#a long ass comic is hard to make
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💙 Vinny through 2023 💙
#A lil tribute to the lizard that kept me going through this year#Can't wait to draw more of you my gayest bird boy#no clue for how long i'll be able to work on the comic#with too many stressors going on#a long ass comic is hard to make#but i'll try for this lil man#i want ya'll to read about him so bad 😭#show you what a lovable mess he is#we'll see if i can#digital art#anthro#pokemon#scrafty#citylifeau#vinnyscrafty
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*crawls out of the psd file covered in blood* AUGH
#first time in awhile ive been happy with a transient group shot#my art#i feel so bad bc all of the art ive been making for it is like YAAAY hooray happy space friends !! :3#but narratively this is my hard-hitting depression series and i put in. things.#ive been thinking about making some mini comics or scenes of the darker stuff thats more true to the story but im worried its cringe edgy#even though it is based on my real ass life#like one reason sulu wears that hat bc in his 20s his depression was so bad that he slept for 18 hrs a day#and being in bed so long rubbed a bald spot in the back of his head#which is a real thing#you can do#speaking from#experience
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Hunter's in game detailed suit and Midnight Suns Lore Dump.
Hunter is Marvel's Midnight Suns protagonist and Road to Recovery co-protagonist. If you haven't played the game you might be a little bit confused about her background and what's going on behind the scenes so beware: big text ahead.
According to the game's lore, centuries ago, Hunter was born the only child of an ordinary man and a powerful immortal. When Hunter’s father fell victim to a plague, Hunter’s mother, the sorceress Lilith, was consumed by grief and ended up striking a deal with Cthon itself, selling her soul in the process and permanently corrupting Hunter when they were still a baby.
Hunter was raised in secret by Lilith's sister, Sara, also known as Caretaker. She was raised and trained as a living weapon since they were a child, destined to face their mother. This goes to the extent that they don't have a real name besides their title as Hunter.
When Hunter came of age, they fought against Lilith with the Old Midnight Suns, their former team. In the end, Hunter defeated Lilith but perished in the process.
Both were buried for centuries, until Lilith was awoken by Doctor Faustus working for Hydra, her devastating powers augmented and amplified by modern technology and magic. Hunter was resurrected as well, to lead a new team of Midnight Suns.
The new Midnight Suns are composed by Robbie Reyes, Illyana Rasputin, Nico Minoru and Blade, who had already been training for a while when the Avengers arrived to the Abbey so they could join forces against the upcoming Apocalypsis. Since then, the young Midnight Suns have found themselves sidelined and are not very enthusiastic about it.
Most of the action of Road to Recovery takes place in The Abbey, Hunter's ancestral home, and the present-day makeshift base of the Midnight Suns, located within a pocket dimension on the cursed grounds of Old Salem in Salem, Massachusetts. The Midnight Suns use Illyana's portals as a means to get out of the Abbey and reaching their missions locations. The Abbey counts with a Training Yard and The Grotto, a small lake that serves as pool for the Abbey's residents to relax. It's also surrounded by extensive patches of haunted land and forest.
In the game, Hunter is a customizable character. This version of the Hunter is female and identifies as such. Since the game dates don't make a lot of sense (Hunter is supposed to be 18 but mentions having been slaying demons for decades), this Hunter was born in 1690 and died in 1713 at 23 years of age, but has been going out in missions and hunting monsters since she was a teen.
#MMS#marvels midnight suns#midnight suns#the hunter#don't worry guys she is fine#completely fine#all of that didn't leave her any trauma whatsoever#let me know if there is anything that doesn't make sense so I can edit this post later#translating things is hard#the detailed suit is super pretty but I'm not painting it again in a long time#it's a pain in the ass#and it's absolutely not going into the comics#my oc
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#this probending oikawa au is looking like it would make a better fic than a comic#me @ myself: you have no time to write a long ass fic thats not even a comic for a character outside your primary fandom! you have so many#other projects!#also me....but...what if i did....#ghajksks#something something pro bending where the events of haikyuu happened in a junior league so that i can follow canon but give oikawa a chance#to win#and he's going to have to face the fact that he's always holding himself back and saying he can't do something instead of taking a risk#which mirrors the fact that he's unable to risk his friendship with iwaizumi to tell him how he feels#i was an anime only watcher of haikyuu but now im trying to get some of the aoba josai#manga matches for my textual evidence...#comics would take too long to donthis idea fully...but drawing...and writing oikawa might be hard...but also...full length fics...
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Introducing the Kryptonite Siblings 🗣🗣🗣
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New OCS!!! Here are the Kryptonite Siblings!! From left to right we have: Donnabelle Rafaella Leovanni Mischalee!
They are the heirs and children from the recent generation of the Kryptonite household! As heirs, they are training to be next in line for their inherited businesses but despite the hardships and challenges, their overall goal as a Kryptonite is to have fun and be happy. :]
#hello! welcome in the kryptonite family!!#i have been working on this for so long LMAO school kicked my ass#tmnt kinda inspired their existence but other than that they are their own people and characters!#later on i'll be uploading their insdividual refs to further cement their characters!!#these chatacers LIVE in the same world as the primary trio (ecuste quelin jasper n chatelier) but their interactions are barely nothing LMA#my goal with these characters is to make comics of them but I've been reaaallllyyy busy so its hard LMAO#there will be another batch of characters but they are just for designing characters lmao cause gotta fill up some type of portfolio HAH#|||#donnabelle rhys kryptonite#leovanni reagan kryptonite#mischalee rumi kryptonite#rafaella ayuna 'rafa' kryptonite#rhys kryptonite#reagan kryptonite#rumi kryptonite#rafa kryptonite#||||#the rafa-reagan-rhys-rumi gang#the kryptonite siblings#it'll be explained in their individual refs why they look different n stuff woooo
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“HAVE YOU SEEN MY PANTIES?”
pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader
summary: in a lazy, hot summer afternoon, it’s your boyfriend’s turn to do the laundry. but why doesn’t he respond when you’re asking where’s your panties?
warnings: +18, smut, nsfw, gojo is your boyfriend, needy! gojo, cute! gojo, fluff, nipple play, panties sniffling, masturbation (m), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, sex (p in v), also based on a @/yunonoai’s comic!
wc: 2,128
“Babe, can you do the laundry? I have a call.”
“Sure,” Satoru replies, standing up from the couch where he was lazily lying down, chilling out in front of some tiktoks.
He steps towards the bathroom, the laundry hamper waiting for him to be emptied and washed. With a resigning sigh, he looks down at the heap of dirty clothes. One of them overhangs them all: your favorite panties — the one he bought you last month.
The lace surrounds with finesse the satin fabric of your favorite color.
So how can he not be hard at the only sight that reminds him how long you both haven’t had sex?
Fuck.
His breathing becomes heavier, each inhaling being a trial to not pay attention to the prominent bulge swelling down his gray jogging pants. Of course, the memory of your whimpers will always be like music to his ears, the fwap sounds of his cock buried deep, so deep, inside of your wet pussy, and his balls, so much filled with his cum and tightening when he's about to climax, slapping against your ass at each pound into you.
He is grouching now, at the edge of whining in need of your full attention — but of course, you needed to have a call at this very moment.
His hand twitches to his crotch, palming his already hard erection through the soft fabric of his pants, electricing at quiet moans, Satoru’s beautiful face wincing in pleasure. He swallows thick, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gives in. With messy movements, he lifts up his black shirt to grab the hem at his watering mouth and muffle his cute sounds between his clenched teeth and jaw. The fresh air blow at his hard abs, making him tensing his belly with scorching skin.
His big, calloused hand fiddles with his erection, so ready to free himself from the torturous sensation of your pretty panties, which he holds between his fingers and brings to his nose to inhale your scent, which makes him like a little puppy for you. Satoru utters a desperate whimper and finally buries his hand under his clothes to release his quivering cock.
It’s much bigger than usual, beads of precum glistening on the angry red tip, and veins sinuating the flesh. Of course, it’s perfect. That’s why it will never seem strange to anyone to see him stroke himself. He lazily fucks his tight fist, picturing your sweet pussy as he closes his eyes, beads of sweat leaking from his temples a flush spreads all over his cheeks.
His length girth throbs between his digits, coursing waves of lust through him as Satoru quickens the pace, as the same as his heartbeat. Saliva damps the fabric of his black shirt, and the idea of substituting the hem of his shirt with your panties carries out straight away, increasing his arousal until it’s twitching in a maddened way. With each stroke, the pre spreads along his shaft to allow it to be lubricated, at the point that if you all of a sudden show up in the bathroom, you both can skip the foreplay but damn!
“Toru? Did you see my panties?” Your voice echoes through another room.
But he doesn’t answer anyway.
“Fuck,” he grunts in a quiet whine, “miss you so much, babe.” His balls tighten, following the next moment — and it doesn’t take that much time he expected, because a few seconds after he twists his wrist in an upstroke movement — the exact way you’d do to him — he’s already cumming on the heap of laundry, dirtying them even more they already were, puddles of a viscous liquid, spreading out in droplets as the orgasmic peak subsides.
Panting heavily, he doesn’t hear you burst into the bathroom as you exclaim, “Satoru? You serious? Look at the state of the laundry now!”
With a swift gesture, he removes your panties from his mouth and turns his head suddenly towards you. He’s unable to justify himself and simply watches your disapproving pout ruffle your pretty lips. “Sorry babe, I'll clean it up.” He also notes how your mere presence makes him hard immediately despite having softened a moment earlier with the moment of “relief” he wished to provide for himself.
“Where are my panties?” you ask a second time as you rummage, eyebrows furrowed, through the basket of dirty laundry.
Satoru rubs the back of your neck nervously and hesitates to hide your underwear in his palm. “Uh... here,” he murmurs softly, slightly discomfited as you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.
“You’re that much needy?”
Satoru looks down, a little boyish pout on his lips that breaks your heart. “Sorry...”
Your frown softens. “Oh, um— No, Toru, please don’t gimme that look,” you whisper, walking over to him, your hands instinctively cupping his cheeks to make him look down at you. “I’m sorry, my love. You need to tell me when you need me, okay?”
Satoru nods slowly, still guiltily pouting. “Can I have you? Please? Just one round, I swear I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs.
His request makes your lips curl up. “My boy does want me? You’re cute, almost begging like this.” You graze a kiss on his cheek. “Get on your knees.”
“Like that?” His knees make contact with the floor, his cock still outside his dangling jogging suit. He so fucking cute, listening to you so obediently.
“Good boy,” you coo, sliding pants down your thighs. Your black panties hug the swell of your hips, your intoxicating scent spreading toward Satoru’s nostrils.
He moves towards you using his knees to grip your hips and sniff your scent once more. The action makes you giggle so much that it makes you suck in a breath when he pulls down your underwear to kiss your groin. “Love you,” he whispers. “I want to taste you, please.”
“Satoru, just wait I—” But he cuts you off, darting out his tongue to lick a strip enough to feel your bundle of nerves. A moan escapes your lips, driving your breath as crazy as he’s doing with his skillful mouth.
“You’re dripping,” Satoru comments, kissing your lower lips swiftly before grabbing you by the thighs and lifting you up, dropping you off the washing machine. “Spread your legs,” he mumbled, all needy and flushed to eat you out.
And how long he hadn’t—
It’s like he’s drunk on you, ignoring your moans and whimpers as he rests his cheeks on your inner thigh to wrap his wrist around your thighs. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs, trapping you firmly. “Keep ‘em spread, baby,” he purrs, lapping your soaked core and sensitive, puffy clit. “It tastes s’good, I’ve missed you.”
His dick twitches and throbs afterward, your sweet sounds re-hardening him and making him more swollen than he was even after the few rubs he did to relieve himself.
“Hmm, ah, Satoru, you—” you trail off, throwing back your head against the wall, your hands grabbing the washing machine’s edge until your knuckles turn white. “I’ll be close, I—” you babble, and the realization of how much not having sex with him for so long is turning you into a virgin-like. And also, the clenching feeling of your pussy, lips parting and closing around nothing hits you so hard.
You need to cum on his cock.
“Satoru, stop,” you gasp, your fingers snaking gently through his white lock and tugging them carefully.
He stops the moment after your whine reaches his ears — a sound ringing like music to his ear. “But… I haven’t made you come yet,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit slowly with his forefinger and middle finger. His cute pout is now begging you to give him grace.
“I want to cum on your dick,” you clarify, leaning in, your lips pressing down a gentle, loving kiss on this beautiful forehead of him.
“You sure? I haven’t stretched you beforehand.” He rises from his former crouching position and holds his sensitive length closer to your core.
“I don’t mind, I just want you right now,” you blow out, kissing his free hand.
Satoru blushes — and oh, how can anyone fall in love with this cute little face you want to madly shower with cuddles and kisses? “Can we put it in while I kiss you?” he requests, bringing his lips closer to yours.
You let out a little laugh, pressing a first kiss on his lips. “You’re so cute.”
But something makes your eyes drop lower, and you feel it. Satoru’s hand holds his shaft enough well to tap the tip and the length below on your core, teasing your squelching cunt.
“C’mon, don’t tease me, I want you n— Ah!” He shuts you down by crashing his lips on yours and sliding himself easily in you, stretching you impossibly wide. “S-Satoru, you’re bigger than usual,” you whimper.
Your hands grab his broad shoulder, nails sinking in his compressed black shirt, lips moving on their own to taste yourself on his wet lips. His tender tongue asks to enter you, and you allow him, soft strokes on each other’s tongue.
Satoru moans in the melting kiss, waiting for you to adjust, and starts gentle back and forth hips moves, hissing through his teeth by the sweet, delicious tightness of yours. “You feel so good,” he squeals between kisses. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You gasp, swallowing hard because of the different paces your brain can’t focus on — stolen kisses and perfect pounds into you. It’s so deep, so mastered, that it’s driving you mad and making you see stars.
Breaking the kiss, Satoru wraps his muscled arms around your back and encircles you flush against him, your heartbeat matching with his, and your fingernails slide down his back as you almost lose strength and balance every time his tip brushes against your cervix, etching red scratch marks for sure on his back as soon as he will remove his shirt.
With another buck before pulling out fully, he slides back in and manages to reach your deepest point, making your back arch and cry out. “Satoru, please, I’m so close,” you whine, wincing because of his hips rocking in you faster and harder.
The washing machine sways to the same rhythm, threatening to give way under your weight. Your heavy, ragged breaths fill the air in a kind of steam room. Blood beats at your ears, your gummy walls clenching around his long, big dick without ceasing and have mercy for you.
But as if that wasn’t enough, Satoru slides your top off with a swift movement of his hand to free one of your breasts and taste the nipple. He sucks hard, tongue pulling and swirling at the nub like no other. The action makes you roll your eyes, the overstimulation engulfing you like a wave would.
He then uses his head to tease your nipple with a gentle tug, his cerulean-blue eyes captivated by your curve. You squeal, your walls swallowing up his thrusts inside you, tightening more and more until he gives in and takes you back into his arms, but this time with a hand under your thigh to lift it up and enable him to reach an even more precise and deep angle, making you scream out his name.
“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Satoru warns you, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and his jaw tense from clenching. “Please, where—”
“Inside me, Satoru,” you whimper in the hollow of his neck, closing your eyes before the following ride crashes the two of you.
Pussy clenching around his length, you squirt on him with a small cry, and Satoru does likewise, twitching as he grunts and his hips jerk to reach your womb and fill you up with his cum.
Muscles trembling from the aftermath, you pant against him, as weak as after an intense workout. “I’ve missed you so much,” Satoru whispers in your ear, in the same state as you. His large, quaking hands stroke your hair, soothing you.
White strings escape from your full, swollen-lipped pussy, the sound of trickling filling the silence of the room.
“I promise I’ll do the laundry, but please, can we have cuddles?” Satoru demands, blinking down at you with puppy-dog eyes.
You rest your cheek on his shoulder and nod, a smile stretching your lips, as you reach out to stroke his cheek.
“Of course, my baby.”
DING DONG.
The ringing of the front door echoes in your ears and a memory pops into your head, slapping you in the face.
“Wasn’t Suguru supposed to come to borrow the washing machine here because his is broken?”
Satoru froze, flickering his eyes. “Huh?”
a/n: feelin to write something cute and smutty haha! i think writing things easy like this is unwinding me.
see how he’s so cute? 🥹 pls God give me one…
tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t
#[azra masterlist]#[dividers by @/saradika]#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo fanfiction#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo fluff#satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru#gojo satoru smut#gojo smut#jjk fanfiction#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujustsu kaisen x reader#gojo fluff#gojo x reader#jjk smut#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru fanfiction#gojo satoru fluff#jujustu kaisen#gojo x reader smut#jjk fluff
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kiramman motherdaughter doubleteam
tw; cassandra + caitlyn x f!reader, pussyfucking, voyeurism, masturbation, objectification, gagging, being passed around on kiramman cock, mommy issues, family dynamics, no incest unless you count their cum mixing inside you. wc; 2.8k
“my daughter is quite fond of you,” cassandra muses thoughtfully, like you’re not ass-up, pussy-clenched, bent over on the kiramman desk; two, slender, pale fingers elegantly fucking the juices out of your cunt.
while you’d love to engage in mommy gossip over tea, your pretty little head isn’t quite capable of doing more than blindly rut back against gloved fingers. even if your ears perk up at the mention.
“what does that—ngh— fuck—“
“language, darling.” cassandra slaps your cunt, hard. you hiss, arching back, traitorous pussy deciding it really fucking likes that, and sending a surge of wetness gushing out and dripping over her palm. you arch back, and the retort making its way out of your mouth is rudely interrupted by the way she deftly folds her fingers into a fist. quelled, you settle down, thighs still stinging.
"and i suppose—mmgh—she didn’t—hah.. tell you?”
“no, but i know.” cassandra hums, index hooking. your eyes roll back, as cassandra continues to muse. or, pretend to muse. you’ve been under her thumb long enough to know every twitch of her expression, every dip in her tone, every curl of her finger—is calculated, and intentional. “her gaze lingers."
“she doesn't mind that her mother takes home girls her own age?” you pant, squirming away from cassandra’s hand as she pinches your thigh.
“girl.” cassandra corrects, gloved hand leisurely grasping you by the chin and pinning it upwards, to face her, unable to squirm away from the steely jade of her eyes. girl, singular. it’s nothing close to ooey-and-gooey affection, but the clarification makes your heart glow nonetheless, heat flooding to every buzzing cell in your body. it also makes you pathetically, impossibly wetter. cassandra smiles as you gush around her fingers, nerves humming under her touch.
“she wouldn’t. so long as i turn a blind eye to the unending stream of conquests she has in and out of her room.” cassandra sighs, flicking against your clit. you arch upwards off of satin sheets, thighs quivering—and cassandra only takes the opportunity to thrust her digits further upwards. you thrash, like puppet thrust upon a stick.
“takes after her mother,” you gasp, and her chuckle is a pinch less poised than usual. “suppose she does, hm?"
you cum all over her gloved fingers, silk soaked to the bone.
to be perfectly honest, you were only half-lucid during that whole affair. can you blame you? one can only concentrate so much when you’re being finger-fucked to oblivion on a councillor’s desk. you hadn’t thought much of cassandra’s words, or caitlyn’s supposed fascination in you. until, well—
“mother, i don't see what could have possibly warranted dragging me out of office just to—”
the moment you come into sight, caitlyn stops, mid-way through flicking the stub of a pen, up-and-down with boredom borne vigour. she’s draped over one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, head tilted back, elbow lent lazily over the side of the seat. she straightens, gaze flickering between you and her mother.
you stare at caitlyn. she stares back, alabaster-cut cheekbones flushing a dark-hued pink.
cassandra slinks into the other armchair, one leg draping elegantly over the other. “i told you it’d be worth the wait.” she teases, easily, superiority exuding out of her every pore. caitlyn is stock-still; a deer frozen in the headlights, because surely her mother can’t mean—
“look at her, darling.” cassandra beckons you closer, and you fall into step, obedient. her cryptic smile, widens—gloved hand outstretching, to skim the silken fabric up your thighs. her nail drags upwards, and both caitlyn and you visibly shiver. “hot, wet and inviting.”
caitlyn bites her lip, conflict playing out comically over her face, like a gargantuan tent isn’t rising at her crotch. for one, she loathes to concede any victory to her mother. on the other..
(gods, how caitlyn has wanted and wanted. it's shameful. she’s caught glimpses of you, throughout the estate, for the past year. flitting in and out, from her mother’s room—her office, sometimes. the thought should make her nose wrinkle and gaze avert, like it had done so, with all the other women her mother used to bring home. yet, you.
the pull you have is magnetic. perhaps, that’s why she hasn’t seen a single other verdant soul grace her mother’s bedsheets, since you. not that she makes a habit of peeking. it’s just—she’s wondered. she’s wondered, with her hand wrapped her dick and croons muffled by her sheets, how you’d feel around her cock, instead. because she swears that nightgown her mother lent you used to be hers, and the thought of it—skimming up your thighs, dampening against the hot flush of your cunt—
caitlyn is spry, young, quick-witted— and admittedly hormonal. she’s in the prime of her life, and the prime of her libido; too. deathly curious, too, what has made her mother come back to you—over and over and over again. what’s so special about you that you’ve made caitlyn cum into her fist, over and over again, despite never sparing her more than a second glance.)
“you can’t seriously expect me to..” caitlyn splutters, cheeks blooming red. “now? here? in front of you?”
“don’t act all shy, now. for a decorated enforcer, your sleuthing skills are lackluster."
caitlyn burns, bright-red. she's well-aware of the incident her mother is talking about. that was once. besides! she thought someone was being impaled on a stake, in there, for gods' sake. she’d almost brought the guards!
“besides," cassandra rolls her wrist, idly, "you think i’d let you handle precious goods unattended? you could break her.”
both you and caitlyn bristle; you, at the suggestion that you could be broken by this kiramman girl who is certainly fit, mind you—but break? really? caitlyn, at the dig at her self-restraint. through she’d probably smart at any barb her mother threw at her her.
“i can be delicate.” it’s like the implication is the nail in the coffin, and she’s undoing her trousers with exaggerated reluctance, like her fingers aren’t quivering in contained eagerness. “don’t look.” she demands of her mother, like a child slipping into the fitting room. the buckles of her enforcer uniform come undone, and a flash of inky-blue trim sends the hairs raising at the nape of your neck, especially when caitlyn’s fly falls away and her thighs splay open, hand curling around her base and tugging her dick out and—oh.
now, you understand why you might break.
caitlyn is.. well-endowed. (oh, cassandra is rubbing off on you in more ways than one). her length itself clean-shaven, like her mother—and the smooth, erect forth of her cock practically preens under the attention, blue-green veins climbing up its trunk. her tip is flushed a brilliant pink, and for all caitlyn’s feigned nonchalance; precum builds a shiny glaze at its slit, at the precipice of gushing out. she tucks her trousers below her balls, eyes flitting over to meet her mother’s, stare flaring to one of defiance.
caitlyn scowls, but you can't help but notice the shallow pace of her breath—the way her forearms tense, rapid fluttering beating at your chest. can't help but notice the way her cock throbs, tall and aching, and how she can't tear her eyes off of you.
“go on, dear.” cassandra urges, sly, and you startle, because you've almost gotten lost in being a passenger to the kiramman’s family squabbles—forgotten that for now, all you’re sinking onto her daughter’s cock. caitlyn gasps, hips jerking upwards.
she's hesitant, at first; rolling her hips, experimentally, and you suppress a gasp when her cock slips deeper, unintentionally. caitlyn grunts, and when she starts going she starts going, because—fuck—can you blame her? she gets lost in the ocean of your pussy, how it swallows her, and her mother is right. hot, wet, and inviting.
you can't deny you're enjoying this. each moan that caitlyn dislodges from your throat is even more encouragement for her dick to plunge deeper, length to stretch you wider. perhaps it’s unjust—but even as your head falls back and you whine in approval, shivers crackling down your body—you can't help but compare the two, just a little. (cassandra's motions have always been painstakingly controlled. each crook of a finger, curl of a knuckle, thrust of her cock; carefully poised, deliberate, and intentional. caitlyn, on the other hand—is fluid and freestyle and just a little sloppy. her ruts driving with a shaky force, like she's trying her damndest best to keep a rhythm but is trembling with the effort to hold on and not just plow into your cunt like a jackhammer. she's good. you can tell caitlyn has done this before, many times. just, perhaps not as many times, as her mother.)
"darling, posture."
caitlyn freezes, balls-deep. her head lifts in gobsmacked disbelief at her mother's voice, hands remaining clamped down over your thighs, dick twitching. you stifle a mewl at the loss of friction.
"posture?" caitlyn parrots, eyes narrowing, even as her back goes ramrod and shoulders square on instinct, like an automatic response to her mothers’ tone. then, annoyed at her own reaction, caitlyn thrusts, hard, as if to prove a point. the both of them ignore your subsequent whimper. “my posture is just fine, thank you very much.”
cassandra's nails drum against your collarbones, hand still carding through your hair. it takes everything in you not to nuzzle upwards into the offering, because you know cassandra despises your neediness. loves it, too. but you're not quite in the position to test how she feels, today.
“is it just fine, dear one?”
you squeeze your eyes shut, harshly, as caitlyn’s thrusts come in rhythmic slams, the other girl’s pants almost as uneven as your own. “i—nghhm—yes.”
“and is my daughter treating you well?”
caitlyn scoffs, but her hands tighten on your hips, nails digging crescent indents into skin. your eyes flicker open to meet caitlyn’s own, and you’re expecting to find that beautiful, forever, narrowed-eye glare of hers that is so instantly recognisable.
instead, what greets you is fawn-like cerulean; wide and imploring. approval-seeking, under her mother’s scrutiny—under your control. it’s like she’s holding her breath, even as the slams of her hips.
“ngh, caitlyn—“ you gasp, like a prayer, and the kiramman heir seems to dissolve at the sound of her name on your tongue, wobbling as she clings to your hips like she might just die if she were to be separated.
her throat bobs, and her hips shudder, a low groan wracking her body. and, and—
“don't finish.” cassandra interjects, command rolling off her tongue, firm and declarative, leaving no room for argument. “a little practice in self-control would be good for you.”
“mother,” caitlyn protests, elongated and pleading and irrestrainably whiney, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. her cheeks are blossomed red, flushed to the bone—strings of saliva connecting the plump part of her lips as she ruts into you, grip bruising.
“don’t whinge.” cassandra admonishes, and caitlyn’s hiss is guttural, almost physically pained by the frustration—but she holds herself back nonetheless. “if you think i am having my daughter’s sloppy seconds, you think wrong.”
it’s as if the room has dropped in degrees. caitlyn, livid with the tension of what you can feel, drawn tight against the hot flush of your body. cassandra, whose gaze is as impenetrable and indomitable as ever. the both of them; cut-throat and frigid—like the meeting of stalagmites and stalactites, crashing into one another.
your pussy clenches, because gods, this is hot. caitlyn audibly lets slip a hiss, when your walls tighten around her poor, sensitive dick. it’s almost inevitable when she cracks, first.
it’s that first twitch in her brow that waivers the white flag, and she her jaw tightens and her eyes go wild—before she forcibly wrenches herself out from you, eyes rolling back as her cock squelches free— promptly blows her load all over the carpet.
caitlyn folds to her knees, black-blue eyes peer upwards, both wounded and aggrieved; like the world has done her wrong by not having her cum inside of you. the way she’s positioned is almost heartstring wrenching—if it weren’t for how her hands curl around the base of her cock and she arches back and hisses, shamelessly jerking the rest of her high, off. thick, white spurts of cum splatter, some on the glossy wooden panels—but most on the carpet. carpet, worth some-twelve families’ fortunes and now marred by fat, creamy streaks of white, clinging to filaments that’ll indubitably harden come sunrise.
caitlyn pants, wiping spit with the back of her hand. her eyes meet her mother’s, satisfaction uncoiling in her gut, along with the leftovers drizzling from her tip.
“are you quite done?” cassandra exhales, as her daughter empties herself out over their living room floor.
“yes.” caitlyn says, petulant. her expression is as still as stone—yet anybody could see the smug gleam in her eye.(of course, a day doesn’t go past in piltover nowadays that that kiramman brat isn’t uttered. perhaps, the moniker has more truth to it than you’d thought.)
cassandra seems to torn whether this is the right time to discipline her daughter, though she doesn’t account for you and your incessant neediness, because you’d just been so full and now you’re so empty. it’s burning a hole right in the pits of your stomach, and you need to be filled. you need it. cassandra, for all her patience— has waited long enough.
your pussy opens up to cassandra’s cock with an obscene squelch, walls stretching, thighs quivering outwards as you welcome the familiar girth, and isn't that something? that coming home equivocates to cumming over her cock.
cassandra cants her hips upwards, just barely— and after the (sloppy, but earnest) viciousness of which caitlyn just fucked you; it's not enough.
“more—need—more, cass—“
poor choice of words. you should know better than to throw nicknames around so flippantly, around her daughter, no less. cassandra’s grey-tinged stare turns glacial. if there's anything she's has ever taught you—it’s how to be good.
"and just where did your manners go?” cassandra’s head slants, lips curling, and you know you’re in for it, now.
through glassy eyes and a heavy head—you watch as she peels the glove from her hand and—ah. they’re the ones from earlier. still filthy, drenched in your residue. it brings flush of shame to your cheeks—mouth opening to whine; yet you’re cut off by the way she swiftly stuffs them in your mouth. the salty proof of your lust shoves down the back of your throat. you choke. it stifles your mewling like a charm.
heavens. cassandra is struck by just how much she adores you, as she rocks you on her dick. your gaze; so glossy and starry and bright, tears burning behind your eyes around your gag. she goes slow—lulls you into a false sense of security with the gentleness in her pace—before she viciously drives her hips upwards every so often, and pounds. the push-and-pull is undoing. you gasp around your make-shift gag each and every time, making the most delicious sounds as you do so.
caitlyn has long since sulked back to the armchair at the side, watching the scene with as her dick twitches, still standing tall and proud as your slick glistens, coating its length. cassandra takes her time. not sparing a glance at her daughter, the pace of her teasing out the both of you. caitlyn grouches, grumbling to herself all the whole. the sounds that come out of your mouth are much less becoming.
“take it,” cassandra orders coolly, into your ear, weathered hands clasping your jaw. she twists herself in, and you buck with a gasp when you feel hotness flood through every being. cassandra grunts, and the slip-up is barely decipherable through the cotton in your head, but you can feel the way she pumps you full with her cum with complete clarity, spasming around her cock.
when cassandra finally empties herself–pushes you up, and off of her, her movements are gracious and dignified, as if she didn’t just fuck and fill you full until your pupils slipped back and your cunt oozing with white. by the time she's done, caitlyn has made another mess against mahogony, and the younger is too fucking desperate to even bother with the illusion of control. too desperate to give a single flying fuck about the fact her own mother's cum is pulsing out from your pussy in sticky waves, that the second you're out of cassandra's hands—you're in caitlyn's. she shoves you back on the rug, fireplace licking warmth against your cheeks—though its nothing compared to the roar of sheer, blinding sensation that blazes up your core when caitlyn rams her cock inside you. groaning, girth splitting you open as she mounts you, just like that, in the middle of the living room.
cassandra reclines, back against the armchair, cock hanging between her legs. her lips curve, upwards, and she takes a sip of her tea. she has more to give you, after all. she'll just have to ensure caitlyn doesn't snap you in two, first.
#yam talks#arcane#arcane smut#cassandra kiramman#cassandra kiramman x reader#cassandra kiramman smut#caitlyn kiramman x reader#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn kiramman smut#trans!caitlyn#trans!cassandra#dead dove do not eat
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"DO BETTER!" Says Now Televised Fanboy
He, Dash Baxter is a Phan-Stan!! It's kinda his thing. See, he's a fancy ass talk show host now. Married Paulie, moved out of Amity, actually DID something with his life. His parents? Did not approve. Long n short of it? He got kicked out.
Paulie's parents were PISSED.
Retaliated by giving him all the help he needed getting EVERY scholarship he qualified for. He went to a really nice college. Missed his girlfriend like mad. But she was off in Metropolis, terrifying weaker men. Conquering the fashion scene.
And SOMEHOW? Thanks to that long talk he had with Phantom (*incoherent fanboy gibbering noises* SO COOL!) he's worked to be... more of a LEADER, you know? Less of an asshole. Cause he's popular. People copy him. He can't be an asshole.
So, somehow, when he's punching out some try-hard that thinks he's hot shit for bullying a Nerd? He and the nerd get talking, right? Cause the guy got his glasses completely fucked up. And it's what Phantom would do.
But GET THIS? Guy's never HEARD of Phantom! Is super curious, cause he runs a small time Hero's show on the web. And, Dude? Is it your LUCKY DAY! Cause you just met THE number 1 fan of Phantom, hands down!! He makes his VERY spirited case, about why Phantom is THE best Hero to ever have lived. And this guy?
Entranced.
In AWE.
Just straight up BEGS him to join his show. Cause apparently? He was BORN for it. Which? Yeah. He HAS been giving speechs to the team for YEARS now. And Talking at fan meet ups. Leading fan meet ups. Hosting parties... actually, now that he thinks about it? He DOES do a lot of public speaking? Huh.
But still, he's about to say "no", when?
Dude mentions? He'll get to talk about Phantom.
SOLD!
It. Blows. Up. Absolutely EVERYONE is in love with his pretty face, hot bod, and STRONG opinions. But they ALSO have no idea who Phantom is! Paulie! This is CRIMINAL! Horrifying! What is going ON!?
Some bullshit information black out, apparently. At least according to her... friendly Nemesis? The Goth Dweeb. Who's engaged, apparently? So good for her. Unsurprisingly, it's too the OTHER Dweebs, but still. Bout time she started planning to drag them to a court house. She's the only one with any spine in that group! If she waited for THEM to propose?
Not even as Ghosts, man.
They'd get distracted by shiny nerd shit and whimp out.
Still... a world where NO ONE knows how Awesome, Phantom is? Not on HIS watch!
So he works it in. To every segment. It becomes "his thing". Oh? Super man saved a kitten from a tree? Cute. Well PHANTOM saved a bus full of Ghost Puppies from a shady, rouge, Goverment agency. Do BETTER, Superman!
The Flash, who is a cheap knock-off and stole his name, took down an Ice Villian? Adorable! PHANTOM stopped a Rouge WINTER SPIRIT with the help of YETI WARRIORS then assisted in giving FREE medical care for anyone who needed it! Here's a picture of him making GHOST ICE SNOWMEN for small children! Do BETTER, Knock-off!
What's THAT you say? Wonder Woman fought a GOD in down town paris?
Excellent work Wonder Woman. Flawless as always. But YOU, god-boy, are a disappointment! All that power! And WHAT do you use it for? Are you even supposed to BE here?? PHANTOM uses his power to HELP people! Is awesome and knows TONS of better gods! You're just salty you didn't make the cut!
DO BETTER!
And obviously? No one believes him. There's no record of this "Phantom" guy. The pictures look fantastical and vaguely glitchy/glowy. Not quite right. They GOTTA be photo shopped. Manipulated somehow. But? As a shtick? A fake "perfect Superhero" is kinda funny and unique.
And it's one hell of Fake Hero!
A Dead Champion? Who fights gods and monsters? Rouge agencies? Sassy and tragic? With a mysterious past? Pretty cool! There's even an Offical Comic from some guy that went to the same high-school as Baxter!
Of course, as Baxter get more and more popular? The "meme" hero, Phantom, get more well known? People get more interested in where Dash grew up. You know, just a bored Google. Maybe see if the hero was based off a local legend or something. But... huh...
The Town website?
Weirdly? Sanitized.
Like... like aggressively sanitized. All smooth edges and no details. Very "move along, citizen". Ha ha... it's part of the joke right? They get it! They'll just look up local restaurants or som-....
Wait...
Hey, guuuuys?
Are you finding ANYTHING?
And! Nothing. And I do mean NOTHING! Triggers the "oh? Secrets???" Instincts of a Hacker, like finding a hard blank wall of "KEEP OUT". Especially when it's somewhere it rightfully shouldn't BE.
All it would take? Is ONE person, of decent skills and an account on Certain Forums, getting bored enough to Google the Dude On The TV(TM)? For the GIW's lil walls to come crashing down. Because yeah, you can stop ONE hacker. Even two. Probably five or six.
But how about thousands?
Hundreds of thousands?
From every time zone. Competing. Just to see what you HAVE and don't want them to see. Maybe they do something with it, maybe they don't. But fuck it, you're being RUDE and now they're CURIOUS. And THEN? Oh. Oh holy shit.
Not a meme.
Very real.
Not a joke.
The walls come crumbling down, down, down. Ripped apart by hundreds of hands. Emails sent to every sort of agency. The JLU line inundated with emergency tips. Not a joke. Not A Joke. Holy Shit, IT WASN'T A JOKE!
Phantom is REAL!
And there, on TV, stands the Man. The signal FINALLY breaching containment. Fighting off the invading God of the week. Built like statue, hair like an aurora borealis of white fire held almost delicately in place by a CROWN of ice, a suit made of void and starlight. Inhuman. Beyond human.
Here to help.
A laugh that crackles like ice and the snap of winter, rolls through the air like coming storms, rich and somehow warm. A smile that bares teeth, yet turns so KIND when he looks upon humanity, as though we are precious and worth fighting for. A living star.
A... a once living star.
And in the center of it all? Wearing his BESPOKE, custome made, Number 1 Phan full body outfit? That's right. Dash Baxter. Ha! You fuckers doubted him! Behold his blorbo and WEEP, ya fuckin casuals! The BESTEST of boys! The FINEST of Heros! Superman? Could NEVER.
And now? The weather!
@babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation
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♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed
♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)
♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair
♡ reader; gender neutral
♡ cw; very suggestive content, implied smut
♡note; swapped out billy in this one bc i can’t imagine him sharing a bed with someone and not getting literally pornographic
•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•
Brahms Heelshire
> Once he decides he wants to share the bed, he finds the biggest guest room bed and brings all of the comfiest pillows and blankets he can to make it perfect
> For you more than him, but he doesn’t feel too hurt when you push half of them to the foot of the bed
> It was a lot even for a king bed
> You’re reluctant at first, not used to sharing a bed
> But you find he’s very hard to say no to once you’re in that deep
> He tries to give you space, but it’s not long before he’s wrapped around you, clinging for dear life
> And he almost immediately falls asleep like that, head tucked into your chest
> You sigh and try and relax, petting his hair
> And you fall asleep with your hand still tangled in his black locks, holding him close to you
> You wake up to him nuzzling your neck and practically whining
> “Baby…wake up…”
> You’d ask him what the problem was…if you couldn’t feel it against your leg
> You spend most of the morning still in bed, lazily fixing his predicament
Micheal Myers
> He doesn’t get why you want him to do this
> You know he doesn’t cuddle
> You know he usually gets restless and wanders at night
> But there’s no reason to say no, and even he can’t stand how sad your pout is
> You hum and stretch, tucking yourself in and look at him expectantly
> He takes off his boots and lays on top of the covers beside you, stiff as a board
> You have to coax him to even take the mask off, but he still won’t relax
> You quickly realize he’s used to high security psych ward bunks, not big comfy queen beds full of stuffed animals
> “…do you…wanna sleep on the floor?”
> He pauses.
> Shakes his head and closes his eyes.
> After you finally fall sleep, he sits up, intending on leaving
> But you look so peaceful…he can’t help to stay and watch you. Just for a little while.
> When he touches your cheek, you press into his hand. Maybe a while longer.
> When you wake up he’s still staring at you, hand long gone from your cheek
> But once you blink awake, it creeps somewhere else..
Thomas Hewitt
> He’s almost nervous of the idea
> Y’all are certainly intimate with each other - just as intimate as you would be if you were married like his mama was planning
> But what if the family noticed you were in there? He’d kill Hoyt for calling you anything nasty-
> When he sees you in skimpy PJs, he immediately forgets his worries
> He has a huge bed because he’s a huge guy, so when you curl up in it alone, it’s almost comical
> He’s staring at you as he climbs in after you, cautiously removing his mask
> His shoulders relax a little when you smile up at him, still so amazed you can stand to look at him
>“Hold me?”
> He grunts and takes no time in pulling you flush, spooning you. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while, sure he’ll fall asleep in no time
> Until you give a tiny sigh and shift your hips, innocently adjusting
> It doesn’t take much for you to set him off- he’s touch starved and obsessed with you.
> Along with feeling him against your ass, you can literally hear his breathing change.
> “…Tommy baby? Want me to take care of that?”
> It takes another two hours before you fall asleep, both sticky with sweat and sated, your head laying on his broad chest.
Bubba Sawyer
> He’s so happy to have a sleepover- even if you live right down the hall in the same house (I cannot imagine you dating him and being allowed to leave the farm tbh)
> He gives you an updated tour of his room- he’s very happy to show you the collection of polaroids of you he hung up.
> You were wondering where those went
> Finally he drops you on the bed, giggling quietly
> It’s old but comfy, and he has plenty of stolen pillows and blankets, and even some stuffed bears
> He strips right on down to his heart boxers, leaving his mask on for last
> He takes it off slowly, giving you that shy look he always does
> You grin and open your arms and he’s more than happy to scoop you up with a coo.
> By the time you’re settled, you’re curled around his back
> He loves being the little spoon, even if he’s a big brute
> When you wake up he’s bursting back into the room with some slightly burnt toast for breakfast
> It’s a sudden wake up call, but a welcome one
> And you repay him in tons of kisses, all over
Vincent Sinclair
> Like some of the others he’s hesitant
> But you want him to relax, he’s been working so hard- so you take him away from the studio, and into your room
> You’re not even letting him so much as sketch until he sleeps
> He tilts his head and is almost pouting, trying to guilt you - even more so once you help him remove his wax
> Until you coax him into his stomach so you can massage his back, that is
> You’re clumsy and certainly not a professional, but your hands on him is enough to melt away the stress
> He suddenly rolls over and grabs your hips as he hears you yawn
> It’s your turn to pout down at him
> But eventually you relent and let him cradle you close to his chest as he hums a nonsense lullaby
> You keep him trapped in bed the next morning as revenge, again straddling him before he can get up to leave
> But this time, you’re most certainly not yawning
#slashers#thomas hewitt#thomas hewitt x reader#tcm 2006#tcm#bubba sawyer x reader#bubba sawyer#house of wax#vincent sinclair x reader#vincent sinclair#the boy 2016#brahms heelsire x reader#brahms heelshire#micheal myers#rz michael myers#micheal myers x reader#rz myers x reader#rz halloween#halloween#dead by daylight#slashers x y/n#slashers x reader#slashers x you#slasher imagines#gender neutral reader#g/n reader#cw suggestive#cw smut
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ENHYPEN WHEN YOU…put your hands in their back pockets
pairing ✧ enhypen x f!reader g: fluff warnings: kissing, cussing, pet names, pda, groping, implied shorter reader in sunghoon’s ✧ note: inspired by the no doubt choreo !
LEE HEESEUNG
you’re sitting in enha’s practice room, watching them practice no doubt’s choreo. their choreographer calls for a break and they immediately disperse. heeseung turns towards you and open his arms, wanting a hug.
who are you to deny him? you make your way to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. he sighs in content, resting his head on your shoulder. you decide to be sneaky and slowly drift your hands downwards until they’re snug in his back pockets. you hear him giggle but he doesn’t pull away, “what are you doing?”
“nothing,” you say, deciding to play with him by squeezing his butt, making him let out a curse.
“shit!”
you laugh as he pulls back, looking at you incredulously.
“you are such a menace,” he says, but he doesn’t hesitate to return the favor, making you squeal.
PARK JONGSEONG
you’re in your shared apartment, laying on the couch while jay lays on top of you. your arms are wrapped around him, holding close to you.
an idea pops into your head, and you put it into action, sliding your hands down into his back pockets.
“why are you touching my ass?” you know he’s not mad, just curious by his tone.
“it’s a nice ass, can’t help but wanna touch it,” you end your words with a firm slap to his ass. jay yelps, looking at you with his annoyed face.
“that’s not nice,” he says, but you can see a hint of a laugh behind his lips.
he wastes no time in getting up and turning you around on the couch, giving your ass the same treatment. except he hits harder, with his large palms making it burn slightly.
“ouch! i didn’t hit yours that hard!”
“don’t hate the player, hate the game.” he continues to smirk while you pout, having been outplayed.
SIM JAEYUN
you and jake are standing in line for ice cream at the park. you’re standing behind him while he mindlessly scrolls through his phone.
you decide to be mischievous and put your hands in his back pockets, the position somewhat awkward but you couldn’t care less.
you can’t see it, but you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks, “you just love touching me don’t you?”
you hum, not moving your hands even as the line moves forward. you and jake don’t really care about pda or people seeing you in public. of course, you’re not animals, so you don’t take it too far but things like this don’t bother you or him.
“baby, what exactly is the point of this?” he asks, turning his head to look behind himself at you. you shrug, leaning into his back before taking his butt into your hands and squeezing hard. he jumps, almost comically, as you laugh quietly, trying not to bring too much attention to yourselves.
“you are so annoying! you’re gonna bruise it!”
you coo, mocking his whiney tone before rubbing it gently to fend off any oncoming injury. “better?” you ask and he hmphs, turning back around. you kiss his cheek apologetically, which makes him smile.
PARK SUNGHOON
sunghoon is very sensitive about touch. he doesn’t really like pda but he doesn’t dislike touch as long as it’s private.
you and the enhypen members are hanging out in your apartment. jay has chosen to cook to everyone’s delight. sunghoon is standing by the entrance, watching the tv with everyone else who’s situated on the couches.
you come up to him, looking at him with a pout.
“what’s wrong?” he asks, genuinely concerned. you do nothing but hold your arms out, indicating you want a hug. sunghoon hesitates for a second because he doesn’t like pda, even in front of his members, but one look into your eyes and he’s cooked.
he wraps his arms around you, you doing the same, hugging him tightly. he rests his chin on your head and sighs softly. he could never deny you. without him realizing, your sneaky hands make their way down, down into his back jean pockets.
sunghoon doesn’t even move, either he’s oblivious or he’s ignoring it for your sake, and his. what he doesn’t expect is for you to take his butt into your hands and squeeze, hard.
he jerks forward, taking you by the arms and pulling you away from him. he looks a mix between stunned and annoyed. you start to giggle, making grabby hands at him like you’re gonna do it again but he grabs them, now smiling.
“don’t even think about it, what’s wrong with you?” he asks quietly, not trying to alert the members.
you just stare up at him before surprising him again with a kiss to his lips.
“aww look at the happy couple, i got that whole thing on video by the way,” riki says from his seat on the couch. the other members begin to crowd him, even jay coming from the kitchen after hearing the commotion.
sunghoon breaks away from you, running over to try and wrestle the phone from riki’s hands while you laugh and watch.
KIM SUNOO
you and sunoo are very affectionate with one another, never hesitating to plant kisses on each others lips or cheeks, hug or anything else.
he’s standing in front of your full length mirror, getting ready to go out while you wait for him. as you come to stand behind him, you put your hands into his back pockets. he looks at you through the glass and smiles.
“whatcha doin?” he asks, though he doesn’t make any move to stop you.
“touching my favorite part of you,” you say, laughing as he gaps in offense.
“tuh, and here and i thought it was my personality!”
“that and your ass, i love it.” with that you take your hands out and give his ass a rough slap.
he swears, looking at you with wide eyes.
“okay, you’re done. no more ass privileges for you,” he says, dragging you around so you’re standing in front of him instead of behind.
you begin to whine, apologizing and saying you won’t do it again.
“that’s a damn lie and you know it.”
YANG JUNGWON
jungwon has brought you along to the recording studio while they prepare for their next album. you’re standing in front of him, his arm wrapped around you. you turn around in his arms, smiling at him, “you sound great babe.”
“thank you,” he says, bringing you in for a hug.
you hands rub his back up and down, before making their way lower and lower until they’re hovering over his ass. without warning you put your hands into his back pockets, and squeeze almost violently.
he jumps away from you, looking at you in pure shock. “what the fuck!” he says, laughing, “don’t touch my butt!”
“why?” you cock your head to the side, “i can’t touch what’s mine?” you ask in a questioning tone. he looks at you in disbelief.
“excuse me, it’s not yours.”
“yes it is, what’s yours is mine,” you say, smiling at him.
“oh really?” he raises an eyebrow, “so if that’s the case, what’s yours is mine?” you think he’s gonna go for your ass and bring your hands around to protect it but without hesitation his hands go for your front, squeezing your chest.
you gasp scandalously, “jungwon!”
he just smirks at you, “what’s yours is mine.”
NISHIMURA RIKI
you and riki have been dating for a few months now but haven’t really escalated to touching each other frequently. whether it comes to kisses or hugs, you’re still a bit awkward with one another.
you’ve decided to take your relationship up a notch in hopes he won’t oppose you.
today finds you with riki, alone in the dance studio as he practices their choreo. you watch him in amazement. how his body moves, its miraculous and you’re mesmerized.
he pauses the music, coming to stand in front of you, “so what do you think?”
“i think it’s amazing, you’re amazing,” you say.
you know riki likes compliments, he just doesn’t like to show it. he waves his hand, like it’s no big deal but you stand up and open your arms, “hug.”
“i’m sweaty,” he says, “you don’t wanna hug me.”
you shake your head, “don’t care, hug me!”
he can’t deny you, so he moves forward to wrap you in his arms. you rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. your hands make their way down, before finding comfort in his back pockets.
“oh?” he says in a questioning voice, “didn’t know we were at this point in our relationship.”
“can’t help it, i like being close to you.”
“and being close means touching my butt?” you know he’s not annoyed or angry because he’s laughing, so you hum in confirmation. without warning his own hands slide down to cup your own butt.
“now we’re even,” he says, grunting and laughing as you playfully squeeze his ass. and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back.
© AEWON 2024
#aewon#aewon works ☆#k-labels#enhypen#jake enhypen#enhypen sunghoon#niki enha#enha niki#niki enhypen#enhypen heeseung#enhypen sunoo#enhypen au#jungwon enhypen#enhypen scenarios#enhypen jay#enha#enhypen social media au#enha fluff#enhypen fluff#enhypen angst#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen headcanons#enha heeseung#enha jay#enha jungwon#enha smau#enha x reader#enha scenarios#enha imagines#enhypen x female reader
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JJK NSFW LINKS PART II
✩ PARINGS ; fem / afab ! reader x … suguru, shoko, hiromi, shiu, satoru … ( separate )
✩ WARNINGS ; SUGURU - face sitting , cunnilingus , body worshipping , car sex , cowgirl / riding , public sex , nipple play , boob worshipping , hair pulling , oral ( f / m ) , blowjob , threesome , anal , double penetration | SHOKO - dom!shoko , sub!reader , strap on , overstimulation , fingering , sex toys , cuckholding (?) , public sex , threesome , cunnilingus | HIROMI - sex toys , spanking , rough sex , fingering , threesome , spanking , cunnilingus , public sex | SHIU - pussy spanking , choking , rope bondage , rough fingering , cunnilingus , car sex , creampie (?) , shoe humping | SATORU - switch!gojo , switch!reader , cunnilingus , doggy style , creampie , missionary , hair pulling , bondage , sex toys , handjob , fingering , threesome , cuckholding (?) , blowjob, blindfolded, edging , face sitting , leash / collar
✩ NOTE ; these links only work if you’re logged into twitter ^^ check out part [ 1 ]
SUGURU ⸝⸝⸝
a passionate morning
his favorite part of the morning
drunk on your tight pussy
he’s obsessed with your tits as you ride him
inviting shoko over to share your bf
straddling his face while he guides your pretty cunt back and forth
focusing on nothing else but you
fucking you into oblivion after his game with satoru
he loves playing with your cunt til you’re all needy for his cock right after
suguru sending satoru videos of you sucking his cock so well — showing you off as something he’ll never get
eating your sweet cunt like you properly deserve
taking both your bf and his best friend
SHOKO ⸝⸝⸝
fucking you w her purple strap after making you beg for it all day
forcing your legs open as she plays w your pussy
letting suguru fuck her pretty gf while playing with your pretty clit underneath
playing in the bathroom of a bar
making out after a long day of work
rubbing your wet cunts together
drunkingly eating you out after a date night out
shoko needing to properly guide virgin!satoru how to fuck her gf properly
wearing similar lingerie sets w your gf while she eats you out and uses your vibrator on you
desperately fingering her and tugging her hand deeper into your wet cunt
fucking you hard on her strap
HIROMI ⸝⸝⸝
fingering you in the bathroom during his lunch break at work
teasing your wet cunt with a vibrator after tying you up for distracting him during a call from work
touching and spanking all over your pretty ass
you looked so pretty getting ready for date night — he couldn’t resit touching you
him and nanami taking you in a hotel after work
spanking your ass til its red for misbehaving while you wore his favorite lace panties on you
dressed up all for him
properly prepping you for his cock
desperately rutting up into his nose as he ate you out so well
he loves fingering his beautiful wife with his thick fingers
SHIU ⸝⸝⸝
his day off work
fucking you in the backseat of his car while waiting for toji to appear
fingering and spanking your pretty pussy as you’re tied up as a punishment
making you hump against the front of his shoe
cleaning you up so well with his tongue
he’s obsessed with cumming all over your pussy
spanking you all over w your ass plugged full with his cum
barely fucked you properly and you’re already falling apart on his cock
fucking your thin panties from behind
teasing him
SATORU ⸝⸝⸝
his favorite flavor
doing kickflips on your lower back while fucking you from behind
playing with his sensitive cock as he’s tied up and blindfolded, not allowing him to cum
sending suguru videos of you on his cock after a comic convention
fucking his cum back into you
desperately fucking you after catching you playing with yourself after a week of him being away on a mission
eating your pussy like he was drunk on your taste
putting you in your place
such a good boy
distracting him from watching the movie
fingering your tight cunt after work
satoru getting excited seeing you struggle getting suguru’s cock in your mouth
making a mess all over you
#@nyxdrabbles#smut links#jujutsu kaisen#jjk smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#geto suguru#jjk suguru#getou suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#suguru geto smut#getou suguru x you#jujutsu suguru#shoko ieiri#shoko x reader#jjk shoko#jujutsu kaisen shoko#shoko smut#jujutsu shoko#shoko ieri x reader#ieri shoko#shoko x y/n#higuruma hiromi#hiromi smut#hiromi x reader#shiu kong#shiu smut#gojou satoru x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you
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Logan begging for it.... so sweetly we cant refuse..... when he knows reader needs his sleep..... taking it in his even when it stays soft...... cockwarming reader while we sleeps.....
Yes im writing whis as I fall asleep
Logan Howlett x male reader
headcanons
I was gonna write a longer thing, but a migraine decided to kick my ass all of a sudden, so here I am simply rambling about this.
Imagine having a normal but exhausting day job. You’re no hero, no vigilante, no nothing, you’re just a guy. And you somehow ended up charming the pants off of The Wolverine of all people. How? You have no idea
Dating Logan is a real treat, even with his roughness and sometimes standoffish personality. When you guys really get close, he starts to get more vulnerable.
Along with vulnerable emotionally, he also starts to get a much stronger libido, seeing as he has a partner now. Him having a healing factor doesn’t help you in this case, since it means he has very little recovery time.
Seeing Logan, one would think hed be the dominant one, something you assumed in the beginning too. That was until you guys got intimate the first time and he shoved you onto your back to ride you instead.
There were no complaints from you obviously, because who’d mind having someone like that riding you? Logan in his broad, hairy and so very heavy way, lifting himself up and down on you like it was barely a workout.
You have to remind him to be careful though, multiple times, seeing as his bones make him extra heavy, and your poor hips are that of the average person.
Having a partner with a libido like that though, also means Logan is always raring to go, almost waiting for you by the door when you get home from your shift, like an old gruff dog waiting for affection.
The first week or two of you coming home dead on your feet and passing out on the couch the moment you sat down passed… as well as they could for Logan. He wouldn’t force you to do anything you hadn’t agreed with, but God, is he starting to get antsy.
After way too long, in Logans opinion at least, he finally can’t take it anymore. Being the Loverboy he secretly is, he at least brings you to your shared bed before clambering on top of you again.
You’re just too exhausted to do much other than pet at his thighs, eyes already drooping, but his almost timid but so desperate begging keeps you awake longer than other days. When you sleepily agree, Logan kisses you so hungrily you almost lose your breath.
You stay somewhat awake in the beginning as he works your clothes off, being kind enough not to rip it even if logan really really wanted too. He knows its your work clothes, and you’ve scolded him enough times about ripping up your clothes at this point.
It was hard to even really stay awake as Logan worked you hard, just enough for him to slide down on you, his groans sounding like he was a starving man having his first bite of food in weeks. Had you not been struggling to keep your eyes open, you might have teased him.
When Logan leans forward and just rests his weight on you, that was the last straw. Who could stay awake with such a warm heavy weight pressing down on them, like your own personal weighted wolverine blanket.
Logan didn’t even really feel the need to ride you or get himself off, he just wanted to be close to you like this, to feel you inside him and press up against you. So having slowly doze off under him wasn’t a bother, especially as you mumble for him to just keep going.
Most of the night is majorly used by Logan to just tuck his face into your neck and huff your scent, or rub his own against you. You will wake up with beard burns, sorry but those at the rules. Theres probably some chew marks and hickeys mixed in there too, Logans possessive.
You do wake up with very sore hips the next morning. In the comics he’s 300 lbs, but that’s with his comic height, so if were going off of movie Logan he weighs even more. And no matter how much you work out, that’s gotta make you sore.
You don’t really mind though, especially as Logan makes sure you massage your hips in ways you didn’t even know were possible. This also just gives Logan an excuse to lick and gnaw at you more, and to rub more of his scent into you, and yours into him.
Yes, you limp that day, and probably the day after. Luckily you’re able to work from home. This of course also means you have Logan on your dick the entire time, even if its just your mutant lover crawling under the blanket to get his mouth on you.
#male reader#logan howlett#wolverine#x men#marvel#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett headcanon#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett imagine#logan howlett x male reader#wolverine imagine#wolverine headcanon#wolverine x reader#wolverine x male reader#x men x reader#x men headcanon#x men x male reader#x men imagine#marvel imagine#marvel headcanon#marvel x male reader#marvel x reader#x-men#x-men imagine#x-men headcanon#x-men x male reader#x-men x reader#deadpool and wolverine imagine#deadpool and wolverine headcanon#deadpool 3
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Couldn't Wait
Eddie Munson x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, piv
When you come home from your girls night out, you had expected to find your boyfriend on the couch watching a horror movie or reading a comic book. You hadn't expected to find him waiting to pounce the minute you walked in the door.
"What has gotten into you, Eddie Bear?" you ask with a laugh, kicking off your heels so he can pull you down onto the couch with him.
"I need you, baby. Need you right now." His voice is rough between kisses delivered to your neck and cheeks and collar bone.
"Ok just let me change out of these clothes real quick -,"
“C’mon honey please, ‘m so fucking hard, jus’ look.”
He’s right. His cock is standing at attention in his sweatpants, clearly aching and reaching out for you. He drops a hand to his lap and palms himself slowly.
“Fuck, baby. Please. Need that tight little pussy. Let me have it.”
Your eyes widen taking in the state of him.
"Eddie Munson, what has gotten you so worked up that you could barely wait for me to get back?"
Eddie's gaze shifts away from you sheepishly over to the coffee table. Before he can stop you, you reach for the thing he'd glanced at - a polaroid of you. On your back in your shared bed. Naked and blissed out with a tattooed arm reaching in from the bottom of frame to rest a hand in the space between your legs.
"Oh," you say simply, a small smile forming on your lips.
"Baby, I'm fucking aching for you."
You play with one of his curls and pretend to consider it.
"Why didn't you just take care of yourself while I was gone?" you ask. "I wouldn't have minded."
"You think I would deprive myself of a goddess in favor of my own shitty hand? Babe. Be serious."
Eddie's eyelids are heavy and his chest rises and falls a little more rapidly the more he gets worked up. You drop your palm to it and let it slide down the plane of his torso, down his abdomen, and into his lap.
"Alright. We can be serious." You wrap your hand around his length through his pants in earnest. Eddie intakes breath sharply.
"Yes. Yes yes yes."
Your clothes on the floor in a matter of seconds, Eddie replacing the cups of your bra with his hands.
"Ahhh finally," Eddie says with the gusto of a man having his first drink of water after a long thirst. All you're doing is grinding down on him, working yourself up to reach his level. But the look on Eddie's face implies he's reached nirvana.
"You wanted me that bad, huh?" you tease, a bit more breathlessly.
"More than a blind man wants to see the sun," Eddie says reverently into your cleavage.
"Well that's an exaggeration," you chuckle. You can't press it, however, because Eddie begins pressing his finger on your clit through your underwear. After a few minutes you find yourself writhing above him.
After a particularly loud moan from you, Eddie grins.
"Speaking of exaggeration..."
"Oh shut up and fuck me, Munson," you smack his shoulder and climb off him to divest yourself of your final scrap of clothing.
"With pleasure. princess." Eddie gives you a salute before chucking off the rest of his clothes as well.
Before you can ask him how he wants you, however, you're twirled around to face away from him, his hand on the back of your neck, guiding you to kneel on the couch.
"That's it, baby," Eddie practically purrs. He lines his tip up with your dripping center, but instead of immediately sheathing himself inside of you, he swipes from your core down to your clit.
"Fucking tease," you complain, wiggling your hips to entice him forward. After all of his pleading and cajoling he was still making you wait. A swift slap to your ass makes you squeal.
"Takes one to know one."
When he finally does slide inside of you, you realize he's right. You'd rather this - a quick fuck in the dark of night with your lover - than seeing the sun.
~*~
I hope you enjoyed!
#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fanfic#Eddie munson x you
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I like to draw a lot and lately I've been having a hard time finding references for a new project I'm working on.
I ask you if you wanna come over and let me take some pictures of you to use as reference, we can hang out and it'll be fun. You agree, happy to help your friend and have an excuse to hang out.
You come over and I ask you to do a few simple action poses. Nothing crazy. But then I point out the fact that your clothes are kinda baggy, so it'll be hard for me to understand your anatomy beneath them. I ask if you'd be willing to just wear your binder and boxers, and I promise these photos will only be seen by me. You agree again, because you know I won't share them, and we're both trans guys, so it's alright, right?
The poses get a bit more ... specific. I ask you to get on all fours. To lay on your back and stomach. To sit with your legs spread. Poses that are definitely meant to be provocative.
I finally tell you what the project is for. I'm drawing a lot of self-indulgent trans guy porn and want to make a short comic about it. I say that the most difficult thing to get references for is t guys with their pussy visible. So if you really wanted to be helpful, you could take your boxers off and let me see everything.
You agree. You kick your boxers off, and I continue making you pose in all sorts of ways that now feel outright humiliating. Sit on your ass and hold your legs open with your hands. Get on your hands and knees face down, ass up, and really put your ass up high. Lay like you're about to get fucked missionary style. Press yourself against the wall and spread your legs wide. Let me get a few up close pictures of you spreading your hole as wide as you can.
And despite how embarrassing this is, that I'm just your friend asking for a favor, you're getting wet. Really fucking wet. It only makes you even more embarrassed and you wonder if I notice it, because if I am, I'm not saying anything.
But I absolutely notice it. Its hard not to, when your pussy is literally fucking glistening in the light. I want to touch it so fucking bad its taking every last ounce of self restraint in me to not just start playing with you. I think of any excuse I can make up to touch you.
Finally I get my chance. You're in a pose where you can't reach your pussy very well to spread it open, so I use my fingers to spread it open myself.
"Holy shit, you're really wet right now. Are you wet like this all the time?" I finally ask, my fingers gently rubbing around your hole. It's actually a little shocking to me just how wet it feels.
You shake your head. Obviously, you're probably not gonna constantly be dripping, but I just wanted to make you say it.
"Why are you so wet right now, then? Is it because... of what we're doing?"
Slowly, you nod, feeling more embarrassed than you have this whole time.
"Huh. I didn't know my friend was such an exhibitionist slut." I say, fingers teasing up and down your cunt. Your entire body trembles and you let out a whine, unable to even formulate an answer right now.
I tease my fingers right around your hole. Pressing in just a slight bit. Pressing more and more until two of my fingers finally push inside your cunt, sliding deeper till they’re fully inside. “Sorry, I would’ve asked if I could penetrate you, but… I mean, its pretty obvious that’s what you want.”
My fingers sliding in and out of your hole faster till im fingerfucking you. My other hand coming up to gently pinch and pull at your clit, all thick and fat from T. You whine and grind down against my fingers. I flick your clit a few more time with my fingers before finally rubbing it in earnest like you so clearly need.
“I’ll let you cum, as long as you let me shove a dildo up your cunt later and take pictures of it. I need some good references of a little bitch getting fucked.”
You don’t just agree- you outright beg me to take all the pictures I want, just so you can cum.
“And its good jerk off material for me, too. Hope you don’t get too mad at me if I ‘accidentally’ take a few videos of it too.”
I slap your cunt with my hand, the noise wet and loud and filthy, before going back to rubbing your clit just how you love it being touched. Your entire body trembles at how turned on you are, how good you feel, and suddenly your orgasm is rushing through you, making your hips jerk, cunt clench around my fingers, as all you can do is let it take you. I keep fingerfucking you and rubbing you through your orgasm, not stopping till you seem coherent again.
“That’s a good fucking bitch.” I say, pulling out my fingers and licking them clean. I give your ass a firm slap as you collapse to the ground in exhaustion.
I take a quick picture of you like this, looking sated and well-fucked. “You’re the best model a guy could ask for. Now let me see your hole, I wanna capture the way it looks all stretched out right now.”
#ftm nsft#ftm dom#ftm breeding#ftm sub#this is lowkey not a joke because i actually have been drawing a lot of trans guy nsft stuff lately#And finding refs of t guy nsft is a bit difficult#i would definitely do this if i had a friend irl willing lol#this ended up way longer than i intended oops...#conceptionacception
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hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈
i tried to be so normal about this request but then proceeded to write 2k words for it so... hope you like it lol :D — the hawkins high freak takes the new girl under his wing after they run into each other. literally. (shy!r, meet ugly-ish, hurt/comfort, 2.2k)
You clutch a paper schedule in a pair of anxious hands, squinting to see through the scribbles there. Three boys in bright green lettermans made a total mess of it — writing directions in chicken scratch and doodling a sloppy map of the school over your classes. They said they were helping you, but really they’ve just turned you all around.
Fallen leaves crunchbeneath your feet as you walk past the vacant football field. West of the bleachers and down the dirt trail, the stranger with a harsh jawline and quaffed blonde hair told you. His directions lead you directly to a half-decrepit building in the thick of the woods. A strange spot for a biology lab.
You’re trying to make sense of the scrawled notes on your syllabus — eyes narrowed, and chin tilted downward — when you run into something tall and firm. You don’t hit the warm body hard enough to fall, but stumble back in fear enough to slip on the dewy grass. Like a cartoon character and a banana peel, you land comically on your ass.
“Shit. Sorry,” the towering stranger grimaces. “Didn’t see you there.”
Your wrists start to sting, burdened with the weight of catching your fall. “It’s okay…” you tell him anyway. ‘Cause everything’s always okay. Even when it isn’t.
A ringed hand enters your vision then — lanky, pale, and tattooed. “Here. Let me help you up.”
“It’s okay,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I got it.”
Your jaw clenches tight as you rise on your feet. The slippery mud threatens to pull you down again. Your wrists throb with a dull and distant ache. You stand, despite all that, before the stranger you’d stumbled into the back of.
Eddie watches you wipe your dirt-covered palms together with a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, but he’s getting a few ideas now. You’re a strong, stubborn, and shy little thing. Pretty, too.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he cautions with his palms spread awkwardly in front of him. He wants to make sure you’re alright, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Strong, stubborn, shy, and definitely skittish, he thinks to himself.
You shake your head again, finally glancing at the boy looming before you. His curls are dark and untamed, billowing in the early spring breeze. His deep chocolate eyes match the color of the frizzy strands — both equally as wild as the smile he looks at you with.
Your breath catches suddenly in your throat. You hadn’t expected to bump into him, of course, but you expected even less for him to be so pretty.
“I’m—”
“Don’t say okay,” he interjects before you can start. His plush lips quirk in a genuine smile a second later, to show he’s only joking.
You swallow hard, still hopelessly trying to rid the mud from your aching palms. “I’m… I’m— I’m fine.”
The boy scoffs a faint laugh. “Here. Let me see.”
He takes your wrists in his hands before you can protest. His fingers are long, gentle, and strangely warm as he brushes the mud off your scrapped skin — hardly flinching when it dirties his own.
He wipes his palms on his jeans after, never minding how it stains the denim. Then he reaches a leather-clad arm behind you and plucks a leaf gently from your hair. He flicks it to the ground again.
“There,” he grins. “Good as new.”
“Thanks…” you sigh, voice wavering from a reason you can’t name.
“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”
“‘Cause I’m… I’m new.”
“Explains why you’re all the way out here,” he jokes. Most people only come around this side of the football field to buy weed off him, and you don’t exactly seem like the type. His chocolate eyes narrow. “You lost?”
You shift on your feet, feeling suddenly very silly about the whole thing. You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to take advice from a bunch of jocks and hardly bat an eye when they lead you in the exact opposite direction. You’re too trusting for your own good. It’s embarrassing.
“I was, uh— I was just trying to follow this map, but…” you wave the paper in your clammy hand. “I think it just made me more lost.”
Eddie reaches out a ringed hand and takes the schedule from you when you hand it over. His face scrunches softly together as he squints at the sloppy scribbles. You can’t tell if he’s confused or if he needs glasses. Maybe both.
He can hardly make sense of the directions. And the map was designed in a very obvious attempt to confuse you — the sweet, shy girl who’s never stepped foot here before. Something redhot simmers in his chest ‘cause he can’t imagine doing this to someone. Finding someone who obviously needs help and doing them over for a couple measly laughs.
It’s got Jason Carver and the Dick Brigade written all over it. Literally.
“Who gave this to you?” he asks anyway, just to be sure.
You blink up at him with a pair of doe eyes, gaze glimmering with innocence. “Um… A couple of basketball players, I think. They were wearing lettermans, so…”
“Fucking Carver,” the boy grumbles under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing…” he sighs. “Here. C’mon. Let’s go.”
“Where— Where are we…” you mutter in a mousy voice, trailing off when he stomps past you. You get a faint whiff of floral shampoo and woodsy cologne as he goes. Less inclined to stay alone in the unfamiliar forest, you decide to follow behind him. “O-Okay…”
You fight to keep up with his considerably longer strides as the stranger leads you back towards the school. His dark eyes flit over your schedule, squinting to see past the messy lettering covering the typeface.
“No point in making it to your third period,” he announces suddenly, swinging the heavy metal door open with a ringed hand. The rusted hinges squeak in protest when he holds it open for you with his foot. You slide in past him. He walks on ahead of you again, letting the thing slam shut behind him.
“Why?” you ask the back of him, voice wavering.
“‘Cause you’re already fifteen minutes late. And take it from me— Mr. Kaminsky hates when people are late,” Eddie tells you, flashing you a stern look over his shoulder. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”
Your brows pinch as your face swirls with a distant panic. You couldn’t conceal your worry if you tried. The gravity of it all hits you, then — the fact that you’re following a stranger you ran into (in the most literal sense of the phrase), who’d previously been half-hidden away in the forest behind the school.
It’s all a bit odd when you think about it. This. Him. You.
But this strange boy, dripping in silver and all black, is the very first person to show you an ounce of kindness all day. You don’t know why you’re following him so blindly — only that you don’t mind it as much as you should.
“Okay. So. Uh… Where are we— Where are we going, then?” you squeak behind him.
“Right here,” he answers, stopping short in the middle of the hallway.
Still a few paces back, you don’t hopelessly bump into the back of him like you did before. You watch with wide and curious eyes as he wraps a pale hand around a rusted door knob. The heavy wooden entrance squeals when he opens it.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” the boy jokes with a crooked grin. Everything about the pink expression glitters with mischief. He flicks on the light switch, letting the flourescent lights buzz on in protest. “Well, not abode— I don’t live here, but… You get it.”
The room smells overwhelmingly teenage boy. A mixture of cologne, sweet soda, and sweat. Most of the chairs have been stacked on top of each other and pushed to the edge of the room to make space for the long wooden table in the center. Binders, notebooks, and miscellaneous figurines sit scattered on a gameboard.
“Is that D&D?” you wonder quietly.
Eddie lights up at the question. “You play?” he asks as he saunters to the desk shoved in the very back corner of the room.
His excitement makes you regret your answer.
“No…” you waver, then quickly follow. “But I’ve— I’ve heard about it.”
“I’m president of the Hellfire club,” he tells you, nodding to the poster on the wall. The demon in the center of it isn’t nearly as intimidating when you can tell it’s handmade. “You should join.”
The boy eyes you expectantly as he rounds the metal desk. You shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from underneath his lashes. “Think about it?” he presses.
You nod once. “Sure.”
He ducks down then, out of view behind the bulky desk. You stand awkwardly in place while the boy rummages through the drawers. “Ah, here we go…” you hear him murmur after a few moments — followed by a dull thud when he bangs his head. “Shit!” he swears under his breath before rising to his feet again.
You hide your smile behind your scrapped palm as he walks back over to you. His cheeks glow faintly pink as he rubs the crown of his head with his hand — the one not clutching a first-aid kit. “Here. Shit down. Let me look at your hands,” he urges, still worried about you despite his throbbing skull.
You shake your head rapidly in response. You’re not used to being doted on like this — or at all, really — but especially not from a metalhead, wild-haired, pretty-faced stranger. “No. I’m— I’m okay.”
His chocolate eyes go wide and softly stern. They glimmer playfully down at you as his brows raise behind his fluffy bangs. “What we’d just talk about?” he teases.
You swallow down the rest of your protests. “Right…”
You sit in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table. The cheap plastic is a stark contrast to the heavy wooden throne the stranger descends upon — with a sort of ease that tells you he sits there often.
He digs into the opened first-aid kit and pulls out a bandaid for you. He fumbles with the packaging for a moment before ripping it open with his teeth.
“It’s okay not to be okay, you know?” he tells you, mostly muffled until he spits out the paper in his mouth. It lands on the floor at his feet, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick it up. “Tell me I’m a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”
Your face screws in offense. “I wasn’t—”
“I’m teasing,” he interjects softly, peering at you with a pair of button eyes. “Even though I am a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going.” He takes your palm between his warm and gently calloused ones. He smooths the large bandage over the raging scrape below your thumb with an impossibly delicate touch. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Again.”
“It was my fault,” you murmur, gaze averted to the boy’s kind hands — at the six tiny bats tattoed in the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a scrape, anyway, I can handle it.”
“Agree to disagree,” the boy says with a lopsided smile, brushing his thumb over the bandage to smooth it out. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he parts from you. “There you good. Good as new.”
Your hands buzz with the longing to feel him again. You bring both of them to your lap, wrenching your fingers into a knot and hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Thank you…” you murmur, trailing off when you realize you don’t know the kind stranger’s name.
“Eddie,” he finishes for you.
“…Eddie.”
“You can stay in here with me if you want,” he offers with a nonchalant shrug — trying to be cool despite his thundering heart. “Third period’ll be over in, like, twenty minutes. I can walk you to your next class— you know, make sure all the freaks leave you alone.”
You purse your lips to the side of your mouth in attempts to hide the beam tugging there. It only halfway works. “That’d be great,” you tell him in a mousy voice. “Thank you…”
Eddie swallows hard and leans forward again. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the musky cologne on his neck. His face hardens into a gently solemn look.
“And don’t… Don’t hang around Jason Carver and his goons anymore, okay?” he tells you, sounding like he’s half-pleading. “Those assholes that fucked with your schedule? They’re bad news.”
Feeling like he must know this better than anyone else, you nod firmly in response. “Okay,” you answer, though it comes out in a whisper when the word gets caught in your throat. Something about having Eddie to you is making your body go all funny. It’s weird.
“Stick with me, okay?” the boy smiles, pink and pretty and petaled, as he slouches back onto his throne again. “I’ll take care of you.”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#eddie munson imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble
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ʙᴀʙʏ ʙʟᴜᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)
pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)
word count: 4.8k
summary: you're just one of his many conquests, so why does he need you?
warnings: ANGST, friends with benefits, mild yearning/pining, rafe cannot handle his emotions, ward mention, slight jealous!reader, not proofread
a note: idk if i ate. i'm sorry that it's a little short. :( also, my stalker!rafe fic needs SERIOUS work, so i decided to upload this instead. i am very unhappy with it.
please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!
*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚*:・゚✧
Sometimes you think you aren’t meant to be loved.
It’s almost comical, the way you just sit there and take it. The way you let him walk all over you, taking bites out of you just to toss you aside for later. He cut off slices of you when he needed, never taking the full thing. Always little samples, just to keep you hooked. He would chew you up and spit you out, and you would always come crawling back.
You watch as Rafe dresses himself, eyes landing on his ass as he pulls up his boxers. He always dresses so quickly, not even handing you a towel as he paces around your room, gathering his things. At first, you thought he just didn’t like your apartment. You were a Pogue, after all, even though you were lucky enough to move to a nicer area of The Cut. You spent a lot of time redecorating, trying to make it a little bit nicer. A little bit cleaner. Anything to get him to stay.
Your apartment was small. Cozy. Quaint.
It reeks of you. And that’s why Rafe won’t stay.
Rafe turns around, catching your eye. He can’t help the small smile that stretches across his lips as he pulls his jeans on. “Admiring the view?”
“For as long as I can.” You say.
Your response surprises him, and his eyes widen just slightly. He stares for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact. “You’re too sweet for your own good.” He mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his socks on.
“I wish you would stay.” You mumble, aching to reach out and touch him. But you don’t.
“I know you do,” Rafe sighs, tying his shoes on. “But I can’t, sweetheart. You know that.”
“I do.” Your voice is soft.
“So why do you keep asking me to stay?” It comes out angrier than he intended. But maybe you needed that.
“I…” You swallow hard. “I don’t know.”
“My answers always no. Why do you keep askin’?” Rafe stands, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the bedside table. “Shit’s starting to piss me off.”
“I’m sorry.” You say, sitting up, holding the duvet to your chest. You feel like you’re always telling him that.
“Quit being sorry. Just stop fucking asking it,” He turns to face you. “Jesus. It’s not that hard.”
You don’t know what to say. You nod, looking down.
Rafe sighs, running a hand through his hair. He can’t deny, he loves when you look like that. Sad. Vulnerable. It drives him wild. His gaze lands on your neck, bruised and marked by his teeth. Possession looks good on you, He often thinks.
But that was it. He could only take so much of your submission. He couldn’t take you asking him to stay, too.
“I won’t ask again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, still avoiding his gaze.
His jaw tightens and he stares at you. He wants to take you and claim you. To show you were his, and only his. But he didn’t want to keep you. Why would he? “Good.” Rafe walks around the bed and stands in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing your chin and forcing it up. “And look at me when I’m talking to you.”
You nod, looking up at him, mascara still smeared on your under eyes.
Rafe studies your face. God, you always looked so beautiful like this. Broken and upset. The sight had him wanting to take and claim you all over again. But the look of submission in your eyes makes him want to push you even more. “You look pretty like this.” He murmurs, pushing your neck to the side and looking at the hickeys on your neck. “It suits you.”
“Thank you.” You say, although you don’t like it. You didn’t like this version of you, the pathetic girl who would do anything and everything for one iota of his attention; but it got him into your arms, so that’s really all that matters.
“I wonder why that is? Why you look so pretty when you’re crying?” His fingers lightly trace over your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. He knows that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. You were addicted to him, craving his attention more than you craved anything else. You’d take whatever he gave you. That was the only thing Rafe loved about you.
“Because my lips get all pouty, and my eyes get all red?” You guess, resisting the urge to lean into his palm.
Rafe almost laughs at your answer. It was cute. “Hmm,” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently brushing them. “Yeah, probably.” His eyes meet yours, staring at your face. You were so easy to break. So easy to control. You’d let him do whatever he wanted, no fight or protest. Just endless submission. It was addicting.
You’re getting restless. “Have any plans today?”
Rafe’s hand falls from your face, and his jaw tightens. You always did this. You always try to make small talk, try to create some type of emotional connection between you, even though you knew deep down that he didn't give a shit about you or about your day. “Yeah. I do.” He picks his jacket up from the bed. “Have to go visit my dad's lawyer. Then I’m meeting some friends.”
“That sounds fun,” You say, although meeting with Ward’s lawyer must have something to do with life insurance. “Uh, being with your friends later, I mean.”
“Yeah.” He mutters, shrugging his jacket on. He grabs his keys from the bedside table and glances at you. It’s hard, watching you try to connect to him. He knows that you want more than this. You want to be his girlfriend. You want the world to know you’re his.
But that couldn’t happen. And you knew that.
“Are you, um…” You shift on the bed, the duvet falling just a little bit. “Are you gonna come back over tonight?”
Rafe glances at you, eyes falling to the duvet. God, he loved how you were always trying to keep him around. He loved watching you try and fail to keep his attention. He lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his buzzed head. “Do you want me to?” He already knows your answer.
“Only if you want to,” You say, trying to not come across as even clingier than you already are. “You know my door’s always open for you.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes. You were always so predictable. So needy. So willing. He starts to wonder when he'll get sick of it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He grunts, picking his phone up off of the bedside table and shoving it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet. Might be with Sofia tonight.”
Your soft smile drops, just for a second, and you hope Rafe doesn’t notice.
Sofia.
Sofia?
Who the hell is Sofia?
You knew everyone he hung out with. Every girl. You had tabs on all of them, shamefully. You didn’t know who the hell Sofia was. Had you missed someone? How had she managed to slip through the cracks?
Under the covers, you dig your nails into your thigh. You had to act casual, as normal as you could be. You were always treading thin ice with him, and you couldn’t risk losing him over this. Your smile returns and you give him a nod. “Cool. Just text me.”
Rafe watches as your smile falters for a moment. He knows it. He knows that you’re jealous. There was no way that you weren't. It didn’t take much to make you jealous. He could make one passing comment about a girl, and you’d spend the rest of the day worrying, wondering who she was. That's why he brought up Sofia, and why he always mentions his other girls to you. Something about the idea of you laying in bed, terrified and anxious to lose him, really excited him.
He smirks as you quickly regain composure, knowing that he got to you. “Yeah. I’ll text you.” He says, turning to leave.
“Drive safe.” You say.
He stops as he stands in the doorway. Something about you telling him to drive safe always made him… feel guilty. It was that damn softness you always had and used against him. He glances at you over his shoulder, swallowing whatever sentiment he was feeling. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
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You hate Sofia.
After a bit of sleuthing, logged into one of your many burner accounts, you finally find her. She’s a Pogue, like you, and for some reason you find that it stings more. She’s gorgeous, absolutely beautiful, the sweetest girl around, and you fucking hate her.
Rafe had a roster. A rotation, the same few girls on repeat until he got bored, where he would swap a few out for fresh meat. You don’t know how you managed to stay on the roster for this long, but you weren’t complaining. Maybe Rafe thought you had another guy out there, filling your cunt and your bed when he was gone, but you didn’t. You’re too busy being Rafe’s to fall for somebody new.
You used to not care about the other girls. The more and more he mentioned them, though, you got curious. You started looking them up on Instagram, stalking their profile through burners and analysing every post. Every story. None of the girls ever looked like you. None of the girls were like you at all. Why did he like them, and why did he like you?
You wonder if he treats the other girls as poorly, or if in some twisted way, you’re special. You could handle being the only girl that Rafe treated like shit if that meant you stood out to him in some way. You wonder if he fills their necks with hickies, too, if he grips their hips too hard and leaves bruises, if he spanks them until his handprints form welts on your ass cheeks.
You hoped to God you were special.
You tried to distract yourself, running errands and tidying your apartment, but you kept thinking about him. About his stupid baby blue eyes, and his stupid pretty face, and his stupid hands and the way they felt around your neck. You didn’t want to be in love with Rafe fucking Cameron, but you feared you were already in too deep, and soon you would drown, falling below the surface, hand outstretched, hoping just this once that he would pull you up.
You sit on your bed, in the dark and the silence, staring at your phone, waiting for it to light up. Waiting for him to text you, to need you.
The hours pass. Midnight. One and two. Three. Before four o'clock rolls around, you still have nothing. You know that you should just give up and go to bed. He probably passed out at his friends’ place, too drunk and too tired to text you, but you keep telling yourself that he's just busy. That he's gonna wake up any moment now and shoot you a text.
You're praying that something happens, that something keeps you up and keeps you waiting for those messages that you know he most likely won't send. You want him to finally fucking want you in the way that you want him. You didn’t like feeling this way, it wasn’t fun to constantly torture yourself, but is it not fun to feel many other ways? If it wasn’t Rafe, it would just be someone else. Another man, someone else’s son, reminding you that no matter how hard you try, you just aren’t meant to be loved.
Why don’t you do it for him? Why aren’t you enough to get him to stay?
You tap the screen, and it lights up. No new notifications.
“Shit.” You mumble, your hand retreating to your side.
You sigh and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Of course, he isn’t going to text you. Why would he? Why would he do that to you, when he never had before? This is exactly what you expected. This is exactly what he loves. Making you doubt, getting you jealous. It gets him off. It’s a game for him. You were his prey, and he was your predator.
As you lay, staring at your ceiling, you hear three, quick knocks on your door.
At first, you think you’ve imagined them. You sit up, your feet sliding into your slippers as you pad into the living room. You stand there in silence, in the dark, only listening to your own breathing. You’re about to turn around when there’s another knock, this time loud and pounding against your door.
You cross the rest of the room, undoing the locks and opening the door.
Standing on your doorstep, of course, was Rafe, hands in his pockets as he stares you down. He seems… tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, probably from staying out late. He glances at you from behind those tired eyes, his gaze falling over your body. He’s taking note of the oversized t shirt you’re wearing, and how your hair is dishevelled and messier than it was before. He could tell you had been lying down. “Can I come in?”
Something's off, you can tell. He’s acting different, even though it’s just subtly. You watch him as he chews on his lip, an anxious habit he didn’t think you noticed. “What’s wrong?”
Rafe’s expression falters for a split second, before he quickly regains his composure. He was fine. Nothing was wrong. Except for the fact that you asked him that. He looks over you. “Nothing,” He responds, his voice harsh and biting. “I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”
You don’t believe him. He normally carries himself with intense confidence and gravitas, so much so it constantly inks into your lungs and chokes you, but this was different. He felt different. “Right.”
He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way you were looking at him. Concerned, like you cared. He glances away from you, sighing. “Can I come in?” He repeats his question, eyes flicking between you and your living room.
You nod, stepping aside and holding the door opening, flicking a light switch. One of your lamps turns on, casting a warm, soft glow over your living room.
Rafe strides into your apartment, immediately heading for your couch. Everything in your place was so damn cozy; the warm light, the soft couch, your scent lingering on every single inch of every single surface. He collapses back onto the couch, arms spread out and legs splayed. He runs a hand over his face, swallowing hard.
You sit next to him, and for a while, you two sit in a comfortable silence. You look over at him, pushing some hair behind your ears. Your voice is soft when you finally speak. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Rafe closes his eyes, sighing as you speak. He didn’t want to tell you about Ward. Not when you were like this, so gentle and caring. He was exhausted, to say the least. He was dealing with so much, all at once, and he didn't know what to do. Finally, he looks at you. In this lighting, with your hair messy and your eyes concerned, you looked even more like the sweet girl he always wished you were. Sweet and caring and loving. “Today was my dad's funeral.”
Your shoulders droop, and your eyes soften. You had no idea. He had only mentioned visiting his father’s lawyer to you yesterday morning. “Shit, I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.”
Rafe almost groans. He loved you when you were soft, when you were sweet. He loved it more than he cared to admit, but right now he hated it. He hated it when you were this caring. It made him doubt everything. He glances at you, a lump in his throat. He hated when you looked at him that way. Because he knew that no matter what he did, you would always have that warmth in your eyes when you looked at him. You would always forgive him, no matter what he did.
Part of him wishes his dad could’ve met you.
You reach out and put your hand on his shoulder, trying not to overstep. Rafe stares down at your hand, so small in comparison to his shoulder. Something about it makes his chest tighten. It seems intimate, and he feels… safe. Safe with you. Which is a feeling he hasn't felt in God knows how long.
His hand slowly lifts, his rough fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brings your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. Your thumb brushes over his cheek gently, back and forth.
God, the feeling of you touching him, comforting him, was too much. Your touch was too gentle and warm, and he hated that he wanted it. He hated the way his chest ached at the sight of your soft, kind expression. He had so many reasons he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be letting you touch him like this, and yet there was something inside of him, a small voice in the back of his mind, constantly begging him to please let you take care of him. “Can I ask you something?”
“‘Course.” You say softly.
Rafe glances at you, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. God, he hated this. Your touch on his face, the tenderness in your voice, the look in your eyes. It was driving him absolutely insane. His eyes close, as if he was debating if he actually wanted to ask you this. “Am I poison? Am I poison in the water?”
“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.
He opens his eyes again, hand still holding yours to his cheek. He holds your gaze, eyes softening. He hated how vulnerable he was, and yet there was a small piece of him, buried deep inside, that needed it. He could tell you anything right now, and you wouldn't judge him. You would just listen. Care. “Do I… poison everything I touch? Am I the poison that kills everything?”
“No, of course not,” You move closer to him on the couch. “Why would you ask that?”
God, he could smell you, your perfume a subtle, sweet scent that was driving him crazy. He closes his eyes as you move closer, and his jaw tightens. This was insane; he wasn't weak, he wasn't vulnerable, he did not need you. But then again, the hand on yours on his face had yet to move. “Because,” his voice drops to a whisper. “I know that I'm a sick, twisted bastard. I know that I make others sick. I hurt everyone I care about.”
“Rafe, I will admit you aren’t exactly the nicest guy,” You swallow roughly, unsure of what to even say. “But you still have people that care about you. Your friends, your sisters. They know the real Rafe, the guy underneath all the aggression.”
He lets out a long, shaky breath. God, he hated this. He hated being vulnerable. He hated opening up to you, and seeing that look of concern in your eyes. He wants to run, to close you out, leave and forget this ever happened. He wants to go back to treating you like one of his conquests, instead of feeling like he wanted you to hold him. But for some reason, his mouth wasn't listening to his brain. “But what about you?”
“Of course, I care about you,” You say. “I thought that would at least be obvious.”
He had a thousand different replies on the tip of his tongue, but instead his mouth just opened and closed, words dying when they left his lips. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to get up and leave, but there was a deeper part of him, a small piece of himself that he kept buried inside, deep in the back of his mind, that kept whispering, telling him to sit. It was the part that kept his hand on your wrist. He swallows hard, looking away. “I wish my dad was still here.”
“I know,” You say softly. “I’m sorry.”
He felt his eyes begin to sting, something that only added to his frustration. Frustration at himself, for being pathetic enough to cry. Frustration at you, for making him weak enough to cry. Frustration at Ward, for leaving him and his sisters behind. He suddenly hated everything. He hated you. He hated himself. He hated Ward for leaving him with feelings, making him weak. “I don't even know why I came here,” He mutters through gritted teeth. “I just... I wish I could've been good enough for him. I tried to be good.”
“You don’t know how Ward truly felt about you, Rafe.” You say, stroking his cheekbone again.
He hated the way you were comforting him, hated the way you were so gentle with him. He was always on the defensive, on the attack, so when someone was soft with him... Well, the way his chest ached was proof that it was something he wasn't used to. He swallows hard, closing his eyes. “But I do. His actions spoke louder than his damn words ever did,” He chuckles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's so stupid, you know, I... I used to pray I’d be like him, do everything that he did. And sometimes I still do.”
“That’s not stupid.” You say.
He lets his hand fall from your wrist, shaking his head. He hated talking about this, he hated admitting how much Ward’s death has messed him up. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to open up to anybody. The words leaving his lips, however, were not his own. “I hate that I don’t know if he was proud of me... I hate that I’ll never know if I did right by him.”
You remove your hand when he goes to cover his face. You watch him for a few moments, unsure of what to do, when you notice his shoulders shake.
Is he crying?
Your eyes widen when you hear a sob rip through him, shoulders shaking up and down. “Hey, hey, Rafe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”
He hated crying, absolutely hated it, but there he was, shoulders trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. “I’m not even- I…” His voice breaks, chest rattling. He lets out a long, shaky breath, shaking his head as he wipes away the tears from his cheeks. He couldn’t even look at you. He hated feeling so weak. Hated that you were seeing this side of him.
“It’s okay,” You put your arm around him, trying to hug him. “It’s okay--”
Rafe suddenly stands, pushing you back. “No. Don’t… don’t fucking pretend like you care.” He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed that he let Ward affect him this much. He was supposed to be strong. Powerful. Not weak.
“I’m not pretending.” You say, standing up.
His jaw tightens, his expression hardening into a sharp glare. God, he was tired of you, of your sweet words, of your gentle smiles. It was messing with his head, playing with his feelings. “Yeah, right.” He mutters, shaking his head. “You don’t care, don’t bullshit me.”
“Of course I care about you, Rafe,” You say, taking a step closer to him. “I… I lov--”
“No!” He suddenly snaps at you. He didn't want to hear that. He couldn't. “Don’t… don’t you dare,” You stare at him, confusion on your pretty little face, and it’s driving him fucking crazy. “Don’t. Don’t tell me. Keep that shit to yourself.”
You don’t know what to say, and you don’t want to upset him even more. You just nod, taking a step back.
He wanted to hit something. He wanted to break something. He hated the sight of that look on your face. The confusion, the worry, the disappointment. He didn’t understand. Why did you care? He didn’t deserve it, not one bit. What the hell did you think you’d get out of loving someone like him? That he’d love you back? That he’d change for you?
The silence is deafening. You want to say something, you just don’t know what. You take a shaky breath. “I’m here for you, Rafe. You know that. In any way you need me.”
“Why?” He asks suddenly, eyes meeting yours. “Why are you still here for me? Why do you care about me so goddamn much? Why can’t you just give up on me, like everyone else has?”
“Do I look like everyone else?” You ask.
Oh, but that was the problem. You were different. You were the only person in that damn town who was as sweet as you were patient. Who cared so god-damn much about someone so undeserving of that love. “Don’t you think I know that?” He asks, voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t you think it pisses me off that you are the way you are?”
“I just want you to be happy, Rafe, and if I can make you happy, I want to.” You say.
Why did you have to be so goddamn sweet? It was driving him mad, the way you stood there, so willing and eager to do whatever it took to help him. He let out a long, shaky breath, staring down at you. “It was different when you were just some girl I was hooking up with.” He says, shaking his head.
“I’m still that girl,” You insist. “Nothing has to change. We can go back to normal. Forget this ever happened.”
His eyes narrow as you speak. He hated that you said that, hated how willing you were to forget the fact that he cried in front of you, and yet he hated himself for the fact that he almost wanted to agree. “Really?” He asks, his voice sharp. “You’d just… forget this? Go back to letting me use you, like nothing happened?”
“If that’s what you want.” You say.
He hated the idea of that. The idea of going back to using you. Of treating you like trash when he knew that you cared so damn much.
Part of him liked hurting you, like watching you fall apart at his hands. But it was the other side of him that hated how good it felt at first, hated the pit of shame in his chest that grew each time you begged him to stay, or cried while he left, or looked at him like he meant the world to you.
Part of him knew you deserved better.
Rafe sighs, looking away. “Fine. We forget about this.”
“Okay.” You say, nodding.
The fact that you didn't say anything, that you didn't fight back, made his chest ache. God, he hated this. He wanted to yell at you. Wanted to push you down, pin you to the couch, and make you cry out his name. He wanted you to ask him to stay, fight him to prove to him that you cared. He hated how your willingness to forget it all made him want to wrap his arms around you. He couldn't stay. He would do something risky, something that he would regret in the morning. He sniffles, wiping his eyes again. “I'm gonna go.”
You swallow thickly. “If you’re sure. My door is always open.”
“Yeah,” He replies, his voice hoarse. He hated that your gentleness, your sweetness, still managed to get to him. He steps closer to you. He wanted to touch you again. To feel your warm, soft skin against his palm. But he knew better. He knew that if he touched you, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Thanks for being there.” He mumbles, his voice cracking.
“Of course.” You smile softly.
He hates how your smile makes his chest ache, hates the tug it gives his heart. He hated how he cared about you, hated how he was so weak that he allowed himself to open up to you. And God, he hated how he was thinking about kissing your pretty, pouty lips. “I'll be back tomorrow night. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Rafe nods, licking his lips. He rocks back and forth on his feet before reaching out and cupping the back of your head, pressing his lips to your forehead. Enough to keep you hooked. “See you later, sweetheart.”
Your entire body is buzzing. “Drive safe.”
You’re still standing in the same spot when he leaves, shutting the door behind him.
And you will wait for the next time he wants you.
*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧*:・゚*:・゚✧
blagh
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