#agreed with lock this is such a good listen

[sombrashe]

hii can i get a yandere nam gyu pleaseee

content mentions of death, dark content, smut

notes i have never written anything yandere before so i hope i did this right lol / no gyeongsu :( sorry gyeongsu lovers

✮⋆˙ yandere namgyu doesn't share

the second he saw you he knew you belonged to him and only him. you were groggy as you climbed out of your bed unknowing that he caught sight of you almost immediately. he watched your reactions to the situation you found yourself in.

at first he keeps his distance, hanging onto thanos to keep the attention off him. he doesn't say a word until he finds someone trying to talk to you before red light, green light. he'll make his way over to you and try to get your attention. this can go one of two ways and neither way is good for you.

if you ignore him he take it painfully. why can't you see that you two belong together. this piece of shit can't do anything for you that he can't do himself. he'll have to physically pry himself away from you so he doesn't crash out right then and there. he goes through the game keeping an eye on you from a distance. watching as you follow closely behind some bigger guy.

if you accept his interruption he immediately grabs your bicep (gently) and drags you away from the dick. talking low he introduces himself and explains that he's excited to play. he listens intently to every word that passes your lips. when you finish he offers for you to stay together and when you agree he's ecstatic. during the game he keeps you close behind him, never letting go of your hand.

✮⋆˙ yandere namgyu who makes sure everyone knows you're taken

at first you thought he was just like that. clingy and in everyone's personal space. the way he hung onto thanos was practically identical to the way he always had to touch you. hands held between games. waist wrapped up in his arm. back of your neck held softly, his thumb playing with the small hairs resting there.

when it came time to pick your teams for six legged pentathlon you were already considered apart of their duo from the get-go. finding semi you try to play nice despite namgyus fervent hatred for the pierced woman. when choosing your games you immediately spoke up for biseokchigi. you played it all the time growing up and knew it pretty well. the rest of the team chooses and namgyu is left sulking as minsu separates you two. when you return after winning you're able to choose to sit beside minsu or namgyu.

choosing minsu causes the hairs on the back of namgyus neck to stand. he wants to walk over and rip you away from the pleasant conversation you we're currently in. that soft smile and small laughs were meant for him damnit. he watches unblinking and only breaks his stare when the last team enters the room.

if you choose namgyu he scoots over enough to give you space. your legs have to be sprawled over his but he doesn't mind. not one bit. he'll keep his hands on your knee as you two talk. he'll still mess with minsu but with less venom in his voice. you play with his rings and that's how he knows he's locked in.

✮⋆˙ yandere namgyu loves teasing you

you hated being ticked. the feeling of it made you violent and he quickly learned that after your second round of voting. you ended up slamming your forehead against his nose. blood pouring from it instantly. unfortunately you got so embarrassed and apologetic he couldn't help himself. he calls you his little bone crusher just to watch as you look down and away. your face heating up at the nickname.

during mingle he makes sure to poke your sides or shove his pinky inside of your ear. each one riling you up as you smack him away. he watches in glee at your reactions and leans in close to whisper against your ear. he jokes about how sensitive you are and how he's here to help you. when you guys finally get to play mingle it's always you him and thanos, up until round 5.

going with thanos leaves namgyu with the task of ripping someone away from their duo. he grabs the nearest person and wrangles them to a room. holding them and the door shut is a feat only accomplished by his anger at not having you be his duo. during the rest of the game he prioritizes you but has this pissed off aura surrounding him the entire time. he'll tease you harshly and mercilessly every time you're locked in a room with him making tears well in your eyes at his sudden change.

going with namgyu will cause him nothing but excitement as he drags you with him. of course he makes sure thanos is taken care of but no matter what you're with him. when you meet back in the dorm thanos is quick to throw his arms over your shoulders and hug you tight. you sit curled up namgyus lap and wait as everyone finishes filing in.

✮⋆˙ yandere namgyu marks you

he loves leaving little marks all over your body. bite marks, nail marks, cigarette burns. he litters you in visible marks to show that you're taken. hickeys on your jawline and cuts around your collarbones. he can normally keep himself under control in public spaces.

he'll happily start nipping at your ear or placing gentle kisses against the curve of your neck while out in public. all displays of affection letting everyone around you that you were his. if you're being a bit of a brat or simply acting senseless in public he will resort to blood pooling bites along your forearm.

when you two are left alone is when he really gets into it. he goes down on you simply for the fact that he can spend hours just chewing on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. your chest is normally next in line with hickeys, bites and burns littering the pitted skin. he loves watching tears well up in his eyes as the burn overwhelms your senses.

✮⋆˙ yandere namgyu who fucks you senseless

he always makes sure to get permission (or at least he figures out ways to make you say yes) before doing anything. he's had a lot of experience before you so he's excited to show you all the crazy shit he wants to do with you. he's honestly a bonafied freak when it comes to kinks so either you're agreeing or you need to tell him immediately. he is actually really good at making sure not to do anything that might upset you.

he loves watching your body move with each thrust of his hips. his hipbones slightly protruding as he sucks his stomach in. your tight warmth making his head swim. the feeling of them grinding against your soft stomach as he leans down to whisper in your ear. listening to him say the sweetest things with a sensual bite to them.

he has you bent every which way especially when you're being punished. if it makes you uncomfortable he has you locked into that spot until you go numb. he loves it when you pass out while he fucks you upside down. pulling out and watching as you come to a whiny mess eager for his cock again.

[specialgradefckr]

AWHHHH ty for the tag!! i know i've got soooo many wips i wanna see from you heheheh... omg god i STILL have to check out some stuff XD life really does get away from you sometimes

i'll pass on the tag to @eevwrites and @infinitatis-ink i know you bitches got stuff in drafts. show us the goods. gimme. sample.

hhhhh... the forbidden texts... some of which have gone untouched for like. an entire year almost.

but i have some BESPOKE lines in some of my drafts. i swear to god. some of these are absolutely WILD sjhdflghdg i still love them even after months and months~

from my final heatwave fic, omega!gojo getting sex ed entirely from porn:

Satoru had always liked the idea of getting knotted. Like, what omega didn’t? You were his best friend, and you could confirm you liked the idea, too. The two of you had talked all about it – about everything, once you’d both presented and helped each other out through your first heats. The moment you’d reluctantly shown him your collection of knot toys, he’d ordered some for himself. You had to wrestle with him to keep him from borrowing one to try out, complaining that you didn’t trust him at all to sanitize it properly, and then there was that one time you and he were both in heat at the same time- Anyways, Satoru knew he wanted to get knotted. He just hadn’t found the right alpha to do it with yet. But now he has one, and now he’s finally going to get knotted, like he always wanted. So why, when Suguru finally grinds against his ass, does he feel ice in his gut? He tries to hide how he stiffens up but Suguru notices. Fuck. Didn’t it hurt if they didn’t fuck when they got hard? Like, in the porn, the alpha stepbrother always begs his omega stepsister to help him out just this once, and she agrees because she knows that his knot will be painful and hard for hours if he doesn’t cum inside some hot omega pussy. (Listen, he’s not proud of that one. He’d only clicked on it in the first place because the stepsister looked like… someone he knew.)

this fic i started in like. may of last year or something wild. it's such a fun idea, it's SO full of funny moments:

“This is what I looked like in high school. We dated a whole year, you know, I can prove it. The pictures are still up on his profile.” Piercing, bloodred eyes dart from the picture, and back to you. Fair enough. You looked like crap in high school, and you definitely look a lot better now. “I must have had a pretty fun personality, no?” His mouth opens up, but before he says anything, you put your face right up in front of his, eyes locked, smiling deviously. “Or I must have been a complete fucking freak in the sheets.” He barks out a laugh, and you know you’ve got him. Foot in the door. “You’d suck my dick to get a date to this stupid reunion?” Sukuna didn't take you for that sort of woman, but the teasing question falls from his lips so naturally. “I would suck your dick to make Satoru Gojo feel inferior,” You correct. Where have you been all of my life?

and this one is another super fucked up delicious wip of mine:

“Yo! Suguru!” He calls out cheerfully, dragging either twin by the hair. Their mouths are duct taped shut. “These are yours, right?” “Which one do you love more?” His eyes shine a painful white-blue. Like glacial ice in the sunlight. Suguru's breath leaves him. “What?” “Nanako and Mimiko, right? Which one do you love more? You can keep that one, and I’ll kill the other.” Ice in his lungs. His breath. He had never. Never imagined that Satoru would. “They’re innocent – they’re just girls – ” “Your girls killed two women. They’ve got two lives to pay for their crimes with, but out of respect for our long friendship, I’m letting you keep one. Isn’t that nice of me?” “Two monkeys?” He snarls helplessly. “Monkeys to you. To me, they were women. And I say that killing a woman is a crime worthy of death. Choose now or watch them both die.” It’s not a bluff. Suguru can feel him gathering his cursed energy, he can curse faster than Suguru could even dream of stopping him.

silly wip tag game!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

show us a paragraph, line or dialogue out of context from your current wip[s]. if you aren't a writer, feel free to share one from the last fic you read! ♡

these are from three different wips, the last one is something i wrote in december 2024 (those who remember me talking about nanami and a desi reader...yea), and the second one is something my aashi (@fushitoru) has been asking for since the beginning of time [hint: salaryman choso]

— npt: @gojocon @norikuna @sonnytoru @starmapz @aishi-toru @baepsays @gojosoups @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy + anyone else

[uhohbestie]

omgomgomg i read there are monsters nearby!!!!!!!

soosodososossso epic btw!!!

i normally dont like zombies, cause they scare me, but i just love the plot so much!!! theyre so

SDKSKDBJDJDJFFJBFJDJDKDK

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

anyways, after i read the fic, i listened to the song suffering - by Amèlie Farren for the first time, and i was like???? this song is soo fitting for the fic!!!! especially like early days of the apocalypse scarian when they didnt want to talk to eachother!!!

absolutely no pressure or anytjing, just a song rec that i think kinda fits the fic :3

anyways, looooved the fic, you guys did a great job!!!<33

ive linked the song if ya wanna listen :3

:D :D We're so glad you're enjoying the fic! Especially if zombies aren't usually your thing! (Tbh they used to terrify me, too, but Key really won me over hahahaha)

also this song is SO good. I like this lyric:

I try to sink and never float 'Cause my head is underwater I'm here by choice by my own hand I'm a lamb sent into slaughter

I'm aware of my own body I can feel beneath my skin I can wash away my insecurities But can't wash away my sin

It's soooo early-days-Grian "i don't even know what I did wrong :("

And this one:

'Cause suffering in silence is better than suffering with you

Oof. OOF. That's them alright. OTL

Thanks so much for the recc! <3

[owlheartt]

Something I really like about timebomb is that Ekko actually knows what he's getting into.

I'm not really seeing it get talked about but in season 1 they mention that Ekko and the firelights help people addicted to shimmer get off it and lead more fulfilling lives within the community. I should probably rewatch the scene for the exact wording (might be misremembering tbh) but that comment implies A LOT.

First: Ekko's mission is helping people where he can, he would probably try and help Jinx even if he wasn't in love with her

Second: He has experience dealing with severe mental illness as that often goes hand in hand with drug abuse, namely depression/suicidal ideation like what Jinx was exhibiting

Third: He's probably mapped out best course of action FOR dealing with this and has already figured out his own limits/boundaries. Meaning he knew what he was getting into trying to talk Jinx out of suicide, and was thus more equipped to deal with the aftermath

Fourth: He's probably helped ex members of Silco's gang. The firelights seem to have a theme of healing and repairing and recovering, so they've probably also learned to forgive. If they're mission is to rebuild the lanes into a safe space, they can't exclude people they don't like, they have to make room for them. I think they fought Silco out of necessity, and I doubt Jinx would be the first person they help who's killed one of them.

These all might be a bit of a stretch but I think it really fits. Beyond that, it shows that Ekko can ACTUALLY help Jinx. As much as unconditional love can do, Ekko has the tools for Jinx's recovery and a path ready for her. He also probably knows that her "healthy" will look different from AU Powder's "healthy." On top of that, I expect he knows how to respect her even in the middle of psychotic breaks and won't agitate her already frail mental state

[hotvampireadjacent]

Listening to the debates in congress about Israel funding is driving me insane. We don’t dick ride this hard for any other ally.

“Well maybe This current government people may not agree with but Israel is our ally”

IDGAF. Stop fucking funding genocide! If they’re our ally maybe they shouldn’t be.

“Our strongest ally in the Middle East” that’s why they get all our fucking money. If I hear one more Israel has a right to defend itself I’ll explode.

Using history as an argument is weak anyway, just bc we did something in the past doesn’t mean we have to keep doing the same thing.

ISRAEL IS ISOLATING THEMSELVES.

^replace this with Iran and Lebanon

[bratbby333]

satosugu & their favorite lady ♡ poly head cannons

`⭐︎ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ bc who doesn't love when their two boyfriends are also bf + bf?

nsfw mdni; fem!reader, 3sum, anäl, dbl. penētration, oral, yaoi, use of pet names. banner fan art from pinterest

poor suguru, having to work overtime to keep the two of you in check—your unyielding energy bounces off of satoru's childlike enthusiasm, creating quite an unhinged environment. and of course geto switches into dad-mode when it comes to y'all, but he wouldn't have it any other way...not willing to give up what he has, loving how silly his lovers are.

satoru’s definitely the physical touch lover while suguru handles words of affirmation: they take turns showering you in praise in the form of soft touches and gentle kisses while they removing your clothes, two sets of hands running up and down your soft skin.

this dynamic also manifests in public, with satoru being your go-to for steamy dancing and drunken make-out sessions in the middle of the club, while suguru sits observantly at a table off to the side.

when he finally feels that it’s time to go, he’ll join the two of you on the dance floor, his chest pressed flush with your back as you continue to lock lips with satoru. you grind against him, assuming he's finally joining in on all the fun. but his hands pull at your hips before running up your body and cupping the underside of your jaw, quite literally having to peel your mouth away from satoru's. "hey...wha- i wasn't done," you grumble. suguru only chuckles in response. "let's get outta here, you two..." he mumbles. satoru attempts to reconnect his lips with yours before a stern "satoru," rumbles from suguru's chest. your blue-eyed lover pouts, of course, before reluctantly agreeing.

suguru loves hitting it from the back while you suck satoru off, the sloppy sounds of both your holes filling the heady air the room as the three of you chase your releases

and of course, satoru would get creative and suggest a challenge, a little competition to see who finishes first, just for funsies; "bet i'd last the longest". he'd be so fucking smug about it, too. and nine times out of ten, you and suguru would create an alliance and work together to literally break satoru; not only does he finish first but he cums over, and over, and over again. you and sugu take turns bringing him to his breaking point, and after his third orgasm, he's begging to switch so he can get one of you off instead. but you just can't stop. and why would you? he just looks so pretty as his hips buck off the bed, sweat glistening on his skin with his flustered cheeks and swollen lips, while his body trembles with every gasping breath. you swear he does this shit on purpose, plotting for this outcome because he's been feeling super needy lately.

they just love pleasing their precious girl

you're straddling suguru, your forearms resting against his chest as your nails dig into his skin. satoru is pounding into you from behind, his hands anchored on your hips. he tucks his chin into his clavicle to watch as your gushing cunt sucks him in so greedily. suguru pulls your head down, your cheek resting against his shoulder as his fingers reach under you to play with your clit, sultry words of praise leaving his lips and going straight to your listening ears, "feels good, doesn't it baby? uh uh, don't move. keep takin' him...y'doin so good." you whimper as toru’s impressive length reaches unimaginable depths inside you, the sweet squelches of your needy pussy spurring him on as he drives into you even harder. sugu’s fingers keep working at your throbbing clit while you bite and suck on his neck, interrupted by the symphony of soft ahh’s and ooo’s falling from your swollen lips. a few more rough thrusts and rapid circles against your clit and you’re falling apart on satoru’s cock, spraying all over the their thighs. you gasp and whine when you feel satoru pull out, only for suguru to lift you up and quickly take his place, sheathing himself in your pulsing walls. “you ready, baby?” you glance over you shoulder, watching as satoru sucks his fingers into his mouth, a cheeky smirk on his face, your cock drunk brain too dizzy to respond. you nod, groaning at the feeling of his long, slender digits playing with your ass, dipping in to the second knuckle. satoru works to stretch you out in preparation for you to take them both. your face contorts at the dull ache. "look at me...focus on me, princess," suguru rasps, redirecting your attention to him as he slowly pumps in and out of your gummy walls. your nails scratch down his chest as you rest your forehead against his, breathing deeply in an attempt to relax your body for the inevitable stretch. you already feel so full, your pussy absolutely drenched, your arousal dribbling out around sugu’s girth, but you grow even wetter in anticipation for your two boyfriends to take you at the same time

and if you thought it would be a peaceful transition into sleep after y'all finish fucking, you would be sorely mistaken...the three of you constantly fight for the middle spot in the bed. correction, you and satoru are the ones bickering. as the two of you argue, suguru finds his place and waits for y'all to follow suit, and more often than not, it's suguru in the middle, laying on his back, as you and satoru tuck yourselves under each of his arms and curling into his side, legs thrown over his waist.

it's a very balanced relationship. the three of y'all have your designated nights to cook dinner, your assigned spots on the couch (though you occasionally fight over what to watch), a copasetic routine for showering, going to work, running errands together. and when one of y'all is out of town for work, the two left over keep each other company. it's perfect, a home full of love and laughter.

y'all loooove having threesomes, but sometimes it's too much logistically. and that's totally fine...nothing wrong with some one on one action, whether it be you and toru or sugu and you or the two men having their fun alone.

you arrive home, expecting to be entrapped in a double bearhug by your two boyfriends, only to hear moans and grunts echoing down the hallway. you laugh to yourself as you make your way upstairs. opening the bedroom door, you're greeted by a smiling suguru being topped off by his blond counterpart. "hey baby, how was work?" he asks casually, not even acknowledging the fact that he's actively getting head. you smile softly, walking to the edge of the bed and placing a gentle peck on suguru's waiting lips. "mmm, it was a pretty rough shift...i'm gonna go take a long, hot shower," you reply, exhaustion evident in your voice. satoru sits up, continuing to jerk suguru off. with his free hand, he wipes the spit from his chin, grinning ear to ear as you lean in to kiss him, too. "you sure you don't wanna join us?" "not right now, toru, but i might when i get out," you smile as you walk to the dresser, grabbing a change of clothes before heading toward the master bathroom. you turn back around to face the two of them, giggling at the disappointed looks on their faces. when the door closes, the wet sounds and breathy moans fill the bedroom once more. but of course, not even five minutes into your peaceful shower, your back is pressed up against the tile wall as satoru's tongue laps at your throbbing clit. "this is the best way to decompress, baby," he says before his fingers dip into your core and his lips reattach to your sensitive bud. "f-fuck, toru...feels s'good..." as you surrender to the bliss, you hear the bathroom door open and close. seems like suguru was feeling left out. so much for your alone time, huh?

loneliness is no longer apart of the equation for you. after years of failed relationships and agonizing heartbreaks, you have finally found peace, your yin and yang. you have your boys, and they have you.

author notes: stsg has had me in a fuckin chokehold recently so i had to get this outta my head. i just rly rly want two boyfriends so so bad and i want my two boyfriends to also be boyfriends. ugh. is that too much to ask? ♡

©bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[sanemistar]

᧔o᧓ satoru x fem!reader, established relationship (married with a son), lots of fluff, i’m just so obsessed with dad gojo he’s living in my head rent free

you never expected to get a call from your son’s school on his very first day, you were pretty sure he was just fine before satoru had taken him to school this morning. you walked out of the house and quickly headed to your son’s school, worried about him.

the moment you arrived, you were shocked to see satoru was still there, with his arms tightly clinging onto his son’s body as he sobbed against his ears, refusing to let go until you had to intervene and pull him away.

“mrs gojo, we’re very sorry to call you so suddenly. but as you can see, mr gojo has been like this for the past 30 minutes, and classes have already started.” the principal said and you politely bowed your head, you grabbed your husband’s head and forcefully made him bow in apology

“let’s go to class now, baby. listen to your teachers and be a good boy, okay? if you do well today, mommy will get you a treat.” your son nodded obediently and you kissed his forehead before dragging satoru, and walking out of the school.

“toru, i can’t believe you would cling to your son like that. you could’ve made him miss his classes.” you scolded your husband, who was still sulking about leaving his son alone. his head drooped down in discouragement.

you knew your husband was so clingy, which was why you were skeptical about letting him take your son on his first day of school when he asked you to this morning. but he begged you so much with his irresistible puppy eyes so you couldn’t say no. if you knew he’d act like that, you wouldn’t agree to it in the first place.

“but babe, what if he gets scared or hurt when i’m not there to protect him?” he tried justifying his actions, you were aware of his good intentions and his fear was reasonable considering the fact that it’s a completely new environment from home, and you too wished you wouldn’t have to leave him. but it was bound to happen anyway and you had to brace yourself for it.

you sighed and patted satoru’s head, your fingers running through his soft, white locks in soothing motions. you couldn't stay mad at him any longer.

"i understand how you feel. it was hard leaving him there, i miss him already. but toru, it's a part of his growing up process. one day he's going to grow up and have his own life, so until then, let's protect him together while he explores life." you said with a smile, entwining your hand with his as he grabbed your hand, kissing the back of it softly.

“not only is my wife beautiful, but she’s also very wise. i love you, y/n.” satoru murmured gently before leaning in to leave a sweet kiss on your forehead.

[livecrow]

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting. 

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

(cw: noncon)

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic. Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though. When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you admitted you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals. 

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening the damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm. 

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better aff jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een oot.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist. 

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava. 

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze. He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice. 

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway. You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy. 

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating. 

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting his knuckles. He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?” 

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit. You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any embarrassment from building in your gut. Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later. 

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance. 

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?" 

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally. 

You set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ an adult grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!" 

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging. 

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip. 

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s. Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests. 

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice." 

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped." 

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you. 

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed. It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.” 

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time. 

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer. You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand. The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind. You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.” 

John just inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?” 

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were. 

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.” John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly the weather was tonight and hadn’t practically jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.” Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?” 

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb. You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle. It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—. 

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”. 

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered. 

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh. “Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision. 

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which. 

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much. Your sole scuffs against debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second. 

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same. 

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before. As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting. 

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now. You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you. 

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.” 

He was smiling at you again. It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness. 

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward. You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?” 

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles. They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.” 

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.  

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle. It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh? That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble. 

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over. You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it. 

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle. 

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape. 

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits. At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated. 

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.” 

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right? But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently. 

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream. 

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together. 

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms. 

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes. 

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face. 

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it. Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers. 

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake. 

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step. 

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve. 

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.” 

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek“—almost made us lose out.” he grumbled “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”. You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce.

Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit. 

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed. 

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired. 

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

[hypnagogics]

THE WAY YOU WRITE IS JUST SO YUMMM so yeah🧍🏻‍♀️can you write something about streamer ellie <33

☆: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. definitelyyyy hasn't been...months...anyway. positive this is one of the worse things i've written, but didn't wanna leave you hanging forever! ngl it's pretty filthy..heh.

◇: 18+ pretend those twitch guideline things don't exist. remote control vibrator use, orgasm denial, sub-ish!ellie?? plot twist at the end bc i think im so funny. 1.6k wc. don't mind the layout of this idk what else to do...

You watch your girlfriend stream her game from your fluffy and comfortable spot on your shared bed—you observe how focused she was on her screen, how her skilled fingers were flying across the keyboard and mouse. It would certainly be a shame to disturb her in such a high tension moment but you think it over, running your finger over the small buttons of the sleek little remote in your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, got 'em! Look at that guys, I fuckin’ aced that!" Ellie rejoices in her victory, and gleefully boasts to her viewers, adjusting her microphone closer and leaning back in her chair.

You're glad you were far off camera, her fans didn't even know she was in a relationship—Ellie made it clear she wanted you to be separate from her hobbies, not because she wanted to keep you a secret, but because she wanted to keep you safe. And you enjoyed watching her stream from the sidelines like this, you saw how her personality captivated viewers and how much fun she really was. But you also enjoyed messing with her on the occasion. Like today.

"Can I watch tonight's stream again?" You asked her eagerly. "Yeah, why not? I'll be doing some tournaments and stuff though, so no distractions." Oops. You bit back a laugh. Ellie immediately sussed out the mischievous look on your face and she sighed, expecting the worst.

Then you showed her the box you've been hiding, "Please let's try, I won't click it too much, I promise." She stared at you for a whole minute, maybe more, before sighing and reluctantly agreeing, rubbing her hands all over her face. "God, fine. Just 'cause I love you. Damn you're evil."

Fast forward to now—the device was snugly inserted inside her pretty pussy, tested out to prove it does in fact work, and works well at that.

So off Ellie went to play her game, getting so caught up in everything she seemingly forgot about the device entirely. In between games she was talking to the viewers, reading the chat and joking back and forth. You decided it was a good enough time to click it so you pressed the button, only for a miniscule zap.

She jerked in her seat, gasping, but quickly recovered with a strategic cough. "Phew sorry guys, something got caught in my throat." You saw a bright berry blush spread across her face, and the way she fought to turn and throw a glare at you. This was going to be fun.

"Alright, the next round’s gonna start, we gotta lock in! Hopefully nothing pops up and this goes smoothly. I can taste the win already.” She put a certain warning tone to her voice in the last part of her sentence, you knew it was meant for you, but were you going to listen? Absolutely not. "Oh yeah chat fun fact, this old area of the map was inspired by ancient ruins just of—ah!" As if her body had a mind of its own, she squirmed in her seat and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan when you hit it again, but this time you didn't turn it off right away. You kept it going for a few more seconds, to prolong the terribly delicious sensation.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and held her breath until you turned it off, mumbling to her viewers about "having hiccups". "The game is starting now, so we really gotta get serious." Her voice had an unsteadiness to it only you could hear, she was keeping her composure rather well so far. But likely wouldn't be able to keep up the act for much longer. Even she has her limits.

As her match went on, she got quiet when she was focused, mashing the keys with a speed fast as sound. Of course, you hit it again, just a short one, causing a choked "guh" to escape from her lips and she twitched when you did so, her facade starting to crack. The effort to keep her voice stable was showing, she was huffing and struggling to get her words out clearly, they were laced with obvious irritation.

"Fuck missed the shot, dammit. Yeah I don't know, somethings up today, sorry guys...off my game." You decided to be nice to her until the game ended, not pressing it further or adjusting the intensity. She played for a little while longer before losing the match, leaning forward on the desk with her face in her hands. This was the perfect moment, so you cranked it up, increased the intensity to maximum, and held the button for the longest time yet, making her whine—a low, drawn out sound she couldn't stifle this time.

You could hear lots of messages being sent, pings in rapid succession, they were probably clipping that moment. Perverts, you thought. 

Her chest was noticeably heaving up and down, her legs spread as she rocks her front against the chair, and she kept her head lowered until you decreased the intensity but didn't turn it all the way off. Her hands were shaking, and her face was a vibrant cherry red, the screen even reflected the sparkle of a couple tears in her eyes.

“What? Oh, I'm just so sad about the loss guys, we were so close—hnn- so…so closeahh—I mean, we should've gotten that…” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip and tapping her fingers on the desk’s wooden surface. “Y’know what, I'll be right back.” She paused the stream, made triple sure her camera and microphone were turned off, then whipped around in her chair to face you, glaring silver daggers your way.

You just giggled innocently and turned the device off again. “What the fuck is wrong with you, this shit is not- not light on you at all.” Her voice was breaking, her pretty features contorted in a beautifully needy expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes all watery. Nearly as wet as the mess in her pants. You feigned innocence and shrugged at her, “Well I didn't know it was that strong.” “You knew damn well.” She's fed up with your antics, but you have fun playing with her. She covers her face and leans back in the chair, the embarrassment in her voice the only thing you could hear, “Fuck you...turn it up again, wanna cum.”

You couldn't contain the laugh that burst forth from your chest, then said, “Only if you stream it.” The shock that flickered across her face was priceless, you wish you could have snapped a photo.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, nah forget it.”

“Hey, you gotta finish your stream either way, they're waiting. Would you wanna be so awful and deprive those darlings of your presence?”

You flash her a sugary smile, and she shoots you a murderous look again, before wordlessly scooting back to her setup, fanning herself briefly and readjusting her coppery hair.

Then she turns the stream back on. “Sorry guys, I had to get up for a second. Anyway, let's play one more game. I'm getting kinda tired today. Let's make this one count, lock in like never before.” She takes a deep breath, cracks her knuckles, and begins smacking away at the keyboard buttons. You're able to see the way she looks tense, on edge, anticipating your devilish interruption.

You debate whether you should torture her, but the answer quickly becomes clear. Click.

“Ah—fuck!” She sputters, and roughly slams her fist on the desk. The pleasure was hitting her with full force, she was in her own, lewd, world now. Her head is thrown back, back arched and hips stuttering, the release was about to sneak up on her.

You watch the scenario unfold, licking your lips and pressing your thighs together to deal with the pressure between them. Her unapologetic moans get louder, but for a second she snaps out of the trance to sit back upright, turn the stream off, before the peak hits her like a truck.

“Holy, fu—hah!!” With a squeal she cums, not caring about how fucking loud she was being, wanting to be selfishly absorbed in ecstasy.

She started to jolt around in her seat, the throes of overstimulation making her whimper like an animal in heat, it truly was a sight to behold. You wish you were in between her legs, lapping up her sweetness straight from the source, but in a way, just watching from the sidelines was satisfying enough. You'll clean her up afterward.

Finally you turned it off once and for all, and gazed at her, she was panting heavily, the post-orgasm glow making her rosy skin shimmer in the low light.

“Hmmm, thanks babe, that was so good…” She tried to talk, her head was in the clouds, but she looked at peace.

“You're a whore.” You chortled, and you two shared a laugh.

Although, a flurry of shrill sounds brought you both out of the fantasy. Ping, ping, ping.

Unfortunately she wasn't able to enjoy the aftermath of a mind-numbing session, because her eyes shot open and she began scrambling to find the source of the sound. Your stomach dropped as you watched her panic, her neuroticism infectious.

She looked at you, her eyes wider than saucers, nothing but fear in her voice, “I wasn't able to turn my mic off…”

What was she going to do now?

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading. asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @elliesapple

[tojirights]

I absolutely love your Alastor smut! Is there anyway you can make one where your Vox’s ex and Alastor decided to somehow show off to Vox how much reader loves his c*ck more?? A special broadcast maybe?? Please keep up the great work!

a/n: i love vox but if there's one thing i love more, its making him feel inferior to alastor 😍 this is soo good. REQUESTS OPEN! 🩷

tags: 18+ smut nsfw!

vox thought alastor couldn't get any worse, there was nothing that shit-for-brains demon could do to enrage him more. that was until valentino told him that alastor had a new pretty little thing hanging on his arm. "he WHAT?!" vox's voice cracks from the sheer force he puts behind those words. valentino snickers, watching vox run to his security room.

and there you were, locked arms with that fucking deer demon, walking down the street. you looked absolutely enthralled with that fucker! "you've gotta be fucking kidding me..." he growls, static filling his vision. as if alastor can sense that they're being watched, he winks at the camera and pulls you down a more secluded path. vox puts his fist straight through the screen before pacing around the room. it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before his ears pick up that voice, that shitty radio voice.

"good evening viewers!" alastor begins, making vox's head spin around. the tvs were blank, just audio playing through them. he's about to smash the rest of them when something catches his attention. he swears he hears a familiar noise, your noises specifically. then he hears you panting, and blood rushes to his groin first and then his face. "thank you for tuning into a very special late night broadcast." alastor's voice sounds... breathier.

"what the fuck is-" vox mutters to himself before his eyes go wide. "o-oh god." you moan, sounding far too sexy. and enjoying yourself far too much. "yes alastor, fuck. that's so good." your whines play out, filling the room and vox is just about to lose it. "is alastor fucking your ex?" valentino leans against the doorframe, a smug look on his face. "you’re so tight, my dear. your cunt was made for my cock just as i was made for radio." he laughs to himself, his hands finding your hips as he fucks you over his desk.

this little plan of his was working just as intended. he asked, of course, if you'd be interested in ruffling your exes feathers a little bit and you agreed. this special broadcast was only being shown directly to vox through his security. not a single other soul would be able to hear you but vox. it sent a certain chill up your spine, knowing that he was definitely listening. every thrust of alastor's cock presses you harder into the desk, bruises sure to form later in the evening.

"that's kinda hot, yknow-" "SHUT UP VAL." vox feels as though he's about to implode, anger coursing through him in a way he's sure he's never felt. "i am going to finish him. both of them. they won't live this down."

valentino covers his mouth to stop from laughing. "it sounds like they're about to finish each other." and he was right. your breathy little moans are a dead giveaway. "please, please your cock feels so good. g-gonna cum." vox paces the room, plotting your downfall but his cock is hard as a fucking rock in his pants.

"such a good girl, you are. you sing so pretty my dear." alastor grunts, pressing the head of his cock up against your cervix before he feels you clamp down around him. with every pulse of youe orgasm, alastor follows. "cum alastor, p-please fill my pussy." you gasp, riding out wave after wave of deep pleasure. vox should turn this off, he should walk away but he can't make his feet move.

and after alastor finishes deep inside of you, filling you to the point of it leaking down his cock, he lets out an almost sinister chuckle. "thank you my loyal viewers for tuning in for this one of a kind show! we hope you thoroughly enjoyed."

the room is silent after the broadcast ends. that is, until velvette clears her throat. "was that alastor fucking your bitch?" she raises a brow, a slow smirk spreading over her lips when she sees vox's face.

"no one talk to me. i have business to attend to." and with that, vox disappears, leaving valentino and velvette to themselves.

"bold move, i gotta hand it to him."

[the-family-boytoy]

big bro finding out about my special time with dad. he sticks his head in my room without knocking, as he always does, only this time he sees me, facing the door, bouncing up and down on dad- his hands gripping my hips and guiding me. at first i think hes going to do something about it, but he just stands there looking shocked. as i keep bouncing, letting out my mewling noises, his gaze locked on my chest, i watch a tent begin to form in his shorts. dad lets out a grunt and holds me up so he can thrust faster into me, and my brother startles; he quickly leaves the room, but i know he'll bring it up to me soon.

im proven right the next day when dads at work. my brother comes up to me while im watching cartoons. he stands right in front of the tv and asks how long ive been doing that with dad. i tell him im not sure, a couple months? i notice the bulge in his pants. he tells me im going to have to start doing him favours, otherwise he'll tell dad that i told him about our special time. im upset, but i agree. what choice do i have?

he makes me take out his dick, orders me to suck it. i do my best, but i haven't done this with daddy very much yet and i know im not great at it. bro watches my little butt wiggle every time i try to take him down my throat and decides he's had enough- he wants to move on. i tell him he can rub against me in my panties but he can't put it in! dad knows everything and he told me that hole is just for him. he'll know if bro puts it in and he'll be super mad.

big bro starts rubbing his cock between my legs, dragging up and down where he knows my entrance is. he slides his cock underneath my panties, watching it move between my cheeks under them as he thrusts nice and fast. finally he gets sick of them and pulls my underwear down around my knees. i remind him he can't put it in, and he says "of course, it just feels better like this"

he continues rubbing his cock on me, right against my hole, his tip catching with every thrust. he pulls back for a moment and i think he might be done, only to feel the head of his cock starting to press into my hole. "please no, dad will know! you can't put it in bro, dad's gonna know! he will i promise!" he refuses to listen and continues sliding his cock into me, little by little until he's all the way inside.

im still begging him to take it out as he starts thrusting into me, fucking me fast and hard just like dad does, grunting and groaning about how good my hole feels around him. "i dont care if dad knows i put my cock inside you. its not my fault youre such an easy slut for every man in the family." my hole is so wet his balls smack loudly against me with every thrust, yet i still try to protest in between my moans. "i bet dad wouldnt even be mad," big bro says, not slowing down, "i bet hed like watching his kids fuck like this. i bet he'd get off watching me ruin your little hole. you're so fucking wet, i think you like it too. who's cock do you like better, huh? dad's or your big brother's?" im struggling to think clearly as he pounds into me, i start crying out "dad, daddy, dad, dad" as he fucks me- answering his question or crying out for help, even i couldnt tell you.

big bro starts fucking me harder anyways. "oh you like dad better? yeah? then why are you cumming on my cock, huh? are you just that much of a slut?" and he's right, he reaches down to touch me as he quickens his pace and i cant take it. i start cumming as he fucks me, never slowing down for a second while i fall apart underneath him. "yeah thats right. thats what i fucking thought. cum on your big brothers cock. fuck, i wish dad would walk through the door right now and see you like this. i think im gonna fill you up. i bet dad would love to see his son cum inside you, wouldnt he?" his grunts get louder and his words get more and more obscene as he thrusts into me faster and faster, "yeah you want your big brothers cum? want me to fill you up just like dad does? fuck," bro says and with a few hard thrusts i feel his cum filling me up. he keeps fucking me as he cums, making sure it all stays deep inside.

our breathing begins to settle, but before bro even pulls out we hear the floor behind us creak. our dad looks down at us, a smirk on his face. "a very good opener indeed, son," he says as he starts to undo his belt, "but i think its time you get a front row seat to the main event."

[toxicanonymity]

the downward spiral (one shot)

PAIRING: stepdad!Joel x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 3k

WARNINGS: 18+ smut, stepcest, jealousy, possessive Joel. dubcon if you squint. Manhandling, Unsafe PIV, improvised toy, creampie. Brief allusion to Joel as your father figure. Hair can be pulled, can sit on Joel's lap.

NOTES: title is a nine inch nails album. reader has an apartment, but she's visiting for the holidays.

—---

In the kitchen, Joel listens to the coffee maker and checks the time. Leaning back against the counter, he opens his New York Times Games app. He’s contemplating what to start with in WORDLE. “CUTIE,” he types.  

A snapchat notification from you pops up, making him giddy. He adjusts his glasses, and his thumb hovers over the notification. If it’s erotic, he’d prefer to save it for a more private moment, but not now. He’s been waiting for you to wake up, and he’d rather see you first.  The inner battle furrows his brow, then he watches himself tap the notification. His face relaxes at the sight of you, and his cheeks warm with affection. The shot is pretty innocent, but there’s a look in your eye just for him. And your lips are parted. Ugh, your perfect mouth. 

“Merry xmas eve,” it says. 36 hours since he last touched you. 

A shadow moves on the stairs, and he looks up from his phone to see you watching him, biting your lip with a little smile. You clasp your fingers behind yourself and stretch, then finish descending the steps.   

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice greets you, then he clears his throat. He saves your picture to the chat, then slips his phone into the pocket of his gray sweats. He runs a hand through his hair, then braces his hands on the counter behind himself, leaning back as casually as he can, letting you know you’re in control. 

You take your time approaching, and his eyes lock with yours when you’re close enough for him to smell your shampoo. He takes a deep breath through his nose. You lift your arms to waist height as you close the gap between your bodies. You wrap your arms around his strong middle, and he exhales as warmth radiates from your chest. Your body presses gently into his. Warmth. Comfort. You’re made of joy. 

He hugs you loosely, and you rest your head on him. His chest vibrates with a low, satisfied, “Mm.” He presses the lightest kiss onto the crown of your head. 

“Mm,” you echo. 

His thumb brushes the nape of your neck, and his other hand rests lower on your back, fingers spread, rubbing a slow aimless pattern. You smell just as warm and cozy as you feel. Your hips push forward, making him flinch, but . Warmth rushes to his crotch, and you don’t pull away when it moves against you. He swallows, trying not to push back on you. 

“It’s ok,” you whisper. As he relaxes, his bulge nudges you, and there’s no mistaking his desire. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, 

“Don’t be,” you reply.  

God damn, you’re making this hard. 

The doorbell rings. “Prolly a delivery,” Joel mutters, and his thumb brushes behind your ear.   He savors every moment with you. 

A few seconds later, there’s a bunch of rustling around outside the front door. 

“Alright,” Joel grumbles. 

“Lotta packages out hea,” a Boston accent is heard through the door. Oh, great. It’s your neighbor down the street. The newly single one.  

You start to pull away. Joel’s chest begins to cave in, but the feeling is quickly muffled by irritation. “The fuck is he doin’ here?” Joel grumbles to himself, then accuses you, “That why you’re down here?”  With every muscle in his body tensing, he scratches the back of his neck. 

Your head tilts in disapproval. “Would you keep it together? Please?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“You sure? You good?” you ask. 

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and nods. 

“You’re doing good,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his chest. 

The doorbell rings again, and Joel’s nose twitches. “Get outta here,” he nods toward the stairs. “Now.”

“Chill, I’m going.” 

He waits for you to get all the way upstairs before answering the door. 

—

There’s Harold, crouched over, picking up one last package, trying not to spill his iced coffee in the process. He stands up straight and smiles with his bottom teeth, proud that he hasn’t dropped anything.  His navy, quarter-zip sweater is a little tight for his arms. “Happy holidays,” he says. 

Joel has one hand on the frame, and one holding the side of the door. His body blocks the entry.

They look at each other for a moment. Harold’s tired eyes fall on Joel’s gray sweatpants, tighter than they were ten minutes ago. With a friendly wink in his voice, he asks, “Catch ya at a bad time?” 

“Yeah,” Joel responds flatly. 

When Harold doesn’t leave, Joel bites the bullet and accepts the packages. 

“They were all out here,” Harold mutters as Joel takes them one by one. 

It would’ve been easier for Joel to bring them in himself rather than indulge this ridiculous balancing act. Joel rolls his eyes as he puts the packages down on the floor inside. As he stands up, he glances around and sees no sign of you. Good. He turns toward Harold and grips the side of the door again, ready to close it. 

Harold is standing there with a dumb smile and asks, “How ya doin’, man?”

“Not bad,” Joel forces, silently willing the neighbor to leave already. 

“Good, good,” Harold mutters to himself. “Me too,” he offers without Joel asking. “Well, ya know,” he adds with a defeated shrug. “All things considered.”  Right, his divorce. 

“Daughtah home?” Harold asks. 

As soon as Joel translates it to daughter, his nostrils flare. His blood pressure shoots up. His vision blurs, and his glasses do nothing. He’d like to kill this man. He takes a deep, calming breath and sizes him up in silence. Has he always been that tall? “Just ran into ya wife,” Harold gestures down the street with his thumb, bicep straining his sweater. “She said your daughter might wanna come to the–” 

“No,” Joel interrupts him. 

“New year’s party,” Harold mumbles. 

Joel unclenches his jaw long enough to say, “Kinda in the middle’a somethin’.” 

“Told ya wife I’d invite her,” Harold explains. “Only take a sec.” 

“She’s not dressed,” Joel blurts out. He stops short of clarifying that he’s not your father, either. He wants to be everything. He has to be every man you could ever need, and he cares less and less about who knows it. 

“Heh,” a faint blush rises to Harold’s face with a flash of his eyebrows. He rocks his plastic cup, making the half-melted ice jumble around. 

“bye, Harold,” Joel closes the door in his face, then watches through the window as this asshole walks down the driveway and raises his cup to a passing car. 

-

Joel steps back and cracks his neck in an unsuccessful attempt to release some tension, but it’s only getting worse. His whole body is wound up and ready to fight.   

He can't let you see him like this. He’s supposed to be keeping it together. 

He goes back to the kitchen and steadies his hand to pour half a cup of coffee. He holds the cup, watching the bubbles disappear. 

The bath turns on upstairs, and Joel groans inwardly at the \ urge to charge up the stairs and ravish you. He has a vision of you sitting on the side of the tub, nude. You reach back and dangle your fingers into the water to test the temperature. Every muscle in his body wants to bust through that door and take you. 

Another fantasy he’d never have the balls to act on. Right? 

He puts down his coffee and takes off his glasses, resting them face-up on the kitchen island. He eyes the stairs, then shakes his head at himself. His hands brace on the edge of the island and he straightens his arms, triceps stretching his white tee. Leaning forward, he hangs his head and closes his eyes, calming himself. He stands there and breathes for a minute. 

“Keep it together,” he whispers, but he can hardly hear himself over his inner caveman.

Kill. 

Breed. 

Kill. 

“Fuck,” he curses.

—-------

The water is loud enough that you don’t hear Joel’s heavy steps thudding up the stairs. When the door bursts open, you jump.  Your eyes widen as Joel shuts the door behind himself. He doesn’t look at you yet, despite your nakedness.  He braces one hand on the middle of the door and the other rests lightly on his hip. He looks down, still trying to conjure restraint. 

All you can say is, “Joel?”  

His muscular back flexes rhythmically under his slutty white tee as he catches his breath. After a few seconds, his head turns enough to look back at you. His eyes are dark. 

“Tell me to leave,” he commands, with his voice deep and breathy. 

Your lips part, but you say nothing. You scan his body, lingering on his pumped up muscles. 

He takes his hand off the door and turns to face you head on. His fingers twitch at his sides as his dark gaze roves your body. His head tilts forward, casting a shadow over his eyes as he looks at your face again. “Tell me to leave, honey.”  When you don’t show any sign of answering, he steps toward the bathtub, chest heaving. His brows knit and he slightly shakes his head.

You sit there captivated by his energy. The drum in your neck beats harder as he gets closer. Your chest bubbles with excitement. 

He looms over you, and you’re lifting your head up to look at him when his large hand seizes your arm and he pulls you to your feet. He wraps his other arm around you from behind and grabs between your legs. Grunting under the roar of the water, he manhandles you toward the double vanity. 

He gropes your breasts, still holding you by the pussy. He abruptly pulls you tighter against him and the hard bulge in his sweatpants makes you throb. 

After releasing your breasts, but not your pussy, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him in the mirror. 

“Last chance, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear.  

You answer, “Do it or leave.”

He releases your jaw.  “Uggh,” he groans in painful desire. Emboldened by your encouragement, he slowly slides his flattened fingers along your slit, finding you wet.  “This is mine.” his stiffening cock nudges you through his sweatpants. When you don’t reply, his voice gets firmer. “Say it.”

“It’s yours. I’m yours.” 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

He bends you over the counterspace between your sinks. A sweep of your forearm sends an unplugged hair dryer, a bottle of lotion, and God knows what else into the sink you barely use. 

Meanwhile, Joel has pulled down his sweats. He holds his hard cock, and his rocks onto the balls of his feet and back. He places a hand on your lower back. You tilt your hips as he lines himself up. His tip nudges into the right spot, pushing at your dripping hole. Then he grabs your hips and shoves into you with a sigh.  You grunt at the sweet burn of his sudden intrusion. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “gotta take it.” 

He only waits a second before withdrawing all but the tip, then slamming into you harder. He withdraws again. A bruising grip on your hips pulls you back as he slides into you, easier.  

The grip of his hands eases up as he buries his cock in you faster. He opts to hold you down. With your breasts smashed against the marble, he grunts as he fucks it all out on you. Your insides bloom with arousal, gripping his cock, pulling at him for more, deeper. Your heart tingles with exhilaration. 

His soft affection is a memory. A wild passion possesses him instead, evident with each thrust and grunt. This primal need has him desperate to own you from the inside out. 

“Ughh,” he groans, snapping his hips. 

You twitch and moan, muffled by the loud water. 

He grunts at the sound and fucks you harder. 

He needs to pour all of him in there. You have to be his. 

He slows down only to wrap a hand around your hair. His firm grip makes your scalp tingle. “Look at me,” he pants. As he begins to lift his fist, you push yourself up on your forearm and look up at the mirror with your breath fogging it. He drops your hair and pulls your upper body closer to his so you can see. 

You brace hands on the counter and marvel at this spellbound wreck of yourself.  Your movements aren’t your own. You’re controlled only by the rhythm of his cock and his hands. They make you feel small.  

 “Me,” he commands, and your eyes snap to him.

It’s the face of a man possessed. His eyes are wild and demanding. He grits his teeth. His neck vein bulges. His hair bounces with each unforgiving thrust. His hips move with a purpose -  deeper. More. More of you. His. Fuck. 

It’s the first time you've met his wild man. You've seen glimpses in the way he lashes out in jealousy. And his intensity has always been evident. But you didn't imagine a whole feral form of him. The way his veins bulge, the power of his body. You never fully noticed the build of his chest or how a v muscle cuts through his tanline. This has all been there, all along.  Every time he’s snapped at you, it's been this guy. 

“fuck, Joel,” you breathe. 

His mouth falls open with a silent moan. About to cum, he grabs your electric toothbrush and races to turn it on. He presses the smooth barrel of your toothbrush against you, with the bottom nearly touching his cock. Your lips part, and your eyelids fall. 

He bottoms out hard, and his shaft twitches against your snug insides as you’re vibrated from the outside. He twitches bigger, harder, and sighs with relief as his seed spills into you. A moment later, another burst, and the warmth spreads in your depths. 

He turns the vibration up. “Give it to me,” he demands. “C’mon, baby. It’s mine.” He holds you tight with another deep thrust. 

A massive throb of his cock sends you over the edge and releases another long rope. The climax seizes you, making you arch your back, grinding against the vibration. “I got ya,” he breathes, then moans with another shot of cum. Your nipples peak. A second later, your spasming pussy squeezes another burst out of him. 

There’s more, and more, until warmth is trickling down your inner thigh and his arms are relaxing around you as you finish. When your body relaxes, he turns off the toothbrush and rolls it onto the counter unceremoniously.  

-

As you catch your breath, Joel hugs you from behind, and his eyes soften. He buries his mouth in your neck, then kisses you on the head and glances at the mirror with a puppy dog look, with a gentle thrust deeper, making you spasm. 

He growls quietly.  God, he’s hot. 

“You okay?” He whispers above your ear. 

“Yeah,” you smile, looking down and tracing his knuckles. 

The bathwater is almost overflowing. Joel slides out of you and pulls up his sweatpants. Cum trickles all the way down your leg to the tile floor. Always such a mess. With a softening tent in his pants he goes and turns the water off, then checks the temp. He reaches in to unplug the drain and lower the water level, then asks, “that good?” 

“Yeah.” 

He sits on the edge of the garden tub, scratching one side of his scruff and manspreading as you approach.

“Hey. C’mere,” he says softly. 

You stand between his legs completely naked, and he runs his hands down your sides, then pulls you into his lap, helping you straddle him.  

“Sure you're good?” He asks. 

“Yes,” you reassure him. “That was amazing.”

He holds you in his arms, then adjusts your weight so his bulge is against your crotch, and your breath hitches. You’ve only come once. You could go for more, but it's not smart. 

He buries his head in your chest, then looks up, and pulls you down for a kiss that starts soft. His tongue parts your lips then he's trying to drink you in.  He pulls you tighter, kissing you hard, grinding you on him in a way that could have you quickly lose control. You're leaking all over him. 

Your lips break away. You cup his cheek, give him a peck, and he asks, “too much?” 

You nod and whisper, “we’re playing with fire.” 

He lets you out of his lap, then holds out his hand and you use it for balance to get into the tub. 

Your voices are hushed. “You want a bath bomb or somethin’?”

“You know about bath bombs?” You tease him. 

“Eucalyptus all the way,” he answers, then crouches down to an under-sink cabinet. 

“Linen closet,” you redirect him. 

He picks a rose one and fumbles with the wrapping until he comes back and drops it in. He sits on the side of the tub and his thumb brushes your forehead. 

“You should go,” you gently urge him. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and leans down for a last kiss. “Can I get ya anything else?” 

You shake your head no.

“silicone Joel's water resistant,”  he offers, pointing back toward your bedroom. 

You crack a smile and tell him, “Get outta here. Now.”

------

THANK YOU FOR READING

[makoodles]

ミ stay for something

🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

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

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

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

You look good. You feel good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no. No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And sure enough–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you persevere.

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

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

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

“Neither did I–!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet still, you don’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kyle–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

[blvdheart]

cw: mdni, fem!reader, very short drabble, hand kink, finger sucking, drool, dumbification(?), p in v, lmk if i’m missing anything

note: hi idk what this is…i just want di leon’s fingers in my mouth </3

masterlist

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“You with me, angel?”

Two snaps of Leon’s fingers brought you back to reality, your once rolled back eyes setting back on him. Your vision was hazy, it felt like there was a dreamy filter surrounding your lover.

All he had to do was let you hold his hand and trace the lines of his palm to your heart’s content before you were tugging him on top of you, snaking your hands towards his sweats, and persuading him to fuck you. Not that it took much effort, honestly. One bat of your lashes and he was a goner.

“Uh huh.”

Even as you nodded, he got the impression you weren’t entirely there. You usually had more snark, he must be doing a pretty good job.

“Yeah?” He stopped fucking into you for a moment and instead waved three fingers, a lazy grin on his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Mhm.” You rolled your lower half against him, whining because he had stopped.

Ah. So you weren’t really listening to a word he was saying.

“Just gonna agree with whatever I say?”

Another brainless and pitifully eager nod. He laughed breathlessly, his hips smacking up against yours again into the rhythm you had pleaded for.

“Tsk, my poor girl can’t even think straight. What am I gonna do with you?” His eyes darted down to your glossy lips, your bottom one wet with the drool trickling down your chin. You couldn’t even remember to swallow, your mouth agape and letting the sweetest noises escape.

He took the opportunity to slip his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, entranced by the way you began sucking immediately. A simple gesture like that was enough to have your cunt clenching around him, and you accidentally bit down on his fingers but he didn’t mind much. His girl was feeling good, that’s all that mattered.

“Jesus, you tightened up. You like that?”

“Mm…mmph.” Your stomach filled with warmth, thighs squeezing his hips as you crossed your ankles across his back, locking him in place against you.

He groaned at the way your tongue moved on its own and tried to swirl around him. How could you not enjoy it? Leon had always taken care of his hands, pristine nails and all. Those same fingers always hit the deepest spots inside you and circled around your clit.

His hands always made you feel so safe. No harm would come your way from them, you’d trust Leon with them around your neck or gagging you. Those same hands would clean you up and hold you close after he made you cum.

So really, is there any shame in them turning you on?

[yzzart]

between white sheets.

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: a lazy morning with your boyfriend after a long night.

word count: 721!

notes: just a quick little thing, i thought of this scenario and here it is.

"Oh, i know you're awake…"

A typical and familiar British accent, with a deep and smug tone, vibrated against your bare neck; causing a kind of tickling and a wave of goosebumps in the region. — It was impossible not to squirm against the soft, fragrant sheets.

Even with your failed mission to pretend that you was still sleeping, your eyes remained closed but it was impossible to contain a warm and bright smile on your lips. — Your lips were traitors, you believed that. — And, in a matter of seconds and due to the lack of interaction, that smile turned into a loud and vibrant laugh.

Your neck received, once again, attention but now due to the small beard, not so annoying, that grew in the region of Tom's face; this time, an intense tickling sensation. — You tried to remove his face from between your neck with your hands but, unsurprisingly, you failed when he held both of you with just one hand.

Tom's laugh, which was muffled between your neck and pillow, joined against yours and echoed throughout the large and tidy room where you were staying. — Well, apart from just some of the clothes you guys had to wear to more TBOSAS opening night and accessories; the room was organizing. — And you swear, with the old, childish pinky promise, that you could listen to your laugh for hours.

Last night was so tiring, but so good; in fact, it was magnificent. — Once again meeting with the cast, giving interviews and taking countless photos with fans and in print; it was a special night.

Lifting his head and directing it towards the pillow, as it was in previous minutes, Tom finds himself observing the image before his eyes. — Your chest rose and fell gently, trying to recover and manage your breathing, your hair, with some stubborn and messy strands, spread across the pillow. — A radiant and fascinating scene for the eldest.

Not to mention, a sleepy smile on your lips. — If Tom had the opportunity and absolute power, he would stop time and stay like this with you forever.

"Good morning, my love." — His voice is hoarser than normal, and Tom wraps an arm around your covered waist, bringing your body even closer to his. — "How did you sleep, huh?" — He asks, giving small, loving kisses on your shoulder. — "The most beautiful woman in this world."

"Good…" — You replied, sleepy with red and embarrassed cheeks, and ran a hand through his hair; leaving a prolonged and attentive caress and then, moving your head, to leave a kiss on his forehead. — "What time is it?"

"I don't know…?" — Blyth raised his head and now you had the opportunity to admire his blue orbs so crystal clear, deep and enchanting; you found yourself falling even more in love with the boy every time his eyes met yours. — "Maybe it's eight, nine or even twelve hours?"

It was ironic to think that the clock was just a few steps away from the bed where you were and neither of you really cared. — Maybe it would be laziness, sleepiness or an excuse to spend more time together. — And the correct option was the third, no surprises.

Your eyes roamed between the dark locks and a few shy curls of Tom's hair, and all the comments about the idea of him actually opting to dye him blond — just like Coriolanus — played in your mind. — and every time they talked to you about this subject, you replied: "that wouldn't be a bad idea."

But, you always made it clear that you were the number one fan of his natural color. — And there were fans who agreed with you; you saw it on your social media and thought it was so funny and always showed it to Tom and the rest of the cast.

"What are our plans today?" — You whispered. — "… i'm seriously thinking about the idea of staying here all day." — In the middle of the sentence, you couldn't contain your laughter again; which this time was brief. — "Really." — Fatigue ran freely through your body and he wanted a long rest.

"Really?" — Blyth murmured, placing his face between your neck for the second time in a row that morning; you just nodded in confirmation, now felt prolonged kisses on your sensitive area. — "Then make your words mine."

[yoonjae20]

Bruce is (secretly) married [Bruce/Danny; Spirit Halloween]

I got sucked into the DPxDC crossover rabbit hole. I have read too many fanfics despite not knowing the source material.

I randomly got the idea of Bruce being secretly married and the Batfam finding out about it after Duke poses the question of why Bruce wears a ring. (Also how Danny's influence would have subtly changed things.)

Read this on ao3. Masterpost

Next.

Bruce had always worn the ring, long before Dick came around – at least that’s what the boy had told Jason when he asked about it. 

They had looked through the records one night – bonding over finding out when he started, but he had already worn the ring once the man returned from his seven year long  journey of training. The media had speculated it to be a family heirloom – either his father’s or mother’s wedding ring. Bruce neither confirmed or denied when they asked about it.  

The man never took it off, not even when he stalked the night as Batman and neither of them had been brave enough to ask about it, after they watched clips where the media asked and his Brucie mask slipped into something uncomfortably blank. 

Jason had quickly forgotten about it after Bruce had benched him from being Robin after Felipe Garzonasa’s death. He had been furious, questioning if Bruce didn’t believe him that he didn’t push the man.

“Of course I believe you, chum,” the man had said, but Jason didn’t trust the man’s words. “But you just saw a man die. That’s not something we should brush over.”

He had sent Jason to bed for the night, but the boy had sneaked out, believing Bruce to go back to patrol after dropping him off. He instead found him in his office, talking to someone on the phone.

“...You have better experience with stuff like this than me…” the man said. “Do you think I should have never given Jason Robin? I know Dick agreed, but…” Bruce trailed off and then paused to hear the other person’s response. “I know.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow about it. Are you still planning on visiting for the anniversary? I would appreciate if you tried talking to-”

Jason didn’t wait to listen for more. He knew it. Bruce was going to take Robin away from him. 

He remembered the picture he had found of his birth mother. He initially had wanted to tell Bruce to get his help to find her, but now he isn’t sure if it’s such a good idea. If the man was gonna take Robin away from him anyway, he didn’t want to be there for the moment. 

With that goal in mind, unbeknownst to Bruce, he disappeared that night, setting out to the Middle East to find his mother. 

Bruce finds his corpse several weeks later. Dick breaks down in space when he receives the call from Bruce. They attend the funeral together, neither of them talking about it, even years later.

Jason returns several years later, dead set on revenge on Joker and on Bruce for never avenging him. What he doesn’t expect is to stumble over a newspaper celebrating the anniversary of the Jason Scholarship Foundation along with pictures of his funeral, showcasing both Bruce and Dick crying. 

He never stumbles upon a memorial with his battered Robin suit and the description “Jason Todd, a Good Soldier” and beats Tim Drake, the third Robin half dead for replacing him. Instead he returns to the Manor, overwhelmed at Bruce’s breakdown and reaction. Red Hood debuts several months later – with the Bat symbol on his chest. They still have their conflicts, but Jason never has to fill a duffel bag full of heads for his debut. 

It’s only once Damian arrives, Cass becomes Bruce’s daughter and Duke his ward that the topic of the ring gets brought up again. It’s Duke who asks what they all have been thinking. 

“By the way, why does Bruce wear a ring?”

Finding no information online and not managing to get anything out of Alfred, they break into Bruce’s office while he’s on patrol getting distracted by Damian and Cass. It’s Tim who finds it, in a locked drawer, sealed carefully.

A marriage certificate. 

“Who the hell is Daniel Fenton?” Jason questions gruffly.

“My husband.”

Jason startles, turning to the doorway. Bruce is standing there, his arm crossed and he cringes at the displeased raise of Bruce’s right eyebrow. Behind him Cass shrugs at Tim’s questioning gaze while Damian clicks his tongue.

“Why haven’t we met him? And, wait, does Dick know about this?” Tim asks. 

Bruce lets out a deep sigh as he fiddles with the ring - the wedding ring. 

“Let’s go somewhere else for this.”

They all shuffle to one of their smaller living rooms. Duke sets up a voice call so Dick, who is back in Blüdhaven, doesn't have to miss out. Tim is on his own computer, no doubt researching everything he can find on Daniel Fenton. Or would he be Daniel Wayne? 

It’s Damian who breaks the silence.

“Father. Explain.”

The man presses his lips together as he stares down into his tea. Alfred squeezes his shoulder behind him. 

“The reason you haven’t met Danny is because he’s dead.” Bruce pauses while his kids pale. “Technically.”

Before either of them can question that, suddenly a young white haired boy appears, sitting on Bruce arm’s chair, eyebrow raised and wearing a black and white hazmat suit.

“Shouldn’t I be here for this?”

In an instant all of them sans Bruce and Alfred are on alert, Tim has a Batarang in hand, Jason one of his guns and Damian a knife poised to the unknown boy’s neck.

It’s Bruce who diffuses the situation.

“Danny?” Bruce sounds disbelieving and Damian twitches, knife still in hand. 

“In the flesh.” The boy does jazz hands, neck grazing the knife, but it doesn’t draw any blood. “Or ectoplasm. Whatever.”

“How wonderful of you to surprise us with your presence Master Danny,” Alfred says, tone slightly sarcastic and Damian finally steps back, eyebrows knitted together. 

Danny winces. 

“I would have warned you, but Clockwork just dropped me off, telling me that it’s finally time.”

“This is your husband?” Duke bursts out. 

The boy bows playfully.

“Danny Fenton-Wayne. King of the Infinite Realms. Half ghost and-” Suddenly he transforms, white rings traveling over his body and leaving behind a middle-aged black haired man. “-Half human.”

“GHOST?”

“HALF HUMAN?”

“KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?”

“Thank fuck I thought Bruce was a pedophile for a moment.”

Everyone turns to stare at Duke.

“What? I just said what everyone thought,” the boy defends himself.

“Actually that would be ephebophilia,” Danny corrects. “Although he would still classify as a necrophile.” 

Bruce punches the man’s forearm, rolling his eyes with a fond look and Danny yelps, rubbing the spot.

“Hey! If anyone is allowed to joke about it, it’s me!” the man complains with a pout and Bruce shakes his head. 

“Another reason why you never met Danny is because – believe it or not – he’s the King of the Infinite Realms, which means he is quite busy.”

“So much paperwork,” Danny groans. “If I get Constantine’s ass, I swear to the Ancients that he’s gonna die. Half a decade lost because I had to bargain for his soul pieces!”

“After I returned to Gotham to become Batman, the Infinite Realms unfortunately fell into war following a coup attempt, leaving Danny to deal with the mess.”

“And Clockwork prohibited me from visiting the Gotham until a certain point, claiming that I would change the timeline too much with my influence,” Danny finishes for Bruce, all of Bruce’s kids watching with fascination how seamlessly they seem to fit together as the man leans his head against Bruce’s shoulder while Bruce runs a hand through the man’s black hair. “Considering I would have never let Bruce run around with child vigilantes, he’s probably right.”

“I forgot you know about that,” Bruce sighs.

“Jazz kept me updated,” Danny says smugly.

“That’s a break of patient confidentiality,” Bruce grumbles. 

“She may be your therapist, but she’s also my sister.”

“Mr. I-Rather-Chew-Nails-than-Talk-About-My-Feelings?“ Jason exclaims. “No way!”

“I have been vocal about the fact that I go to therapy.” Bruce frowns.

“I thought you were joking!”

“Where do you guys think I go every Sunday evening?” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Justice League meeting?” 

“Golfing?”

Once again everyone stares at Duke and he flushes at the attention.

“I thought it’s a rich person thing!” 

Danny snorts.

“He got you there, darling.”

“When and how did you guys meet?” It’s the first time Dick actually speaks up, having observed everything – or as much as he could – through the web camera. 

“At a gala when both Bruce and I were teens,” Danny answers. “My godfather dragged me into it. At least one thing I can thank him for.”

Danny smiles while Bruce grunts in agreement. 

“The wedding?” Tim follows up.

Both Danny and Bruche pause to think.

“Did we do the civil registration in Paris or Las Vegas?” Danny turns to Bruce. “I can’t remember.”

“We were quite drunk,” Bruce agrees.

Danny snips his fingers like he remembers something, but then he shakes his head. He puts a hand to his chin, tiling his head. 

“Or was it Brazil?”

The rest blink at the pair before Danny shrugs with an apologetic smile.

“We had the real wedding in the Infinite Realms though,” Danny explains, “Once Bruce got finished with his training. The citizens wouldn’t have accepted it otherwise. Alfred would have taken pictures, but technology doesn’t work in the Infinite Realms.”

“Such a shame, it was quite a nice wedding,” Alfred affirms. 

“Alfred knew?!” is the consensus complaint. 

“Does Mother and Grandfather know about this?” Damian asks stiffly.

“Considering Ra’s used Bruce’s and your mother’s DNA to artificially create a baby despite knowing – he doesn’t care,” Danny says just a tad-bit too cheerfully. 

The revelation leaves everyone reeling. 

“Okay, now that all questions are answered-” Danny doesn’t give them time to inject. “Can we talk about the stinking elephant in the room?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow as Danny gestures to Jason. Jason almost would feel insulted if Danny didn’t sound so genuinely surprised that nobody else said or noticed something. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Jason complains as he discreetly tries to sniff his armpits. Considering Tim’s and Dick’s snickering, he doesn’t succeed. 

“Your Ectoplasm reeks like-” Danny grimaces as he flails his arms. “Like you took a bath in spoiled eggs.”

Danny turns to Bruce with an angry look in his eyes.

“Especially you should have noticed, considering you are liminal! His core is completely malnourished.” Bruce winces. “Did you forget that I gave you a way to contact Frostbite?”

“Without the ambient ectoplasm you radiate my ability to see ectoplasmic entities and speak and read Ghost Speak slowly degraded over the years,” Bruce explains. “I wasn’t aware Jason had been a type of ectoplasmic entity.” 

“His eyes literally glow green when he’s angry!” Danny chides. “He returned from the dead for revenge. He’s clearly a Revenant. That’s Ghost 101!”

It’s amusing to see Bruce get scolded by someone else other than Alfred. Alone for that fact Jason has to admit that he begrudgingly likes Danny. 

“Alright-” Danny stands up and tugs on Jason’s arm. Bruce moves to follow him like second nature. “You are coming with me right this instant.”

Before anyone can stop them, Danny transforms back into his Ghost Form, Jason’s hand in one and Bruce in the other and steps through a glowing green portal, it vanishing shortly after. Silence follows.

“So well that just happened.”

This time everyone agrees with Duke.