#Raked Gravel Press

[readerviews]

MEET THE AUTHOR! A conversation with Michael Pronko – Author of “Shitamachi Scam,” part of the Detective Hiroshi Series

Today, Reader Views talks with Michael Pronko about his book, Shitamachi Scam #reading #meettheauthor #authorinterview #readerviews

Shitamachi Scam Michael PronkoRaked Gravel Press (2023)ISBN:  978-1942410317Reviewed by Tammy Ruggles for Reader Views (12/2023) Michael Pronko is a Tokyo-based author who writes in three genres—murder, memoir, and music. He has written about Japanese culture, art, jazz, society, architecture, and politics for Newsweek Japan, The Japan Times, Artscape Japan, as well as other publications. He…

[aliteralsemicolon]

Bad, bad news - 18+

Main masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

"Bad, bad news, one of us is gonna lose, I'm the powder you're the fuse...just add some friction." You and Spencer play to see who can control themselves the longest. Loser is at the winner's mercy for the rest of the night.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact at all. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: Switch!/dom! Spencer, switch!/sub! reader, cock-warming, nipple play, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, clit stimulation, one singular spank, no use of protection, pet names (sweet girl, good girl, etc). Not proofread. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 2.9K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Rolling around half naked in your bed sheets is like a harmonious duet on most days. You and Spencer mindlessly slip into your roles using non-verbal cues. Today was not one of those days. Today was a messy battle for dominance and your sheets bore the brunt. 

“Give in,” Spencer whispers, his knee strategically pressed against your heat. “You know you want to.”

You wiggle your wrists out of his grasp above your head and flatten your palms against his chest as you push him back down. He doesn't react fast enough and you’re straddling him again. You claim his mouth in a roaring kiss and swallow a desperate moan.

“Baby, if anyone’s going to give in it’s you.” You taunt, pulling away.

Without warning, Spencer bucks his hips up, rubbing his hardness against your core. It makes you jolt. 

“Yeah?” He licks his lips and flashes you a cocky smile.

“Y-yes.” You’re quick to regain composure, not wanting to let him rob you of the upper hand. “You can barely control yourself.”

He harshly cups your jaw in retaliation and pushes himself up until his lips are almost brushing yours. You have to brace yourself against his shoulder and his eyes lock in on yours. He lingers there for a second, his breath tickles your skin. Your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips. His hold on your jaw loosens as the two of you slowly lean in. 

“I’m not the one that needs to be controlled.” It’s a low gravel that vibrates against your mouth as he retracts his head, making you chase after the kiss. 

Before you can catch his lips, he rolls you over and pushes himself on his knees. The noise that leaves you upon impact is something between a squeak and a grunt. He doesn’t give you time to assimilate, flipping you over and yanking you by your hips. Your cunt slams against his bulge and you groan, gripping the sheets. He grabs your hands, pinning them behind your back. You try to squirm out of his grip, but he’s got you pinned firmly. 

“Hey, that is not fair!” You whine. 

“Oh? Why not?” 

“You’re biologically stronger than I am!”

“Aw, poor baby.” He pouts with a mocking coo. 

You huff and make another futile attempt to set yourself free.

“Just give in and I’ll let go.” He chuckles. 

“Fuck off–ah!” A firm smack on your behind cuts you off. 

If that wasn’t so hot you could have at least pretended to be upset, but the way you involuntarily grind your hips gives you away before you can even make the effort. Spencer hisses in response. His eyes rake down your back to your ass pressed against him. So that backfired. 

You’re just as stubborn as he is and he doesn’t have the patience to wear you down. He needs to watch you squirm as you beg for him. He wants to feel how desperate you are for him. Using a featherlight touch, his hand travels up your back. He leans in, torso hovering over your back and brings his lips to your ear. 

“How about I make you a deal, hmm?” A trail of kisses starts from below your ear to your jaw.

“A deal?” You repeat, falling into a slight daze.

His fingers stop skimming over your back when he reaches the clasp of your bra and he undoes it in one swift motion. You can feel your heartbeat as your breasts spring free. 

“Mhm.” He releases his hold on you and moves off you to sit up against the headboard. 

“What deal?” You question as you sit up, eyeing him curiously.

“Well, it’s more of a bet.” 

Part of the reason you and Spencer work so well is because of your ability to keep up with each other's competitive nature. 

“Go on.” You rid yourself of the bra hanging on your shoulders. 

He tries to hide it, but, being met with your bare chest has an immediate effect on him. The silent but sharp inhale, the way he tries oh so hard to keep his eyes on your face and the way his lip rolls between his teeth. You can practically feel your arousal pooling in your underwear. 

“Come here.” He beckons you closer with his fingers.

A shrewd smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. You position yourself on your hands and knees, effectively crawling toward him. It shouldn’t feel as alluring as it does, but the sight makes his cock twitch. Part of him wants to grab you and pull you onto his lap the second you’re within reach, but he waits for you to get there on your own, watching you intently with every step. 

His palms caress the sides of your ribcage as you straddle him and he swipes his tongue between his lips. You drape your arms on his shoulders, wrapping them so your fingers run through his hair. You let him kiss you on the chin, jaw and shoulder, but when he tries to go lower, you pull on his hair by the base. He turns his head back up to you and you both rest your foreheads together.

“You are impossibly stubborn.” He groans. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you would simply do as I say.” 

“I should tie you up and make you watch as I take care of myself in front of you.” There’s an underlying playfulness in his sigh. 

“That sounds like a punishment.” You quirk your eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t have to if you had let me take care of you as I’ve wanted from the start.” 

“You won’t. At all.” You state point blank, indicating he's not the one in charge.

Spencer tsks and brushes his thumb against your nipple. You playfully slap his hand away. You don’t know it yet, but he’s already noting everything he’ll punish you for when the time comes. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You nod, giving him a cautious stare. 

“Do. you. trust. me?” He repeats, unsatisfied with the non-verbal confirmation. 

“Yes!” You huff. 

“Up.” He drops his hands to your hips, gripping the flesh and pushing it away from him. 

You lift yourself off him and on your knees. Spencer then lifts his hips, tugging his boxers down providing ample room for his length to bounce out. Looking down you can see just how hard he is. His tip’s swollen, pink and leaking with pre-cum. If you weren’t so turned on right now, you’d question what he’s up to. 

There is no shortage of things you want to do to him and he can tell as much when he runs a finger through your slit, pushing the fabric to the side. The action is unexpected and you have to use his shoulders for support, a whimper escaping your lips. You glare at him but he pays you no mind.

“Fuucck,” He breathily groans, “you are soaked.” 

It always takes you a little off guard when Spencer swears. He rarely does, saving it for when he feels very passionately about something. It makes you clench around nothing. Spencer guides your hips a little lower and runs his tip between your folds. You can only chuff in desperation as you try to keep yourself composed. 

“Sit.” He commands, lining himself up with your entrance. 

You’re sceptical but comply nonetheless. You slowly sink on his length and his fingers dig into the plush of your hips. The two of you exchange a gasp as you attempt to ground yourselves. Something about how he stretches your walls open is so delicious and palatable, that it makes you forget all sense or reason.

“Now what?” 

“Now,” his voice floats in and out of short breaths, “you sit still.” 

“I beg you pardon? Still?” Your perplexity makes him chuckle.

Shock waves travel between your cores and you squirm. 

“Uh-uh.” His grip on your body tightens as he holds you in place. “You heard me. Sit still.” 

You mull over his words and it clicks.

“Cockwarming?” 

“Precisely.” 

“That’s your deal?”

“Bet.” He corrects. 

A silent pause takes over the conversation. You try to study his challenging stare, but honestly, all you can focus on is how enchanting his eyes are. How ethereal they look when you have him begging for you. You’re smart enough to recognise that the only shot you have of making that happen is if you indulge him for now. 

“Okay, genius, I’ll bite. What are we betting on?” 

“Control. More specifically, which one of us is better at exhibiting control.”

“So not you.” You snort. 

He rolls his eyes but he’s unsure if it’s because of your comment or how warm you feel around his cock. He doesn’t point out that he’s already demonstrating a great amount of control by not flipping you over and fucking the shit out of you, because it might not work in his favour.

“What happens when I win?” 

Your follow-up question brings him back to you with brows raised in astonishment. 

“When you win?” 

“Or when you lose. Whatever way you wanna look at it.” 

His eyes narrow and his tongue swipes the inside of his cheek. Maybe if he brought up how good he is at holding his tongue, he could make a point about how much more control he’s in. 

“Whoever wins gets to do whatever they want to the other. For tonight.” 

You twist your lips to the side in contemplation. Spencer tracks every shift in your features. 

“Deal.” You answer with a genuine smile. 

“Thank you.” His gratitude is relayed in a husky whisper.

You don’t know if it’s the way he speaks or the words he says, but it makes you clench. You don’t realise until he hisses and throws his head back. 

“You can’t be doing that.” His thumbs caress the skin they’re resting on. 

“What? This?” You repeat the action intentionally and give him your most convincing doe eyes. 

Oh the things he plans to do to you. His thoughts hide behind a half-smirk and his eyes drop to your breasts. The look on his face borders between unsettling and erotic, sending shivers down your spine. Spencer lets his hand drift up your sides, stopping so his thumbs brush your nipples again. The feeling provokes goosebumps all over. 

You unintentionally whimper when he gently rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers. At first, Spencer was only trying to tease you for your antics, but the sound of your voice made him want to coax more out of you. He adds pressure to his hold and tugs. Your walls tighten around him again and he lessens the pressure to keep himself composed. If you don’t stop, he will. Your hands move to cup his wrists in place and you try to hold back the pathetic sounds threatening to spill out of you. 

“Can’t have your cake and eat it too, sweet girl. Tell me what you want.” His voice is a coo masking a command. 

“For you to stop playing games and give up already.” You try to keep your voice steady but fail. 

“You’re just delaying the inevitable at this point. The longer you fight, the harder you’ll have to beg.” He relays it like a scientific fact that can’t be proven wrong. 

“And you’re delusional if you think that’s happening. I won’t beg for you.” 

“That’s two bets you’re losing tonight.” 

You scoff but before you can get another word in, he pulls your taut nubs with a tighter grip than before. You have to fight the urge to lean away and roll your hips. Your breathing quickens, it’s almost as if you're quietly heaving. Then you make the mistake of looking down. Slender fingers toying with your hardened peaks and cock so deep inside you that your cores are touching at the base. 

Your senses feel heightened. Everything you sense is jumbled. You can practically taste the sweet ecstasy that fills your body when he’s driving into you so hard that he’s pressing against your stomach. You don’t realise how close you are to the edge, but Spencer does. He can tell by the slight shake in your legs as you try to keep yourself still. And the way your nails dig into his wrists. 

All your focus is on keeping yourself from clenching because you don’t want him to stop. The coil in your stomach has almost completely unravelled; you just need to sit still for a few more seconds. 

Seven. In your distracted state you let a few tiny moans slip out. 

Six. It elates Spencer, he almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. 

Five. As you grow louder, Spencer begins shushing you in his soft voice. 

Four. You shut your eyes, anticipating your release.

Three. Almost there, your lip rolls between your teeth. 

Two–

Your efforts are wasted because Spencer lets go right as you’re on the brink. 

“NofuckWHY?!” You speak so fast that you join your sentence into one word. 

A brash chuckle erupts from him. He releases his wrists from your grip.

“Come on, you didn’t actually think I was going to let you cum.” 

You let out a frustrated huff. 

“Only good girls get to come. Are you a good girl?” He adds, intertwining his hands with yours. 

It seems like an intimate act, but you can see past it. As always, the sneaky bastard has found himself a loophole. The truth is, Spencer doesn’t have more patience, he’s just too good at achieving results. He’s basically admitted defeat and you’ll still be the one to lose. You can only give him a narrowed stare, scouring his eyes with your jaw hanging.

“No?” He prompts when your silence is too long. 

This time, he only gives attention to one of your nubs and his other hand lands on your clit without warning. He doesn’t ease you into his brutal pace, flicking over your bud with his middle finger. The strain against your sensitive nipple, the stimulation on your inflamed bud and his erection still buried inside you. It’s an overwhelming sensation and you’re unsure of what to focus on. The result is a loud, strangled moan you try to muffle in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck! Spencer!” 

It doesn’t take long for the tension in your abdomen to start building again. You try to focus on your breathing and relieve the intensity by pressing your nails into his shoulders. Spencer remains undeterred and you can’t escape the feeling. It’s building fast and it’s going to run through you like a tidal wave. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck– oh God– oh fuck–” 

Your stringed obscenities are matched by Spencer's more silent hums and groans. He’s enjoying this, probably more than you are. His begins to twitch inside you at random intervals, he could cum just from this. 

“You’re close. Maybe I should stop. Hmm?” He mumbles his words as close to your ear as he can. 

“Pleaseplease–fucking–please– don’t stop. Don’t stop!” 

“Admit that you’re my good girl.”

“Spenc– mmh–” 

It’s too much but not enough at the same time. The tension inside is brewing too thick, you’re about to snap. 

“You’re not cumming until you say it,” Spencer warns sternly, “say you’re my good girl.” 

The sound of his voice only adds to your desperation. All you give him in return is your lewd mewls. He’s brought you back to the edge, you only need one final push. 

“Still nothing? You must not want it bad enough.” He starts to slow down his pace, indicating that he’s about to stop. 

The threat alone makes you break. 

“No!” You yelp. “Nonono– I’m a good girl– I’m your good girl! Please don’t stop!”

You’re panting frantically. He’s won.

“Yeah? You think so?” 

Yet he’s still going to make you work for it. He quickens his pace again and you don’t even try to keep yourself still anymore, squirming in his lap. 

“Mhm..” It’s a broken beg, your face still hiding in his neck. 

“Look at me.” He hisses gently, struggling against the friction you’ve started to build. 

You lazily lift your head to meet his eyes. He has a victorious smirk on his face. Your eyes struggle to stay open and you flutter your lids.  

“Oh, you look so pretty. All flushed and desperate.” He teases. “Tell me, what are you?”

You need release, now. Your legs try to close around his body. 

“I– ah– shit– I’m–fuck your g–good girl!” Your words exit as more of a moan than a coherent sentence. The coil in your stomach is about to burst any second. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.” He’s relishing in your struggle. 

You let out a frustrated whine. 

“I’m your good girl!” 

Spencer chuckles at just how agreeable you’ve become because of how badly you want to cum. Your brows furrow and you throw your head back, eyes squeezing shut. Just as you’re about to get your sweet release, Spencer stops. You snap your sights on him, utterly dazed, annoyed and confused. Spencer leans in, getting close enough for his whisper to reach you.

“Prove it.” 

Spoilers: Smut.

AN - When I said edging, I meant it. We’re all getting edged. Anyway first kinktober piece, I can’t promise I’ll deliver all of them in October. I’m just a girl (uni takes priority sorry guys). Also, this is kinda overdue now but thank you for 1K <3

TT has ruined so many things for me. I couldn’t write this without thinking of “asserting dominance” and giggling.

Thank you for reading!

[mountainsandmayhem]

Shhh...Just A Little Bit More

DBF!Joel x Fem!Reader

18+ MDNI

Masterlist || Part Two || Part Three (Soft Version) || Part Three (Spicy Version)

Summary: Joel catches you somewhere you shouldn't be, twice. CW: all p no plot! age gap, spanking, dirty talk, parental guilt, brat and brat tamer, sub/dom dynamics, edging and degradation kinks if you squint AN: I found the bottom right photo on Pinterest and @mermaidgirl30 said it screamed DBF!Joel. I have never written for DBF before so please be kind. Dividers by @saradika-graphics - thank you for all your amazing graphics and dividers, I'd be lost without your page.

“Let go of me, you fucking psycho!” You’re practically yelling over the music of the club, wrenching your arm from Joel’s strong grasp. The security guard approaches and Joel shoots him a glare so dark that he holds his hands up and steps back. “What the fuck, Joel?”

“What are ya doin’ here, sweetheart” he demands, one eyebrow raised. 

“I’m working!” You stomp your foot and then get right up in his face, pointing a finger at him. Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, hanging out in a strip club one town over. “The real question is, what are YOU doin here?” 

You’re only a bottle girl, you don’t get on the stage and have no intentions of stripping. It’s good money, great money actually. At 22 you’re already well on your way to having a down payment on a condo, it’s just too bad you’re having to lie to your parents. 

“With my crew, they picked the place. I’m takin’ you home. Go get your coat.” He crosses his arms over his chest, staring at you sternly. The music is pounding in your ears, the air thick with smoke. Even in the dimly lit hallway you can see the way Joel’s eyes rake over your body, taking in the very tiny Jean shorts and bralette you’re wearing. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spin and flip him the bird as you walk away. You know he’s staring so you give a little extra wiggle of your ass as you walk away. Joel Miller, staring at your ass. The fourteen year old inside you does a happy dance - that version of yourself had a tiny crush on him. Too bad he’s a stuffy, grumpy asshole now. You miss the fun, young Joel. He used to do cannonballs in the pool with you and his daughter Sarah. She was a few years older than you, but he was much more fun than your father. But now? Now he’s a certified prick. Thinking he can drag you away like some sort of barbaric caveman. He’s not your dad, even if he was, you’re an adult. 

When you finish your shift you head outside and pull up your Uber app, men often want to do shots with you so even though you never get drunk at work you also don’t drive there. 

See, Joel. I’m responsible. 

“Let’s go,” his voice is deep, still angry with you. You didn’t see him waiting by the door so you jump. 

“Jesus. You fucking scared me.” 

“Watch your language. Get in the truck.” 

You grumble under your breath that he should kiss your ass as he holds the door open for you. He stalks around to his side of the truck while furrowing his brow and shaking his head. 

“Got somethin’ to say young lady?” 

“Ya,” you say, slumping in the seat and putting your white vans on his dashboard, “kiss my ass.” 

He presses his lips in a thin line, you can see him eyeing your long toned legs from your peripheral vision before the engine roars to life and he speeds off down the gravel highway. 

When you pull up to the house he hops out of the truck and is right on your heels as you open the door. 

“I’m fine, Mister Miller.” You say with a sneer. You know he hates that, he has told everyone he’s ever been introduced to to call him Joel. 

Joel steps into your parents house and calls your dad’s name. “What the fuck! Joel! Shut up!” 

He calls for him again and your dad comes stumbling from his room, tying his robe around his sleeping attire. “Joel? What’s going on?” He flicks on the light, squinting against the brightness. “It’s 3 in the morning.” 

“Just thought I’d let you now know that the guys at work wanted to go to The Skin tonight. Caught your daughter working there.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?!” You yell, pushing at his broad chest. Your dad stands there stunned. Eyes wide and mouth agape. He thought you were working as a nurses aide overnight at the hospital on weekends. He’s even seen you leave the house in scrubs. All a part of the web of lies you have weaved. 

“Don’t speak to Joel that way,” your dad snaps. “Go to your room young lady. We’ll talk about this later.” 

“Kiss my ass, cowboy.” You practically spit at him as you stomp to your room. As you round the corner your mom is standing in the hallway clutching her crucifix necklace. You have a sudden urge to hiss at her with the way she’s looking at you, like you’re a disappointment. A sinner, the worst kind of person in her eyes. 

The next morning was the fight of all fights with your parents. Your dad tried to ground you, your mom started shoving church pamphlets at you. They wouldn’t even fucking listen. 

“IM NOT A STRIPPER,” you yelled at them over and over again. 

Finally, when the yelling ceased, your dad said in a very quiet anger, “young lady. I FORBID you from going there again. Is that clear? I don’t care if you’re 22 or 42, if you live under my roof, you live by my rules. You’re going to go to continue going to your university classes during the week, and on weekends you will be home. Studying. Helping your mother with the chores. You will go to bed at respectable hour. If you need money, you ask us. Is that clear?” 

You blink back tears and head to your room, slamming the door behind you. You are NOT quitting that job. 

When the next weekend rolls around you say goodnight to your parents at 10pm and head to your room. You worked it out with your boss to work the midnight to 4 am shift. So you wait - ear pressed to your door until you finally hear your parents go to bed. You sneak out the same way you’ve been sneaking out for years and run down the street with your newly embroidered denim shorts in hand to meet your Uber. 

You peel yourself away from the men and the booze around 2am to get some fresh air, exiting through the back to the dimly lit alley. You take a big inhale through your nose before you see it. The truck. Joel’s truck. And Joel. Leaning against the truck box, arms crossed, one foot up on the tire. 

You flip him off and then turn back towards the back entrance to the club. He’s on you so fast, grabbing the back of your bicep in his large hand. “You little brat. You aren’t supposed to be here.” 

“Read the shorts, MISTER Miller.” You say it as much venom as you can muster. 

His eyes rake down your body and you can almost feel them burning into you. It feels so good, you never want him to stop. Your pussy throbbed when he called you a brat and you wouldn’t be surprised if your light jean shorts hadn’t been soaked through already. When his eyes reach the pocket he sees ‘Kiss My Ass, Cowboy’ stitched in baby pink lettering and his grip tightens. 

He’s fucking furious with you. Furious that you’re here. Furious that other men get to see you dressed like this. Furious that he wants you so fucking badly. But mostly, furious because he knows you want him too and he’s a weak weak man when it comes to pretty little things like you. He yanks you back against his body and you let out a pained moan. 

“Don’t make me punish you,” he says coldly in your ear and you fight to stop your knees from buckling. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say breathlessly. 

Joel’s lips graze against the shell of your ear, hand gripping so tightly that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow. “So that’s what you want? You want me to punish you? Put you in your place? Huh?” 

You grind your ass back against him, “you would dare, Joel.” 

His other hand clamps down on your hip as he steers you to his truck, walking you around so no one can see the two of you. He opens the back door and pushes you forward until your legs are against the cold steel frame of the vehicle. “You don’t get to call me that. You call me Mr Miller from now on. Understood?” 

“Go fuck yourself, Joel,” you emphasize every vowel of his name, digging deeper. Pushing him. Pushing to see how far he’ll go. You get off on being a brat, and by the way his hard cock is pressing into your ass, he does too. 

He unbottons your shorts then lifts you slightly and pushes your upper body down onto the seat, the truck is high enough that your feet are dangling, ass stuck out for him. “Look at these slutty little shorts.” He tugs on the hem, your shorts now sitting just above your knees. Your pert ass is exposed to Joel and the night air. He tuts at the sight of you, “No panties. Little fuckin’ tease.” 

You whimper at his words, slick starting to coat your thighs. “You’re the one standing back there doing nothing.” You taunt. 

The cool night air spreads goosebumps across your skin, your clit twitches in anticipation of his touch. Other men have fucked you hard to get you to shut your mouth. And finally, FINALLY, you’re going to get fucked by Joel Miller. However, you grossly underestimated the different between the boys were with before and the man behind you now. 

His hand strikes your cheek hard and you let out a loud pained yell. “What the fuck, Joel!” 

“If you’re gonna be a brat,” his hand lands on your ass again, “you’re going to get a spanking.” His voice is harsh and rough as he hits you a third time. The sound of his skin on yours echoing through the cab of his truck. He hits you again, not caring about your cries of protest. 

You’ve never been spanked before and you’re thrown by your bodies reaction to it. At first you were shocked, then humiliated and then the pain and heat travelled to the base of your spine and you found yourself starting to get turned on. Arousal pools in your belly with each strike of his palm and when your pussy throbs the humiliation starts to creep back in. Are you supposed to be enjoying this so much, is this what Joel wants?

You bend your knees up, trying to make space between your bodies. One of his strong hands wraps around your ankles, pinning them to the back of your thighs as he spanks you again. 

“Stop! I’m sorry. I’ll - “ he strikes you again, harder than the last few times and there’s no more pain, every slap is full of pleasure. You let out a deep moan, your pussy practically gushing onto the leather seats. “Oh fuuuuck.”

Now that it’s turning you on it almost eggs Joel on. “Put your hands out in front of you,” he commands. Your arms shoot out, stretching them across the seat above your head. “Such a needy little slut. You’re drippin’ all over my fucking seat, baby girl.” He strikes you again and your arms flinch. “Keep them there.” 

Your ass is starting to get pink, his splotchy handprints covering it. The world around him starts to fade, all that he can see is you and your ass - and he wants to make it hurt. Then he wants to make it good. So very good. 

His strikes keep coming, he’s like a man possessed. “Stop, Joel. Please.” 

He drops your ankles, then uses his hand to spread your thighs apart, the denim biting into your knees. “Shhh…just a little bit more. Look at this messy pussy. You don’t want me to stop.” 

He hits you again and you start to hate how much he’s right. You don’t want him to stop, you’re on the verge of coming and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You’re sure the second he’s near your clit you’ll explode. 

Both of your cheeks are glowing red and Joel finally stops. You’ve both lost track of how many times he’s hit you. His large palm rubs the marks. You know you should keep your mouth shut, but fuck do you love to rile him up. 

“Are you done now? I have work to get back to.” 

Joel growls behind you. You hear the sound of his belt undoing, the leather whipping out from the demin loops. “I’m sick of your goddamn mouth, baby girl.” 

Your eyes widen in fear, stomach twisting up over the thought of him striking your sore ass with his thick leather belt. Your pussy, however, flutters in excitement. Slut, you think to yourself. 

You hear his buckle clinking, he grabs you by the hair and jerks your head back. “Open you mouth,” he says with a snarl. You obey him and he slides the folded up leather between your teeth. “Bite down on this. You can speak to me again once you’ve learned your lesson.” 

You press your teeth into the rough leather, waiting for his next move. His hand comes across the back of your thigh and it’s a whole different sensation. The pain shoots straight to your core, the walls of your pussy clenching harder than your teeth do as you whine out a high pitched squeal. On instinct your hands shoot back, knees bending to protect yourself from him. He steps back from you, without his heat you’re left in the cold air. 

“Arms up and legs down,” he says in an eerily calm voice. 

You whimper again, grinding your teeth against the leather of his belt before slowly peeling your arms and legs away from your body, returning to Joel’s desired position. You’re so wet that it’s staring pool along the leather seat of Joel’s truck, your hips slipping slightly. 

“Dirty little thing. I’m tryin to punish you and you’re sopping wet.” He steps forward and lays a loud sharp slap with perfect precision right across your sore thigh. 

You yelp again, whining as your lash line fills with tears. This is not what you thought would happen when Joel threatened to punish you. And you definitely didn’t expect to fucking love it. You’re so turned on that you feel dizzy. 

Joel’s lips come to your thigh. Light kisses and his scratchy facial hair peppering along your red hot skin. “Fuck me,” you say around the leather clamped between your teeth. 

Joel laughs into your skin, kissing along the handprints he’s left on your ass. You’re squirming underneath him, pushing your ass towards his face, desperate for him to make you come. His hands grip around your shorts and your whole body relaxes at the thought of him finally fucking you. “I need you to listen to me now, ok?” 

You nod fervently and he lets out an amused laugh. You arch your back at him invitingly, but instead of removing your shorts he yanks them back up. You moan out in protest as he lifts you down from the truck. His strong fingers work to do up your shorts before he spins you. You look like a wreck; mascara smudged under your eyes, cheeks pink, eyes glazed and dopey looking. Cock drunk and he hasn’t even given it to you. He grabs the belt and you release it for him. It’s killing him not to fuck you right here and now. 

His hand cups your chin, squeezing your cheeks and locking eyes with you. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

You try to nod but he’s gripping you so tightly. “Yea? Then you need to do what I say. Ok?” 

“Mm-hmm” 

“Go in there and quit. Then come back out here and I will fuck you so hard that you’ll feel it in your throat.” 

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag  @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde  @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @mermaidgirl30

[bitterrfruit]

Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.” 

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin. 

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change. 

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay. 

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose. 

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him. 

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers. 

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.” 

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance. 

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.” 

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment. 

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?” 

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it. 

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise. 

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.” 

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?” 

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.” 

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath. 

“I bet you are.” 

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

[siriuslovebot]

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪ 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒇 ➸ 𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 ˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: smut (18+, minors dni!), oral (f!receiving), shy!reader, unprotected sex, praise kink (kinda), some teasing, dirty talk, etc.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: sirius really likes it when the reader wears his clothes.

𝑨/𝑵: hi everyone! i’m very excited for my first post on this blog. please go easy on me as i’m a bit rusty when it comes to writing (also this is completely unedited, so apologies in advance for any mistakes). i’m still deciding how i want to format these posts, so forgive me if it’s a bit of an eyesore. i also accidentally posted this on my main at first, so if you saw that... no you didn’t ;) as always, lowercase is intended. feel free to send me a request if you like. feedback is always appreciated!

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 3.1k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

       “is that my shirt, dove?”

       the low, silken gravel of his tired voice startles you as you sit perched in the little window seat of your shared bedroom, the window thrust open to let the night breeze in.

       “hmmm?” you muse, distracted as you slowly paint a top coat on your toenails. you fan them with one hand as you glance behind you. sirius stands in the doorway, lithe figure leaned against the frame as he watches you. his shirtsleeves are rolled up over his forearms, hair skirting his shoulders messily, eyes foggy from a long day at work. a soft smile plays over his lips, quieter than his usual wide, wolfish grin.

       he nods towards his shirt draped over your frame, the fabric pooling around your hips to expose the fabric of your panties. “been looking for that all over,” he says simply.

       you make a sheepish face, twisting the cap onto the bottle of nail polish. “‘m sorry,” you mutter, smiling apologetically. you turn towards him, bare legs dangling over the edge of the seat. you are a sight for sore eyes; his gaze trails over your exposed skin, eyes darkening as they trace your figure draped in his shirt. a warmth blooms in your stomach as you watch him watch you. the look is familiar–though it never fails to send your chest aflutter.

       “want me to take it off?” you ask, mostly because you’re at the point where it’s getting hard not to squirm beneath his hungry gaze. the silence is deafening, unspoken words bubbling to the surface. you have the sudden feeling that sirius may not be as tired from work as you thought.

       “not at all.” there’s that mischievous glint behind his eyes, darkening the clear grey to a stormy shade. you sit another second, skin burning as his eyes rake over you, and then you stand and pad over to your vanity.

        sirius should be getting undressed, preparing for bed. he’s too busy watching you. his eyes skirt over the curve of one bare shoulder as you return the little bottle of polish to its rightful place. you swipe a hand through your mussed hair, trying to ignore his attention. he always knows how to get you squirming, the easiest ways to set your cheeks alight with embarrassment. he lives for it, watching his shy girl crumble between his fingers.

       it seems he can’t contain himself any longer as he approaches you, fingers sidling up beneath the hem of the shirt. his lips are on you in an instant, pressing gently against that irresistible patch of exposed skin on your shoulder. a sigh falls from your lips and you melt into his touch. you close your eyes. his calloused palms knead over the flesh of your hips, earning a soft groan from you.

        he smirks against your skin. “quiet tonight, hmm?” his breath fans along your neck as he kisses up towards your ear. goosebumps rise on your skin, a shiver threatening to snake down your spine.

        “it’s late,” you mutter. there’s a knowing second of quiet, both of you knowing you’ve fooled around much, much later. you’re flustered, trying to deflect his teasing words. the butterflies fluttering in your stomach have long since morphed into flames, burning like your skin as you wait for his next move.

       “you want me to stop?” his whisper is soft, the undertone of huskiness becoming feather light. you shift, eyes meeting his in the reflection of the vanity. his eyes are clear, curious. you know he’d stop at the word, no questions asked. but he knows you better than that, knows the way your legs twist together at the feeling of his hands holding you firmly means you don’t want him to stop. sirius wagers you would beg him not to stop, if he wanted you to.

        “no,” you shake your head. there’s that grin again, and his lips are back on you. a sharp breath slices the air as he nips at your skin with his teeth. “sirius–”

        his grasp tightens at the gasp of his name. he chuckles quietly, snaking a hand up over your stomach. the rough pad of his hand finds your breast, kneading it in his palm whilst his other hand holds you firm against him. he’s hardening behind you, bulge pressed against your scantily clad frame. his gaze is still trained on you in the mirror, dragging over the lush sight of your flushed face, your lips parted in small pants, the dark look in your eyes. he loves watching you fall apart at his smallest ministrations. more than half of his pleasure comes just from working you up like this, pushing you to the brink without even trying.

       “please,” you manage, voice constricted as you writhe against him. the ache between your legs is incessant, throbbing as you watch his salacious expression in the mirror.

       “please what, my lovely girl?” he sucks a dark mark into the soft patch of skin behind your ear, earning a cry from you. he rolls your nipple between his fingers. you chew on your bottom lip, hips rocking as best they can despite his hold.

       “sirius–”

       there it is again, his favorite sound in the world. but he doesn’t give in so easily. you know better.

       “words, please, darling,” he mutters. the arm caged around your stomach loosens for a second, his flat-palm tracing down your stomach. he’s approaching the place where you need him most, but he’s not going to give in until he gets what he wants.

        you whimper at his teasing, head falling back to rest on his shoulder. “please,” you rasp desperately, “just touch me.”

        “ah,” he tuts at you, “but i am touching you…” the jest in his voice goes unnoticed by you, your head swimming as he inches closer and closer to your center. you wonder, in the back of your foggy mind, if he’ll give up without those magic words, if he’ll send you off to bed with soaked panties and a fluttering stomach. surely not…

        you contemplate being a brat, refusing to tell him what you want just to see how far you can push it. but you know he’s tired, and the need growing in your center is becoming almost unbearable. you let your pride crumble and you force yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror. “your fingers–your mouth, merlin–” your voice is choked as he smirks and gives in, his middle finger delving into your slick to circle around your engorged clit.

       “there’s my obedient girl,” he says approvingly, the praise in his voice like music to your ears. you cry out, voice cracking as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves with expertise. he knows your body like the back of his hand, knows exactly what drives you crazy. the pad of his finger dips further down, swirling through the mess of juices shining on your lips.

       mewling moans tear from your lips as he works you towards the edge. his lips are attached to your neck, abusing your skin to the point of saccharine tenderness. rosy marks bloom over your skin. his hand falls away from your breast to toy with the hem of the shirt, lifting it up in the front just enough so that he can watch himself pleasuring you.

       “fuck, take it off, please,” you plead, hips bucking against his hand.

       he shakes his head, releasing another patch of bruised skin with a hearty pop. “can’t,” he says, “wanna fuck you in it…” he mutters, voice low. he drags his teeth over your shoulder again, and then his fingers are slipping out of your panties. you whine at the loss of contact, your thighs clenching together automatically at the lack of stimulation.

       he pats your bum gently, head nodding in the direction of your bed. “go on, dove,” he says, “lay down f’me…”

        you do as he says, your heart thumping in anticipation. your legs are already quivering, weakened from his skilled fingers. he’s taking his time, watching as you sprawl back over the mussed blankets, frame draped in his clothes. he’s never been so enamoured, the sight of you wearing something of his just furthering his claim that you’re his sweet little angel. only, it makes him want to fuck you like you’re his little slut, makes him want to split you open on his cock and make you cry for hours and hours.

        you get comfortable, spreading your legs to reveal the soaked-through fabric of your panties. he groans, running a hand through his dark hair before he begins unbuttoning his shirt. the dark fabric is discarded quickly, though he doesn’t bother removing his trousers as he kneels on the bed between your legs.

        “sirius…” you breathe, aching for him by now. he’s observing, hands gently massaging the skin of your legs starting at your ankles. you squirm, following his gaze to the fabric plastered to your core. a second passes, and he dips his head between your legs, hands splayed over your thighs to keep your legs apart. a shrill cry comes from you as he licks a long stripe up your center, tongue gently flicking around your clit through your underwear. “please!”

       he smiles, against you. “so sweet,” his voice comes as a whisper. you tremble as his eyes meet yours, the stormy grey churning with lust for you. teasing you, he places tiny kitten licks against your center, just enough friction to have your hips rolling up into his mouth. but he’s stronger than you, and he’s got you right where he wants you. he has a knack for turning you into a whining, wriggling mess, drunk on his touch.

        “i– fuck, i can’t take it,” you hiss through clenched teeth at his teasing. you watch him through hooded eyes, biting on your bottom lip so hard that it hurts. he catches your eye, swirling the flat of his tongue over your clit. your back arches off of the bed, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

        “poor baby,” he says, tongue swiping over his swollen lips. he sits back on his knees, using one hand to flick open the clasp of his belt. “shall i send you off to bed, then? let you get your beauty sleep, hmm?” his eyes flicker with amusement. his other hand rubs soft circles into the silken skin of your inner thigh. you breathe sharply at the needing ache between your legs. you need him inside of you, badly enough you feel as if you could burst into tears.

       “no, why would i–” you start, shaking your head. he narrows his gaze at you, a warning. you know what he’ll do if you act like a brat, and although you’d enjoy it you don’t think you have the energy tonight. he pats your thigh softly, then finally, painstakingly drags the zipper of his trousers down.

       “be m’good girl then, yeah?” he prompts, moving closer as he palms his bulge through his boxers, then drags the waistband down just enough to let his length spring free. you hum at the sight, licking your lips as he swipes a thumb over the angry red tip, spreading a bead of precum over it. he spits into his hand, pumping the moisture over his cock before positioning himself above you. two of his fingers push the fabric of your panties out of the way, and he drags the cockhead through your folds, coating it in your arousal.

        a high-pitched, breathy noise graces his ears as his length drags over your clit. you bring your hand to your face, pushing your sweat-slicked hair off of your forehead. he breathes sharply above you, brows screwing together as he nudges your entrance with his length.

        “need you, siri,” you say, pleading. “need you inside me so bad…”

         “i know, dove,” his voice is soft as he leans down, peppering kisses over your face. “been dying to stretch you open since i got home.” he pushes into you, a chorus of pleasured sounds destroying the quiet in your bedroom.

        you cry out, the feeling of him pushing into you driving you mad. it’s been ages since you last had him inside of you, and there’s a sliver of pain as he bottoms out inside of your dripping cunt. waves of pleasure accompany the sting of the stretch, and your eyes flutter as he rocks slowly into you. he’s watching the way his cock splits you open, low grunts coming from deep in his chest. he shifts, one hand pressing on your lower stomach, thumb swirling over your clit. you cry out, head falling back onto the pillows. the other hand lifts one of your legs, pushing it towards your chest.

        “oh my fuck–” you cry out, hands reaching for him, fingertips finding his as they dig into your fleshy thigh. he holds your leg there still, hooking one finger with your own without even thinking. his pace is steady, and his cock is dragging deep against your walls. you’re fluttering around him, doing your best to keep your eyes open and drink in his blissed expression.

        “look at you,” he grunts, brows pulled together as he snaps his hips into yours with particular force. “makin’ a mess everywhere, dove…” the fabric of his trousers and exposed patch of pubic hair are both shining with your juices, and you’re sure there’s a damp spot pooled on the sheets beneath you. he’s eyeing your swollen cunt, his thumb massaging a steady pattern into the bundle of nerves. you clench around him involuntarily, your insides so swollen and tender that you imagine you can feel the ridges of his veins pulsing against your walls.

        your orgasm approaches unrelentingly. he leans back onto his heels, the angle causing the head of his cock to prod at the spongy flesh of your sweet spot. stars bloom at the edges of your vision, and his name breaks from your lips in a hoarse cry.

        “siri, i’m close,” you sob, your voice shaking. you feel his hips snap against yours, skin slapping in the quiet night as he drills you into the mattress. you bunch his shirt up in your free hand, wringing the fabric desperately as you hold onto him with your other hand. the fabric smells of him, like cigarettes and cologne and something woody, and it drives you even closer to the edge. he’s taking over your senses; the sight of him hovering over you, muscles in his abdomen clenching and rippling as he fucks into you is enough to make you scream on its own.

        “oh, is m’good girl gonna come for me? gonna make a mess of my cock, are you?” that silken voice drowns out everything else in the world. sirius is the only thing on your mind, his ministrations setting your body aflame. pleasure courses through your veins, spreading through your whole body until it’s all you can do to keep yourself from screaming until your throat goes hoarse.

       you cry for him as you come, your entire body seizing and shivering as he guides you through your release. “that’s it,” he says throatily, “oh, you’re doing so good f’me… look at this sweet little cunt pulling me in…” he’s groaning at the feeling of you tightening around him, closer to his own orgasm by the second. you’re still shaking, riding the waves of one of the longest orgasms of your life, and you’re sure a second one is piggybacking on this one, not far from sending your body into violent tremors.

       “siri, it– ah, it’s so sensitive,” you breathe, voice weak. he’s continued his pace both inside of you and on your clit. he’s determined to drain ever ounce of pleasure from your body that he can, his eyes watching your cunt weep around him with pride.

       “you can take it, dove,” he soothes, voice soft. “just one more f’me, can you do that? make me happy, love, just one more…”

        “one–one more?” you breathe, jerking as he slows his hips, allowing you to feel him inside of you more intensely. your mouth falls open involuntarily, your features crumbling into pure bliss as he nods. his movements grow more erratic as his release approaches now.

        “one more,” he repeats, leaning down over you to place a gentle kiss on your lips. his tongue drags over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. the kiss is messy, teeth gnashing and tongues swirling as he fucks you with renewed vigor. the coil in your stomach tightens again, and his movements quicken.

        you’re both drenched in sweat, shaking, as his pubic bone drags over your clit. both of his hands are now pinned to the mattress, caging you in on either side of your head. your hands slide over his ribs, up his back, nails biting into the skin as your second orgasm washes over you.

       he’s not far behind, hips meeting yours with a force that is almost painful, though you’re far too distracted by the fireworks blooming behind your eyelids. you feel him spill into you, hot seed pouring into your soaked cunt and making your thighs shake. his groans are hoarse, a couple grunted curses and growls of your name joining your chorus of moans in the room. he sits up once you’ve both ridden out your high, heads swimming as he watches his cum spill from between your legs when he pulls out.

        “my lovely girl,” he mutters, swiping a finger through the mess between your legs. the mix of your arousal glistens on his finger, the sight making your head spin as he brings his digit to your lips. you open your mouth, tongue darting out to swirl around the pad of his finger. you moan at the tang of your mixed release spreading over your tongue. he chuckles, leaning over to swirl his tongue against yours in a heated kiss. you’re panting when he finally pulls away, nipping at your jawline before he sits up, stretching his arms above his head. the sight of him, shimmering with sweat, scratches adorning his ribs and shoulders, hair curled up around his hairline and ears from the humidity, makes your stomach do flips. you shift, leaning up on your elbows as he pads away from the bed.

       “where are you going?” you wonder, frowning at his departure. he’s in the bathroom, the sound of the shower quickly following his footsteps. a second later, he returns to the bedroom.

       “gotta get cleaned up, darling,” he says. he tugs on one of your ankles as you lay there, and you oblige despite the fatigue in your limbs. “c’mon, let’s get this off.” he tugs at the hem of the shirt as he directs you into the bathroom.

        “can you wash my hair?” you ask, yawning as he pulls the shirt over your head.

        “‘course i can, dove. now, in we go...”

[blueicequeen19]

Hint

Warnings: unprotected car creampie, oral, face fucking, hate fucking with JJ, Kook mean girl

I roll my eyes as I cross the parking lot to my Mercedes. This Pogue could not take a fucking hint. His constant flirting was on my last nerve. Sure he was cute but he was a Pogue. I had guys lining up to fuck me. I could have any guy I wanted so why waste time on this loser?

“Stop following me.” I snap, hitting the unlock button on my key fob. Why did I park at the back of the damn parking lot?

“You’ve been drinking. At least let me drive you home. Or my home.” The smile in his voice is clear and I shake my head just as I stumble in my heels over another fucking piece of gravel.

“Fuck.” I stop, reaching down to kick off these monstrosities when he’s suddenly crouching in front of me, crowding my space as he lifts my foot and starts to unfasten the straps.

“Are you always this annoying?” I grumble, using one hand on his shoulder to balance myself. The hand on my ankle is hot against my skin as he finally works the strap free and gently sits my foot down.

“Usually.” He peeks up at my under his messy blonde hair, flashing a panty dropping smile as he switches to the other foot.

“At least you’re honest.”

“Not used to that?”

“You don’t know me at all so don’t assume anything.” God he gets under my skin so badly but he doesn’t seem phased as he chuckles before raising to his full height, towering over me and dangerously close.

“I know enough.” His voice is lower, seductive even as his playful blue eyes rake down my body and back up.

“You know what’s on the outside. You don’t know what’s on the inside.” I blurt in frustration, shoving his chest but he doesn’t even budge. His lips curl into a taunting smirk.

“I want to be inside you. Does that count?” My jaw drops in surprise. This Pogue was so bold. I scoff, attempting to shove past him but pain shoots up through my feet from the gravel. It’s so sudden that I barely comprehend him scooping me in his arms until we’re moving towards my car again.

“I didn’t need your help.” I grumble, my heels dangling from one hand as I wrap the other around his neck.

“A simple thank you would suffice.”

“Oh so you’re not going to use this as a way to gain a sexual favor?” I narrowed my eyes at him as a bright smile formed across his face, his boots crunching along the gravel.

“I won’t say no to a blow job.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You can sit on my face if you don’t feel like standing.” A laugh burst from me and I quickly looked away, his smile practically blinding as we came up on my car.

“You can put me down now.” I muttered awkwardly as he pulled the drivers door open.

“Eager to get home?” He lowered me so that my toes rested on his boots, keeping me from hurting my feet. The move felt intimate with how tightly our bodies were pressed together and I struggled to maintain eye contact.

“Why do you care? This is never going to happen.” I snap, his eyes widening for a moment before he schools his features. Anger I could deal with. Anything soft was off the table.

“I’m not going to sleep with you. Not just because you’re a filthy Pogue but because you’re probably some vanilla pretty boy and that’s not my thing. You probably like sweet words and taking your time but I like to be fucked. So take the hint.” My heart races with my outburst, my cheeks red with anger but I can’t help the sudden panic from the look in his eyes. He looked pissed but also wanted to eat me alive. Like he wanted to give me exactly what I said I wanted.

“Take the hint, huh?” His voice is low in warning, raising the hair on my neck like I’m being stalked by a predator. Suddenly he jerks open my passenger door and shoves me in the back seat by the back of my neck.

“What the—.” The door shuts and he’s manhandling me onto my knees, yanking my dress up to bare myself to him.

“You want to be fucked? I’ll show you how we Pogues like to fuck.” I nearly moan at his words, my body already on board with whatever he has planned. His fingers cup my sex, teasing my folds over my thong before yanking it down my thighs.

“Don’t you dare.” I gasp, still hanging on to the need for this to be all his idea. He slaps my pussy, making me squeal in pain and surprise.

“Open up for me, princess.” He slaps my thighs wider apart, the flesh of his cock suddenly between my thighs and making my eyes bug out. He was fucking huge.

“So goddamn wet for a Kook Princess.” JJ taunts, rubbing his cock through my slit. Every pass over my clit made me shudder, begging to be filled. I open my mouth to do just that when he shoves his way inside, making me moan loudly as my head drops down on the leather seats.

“Shit. You better be quiet or one of your friends will find you getting fucked by a filthy Pogue.” JJ’s words are strained as his fingers bite into my hips and he starts to move. I can’t control the whimpers and mewls that leave me. He delivers on his promise, fucking me hard and fast. I don’t even have to demand more because he keeps up with everything my body wants without instruction.

“So hot and tight.” JJ groans, yanking me back into every hard thrust of his hips as the car rocks. His cock was so hard and deep. I could barely think or breathe until I hear a giggle in the distance. I try to jerk away but he shoves me back down, holding me in place. His pace lessens so the car doesn’t rock but he doesn’t stop fucking me as he looks around.

“Grab the door.”

“Who— is it? We have to stop.” My words come out on a whimper, my body wound so tight as I do as he says.

“Guess you’re not the only one getting fucked by a Pogue tonight.” JJ chuckles darkly, shoving me flat onto the seat and coming down on top of me. My hair is twisted in his fist as his lips find my neck. I try to listen to determine if I know the identity of the other couple but I can’t hear over the sound of JJ panting in my ear and his pelvis slamming against my ass.

“Here?” A girl hisses too close to my car for liking and I instantly recognize the voice as my two-faced Pogue hating best friend.

“Fuck, I love having you under me. Not so mouthy now, are ya?”

I hear a thump and JJ chuckles in my ear, rolling his hips so he hits that sweet spot deep inside me. I bite back a mewl, turning my head and slamming my mouth to his without even thinking. If I thought fucking him was insane then kissing was even worse. His tongue demands entrance into my mouth and I can’t stop the orgasm that barrels forward. His hand is over my mouth in the next moment, silencing me as he fucks me into the seat until I’m trembling for relief.

“What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to be fucked?” I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him as I reach back to dig my nails into his thigh, with shorts still around his legs.

“Who is she fucking?” I demand in a whisper, shaking his hand off my mouth.

“Doesn’t matter.”

A cry of pleasure echos outside the car and JJ’s pace picks up. I can tell by his breathing that he’s close. He’s already lasted a lot longer than I expected.

“J—.” His nickname is a plea on my lips, the sensitivity being too much. The leather against my nipples. His weight on top of mine. His husky breathing in my ear.

“I like the thought of you driving home with me inside you. Then every time you drive this car you’ll be reminded of this. How your mouth begged for relief but your body demanded more. I can feel how close you are.” His vulgar words had my inner walls clenching, my eyes squeezing shut as pleasure pulsed through me. My hips lift on their own, aching for him to reach deeper.

“I didn’t say you could cum inside me.” I growl, fighting off the orgasm that threatens to rip through me and give us away. JJ’s hand dips between my thighs to press on my clit and a choked sound leaves me as my body detonates.

“I didn’t ask.” He whispers as I cum hard, my body jerking beneath his as I bite my own arm to keep from screaming my release. A deep, sexy moan echos in my ear as he finishes inside me, fucking me slow and deep until we’re both spent and fighting to catch our breath. The windows have fogged and I can feel his sweat on my back. Minutes pass and I don’t hear the couple outside anymore so I motion for him to let me up.

“This isn’t ever happening again.” I declare, looking along the floorboard for my panties. I don’t find them and I level him with a glare as he relaxes back against the seat, his legs spread and cock still hard. I fight hard not to stare at the cum stains along his shaft.

“If you say so.” His eyes are dark as he watches me, a sexy smirk on his lips. Like someone who was awfully proud of their accomplishments. The after effects of bliss make it hard to cling to my anger, especially with him looking at me the way he is.

“Clean up your mess and I’ll go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter.”

“I heard you. I was just giving you a chance to rethink what you just said.”

A beat of tense silence stretches between us, our eyes never wavering from each others even as his cum drips out of me and onto the leather seats.

“Here, I’ll show you.” JJ lunges, wrapping his hand in my hair and yanking me over his lap. His free hand holds his hard cock firmly as he presses my head down until the smooth tip meets my lips. I grit my teeth, refusing to open but the hand in my hair tightens painfully, nearly ripping the strands out so I reluctantly open, letting him hit the back of my throat. I gag loudly, attempting to pull back but he holds me firmly, a hand sliding between my legs to stroke my slick slit. I want to shake my head or tell him I can’t take anymore but he refuses to let me up as he fucks my throat.

“More tongue, less teeth. Relax your throat.” I’m tempted to bite down, wishing I could tell him I know how to give a damn blow job. It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d stop treating me like I don’t need to breathe. But goddamn the pulsing between my legs is almost agonizing. I feel on fire.

I move my tongue so it’s dragging up and down his shaft and I feel his body tighten as he hisses through his teeth.

“That’s it.” JJ groans, his fingers relaxing slightly in my hair as I start to move with him. The hand between my legs starts to move quicker against my clit, my legs shaking as I try to finish him before he finishes me. I hum around his shaft, tears blurring my eyes as every nerve ending starts to feel on fire.

“I’m cumming.” His head hits the seat as he holds my head down, shooting down my throat as my own body is thrown into oblivion. I can barely swallow as stars line my vision and my body shakes uncontrollably. The lack of oxygen didn’t help.

Finally, he releases the hold on my hair and I slide into the floorboard on my knees, makeup burning my eyes as I look up at him. My throat was raw and my pussy was on fire but I’d never felt more sated. JJ looked as satisfied as I felt as he slowly zipped his shorts back up and wiped sweat from his brow.

“I hate you.” My voice is hoarse and I desperately needed water. I also needed to know who my best friend was fucking right outside my car.

“But you love how I felt inside you.”

“You didn’t wear a condom.”

“Hopefully you’re on something.”

“Hopefully you don’t have something.”

JJ smirks as he leans forward on his knees, eyeing me like we didn’t just have amazing orgasms together.

“I guess next time I need to fuck you harder. Take care of all that attitude.” I narrow my eyes at him until his hand is suddenly around my throat and he’s pulling me into a sizzling kiss. I moan into his mouth, twisting my fingers in his hair as our tongues collide. I’d never been a fan of kissing but his mouth was otherworldly. I kiss him harder, feeling the slight stubble along his upper lip. I nearly whimper when he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting our lips.

“Next time I’m eating that tight fucking pussy until you cum all over my face. Then I’m going to tie you up and play with you until you make an absolute mess. After that I’m gonna lay back and watch as you use me to get yourself off. You’ll use me however you want me while I don’t lift a finger.” JJ kisses me again as my insides turned molten, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips.

“I’ll see you later, princess.”

Then the car door opens and is slammed in my face as I try to figure out what the fuck just happened.

[last-starry-sky]

let it out - pt. 3 (finale) - 141xreader

part 1 - part 2

[NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: 6.4k words of wall-to-wall smut, mmmmf fivesome💀, voyeurism, group sex, light pet play, fingering, unprotected piv (reader has an IUD), consent checks, prone bone, cumming inside, self-orgasm denial/edging, doggy-style, mating press, creampie.]

taglist: @princessisfinethx @t-rextyrannt @my-therapist-hates-me @soleilak @star-buck-barnes @julesneedshelp @itsdark--inside @mishaglass @sushiumex @mr-sol (sorry i forgot you last time!)

You lay panting on top of Gaz: eyes closed, chest to sweat slicked chest as he stroked at your neck and head. Silence and stillness pooled for a moment between the five of you. With your eyes closed, it was easy to pretend there weren’t three other men surrounding you. 

You couldn’t see Soap begging from where Ghost had forced him to the floor, or Price with his arms crossed, leaning ever so casually against the wall, completely at odds with the tone of the room. 

Ghost’s gloved hands raked down your hips, pulling you back into the present. Your skin prickled under the rough material. His weight, along with the hard line of his cock, shuffled back off of your ass. You felt one hand leave your body.

“Off,” Ghost commanded. 

You turned your head, unsure who he was talking to, or about. It’s not like you had anymore clothing left to take off. Your questions were answered when you saw Soap, cheeks pink and eyelids heavy with lust, with one of Ghost’s fingers in his mouth. He undid the velcro strap across Ghost’s wrist. His jaw moved, teeth closing down gently to grip the black cloth. Soap leaned back, eyes flicking up to Ghost, pulling the glove off his lieutenant’s hand.

Ghost pulled his hand away, watching Soap obediently hold the bone-printed fabric in his mouth. He reached down and gave the man a pat on the cheek.

“Good boy,” he said gruffly, an edge of softness in his voice, as if Soap was a beloved but misbehaving puppy.  

You felt him slowly trace the fingertips of his newly exposed hand down the soft skin of your ass. Sometimes you felt it was the last soft skin you had. Every place else had been toughened by the sun, the rain, and the blasting cold wind. You shivered, sighing into Gaz’s chest. His skin was rough, not just from the month-long mission as everyone else’s hands were, though. You could almost feel the whorls of his fingerprints, how the ridges of every fold of skin were that much tougher, older, worn. They were hands molded to hold weapons, formed by the grit-tape of his knives and diamond grip of his pistol. Gravel and brick dust worn into the creases. Blood underneath his short, cracked fingernails.   

He palmed your cheek, running his thumb along the rounded muscle. With his other hand, Ghost lifted up your hips, tilting your pelvis and arching your spine to put your pussy on display for him. His fingers trembled, there was no denying - you could feel it, as he drew them down the crack of your ass, nearer and nearer to your core. 

Ghost groaned as he plunged two fingers into you suddenly. You squeaked, burying your face back into Gaz’s chest. Kyle soothed you with a stroke down your neck. 

“Fuck,” Ghost growled. His free hand gripped the globe of your ass, peeling you farther open. “Soap,” he he said breathless, fingers crooking inside, petting at your walls. “Fuckin, get up here. Lookit this.”

Soap was on his feet in a second, boots squeaking against the linoleum. You felt his weight add to the bed, the frame ominously creaking; low and metallic, in response. You felt Ghost pull his thick fingers out to your entrance before spreading them and sliding back in slowly. 

“Ohhhh,” you heard Soap moan as he watched Ghost work you open. Your hands balled in the sheets. “Oh that’s a beauty. She’ll look so good takin’ ye.”

“Gimmie some room,” Ghost told him gruffly. 

Soap stood up, the mattress lifting as he left. Ghost pulled his fingers from you. You heard cloth shuffling and the soft swish of his tac-pants. There was a grunt followed by a quick whistle. 

“Behave,” he threatened, “or I’ll put you on the floor again,” he said as the bed dipped again slightly. 

His hand palmed your ass, spreading you open again, as the blunt head of his cock nudged at your entrance. You and Soap moaned at the same time. His was low and animalistic. You could only imagine what he looked like, what he was doing now. Maybe he was leaning on Ghost’s shoulder, palming him neglected, throbbing, erection through his pants, pretending it was him sinking into your wet heat. 

Your moan was high, dragging on and on as Ghost slid ever deeper. When he stopped, a soft groan ringing behind the mask, you thought that was it. That this was all he was going to give you. You just about screamed when he rolled his hips against your ass, his cock driving into your still sensitive pussy. It didn’t help that he was fucking massive. With your legs pinned together underneath him, you had no relief, no ability to regulate the position he fucked into you. All you could do was take it. 

Good God did that make you wet. 

You felt fingertips on your head. It wasn’t Gaz. You knew his hands were on your back, right above your shoulder blades. 

“Good?” Price asked. 

You turned your head up as much as you could and nodded. You blinked away the stray tears of pleasure that blurred your vision until the clear image of your captain came into view. He smiled quickly, blue eyes gazing down at you with something soft, almost loving. That couldn’t be. You knew you couldn’t trust your lust-addled brain. She was the same one who had gotten you entangled in the mess to begin with. It was gone in an instant anyway. He drew his hand away, turning back to Ghost.

“Give it to ‘er,” he said to Ghost with cold determination.

He did. His gloved hand pressed down on your back with his full weight, squashing you and Gaz into the mattress. You could feel him looming over you, could feel his stare. You wondered if he felt the sweat beading on your back as he fucked into you, if he could see the shimmer under the yellow fluorescent light. His bare hand gripped at your hip as he rammed his cock down into you at a punishing pace. 

The momentum of Gaz and your bodies, with help from the springs of the bed, flung you back up into Ghost with every downward thrust. It was a delicious loop of constantly building, punishing pleasure. With every thrust Ghost pumped into you, he got back in measure. It was wave after wave after wave of his cock sliding through your well-lubed pussy, beating against your cervix at the apex, before being slung back, almost out, to repeat the motion. 

With no air to speak, you were mostly mute through it all. Your only sounds were a staccato of punched out oh’s and ah’s as the massive man slammed down into you. 

“Gaz,” Ghost grunted to the man below you, slowing the roll of his hips, “roll out. Need-”

“Better angle?” Gaz said, completing his sentence. You could feel his smile as he pressed a quick kiss to your sweaty temple. “Yeah yeah. Gotcha Ghost.”

Ghost sat back, pulling from you. You both groaned at the loss. His hands supported your hips, holding you up off Gaz while Kyle did the same to your upper body. Gaz slid his chest out from under you, you moaned as his skin stimulated your nipples. He set you down against the cool mattress, pulling his legs carefully from the tangle. 

You looked up sadly as Gaz threw his legs off the side of the bed while Ghost repositioned your lower body. You didn’t want to lose him yet. He was so kind, so warm and gentle. Someone from the other side of the bed tossed him a dark piece of clothing that he quickly bent over to thread his legs into. Underwear. When he was done, he turned back to you, reaching out a hand to run his fingers through your hair.

“Why the sad face, love?” he asked, eyebrows pressing together in concern.

“Stay,” you whispered, trying to reach out to touch him.

Gaz spied a glance up at the man behind you then back down at you. He must have been given the okay from Ghost, because he nodded at you, shuffling his hips to sit back on the bed.

“Can’t leave yet,” Gaz said sweetly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Deciding the tender moment was over, Ghost pushed your body flat to the mattress. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck as he slowly seated himself back inside you, his knees to either side of your hips, caging you. Even still, feeling the weight of his cock rest inside was dizzying. It made you clench uselessly around him. As if you could give anymore than he was already taking. Maybe you were greedy, but you could get used to taking that monster whenever he wanted to give it, even if he used you like doll like he was now. You just hoped that you got fucked a couple times beforehand.

He kept your hips supported with his other hand, popping your pelvis up from the bed as he began to pump slowly inside. You could feel everything as the momentum built once again: the rough texture of his pants and the tense lines of muscle underneath, the cold bite of his zip against the skin of your ass. 

What you loved the most was the distinctive prickle of pubic hair that tickled your skin with every thrust. That barest feel of what he kept hidden made you crave more. More of the elusive, closed off man you only knew as Ghost. He’d let you kiss him before, clearly he wasn’t-

Ghost stilled on top of you, hand clenching around your waist.

“Close,” he choked out, canting his hips forward. “Fuck, ’m-” 

“Yeah,” Soap sighed dark, low and dreamy. “Do it, L.T. Tell me how she feels.”

“Heaven,” Gaz responded, stroking casually at your cheek with one finger. Soap groaned. “Gonna love it.”

“Fuck,” Soap whined as Ghost began pounded into you with no inhibition, rhythm falling off as he neared closer and closer to orgasm. “Gonna cum in her too, Ghost? Fill ‘er up? Make her nice and wet f’ me?”

That was what drove your lieutenant over the edge. Soap continued to babble in the man’s ear, but it was all lost to you. Ghost pushed your shoulders down, burying your face in the mattress as he came silently, pumping slowly three more, long, agonizing strokes into your cunt. 

He leaned back, releasing your head, both him and Soap groaning as he pulled all too quickly from your freshly slicked pussy. He didn’t move as you heard him zipping up. You almost laughed. You could have guessed that Ghost was the type of soldier to never let himself enjoy something for long. A hand palmed your ass, grabbing it before releasing and giving it a light smack as it pulled away. 

“What a fuckin’ sight,” Soap mumbled, words caught in Ghost’s shoulder. “Can’t wait t’ get m’ hands on ye.”

“Quit fuckin’ talkin’ about it and get to it, then,” Ghost said gruffly, long legs pulling himself off your sweaty body to the other side of the bed, freeing a space for Soap to occupy. 

Your backside wasn’t left cold for long. Soap did not so much as he was told, but what he wanted. What he had wanted for going on hours now. If you had thought he acted desperate before, he was a whole new animal now. 

He scrambled over you, pulling you up. His hands roamed with little to no finesse over your hips, butt and waist; eager to touch, to be free to feel you again. He wrapped himself around your body for a moment, hands carding up to grab a breast in each hand and bite kisses into your shoulder. He pulled away when you didn’t move, staying still, collapsed in his arms.

“Som’in wrong?” he asked hot breath huffing down the nape of your neck, real concern in his voice. “Wear you out already?”

You shook your head slowly. Yeah, you might be a bit sore, and would definitely feel worse in the morning, but you were just tired. You had been mentally strained for the past month, and you were well aware of that. You always forgot until a day or two after getting back, however, how badly your body needed to relax, to adjust to not going constantly. Your muscles were tense from being on constant alert, never knowing what danger was around the corner, tendons strained from crouching, crawling, carrying your pack, armor, and rifle for a month straight. 

All you had wanted was a warm shower and a hot meal when you landed. Falling apart like sand in the arms of three strong men, each of whom were content to fuck you silly while your captain stood by? It was an okay replacement. Not a healthy one, by any means. Call it strange, but it was filling that need to give that had been denied to you for a month. This, whatever you could call it, wasn’t keeping them alive by any measure, but it was de-stressing. Team building, even. 

You lolled your head to the side. Gaz was looking at you from across the bed, the same concern as Soap creasing his forehead.

“Jus’ catchin’ my breath,” you answered, squeezing Soap’s hand.

“‘s good,” Soap rumbled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade before gently laying you back down. 

The sheets felt cool again against your cheek. You shuddered in pleasure as you melted into the bed. Soap pulled off his sweat-drenched shirt. He let it fall to your side, his musk wafting over you as it landed, before unzipping his fly. His hands smoothed up and down your flanks, gently moving aside your legs with his own as he settled in between them. You winced as his hands gripped your hips. You were definitely going to have bruises tomorrow. 

“Can y’ get up on your hands f’ me?” he asked, breathing ragged as his hands smoothed up and down your spine. You could feel his hands trembling. He was so close to everything he had wanted desperately and for a long time. 

You did as best you could, sharing a long stare with Gaz as you supported yourself with your wobbling arms. He reached over and ran a finger down your cheek to your lip. 

“I got you if you need me,” he said, firm and warm.

Gaz continued to watch your face as Soap took his time feeling you. Gaz’s thumb kept your mouth open as a moan fell free from Soap pressing his fingers through your slicked folds. You could feel yourself dripping onto his hand. The fact that it wasn’t just you, that this mess was Gaz and Ghost: his brothers in arms, too, had Soap shaking, aching to keep touching you. 

“Fuck,” Soap whined, swirling his fingers, playing with your clit as you moaned again, arms almost falling out below you as you shook with pleasure. Gaz’s hand followed your fallen head to pet across your scalp. “Feel good?” he asked, continuing the pulse of his strong fingers again and again. You convulsed below him, arms giving out, as the pressure in your cunt drew tighter and tighter. “Wanna . . . wanna feel you, hear you cum,” he said breathlessly.

“No,” you whined with the last of your breath, eyes pinched shut, hands twisted in the sheets. You were bracing for the inevitable to come. Not that you felt you could stop him now, but it was worth a shot. 

“Stop,” Price commanded, voice hard, echoing around the little room. 

You felt the room still around you. Gaz’s hand was off you in a second. When Soap’s hand didn’t stop immediately, you felt Price rip him away from you. Everything was quiet. You could only hear yours and Soap’s heavy breathing as you buried your face in the sheets. Everyone was still and silent for a few moments, allowing you to catch your breath and the flame of your pleasure to die down until you stopped trembling. 

That’s when you felt Price’s hand card through your hair. He crouched down beside you, gently petting your head for second before asking, “Medic. Look at me,”

As much as you didn’t want to, you did as you were told. You didn’t try to wipe away the tears that had welled in your eyes. They all tipped over, streaking down your cheeks, when you closed your eyes as Price stroked a thumb down your hot face.

“All good?” he asked. “Want to stop?”

You shook your head. Words were heavy as lead in your mouth. Your brain was still swirling, but you managed out a single word. 

“No.”

His fingers trailed down to you lips before pulling away. He clenched his untrustworthy hands against his knees. He was trying very hard to have that same, impassive “Captain Price” expression on his face. You could tell. His mouth set in a line, eyebrows pressed down, terse and serious. But it was all a lie. A facade. Even through your tears you could see the pink flushing the skin below his beard and down his neck. He had the same blown out pupils as Soap did moments before he had pulled you into his lap that short hour ago. For a man that had been adamant that no one could hide from him, he was having a hell of a time hiding the want written plain across his own face. 

“Want him to stop?” he asked, voice cracking.

It did something to you, that crack in his voice. It made you want him more than ever. Made you want to break him. To see him fall apart as he used your body like every one of his men before him. You clenched around nothing at the thought of him, Captain John Price: over you, touching you, inside you. Fuck did you need it.

“Want him to fuck me,” you moaned, breathy and low and almost disappointed, as you met his gaze, fingers gripping the sheet weakly. Price had to break away. He bit the inside of his lip, watching the floor before returning his heated stare to you. 

“Tha’s what you want?”

“Fuck, cap.” Soap whined behind you. “Said she wanted it.”

“Don’t,” you stuttered breathless, “don’t want to cum.” 

You watched your Captain divert his eyes with a quick jerk of his head for a second time at your words. He pinched his eyes closed, unable to even stand the sight of the room. He was clothed while you lay naked, exposed and marked inside and out. He was powerful. You were, both figuratively and literally, beneath him. He was in control from the moment he walked in the room, but you could see his resolve was shattering apart like ice, dissolving like sand into the sea. 

Like sugar on your tongue.  

“Not yet,” you finished, letting your eyes fall slowly closed. You drew in another breath. “Want all of you first.”

“Okay,” Price choked out roughly. “Okay.” You opened your eyes to watch him rub a hand over his brow before giving Soap the go-ahead with a weary nod.

Soap wasted no time draping himself over you, his hands pawing at your shoulders, breasts, chest, and waist. No part of your body escaped his touch except your pussy. He wouldn’t dare with Price still knelt at your side. 

“Cannae put it in?” Soap whispered in your ear, voice on the edge of a whine. He squeezed at your hips, bucking through your slick. 

You rolled yourself to the side as much as you could, looking back on the man just about pulsing out of his skin to get inside you. He was sweat-slicked: beads of it shone across his dark brow, collected in the divot of his collarbones, darkened the hair that dusted across his chest, down his toned torso, to his happy trail that lead to the thick nest at the base of his cock. Fuck, his cock. You bucked involuntarily back at him at the thought of finally getting the whole of that thick thing inside you. 

Soap took your actions as affirmation, holding your gaze as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance. You scrambled back into position as quickly as your sore joints allowed. Not that your pussy had any resistance left. Pooled cum in every crevice lubed your walls rain-slick. The two other cocks (from your fucking teammates, jesus) had filled you, stretched you length and width, battered your underused pussy until it suit them better than their dress blues. Still, it was obscene, almost embarrassing, how quickly you let Soap in. 

“Good God,” Soap whined, choking on his words, as he bottomed out in one thrust. 

A handful of short pumps followed, his balls slapping wet and full against your pussy. The sound and feeling made your cheeks flare. A moan curled out of your throat as you bowed your waist and closed your eyes. Just the thought of the unchained, feral fuck he was surely going to unleash on you - God - it was almost too much.  

“Told ya,” Gaz commented, smoothly laying himself across the head of the bed to watch the two of you, head propped up on his hand. “Like heaven,” he added with a lazy stroke of his cock through his briefs.

Ghost let out a single chuckle at Soap’s strangled, mindless pleasure. He had to be right beside Soap still. He was behind you, with a perfect view of Soap pistoning slowly in and out of your soaked hole, but you could only hear him. 

“Wanted ‘er wet, didn’t ya Johnny?” he asked, sarcastic and suppressing a laugh. 

Soap only moaned in response. You didn’t know if Ghost saw, but you could feel Soap’s nails bite into your hips. The slow and steady smack smack smack of his thrusts were only a mask. You tested him, just to be sure. You let your hands slide up the bed, lowering your upper body until your breasts squished into the mattress. Soap’s hands followed you, gliding up your hips to the nip of your waist. It only took one thrust at this new angle to make his cock jump inside you and his hips fall out of rhythm. 

“God!” he exclaimed, “Fuck!” He pulled himself back, barely fucking at you now, hands squeezing at the crease of your thigh and the peak of your ass in an attempt to ground himself.   

“Already?” Ghost commented, making Gaz laugh this time. Soap, again, only moaned painfully in response. “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny. Gotta give her more than that.”

“‘s too good,” he whispered, voice cracking. “‘s just too good.”

Out of real concern you were actually about to kill this hardened soldier with your pussy, you turned to look back at him. He was more fucked out looking that even you felt. He was sweaty before, but now he was drenched. It slicked down his forehead and shimmered in a pool between his pecs, making his dark hair appear even darker. He breathed one labored breath after another, looking back at you with flushed cheeks and eyes that were nearly black. 

“‘m sorry, hen,” he said softly, stroking down your spine. 

Truth be told, you didn’t mind, wouldn’t have cared if he came the second he was inside you. You’d had him, had pleased him, and that was all that mattered. It fed that greedy need inside you to give and give and give, to let him - all of them - use you every way until they finally paid you back, leaving their precious payment deep inside. You knew it made you fucked in the head, but again, you didn’t care. Just thinking about having a part of them so intimate left to your care, it made you clench around the poor man behind you. You bit your lip and rolled your hips back, forcing him to continue fucking into your wet heat. 

Soap let out a strangled whine, eyes clamping shut. His hands scrambled to find a place to grab and hold on as you continued to roll back to met his shallow thrusts. 

“It’s okay,” you cooed, voice so soft you weren’t sure he could hear you. “Keep going. Want you - fuck -” Soap cut you off, starting to rock harder and faster into you. “Cum in me,” you whispered hoarsely, eyes falling shut, falling into the wave of his hips, the creaking mattress growing louder and louder. “Cum in me, please Soap, please.” 

“Oh my god,” Kyle moaned. You smiled at the affect you had on him, but your attention was all on Soap. Or, at least it was until Price leaned his arm on the mattress right next to your head. 

“Fuck me, Johnny,” you moaned, locking eyes with your captain right as they opened. 

He rest his head on his hand, fingers curling around his mouth, stroking at the hair around his mouth and chin. You wondered if he positioned himself like that to keep himself from moaning like poor Kyle. It kept his hands occupied too. Nothing could keep his eyes from you, though. They were glinting, narrowed down to study the pleasure on your face: how your brows furrowed as Soap picked up his rhythm, one that peaked and quickly fell apart.

“Hell, fuckin . . . goddamn,” he whined, trembling, sweaty hands pawing over your hips. “Gonna cum. Pussy’s too good,” he admitted weakly.

Kyle keened at his words. You wished you could tear yourself away to look at him, to see his handsome face contorted in agonizing pleasure again, even just to watch him chase his own high. There was so much you wanted, so much you wanted to experience with all of them, but Price, your captain, held your stare in an unbidden, phantom grip. It’s like you were hypnotized. His hard, blue eyes, turned nearly black, combined with the back and forth glide of Soap inside you, lulled you into a trance.

Oh well, you thought, biting your lip and curling your head into your outstretched arms punctuated with a long moan. A “come-hither” look if ever there was one, aimed directly at the man in front of you. There was always next time. 

Right now, you had one more man you needed to take care of.

Price caught on immediately. That, or he was done with Soap’s constant whining and moaning over the sound of your squelching pussy. “Go ‘head then,” he ordered the man inside you. “Be a good lad ‘n give the girl what she wants.”

“Fuck,” Soap cried out. You felt him flare inside you, try to pull out, and then slam right back in. You clenched around him for good measure, earning you another strangled cry as he emptied inside you. “Fuck . . . yes. Yes sir,” he huffed, trying to catch his breath as euphoria washed over him. He smoothed his hands up and down the back of your pelvis, ending with a light smack to your ass as he pulled out with a weak, “Thanks, cap.”

If Ghost hadn't been waiting beside him, you were sure Soap would have passed out the second he was free of you. You felt him be dragged and then lifted across the mattress as Ghost positioned the exhausted man in his lap. By the time you had let your hips sink down and flipped yourself around, Soap was already out. His chest was heaving, still trying to catch his breath, with his eyes closed peacefully, his head resting against one of Ghost’s massive pecs. 

“Fucked y’self right out, ay Johnny?” Ghost asked the man slumped in his arms sarcastically. Still, he carded one of his gloved hands gently through the man’s sweat-slicked hair. The small, sweet gesture between the two men made you smile.

A hand on your thigh - blunt, worn fingers digging into the soft curve where they pressed together - made your head zip back over to the other side of the bed. It was Price. Of course it was Price, who else could it be? Ghost and Soap were wrapped up in each other. Gaz was stroking his own cock, lost in his own mind. 

Price pulled apart your legs, urging the one in his hand to follow his silent direction and bend at the knee. You sighed as he shed his jacket onto the floor, his eyes now free to rake all over you body. You couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he seemed to circle back to your wet, shining core more than a few times. He unbuckled his belt as he stood, stopping to rest his knee on the bed as he shucked his pants to the ground. 

The metallic sound of his belt hitting the floor caught the attention of Ghost and Gaz. They didn’t say anything, but there was a noticeable shift in the mood of the room. Before, it had been heady, sensual, debauched but ordered under Price’s watchful eye. Now, as your captain slid his way in between your spread legs and pulled off his shirt - revealing his broad, hairy chest, dusted with gray - the tone shifted. No longer was there room for comment or direction. This was no longer a shared experience between colleagues. It wasn’t some silly little fling between soldiers, blowing off steam post-mission. This was your superior staring down at you, mind and hands both fine tuned weapons, ready to make you his. 

He took each of your legs underneath by the knee and pressed them to your chest, folding you in half as he draped over you, lusty eyes never leaving yours.

“Hold ‘em like that for a sec will ya love?” he asked you in a low baritone that felt like it was only meant for you. Everything now felt like it was only for you.

You grabbed the backs of your knees, spreading yourself open for him, as Price shuffled back, ridding himself of his last scrap of clothing. He didn’t even moan as he stroked his cock, walking back on his knees to take hold of your knees again, his gaze never leaving your pussy. You stifled a moan as you clenched, and he saw it.

“Think you’re ready for it?” he groaned, slotting his bulky body over yours. You sighed as you felt the points of your bodies touch: his cock grind through your slick core, his chest rub against your breasts, his breath ghost across your lips. All you could do was whine to answer him. This was what you had been missing all this time, what he had robbed of you once he walked in. Intimacy. 

Price guided your ankles over his shoulders, to which you swear you heard Kyle choke out a soft fuck, as he pushed inside you. He took his time, a low groan caught between your lips as he teased you, rutting in and out, in and out, slowly. You moaned in frustration. As if he hadn't seen you take three other men just fine. 

“More?” he asked, sliding against every sensitive part inside you with pin-point accuracy. It had you shaking in his hands. It didn’t help that he was also grinding against your clit ever so gently as well. He placed an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse as you moaned, head thrown back, pussy pulling tight and gushing around him.

“Yes! Fuck . . . Price,” you whispered in his ear. You roped him down with your arms around his neck. 

“Gotta tell me you’re ready,” he said pulling away enough to brush his nose with yours. His mustache tickled your lips for a brief second before he spoke against your lips. The slow slide of his hips hitting yours jiggling your body with each thrust. “You first, love. If you want it, then that sweet little cunt a yours ‘s gotta milk it outta me.” 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You pulled his mouth the last agonizing millimeter to meet yours. There was no grace in it. You both groaned and whined - maybe the other men around did as well, you can’t quite remember - as your tongues met. He was just so damn practiced, his jaw, tongue, and lips following the same delirious rhythm as his hips: pumping and sucking at you. He overpowered you, of course he did. He had put himself in the perfect position to take whatever he wanted, do what ever he wanted, as he thrust - slow and steady - again and again deep inside you.

But one hand was sweeping the hair from your blissed-out face while the other was peeling apart your sweaty bodies. He bowed his stomach to make room for his thumb to circle your clit. He cared. He was gentle. You whined, not even able to open your eyes as you desperately tried to pull him back down, needing his mouth on yours. 

“Lemme watch,” he groaned against your lips. “Need t’ see you cum on my cock.” He pushed your legs farther forward until your knees touched your shoulders. “Ready?” he asked looking up from the wet, lurid slide of your pussy swallowing his cock.

“Yeah,” you whined, nodding, “yeah.” 

You had been teetering on the peak of orgasm since he first touched you. It had been stupid of you to think you could outlast all four of them, but you were nothing if not stubborn. You’d edged yourself this much before. It hadn't been an issue before. Soap had almost broken you though. His dexterous, experienced hands had no trouble taking care of you. The thought of it again made you whine and jump as Price sped up his swirls around your clit. His thrusts across the front of your pussy met his hand with perfect expert timing. Only the weight of your captain’s stare mixed with your lingering desire to make this special for him too had made you gasp out that no earlier.

You let out a moan, tipping your head back and scrunching your brows together, as you felt Price suck your top lip in a kiss. You grabbed fistfuls of his hair in both hands as he mumbled, “So pretty for me, medic,” against your mouth, sucking and biting kisses as you trembled beneath him, trying to meet his thrusts. 

One, two, three more pumps of his hand and you were shivering, dissolving in his hands as you came. Your head blanked as you cried out, Price muffling most of them as best he could. He was doing his best considering your pussy was clamped down on him, sucking and milking his cock, just as he had asked. 

The last of your high-pitched whines escaped as he broke away to groan, hips stuttering his last few thrusts into your vice-like cunt. Only the ungodly amount of cum and slick already inside you allowed him to do that much. He held himself above you as he collected himself, eyes closed and hands flexing on your already bruised hips. He looked so calm, so human, like this. Your hard worn, stalwart Captain was gone, replaced with a bear of a man ready to satisfy himself with your body for the next couple days, thank you very much. A man with flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, and soft eyes that you wanted to pull under the covers and keep with you until morning. 

But that dream couldn’t become reality, not here or now, at least. Price sat back on his knees, popping under his weight, dragging your body back with a knee in each hand,  in order to keep himself inside.

“Gather ‘round,” he called, rather tired, to the others. His eyes were still on you, running up and down your body wherever his hands couldn’t reach. “Doan wanna miss this.”

Gaz was the first to scramble to his feet, tucking himself away as he rounded the foot of the bed to claim a prime spot to Price’s right. To Price’s left, Ghost simply pushed himself to sit upright, hauling Soap with him. With a shake of his shoulder, Ghost roused Soap with a gruff, “wake up”. As soon as Soap’s remaining brain cells saw what was going on, he pulled himself upright too, leaning over to put himself in between Captain and Lieutenant.  

With everyone in place, Price handed either of your knees to Gaz and Soap. They did their duty solemnly, the room silent with the anticipation of what was to come. Legs spread, Price pulled his cock from you, the head drawing a clear, sticky line across your thigh as he pulled back. Everyone moaned: you and Price at the sensation, everything overly sensitive and needy. Ghost, Gaz, and Soap groaned at just the sight of the mess they’d made of you.    

What a mess you had to be. You couldn’t see it with your arms crossed over your face, but you could feel it. Not a second after Price’s cock had left you, you’d clenched unintentionally, dribbles of your own clear, milky slick sliding out of your pussy, waterfalling backwards and down to your taint to the crack of your ass. 

Gaz pressed your knee to his cheek, his mouth forming a silent oh as he caressed your thigh with his other hand. 

“Wait,” Price grunted, his almost supernatural ability to hone in on his men’s actions kicking in. 

He slid his large hand up through your wet folds to stroke his middle and ring fingers around your clit. A whine punched from your lungs, his stimulation making you clench again. This time, he got what he wanted. You felt the almost sickening sensation of globs of cum falling from you. A cacophony of groans and whines rang out around you as they all watched your clenching hole. Your cheeks were burning against your arms as Price’s fingers circled your clit. He teased you off an on, making you jump and clench, forcing more cum pour from your body until you were laying a puddle of it. 

“What a fuckin’ sight,” Ghost grunted. You peeked out from under your arms at him. You watched as he reached in between Soap and Price to wipe a spatter of cum from your thigh with his bare hand.

“Yeah,” Gaz added dreamily.

Price shook his head in agreement, looking over each of his men before coming back to you. 

“Sure is,” he said with a smile and a pat of your stomach. “Now that we’ve had our fun, boys, let’s get our medic cleaned up and taken care of.”

a/n: IT'S DONE. I'VE FINALLY FINISHED SOMETHING!!! 🥳🥳🥳 please let me know if i missed a tag or if something is horribly wrong bc my brain is toast. Now I'm going to make myself something to eat and rot my brain with video games for the rest of the day!! love you all!! ❤️✌️

[bullet-prooflove]

Rough: Frank Castle x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @juliannatryon @beardedbarba @crazy4chickennuggets @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @anime-weeb-4-life @pleasurebuttonwrites @annetje @adaydreamaway08 @est1887 @multiflixshelves @thanossexual @bonsaijoons @spookyboogyuniverse @ankhmutes @spaghettificationandpretzels @trublu2u @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @skyesthebomb @viridianphtalo @yezzyyae @casa-boiardi @lulawantmula @vermillionwinter @notanotherpotter @yousigned-upforthis @toheavenwmydrms @wabi-sabi1090 @issieruby @darkangelforever333

It’s late when you turn up at Frank’s door. You don’t expect him to be home, he never is at this time. He’s usually out on patrol or on the hunt. You can tell he’s been sleeping when he opens the door. His dark hair is ruffled, his eyes a little blurry. He’s wearing a black vest that clings to his frame over grey sweatpants.

“Angel…” He murmurs as he opens the door to let you inside.

You have him up against the wall before he even closes it, your mouth is on his as his back impacts against the plaster. You’re a strong little thing, he forgets about that sometimes. He thinks it’s because it’s been a while since the two of you actually tussled.

He remembers the last time, the scrape of gravel across his face as your knee dug into his back. He’d been both pissed off and proud because the two of you had been sparring since the night Lou Beretti sent those thugs after you and you’d come a long way since then. Not a single person had got the drop on him throughout his tenure as The Punisher but then his scrappy little cop from Queens had pulled the rug out from underneath his feet and dumped him in the drunk tank for the night because he was ‘interfering’ with her investigation.

Now he stays out of your shit, and you stay out of his.

When you bite his lower lip, he moans into your mouth, his hips surging forward so that you can feel his hard cock straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. He switches positions, pinning you against the wall with his muscular form. His forehead comes to rest against yours, his breathing ragged as your hand encloses on his wrist guiding his large hand up so that his palm covers your throat.

“Do your worst.” You say, pressing down on his fingers, forcing them to dig into the soft underside of your throat. “Treat me like I’m your whore.”

He looks into your eyes, and he sees the intensity in your gaze. You get like this sometimes, when things have gotten dark, and you need to feel something. He’s been there, he knows what it’s like to feel hollowed out, numb. You need him to take care of you tonight, to fuck all of the thoughts right out of your head.

“Safe word?” He questions, his thumb tracing over the shape of your lips.

“Daisy.” You murmur and he smiles.

It’s the first flower he ever gave you.

His kisses are bruising, forceful. His tongue thrusting into your mouth as he tears the clothes away from your body. He pins you down on the bed, the heat from his naked flesh rolling over yours as he forces your legs apart with his thigh. Your wetness smears against the hard muscle and your back arches as you try to generate a little more friction against your clit.

“Can’t help yourself can you?” He mutters into your ear as he grips your jaw and tilt your head away from him baring your throat. “Need my cock that badly huh?”

You don’t respond and he doesn’t expect you to. When he’s with you he can’t help but run his mouth but that’s not what you need tonight. It’s not about the words, it’s about the physicality, the sensation. He isn’t gentle when he enters you, he does it with one firm stroke, filling you entirely and the noise you make, fuck he nearly comes right there and then.

It gets rough after that.

Your nails rake up his back, the sting of it intermingling with the ecstasy as he fucks you like you’re nothing to him, just a vessel for his own pleasure.

“Harder.” There’s a bite to your voice, a savageness. “Make me feel it.”

He raises to the challenge, his muscular arm wrapping around your waist, gripping you in place as he uses you like his personal fucktoy.

It’s brutal, violent. The slapping of skin resounds through the air, the sound mixing with your hitched breathing as he thrusts inside of you hard and deep.

“Feel that?” He mutters against your skin, his lips brushing over the teeth marks he’s left on your shoulder. “That’s what you do to me, drive me so fucking crazy I can’t control myself.”

You’re close, so close he can fucking taste it. It’s in the way that pretty cunt of yours clenches around his dick, the scrape of your teeth as you bite down on his shoulder hard enough to break the skin. You drag him over the edge with you, his release spilling into you as he grasps your hips, holding them flush against his own. He doesn’t stop, he fucks it deeper, marking his territory because you’re his, you’ll always be his and in that moment the animal in him needs you to know it.

“That’s it my angel, take it.” He murmurs, his palm coming to rest on the back of your neck as he holds you against him. “Take it all.”

Love Frank Castle? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bleubrri]

you’ve found that celebrating toji’s birthday is close to impossible. you can make plans or try and surprise him, but 90% of the time your efforts are in vain, dissolved under a smug smirk and the sharp glint in his eye when he convinces you that he doesn’t need all that.

you can feel that same smirk against the crook of your neck at the first lavender tones of dawn.

“i’ll be right back.” you insist, but toji’s arms pull you back into his chest for the third time. you wriggle in his grasp, twisting and turning until you’re facing him, one hand bracing his bare chest. his eyes aren’t even open, and yet thick fingers are dipping into your underwear.

there’s already a noticeable burning in your thighs, an ache between your legs from how insatiable he’d been in the early hours of his birthday, and it has you gripping at his wrist. his groan vibrates against your palm.

you smile. you love how badly he wants you.

soft lips are pressed between his brows and you shuffle further from him. “i need 30 minutes.”

a beat of silence. “y’know ya don’t have to—”

“i want to.”

the hand on his chest wanders past the valley of his sternum, across taut abs. your nails scratch at the coarse hairs trailing below his navel and toy with his waistband. he groans again and you peck his lips. “30 minutes.” you say, slipping from the sheets.

you freshen up, press his favourite scent into the heat of your pulsepoints, slip into the set that he’d not so subtly been eyeing on your laptop. you pull on one of his t-shirts to leave something to the imagination—it sits at the top of your thighs, lacy garters and pastel bows peeking from beneath the fabric. just a taste, one you’ve no doubt will whet his appetite.

he gives you 15 minutes before silent footsteps graze the floorboards. toji stands in the doorway of the kitchen, darkened eyes raking over the plush of your thighs, the sweep of your neck, the flick of your wrist as you fuss over something in the frying pan.

you huff when lips meet your neck and toji presses himself behind you, your free hand snaking up to rake through tousled locks of his hair. “i said half an hour.” you mumble, trying to ignore the puffs of his breath against your skin.

“‘m keepin you company.”

you scoff, coming to terms with having to manoeuvre the kitchen with toji attached to you.

you’re plating up breakfast when large palms trail beneath your shirt. the callouses that kiss his skin catch slightly on the pale lace of your bra when he cups your chest, thumbing over a nipple.

“let’s do presents first.” he bargains, fingers curling under the feathery straps.

“am i not already your most prized possession?” you tease, arching a little and shuffling your feet back. toji huffs a laugh, intending to settle his hands on your ass, but the slight shake of his head against your shoulder has you pausing to turn to him.

“are you serious?!”

he scoffs, spinning you round. you’re peering up at him sceptically, apparently waiting on an explanation for your bruised ego.

his voice is low, almost gravel. “you’re not a possession, doll.” he thumbs at your lower lip. “i’m yours, and you’re mine. but ain’t no possession involved.” he shrugs, like it’s obvious.

you’re melting under his gaze. you think if gems could be imbued with magma, they still wouldn’t compare to the look of his eyes—so intense you think your bones might bubble and pool out at your feet.

there’s the beginnings of stubble when your hands cup his jaw, and for a second you fixate on the feeling of it between your thighs.

“you’re going soft on me, old man.”

he rolls his eyes and captures your lips, thumbs gripping your garters. you’re what’s turning him into a lovesick idiot, you both know it.

you kiss him slow, adoringly, pressing into his orbit and losing yourself in him. you peck his lips, his scar. his cut cheekbones and under his eyes. you crane to press your mouth to his temple and breathe him in.

“happy birthday, baby.”

[god-has-entered-my-body]

lenaaaaaa god help me I’m so high rn I’m thinking about mpind matty pole dancing ans also giving girlie a lap dance fhis isnt good or my health I think

dont be shy pass the spliff

also mpind comeback after a bunch of wank everyone be happy x

Love me - Matty Healy

A/N: bit wanky, barely spell checked except for @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff 's weird sim reactions to whatever i write. Legend anon i hope this is filthy enough for you my love xx

wc: 4.5k

content warnings: smut, fluff, tw: my shitty comedy, handjobs, strip clubs, its george's birthday!!, begging, teasing, lap dance, matty in lingerie pt. 43, mentions of alcohol, lots of swearing, cumplay, grinding, it gets a bit sappy guys soz, sub!Matty

“A strip club? Are you never scared of being a cliché?” you scoff as the venue comes into view, strobing neon flashing in your face. The summer night is warm, a breeze kissing your skin as the gravel crackles under your feet, your quite high heels still not making you taller than George. 

His birthday, the big one eight, was today, and his chosen place was of course, a local strip club.

“If that cliché is seeing half naked girls, no.” he sniggers, Matty’s bickering with Ross and Hann faintly heard behind you. You hook your arm into his as you approach the bouncer, the line surprisingly short. 

“I forget you're an actual man sometimes.”

“How can you possibly forget?!” he lets go, flexing his muscles at you as some sort of display of masculinity, making you giggle behind your hand.

Matty takes this ample opportunity to swoop in from behind, pressing the side of his body up against yours. The four of you watch George proudly present his real I.D to the bouncer, a wide smile on his face as he takes it from him. The bloke gives him a weird once-over, waving him and the rest through without a hitch. 

It's bright inside, but not in the way you would assume. Different colored lights strobe around, switching every 20 seconds or so, the heavy bass of the music thrumming through your veins. Matty hangs on your arm as you look around, George immediately booking it to a booth with a stage as the table, wanting the best front row seat to the show. You roll your eyes at his eagerness, but then again, who could blame him? 

Everyone files into the booth, George ending up wedged in the corner of the seating, uncomfortable but glass he could stretch his legs out under the table. 

“Round of pints on me, happy birthday G. '' Everyone cheers, excluding Hann, who glares at Matty from across the table.

“Oh so now you have money? What about last week?” Ross lets out a quiet snigger, liking this turn of events. 

“Shut up you cunt, it's G’s birthday! Lighten up a bit, old man.” 

“Matty when I get my fucking hands on you-” Ross to the rescue, he presses a hand to his mate’s chest, keeping him seated. 

“Alright girls, break it up.” he gives up, mouthing a curt ‘fuck you’ at Matty, rolling his eyes. 

The waitress returns from the bar, bringing a platter of glasses with her. She sets them down, smiling at you before walking away, the neon lights of the club making her eyes shimmer. 

“Cheers, happy 18th mate.” Matty plants a wet kiss on George’s face, making him squirm away in disgust. 

“Get off you grade A wanker, your girl’s right there.” You blow him a kiss as Matty turns to you, licking a fat stripe up the side of your face, from your jaw to your cheekbone. Everyone at the table groans at his odd display of affection, Ross dramatically shielding his eyes and muttering incoherently as Matty finally sits back down, downing the rest of his pint. 

Sure enough, right in the middle of Hann’s interesting story about his last date, a dancer comes over to the table. She climbs up, eyeing George, twirling around the pole a few times before doing this flip you didn't even know was humanly possible. The bralette she’s wearing glimmers in the light, reflecting off and into your eyes, distracting you.  

George stares blatantly, eyes raking up and down her body as she dances, not letting her leave his line of sight. It's so obvious and she smirks at him, turning her body to face his direction before bending over, exposing her cleavage even more.  

“Don't be a knob.” you hiss, not wanting to seem rude.

“She’s fit and it's quite literally her job!” a small laugh escapes the woman as she goes to speak, flattered at the exchange. 

“It’s alright love, look all you want.” 

“See!” George shouts a bit too loudly, proud of his correctness in strip club etiquette.

You sigh, nodding at her as Matty pokes your side. 

“She is fit.” you whisper quietly, gesturing to her. Matty perks up, shoving you in offense.

“I'm fitter, don't forget.” you giggle at the statement, refusing to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.  

“She’s literally sparkling, I need to know what brand that is.” The rhinestone adorned lingerie set she was wearing captivated everyone at the table, hugging her curves in all the right places.  

“Who’s to say I'm not either?” your eyes widen slightly at the implication, but you brush him off.

“Shut it, don't be a tosser.” his hand grips yours right before he speaks, bringing it down to the waistband of his jeans. “I’m not.”

He uses your fingers to pull it down about an inch, revealing a pretty string of purple under his bottoms. Your breath hitches at the realization, eyes snapping up to meet his. Was he serious? Now?

“It’s George’s birthday.” you state, voice hushed so the others could overhear your conversation. Hann was already off to buy another round, leaving Ross and George to make ‘friendly’ conversation with the dancer, shamelessly staring at her tits the entire time. “He won't mind, just look at him.” 

Sure enough, George is ogling the dancer, lips parted and being such a boy it hurts. She’s clearly enjoying the attention as he leans forward, stuffing a wad of cash into the flimsy waistband of her thong, smirking. 

“He’s already imagining a future with her, look!”

She sets a paper crown on his head with the words ‘birthday boy’ on it, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. A boyish blush spreads onto George’s face as her kiss leaves a mark of lipstick, Ross quickly snapping a photo of him to take the piss when they left.   

“He desperately needs a lay, it's sad.” you comment, knowing it had been ages since his last girlfriend or even hookup, too focused on his coursework and music to go out more than the few times you forced him to. 

“So do I, so I'd prefer it if we didn't drag this out.” 

Matty gets up, climbing over you despite your quite loud protests, announcing his trip to the dance floor. You wait a few moments before following him, the sway of his hips and faint back muscles under his mesh shirt flexing as he walks, convincing you to just go with it, hoping whatever he had planned wasn't totally scandalous and wouldn't get you kicked out of the place. 

He turns right past the dance floor, leading you into a narrow corridor off to the side. You catch up to him, close behind him as he slips a dancer some cash, nodding as he makes his way to the door at the end of the hall. Matty rushes in before you, the door almost slamming in your face. ‘Private room’ flashes back at you in yellow neon, making you raise your eyebrows.

The room is dark for the first few seconds as you hear Matty shuffling. Suddenly, the room lights up, giant mirrors covering the walls and ceiling, reflecting the light back and forth. You glance around, eyes landing on Matty. 

A tall pole is the centerpiece of the room, pink metal running from the floor to the ceiling. Matty leans on it, left hand wrapping around it as he spins, smirking at you as you watch him, something stirring inside of you. 

“Did you plan this?” you ask, a skeptical look on your face.

“Maybe.” his fingers run up his chest, playing with his nipples right in front of you. His voice drips with lust, coating your mind with only a few words, making it difficult to get even semi-coherent sentences out.

“Jesus, you're mental.” you gasp softly as he moves, fluid and sure, captivating you with every change of direction.

“But you love me, now sit.” you listen, not knowing what else you were meant to do in this situation. The chair is soft, cushions letting you settle in comfortably. 

“Everything is so pink.” you mutter, gesturing to the mirror frames and pole, every surface some variation of the same color.

“Sort of the point, yeah? To set the mood.” he smirks, trailing his hands up his waist, letting his nails graze against his skin, mimicking the same thing you do to him. “Mood for what?”

“You’ll see, be patient.” you roll your eyes at his words, the palms of your hands rubbing against the soft pillow of your chair. “That's rich.” 

“Please, for me?” He sounds so sweet, like he was asking you to bring him a glass of water, not to stay still while he touched himself in front of you. 

“We both know I can't deny you.” 

“How true.” he sucks in a deep breath, throwing his head back as he holds eye contact. 

“Watch.” 

“What do I-?” you stutter over your words, your heart beating rapidly against your chest as he feels himself up, fingers ghosting over his tattoos.

“Me, keep your eyes on me.”

He turns his attention back to the pole next to him, strutting around it as the music from the dancefloor dictates his movements, his back pressed to the cool metal. Matty parts his lips as he slides down it, running a hand over his chest performatively, watching your every reaction. 

Your breathing becomes more shallow as he moves, thousands of fantasies running through your mind. He knows the effect he has on you, everything he does is purely to rile you up, make you lose your composure. 

“You’re mad, this is-” he cuts you off with a sly smile.

“Incredibly hot? I’d rather you enjoy the show than talk over it.” you scrunch up your face at the implication that this was a performance, even if you did expect nothing less from Matty. 

“Show?”

He runs a hand through his slightly messed up hair, showing off his neck as you stare at him, biting your lip between your teeth to keep from embarrassing yourself. 

“I hate you.” you mumble as the music changes, some hip-hop song coming on. The faint cheers of the people outside are barely audible, but it serves to remind of just where you were. The guys were still at the table, most likely speculating the reason as to why the two of you have been missing that long, Ross surely already making crude comments that neither Hann nor George wanted to think about.

“You won't if you just wait.” you grip the edge of your seat, blushing profusely as he struts over to you, wrapping his arms around your neck. His breath is hot against your neck, leaning over you as he settles into your lap. You finally clock it.  

“Stay still.” he ‘orders’, attempting to mimic the way you speak to him when he doesn't listen.

“Are you giving me a lap dance?” he frowns at you, shaking his head in disappointment. A chuckle escapes you as the reality of the situation dawns on you. 

“No need to define it darling, let it be abstract.” of course he’d say something like that, try to salvage the ‘artistic’ affair, failing miserably. 

“You’re giving me a fucking lapdance, christ.” it's genuinely amusing. Your heart swells up at the thought of all the effort that went into this. Paying off the dancer with god only knows how much money, turning you on at the table just enough so you’d follow him, and probably even setting up the lighting in the room himself. 

“You're such a bore, let me have my fun.” he kisses you, giggling into your mouth. His lips are warm against yours, your lip gloss rubbing off on him. “Oh, I will.” you promise, letting your hands fall limp as he grips your shoulders, rocking his hips back and forth. His movements are exact, practiced even as he grinds down onto you before lifting his body back up, bringing his hip tattoo up to eye level. 

You don't think, mind clouded with desire and want. His shirt had ridden up a bit, and your rough tongue drags across the inked skin, warm against it as he shudders, feeling his cock twitch in his pants at the sensation. 

“No touching the dancers” he tuts, coming back down on top of you.

“I’m exempt from that rule.” you say, your voice surprisingly steady despite the white hot heat pooling between your legs.

“According to whom?” 

“You.”

You let your hands settle onto his waist, gripping him so hard you were sure there’d be bruises the next day.

“Fuckk, yeah okay,” he groans, the pressure on the front of his jeans increasing as all the blood in his head rushes south, his mind hazy. 

“C’mon baby, finish your little performance.”

He moves to get off, smirking as you let him. You can see indents in his skin where you grabbed him, the sight making your breath hitch. He circles around you like a predator does his prey, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

His hands trail up your chest, fingers grazing over your exposed collarbones. Your skin flushes under his touch and you let out a soft moan at the feeling, earning a proud smile from Matty. 

“You’re so gorgeous. I have to force myself to not get hard whenever you look at me.” his voice is sultry against your ear, making goosebumps bloom on the skin of your neck. “Oh, way to exaggerate.” you snigger, not quite believing him. 

“Honest truth.” he swears, instinctively doing the ‘scouts honor’ sign with his hand. 

You snort, your little giggling fit interrupted by his mouth trailing sickly sweet kisses up your neck and to your jaw.

It doesn't take him long to make his way back around, your heart skipping a beat when he comes back into view. His chest is glistening with sweat, the warm temperature of the room clearly getting to him. Most notably, you notice the front of his jeans is unbuttoned and unzipped, flaring out on both sides, revealing almost the entirety of the silky, purple panties he had chosen to wear. 

He relishes in your reaction, the attention making his ego grow exponentially as he moves back into your lap. Your hands trail up his chest, doing your best to not immediately pay attention to the underwear. You can't resist, though. 

“These are new.” you toy with the thin straps, silk reflecting the colored light beautifully. You can see a note of pride ripple through him as you admire the material, grazing his cock through it.

“Got them just for you, you like?” The question is so obviously rhetorical. Of course you like, no, love them. “So much.” your words are laced with love, soft and appreciative of all the effort he puts into getting you off, fulfilling your fantasy.

The way he looks at you is sinful, thoughts dancing behind his eyes visible as he stares, waiting for your next move.

He lets out a soft groan when you push him down into your thigh, biting his lip at you provocatively. “You're hard.” you smile as you say the words, his gaze softening when he sees the blissed out look at your face, eyes raking over his body. Even (almost) fully clothed, he was absolutely beautiful. 

“See? Wasn't lying.” he presses a kiss behind your left ear, gently moving your hair out of the way. It’s loving, so honest. “You sure it's not because of the mirror behind me?” you still cant help but tease him, gesturing to the giant mirror your back was facing. He blushes in response, stealing a glance at his reflection. 

“You’re so cruel! I’ll just stop then, seeing as all you see me as is some egotistical deviant.” he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest in retaliation. You bring a hand up to cup his face, stroking his cheek softly, almost patronizing. Your mind swims with the power you have over him. 

“You wont stop, you couldn't if you tried.” For the first time that evening, you call his bluff, the way he reacts to you exquisite as his lips part, no words coming out. Silence fills the room, even the music on the other side of the door seeming to die down. How long have the two of you been here?

“Am i right?” you question, not letting him off the hook like you usually would.  

“..yeah–” his words are small, and you know you have him right where you want him. The lightest, slightest touch could send him hurtling over the edge, his hips rutting desperately into your hand as you palm him through his underwear.

“So pretty for me, doing all of this. Thank you baby.” you whisper into his ear as he gasps under your touch. It's so incredibly intimate that you can't help but drop your facade for a few seconds, kissing him sweetly, his lips moving against yours with desperation.  

“Anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Mhm.”

You take his cock out of the confines of his underwear, a sigh of relief falling from his parted lips as your fingers ghost over the tip, teasing him. 

“Just stay still, let me make you feel good.” you murmur, feeling him up under his shirt, your nails digging into the skin of his back. He shifts on top of you, his body yearning for your touch.

“Please.”

You reach down to wrap your manicured fingers around his cock, the sight of the pretty colors of your nails around him making his eyes roll back in his head, his mind spinning with all sorts of possibilities, mostly focused on not finishing right in that moment. 

Tugging lazily on his cock, you drag your fingers from the base to the tip, a satisfying whimper spilling from Matty’s lips, the sound spreading through your entire body. His back arches against you and the kiss he presses against your mouth tastes like the cigarettes he chainsmoked on the way to the club, mixing deliciously with the hint of alcohol on his breath. 

“Let go for me, feel it.”

He trembles, the noise he lets out is desperate, filthy, shooting straight to your core. Everything is heightened. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he leans forward into you, chest pressing against yours as you run your fist up and down his cock, small whimpers of pleasure spurring you on. 

“Fuckk, that feels so good–” 

Matty’s words are choked, his effort to hold back a bit obvious. He’s hungry, wanting, evident in the way he ruts into your hand, his fingers digging into the skin of your shoulders, the sharp pain making you sigh, pleased. 

“Be nice and loud for me, let me hear you.” you coo into his ear, your free hand dragging up his back under his shirt, the mesh bunching up. “So good to me, treat me so well, god– shit.”

He twitches as you dig your thumb into his slit, a shiver spreading through his body 

The way he’s not even undressed is obscene, the fabric of his jeans gathering under his hips as he’s perched on top of you, feet planted firmly on the floor for leverage. You watch him, engrossed in pleasure, completely blissed out expression on his face. His head is thrown back, exposing his pale neck, faded hickeys and marks still visible from your last encounter. 

“You're staring” he breathes, your eyes snapping up to meet him. A filthy grin tugs at the corners of his lips, your focus on him and only him. His hair falls over his face, obscuring it slightly, much to your disdain.  

“You're giving me reason to” you brush curls out of his face as your movements still, letting him speak properly, uninterrupted. 

“Yeah, I want you to look at me.”

You smile lovingly, cocking your head slightly to the left as you tease him, one of your fingers twirling his hair. 

“Gets you off, my attention?” he doesn't even try to deny it, knowing it wouldn't get him anywhere. 

“Mhm-m” he nods, panting. His chest heaves with every breath he takes, silently begging you to continue.

His hips stutter as you grip his cock tighter, your other hand stroking his face sweetly as you stare into each other's eyes, his face flush as pornographic moans spill from his lips. His back arches again, your bodies pressed against each other as your hand snakes between the two of you.

“F-fuck, i’m so close, please let me cum, please.” His voice is high-pitched and whiny, tears threatening to spill at the overwhelming pleasure. 

“You beg so nicely, let me hear you baby.” you whisper words of encouragement as his hips buck up into your hand involuntarily, every ounce of self control in him dissipating. 

“I need it so bad, please i've been so good for you.”

He hiccups in a way that almost makes you feel bad, his desperation so obvious. You speed up a bit, just a bit, giving him that sweet, sweet relief he’s been begging for for god knows how long now.

“P-please, oh fuck, yesyesyes fuck.” precum bubbles at the tip of his cock, and you smear it down, coating him in his own arousal. It's unbelievably hot, his entire body twitching at the sight of your fingers on his cock, a sight he desperately tries to commit to memory. 

“You’re leaking all over my hand darling, so filthy.” he whines into your neck, and you lick across his jaw, making him shiver

“Make a mess, c’mon, come for me.” an animalistic groan fills your ears as he rapidly approaches his orgasm, writhing under your touch.

“Y-yeah– fuck thats so good, your hand feels so good, fucking made for me.”

Matty’s possessive nature made your head spin with lust, his eyeliner smudging down his face as he stares into your eyes with such an intensity it felt like he was going to consume you.

His skin glows under the soft pink lighting, making him seem ethereal, like a true angel. His noises are like music to your ears as he spills into your hand, spurts of cum coating your bare stomach, barely missing your (quite expensive) cropped shirt. Matty kisses you immediately after, hands threading through your hair as he drinks you in, stealing your breath straight from your lungs. 

Wordlessly, one of his hands moves down, gathering the remnants of his orgasm onto two fingers, tapping your mouth with the other. You indulge him, parting your lips to let him push his digits past them, the salty taste of him taking over your senses. His pupils are completely blown out in desire, not able to process what was happening in front of him, a loopy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart swell up with love 

“Perfect.” he mumbles as you lick his fingers clean, smiling mischievously at his dazed gaze. Matty pulls you in, holding you close, desperate to not let go.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where were you two?” Ross’s voice is accusatory as the two of you finally return to the booth, the dancer from before having already left. A faint blush spreads onto your cheeks as the memories of not 20 minutes go flash through your mind. Hann doesn't help your situation at all.

“Probably shagging, just look at him.” your head turns, seeing Matty’s blissed out expression, a content smile replacing his usual nasty grin. You elbow him in the ribs, a silent plea to say something, but he promptly ignores your silent begging. 

“Shut up you dickhead, you don't know shit.” 

George points at Matty, now grinning wildly, reminiscing about the events of tonight. He’s oddly calm, which would be concerning if it wasn't for the monstrous case of post-sex hair he currently had 

“Jesus, what did you even do to him?” George is taking the absolute piss out of you, and for good enough reason. 

“I don't kiss and tell.” you attempt to change the conversation topic as you settle back into the booth, commenting on the pint glasses. You're ignored in favor of laughing at you further while matty remains completely unbothered, the glow he emitted so fucking obvious it hurt.  

“Well he sure does, I've heard much more than necessary.” Ross sniggers, pulling a face at the not-so-distant memory of Matty’s sex bonfire-storytelling session that had happened a few weeks prior (not at an actual bonfire, but on the floor of your living room, completely pissed while you were out with your girlfriends.)

“Did you at least wash your hands?” Hann asks, the question directed at Matty, whose hands were loosely wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass. 

“Didn't have to.” he grins, waving his hands in Adam’s face proudly, like it was some sort of achievement. 

“Oh fucking hell, too much info.” George groans, cupping his face in his hands at the mental image of what he thought had just happened. You laugh inwardly, the whole situation absurd. This was the furthest you had ever gotten in discussing anything relating to your relationship with Matty, and it honestly felt weird.

“I’m never touching you again mate, no fucking way.” Ross stated, a disgusted look on his face. “Awwe Ross, how will you do without my touch?” You make grabby hands at him, climbing over George to drape yourself over the booth, touching his hair and face, Matty’s and Hann’s hysterical laughter spurring you on. “GET OFF ME!!” he yells, clawing at you to push you away, absolutely mortified. 

George, slightly more pissed than the rest of you, announces his mission to get the dancers number, swearing up and down that “She had this look in her eye, i’m so fucking serious.” he manages to stumble over his shoes about three times before finally standing up straight, brushing off any ‘dust’ (crisps) that clung to his raggedy band tee. 

“Good luck mate, not that you need it.” Hann tries to be encouraging, knowing just as well as the rest of you how George got when he had a few too many pints. Terribly emotional and impulsive, there was no stopping him once he had his sights set on something, or in this case, someone.

“I definitely don't” he glares at you over his shoulder, strutting across the dance floor in direction of where he’d last seen her. 

As he walks away, Ross sniggers.

“He definitely does.” and you can't help but giggle along as he trips over a stray stair, falling right onto his face. Hann goes to help him up, ignoring your collective jeers to “Stop ruining his chances at true love!”

With an ice pack pressed to his face, George can only roll his eyes at the various comments for the rest of the night, despite it being his birthday.

[writingmysanity]

Call of the Sea

pairing: Sanji x Baker!reader

word count: 648

TW: hurt/comfort. This is a continuation of Warmth -- so Sanji is still dealing with his nightmare that he had, but there is some sweet, yall. not all hurt for the boy. in the world of commit to the bit. 100% unbeta'd. dying on this hill. written in a rush as I feared the leaving of the muses.

=======

The distant wash of the waves against the shore settles over you as nothing more than white noise, the ever present ebb and flow of the water a comforting constant in your life. Around you, whispers of life hover, crying out into the blackened skies. 

Your eyes never leave the shore line, watching as the waves wash away the evidence of life lingering on its beaten shores. There is no mistaking the way you gaze out at the blackened waters, the deep seeded longing for the pull of the tide. Sanji hesitates as he settles in behind you, his long legs stretched out around your hips. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly, shifting to rest his chin on your shoulder as his arms wind around your waist. Humming contently, you lean into his hold, smiling to yourself when they tighten slightly. 

“Life,” you admit. “And the sea.” if you feel the way he tenses behind you, you don't say anything.

“On it?” he asks slowly, his tone measured, cautious. 

“On it,” you agree gently, resting your hand over his at your waist, giving it a light squeeze. “In it, and everything in between.” Silence washes over you both, neither of your gazes lifting from the ocean before you. Anxieties anchor him to his spot, blackened waters rushing beneath his skin as the chill settles deep into his bones. He is almost convinced that if he squeezes hard enough that you would slip through his fingers, whisked away by the rolling tide. 

Try as he may, the rush of the water is unable to completely swallow the shake of his breath against your neck and the weak rumble of his broken sigh. Frowning, you bite back a sigh of your own, turning his hand away from your waist to allow your fingers to slot between his. 

A physical anchor to the moment. 

You don't mind how tightly he squeezes you, the twinge a reminder to you both that you're here. He's with you, not out on the open seas. He's not in danger. You revel in the chill of his fingers against your too hot skin. 

“Feeling the call of the sea, sweet girl?” he asks finally, the deepened rasp making your heart ache. You realize, quickly, that you're unable to move from his grasp as you try to turn to him. Sighing, you tug his arms loose ever so slightly, just enough to turn to face him. Resting on your knees before him, you have to physically look down at him. 

Taking a steadying breath, you rake your hands through his hair. He stays slouched, forehead resting against your stomach, eyes closed as he works to control his breathing – the images of your body disappearing beneath the waves still all too fresh in his mind. You ignore how the gravel digs into your knees as you run your fingers through his hair, gently shushing him. 

“Sanji,” you call gently once his breathing calms slightly. He looks up at you immediately, his cheek resting against your sternum. You can't help but focus on his eyes, puffy and red but brightened by his tears, and the iridescent silver light of the moon hovering above. You can see the waves there, too. The ever present ebb and flow of turbulent tides drawing you in. His hand squeezing yours serves as your anchor as his gaze threatens to pull you under, the violent whir of emotions dancing as his gaze flickers over your face, tracing – memorizing. Swallowing down your own bubbling emotions, you cradle his cheek gingerly, offering him a smile. 

“Your eyes are the only call to the sea I'll ever need.” you promise, feeling more than hearing his sob of relief as he slumps against you again. Desperately, he presses his lips to the palm of your hand, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“I can't lose you.” 

“You won't.”

========

@sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @fanaticsnail @ren-ni @rustypotatospork @katiemrty @team--edward @amatchalatte @stray-kaz @short-honey-badger

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Carmilla x Rosie - The Devil is a Part-Timer

Chapter 01: Hell‘s Gates to City Gates

Miserably, Carmilla opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, the hard earth pressing into her back and the damp grass soaking through her shirt. The damp fabric stuck to her body. A cold wind stung her skin, carrying the distant noise of shrill sirens and roaring cars to her.

"W-What... What happened?" Straining, Carmilla blinked against the bright light reflecting off the mirrored facades of the skyscrapers around her. A glazed veil blurred her vision and her world was spinning. The silhouettes of the trees hovered above her, their long fingers interwoven to form a protective roof against the dark shadows of the skyscrapers towering all around. Airplanes crossing the dark blue imitated shooting stars. The hellish horizon with its blood-red color was gone, the setting sun bathed this strange world in a golden glow.

Groaning, Carmilla sat up and looked around. "Where am I?" she whispered in confusion. Slowly, the spinning of her world subsided and the silhouettes of the trees grew first into half a forest and then into an entire park. An entire park with trimmed lawns, raked gravel paths and neatly lined up benches. She sat among the wreckage of one of these park benches.

"Ouch..." she grumbled under her breath as her hands brushed splinters of wood from her clothes. Suddenly Carmilla froze dead in her tracks, a horrified shriek followed. "My hands!" Mouth agape, Carmilla stared at her palms in disbelief. She now had a pair of ordinary hands, not giant paws. She had fine fingertips with nails painted black, no sharp claws… Like when she was alive...

"What by Lucifer has happened to me?" In disbelief, Carmilla twisted and turned her human hands in the fading light to take a closer look. Desperately, she tried to remember what had happened. The past few hours were a strange blur, her headache was unbearable and the last thing she could remember was the end of the last Overlord-Meeting. The topic had slipped her mind and all she could remember was that she was already packing up her things with the help of her daughters. With her feet on the tabletop, Velvette had decided to stay a bit longer after the meeting had already ended to annoy Carmilla. Suddenly there had been a knock at the door and Rosie was standing in the frame, this last memory followed blank blackness...

"H-Help..."

A pained outcry suddenly snapped Carmilla out of her thoughts. Hastily, she looked around. "H-Hello?" Carmilla asked cautiously as a bright blonde mess of hair emerged from the shadows of the trees. A woman struggled to her feet, her balance swayed precariously and she had to brace herself against the nearest tree trunk. Carmilla's eyebrows began to furrow in confusion. Strangely enough, the woman's features seemed quite familiar to her. Her hairstyle, her flowing dress and the whole way she moved, everything looked pretty fucking familiar to Carmilla.

"C-Carmilla?"

She didn't recognize her until she flashed her her signature smile. "Rosie!"

Instead of the black depths of her empty eye sockets, two beautiful sky-blue orbs now peered at Carmilla in surprise, while full pink lips curled into a relieved smile. Light blonde tousled curls hung in Rosie's face as she stumbled across the damp grass on clumsy feet and fell to her knees in front of Carmilla. "C-Carmilla? What's happened to you? Y-You look so... so different..."

Carefully, Rosie wiped the wavy strands of the long white hair from Carmilla's face and cupped her cheeks. Rosie turned her head from left to right and looked at her scrutinizingly with a very skeptical expression. "You look so..." She thought for a moment. "You look so human... and you're bleeding all over your face." Concern reflected in Rosie's expression as her fine fingertips ran gently over the many scratches on her face and Carmilla winced startled. "What's happened to you?"

"I bet you haven't had a chance to look in a mirror yet, Rosie," Carmilla whispered softly. A tingling sensation suddenly spread through the pit of her stomach as she gazed at Rosie's human form in entranced awe. She was truly beautiful and the touch of her warm hands left Carmilla's skin burning.

"What do you mean?" Rosie wanted to know, confused, when suddenly the deafening sound of a helicopter, its bright lights flashing over their heads, made her flinch violently in shock and she scooted closer to Carmilla on her knees, the damp grass leaving green stains on her dress. Rosie found the noise unbearable.

"M-Mom?" a faint voice called out.

This time Carmilla flinched, alarmed. "Clara?" muttered Carmilla in sudden shock. That had definitely been her daughter's voice, she was sure of it. She and Rosie were not alone. "Clara!" Carmilla quickly jumped up. Searching frantically, she looked around. "Clara, my baby, where are you?" she called back, her voice shaking.

"We're here, Mother!" a second voice called out.

"Hey, wait for me!" shouted Rosie.

Blindly, Carmilla rushed towards the direction of her daughters' voices, momentarily forgetting about Rosie. "Clara? Odette? Where are you?" Panic filled her voice and she looked around desperately. In the distance, between the dense trees and the growing shadows in the sunset, Carmilla recognized two figures. Her steps quickened more a more and finally she began to run.

"Here, Mom!" With a frightened expression, Clara clung to her sister's arm. Her knuckles shimmered white, so tight was her grip, while her nails dug mercilessly into the rough fabric of Odette's shirt. Her older sister waved their mother towards them.

"My girls, my babies..." Carmilla sighed with relief when she reached them. The worried mother quickly wrapped her two daughters tightly in her arms and hugged them close while Clara and Odette buried their faces in her shoulder.

"Are you both all right?" Carmilla wanted to know as they detached themselves from her embrace again. "Are you hurt?" They shook their heads while Carmilla looked them up and down very carefully under a very skeptical gaze. At first glance, nothing appeared to be wrong with them, but when Carmilla took a closer look, she noticed that both of her daughters were missing the black horns on top of their heads and their sclera was no longer deep red, but white. Clara and Odette now appeared like two ordinary teenagers.

"We're fine..." Odette mumbled monotonously. All her attention was focused on her mother's face. She tilted her head while her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Mother, you have blood all over your face..." she remarked. "Were we attacked?"

"I-" Carmilla's hands carefully wiped the dried blood from her cheeks, the exposed scratches underneath stinging slightly. For a moment, she stared at red liquid on her fingertips. "I don't know..." she admitted in defeat. "The last thing I remember is the end of the Overlord-Meeting and the next moment I'm waking up in the wreckage of a park bench in this place..." She sighed sadly. At least the assumption for the origin of her injury was more or less pretty obvious, but what had happened before that?

"Y-You're... pretty... pretty fast, Milly..." wheezed Rosie out of breath as she finally caught up to Carmilla. Breathing heavily, she propped her hands on her knees and gasped for oxygen. "Hey, kids... Good to see you all safe and sound..." she greeted Carmilla's daughters with a weak smile.

"Miss Rosie? You look so different!" Open-mouthed, Clara stared at the cannibal. "Where the Hell are we, Mom?"

Odette tilted her head thoughtfully. First she attentively examined Rosie's strangely human appearance from top to bottom, then that of her mother and sister. "I doubt we're in Hell at all" she pondered aloud.

"What do you mean, child?" Rosie demanded to know, her face contorted into an look of horror. "Where else are we supposed to be if we're not in Hell?"

"We're stranded on Earth..."

"Who-" Startled, Carmilla caught sight of the slender figure of a young girl struggling to rise from the wet mud of the nearby duck pond. Carmilla's eyes narrowed to slits. She looked familiar, with her voluminous hair, her two pigtails left and right and her smug look and- "Velvette!"

Despite her clothes stained all over with filthy mud and the duckweed hanging ungracefully in her hair, Velvette nodded proudly. "The one and only Velvette of the Vees is standing right in front of you. You are welcome to bow before me..."

"Ugh..." Carmilla groaned in annoyance. Of all the sinners in all of Hell, she had to be stranded on earth with Velvette...

"Hey, I'm also not really thrilled to run into you in this park by any chance," Velvette spat back.

"By chance?" Carmilla's teeth gritted. Her words tinged with spite as she clenched her hands into fists. "It just so happens that you refuse to leave the room only once after an Overlord-Meeting, even though you can't ever wait for it to end and are always the first to storm out of the room, and the next thing I know, the five of us wake up stranded on Earth. In my opinion, that's a very weird occurrence and if I find out that this is actually all your fault, that we're all stranded on Earth because of you, then I'll kill you myself-"

"Milly, please keep your temper," Rosie interrupted Carmilla's threat, while Velvette raised her hands and put on an innocent face. She gently placed her warm hand on Carmilla's shoulder. "Finger-pointing and fighting are definitely not going to get us anywhere now. Unless one of you has found a portal here in the park back to Hell, the five of us are inevitably stranded together. We have to stick together if we want to find a way back..."

Grossed out, Velvette grimaced and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You want me to work with her?" She stared stubbornly at Carmilla.

"Yes, we all have to work together..." Odette quickly intervened between her mother and Velvette before the two could get at each other.

"Stop your kindergarten drama now, apologize to each other and shake hands," Rosie demanded.

"Are you fucking mental?" Velvette tapped her forehead and flipped Rosie the bird. "I'm not apologizing to her."

"Excuse me, Rosie?" Carmilla stared at the cannibal in dismay, but Rosie merely crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave them both a very stern look. "I'm definitely not apologizing to Velvette!"

Rosie cleared her throat. "Come now, I've had enough of you two, apologize to each other and shake hands," she repeated her words, her voice low and her tone threatening and leaving no room for further protest. She eyed them both expectantly.

"Yes, Rosie..." Carmilla was the first to obey. "I'm sorry, Velvette." She held out her hand and Velvette took it.

"Me too... Sorry, Carmilla," Velvette replied. She rolled her eyes in annoyance as Rosie praised them in satisfaction. "What do we do now?" she wanted to know as Carmilla began to lead the small group across the grass to the park's front gate. The setting sun blinded them and Velvette had to shield her vision with her hand. The first lanterns came to life with an electric flicker.

"We'll blend in," Carmilla explained as they circled the duck pond. All of their appearances seemed strangely human in their reflection; they no longer looked like sinners from Hell. "We look like humans, so we'll act like humans. We will act as inconspicuous as possible until we find a way back to Hell."

Beyond the park's heavy iron gate, the main road and the deafening roar of rush-hour traffic welcomed them.

"How... do...?" Rosie mumbled half-heartedly. Fascination glittered in her eyes, overwhelmed, she turned on the spot and marveled open-mouthed at the bright neon colors and flashing lights of the big city, which formed a world of its own in the twilight. She had never experienced such centralization and technicalization in her lifetime.

"Help! We're under attack!" Pressing her hands over her ears in distress, Rosie heard an ambulance speeding down the street in front of them, its sirens blaring. The volume was unbearable. Blinded by the flickering blue light, she closed her eyes shut tightly. If Velvette hadn't grabbed Rosie by her collar in time and roughly yanked her back onto the sidewalk, she would have been run over by the ambulance.

Rosie choked on her collar while Velvette, pale with shock, scolded her. "You'd better watch out!" she complained in a huff.

Some pedestrians shot them skeptical stares.

"But I've never ever seen things like this in Hell!" Rosie croaked out with mixed enthusiasm. "This modern world is really fascinating..."

More and more pedestrians turned their heads curiously in their direction.

"Damn it, Rosie, lower your voice!" Velvette scolded, looking panicked around to the left and right.

"You'd better let go of Rosie before you accidentally strangle her, Velvette," Carmilla admonished the girl, when suddenly a young man approached Velvette with a polite smile on his lips.

"Excuse me, please," he quipped kindly. "I must confess that I inadvertently overheard your conversation and wanted to ask if you might need my help. Are you tourists and accidentally got lost?"

"Fuck off!" spat Velvette. "Leave us alone. We're doing really well on our own, thank you!" Before the young man could reply another word, Velvette had quickly pushed Carmilla and Rosie across the street, putting them out of earshot of an answer. Clara and Odette followed their mother like two well-behaved ducklings.

"What was that all about?" Carmilla asked, confused. She glanced back over her shoulder and the young man stood silently on the other side of the street, watching them dumbly as they quickly turned into a winding alley and followed the gray sidewalk. "You were really rude…"

Velvette shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know..." she grumbled, "But when that guy approached us out of nowhere, I suddenly got this weird feeling right in the gut of my stomach. Yeah, I fucking know this guy looked completely normal and just wanted to offer us his help, but there was this sudden gut feeling... Do you know what I mean?"

Odette nodded. "Yeah, I think I felt it too... It was like a bad premonition or something, like something was wrong with him..."

"Exactly!"

Clara shook her head. "Well, I didn't feel anything at all with that guy," she said, waving it off and calling her sister and Velvette more or less silly. "Maybe you guys simply didn't like him."

"You're not allowed to have a say in this, Clara, because your range of emotions fits on a teaspoon..." Odette grinned proudly, while Clara protested indignantly and Velvette patted her appreciatively on the shoulder for her joke.

"Odette... What was that about sticking together?" Carmilla reminded her eldest daughter in a stern voice as they continued to wander through the dark streets of the city without a destination. They passed a few rancid bars and crammed restaurants, the crowds grew bigger and the pushing and shoving unpleasant. Odette grimaced at her mother, while Velvette stuck her tongue out at Carmilla. Carmilla rolled her eyes.

"Maybe we should find somewhere to crash for the rest of the night," Rosie suggested, when suddenly a drunk man stumbled out of the entrance of a bar and straight in front of the cannibal's feet.

He looked up at her with a swimming stare as he staggered to his feet. "I hear you ladies need a place to sleep?" he slurred. A nasty smile lingered on his lips as he winked suggestively at Rosie and tried to touch her. His sweaty fingers gripped the fabric of her dress.

"Careful..." Carmilla growled lowly, clenching her fists and ready to fight. Clara and Odette quickly dug behind their mother, Velvette taking cover behind her as well.

"Let go of me now..." Rosie snarled viciously. She shuddered as his hand tried to move higher. "Don't you dare!" She grabbed his wrist roughly and twisted his arm behind his back. He cried out in pain as Rosie kicked him mercilessly in the crook of his knees and he fell to his feet in front of her. A dark desire reflected in Rosie's gaze, her stomach growling hungrily. Her fine fingertips ran over his cheekbones, a sharp smile on her lips. "I want you on my platter," she whispered in his ear. "I could make delicious jambalaya out of you."

"Help!" the drunk man shrieked, his voice full of fear as Rosie indicated biting off the fingers on his right hand.

Suddenly a throat clearing stopped her. "Do we have a problem here, ladies and gentlemen?" a uniformed policeman wanted to know as he appeared out of nowhere and posed in front of them. He scrutinized the drunken man at Rosie's feet with a questioning look. "Is everything all right with you?" he wanted to know from Rosie.

Slowly, Rosie glanced back and forth between the policeman and her next meal. "Yes, now that you're here, I am!" she announced cheerfully, flashing a broad smile at the policeman, who was looking at her very skeptically. She rudely let go of the drunken man's arm.

"That man tried to harass us and she merely put him in his place!" Carmilla also pushed Rosie protectively behind her. She gave the man on the ground a hatred-filled look.

"She's insane!" the drunken man screamed in panic. His eyes wide open, he gestured frantically with his arms and hands. "She wanted to eat me! Look, she bit my fingers!"

"Okay, that's enough," the policeman exclaimed, while Rosie shook her head and put on an innocent face. "Stand up, turn around and put your hands behind your back, you're under arrest."

"What?" the drunken man protested. "You can't arrest me! You have to protect me from this insane woman!"

"I promise you that you'll be safe from the lady in our sobriety cell at the station..." The policeman handcuffed the drunken man and led the furiously swearing man to his car. "I wish you ladies a pleasant night!" bid the policeman before forcing the man into the back seat and getting into the driver's side himself.

The white car started to move and Rosie looked after it longingly. "Too bad..." she sighed sorrowfully. "I'm still really hungry..."

Carmilla angrily turned to Rosie. "You'll never try to snack on pedestrians out in the open ever again!" she swore with a hiss. "That's the exact opposite of our plan of being subtle and inconspicuous!"

"Excuse me..." Sheepishly, Rosie scratched the back of her head. "I really didn't mean to get us into trouble, but I'm really hungry and I think your children are in desperate need of sleep."

"I'm definitely ready for bed..." claimed Odette, while Clara yawned demonstratively.

"Where are we going to sleep, Mom?"

"Uhm... I..." Exhausted, Carmilla massaged her temples, straining to think of a quick solution to their sleeping problem. Panicked, her eyes wandered up and down the street, bars and restaurants lined up one after the other and there were no alleyways or abandoned buildings to hide in. "I'm sure I'll find a solution for us before the night is over..." she promised through gritted jaws. She desperately tried not to let her uncertainty slip out in front of her daughters. They were shivering, and as darkness fell, so did the temperature at this season.

"We're sleeping here!" Suddenly Velvette proudly held a key card to a hotel room under their noses, which she had produced from one of the many compartments of a leather wallet.

"Where?" Rosie looked very skeptically at the small piece of plastic from all sides. "What's that?" she asked curiously. "What do you do with it?"

"It's a key to a warm hotel room with a soft bed, which I found in the drunk's wallet," Velvette explained.

"Where did you get his wallet?" Rosie seemed really interested in the plastic card, she took it from Velvette and examined it closely. "How do you unlock a lock with that?"

"Hotel rooms have electronic locks..." Velvette shrugged her shoulders. "The wallet accidentally fell out of the guy's jacket pocket when he dropped it at your feet. He was too scared of you to notice and I just- Hey, are you fucking crazy, Carmilla?"

Carmilla ignored Velvette's protests and took the wallet. "Well done," she praised her softly as she took out the bills and coins and pocketed them. "The cash will certainly be enough to pay for a cheap place to stay for one night."

"Pay for a cheap place to stay?" Velvette looked confused. "Hey, I know you're a bit older, Carmilla, but even you, despite your advanced age, should have figured out that our stay is free with this key card, right?"

Carmilla glared grimly at Velvette. "Your theft is already a high risk for us... I can't take the additional risk of simply occupying someone else's hotel room."

"I really don't want to question your authority as a leader or mother, Milly," claimed Rosie. "But we can't exactly sleep on the street and this guy will have to give up his claim to his room tonight anyway, he's already spending the night in a cozy sobriety cell at the police station..." She suppressed an amused giggle, while Clara and Odette nodded hastily and Velvette continued to ramble on about a soft bed. "I'm afraid you've been outvoted, Milly."

"All right," Carmilla grumbled. "We'll sleep in that hotel tonight..." she surrendered. Her daughters and Velvette cheered. "Traitor..." she sighed with a put-on pout at Rosie, while the cannibal shot her a widening smile.

"You’re welcome, Milly!"

[thelampisaflashlight]

The Forest Groans

[A dream, a looming deadline, and a grisly murder... Or, this year's Samhain festivities are primed to be something especially sinister. Depictions of gore below.] Below the cut.

"Raking leaves, again, today?" Mountain muses as he stalks through the weeds, the groundskeeper at his side playing hell at picking burrs -which he no doubt has coating his overalls- off of her pantlegs.

"Most likely," she says, tossing aside another sticky hitchhiker, "they're good compost, so I don't mind."

The ghoul nods, breathing in the crisp morning air, slightly damp from an overnight shower, and adjusts the sleeves of his sweater to let a bit of the cold slip in beneath the still itchy material, soothing his skin.

Milne is dressed in a bright yellow jacket, standing out amongst the dulled hues of the forest and dying fields of tall, dry grass; Her hair blows about her head in the breeze, and it's that gentle ruffle that reminds Mountain of the passage of time.

Earlier that year, it had been him who had taken up the clippers to shear those brown curls down into near nothing, taking care to smooth his hand over the soft fluff and wipe away all the itchy bits that landed on her neck and shoulders.

The sun had only just begun to hang itself high in the sky, but already, she had felt too warm with only an inch or two hanging down past her ears, and Mountain, terribly hot in his winter fur, had likewise wanted to shed his coat, so he could understand the desire well enough.

But now Fall was here again, and Milne's hair had grown into a sort of formless bob that curled up at the ends and seemed to be in constant motion.

One strand in particular sat atop her head like an antenna, sticking straight up, but remaining soft and pliant when poked or pressed against her scalp by a broad hand.

Occasionally, Mountain would do just that, smoothing his palm over the mess of it, and the woman would grumble, but then sigh and let him continue petting her like an aged barn cat; Unaccustomed to such affection, but appreciating it nonetheless.

As they carry on through the fields leading towards the abbey, Mountain having risen early so that he could cross them once before in darkness so he might share breakfast with the still waking gardener, the two fall into an easy silence.

Milne's boots crunch lightly against the frost covered earth, and the ghoul sniffles now and then, the cold causing his nose to run.

As uneven soil turns to carefully leveled gravel, the pair part ways, the giant turning right to head back towards the stairs leading down into the ghouls' private courtyard, giving the human a gentle wave, watching her lift her hand and utter a small, almost regretful goodbye, before vanishing from his sight.

Walking towards the backdoor, Mountain spies someone leaning against the brick wall leading further down, still, into the dorms; Swiss stands with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, smiling brightly when he sees his friend.

"Mornin', you're up early." He remarks, tamping his ash down onto the concrete slab beneath him, "Business or pleasure~?"

Mountain snorts at his teasing, but joins him against the wall with a thoughtful hum.

"Breakfast with a friend." he says plainly, using the edges of the mortar to scratch his back, "Why are you awake?"

Swiss shrugs, but his brows pull together, pensive, "I had a... I guess you could say I had a bad dream."

"Bad enough to send you out here to smoke after you tried so hard to quit last year...?" the other questions and Swiss, looking at the burning ember in his hand, lets out a dry laugh.

"I guess so." he says, dropping the offending item onto the ground and crushing it under his heel, "It was just so... fucking real."

"Tell me about it?" Mountain offers.

"See..." Swiss mumbles, "I don't know if I should."

"Hm?"

"You were in my dream, and it was like..." Swiss brings his hands up and then makes little explosions with his hands, "...Ya know?"

He shakes his head.

"I don't know." he replies, raising an eyebrow, "If you can't tell me what it was about, could you tell me why you can't tell me?"

Swiss makes a noise in the back of his throat and then nods.

"Sometimes, I get these dreams that aren't really dreams; They're... possibilities. Things that could actually happen." he says, "Omens, and not the fun kind."

"The future isn't set in stone," the multi-ghoul continues, "but intentionally interfering with it by telling you would only lead to more trouble down the line."

Mountain frowns gravely.

"What would you suggest I do then?"

Swiss pulls the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and takes one of Mountain's large hands between his own, pressing it to his palm.

"First, you can throw these out for me, I don't want them, shit tastes like black pepper on the tongue," he half jokes, "...and second, just be careful, yeah?"

Mountain feels the paper crinkle as he squeezes the box tighter.

"I can try." he assures his friend, "...Was there anyone else in your dream?"

Swiss nods.

"It was a full cast." he chuckles, "Everyone gathered 'round like it was some kind of party..."

He toes a loose pebble.

"...What was the name of the friend you were with just now?" he asks, peeking up at the earth ghoul, "Just out of curiosity..."

"Beatrix Milne." Mountain supplies, "Why? Was she in your dream, too?"

Swiss tilts his head back and breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

"No, thankfully, she was not.... Her name doesn't start with C."

.

.

.

Dew rises at exactly 7:30, swatting at his alarm clock, and missing three times before he smacks it onto the floor for the fourth time this week.

He's had a rough night, multiple, in fact, since the start of the month, full of tossing and turning and an inability to sleep.

A deep disquiet in his soul making it near impossible for him to shut off his brain and get any rest whatsoever, and from the sounds of shuffling feet in the corridor even earlier this morning, he wasn't the only one.

He'd stirred briefly when Mountain rose to make his way to the gardener's cottage for their Sunday morning breakfast, something he'd occasionally tag along to when he wanted to eat in a more relaxed environment, but he'd chosen to stay in bed when Mountain's low, sleepy voice had voiced a simple "Hm?" inviting him.

Dew had simply rolled over and snuggled back down in his blankets, yawning as his dormmate went about getting dressed in the dark, and tried, and briefly succeeded in, going back to sleep.

Now he lays awake, tired eyes fixed on the ceiling, already scrubbed of the Sandman's leavings, and considers what to do with his day.

A muffled grumble in his gut tells him he should probably start with breakfast himself and see where the morning takes him from there, but a more pressing weight in his bladder says pee first.

His body complains as he sits up, his head lolling side to side as he rolls his shoulders, shivering slightly as the comparably colder air of his bedroom meets his sleep warm skin.

It's too early for the abbey's caretakers to be thinking about turning on the heaters, despite the cool mornings, it still gets hot enough in the afternoon that the heat would be unbearable by the time lunch came around.

As he heads into his bathroom, Dew thinks about the trunk filled with blankets on Mountain's side of the room, and considers borrowing an extra one to make his bed more comfortable, and that thought reminds him he should probably strip his current sheets away and send them off with whoever is doing the laundry today, and then he should...

Mundane thoughts carry him from his bedroom to through the commons and then to the kitchenette where the coffee pot sits empty; Usually, whoever wakes up first will start the coffee, but he'd give Mountain a pass since he can never seem to get the ratio right.

Speak of the devil, Dew hears the rattle of the exterior screen door followed by the heavy groan of the interior one as the giant makes his way back inside, followed by a tired looking Swiss.

He's acknowledged with a grunt and a nod as the pair sit down on the opposite side of the counter, with three of them now awake and moving about, it's only a matter of time before the rest of the pack does, too, so with a stretch and another healthy yawn, Dew decides to set about making breakfast for the lot of them.

Mountain, who already ate, politely excuses himself to begin his work for the day, but not before filling up his travel mug with coffee and giving Dew an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

It's after he's left, and before the rest come shambling in, that Swiss lays his head down on the counter and sighs.

"Having trouble sleeping, again, huh?" Dew comments knowingly, reaching over to slide the weary ghoul a mug and the spiced creamer from the fridge along with the eggs for breakfast.

Swiss nods, face squished to the marble.

"Bad dreams or just restless?" he asks, watching the multi ghoul sit up and shuffle his stool closer to the counter so he can lean over it while sipping his coffee.

"Bad dreams..." Swiss says, adding more creamer until his drink is almost white with it, "Not worth getting into, but it's, ya know, it has that bite to it..."

Bite.

"Ah." Dew nods, knowing exactly what he means, "And you don't want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later, when I'm more awake."

"If it makes you feel any better, I haven't been sleeping all that well myself..." he admits, picking a bit of shell out of the scramble he's making, "We're only a few weeks out from the sabbath, and only a couple days out from the hunter's moon, so that's probably it."

Swiss shrugs, warming his fingers around the mug.

"If that were the case, I'd expect the other quint mixes and full blooded quintessence ghouls to be going insane right now, but Aeon sleeps like a rock, and Aeth's still snoring away across the hall..." he laments jealously, "Nah, I think..."

He places a hand over his chest pensively.

"No... No, I know it has to be that."

Dew stops cubing up bits of ham for the scramble to hand a slice to his friend, who nibbles on it graciously.

"Maybe you should talk to the siblings then." Dew suggests, wiping his hands on a stray dish towel, "Get a beat on the human side of things..."

Swiss considers this for a moment; Dew and him, being hybrids -the offspring of humans who laid with demons- felt their elements differently to typical ghouls, and thus related more spiritually to their mortal relations than their demonic ones, so, asking the siblings could help sort things out, but...

The ghoul clicks his tongue.

"My dream involved... There was a human in my dream, someone close to the church, so I don't want to make anyone worry." he says, running his index finger over the rim of his coffee mug, making the gloss squeak, "It'll pass."

He waves his hand about dismissively and Dew decides to leave well enough alone and changes the topic.

"I was thinking we should all watch a movie later-"

.

.

.

By the time Bea is done raking the leaves, she can see one of the siblings ascending the bell tower, signaling that it's time for lunch; The abbey, although modern in some regards, had kept the bell system for keeping time out of tradition, and, more honestly, aesthetics.

Digital clocks don't look as grand and lack the mystique of analogue, but Bea will admit to checking her watch instead of trying to understand the positions of the hands.

That was one thing she'd never quite got a handle on, even if it was easy enough to learn, she, ironically, never had the time to sit down and do so.

Setting the rake aside, Bea removes her gloves, tucking them into her front pocket, and joins the growing line of siblings of sin headed indoors towards the mess hall.

Normally, she'd pack a small lunch and eat outside, but today she has a midday meeting with the so-called man in charge to discuss the upcoming Samhain festivities, and a container of hot soup made a better threat than cold bologna.

Every year, Copia would propose greater and grander ideas for the holiday, and every year Bea would have to talk him back down the earth in regards to practicality and budgets, but she holds onto the false hope that this time he'll request something a bit more... subdued.

Since Sister Imperator's passing, the once Papa, now newly dubbed Frater Imperator, has been quiet, not in the sense that he hasn't said much -he still talks in that familiar, excitable manner she's grown accustomed to- but in that he's seemed more... introspective.

Thoughtful.

Bea, too, has felt strangely calm these last few months, but on her end, the thing keeping her "level" was her health; She'd begun to feel weak around the end of the summer, and progressively more so since the fall season had begun, making it difficult at times to keep up with her work.

More than once, Mountain had urged her to speak with the medical staff about her sudden fatigue, but there really wasn't much they could do for her, since her affliction wasn't one that could be easily fixed through bedrest and medicine.

The woman thinks about her contract with the ministry, of the deal she agreed to without hesitation.

A deal which had sparked several arguments and then finally some level of acceptance from her friend.

They would discuss this, too, during their meeting today, but it wouldn't be for long, and would act as the conversations singular tangent before the bargaining and begging began.

...Or at least that had been the plan, until an ear piercing scream has her nearly dropping her soup all over the floor.

A crowd of siblings are gathered in the main hall around the statue of Baphomet, which looms ominously over all of them.

It takes a moment to process what's going on, but when she does, Bea is horrified.

A head sits upon the statue's lap, eyes missing from their sockets, and at the base, the body that had once been attached to it is posed kneeling before it, hands bound in a prayer like position.

Bea breathes in harshly, feeling the blood rush from her head, her heartbeat becoming erratic as the gathered siblings begin to shout in unison.

"Who is it?!"

"What's happened?!"

"Is that blood?!"

"Is this real??"

It's too much.

It's really too much.

Bea sets her lunch aside and marches towards the front doors, shoving them both open with a loud bang.

Others follow suit, the panic turning into static as the gardener pulls off to the side, stumbling into the hedges to throw up.

"Christ's sake...!" she hisses, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

Someone needs to call the police...

She reaches into her pocket, but a hand wraps around her wrist, staying her own.

"Easy now, let's not act rashly." a cool monotone voice whispers in her ear, "Let someone else handle this."

Bea blinks, an icy chill shooting up her spine as she turns to see Mr. Psaltarian there, his grasp on her arm growing firmer when she doesn't immediately release her phone, "R... Right."

She breathes, and the older man releases her, instead laying his hand upon her back between shoulder blades.

"Your meeting with Frater Imperator has been effectively rescheduled until tomorrow." he says, "You should head back to your cottage for the rest of the day and get some rest."

"But-"

"Do not argue with me, Ms. Milne." he warns, and Bea straightens up at that, nodding, "Very good. Go get yourself cleaned up, I'm sure you'll have a visitor or two later today."

Bea covers her mouth as another wave of nausea hits her.

"And remember, Ms. Milne, when they ask about what you saw here today-"

"I saw nothing." she says, swallowing thickly, and Psaltarian smiles broadly, "Nothing at all. I went home early because I was sick."

"Indeed."

.

.

.

By sunset, news of the death of one Sister Camille has spread through the abbey like wildfire, and Swiss feels it burning in his very chest; His anxiety over his dream had him thinking that the "C" from it would have been Copia, he'd be half certain about it, but, then again, even from the perspective he'd witnessed the death from, he could tell the person had been wearing a habit in retrospect.

Guilt sinks into his belly like a lead weight, and turns him off his dinner and Dew's proposed film for the evening, The Nun, but not enough to stop him from sprawling across he couch and letting the fire ghoul scratch his long fingers through his curls, soothing him to sleep.

His dreams are almost eerily peaceful and calm.

Elsewhere, Mountain finds himself back at the cottage, the dishes from breakfast still sat in the sink as he frets over his sickly friend, who seems paler and sicker than he'd seen her in some time.

Her eyes are distant, dead almost, but when he asks her if anything is wrong, she replies wearily that she's fine.

But she's not.

Mountain thinks to ask her if she'd heard the news about the sister of sin who died, but decides against it, it's not something he should bring up so casually, nor burden her with when she's feeling ill.

Instead, he heads over to the cabinets and gathers everything he needs to make his special blend of tea.

Something warm, but soothing, easy on the stomach.

Bea lets out a little whimper as the kettle begins to whistle.

No, she doesn't need to be thinking of that sort of thing at all right now.

And yet she is, unbeknownst to him, she is.

But she won't tell him that, the lingering chill of Psaltarian's touch on her back reminding her to keep her mouth shut.

Mountain rubs her back in the same spot when she says it hurts.

She tells him nothing.

[letters-unsending]

No. 49

////

Heroes don’t wear masks to hide their identities. They use them to stay human.

////

His mask is in his nightstand when the explosion happens.

His room cleaves in half in a spray of wood and cement. The tilt of the room casts his bed through the window and into the fiery street below, and Hero tucks himself to the far wall as the building groans. Behind him, his wall creaks, holds, then splinters into boards and he’s hurtling forward, reaching for the pit of his magic before he can even think of his nightstand, tumbling down, drawers sliding out. Before he can think of his mask falling through the air.

Without the restraint of his suit and mask, his body is free to stretch. The magic lengthens his limbs and pulls his fingers into wide, sweeping talons, which he uses to rake into plaster and swing himself onto the side of the closest building. He clutches to the brownstone as his apartment slumps into a great plume of smoke, heat and rubble.

He scrabbles down for survivors while his spine clicks and curls into an animalistic hunch.

The distortion hurts less than the Organization had warned him it would. His muscles and tendons shift with a worming, slippery sensation, but there is no white hot pain. No snapping nerves. No subluxations. He wonders if his mind will go, just as they’ve told him. He wonders if his face will know how to reform, now that his mask isn’t there.

Hands first, he twists onto the ground before loping through the sea of ash. His eyes sting and then a film wraps over them. A third eyelid, he despairs, squinting. Shadows flit through the haze and he chases after them.

His skin thickens and squares into scales as the scene grows hotter and the air thins. He’s thankful for the the padding when he starts digging through the bricks and upending metal beams, but the more wreckage he combs through, the heavier the smoke sits in his lungs and the greater his despair grows. No one, he coughs, no one?

A sharp pain knifes through his back.

He whirls around and almost sighs in relief. A triad of pale masks gleam like beacons through fog. Heroes. Hero gestures toward the wreckage with his plate-wide palm and gnarled fingers.

Help. He opens his mouth. The word splits into a dissonant whine, entirely alien.

Help. One of them readies their spear.

It’s me. Another brandishes a sword. It burns red in the firelight.

Before the last can withdraw their weapon, Hero scatters backwards. His legs bend in the wrong places and he wants to scream. He points at his face and then to theirs. He presses at his cheeks and tries to push them in, into their right place, but his power is too strong, too intent.

The spear catches him in his shoulder and he wails—it’s an ugly sound, churning and cracking like gravel and shattered glass.

Leaping to the ground, the swordsperson swings next. Hero grabs them, lightly, and pushes. They land several feet farther away than Hero intends.

Another blow comes from behind, into his back and through his gut, and Hero curls forward, clutching his stomach. As he moves, the spear falls; his flesh pushes it out. Hero throws the masked soldier off his shoulders and lunges forward. His legs are wrong and twisted, but launch him far away. He barrels through the smoke and down the street.

He never looks to see if the heroes give chase. They won’t catch up, because they are contained. Their magic is squashed into masks and air-tight suits.

As he staggers through the city, his body shrivels into something swift and dart-like. He navigates to the only place he knows can help him: Supervillain’s lair.

////

“I’ve killed people, haven’t I?”

There’s a mask sealed over Hero’s face. It’s not his, but it’s human. He’s human. Even though Hero doesn’t intend to use his power, he’s reluctant to take it off, in fear of transforming again, in fear of revealing any part of himself to the man in front of him.

“Most likely,” Supervillain answers. His face is bare and he wears a loose, silk robe.

“I thought the transformation turned people into mindless monsters.” Hero muttered, clutching the metal rounds of his cheeks. “We’re supposed to forget our faces. We’re supposed to forget ourselves, but I—I remember everything.”

“Some people do forget,” Supervillain smiles with too-sharp teeth, “there’s no saving them. But most, such as yourself, are completely aware.”

Hero slumps against Supervillain’s work table. He looks at his hands: uniform digits, round fingernails.

As Hero despairs, Supervillain glides toward him, sweeping out his hand. His sleeve sways as he places his palm over Hero’s mask. His thumb pushes against the metal, but the rest of his fingers curl over his uncovered jaw and neck.

“You were never human, [Hero].” He meets Hero’s eyes, which are set beneath carved, silver brows.

“I’m human.” Hero protests, but he can’t help think that his arms are overlong as he leans back on them. He can almost feel his magic swirling beneath his mask.

“No human can do what you do. They can’t be what we can be.” Supervillain pats Hero’s masked temple before drifting back. “But you can keep this if you want, if it makes you comfortable.”

He skirts a few stations away and as Hero follows his retreat, he glances at the wall. From end to end, it’s surface is dotted with hanging shapes: masks.

None of them are human.

[1986harrington]

i would die for #28 with steve lmao

Steve Harrington x fem!reader Prompt: #28 - I hate that you're mad at me but you look so hot right now Summary: When Steve doesn't show up on time for your date, he ends up on your bad side... Word Count: 1.3k

There were a lot of things you loved about Steve Harrington. 

You loved his honey-brown eyes, his good soul and his lionheart.

You loved the way he made you feel so seen; as though everything else was a haze to him and you were the only thing perfectly in focus. 

You loved his wild hair and the scratch of his stubble and the warmth of his skin. 

You loved the smell of him on your pillows, the way he never stopped making you laugh and the way he loved without abandon.

What you didn’t love, however, was his inability to be on time for literally anything.

It was 7:45pm on Friday night. More specifically, the night of the Hawkin’s High Snow Ball. All the kids were going - the boys donning ill-fitted suits and too-big hair, whilst the girl’s were swamped in glittery fabric and poofy tulle - and you and Steve were supposed to be chaperoning, per Dustin’s request.

Steve was working until five-thirty, so you both planned for him to pick you up at six-fifteen and head to the school for seven.

Yet here you were, over an hour later dressed in a floor length, strapless, shimmering dress - respectable enough for a school dance in that all your vital parts were covered, but tight enough that it didn’t leave much to the imagination - and your boyfriend was nowhere in sight. 

You had already removed your shoes a while ago, the straps of your heels uncomfortable even whilst sitting. You watched as the clock ticked by, eyed the phone on the wall and waited for it to ring.

At first you were simply annoyed, convinced that he'd lost track of time chatting to some old highschool friends at the video store, or that he'd simply forgotten what day it was and where he was supposed to be. But as the time passed by and he didn't call, a worry started to gnaw at your insides, settling uncomfortably in your chest until you felt your palms grow clammy and you grew restless, pacing around the living room as your dress swept along the carpet. You pressed a palm to the back of your neck, exposed from the way your hair was pinned up in a messy yet elegant up-do, perfectly waved strands loose around your face.

You tried calling the store, but by now it was after eight and they were closed for the night. You tried Robin's house next, but her mom said she was out with Vicki, with no mention of Steve.

You were just about to head upstairs to change into some sweats and head out to look for his car - which you were now imagining overturned at the side of a dark road or wrapped around a tree - panic rising in your chest and tears nipping at the back of your eyes, when you heard the rumble of an engine and wheels on the gravel outside. The headlights shone through your front window, causing your dress to glimmer like a mirage and when Steve finally tumbled in the door thirty seconds later, he looked at you like you were one.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I-" He panted, out of breath and bent over, hands resting on his knees before he lifted his head to look at you.

"Wow," He said, standing up straight, eyes raking over you, jaw hanging slack.

"Don't you dare." You warned, voice breaking slightly as you blinked, and the tears you'd been staving off finally fell, perfectly in sync down both cheeks.

You shouldered past him on your way to the staircase, gathering the length of your dress in your hands so you could climb the stairs without stepping on it.

"I- I was only gonna tell you that you look-"

"You were going to tell me I look beautiful," You finished the sentence for him, spinning around when you reached the top of the stairs. He stared up at you from the bottom step, with a look that suggested he was unsure if he was to agree or stay quiet.

"And honestly, Steve? There's nothing I would have liked to hear more from you. Two hours ago, which is when you were supposed to be here!"

You burrelled around, heading for your room as Steve followed you up, taking the stairs two at a time.

"I know, alright? And I'm so sorry, baby, I am." He pleaded, and you kept your back turned to him so he wouldn't melt you on the spot with those eyes of his. You reached the dressing table in your room, placing your hands flat against it as you heard him follow you in.

"I wanted to be here on time, I swear. But my shitty fucking radiator blew halfway home from work, so I had to walk to a payphone to call a mechanic, and after I called him, I realised I didn't have any quarters left to call you. And then the guy took forever to show, and he couldn't fix it on the road so he had to tow me to the garage and I'm sorry we missed the dance-"

"I don't care about the stupid dance, Steve!" You sobbed, turning to face him and he could see the remnants of fear still in your eyes. "I thought you'd been in an accident! That you were hurt somewhere, and I didn't know where the hell you were, and I called the store and then I called Robin-"

You were ranting now, breathless and panicky, words running into the next as Steve crossed the room to you, placing both warm hands on either side of your face.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm okay. I'm right here." He soothed, his forehead coming to rest on yours as your eyes fell closed. Your hands found their way into the front of his polo, knotting themselves there as you pulled him in closer until you were chest to chest and you could wrap your arms around him.

He huffed a laugh into your hair as you bear-hugged him, squeezing so tight that his breath caught in his throat.

"Hey now, careful or you'll pop a rib." He spoke against your temple, pressing a kiss there before you pulled back.

"I'm still mad at you." You declared, glaring up at him with a furrow in your brow, but the tears had stopped.

"Oh I'm sure."

"We missed the dance."

"Thought you didn't care about the dance?"

"Well I didn't when I thought you were potentially dead at the side of the road."

"Charming," Steve muttered affectionately, but you pointedly ignored him as you kept speaking.

"But now that I know you're alive, I very much care that we missed it. The kids are gonna be so disappointed and I spent all this money on a new dress and-"

"Can I just say one thing?" Steve asked, cutting you off mid-rant and you huffed, crossing your arms with an expression that told him to go ahead if he must.

"I hate that you're mad at me, but you look so hot right now."

A grin split wide across his face, reaching all the way to those caramel eyes of his as they roamed their way across your dress. You wanted to push at his chest and tell him he was a shameless dumbass, but for some reason - even after all the time you'd been together - his words still caused a flush to climb up your throat and color your cheeks his favorite shade of pink.

"This old thing?" You asked, half-turning to give him a better view of your ass as you glanced over your shoulder at him. "I was actually just about to take it off."

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The End of Summer - A Jax Teller/Reader One Shot Story.

So, the recent poll revealed that the bittersweet option for a one shot won. Here you are, guys. I hope you like it.

Words - 1,260

Warnings - Smut and bittersweet ending below the cut. Minors DNI!

You vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t do it. There would be no last dance of passion, no final time, no letting your edges burn against his heat.  

The promises we keep and the ones we break, though. Sometimes, despite any better judgement or determined resolve, we know we’re breaking all the wrong ones.  

You didn’t need the reminder of what your life will lack going forward, no longer having your blonde haired, blue eyed bad boy in it, but you couldn’t help yourself. It came so naturally to you, to cave to that smile, to the cool fire of his eyes, to how his hands demanded to tour your skin, lose themselves beneath your clothes.  

You’ve always been weak of resolve where Jax Teller is concerned.  

It’s why you happily allowed him to capture your lips in hot, messy kisses, making no effort to prevent him from lifting you into his arms and carrying you to the bedroom. Any tentative resolve you might’ve had melted further with each piece of clothing shed, each kiss pressed to your skin, each swirl of his tongue.  

As you lie there now, spread before him, your nails trailing his scalp, you know you are the ultimate breaker of promises. Except for the one relating to why this will be your last time with him.  

Each lick over your silken folds has little shocks prickling your spine, your abdomen bouncing, soft gasps tumbling from your throat as the tip of his tongue quickens over your clit. “God, Jax.” He opens his eyes, winking, watching you as his mouth sends you to the edges of heaven, his pupils inky, his hands clutched tight upon your hips.  

Sitting up, he reaches to the nightstand, grasping a condom and yanking the wrapper open, his stare unblinking as he looks down upon you, rays of the late summer sun hitting his chest, emblazoning his skin in hues of gold. It’ll be burned into your memory, too. Even though you shall be far, he will always be there, although you doubt that once you leave Charming behind, the prince of the town will be long for this world.  

You see the shadows of death reaching for him with their wiry, spindly fingers, and you see him leaning towards their clutches rather than away. That is his promise to himself, and you know it. You’ve always known it.  

It isn’t one he’s willing to break. He tires of fighting anything but the inevitable. 

For that moment, though, the only thing he leans to is you, his body covering yours, the push of his cock causing a gasp to jump from your mouth to his, his kisses all fire and need, arrowing you deeply, losing himself to what will all too soon be a memory. Not one he will keep for long, so he makes it good for you, knowing it’ll be with you for longer, fucking you determinedly, his hands blazing paths of heat over your body that tingle in the wake.  

His mouth moves to your neck, panting hard, sucking the tender flesh, a low groan, all salt and rasp echoing his throat as your nails rake down his back. “Fuck, darlin’.” He’s never too wordy during sex, but he conveys so much with very little, fingers gripping your jaw, thumb stroking a soft circle, his lips returned to yours as his thrusts gain a little more depth.  

Lying there in the soft white of his sheets, his weight bearing down upon you, you sink into the bliss evoked by his cock, entering and retreating unhurriedly. His thickness opens and stretches you, summoning tingles, making your shudder against him, his body burning the moment onto you like an invisible branding.   

With hands pawing and tongues entwining, your groans echo out into the balmy summer night, Jax driving himself into you deeply, another moan gravelling through his throat as your fingers stroke his chest, watching as he sits back on his heels, his eyes falling to take in the sight of his cock vanishing into you.   

“So wet, babe. Fuck. Feels good.” His fingers slip either side of his soaking cock before pushing them into your mouth, storms dancing through his eyes as he stares down at you, finally adding more speed behind each thrust.  

Your body ripples in delighted response against his, your nails digging into his chest and tearing down, his growl predatory as he encircles your wrists, pushing your hands down above your head. 

“Mmm, punish me with your fuck, Teller.” Your demand is met by an askew grin, Jax winking, licking your cupids bow as your hips begin to roll up, meeting each of his powerful thrusts. That’s what he likes so much about you, you never lie there and take it. You always fuck him back. 

The potency of the moment begins to ascend, the fire between you sizzling through your veins as you keen and shudder against him, lost in the eye of his storm as he pounds you into the bed, chasing the light, seeking for it to gild him, his thrusts staccato as he feels you flutter around him. Your waves crash over his shore with a soft cry, feeling him spill into you, everything slackening as his body comes to rest atop yours, fluid and soft against one another. 

Enjoying the warm, syrupy bliss flow, you exchange kisses, stroking one another, reality beginning to creep up again, back from where your broken promises had pushed it away. You disentangle, leaving him to smoke while you dress, feeling his eyes at your back.  

“When d’you leave?” 

“Early tomorrow.”  

He nods, crushing out his cigarette, picking up his jeans when you stand, pulling them on to come and see you out. There will be no last moment efforts to make you stay, no declarations of adoration, no promises that with you at his side, everything can be different.  

It won’t. It can’t. It never would be.  

You and Jax, you were never meant to be anything more than comets streaking through each other’s skies, temporarily beautiful, and gone before they could be appreciated anything more than fleetingly.   

“Thanks, it was great while it lasted,” he tells you at the front door, his hand cupping the side of your face, pulling you close, nuzzling you softly. 

“It really was, Jax.”  

He smiles, dropping a soft kiss upon your lips. “Take care, darlin’." 

You’d wish him the same, but they would be wasted words. Walking away from him one last time, the only thing you take other than the smell of him upon your skin are the memories you will hold onto, ones you will no doubt recall fondly when life is a little colder without him, when the heat of his summer itself is but a distant memory.  

You’ve only been settled into your new life over three thousand miles from Charming for a month when you get the call, telling you of Jax’s demise. It comes as a blow, but no great surprise. He finally let death embrace him, as he was always destined to. Still, you shed tears for him, for all he could have been, had things been different, had he been different. It was never to be, though. 

As you walk to your backdoor and pull it open, the crisp air hitting your face, you realise he was exactly who and what he needed to be in the end, to everyone who knew him. Even you. 

Stepping outside, a singular autumn leaf flutters down, landing before you on the ground.