had been cherished since day one.

Birthdays were filled with off-key singing and cheek-kisses from relatives. Talent shows were another thing in themselves, three rows of chairs taken up by cheering. Siblings grouped together to fight when school bullies dared to mess with you. Your aunts worked around the clock to knit a blanket when you went away to college.

You didn’t want him to see what he had missed out on.

“Christ, doll, you didn’t tell me you were loaded.” Ben chuckled when the looming farmhouse came into view. You made a face, knowing damn well his father had been far wealthier than your family.

Still, you couldn’t deny the fact that your parents weren’t exactly living paycheck to paycheck.

The family farm had been in business since… well, you weren’t all too aware of the specific year, just that the creaky floorboards on the porch had been placed by your great grandfather.

Summers were spent playing in the cherry trees, plucking the sweet fruit from the branches whenever you pleased. No one lived on these acres of land full-time, opting to share the space. Cousins and friends-of-the-family drifted in and out of the farmhouse throughout the months, ensuring there was always fresh lemonade in the fridge.

All of your firsts had happened in the barn off to the side of the property; first steps, first kiss, first time having sex -- though you would take that last piece of information to your grave.

“Don’t touch the good china,” you warned teasingly, a warm smile blossoming on your face when your cousin, Lina, sprinted for the car.

She was younger than you by about ten years, you taking on more of an older sister role in her life. She was a good kid, you told about everyone you came into contact with.

Ben hadn’t even shifted the car into park before you were jumping out to wrap your arms around her. She squealed your name into your hair.

“I missed you!” She pulled away, bouncing on her toes while you looked over her.

“Is that my dress?” You asked. It was something you hadn’t worn in years, but you would have recognized the light blue material anywhere.

“No.”

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Yes.” She admitted sheepishly, looking to the ground.

“I knew it!”

“You left it in the upstairs closet! What else was I supposed to do?” She was on the defensive, a hand on her hip. You laughed and ruffled her hair, causing her to grumble out a complaint, but her own giggle cut through it.

“Who’s this gorgeous girl?”

Ben stepped up next to you, a basket of cookies in one hand while the other rested on the small of your back. Lina immediately blushed, and you didn’t blame her.

Anyone who was attracted to the male species would blush if Ben called them gorgeous.

“Lina-bug.” You answered, making her scrunch her nose up at the nickname.

“I’m not five.” She complained, sticking her tongue out at you despite the words.

“You’ll always be five to me.” You promised, curling into Ben out of pure instinct.

It was at that moment you noticed something dark, almost bruise-like peeking out at you from the collar of Lina’s -- your -- dress.

“What the hell is that?” You demanded, poking at the spot.

Lina paled, pulling away from your grasp. Her eyes flicked from you to Ben, blushing when she realized you both knew exactly what the hell it was.

She wasn’t a child, having turned seventeen just the month before. It was still far too young to be doing anything of this nature, anything that left a hickey on her collarbone for the entire family to see.

Ignoring the larger quantity of much darker marks littering your inner thighs, you opened your mouth to lecture her on why boys were stupid and not worth her time.

The call of your first and middle name made the breath choke in your throat.

“For your sake, I hope my ears just need a good cleanin’ and I didn’t just hear those words come from your mouth!”

Aunt Mavis was bounding her way across the yard, wearing her signature yellow sunhat. You cringed, a memory of the woman flushing soap into your mouth as a child for calling your brother a beach -- you hadn’t heard the word correctly -- flashing through your mind.

“Watch your mouth, doll.” Ben mumbled to you, teasing you with your earlier words. You grumbled out a warning to him.

Lina took the distraction as a chance to get the hell out of there.

“Look at you!” Mavis beamed, throwing her arms out like she hadn’t been ready to lock you in the potato cellar just a moment earlier. “My great-niece, the most beautiful girl in the world!”

Nevermind the fact that she called everyone the most beautiful. It was one of the things you loved about her. Sure, she may be old-fashioned in her childhood punishments, but she loved her family wholly.

You inched toward her, biting down on your tongue to keep from gasping at the subtle slide of Ben’s hand to your ass.

Mavis engulfed you in her rose-scented perfume, squeezing you tight enough to juice you like a lemon. Her eyes must have caught onto the tall frame of the man behind you, because, in an instant, she was standing toe-to-toe with him. You blinked.

C’mon, Mav, you thought, silently urging the woman to say something, anything.

On the spectrum of intensity, she was quite tame. If she didn’t like Ben, there was no hope.

“You’re trouble.” Mavis waggled a finger at him, a teasing smirk tilting onto her face.

It wasn’t a hardcore stamp of approval, but it wasn’t a dismissal, either. You took it as a win, letting out the breath you had sucked in the moment you laid eyes on your aunt.

“Only if you’re askin’ for it.” Ben responded, winking.

Oh my God.

You dropped your jaw, heart stuttering as you thought of all the ways Mavis would berate him.

Only, Mavis didn’t look offended.

She let out a hearty laugh, wrapping her arms around Ben’s torso.

“I like you.” She announced, pulling him in tight.

Ben drifted his eyes to you, smirking.

I told you so, they said.

Not my mom, yours responded.

He had won over one aunt, albeit a very influential aunt, but the real work would begin with the others.

With the intent to officially introduce him to her, you opened your mouth. A pang of sweet drifted to your nose, making your eyes flutter shut.

“Cherry rolls?” You breathed out, sighing slightly. It was an unconscious thing, something you had to thank her for Pavloving you into stopping at the first scent of the baked good.

“This one is practically a bloodhound when it comes to dessert.” Mavis tutted, jabbing her thumb at you.

“You made cherry rolls?” You were getting impatient with her teasing.

“Well, yes.” Mavis answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re your favorite.”

It had been years since you had one of Mavis’ cherry rolls. She’d come up with the recipe herself, quickly using it as a tool to get the kids’ energy out on long days. She would send you and your siblings out with baskets, tasking you all with plucking cherries from the trees. It was long work, especially when the three of you could only reach the bottom branches.

The end result?

Heaven.

You would gorge yourself on the sweet if it didn't mean being bloated for the rest of the week.

Once you moved to the city, your opportunities for eating it were, well, zero. You didn’t have the skill to make it, and every family event was missing either you or her. It broke your heart some days, not just because you missed the taste; you missed the memories it brought back.

The fact that Mavis had so obviously made them with you in mind -- though you were sure the other nieces and nephews had begged for them as well -- had tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Aurora sprung up like a weed, you’ll never believe it’s her.” Mavis babbled, grabbing your hand to guide you to the house. You, not wanting to leave behind the reason this get-together was happening, looped your pinkie around Ben’s, dragging him along.

“And Betsy is on this health-kick, but I swear on dear Rufus’ grave,” Rufus the dog, “that she’s swiping cookies from the jar.”

The worn-wood steps of the wrap-around porch creaked a complaint when you three ascended, as they had for as long as you could walk. Every year, Uncle Jerry promised he would find a way to fix them. And every year, he would be passed out on the porch swing, a beer in one hand, a hammer in the other, the steps remaining untouched.

Deep down you hoped they would always make a noise. It was the soundtrack to your dreams; creaking porches, leaves fluttering in the wind, the creek water’s constant flow.

“Oh. My. God.”

You knew the voice without even looking. Your cousin, Evie, who had nudged her way into the aunts’ circle after turning thirty.

Her words triggered the mob, pulling them from their juices and shit talking to swarm your man. They crowded around him like a flock of chickens -- clucked about just like them as well.

“Look at his hair-”

“Nice facial structure-”

“Thought he’d be taller-”

The poking at his arms and chest was when you stepped in, shooing them off. If you were less kind, or if Ben had made another smart-ass remark, you would have left him to the rolls.

He should feel honored, really, that you were choosing to save him instead of diving into the still-steaming plate of rolls on the counter.

“Back off, ladies. He’s mine.” The words were teasing, knowing that these women loved a good piece of eye candy around.

Ben made a show of throwing his arms over two of your aunts, hugging them in close.

“Aww, c’mon, doll,” you swore they all swooned at the pet name, “there’s enough of me to go around.”

“There certainly is.” A voice in the group murmured suggestively, making the others giggle.

You cut a glare over them, trying your best to be intimidating. Everyone in the room knew it didn’t work. Where your siblings were compared to wolves, growing up everyone called you a bunny. Not even a fully-grown rabbit. A bunny, you know, cute and fluffy and unable to scare even a fly away. Yeah, that was you.

Ben watched over your attempts, an amused smile and raised eyebrow making you frown. He chuckled and stepped over to you, pulling you into his arms.

“Aww…” The chorus cooed from behind him.

He bent his neck down to kiss you, lips moving against yours with a stifled passion.

“Aww!” This was practically a squeal. In your mind, you saw your Aunt Hilly pull out her phone, snapping pictures of the scene. She was a self-proclaimed photographer, though her equipment consisted of a beat down iPhone and the occasional flashlight.

“I know my girl doesn’t share,” Ben mumbled to you when he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. You smiled up at him.

“That is disgusting.”

You spun on your heel to face your little brother, Peter. Not that he was little anymore. The boy -- he’s a year younger than you -- stood taller than you, the same height he had sprung to in middle school seemingly overnight. You scowled at the stupid bunch of hair on his upper lip.

“You’re the one with a caterpillar on your face.” You poked a finger in his face. A noise of surprise came out when he moved to bite at it. There had been a time when he really did bite your finger, leading to an early morning trip to the emergency room for stitches. You still had a little scar running across the knuckle.

“Ladies love this caterpillar, Buggy.”

You frowned at the nickname. Buggy. It made you feel like a little kid again, but you also couldn’t ignore the spark of warmth that came with the familiarity of it all.

“I promise you, they do not. And don’t call me that!”

“They do-,”

“Can you two stop bickering and set the dang table?” Your mother’s voice cut your brother off before he could dig himself deeper into your irritation. It was all in good fun, you would go from yelling in each other’s faces to laughter-filled bike rides in a matter of minutes while growing up.

“Momma!” You ran to her, nearly knocking the older woman over with your hug. You ignored the new wrinkles at her eyes and the peek-through of grey hairs. She wasn’t allowed to get older.

“No makeouts in the kitchen, honey.” It wasn’t the first time she had said it, and you doubted it would be the last -- whoever Lina was spending her time with would learn soon enough.

“We weren’t making out.” You defended, sounding all too much like that teenager that your mother had to drive to college.

A smile crinkled the edges of her eyes again and she smoothed down your hair.

“I love you.” She mumbled. Her eyes flicked behind you, where Ben was being examined by Peter. It was a wordless thing, simply eyes scanning your boyfriend like he was an alien that had been beamed down.

“This is Ben.” You explained, lacing your fingers into his. With all the chaos, you hadn’t noticed his silence.

While he had made his occasional comments, he was more watching it all go down. You bouncing around the place, so happy and free. Your family teasing you with warmth and love in their words.

It was the kind of place he had dreamed of being in as a child -- not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

“Mmm, right…,” Your mother hummed, looking him up and down. She knew Soldier Boy -- everyone did -- but she was more interested in knowing how Ben acted, how he treated you.

You could tell her a million times he’s perfect, so nice and she would never believe you. You were too kind -- maybe her fault for raising you to be as such -- and you would let love cloud your judgements.

When you called to say that her favorite supe from her childhood was your new boyfriend, she felt that ache come on. Vought tried their best to cover the scandal Soldier Boy would get into, but as she grew, your mother reflected on both his words and actions, finding them to be less respectful than she had once thought.

“Momma, stop starin’ him down.” You almost whined, stepping further in front of Ben to shield him from her gaze. It didn’t do much -- Ben towered over you.

To make you feel more important, he rested his hands on your shoulder, the one holding your hand never letting go.

“Benjamin-,” your mother started, but you cut her off.

“Ben.”

“You hurt her and you’ll figure out what we hide under those cherry trees.” Your mother hissed lowly, a contradiction to the sweet smile she gave the two of you after them.

You paled.

“I’m keepin’ our girl safe ‘til the end of time, ma’am.” Ben responded. You could hear him holding back a chuckle. You watched her give him a simple nod, like they had come to an agreement, and turn back to whatever task she had pulled herself from.

“She’s joking.” You laughed nervously up at him. I hope, you refrained from adding.

“She’s a spitfire like you, doll.” Ben gave you a chaste kiss. You melted into him.

The onlookers you called family were back to their own stories, chittering coming from all directions. You caught on to a few names and places, noting the tone in which all of them were said.

“Do you like them? Or do I need to redownload Tinder?” You added that last part as a way to mask your anxiety. Ben saw right through it, as he did with most things you did. There wasn’t anything you could get past him, though it worked vice versa.

Ben didn’t know about all the times you sensed his aggression before he even opened his mouth. He didn’t know about the way you would walk an extra block on the way home just to pick up his favorite biscuits because you knew he was having a bad day. He didn’t know because you liked knowing something he didn’t.

“You keep that damned thing gone.” He grumbled, pulling at your hips. You snorted out a laugh, remembering the look on his face when he had stumbled upon a dick pic -- a very unasked for dick pic -- from some guy. It was before you were officially dating, and you hadn’t actually opened the app in months, but that did nothing to stop Ben from reminding you exactly how much of you was his. Spoiler alert, it was all of you, and his actions left the two of you panting and spent.

“They love you. They must be good people.” Ben shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I love them, and I love you, I just want you all to get along.” You sputtered out, playing with the fabric of his shirt under your fingers.

You’d said I love you many times to him, yet it never stopped the bloom of warmth in his stomach.

God, you were turning him into a soft-ass man, pussywhipped beyond belief.

He’d hated it at first, trying to turn you away for who knows how many weeks in the beginning. You’d never stopped coming back, crawling into his lap, and saying the words again and again until you were whimpering them into his ear while he thrust into you. He’d learned to let you care for him, ignore the bubbling hatred for anything lovely in his life.

“I know.” He breathed, soothing you with the familiar gruff of his voice. You curled into him, letting him hold you until your brother yanked at your arm, complaining that he had to do everything and you always get away with not helping.

Dinner skimmed by without much of a problem, aside from Ben’s immediate reaction to your father’s barbecued meats.

“Holy shit.” He had moaned. You were grateful it was somewhat quiet, only catching the attention of the youngest of the cousins at the adult table. The thirteen year old looked at you with wide eyes, a bashful giggle bursting out. You had shushed her and, after some very skillful manipulation -- you had no idea where she had learned how to do it --, you were signed up to bring her dress shopping for her middle school’s fall dance.

Now, you were stuck on dish duty with your sister-in-law, something that was only bearable because you found common ground in complaining about your sister’s odd habits. You were listening to her complain about how your sibling left a full dishwasher without starting it when the boisterous laugh of Ben’s caught your ear.

“She brought home this… guy.” This was your father, who immediately got along with Ben upon meeting him. You tried not to think of things they had in common. You didn’t want to be dating your father.

“He wouldn’t look at us, he kept sticking his hand up her shirt at dinner, and, the worst part, he ate everything with soy sauce. Even Marcie’s,” Marcie was your mom, “mac and cheese.”

Oh God.

He was telling Ben about that horrid boyfriend you had when you were twenty. You, thinking he was the love of your life despite every conversation being about him, brought him home for a family dinner. It was smaller than this whole thing, but still held your immediate family, including your grandfather, who, now, was sitting out on the porch with Ben and your father.

“Sounds like a real asshole.”

You choked on your breath, sending you into a coughing fit. Of course he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. It was the end of the night, you were so close to freedom from your fairly conservative family, yet Ben had to silence the entire house, children and all, with that fucking word.

Everyone stilled, even if they weren’t on the porch, even if they had only caught the ass part.

All eyes pointed in your grandfather’s direction. The old man didn’t take well to swearing, not with the way his parents had raised him. Your father slipped up sometimes, but never so obvious as Ben had. You cringed in preparation for the lecture on why Ben was the worst person alive and why you needed to find a new boyfriend.

You tilted your head to get a better view out of the window just as a smile wrinkled the skin around your grandfather’s eyes. He let out a gravelly laugh, eyes twinkling like Ben was simply an old friend he had lost touch with.

“The biggest.” Your grandfather agreed, raising his glass of whiskey in Ben’s direction before taking a sip.

That was the last blow to your nervous energy, turning that anxiety into mush. You let out a relieved breath. The family went back to their gossiping or bickering or whatever else they had gotten up to.

You rinsed the last dish, leaving it to dry on the towel near the sink before joining the three men on the porch. You silently settled into your favorite seat -- Ben’s lap --, cuddling into his chest while he held you.

It was a good day, all of your family finally becoming familiar with each other.

Ben had thought it before the dinner, but now he knew. This was his family as much as it was yours. He couldn’t imagine a better place to belong to, a better place to raise up a couple of kids, with you by his side.

jensen ackles taglist: @arcannaa @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery

soldier boy taglist: @sl33pylilbunny

#x reader #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x female reader #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #soldier boy fluff #yapper!reader

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lordprettyflackotara · 10 months ago

Text

dollhouse || jeff the killer

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. PLEASE READ TW LIST: MURDER, YOU ARE A CREEP/MURDERER, blood kink? kinda?, choking, hate sex, enemies to prob lovers trope, orgasm denial, etc etc. yes there will be a part two ;) <3

part two

“God fucking dammit!”

The screech left your mouth involuntarily, your hand gripping the back door and slamming it shut. The sound echoed through out the kitchen, your vision borderline seeing red. You continued to mutter curses under your breath as you stormed into the living room. Ben nearly bent his neck backwards trying to look at you from the couch, “Uh, something wrong?”

Your eyes were shooting daggers as you looked at him. The blonde would’ve cowered in fear if he didn’t find you tragically attractive. (Considering you’ve made it very clear you are off limits from any mansion residents). “I got a fucking assignment like i’m a goddamn proxy,” You grumbled, stomping into the living room. Lazily you flopped down on the couch beside Ben, running your fingers through your hair.

Ben playfully elbowed you. “Oh cmon, that’s not that bad. Every creep has had to go on a mission for Slendy at one time or another,” He said cheerfully, resuming his button mashing on his xbox controller. You slumped in your seat, sighing as you propped up your head.

“Yeah, but not every creep has been paired with Jeffrey Woods.”

“Don’t flatter yourself sunshine, i’m not happy to be paired with you either,” Jeffs cold voice rang from the staircase. Ben looked back and forth between you to, pausing his game. “Oh and call me that again and i’ll slit your throat,” Jeff barked. He casually strolled down the stairs, parking himself in his usual chair by the window. You refrained from looking at him, his face making you physically sick. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about either. If I were you i’d be dropping my fucking panties and praising Slender,” Jeff continued. His rambling was growing tiresome, your patience becoming thinner.

You and Jeff were equally as aggressive, which led to many disputes and many more fist fights. Jeff never knew when to shut his mouth and you never knew when to stop throwing punches. “You single handedly have the best killer on your team and you’re still running your mouth. At this point it’s a mystery why your folks didn’t stitch it shut,” Jeff snickered. Your ears twitched visibly, your eyes widening at the sound of him mentioning your human family. Your human life.

In a swift motion you dug the (carefully thought out) emergency knife from the couch, throwing it at his head. You were known for your aim, your accuracy. The blade whisked past Jeff, digging into the wall. “You’re gonna break a window!” Ben screeched. Jeff frowned, glaring at the knife in the wall behind him. “You missed doll face,” He seethed. You grinned your petty scheme paying off.

“Did I?”

A warm liquid began trickling down Jeff’s ear, his fingers reaching to identify the source. Crimson red blood stained his fingertips, the lobe of his ear nipped by the launched blade. “You bitch i’ll kill you!” Jeff yelled, rising from his seat. You matched his energy, standing up immediately. Despite Jeff’s tall size you refused to let him intimate you, your gaze always burning with a sincere hatred. Ben was quick to hop around you, wedging himself in between you both.

“Guys let’s think about this, you know Slender’s rules,” The blonde suggested. Typically Ben didn’t give two shits about Creeps wrestling it out. Shit, last week he let Masky throw Toby into the coffee table. (Shattered it, by the way.) But he genuinely liked the both of you, considering you both his best friends. Your eyes flickered past Jeff for a moment, landing at the disney princess clock Sally had requested.

“Shit we’re late. Clean yourself up and let’s go.”

One key thing was to be known about Slender missions: if you had any questions, you kept them to yourself. This is what you tried to convince yourself as you pulled on a set of scrubs. Cosplaying as a nurse was not on your bucket list, certainly not like this. “Could you be any slower?” Jeff huffed. You both stood in the back alley of the hospital, a keycard having been delivered to you to gain entry. Jeff stood on the other side of the car, facing the wall. You threatened to scoop his eyes out if he looked at you changing, the mere threat alone leading to half of his annoyance.

“Oh im sorry, maybe if your face didn’t look like it went through a meat grinder you could’ve been the doctor,” You spat, venom lacing your words. You shoved on your face mask, your key card pinned to your shirt. You rounded the car, shoving Jeff his sunglasses and blue face mask. “Do I look legit?” You asked. Jeff scowled as he shoved on the sunglasses, shoving his hood over his head. “I wouldn’t trust you with a walnut, nevertheless my life,” He snarled. You had learned long ago to discard anything Jeff said to you, no matter how hurtful or spiteful it seemed to be.

But he noticed your eyebrows briefly furrowing, your eyes flickering with concern you didn’t look nurse like enough to complete the mission. “But yeah I guess you look like a healthcare professional,” Jeff finished, shoving his face mask on. You locked the car, shoving the keys into your scrubs. Jeff’s part was to play a sick patient, one you were taking to the emergency wing. The same wing where they had a lab with copious amounts of blood bags. Again, you were never supposed to ask questions. But you couldn’t help but wonder what or who Slender would be feeding with these bags.

“Why did you make me wash my hoodie again? The blood on it could’ve looked like I was coughing it up,” Jeff asked. Jeff was notorious for not wanting to wash his hoodie. You figured it was an ego thing, pride always seeming to drip off of him when he paraded around in his victims blood. Grabbing your keycard you bypassed the pitiful security system, the door unlocking with a click. You grabbed him by his shoulder, assertively guiding him inside. “Yeah we would’ve wanted you to look like you were coughing up blood, not coming back from a murder scene,” You whispered. The bright hospital lights were borderline overstimulating, your vision narrowing as you struggled to remember instructions.

Jeff sensed this, fake coughing and jerking his head towards the sign. West wing. Great. You led Jeff through the busy hospital, nodding respectfully at any medical staff that made eye contact with you. No one seemed suspicious, just another human nursing a sick patient back to health, right? The journey felt longer than it was, your nerves gnawing at you. It wasn’t the fear of being identified necessarily. You and Jeff (if you managed to work together as a team) could certainly slaughter this entire hospital floor and get away. It’s not like many would try to fight you both off either.

Creeps were not to make spectacles of themselves by having their identifies revealed to humans. Camera systems were in place, people had cell phones, police were nowadays just one click away. If you both failed to remain secretive, you’d violate one of Slender’s rules. And if you cared to live another day with more than three brain cells in tact, you did not disobey Slender.

Finally reaching the west wing brought instant relief, both of you reaching your destination. You swiped your keycard, both of you pushing into the room. A middle aged man stood at the counter, turning around to see who had entered. He briefly turned back around, before realizing Jeff did not appear to be medical staff. You shoved a metal cart in front of the door, Jeff quick to take out the threat. “Go to sleep,” He snickered, slitting the man’s throat. You rolled your eyes, grabbing a trash bag from under the sink.

“gO tO sLeEp,” You muttered mockingly. You wondered when he’d retire the corny catchphrase. You threw your mask aside, tired of playing pretend. Jeff strolled over to the fridge, yanking open the door. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his shoes, staining them as he crouched down. Jeff wasn’t bothered in any capacity, reaching out to grab a trash bag. You both began shoving the bags into the bag, grabbing each and every type. “Wait did Slender want the different blood types in different bags?” Jeff asked. You sighed, ignoring him as he stopped and looked at you. He yanked off the mask and tossed aside the sunglasses, his obsidian eyes boring into yours. “He didn’t specify,” You shrug, grabbing another row of bags.

“He didn’t specify? So why wouldn’t you do it then?” Jeff asked. You rolled your eyes, dropping your hands. “What does it matter? We’re putting bags of blood into trash bags and delivering it like we’re in the twilight zone. We don’t even know what this is for,” You argued. You went to grab another bag, Jeff’s pale hand harshly grabbing your arm. “Exactly, we don’t know what it’s for. Meaning we should play it safe,” Jeff debated. You yanked your arm away from him, disgusted by his touch. Angrily you dropped the trash bag, standing up.

“You just want an excuse to argue. I knew you would fuck this mission up,” You growled. Jeff rose to his feet, towering over you as he did so. “I’m fucking up the mission? You’re the one who’s being sloppy,” He said, poking your chest. You shoved his shoulders, hating his touch. “You’re the sloppy one. Yeah Jeff get your shoes stained with the humans blood so they can look for it later. We’ll just have to burn it in the middle of nowhere,” You said, gesturing to his shoes. Jeff rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Them knowing my shoes, which by the way, are converse, which half of the planet owns, is not a big fucking deal,” He said mockingly.

You threw your arms up, exasperated. “Yes it is! Because then they’ll link it to any other crime they’ve captured with a stupid pale guy in converse and it’ll be all over the news, and you know how Slender hates the media-” You began, before the hallway light stopped your sentence for you. Two nurses shoved their way inside of the room, both of you freezing. Shit.

Jeff grabbed both of them by their scrubs, yanking them inside and slamming the door. He shoved his hand over the first one’s mouth, slamming her onto the cold floor. Your victim seemed dumbfounded, her eyes widening in the same fear that dripped off of every victim of yours. “Dont scream bitch, whatever you do, don’t scream,” You suggested. You didn’t look visibly armed, maybe she’d listen to you. As Jeff repeatedly stabbed her coworker in the chest, she changed her mind. A shallow gasp left her lips before you were on her like a wild animal, your pocket knives blade stabbing her from the underside of her chin.

Not your preferred method, gallons of her blood pouring down onto you and your scrubs. Her eyes went blank as the soul left her body, her life officially drained. Crimson paint coated your entire front side, the skin on your arms stained with the color. “There is no fucking way i’m going to be able to walk through the hospital like this,” You seethed. You turned to Jeff, tossing the nurses limp corpse aside. “You should’ve been keeping a lookout instead of picking an argument!” You exclaimed. Jeff rose to his feet above his own victim, her organs on full display as smashed lumps of meat.

“Nothings ever your fault, is it sunshine? Maybe take some responsibility for your fuckups instead of pinning it on me,” Jeff spat. You hated him. You hated him beyond belief. You also hated that he in one way or another, was right. You let him get in your head and distract you from the mission. In a fit of rage you shoved at his chest, the pale killer having enough of your hissy fit. He shoved you back, pushing you against the counter. Slipping on the blood beneath you, you instinctively grabbed handfuls of Jeff’s hoodie, dragging him with you.

His body smashed into yours as your back hit the counter, both of you breathing heavily. You glared up at him, his body not deserting yours. He licked his dry lips, observing you from above. Your chin and neck were coated in blood, along with the rest of you. When Jeff came to think of it, you didn’t look half bad when your mouth was shut and you were covered in his favorite liquid. Glaring up at him you noticed he was stained the same way, splatters of blood painting his face. “I hate you,” You seethed. Jeff leaned in closer to you, his face an inch away from yours.

“I hate you too sunshine. Don’t ever think for a moment I don’t,” He replied. You could feel your heart beginning to race, the close proximity making your stomach do back flips. “Why would I think you don’t?” You asked. Jeff hesitated, knowing what he was about to do would change everything. But fuck he could not resist a hot chick covered in blood. “Cause of this,” He huffed, smashing his lips into yours. You were surprised to find yourself kissing him back, clashes of teeth ensuing more than a traditional kiss. His large hands helped you onto the counter, the pale killer wedging himself between your legs.

You wrapped your arms around Jeff’s neck, bringing him closer. You both were willingly jeopardizing the mission, all for a sweet release. Because you both knew deep down that you both were the same, cut from the same cloth. Jeff’s hands slid up your thighs, reaching for the hem of your scrubs. Your lips refusing to stray from his, awkwardly lifting your hips to help him take them off. Jeff’s tongue slid into your mouth, the faint taste of a monster energy drink dancing across your tongue. Jeff was quick to pull down your pants and panties, leaving you completely exposed.

“We don’t have much time,” You panted into his lips, nibbling on his bottom lip. Your hands reached for his pants, fiddling with the belt. Jeff rubbed two fingers up and down your slick, sickly satisfied with how wet you were for him. “You’re fucking drenched. I knew your slutty ass wanted me,” He snickered. You glared up at him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Without thinking you raised an open hand, slapping Jeff across the cheek. The stinging electrified him, his cock throbbing with a more intense desire.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” He seethed, shoving two fingers inside of you. You let out a groan, your hand slithering down to your clit. “Who are you supposed to be pretending to be now? Ben?” You asked, relishing in the sight of his pale cheek turning pink. He curled his long fingers inside of you, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned. “You greedy bitch, pay attention,” Jeff growled. His spare hand flew to your throat, harshly gripping at the sides. Your eyes burst open, meeting his dark orbs. “Thats it, look at me as I ruin you,” Jeff ordered.

You began drawing quick circles around your clit, biting your inner lip. “You gonna make me cum or just keep talking?” You huffed, grinning as his grip on your neck tightened. Jeff continued finger fucking you, your groans music to his ears. “You sick bitch. You like me choking you, huh?” He taunted. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your orgasm threatening to wash over you. Jeff could sense so too, releasing your throat and yanking away your hand from your clit. His fingers emerged from your cunt, just as you were teetering on the edge of cumming.

“You fucking asshole, fuck you,” You seethed. You spat in his face, your saliva coating the same cheek you slapped. Jeff picked you up off of the counter, slamming you against the closest wall. Aggressively he pulled down his pants and boxers, his lips meeting yours again. For such a prick he was intoxicating, his lips working wonders against yours. “Be patient for once you brat. You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good whore should,” Jeff grumbled, rubbing his shaft up and down your slick. He forcefully shoved himself inside of you, your body splitting in half as his dick bottomed out inside of you.

You gripped his blood stained hoodie, your palms covered in the liquid you could never escape. You swallowed as you screwed your eyes shut, attempting to adjust. Your body was tense and still, your breathing heavy. You expected Jeff to be a prick and move, ramming into you the way he wanted to. But he didn’t, his eyes watching you intently. Slowly and unsurely he grabbed your chin, forcing your head towards. His touch seemed too caring to be real, his lips working against yours again. Your body slowly relaxed, his lips bringing you ease.

Jeff hadn’t expected you to be overly experienced, your walls squeezing him like you were a virgin. An uneasy silence flooded between you to as you fully adjusted, your eyes fluttering open. “Jeff, move,” You ordered weakly, straying away from his heroin laced lips. The pale killer wanted to deny you, to make you beg for him. But as your victims blood pooled at his shoes once more, he knew he didn’t have time for that. He began moving quickly, his thrust rough and reckless. His cock abused your g spot just like his words abused your sanity.

“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be,” You huffed, unable to stop yourself from insulting the man who was providing you euphoric pleasure. Jeff laughed dryly, burying himself in the crook of your neck. “You’re tighter than I thought you’d be. I thought you’d be so desperate as to let EJ fuck you and stretch out this cunt of yours,” He rambled, jealousy ensuing. He hated how well you got along with EJ. He hated how seeing you laugh with him made him feel. He didn’t understand it. That nagging feeling. He couldn’t understand it. He didn’t want to understand it.

You licked your lips as you tried to contain your sinful noises, Jeffs name finally straying from your lips as he abused your cunt. “Thats it, moan my fucking name,” He praised, a sick satisfaction making his hips snap into you faster. His breath was hot against your neck, the twisted fucker licking the side of your neck. The taste of sweat and blood was intoxicating to him, the killer only more turned on by the taste. You could feel yourself finally close to the finish line, your hands combing into Jeff’s shaggy ash black hair.

“Fuck, right there. Please don’t stop,” You whined, unable to stop the plea from falling off of your lips. Who was Jeff to deny you of that? Your walls spasmed around him as you came, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Jeff came with a grunt, huffing into your neck as his warm seed flooded your cunt. You both were frozen for a moment, the realization of what had just happened washing over you. You shoved Jeff’s chest, pushing him away from you. The pale killer backed away, removing himself from your cunt.

He watched as you shoved your clothes back on, grabbing the trash bag.

“Get dressed bitch boy, we have a mission to finish.”

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