#also can I just say it’s been a real pain in the ass trying to design this dude’s adeptus outfit

[deci-doodles]

Adeptal shenanigans pt. 1 of ???? feat. a much younger Mingli

[spider-stark]

SWORN RIVALS

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Taking up sparring with your sworn rival is likely never a good idea.

Warnings - barely edited, blood, implied fighting, suggestive language but no real smut, likely ooc given that the episode hasn't even aired yet lmao

Word Count - 1.1k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Pain splinters throughout your hand as your knuckles collide with his jaw. He stumbles backwards—just barely managing to keep himself from falling right onto his ass. 

“You fight like a girl,” you jeer, purposefully antagonizing him. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected of a Blackwood.” 

A raspy laugh rumbles through Benjicot Blackwood’s chest—a bitter, deep sound that sets your toes curling. 

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” Forcing his chin high, he flashes his crimson-stained teeth in a wry grin, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He muses, “But perhaps we should put it to better use, don’t you think?” 

You cut your eyes at the bawdy implication. “You’re disgusting, Ben.” 

Another chuckle as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, inadvertently smearing blood along his bottom lip. The sight is entrancing—in a morbid sort of way. It glistens like pomegranate juice and, for a mere breath, you wonder if it would taste half as sweet. 

“C’mon!” Ben’s teasing tone slices through your thoughts, forcing some sense back into you. “Don’t act like you’ve never thought of it before,” he says, waving a hand between you both, “the two of us–” 

You don’t let him finish his sentence, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “I haven’t,” you practically snarl, taking a half-step towards him. “And you shouldn’t either,” you add, “I’d much prefer to be left out of your…" you blow out an exasperated breath, "depraved fantasies!” 

“Oh, but you are my depraved fantasies, sweetheart.” Ben’s grin widens as you groan, shaking your head at him. “You're also a liar, Bracken,” he adds, “and a shitty one, at that!” 

“You can believe whatever you want, Blackwood—but that won't make it true.” 

“Just admit it,” he continues. Swinging one foot forward, he takes a lazy step towards you—then another. “That’s why you train with me, isn’t it? ‘Cause you’re so desperate for someone to put you in your place—and none of those pansies along the Red Fork are fit for the task, are they?” 

You grit your teeth, knowing that his words aren’t entirely false. 

Training with Ben hadn’t necessarily been a purposeful decision. It was something that just sort of happened. Yet, in spite of the rivalry between your families, you’re willing to admit that you do prefer training with him over the Tully or Roote boys. 

He fought you like a true opponent—unlike the others, who felt the need to pull their punches or slow their own strikes, forever treating you like a helpless maiden rather than an equal. 

In many ways, you found Ben to be more tolerable than any other boy in the Riverlands, anyway. He was fierce and tough and undeniably skilled with both blade and fists, making him your ideal sparring partner. 

You still despise him, though—if only because that is what’s expected of you by your father, the Head of House Bracken. 

“Big talk from the boy who hasn’t gotten a single hit in today,” you smugly remind him. “Perhaps if you spent as much time training as you do thinking with your cock, you might actually stand a chance at victory, Benji.” 

Less than a foot-or-so of space separates the two of you when he finally stops, his grin souring like rotted fruit. 

“Don’t call me that,” he chides, his bottom lip jutting slightly. Your brow furrows, trying to discern if he’s pouting or if it’s simply swelling from when you hit him. “Besides,” Ben continues, “have you ever considered that maybe I’m just going easy on you?” 

You don’t buy his weak attempt at goading you—though you do entertain it, asking, “And why would you do that?” 

His shoulder lifts into a languid shrug. “Maybe I like it when you push me around,” he drawls, teasing. 

Another step and he’s towering over you, his chest mere inches from yours. His scent—a blend of leather and rich sandalwood—floods your nostrils, stirring your senses and leaving you dizzy. 

“Although,” Ben’s smirk returns, laden with his usual mischief, “I think I’d like you even more if you were on your knees-” 

A scoff rips from your throat, cutting him off with a rough swat to his chest. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Blackwood!” 

“Only if you’ll watch, Bracken,” he croons, mocking you. 

Every inch of your body is suddenly humming to life, an unrelenting blaze of rage—or was it desire?—setting your nerves alight. Before you can muster a response, a comeback, his fingers have closed around one of your wrists. 

“Go on,” Ben murmurs, his voice tantalizingly low. Your breath hitches as he presses your hand to his chest, feeling his pulse beat beneath your palm. “Hit me,” he dares, louder now. “Push me.” 

You don’t speak—don’t move, as those storm-cloud eyes dip once again. “Fucking do it—” 

You cut him off, fingers curling around the scarlet fabric of his tunic—you should kill him for being so crude, for acting so utterly lascivious! 

And yet, despite all logic and reason, you tug him closer. Pulling him down to your level in one swift motion, crashing your lips together in a kiss that is anything but soft. 

On instinct, your other hand slips to the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in soft, brown hair. You feel his heartbeat stutter beneath your fist, still gripping his tunic. For no more than a breath, you worry you’ve fucked this whole thing up. 

This is wrong! You scream at yourself. Wrong wrong wrong! 

But then he moves—hooking an arm around your waist, his nails sinking into your hip in an effort to bring you closer—and you loathe just how right this feels. 

Your legs tremble as his tongue slides along your lower lip, a soft moan spilling into his mouth. You feel him grin against you—can taste the blood on his lips, the bitter sweetness dancing on your tongue as he utters, “Eager, are we?” 

Tightening your grip on his hair, he hiss slips from his teeth. “Shut up.” 

He obliges—his mouth drifting from your lips to your jaw, leaving a bloody trail of kisses in his wake. You try not to think as he finally reaches your neck, earning a soft whine as he nips at your flesh. You try to forget who he is—that you’re supposed to hate him—as he shoves his leg between yours, offering you the very friction you so desperately desired. 

“This changes nothing, Benji,” you pant. 

He bristles at the nickname, letting his teeth sink deeper into your flesh, a deep bruise already blooming along your neck. “Sure." His own breathing is frantic and uneven as he rasps, “Whatever you say..” 

Your hand falls from his chest to his breeches, fingers already fumbling with the laces when you choke out, “I still think you’re disgusting, Blackwood.”

His own touch disappears beneath your tunic, fingertips trailing along every inch of your skin until his palms finally skim along your bare breasts. He gives one a rough squeeze before flashing that stupid, bloody grin of his. 

“And you’re still a liar, Bracken.”

a/n - writing fan fic for a character that hasn't even appeared on screen yet is wild. (hbo, this better be bloody ben or else I'll riot because this is perfect casting). anyway, I don't wanna be held accountable for how terrible, short, and rushed this is (I was bored and didn't feel like putting more effort into this than necessary rn) OR how wildly ooc this will likely prove to be come Sunday.

also---turns out that writing without actually knowing the character is hard! who'd have thunk, am I right?

[apollos-boyfriend]

Hey I've been observing from afar through your reaction blogging, I haven't been in mcyt as much since the dsmp ended but I still care about a lot of the people in the mcyt circle and I'm interested in what goes on - care to give a rundown of what happened at this twitch rivals thing everyone keeps talking about? (no pressure only if you want to) Aside from the fact I'm sure it was terribly run like most twitch rival events are, but it sounds like there was more to it than that

okay so. i am going to be missing quite a few details because i missed a day myself + my streamer could not care less, so i heavily encourage others to add on stuff i missed

this was a multi-day competition, running for 5 days with prize rewards from 1k to 100k. it started with i think 150 players, with select numbers of people getting eliminated each round. day 1-2 are fairly normal, at least for twitch rivals. of all the games that got played through the whole event, i'd say like 1 was actually good, and maybe 2 were decent, at best. most are bad, poorly-executed, poorly thought out, or just boring in terms of both player enjoy-ability and content creation.

DAY 3 EDIT:

now, sapnap's been sapnap for this entire event already. obnoxious, a bad sport, but most notably, playing DMCA'd songs. the event ran on proximity chat, so while he was unmuted, everyone around him would also be subject to said songs, which could mute vods at worst and terminate accounts at best. most people are fed up with him at this point. while everyone's trying to come up with solutions for the glitch, sapnap spams the discord with useless shit. couriway calls him out in the discord, calling him annoying and obnoxious, then later calling him a cunt in twitch chat. sapnap uses couriway and feinberg's name in his stream title for clickbait and talks shit about them + their friends (hbg/house builder gang). he also makes some weird comment asking if couri is homophobic because sap was talking about having skeppy's dick in his mouth?? or something?? i'm unsure exactly how day 3's issue of the glitch resolved.

day 4 is also your average experience with your usual range of average to horribly painful games. sapnap continues to be a bitch and not take responsibility for his stans attacking anyone in sight, but what else is new

day 5 is. bad. the game set for deciding the final competitors can be cheesed (if you let someone else do all the work, you can punch them in the last second and steal their win) and eliminates like 20 people at once. on top of that, a glitch happens that leaves the server on standby for at least 30 minutes while admins decide what to do. firebreathman sends a picture of a bare naked ass in the discord. someone else sends a photo of their debit card. streamers entertain themselves in various ways, including growing a cactus (fulham), playing osu (purpled), collecting other people's streams for their overlay (fruitberries), playing slime rancher (badboyhalo), and building real-life furniture (couriway). tubbo (who was already eliminated at this point) starts jumping between streams and asking in chat for the tea. the game is eventually replayed, deciding the final 4 players, but it's just as broken and at that point, no one wants to be there anymore. it's revealed through multiple streamers (purpled, i believe also feinberg) that twitch rivals games are not tested before being ran. the only testing done was a stress test to see if the server could handle all original 150-some players. this explains why the games are so bad and poorly organized (some games take over an hour, others barely 30 minutes).

the final four are sapnap, shadoune, sneegsnag, and i think feinberg. it's the most anticlimatic game of connect 4 you can imagine. sneeg eliminates sapnap, and shadoune eliminates fein. notably, fein's game glitches during a throw, which despite being obviously a glitch, the coordinators brush off as being "part of the game". fein and multiple other streamers spend time analyzing every pov frame by frame and all agree that yeah, that was a glitch. shadoune and sneeg are left for the finals. they come to an agreement that this is stupid and a horrible event. tired of this bullshit, they purposefully stall the games and run a podcast for approximately 2 hours, forcing the coordinators to bend to their commands hunger games-style. essentially since the first glitch of the day people were begging twitch to just split the money, something that wouldn't be easy according to tubbo, because everything is pre-signed and delegated before the event. sneeg and shadoune give no fucks, and force the coordinators to split the money anyway, winning the day through the power of friendship. i cannot stress enough how no one wanted to fucking be there by the end of all this.

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: Rafe loves to make you cry and beg.

— warnings: smut! 18+ mentions of alcohol and cocaine, mean!rafe, dom!rafe, sub!reader, humiliation kink (maybe? idk he makes reader beg him to go fuck her in front of a shit ton of ppl), thigh riding (with ppl watching), fingering, fem receiving oral, edging, spanking, unprotected sex, degrading names (slut, whore), praise.

likes, comments n reblogs are appreciated.<3

❥ beg for it, princess — r.c

You had been very open with Rafe about the things you wanted him to do to you, with you. You’ve never hidden a kink from him, and he never hid any from you.

Rafe very quickly showed you just how willing he was to please you, he’d do absolutely anything to make his princess happy, and you would do anything for him, even if that meant letting him put you in the most painful situations, humiliate you, make you feel like a worthless slut.

For him, you’d gladly be his worthless slut, because at the end of the day, you knew he loved you. He’d do the most disgusting things to you, calling you the most degrading names while also praising you, telling you how fucking good you were doing for him.

And then, when he was done using you, he’d take care of you — Putting you in the bath and cleaning you, kissing the sides of you face and rubbing at your sore body, telling you how good you did for him. To you, it was all worth it.

You were his pathetic whore, but you were also his princess. And both were titles that you would gladly wear with a big fucking smile on your face.

-

You and Rafe are sat in the middle of a large, crowded room. His right arm is protectively wrapped around your waist, fingers digging into the exposed skin of your stomach, the thin crop top you’d chosen to wear tonight showing off just the right amount of your smooth skin.

Bringing your red solo cup to your lips, you take a small sip before resting your head on Rafe’s shoulder. He’s in the middle of a deal, a Kook by the name of Jaxon sat across from you and Rafe, trying to bargain with your boyfriend.

“C’mon man, just give it to me for $150. I promise, i’ll pay you back in two days” Jaxon says, his heavy eyes darting from Rafe’s ocean-blue ones and down to the cocaine on the table.

The corners of Rafe’s lips rise into a small amused smirk, and he rolls his head to the side, his pretty blue eyes finding yours. You lift your head to meet his intense stare, your lashes fluttering as you take another sip of your drink. “You know, Jax, i’m real into begging. Just ask Y/N. She’s always begging me to let her come, and that shits hot as fuck,” he pauses, making a tsking noise with his tongue and teeth, and your face all but turns a bright shade of red, head bowing as you bite at the rim of your cup, “But it’s just pathetic to see a grown ass man beg, especially when I know for a fact you can afford the asking price”

Jaxon’s eyes rise to look at you before they return to Rafe. He lets out a loud sigh, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and pulling out three crisp hundred dollar bills, slapping them to the table, “There. $300. Can I just have my shit now?”

Rafe smirks again, arching a brow before he releases a long breath. Rafe slowly grabs the money from the table, turning and shoving it into your black lace bra before he turns to face Jaxon again. “See, now was that so hard?” He chuckles when Jax rolls his eyes, then he moves and grabs one of the small tightly wrapped baggies, placing it between the tips of his index and middle fingers, hanging them toward Jaxon.

Jaxon yanks the small baggie from between his finger tips, letting out a huff as he moves to stand to his feet and storming away from the table. Once he’s gone, you turn and slap Rafe on the chest, a slightly annoyed and embarrassed look on your face. “Seriously? You had to drag me into that?”

Rafe laughs, turning his body to face you and wrapping his left hand around your body as well. You squeal when he uses both hands to pull you into his lap, forcing your legs to straddle either side of his hips. He leans forward, pressing his lips against yours in a heated kiss. He forces his tongue into your mouth, dominating yours instantly and making you moan into him.

Pulling away from your lips, you find yourself chasing his, an empty feeling washing over you from the loss of his lips. “You know it was funny, baby. Besides, my little slut loves to be humiliated”

You blush at the vulgar name he’s called you, but your pussy pulses, butterflies filling your stomach when you hear the name fall past his lips. As fucked up as it may sound, you did love when he humiliated you in front of people, you weren’t sure why, but it turned you on.

Rafe runs his hands down the small of your back, reaching your ass and tightly cupping it. Your hips buck forward and back arches when he begins softly massaging at the plump flesh of your ass. He slowly lifts your hips, placing you back down on his left thigh. He grabs your solo cup from your hand, downing what’s left in it and tossing it behind the two of you before his hands find your hips again.

His fingers find the waistband of your black denim shorts, shoving them down the front of them and running is fingers along the skin of your lower belly. A shiver runs through your body when you feel how close he gets to your panties and your legs tighten around his jeans-clad thigh. His eyes flick up to find yours, a smirk plastered on his lips when he sees how worked up he’s got you.

“Does my princess want to be fucked?” He asks, voice low and raspy as he pushes his fingers into the front of your lace panties.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you open your mouth to speak but nothing except a soft, pathetic moan slips from your lips. Rafe removes his hand from inside your shorts, placing it back on your hips and pressing your pussy into his thigh, allowing your clit to gain the stimulation you were craving.

You begin whimpering as you rock your hips back and forth on his thigh, his hands gripping your hips and helping you move. “That’s it baby, ride my thigh. Let everyone see how fucking desperate you are for my cock”

Your heart begins pounding in your chest as you rub yourself against his thigh, the rough material of his jeans making your inner thigh tingle, the delicious pressure on your clit pulling moans from your mouth. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, licking and biting at his smooth skin as your hips continue to rock back and fourth, a pressure building inside of you, burning brightly and wanting to explode from you when the sounds of laughter fill your ears.

Panic washes over you when you lift your head and notice many sets of eyes on you and Rafe, peoples phones pulled out and pointed toward the two of you. For a moment, you’d forgotten that you weren’t alone, forgot you were in the middle of a large living room with all of your friends crowding it. You begin breathing heavily, tears stinging at your eyes as you hear the hushed whispers about you.

Rafe cups your face in his large hands, forcing your eyes on him as he whispers, “Fuck them” He pauses when you squeeze your eyes shut, letting the first few tears fall in embarrassment, but Rafe’s fingers squeezing your cheeks have you forcing them back open, “Hey, eyes on me baby. Let them know how badly you need to be fucked, beg me for it, and i’ll take you upstairs”

A whine falls from your forcefully parted lips, and you shake your head from side to side, wishing that the ground would just swallow you whole. You couldn’t deny it though, you were turned on. All of the eyes on you, even if they were judging you, it turned you on. You never understood why you loved the humiliation Rafe gave you, you should feel ashamed, you should hate him for putting you in positions like this, but you don’t. Instead, your pussy throbs with need, wanting to feel his cock buried inside you.

“Come on, baby girl. I know you want to. Beg me to fuck you, let them all hear how much of a needy whore you are for me”

He releases your face from his hands, allowing you to throw your head forward and into his neck. His hand slaps across your ass, making you cry out from the sting it left, and you finally lift your head, pleading eyes on his. “Please? Please Rafe, I need you to fuck me. Want to be your needy whore”

Rafe softly kisses the corner of your mouth, his eyes darting around the room at all of the eyes trained on you and him. His hands tightly grip at the bottom of your thighs, lifting you with him as he stands from the couch and whispering, “Such a good fucking girl. Gotta let everyone know who the fuck you’re a needy little slut for”

He carries you up a staircase and pushes into an empty bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him with his foot. He turns, slamming your back against the closed door, pinning you in place before his lips smash into yours. You open up for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss and force his tongue into your mouth. You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips against his waist, trying to relieve some of the pressure you felt between your legs.

Rafe breaks the kiss, but his lips still hover over yours. “Beg for it baby. Beg me to fuck you”

“Please..?” You whimper, the pressure between your legs growing. You were soaked. Pussy pulsing. You needed him, but you knew he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted unless you earned it. And the only way you’d earn it, was by being pathetic and begging him.

He chuckles, his darkened over eyes finding yours. “Please what, princess? Tell me what you need”

“Please fuck me. Need your tongue, your fingers, your cock. Please…? I’ll be a good girl, just want to come.. Please, Rafe?”

Tears begin to fill your eyes. You felt pathetic. Begging to be fucked. But you didn’t care, no. No you needed him, he was like a fucking drug that you couldn’t get enough of.

He walks you over to the large bed that’s in the room, sitting you on your ass at the edge and dropping to his knees. “God I love how fucking needy and pathetic you are f’me baby” He says as his fingers pop the button of your shorts. Your breath catches in your throat when he pulls the zipper down, his fingers dropping and running across the skin of your inner thighs.

“Rafe…”

He dips his head down, his lips leaving hot, open mouthed kisses on your inner thighs. You squirm, bringing your hands to the waistband of your shorts and pushing them down. His eyes find yours, amusement in his eyes. He swats your hands away, using his own to pull your shorts down your legs and tossing them behind him onto the floor.

His eyes land on your pink lace thong, his tongue darting out to lick across his bottom lip. “You’re soaked, princess” he coos. Your face turns a bright shade of red and you quickly bring your hands up, burying your face into them.

Rafe makes a tsking noise as he runs his tongue across his top teeth. His large hands come up to your small wrists, gripping at them softly and peeling them from your face. He brings them down to your sides before releasing them. His head dips down to your inner thighs, leaving another searing kiss to the skin. His hands grip at your thighs, pulling you further down the mattress and placing your shaking legs over his shoulders, pushing your panties to the side in the process. You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his lips trailing kisses from the inside of your thighs and to your pelvic bone.

“R-Rafe… Please?”

He smirks against your skin, letting out an airy laugh as his darkened over blue eyes find yours. “Please what? Gotta let me know what you want baby…” He says, trailing his words off as he leaves another kiss on the top of your pussy, his mouth inching closer to where you need him most.

“Your mouth. Your cock. I need you, Rafe. Please” You cry out. His teeth sink into the skin of your inner thigh, making you cry out in pain and pleasure as he sucks a deep purple bruise into the flesh.

He releases your flesh from his lips, licking the fresh, new bruise before he begins working his way up your thighs and to your aching cunt. He places a soft kiss on your weeping core. You suck in a shaky breath when his tongue finally licks through your folds. He licks from the bottom up to your clit, flicking his tongue over the swollen and sensitive bud. His tongue begins to slowly lick up and down your soaked core, over and over again, pulling the most pathetic but sweet whines from you.

Your fingers fly into his hair, tugging softly at the messy locks as you tighten your thighs around his head, locking him in place. His tongue doesn’t let up, he laps up your juices like a starved man as you continue to cry out his name, waves of pleasure rushing through your entire body. He takes his right hand and pushes your leg down onto the bed, his grip bruising. He runs his tongue up and through your folds again, reaching your clit and sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth.

Moving his left hand from your leg, he snakes it between the two of you, running his thick fingers through your soaked folds before plunging his index and middle fingers inside of you. He curls them slightly, softly caressing that sweet spot inside of you that has your toes curling and tears falling past your bottom lashes. He creates a quick pace with his fingers, his mouth unrelenting as he continues to suck on your clit. You feel the fire burning inside of you, your release building and threatening to burst.

Your pussy clamps down around Rafe’s fingers, letting him know you’re close to the edge. He slows his fingers, stilling them inside of you and releases your clit from his lips with a pop, making you let out a frustrated whine. “Why’d you stop?!” You ask breathlessly, your head lifted just enough to find him staring up at you from between your legs. He has an amused smirk on his lips, his face and chin glistening with your arousal.

“Because, you’re gonna be a good girl and cum all over my cock”

You throw your head back in a huff, crossing your arms over your chest and pouting like a child whose parent told them they couldn’t get a treat at the grocery store. Rafe rises from his knees, his tall frame towering over you on the bed. He brings his right hand to caress your cheek before he slowly runs it down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it and squeezing tightly, but not enough to take away your air. “Don’t be a fucking brat, or else you won’t cum tonight. Alright?”

You nod your head the best you can, tears spilling from your eyes from the ache you felt between your thighs and the pressure from Rafe’s hand around your throat.

He releases your neck and his hands fly to pop the button of his jeans before moving on to slide his zipper down. You watch him intently as he shoves the rough material down his legs, kicking them off to the side before he grips the hem of his baby blue polo and rips it up and over his head. Your mouth pools with saliva, the sight of Rafe’s shirtless body making you physically drool all over yourself.

He climbs on top of you, his left hand baring his weight while his right hand shoves his boxers down his legs. He grips the base of his cock in his right hand, stroking at it a few times before he slides his swollen head through your folds. You squirm underneath him, hips bucking forward as you silently pleaded with him to fuck you.

You open your mouth to beg some more, but your words die on your tongue, a loud gasp falling past your lips as he shoves himself inside you without warning. He slowly pulls himself out before harshly slamming back inside you, his pink tip kissing at that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. He watches intently as he pushes and pulls his cock from inside you, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. “You’ve already got a mess all over my cock baby girl. Fucking beautiful” He breathes out as he harshly slams his hips into yours again.

He pulls himself from inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist and flipping you onto your stomach has you squealing loudly. “On your hands and knees baby. Bring your knees to your chest, ass up in the air f’me”

You quickly do as he says, positioning yourself on all fours and tucking your knees up under your chest. A loud moan slips past your lips when Rafe’s hand slaps at your ass, the sting it left behind causing more tears to spill from your eyes. A dark chuckle emits from Rafe’s chest, “My girl loves when i’m rough with her, yeah?” Another slap. “I love making you cry” Another slap. “The sound makes my cock throb”

Tears stream uncontrollably down your face as Rafe continues to slap your ass, the sting bringing you an overwhelming amount of pain and pleasure. “Rafe, plea— Ah!”

Rafe shoves his cock inside you again, making your pleas die on your tongue. You fist the sheets beneath you, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Rafe pounds himself into you at a ruthless pace.

Your pussy clamps down around him, sucking him in deeper. Your loud cries bounce off the walls, and you’re sure the entire party can hear you, but you don’t care. It feels too fucking good to care. The pressure in your lower belly begins to build, a bright white light burns in the back of your eyes.

“You’re so close baby. You’re fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight. Milk my fucking cock dry baby” Rafe rasps.

A string of curses and moans slip past your lips as your pussy clenches around him, the pressure building up and bursting free. Euphoria racks your body, your legs shaking and toes curling as you come undone around Rafe’s cock.

Rafe growls, leaning his body forward so his lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. “Such a good fucking girl, ‘m right behind- fuck!”

He slams into you one final time, his dick twitching as he fills your pussy with his cum. His teeth sink into your shoulder, pulling back he kisses the bite mark and whispers, “Did so fucking good f’me baby. Let’s get you home and cleaned up”

RAFE TAGLIST: @targaryenbarbie @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @lyndys @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @stvrkey @vhour @emma77645 @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @slut4ani @kamninaries @biggesthat3r @wearemadeofstardust

rafe masterlist | taglist form

[emptywwwriting]

Brat

Paring: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: After you make a stupid call and get you and Joel into a bad situation he teaches you a lesson

or

Joel fucks some sense into you over a table.

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, Joel is mean, Joel calls you names, reader is high on pain pills lowkey but everything is consented to, it makes sense I promise just read, Joel pushes you around, age gap

WC: 2.5k

A03: Brat

Notes: This is nasty asf im so sorry, feel free to leave feed back. also send asks if u have ideas for future fics. Anyways I have had this written but unpolished for a while, and im lowkey unmotivated with my age gap Jackson fic rn so I wanted to give y'all something until then

Edit: I finally edited it! i hope it sounds a little better, and tysm for notes :)))

“What the fuck is your problem?” Joel yells slamming the door harshly behind him.

“My problem? What the fuck?” You throw your bag down in defeat. 

“We could have brought back all that fucking supplies and you just blew it all up.” You’re yelling at him now.

“Yeah,” He huffs. “real good it would have done us dead!” He's taking steps towards you.

Your throat tightens.

“That loss was on fucking you. We could have just slid by and not started nothin’, now we're down on supplies even more and you have a fuckin hole in your side.” He’s seething and growing closer.

“Yeah, I would've had a real good fix if you had listened to me!” You're shaking, and taking steps towards him, finger in his face.

It's a screaming match, but you're losing steam, the wound on your side is manageable but painful, the stitches pull at your skin and you're still a little dizzy from the blood loss, but the pain pills Joel had shoved in your mouth should kick in any moment.

You and Joel had just stumbled into the middle of a hunter's base while traveling. It was filled with supplies like ammo, guns, and food. The two of you disagreed on whether to get the supplies or not, Joel thought it was too risky but you disagreed. Your stubbornness led to a massive shootout, and shortly after the first shot was fired, the two of you were cornered. Joel had to throw a pipe bomb, which inevitably killed the hunters and blew the supplies to pieces. You barely escaped the fight after a bullet grazed your side. Now you were left with no ammo or supplies, and a pissed-off Joel.

“Listen to you?” He retorts, shocked. “You nearly got us killed!” He's gaining on you, backing you into the wall.

“I was thinking ahead! If you would have just followed me and not made a fuss, we would have been fine!” Your voice starts to falter as his tall frame devours you.

“Thinking ahead my ass, you were only thinkin’ bout yourself!” He furiously spat. 

You back up slowly, as he continues to yell. You can't think of anything else to say, and your throat feels raw. His eyes are filled with rage, brows pinched together tightly. His hand lands on your shoulder, and with a firm shove, your back instantly hits the wall. Before you can process what happened, his hand flies up, grasping your jaw harshly and pulling your head to look up at him.

“If you’re gonna act like a fuckin’ idiot again, don't drag me down with you.” He says carefully. 

His chest is rising and falling quickly fighting aginst the constaints of his flannel The breath has been ripped from your lungs as you stare up at him anticipaitingly. You can't break eye contact, and silence is starting to take over, only both of your heavy breathing fills the air. His eyes are black, staring so deep into your own you feel like you can't hide anything. His grip on your jaw loosens, only for a moment before you are yanked towards him. His lips crash into yours messily, capturing you in a violent kiss. His body is pushed into yours, knee slotting in between your legs, pressing you even further back into the wall. You feel his teeth graze your lips, biting and nipping at anything he can. You try to keep up with the frantic kiss, but can't. His hands move from your jaw to your neck, to your shoulder and back, like he doesn't know where to go. Your own are frozen at your side, balled into fists. The fast pace is bruising and your jaw begins to ache from his force. 

His lips leave yours, as he brings your head up further craning it. Just as you are finally able to take a breath, he reconnects to your neck. Sucking on every inch of skin he can, it's fast and almost narotic, anamiliostic even, but it doesn't stop you from trying to squeeze your legs together. His bites become more harsh and you can't help but let out weak groans. He pushes his knee up into you more and your legs go numb. Your mouth is wide open, eyes screwed shut.

Joel is littering kisses and merciless bites down the column of your neck, hands feeling feverishly up and down your sides.

He trails to your collarbone, biting it gently then making his way back up. He kisses his way to your jaw and over to your ear before standing up completely. His leg disappears from under you and you have to catch yourself from falling.

Looking down at you, his eyes are still dark.

“Go stand in front of the table.” His voice sounds scratchy and out of breath. 

You stare at him blinking dumbly trying to make sense of everything that just happened. Your mouth opens to say something, but the thought is lost as soon as it had come to you. His hair is disheveled, sleeves are rolled up exposing his aged yet muscular forearms. He is so tall and so brooding, it's so terrifyingly attractive. Something about his rage is just turning you on more and you know its wrong but it feels so good.

“You stupid or sumthin’?” He sounds mean, so condescending, and normally his talking down on you enrages you, but right now, everything in your head wants more of him. His kisses, his smell, the way his knee felt pushing up against your most sensitive part, you feel high.

He tilts his head at you warningly, and you slowly push yourself off the wall and walk shakily over to the table in the middle of the dusty room. You place your hands on the edge of the table standing up straight and facing away from Joel. It's quiet for a minute before you hear the thudding of his boots growing closer to you. They stop just behind you and you're shoved over the table by a rough hand. You whine at this quietly, hands braced against the surface. Once again he makes contact with your back, pushing you slowly yet firmly into the piece of furniture, forcing your arms out to the side of you.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat.” His hands trail their way to your hips squeezing long and hard, pulling them against his own. He's kneading the flesh, you feel his eyes burning holes into you.

“Just a stupid kid, thinkin’ you always know what's best.” He trails off and starts pulling your jeans down and over your ass slowly. The cold air of the room gives you chills and you attempt to push your legs together.

You turn your head to the side.

“N-not a kid.” You are barely able to get out, your lungs still feel empty.

His hand makes contact with your now bare ass. Not hard, but enough to make you close your mouth.

“Shut it.” He's serious.

He sighs and continues.

“You're cocky, and young...” He pauses for a moment, maybe second guessing himself about to fuck a twenty year old girl, the same thought crosses your mind but neither of you really care at this point.

Your head is spinning out of control, a slight nausous feelings seeps into your gut when you suddenly recall the three multi-colored pills Joel had given you earlier. Your stomach drops for only a moment before you recognize the euphoria flooding your brain. 

You barely notice the sound of Joel’s belt buckle coming undone.

“Should have listened to me ya know,” He says, grabbing your ass firmly and pulling it away from the table, and snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“I've kept you safe for how many months now?” He grunts, prodding your entrance.

You gasp.

He leans to the side and makes eye contact with you.

“Listen to me next time and maybe you won't have a fuckin’ hole in your stomach again.” He stands back up straight again.

“Mhm sorry-” Your apology is empty, you feel like you're melting into the table, and all you can think about is the feeling of his dick at your hole. You're not really sorry, your just sorry hes not already in you.

You know this, and he knows this.

“Yeah, sorry don't cut it no more. Think you can look all pretty at me and I'll forgive you? I'm done with that shit.” He thrusts into you so suddenly you yell, or at least you think you do, but you're too dizzy and the feeling of his cock deep inside is all you can feel. He's saying something but you can't hear anymore, your eyes are shut and all you know is the weight of him inside you. His touch is like a mantra in your head.

Joel Joel Joel Joel

He pulls back quickly, then slowly sinks into you again. You're moaning over each inch, unable to do anything but take it. He pushes your ass apart, and pulls out slightly, sinking back in once more. He repeats this slowly a few more times, mesmerized by the sight of you sucking him in. Your moans come out strangled, and you stumble over incoherent words.

“I always take care of you right?” His voice is low. His hands go to your hips again and continue at a slow pace. The wet sound is so disgustingly loud, that it makes you cringe, but just as with every other thought, it is quickly blurred. Your brain is foggy with lust, and probably the painkillers, but that doesn't matter right now, nothing but this amazing feeling inside of you matters.

You moan in response. He huffs out a laugh.

“You're never this compliant, this what I have t’do to make you listen?” His hands squeeze you harder.

You hum so brokenly in response he almost feels bad, but the way you're gripping around him lulls him in further, there's no going back now.

“Gon' be real good for me?” His southern drawl drips off of every word he says. 

“Let me take care of you like I always do. You be a good girl and keep layin’ here.” You go to speak but your words die in your throat when he slams into you again. 

His pace quickens so fast you can't move anymore. Your eyes are now wide open staring across the empty room, mouth open moaning non stop. He is hitting something so devastating inside of you that your knees go weak and hang loosely over the table. He's grunting, with each thrust, lost in the way you feel.

“Fuck, so good. Feels so good.” He's breathless, holding onto your bruised hips for dear life.

“Shoulda' done this months ago.” He slurs.

The thought of Joel fucking you, in the truck, in the woods, in dilapidated houses, really anywhere, is making the blood rush to your head. Your neglected clit is throbbing needily, and your stomach is beginning to tighten.

Your walls squeeze around him and his pace falters for a moment as he lets out a strangled moan, he sounds like he's in pain. You on the other hand are just yelling at this point, weak moans lace everything that comes out of your mouth. Your arms are gripping the flat surface as much as possible, bracing yourself against his violent movements. The coil tightens and you feel your orgasm approaching.

An “Oh god” leaves your mouth but it's so slurred and desperate it doesn't feel real.

“Come on baby girl.” He angles his hips down and you're blinded by the feeling. 

“Fuckin’, god... Brat. Come all over me.” He sounds breathless, yet still furious. 

You're so high on his everything, that the words only push you further and further over the cliff, and suddenly your whole body tenses so unbelievably tight you can't move. Your hips stutter back against Joel, locking him inside of you. He's sputtering your name, mixed with Fuck’s and You feel so good’s.

Your insides clamp down on him and he stops moving completely, now just grinding his hips into yours weakly. Each wave tightens your body even more than the last, it goes on for what feels like forever. Eventually, the final surge passes and you melt into the table, completely limp. Your senses are numb, and all you can feel is Joel's dick jerking in you rhythmically.

He must have come but you were so overwhelmed by your own orgasm you didn't even notice. He's breathing hard above you, your body is coated in sweat, soaking through your shirt. Slowly your feelings come back. Joel finally releases your hips and pulls out of you gradually. The feeling is deflating, and you feel even smaller than before. Your hole flutters around nothing, but you can't move off the table still. You feel Joel staring at you, and then you feel it start to trickle out of you, shame floods your mind and your face goes red. You feel him bend down to grab the jeans that were still hanging off your ankles, pulling them up and over your ass again. The dampness of his cum makes you shift slightly, and you try to push yourself up off the table. When you do your vision goes black, and you hesitate not wanting to pass out on him right after he fucked you.

Slowly now you stand, legs trembling under your weight. The euphoria of the painkillers is coursing through your body so intensely, that you had forgotten about the wound. Reaching down to feel it, it was dry still not bleeding. 

That's surprising.

You turn to see Joel gathering his things from around the room, and throwing his backpack over his shoulder. He's running his hands nervously through his hair.

How does he look so composed?

Your hair is tangled and messy, dried tears crust your face, and your jeans are still not buttoned and unzipped.

“Get your stuff.” He says quietly, timidly, and not making eye contact.

He wants to leave now?

“We’re not-, I can't even-” You stutter, shocked at how he expects you to be able to walk back to the truck in this state.

“Get  your   stuff.” He says again, giving you a warning glance. 

You blink at him, you're dizzy and weak, everything is sore in the best way possible but you genuinely don't feel like you can walk. You struggle over to your backpack and scoop it off the floor, putting it on. When you look up Joel has already opened the door and is scouting the area, making sure no one is in sight. Once clear he steps out, holding the door for you. You walk slowly, limping over to him not looking him in the eye, you're too embarrassed to. When you step outside he closes the door and begins walking in the direction of the truck. You feel frail and the idea of the half-mile walk back makes you feel even more fatigued. He seems weirdly unbothered by everything that just happened, while you on the other hand are a wreck. 

The whole way back, you stumble after Joel, underwear uncomfortably wet. 

[teaboot]

I love your post about being a security guard. Would you please tell us about some of the cool people you meet at work?

Ooooh I can do that!

One time on foot patrol I got called to talk to a guy who had his pet off-leash, right? And there's a pretty big road nearby, and some restaurants, so I head over to see if I can convince him to leash what I believe to be his dog before it runs into a diner or humps the wrong leg or gets clipped or whatever

But I get there. And I see the guy, he's exactly as described, but there's no dog nearby so I'm kinda confused

But then I see his parrot

And I'm trying to keep a straight face when I get there but I'm in uniform and he sees me and stops and the three of us (me, him, parrot) kind of just stare at each other

And I dont know what to say, I have not been trained for this, and I'm trying to figure out if this is even a problem or not, so I just tell the guy, "I'm gonna be real with you man, this is a new one for me".

And to his credit the dude was actually very kind and polite, introduced me to the bird and all. Little fella made some *frighteningly intelligent* eye contact with me the whole time, of course.

Anyways it turns out the bird was about sixteen years old and smarter than me, so I told them they were both above my pay grade and were good to go as long as they didn't go into any eating establishments, since technically it'd be a contamination risk.

VERY cool afternoon.

Also another time a very cheerful woman claimed she could read auras and told me mine was yellow, and I got to tell her that yellow was my favourite colour, which was cool!

And one night I was on mall duty and I found six teenagers all crammed into one of those 25-cent kiddie rides shaped like a school bus, which was hilarious, but I had to tell 'em "I am so sorry, this is the best thing I've seen all day, but I do need yall outta there, I love you all" (the ride things have weight limits and break down constantly, it's a pain in the ass.)

Aw shit, this other time I found two teen boys pushing each other in a shopping cart- and they were having such a great time, I felt so bad, it's exactly the kind of shit my brothers would do- and I think that one was like "sorry guys, liabilities, do it where I can't see you".

And this one probably shouldn't be funny but there was this guy with a bike, right? Belligerent, abusive towards staff, falling-down drunk, you know? And I was supposed to get him out of the building, but instead when I asked him to make his way out he jumped onto the bike and started riding around me in circles shouting "WHORE! WHORE! WHOOOOOOOORE!"

Same guy, the day that I first met him, he was peeing at a payphone- I asked him for his name and he straightened up, put his shoulders back, and said with all confidence, "My name is Donald Finkley and I take it up the butt!"

His name was not Donald Finkley. The real Donald Finkley was someone he just didn't like very much

[sp0o0kylights]

Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him. 

They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down. 

His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror. 

This is his golden ticket. 

The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before. 

He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.

 Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.

No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now? 

He's fucked. 

He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.) 

 Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB. 

If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.

Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it. 

"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin. 

Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)

"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters." 

Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss. 

"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!" 

Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough. 

"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.

Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks.  "Looking forward to it." 

Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling. 

Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him. 

Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face? 

The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.

Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth. 

("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that." 

Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!” 

Eddie bounced into Jeff’s face so he could hiss: “He fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!" 

"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness." 

Eddie flipped him off.) 

One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.

No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later. 

Today on WIP’s I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: From Party of Two, to Family of Three

Sunday Surprise takes place right before this, but not necessary for this part

notes: you guys already know this is my favorite little crackhead family. While we've been enjoying Sarah's adventures out of order for a while, lot of people have been asking when we'll meet Ellie. Which I didn't feel it was right until we actually see Sarah's birth! So here she is. Please enjoy!

warnings: childbirth (not too graphic), a shit ton of language, comedy and fuff

- - - -

They say childbirth is a miracle. It's the single greatest, most amazing, most heavenly, life giving, breath of fresh air day of any parent’s life.

What they don't say (almost as if conveniently forgetting to even mention it) is that the moments leading up to the birth are the single most excruciating, marathon through the worst hell of a nightmare.

"YOUUU. YOUUUUUU MOTHER FUCKING--FUUCCKKEERRRR!!" The banshee (his wife, you) next to him in the car screeches directly into his ear, a death grip on his forearm.

He’s one handing these turns, blowing more red lights than he's ever yelled at Tommy for, while ready to lose his right hand to your talons and his hearing to your incessant wails.

"fuck YOU!OOOOWWAHAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

You squeeze your eyes shut, head crouched down while another wave of contractions splinters your insides apart. Every muscle known and unknown in your body is engaged. 

"We're almost there, you’re gonna make it--"

"YouFUCKINGfuckSTICkofaFuCkFuckshitheadfuckingbastard mothershitstainfrigginFUCK!"

You'd bash his head against his window repeatedly if your other hand wasn't already occupied cupping your rupturing belly.

Joel’s never been simultaneously in control and losing it inside all at once. He’s got one goal right now: get you to the hospital in one piece.

 That goes for driver safety but also to ensure the baby does NOT come out prior that because lord help him he would not know what comes next.

The truck screeches to a halt at the parking lot in 3 spaces. Joel tumbles out of the seat, missing a step and stumbling clumsily to his hands and knees on the pavement. He doesn’t even brush off the bruises and dirt as he’s running to you. You’ve nearly thrown him over again by how fast you swing the door open.

Both his sturdy, reliable, big hands are there for you when you take them, hoisting yourself with an agonizing yelp.

“You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, baby momma, you’re—“

“FUCK!!!!!”

You’re clutching your belly, now way lower than it ever has been. Each step feels like fire, with Joel cradling your back and trying to get you to the front door with quick steps.

“Baby! Baby now!” Joel shouts, pointing to you with wild and pleading eyes.

You let out a horrendous scream, stopping in your tracks. Your spine, your bones, your head, and especially your stomach, is all being hit by a truck right fucking now. And you’re crying, you’ve never cried like this. It’s not the fake shit he’s gotten so accustomed to when you want a cookie or milkshake or pussy eating. This is real.

They get you in a chair and wheel you off to the delivery unit, your hand squeezing the shit out of Joel’s but he’s never once let go. He’s gone so pale, running and running alongside you, trying to answer their questions about when it started, how long, what was due date, etc. 

He’s doing a million things at once, and you’re just fighting to stay alive.

Oh, you also would forget everything you were saying at this moment. But thankfully, Joel, and the entire fucking hospital, wouldn’t.

“YOU FUCKING, COCK—FUCKER—SHIT FUCKCUnt cunt CUNT! FUCK-OHM Y MOTHERFUCKING GOD FUCK.”

They manage to get you stripped to the papery gown, push your ass onto the bed, spread you wide so the doctor can take a look.

They’re all so calm, walking around and nodding, hooking you up like you’re just here for a checkup, like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

Joel feels the worst stabbing pain along his skull as your nails dig into his hair and yank him down to your face.

“MILLER,” you seethe, venom and sweat breaking through your clenched teeth and slitted eyes. 

“Y-yes?”

You force out harsh pants, groaning, but making sure he understands you clearly right fucking now. “Give me. A fucking. Epidural.”

“I-“

“NOW!!!!”

He looks around for some assistance. “Ep—is there an--”

“WHERES THE FUCKING EPIDURAL.”

Joel makes contact with the nurse, who checks below your legs again before resurfacing with the look Joel feared above all else. While you’re heaving and and moaning in pain, Joel receives the nonverbal confirmation she passes to him:

It’s too fucking late for an epidural.

Both Joel and the nurse also pass a clear, mutual understanding about how to pass that info on to you:

“ITS COMING!” He nods reassuringly to you, exceedingly over the top acting. “Right nurse? See she said it’s coming!”

“Any second now, we’ll get that epidural—“ she agrees, nodding and nodding with a thumbs up to you extra confidence.

“FUUUUCCCCKCKKKKKK,” you sink lower, back falling and head tossed as wave of new pain ripples through you.

“FUUCCKKING —Fuck J-Joel. Joel Miller—“

“yes baby, I’m here.”

“Im getting a fucking epidural.”

“Yes you fucking are.”

“You fuckers aren’t lying to me?”

Joel glances at the nurse again, who quickly shakes her head at you with her calm, straightforward, trusting voice of reason: “No ma’am we would never.”

Praise this woman, he thinks. “That’s right baby she’s telling ya, its coming—“

“I’ll FUCKING kill you, Joel Miller. Do you know that?”

“Yes-“

“I fucking HATE you right now.”

“Yes—“

“You shit—fuck bag motherfucker, I HATE you—you—you—“ and you start sobbing “—did this to me!”

“I did—“

“YOU!”

“ME.”

Back again to an angered, snarling beast, you growl, “I’ll rip your fucking cock off. I’m fucking you up so fucking bad when we get home, you can never FUCKIN’ do this fucking shit to me again. Balls in the fucking blender.”

“Balls in the blender,” he repeats with absolute conviction, not an ounce of protest in him.

“The FUCkING blender—you hear me fucker?”

“The fucking blender, for sure baby, anything you want right after this.”

“Ugh--oh dfuck Joel its coming!”

“Yeah?” He asks, and its the first time he hears his own voice waver. Holy fuck this is it. This is the moment for the last 9 months its actually here—

“Just another contraction,” the doctor confirms casually.

FUCK DOC HOW LONG DOES THIS TAKE I can’t feel my skull!

“CUNT SUCKER!” You scream, holding Joel’s head hostage as you chant through your breathing pants.

“Any where’s my MOTHERFUCKING epidural!”

“It’s coming! It’s coming!” Joel nods to his now best friend nurse, who’s also nodding dramatically to keep you distracted from the epidural that is absolutely not on its way.

“Miller,” you growl, shoving his nose right against yours. You stare into his very soul, like Death herself ripping his life choices out of his body and spilling them under your eyes. “I think that Bitch is lying to me. There’s no fucking epidural coming, is there.”

“There is, baby, she said it herself, I checked…”

“Are you fucking lying to me Miller?”

“Never baby, we’d never lie to you, right?” He gestures to the nurse again, who nods diligently again. “See baby, no lying, we’d never lie.”

He watches your jaw drop, voice disappear as another roar is ripped from your chest..

“I can’t do this.”

“You can, you can and will. I’ll give you anything you want, right after you do this.”

“I want you fucking DEAD.”

“Sure thing. Want a divorce too?”

“I’m CONSIDERING IT,” you bark a baritone lower like the devil. “FuuuUUUCCCKKKK!!!!!”

“I’ll get the papers printed right up. Favorite pen signed an�� all. But only after you have this baby tonight—“

The doctor checks the monitor again just as you let out a piercing scream. 

“Ma’am it’s time to push.”

“YOU PUSH!” You shout, waving your arm at him but unable to put a curse to the end of it. Your pains are coming through quicker, no longer waves but an unyielding rumbling as the baby kicks and punches and squirms and—

Joel is by your side, taking your hand in his. He’s prepped this speech in his head a million times, every night, every time he felt that baby kick or watched you struggle to tie your shoes, every single second, he’s perfected it:

“It’s here. Its happening. You’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this together, you and me, right now—“

“Nope.”

“We—what?”

Your voice is calm and face plain. “Changed my mind. Not having this baby.”

“Yes you for fucking sure are.”

“Nope no. I’m returning it. Got the receipt.”

“There—there IS NO RECEIPT.”

“Yes—I got it—90 day warranty—“ your face tightens, clenching out the last word as if you’re mentally willing this baby to not pop out right now. But by god this baby is not taking your bullshit any longer.

“We are way past the 90 day warranty, honey, you’re having this baby, TODAY, Right NOW!”

“Nope, nope I’m gonna suck it back in!” 

It seems all ability to ‘suck it back in’ has failed, as the nurse shouts clearly “I see a head!”

Your voice breaks in the most heart wrenching “I CAN’T—“ you sob, terror in your voice.

You scream again, and it’s the worst thing Joel’s ever heard. He feels like a kid again, for the first time in a long while, when his parents fought, and the sounds of their voices carried upstairs to his and Tommy’s bedroom. He wanted to run, hide in the closet, cover his ears, cradling himself and rock back and forth, shut his eyes and his mind out, drain everything away. Instead, he held Tommy, he watched Tommy, he calmed Tommy. He bared the brunt of it, and the fear, he learned to control it.

The control is gone. He’s fearing again. And it’s not his parents having an argument over watermelon seeds, but his wife experiencing the most unimaginable pain right now, and it’s because of him, it really is, just like you said. Worse than nails on a chalkboard, glass in his eyes, fire on his feet. He’s so scared, everything he had tried to train for, for you, for this moment, is collapsing before him, and he’s not gonna make it—

Every fiber in his body grips your hand more tightly than possible. “You can,” he says, sturdy yet trembling. He’s scared.

He’s always known what to do, what comes next, how to make your pain and sadness and tears go away. He’s perfected it, knowing what to get you or what to say to make it all better, but now?  He doesn’t know what comes next. Doesn’t know how to make it stop, help you through it, take your worries and griefs—you’re on your own and he’s just next to you, and its not enough, and he can’t help, and he doesn’t know what to do—He doesn’t know what to do-Hedoesntknowwhattodo!

“Hey.”

He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder; the nurse who’s holding all the pieces of his heart and sanity together. She looks at him, focused, locked in from the moment your wailing, miserable self was wheeled in here, and has been doing everything he can’t.

“We’re right there. I need you to ground her,” she says. “Can you do that?”

He nods, tightening his lips. He remembers your hand in his now, remembers where he is, in this moment, and its all the matters.

He’s here. And he wants—needs you to know he’s not going anywhere.

He calls your name. “It’s time, okay baby?” Steady. Reassuring. Level headed. Strong. Rock. Crutch. Love. Everything he’s good at. Everything you know him by. “I need you to push.”

You shake your head again, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenching hard. But he nods, because he’s gonna do the nodding, and the yes’ing, and he’s gonna take everything that’s ever caused you wrong or pain or sadness away because it’s what he does.

It’s what makes him keep going.

“FUCK! MOTHER———MOTHERFUCKER!!!!AHHHHHHHHH!!”

“Keep going!” The nurse encourages. “Dad, you’re doing great, keep getting her to focus—“

“I’M NOT GETTING MY FUCKING EPIDURAL!!!!!!!!!!!!” You sob in finality, the truth seeping into your bones. “YOU FUCKING—MOTHERFUCKING CUNNT SHIT STICK LITTLE BI—“ 

“For Christ’s sake, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The nurse howls, and the entire room goes silent, even you. Joel stares at her dumbfounded. 

‘“The baby. Is HERE,” she huffs definitively. 

“Now fucking—PUSH!”

 - 

Joel’s heart has stopped. 

He doesn’t know where it is, but he knows it’s no longer in his body. 

Its not until he hears the first, most beautifully devastating croak of an angelic cry that he’s felt his heartbeat resume again, and its being cradled gently by the nurse as she pulls the tiniest, wrinkliest, most precious thing on this planet from between your legs.

“Congratulations, mom and dad. A healthy, happy baby girl.”

There’s no way this little—thing—this… bean—can be a baby. It’s the size of both his hands together, and so incredibly delicate, my god, weighing almost nothing and yet the sheer weight of who she is has him nearly capsizing at this very moment.

She’s wrapped delicately in cloth, face and nostrils wiped of fluids before landing gracefully in your outstretched arms. And it’s like the cosmos has realigned in harmony.

No amount of sweat, tears, crazy hair and braised skin, torn clothing and achy muscles could possibly deter the absolute love bursting from your chest as you hold the tiny baby in your grasp. “Hi,” you whimper with a big smile, eyes floating in a shiny haze pf exhaustion and happiness, looking down upon her. “Hi baby girl.” you laugh, tears falling freely as you shake your head and hold her closer, as close as possible, reabsorbing her into your bare chest, and you feel it. Her skin on yours. You’ve carried her this entire time, and yet it’s like you’re feeling her for the first time in your life.

Joel curls next to you, his big palm splayed over top her whole body, touching her. And it’s the first time, the first time he’s felt his daughter. He had been separated by the membrane of your belly, anxiously, excitedly waiting all this time to meet her, and now she’s here. She’s here. Neither one of you can believe it.

Your little baby wiggles, cooing noise stuck in her throat as she settles from her cries. she’s so wrinkly, skin still absorbing all that fresh air, working color into those cheeks and hands, fingers and toes. Her eyes are too swollen, not yet ready to say hi to this world. But that’s okay. Because her mom and dad are still going to be right here when she wakes up, the first people who will introduce her to the world around her. Because she is their world.

“Joel,” you whisper softly. He hears you. He’s here. He hasn’t left your side once. You know he’s here, you’re grateful. He’s here. He loves you. 

“Joel,” you hum again. “She’s beautiful.”

You tremble against him. Shaken from love and joy, more than your entire achy body can contain as you bring her little head to your lips and press the most fulfilling kiss to her.

Joel cups her little head. He wants to hold her, but he’s gotta wait. Fuck after all this time, he’s gotta wait. And it’s enough. He can handle it because he’s so fucking overwhelmed that she’s finally here.

“She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasps into your hair, kissing you tenderly.

Joel steps outside the room, softly closing the door behind him. He watches from the glass window pane, with you perfectly framed in the center as its only subject. Just the way he’s seen the world every day since he met you. 

Only this time, you hold another part of you, and him, in your arms.  The two of you, together. Like the only things that will ever matter to him.

And suddenly, Joel lets himself feel it all.

He clutches his mouth with the entirety of his palm, his yelp buzzing in his hoarse throat. He feels his knees give way, tumbling to the ground, one hand holding the wall while the other grips his face to keep the cries at bay. And he cries. He cries harder than he’s ever cried, and they’re wonderful. They hurt like kisses, burn like candy, ache like love. 

He wants to go back in there.

Quickly wiping his face clean, he stands up, straightening himself.

“Hey.”

The nurse who had delivered his baby stands next to him.

“She did fantastic. You both did.”

Joel tries to clear his throat, but his face is so obviously still red, swollen and barely holding it together. She doesn’t question nor judge the tough guy facade, yet completely speaks to his soul, telling him everything he didn’t know he needed to hear. “She’s 7 pounds, 2 ounces. Ten fingers and toes. Brown eyes. Hearing is great, so is—“

“Thank you,” he interrupts.

She goes quiet but offers a gentle smile. 

As he stares at her, the literal saint that got you and his baby through this, from point A to B, he realizes  nothing is coming to his head.

“I’m sorry, I … I don’t even know your name.”

She laughs. “I would not expect you to. You had way more to worry about.”

“Well, I just … really, really wanted to say…. Thank you…”

“Sarah,” she responds.

“Sarah,” he repeats. He repeats it over and over again in his mind, as if its going to stick, and he doesn’t quite know why yet.

“I’ll give you two—three, some time together,” she says, gathering the checkerboard hanging by the wall. “Then I’ll be back to help get her ready to take home, and let your wife sleep some more.”

He nods, looking down then back up, just as she’s patting his shoulder reassuringly and turning away to attend her other duties.

-

When he steps back inside, you look up to him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he whispers back. Now that the dust has settled, he can finally see just how exhausted you are. The absolute train wreck that has battered your body this last hour really settling in, and it makes his chest sore to see you like that. Your gown pulled halfway down to your ribcage, tousled hair sticking awkwardly to your forehead and back from all the dried sweat. And yet none of it, absolutely nothing, is getting in the way of that smile that hasn’t left your cheeks since the moment you heard her cry.

“She’s sleeping,” you hum, looking back down at your daughter, who’s coddled up in a wrap and little cap.

“You thinking about putting the baby down, getting some sleep too?”

“Never.”

He smirks, looking down at her again.

“You think about any names yet?” You ask, stroking over her little forehead.

The two of you had thought about it. A lot. You didn’t want it to be random, but you didn’t want it to be weird. It had to have meaning, but not so closely related to a family member that you’d always mess them up at thanksgiving. It had to remind you of someone strong, unique, purposeful but distant enough that she could to grow and make it her own. 

And this was a girl, after all, so it had to be someone that could put momma AND papa in their place whenever shit got too crazy. 

“I’ve got…one.”

-

Joel helps dress the baby from her swaddled blanket into clothes.

“They’re gonna be a little bit big at first—“ you say, giggling as the two of you realize that the smallest clothes in the world are still a little too baggy on your little—so fucking little—girl.

Joel doesn’t waver, helping put her bitty legs through the loose pant legs…

You see him wipe his lips quickly, swallowing a lump to clear his throat.

“Joel, are you crying?”

“No,” he rasps like a whimper. “M’just sweatin’ through my eyes.”

You let out a chuckle, and Joel tries to do the same, but then he looks down at his little angel again, who’s stretching herself out in the new cloth that’s practically a giant coat on her. Joel starts to tremble. “She’s so perfect,” he weeps, and the shine in his eyes are clear as day.

“Oh baby, it’s okay to cry! I’m gonna cry too—“ you bawl, and now the two of you cry over this little girl who’s just trying to figure out why this blanket is stuck to her.

Not a great first impression from mom and dad but she’ll just have to deal with it.

And just like that, the Miller family went from party of two, to family of three.

-

6 weeks later…

The baby monitor crackles to life, and Joel is already tossing the blanket aside before the baby utters her first cry. He’s already up, kissing your forehead with “I’ll get her," almost excitedly through the heavy lull of sleep. You barely get a noise out of your throat, already snoring away into the pillow. He’s exhausted too, but his feet carry him onward with droopy eyes as if on their own.

He’s still not happy about the pink paint color of her bedroom, but that hardly matters right now. Terribly dramatic cries echo from the crib ahead. He scoops his little bean—since that’s what she looks like all curly in her onesie—supporting her head carefully and tucking her into one elbow. 

He rocks her squirming, agitated body back and forth in one arm as he shakes the now warmed bottle in his other hand. Joel tries to get her screaming mouth to take the cap, but she shakes her head, avoiding him at all costs to her own detriment.

 "Oh you’re such a squiggly girly for daddy. I got ya bubbas right here, quick ya cryin’. You’re gonna wake up mommy." 

As if she understands how she wouldn’t want to cause YOU any problems, his baby stops crying and accepts the bottle between her lips. Once she finally has her snacking, she peacefully looks back up to him, studies him. 

"There she is.  Told ya." He grins, swaying back and forth as she stares back at him with those big beautiful brown eyes. You definitely got one of your wishes: Joel’s eyes. The rest of her, is yours.

He’s hypnotized, so in love with her he didn’t think it was possible to love something as much as you. He already knows he’s gonna get her the dog, the kitty, the pony, the car, credit card, dress, house, anything she points to really; he’s never going to be able to say no to those enchanting eyes.

All of her bitty fingers fist around Joel’s pointer, as if to anchor her, and she doesn't let go as she drinks safely.  

She’s only 10 pounds now, but he feels like Atlas, carrying the entire weight of the world all curled up in his arms right now. Ans he'd carry this weight forever if he could, would pump iron and concrete slabs and oceans just to stay in shape and keep his girl in his arms for eternity, never to tire.

“My babygirl,” he whispers with a grin, pursing his lips close to her. “My little baby Sarah.”

- - - -

taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @jeewrites

[artemisgrayy]

Okay but I don't think anyone here would mind if you wrote some Alastor aftercare as well!

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW, BDSM, drawing blood (teeth/claws), breath play, creampie, Alastor's shadow, rough sex, aftercare

A/n: I've been so busy with Real Life™️ but I can't stop thinking about Dom Alastor and his aftercare routine 👀 thank you so much for this prompt! 🥹

I'm also trying a new format? So feedback is VERY appreciated.

✨ Masterlist ✨

A big huge shout-out to @vielle-art for the proofread/copyedits 💖

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Dom!Alastor will bind you to the bed, his shadow tendrils like icy shackles against your wrists, ankles, and throat. The radio demon will circle you, a wicked smile on his face as he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, watching you struggle helplessly and begging to be let go. His wicked laugh overshadows your gasp when you come close to freedom only for them to pull you back down again.

Dom!Alastor has no hesitation when it comes to sinking his teeth into your inner thighs. The sound of your scream when he draws blood triggers a primal growl to escape from his throat. He likes to hold your gaze while his tongue licks the blood off your skin, edging closer to your exposed heat, and stopping just shy of it.

Dom!Alastor takes safe word usage very seriously but It's a game to him. The demon will push you right to your limit, teetering on the line. He loves to see you squirm, whimpering and on the brink of breaking beneath him.

Dom!Alastor likes to use his claws to gently trace along your clit, basking in the noises you make when he applies just enough pressure that you're writhing in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Dom!Alastor will wait until you're breathlessly pleading, your chest heaving with such desire that you can't take it anymore -- and he'll wait just a bit longer. Your pathetic whimpers and bargaining remind him of someone begging for their life, and nothing ignites his desire more than that.

Dom!Alastor uses his shadowy tendrils to pin your neck down, forcing you to lock eyes with him when he climbs on top of you. He's consumed by the ecstasy painted across your face when his cock pushes through your folds. His maniacal chuckle rings through your ears as your vision blackens. He loves the expression you make when you're robbed of oxygen, overwhelmed by his monstrous length stretching you out, inch by inch.

Dom!Alastor only allows you a moment to gasp for breath when he loosens the hold around your neck before he starts fucking you relentlessly, feeding into your desperation.

Dom!Alastor wants to hear you say who you belong to, over and over again. He grows more feral with each "I belong to you, Alastor" as you fall further and further into subspace. His eyes blacken, the horns on his head jut out violently, and his radio-filtered snarls echo off the walls of the room.

Dom!Alastor gets enthralled by the way you submit further for him. He'll use the shadow to flip you over so he can take you from behind - his favourite position. He wants to fuck you like the animal you are.

Dom!Alastor loves the way you cry out when he sinks one set of his claws into your waist, intentionally carving through the skin. He'll use his other hand to pin your head to the pillow, hair ripping from your scalp as he hungrily bucks his hips against your ass.

Dom!Alastor will grab your wrist when he catches you massaging your clit, chasing your own release. "Ah ah ah," he barks, "you'll cum when I tell you to."

Dom!Alastor gets driven wild by the way you beg, plead, and bargain for your release when you're right on the cusp. His thrusts become more aggressive as he feeds off of your desperation.

Dom!Alastor will pull you up by your hair to hold you against him. He wants to see your face when he whispers "cum, my doe."

Dom!Alastor growls violently as he feels the walls of your pussy clutch his cock when the orgasm rips through you. It pushes him over the edge, his seed spilling inside of you. He loves the idea of filling you up and marking you as his own - physically laying claim to his possession.

Dom!Alastor doesn't take long to shift into aftercare mode when he notices you trembling. When the tendrils release their hold, he'll pick you up and pull you under the covers, cradling you against him.

Dom!Alastor will summon a gramophone, playing soft jazz that echoes through the vastness of the room as he runs his fingers through your hair. You sit like that for a few minutes while you bask in post-orgasm haze together.

Dom!Alastor confirms your boundaries; he ensures that, despite everything, you feel safe. It doesn't matter to him how long he's known you - he'll check in with you again and again. He'll listen to your words, your feedback, all while cradling your face as you look up at him.

Dom!Alastor Cleans and bandages your lacerations, apologizing when you flinch from the acrid bite of the antiseptic. He's captivated and almost giddy by the way you let him leave his mark on you. He'll whisper to you- only you - about how beautiful your body, your flesh, and all of you looks, as he gingerly runs his claws against your skin.

Dom!Alastor materializes your favourite pyjamas and puts them on for you, careful not to disturb any of the still-raw injuries he's decorated your body with.

Dom!Alastor drifts his claws through your hair, your head on his chest. "Good girl," he whispers, his mellifluous voice coating your ears like the sweetest honey as you surrender to sleep.

--

✨ Masterlist ✨

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 3 - ( c.s )

part two

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, a bit of drinking

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: part three baby here we go! hope you guys enjoy!! if i forgot a tag it either wouldn’t let me or i missed it (if i missed u pls comment and i’ll fix it right up). anyways kisses for u all i hope ur having a good day, my inbox is open for anything as always MWAH

@cutenote @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @breeloveschris @l9vesick @bb-1s-blog @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @annamcdonalds67 @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @hearts4matty @orangeypepsi @luckistar-posts @angelworldspost @ponyosturniolo @rainyenthusiastdaze @heartz4chris @sturnvvz @cupidsword @wurlibydominicfike @mattswrld @yoursopretty15 @poopydroopt @latinasforchrizz @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner

it’s been a day since the kiss, and you still haven’t told a single soul. for some reason, you’re way too scared to admit what happened to your roommates, even though you know they’d be the last to judge you for it.

and yet you just can’t, despite the fact that it’s been eating you alive for over twenty-four hours straight. saying it out loud makes it real, so you decided it was best to keep it inside.

however, you still need to give chris his jersey back, which you’ve been neglecting to do because you don’t want to see him.

or maybe because you’re scared.

it’s an involuntary thought, and it makes you angry. there’s nothing to be scared of, because he doesn’t have any power over you.

right?

you grab his jersey off the top of your dresser. it’s all clean, and it still smells like detergent from when you washed it yesterday. you’ve been putting it off all day, and it’s time for that to stop.

the sun is nearly gone, so you head down the stairs, silently thankful that ramona and cassidy are both are both runnings errands as you slip out the front door.

you’re in your comfy clothes, black sweats and baby blue hoodie that you stole from cass, and you’re immediately regretting the fact that you didn’t grab a jacket.

you hurry across the lawn, passing the cars parked in the driveway. there’s an unfamiliar red one at the end, and it almost makes you pause, but the possibility doesn’t fully connect in your mind yet.

so you head up the steps and knock on the door loudly, still very much so a woman on a mission.

it takes a moment, a long moment, before someone comes to open it for you. it’s connor, which is unfortunate, because you really weren’t prepared to speak with anyone besides the one boy you’re actually looking for.

he looks a little confused, but he smiles nonetheless. “what’s up?”

“i’m just, uh, trying to drop off chris’s jersey.” any bit of confidence you had is gone now as you choke on your words.

connor’s eyes widen a little as his grin fades, though you can tell he’s trying to play it off. “he’s a little busy right now, but i’ll get it to him.”

your eyebrows furrow as he reaches his arms out, like he’s trying to rush the process along without any more interrogation.

“busy with what?” you question, though you hand it over regardless.

he looks at you for just a half a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to piece it together, and then it clicks. chris is busy because he has a girl over, and that’s her car in the driveway.

you wish it didn’t phase you, but you can feel your face morphing into an emotion that borders disgust and anger.

“oh, i see.” is all you say, because you’re already fucking embarrassed beyond belief.

you turn and head back down the stairs, trying to ignore the way your stomach is flipping like you’re going to throw up.

connor doesn’t say anything. instead you hear the door close, and you feel completely numb as you walk back to your own porch. part of it is because of the cold, and part of it is because you feel so stupid.

you’re not sure what you were expecting, but that was exactly what you should’ve anticipated knowing chris.

you step back into the warmth of your own home, and even when you close and lock the door, a shiver chases you.

you head back up to your bedroom, kicking your shoes off by the door. you want further confirmation, so you peek through the curtains that hang over your window.

chris’s room, which is coincidentally directly across from yours, reveals nothing besides a dim light that peeks through the closed blinds.

you let the drapes fall back into place, still in shock. it was so ridiculous to believe for even a second that he was any different than he had been for the last six months.

you should’ve taken him at his word. he doesn’t date, and he’s not interested in you beyond teasing you or making you look like an idiot.

and you refuse to be taken for a fool.

you pace along the floor for a second until you decide you deserve some wine. you know there’s at least half a bottle in the fridge, and maybe it’ll help you calm the hell down.

a few minutes later you’re back upstairs, huddled up in your bed with a book you had started earlier in the day, sipping from your glass as you read.

it’s hard to fall into the fantasy world you picked out at first, but then you begin to feel your cheeks flush and your eyes are suddenly devouring the words.

you’re so enveloped in the plot, completely unaware that your roommates had gotten home until ramona walks in. it startles you, so much so that you lose your page.

she pauses to take in your state; the empty glass, the minimal leftovers in the bottle you brought with you, your droopy eyes.

“wine before 7 p.m. on the lord’s day? you’re crazy.” she jokes with a grin.

you shrug, also smiling a little bit. “felt like getting a little wild.”

mona puts a hand on her hip and nods toward the door she just entered through. “well, could i maybe convince you to take this crazy train downstairs so we can catch up on VPR? we’re like, three episodes behind now.”

you snap your book closed and roll out of bed, which you can tell by her snort looks far from graceful.

“all you had to say was VPR.”

you sit at your desk, gnawing on your bottom lip as you try to focus on the stupid online homework prompts that are due soon. the overcast afternoon light pours into your room, and you hear your phone buzz against the wood.

chris

still playing hard to get?

you roll your eyes before you can help it. the text doesn’t surprise you, because he’s been messaging you for the past few days, ever since he inevitably found out you stopped by from connor.

chris

that’s clearly a yes.

you wonder how many times he’s going to text you as you put your phone down to pull your hair out of your face, tying it up at the back of your head.

once again, you hear the device vibrate, and you flip it to glance at the screen.

chris

i can see you ignoring me you know

your eyes betray you as you glance out the window, just to find chris standing in front of his own. he’s pouting at you with his phone in his hand, hair all curly and damp like he just got out of the shower.

you stand up from your chair without a second thought and take a few steps so you can yank your curtains closed.

he might refuse to believe it, but you’re not playing hard to get. you just can’t fucking stand him.

chris

now that’s just cold

come onnnnnn princess

y/n

holy shit

do NOT call me princess

chris

you love it

y/n

i hate you

chris

if you don’t stop this i’m coming over there

y/n

i’d like to see you try asshole

chris

fine.

you pull back one curtain to call his bluff, and your heart actually drops when you see that he’s not standing there anymore. that just means he’s probably on his way over already.

you have no idea if cass or ramona are home or in their rooms or what. but you do know that you’re locking your door, and if he makes it through the house undetected he’s not getting into your room.

you sit on the edge of your bed for a moment, waiting because you don’t know what else to do with yourself. and then the knock comes, right before chris twists the handle and finds it locked.

“open up.” he demands, his gruff voice muffled through the door.

“no.”

“i’ll go downstairs and get cass if you don’t let me in.” he threatens, which doesn’t really scare you.

cassidy will kick his ass out if she realizes you don’t want him here. you’ll have to explain some things, but it’s probably time to do that anyways.

“you’re being a baby and you’re wasting your time. go home, chris.” you reiterate.

“come on, i just want to talk.” he wiggles the handle once again, like that will somehow open it.

“then call a sex addiction helpline.” you reply hotly, glaring at the slab of wood that separates you as if you can actually see him, though you’re glad you can’t.

“can you please open the door?”

“nope.”

“jesus, you’re so stubborn it’s ridiculous.” he groans, and you hear his forehead thump against the door.

he’s growing frustrated now, and even though you’re heated too, you kind of love it.

“so are you! how many times do i have to tell you to leave?” you shoot back.

it’s silent for a moment, which scares you. then you hear a small sigh.

“i didn’t think i would have to do this.”

the lock on the door begins to twist and turn rapidly, and you leap forward to grab it with your hand.

chris twists it hard and your fingers fumble to keep it jammed. your thumb is already in pain, and the harder he pushes the closer you are to failing. you’re finally forced to let go as chris comes shoving his way into your room a few seconds later.

even though he stumbles slightly, he looks so proud of himself, clutching the heavy duty paper clip he used to get inside.

“there, that’s better.” he says smugly.

you watch his eyes take in your room, covered in posters and full of random artifacts, and you hate it. for some reason, it feels deeply personal.

“holy shit, why don’t you just go home already?”

it’s impossible to keep your tone level anymore as you turn away from him.

“i’m here now, so you have to talk to me.”

“no, i really don’t.” you reply before plopping down onto your mattress, crossing your arms as you lean against the headboard.

“don’t be a brat.” chris follows your lead, even though you weren’t inviting him to join you.

he falls beside you, sprawling out on his back by your feet. his shirt raises over his sweats, exposing a bit of skin above the band of his boxers, and you have to tear your eyes away.

you can feel the warmth of his body, can smell his aftershave mixed with hints of some kind of fresh body wash, and all of it drives you crazy.

you curl your body into itself so there’s as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“why are you so mad?” chris turns his head slightly so he can look at you.

“i’m not mad, you just disgust me.”

this makes him smile. “i beg to differ, i think you like me.”

without hesitation, you extend one leg to kick him in his side. even though it’s not very forceful, he lets out a little groan of surprise, hand going to rub his hip as he frowns.

“you didn’t have to kick me, damn.”

“you deserved that.” you argue, tucking your knees back to your chest.

this time he stays silent and just looks at you. his eyes scan your face, darting down to your lips every other second, and you’re suddenly very aware of your surroundings.

“what the fuck are you staring at?” you ask in a brief moment of panic.

his eyes are so unnerving. it’s like he can see right through you.

“you’re pretty.” chris shrugs before averting his gaze back to the ceiling.

your face flushes, and you force yourself to remember the embarrassment from the other day, how stupid you felt after discovering that he’s still the same old player that sits beside you now.

“shouldn’t you be giving some other girl an STD or something?” you snap, and he huffs out a breathy laugh.

“first of all, i’m totally clean. and if you’d actually let me explain, you’d realize the girl that was over on sunday is just an ex fling who was picking up some old stuff.”

his clarification shocks you, though you still don’t necessarily believe it yet. he could be lying, even though it doesn’t seem like he is.

“you’re seriously telling me you weren’t hooking up with her?” you ask.

“it was strictly platonic. nothing happened.” he confirms, shifting to face you again.

chris lifts his hand to trace gentle patterns along your shins, and you don’t shy away this time. the feeling of his palms, even when separated by your leggings, is far nicer than you imagined.

“okay.” you mutter simply.

“you’ve been ignoring me the entire week and all i get is an ‘okay’?” he halts his movements so he can curl his fingers into air quotes.

“what would you like me to say?”

“an apology would be a nice start.”

you bark out a laugh. “an apology for what? for not talking to you? because i really didn’t take you for the sensitive type.”

he just shakes his head, nudging your legs with one of his knuckles lightly. “god, you and that headstrong attitude will be the death of me.”

“can’t wait.” you quip back, and now its his turn to chuckle.

silence settles over the two of you for a moment, and you’ve been far too close for too long, so you move to stand once again.

“alright, well, we talked. time for you to get lost.” you motion toward the door.

chris sits up, running a hand through his messy hair before he replies. “look, we don’t have another game until sunday, so we’re hosting at the house tomorrow. you should come.”

you raise an eyebrow and tap your chin, like you’re really contemplating. “i’ll have to think about it.”

“please? it’ll only be fun if you go.” he flashes you a charming smile, and you hate that it actually does kind of work.

“maybe i’ll make a special appearance. maybe.” you point a wary finger at him as he gets back on his feet.

“that’s what i like to hear.” chris says, making his way toward you.

you expect him to pass right by, but he lingers, like there’s something else on his mind. he stares down at you with those big blue eyes, and you can feel yourself slipping into dangerous territory.

“is there something else?” you ask softly, and the sound of your voice is maddening to him.

you don’t even try to tempt chris on purpose, he knows this, and yet everything about you is so enticing. not to mention he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss since it happened, or that pretty little mouth of yours.

but he shakes his head again, because the things he’s thinking about you so early on in this strange relationship frighten him.

“uh, no, sorry. i’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.”

and then he blows right by you without waiting for a response, disappearing just as quickly as he arrived.

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: Uh… I might do a part two to this? But it randomly came to me and I wanna try something different.

Warnings: Language, hurt, angst, unrequited/one sided feelings, sadness, anxiety, mentions panic, body issues, and mentions self-esteem problems.

You’re hunched over the counter, skin taunt over your knuckles, bones sharp enough to shred through. A hot, sticky wetness resides in your lungs, the pain of its steam burning in your throat, settling over your lungs. You cannot see through the haze of blurred vision, half-assed attempts to wipe copious amounts of moisture going nowhere. Only when a heavier set of footfalls fall outside of the door and it’s yanked open — you finally cease some panic. Your manager, in all his greasy glory, clings to the doorframe, looking into the storage closet to make sure that you’re alone.

Obviously, because who would go in here with me? Steve never fucking will. He’s probably had other girls in here…

Keith is speaking, sounding like his voice is somewhere above the surface of murky waters. But you make it out. “Hey, uh. I heard what happened with Harrington back there. Let me take you out, show you how a real man can treat a lady?”

If Keith wasn’t so disgusting towards the female population, you’d feel bad for him, but to sink yourself as low as to only get an offer from him? And right after HE saw you get rejected by your best-friend?

Nip it in the butt before it continues. You have to work here, after all…

“No, thanks, Keith. But I appreciate it.” You force a smile so fake that it burns the corners of your mouth.

He snorts, shaking his head. “Fine, but know that if Harrington side stepped you, you shouldn’t be so stingy with standards.” The comment stings, pricks your heart, tearing it apart to bleed out. “I’ll be in my office if you change your mind, sweets.”

One nasty wink later, and he’s back in his office and you’re out the door. This is all too much. You have to go. It’s break time, you thank fuck for, glancing at the clock, but you can barely think, your head pulsating with a pressing pound between your eyes. You punch out for lunch, gathering your purse, and you’re coming out as Robin is talking rapidly to Steve, seemingly scolding him at the front desk.

She’s come in for her shift. They stop immediately, features softening, too observant for your liking. You do what you do best — change the subject. Steve isn’t going to care anyways, so you might as well say it. It’ll help you get outside quicker.

“I have a fucking headache, I’m hungry, and Keith just hit on me, so I’m taking my break.” You blow out a wobbly breath.

It’s also Steve’s break, and he starts to remove his vest. Is he serious? You are so beyond outer limits right now… Granted, you take your breaks together every single day, but after everything that just happened in the past hour?

Steve’s jaw clenches and his body tenses at what you tell them, pausing his removal mid-way, inclining his head to look back in the manager’s office direction. Robin looks mad, tongue clicking as she looks over at Steve and shakes her head. You let them go, about halfway to the door before the bell rings and the beautiful girl that Steve’s been after forever to get a date with — approaches. She’s looking extra special, all dolled up. Sundress, heels, makeup, bracelets, a dainty necklace on her perfect shape.

It’s things you know Steve loves, because it’s also what you’re wearing. It made you feel good, but it was out of your element, yet you’d thought his hints, his behavior with you — Robin and Nancy had encouraged that those things were MAJOR signs. The girl goes straight for Steve, reaching for his massive hand. You’re frozen, having been waiting on him, despite all of your instincts telling you not to. Robin is looking at you with sympathy, something you’d rather never see directed your way again.

The girl, she’s acting as if it’s just her and Steve here. “I know you said this is your lunch hour. Looks I’m free if you still wanna hang out?” She swings her purse in her free hand. He’s been after her for a while — for sex or emotional connection, you aren’t sure. But what you do know, is that doesn’t want you at all.

And you can’t fault him, no one can. As his friends, you should worry about his happiness and dry yourself up, not making him feel guilty for not returning what you have felt for a while. That doesn’t mean that this isn’t pulverizing your heart, dusting your bones to ash, dashing all hopes and future fantasies, telling yourself he did like you, letting yourself believe — it does not hurt any less. It hurts more than you can bear. You feel his mossy eyes filter into your direction, meeting over her head, his nose wrinkling, that tick in his jaw that occurs when he wants so badly to speak, but can’t.

You’re caught in the moments that happened before any of this… Body on fire, doused in flames, tumbling down a cliff side of revelations. You weren’t even sure if reality existed, or if you were feeling too much of every emotion to comprehend anything.

“I really like you, Steve. And I think that, maybe, you like me too?”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“More than anyone, probably.”

“Me too.”

“But I don’t… We’re really close, honey.”

“That’s a good thing though, obviously. Right?”

“It’s always gonna be a good thing, trust me. I’ve never had someone in my life like you before.”

“Sooo. What about tonight?”

“I’m so sorry. Any guy would be lucky to have you. And I care about you, more than anyone, but I just… I don’t feel the same way.”

Drowning in an ocean of pity and panic. You’re back to present, watching him see those moments through your eyes, which have now glossed over with tears. He’s trying to be respectful, not accept her in front of you, keep things okay, show he won’t make it weird because of your confession. Normal. Keeping his lunch date with you.

You don’t fake your smile, hand on the door, nodding several times. He doesn’t have to feel guilty, he doesn’t have to sacrifice his happiness. You love him, even if he isn’t in love with you. And that’s all that matters. He deserves this.

When Steve glances down towards the door and back up, the bell is fading against the glass, but you’re gone...

Your sundress blows in the wind of a fresh summer storm as you leave the store behind to walk to the deli, your tears cresting, before rising in a tempo that you don’t control. Your chest feels as if there’s a thousand pounds crushing you, every negative self-image colliding, thoughts flowing free, self-loathing — it all lets loose. And before you know it, you’re sobbing in the middle of the street over Steve Harrington…

[vnti-vntiety-recs]

The Harder I Fall (M)

★  PAIRING: Toxic Ex! Haechan x Toxic?Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 9.5K

★ GENRE(S): Smut, Angst, Drama, Ex2Lover

☆ SUMMARY: You find it hard to return to your normal day-to-day life after you break up with your ex, Haechan. He makes it his duty to make your life a living hell in order to see you. You're not sure why you thought it would be a good idea to date your cute punk rock neighbor, but you are soon to regret it.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Swearing. Various acts of sexual intercourse. Unprotected sex. Unwanted creampie. Dubcon. Spit. Light choking, Brief mention of drinking. Kinda manipulation on hyuck’s part to get readers attention? Reader got commitment issues. Probably a bad description of punk rock band idk brah. MDNI

☆★ NOTES: this is the final installment of THE POISON ARCHIVES, this one is not as toxic as the other ones but still has toxic elements so beware 

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.::･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.::･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.::･ﾟ✧

♫₊˚."Rehashing these feelings Swallowing the pain"♫₊˚.

You don't know why you thought it was a good idea to date someone who lives in the same apartment complex as you. You wish you would have thought this through when you said yes to your next-door neighbor's proposal when he suggested that you two start dating. Because now that you two have broken up, you are stuck seeing him every day.

When you return from work, you can never seem to avoid him, always catching him on the way up to your apartment. If that wasn't awkward enough, you have to listen to him bring girls home every other night. You don't think your relationship ended on bad terms, but he thinks differently. You know he does because on the nights when he doesn't have someone screaming his name, a constant reminder of the person you want to forget, he is blasting music at frequencies you can't drown out. Ever since you two broke up, your ex-boyfriend Haechan has been a pain in the ass. He makes it his duty to make your life a living hell. He knows your schedule, so he knows exactly when to bother you. Tonight is one of those nights. You had come from work late as usual, and all you wanted to do was lay in bed and sleep.

Not on Haechan’s watch

Haechan is blasting old 90s rock music when you're walking up the stairs to your apartment. You internally groan as you fish out your keys from your pocket, unlocking your door, and you try to stay positive. Today has been a good day for you so far, and you wanted to keep it that way.

"At Least he doesn't have someone over," you think in return. You would much rather listen to old rock music than some random girl's high-pitched moaning and the repeated banging of the headboard against the wall. Sometimes you wonder if that's what your other neighbors had to go through when you and Haechan were together. You head for the shower and pray that by the time you get out, he's getting ready for bed. It's already 12 a.m.; he should be tired by now.

The reason you and Haechan were able to get close in the first place was because you both were night owls. You both worked late and always returned home at the same time. You would catch him in the parking lot as you two made your way home. Sometimes he would invite you over, and you two would talk about work and whatever else crossed your mind at 1 a.m. Through these late-night convos You found out that Haechan was just his nickname; your handsome neighbor's name was actually Donghyuk. You also learned that he was in a band that primarily made its income through gigs at bars and other small venues, and that Haechan was the name he used on stage. Although everyone called him Haechan, you thought his real name was cute and couldn't help but give him a nickname based on it. When you first started calling him Hyuck, he hated it, but it grew on him. You enjoyed your late-night chats with Haechan, and you wanted to see more of him, so when one night he asked you out on a date, you couldn't say no. After that, you two started to see each other more often and began to date.

You were in a relationship with Haechan for five months before you broke up with him. You were having to work a lot more overtime to pay the bills, and you just didn't have time for a relationship anymore. You thought Haechan would understand and that things would be cool between you two, but obviously not.

After you exited the shower, his music was still blasting, and you could practically feel the bass rattling your bones. How has he not been evicted by now? Did your other neighbors just not have ears, or maybe yours were just too sensitive? You wrap yourself securely in your robe and march over to his doorstep. You bang on his door repeatedly for at least a minute before he answers. Haechan swings the door open, meeting your gaze with one that matches your level of annoyance. How dare he act like you're inconveniencing him when he's the one keeping the entire neighborhood awake!

"I know you're a struggling artist and all, but you at least own a clock, right?" You deadpan with a quirk of your eyebrow.

"Of course I do. How else would I know what time to piss you off?" He smiles sarcastically.

You absolutely hate this little back-and-forth that you have going on with him. You know he does this to get your attention so that you come charging over here and bang down his door. He just wants to see you, and you hate to give him what he wants, but you know it's the only way to get him to turn down the music.

"Pls Hyuck I have work tomorrow, and it's late. I just want to sleep," you plead with him exasperatedly.

"What do I get in return?" He asks, looking down at you through his bangs. He must have just finished a show because his eyes were still smothered in smokey black liner.

"I won't file a noise complaint; It's my third one this week. Didn't the landlord say they would kick you out if I complained again?" He knows they're empty threats, but he's gotten what he wanted, so he lets them go.

"Since you asked so nicely. I'll do it just this once," he says, shutting the door in your face, and in the next few seconds, the music is lowered to a bearable hum through the walls. Once you play his little game, he's always kind enough to reward you, as he always has. When you return home and find it quiet enough to sleep.

Haechan knew the first thing you would do when the two of you broke up was try to avoid him at all costs, but he wasn't going to let that happen. He's always making excuses to have to see you. Sometimes, when he's not at home and he knows you will be, he asks you to grab a package for him or groceries that he ordered so that you can bring them to him later. Other times he will knock on your door, asking to borrow a few eggs or your hammer—anything he can think of that he knows you have. You have already come to accept the fact that you can't get rid of him, but that doesn't stop you from trying.

It's been a few days since the music incident, and miraculously, you haven't seen him around. Lately, you can hear him getting home just a few minutes ahead of you. He must have been too tired to bother you lately; either that or he's matured past his little pranks. You think tonight is another night that you're in the clear. When you arrive home, you don't see Haechan’s car in the parking lot. You don't want to run into him, so you rush up the stairs to your apartment. You giddyly look for your house keys, thinking you finally got one over on him, when you realize they are missing from your keyring. The keyring is old and bent out of shape, so the key must have slipped off during the day. You were horrified; you were beyond tired and in desperate need of a nice warm shower. You let out a huff of annoyance. You could stay at your friend's house for the night, but she lives 30 minutes away, and you don't think you can get behind the wheel of a car without immediately driving off the nearest cliff.

You were already having a rough day, and this was the icing on the cake. Before you can wrack your brain for a solution, an even bigger problem presents itself. Haechan returns home with his bass strapped to his back and his hair a wild mess. He must have returned from band practice, probably getting into another fight with one of his members. He meets your eyes with a tired smile.

"You look like shit," you comment before you can stop yourself.

"I think you meant hello; how was your day?" He rolls his eyes as he reaches his door. He begins fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket when he turns to you again. "Why are you sitting here?" he questions with a quirk of a brow.

"I think the air is fresher during this time," you say mockingly.

 "Oh really? Well, have fun with that princess," he smirks as he finally unlocks his door, letting himself inside.

He leaves you outside. Curse you and your big mouth. Would it kill you to be nice? You really didn't want to ask, but you really had no choice. You worked a double shift today, and your body was on the brink of collapse. You knew what he wanted; he wanted you to come crawling to him for a favor so he could hold it over your head, and you really didn't want to give into his games, but just like always, you had no choice. After 10 minutes of contemplation, you knock on his door softly. A few seconds pass before he opens the door.

"What? Is the air not fresh enough?" He mocks, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Look, I'm sorry for earlier, but I'm locked out, and today has not been my day. Can I stay over?" You plead. 

Hmm, maybe you should ask a little nicer, and I'll consider it. '' That bastard was definitely getting a kick out of this. What was his redeeming quality again?

"Please, hyuck, just do me this one favor; I promise I'll pay you back." You gritted your teeth.

"You better keep your promise," he says as he opens the door wider for you to come in. "You already know where everything is to make yourself comfortable; I'm gonna hop in the shower." He leaves you to go grab what he needs as you take off your shoes to follow him to his room.

You sat your things down on the nightstand by his bed. "I don't mind sharing a bed with you; just stay on your side, get it?" You look at him with an accusatory glare.

Haechan raises his hands in defense with a smile as he walks backwards into the bathroom. He doesn't say anything more and shuts the door behind him. You busy yourself and go through his drawers to find a comfy shirt and a pair of his boxers. You grab a towel from the towel closet and wait your turn for the shower. You scroll on your phone as you wait. When Haechan finally exits, he's wearing a plain white shirt and his boxers. Even in the simplest of clothes, he looks so good. You distract yourself with your phone again, hoping he doesn't catch you staring at him as he dries his hair in the mirror.

"Did you leave me some hot water?" you question, knowing that he probably used it all just to get on your nerves. He always liked it when you got angry at him.

"Of course, what kind of host would I be if I didn't?" he says as he plops down next to you on the bed. "I also thought of a way you can repay me," he says, looking up at you with a smug look on his face.

"If it's something perverted, absolutely not," you say as you stand to get in the shower.

"It's innocent, I promise," he laughs.

You don't hear him as you shut yourself inside his bathroom, turning on the water. You knew Haechan’s definition of innocence was definitely far from normal. This wasn't good. Sleeping in the same bed as your ex? Especially one that loves tormenting you, was not a smart move. You knew he was up to no good the moment you saw him come up the stairs. He looked tired, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, you could see a fire ignite behind them.

You finish freshening up and sport the clothes you stole from his drawer. When you join him on the bed, he's scrolling on his phone. When he lowers his phone and stares at you with a quirked eyebrow, you finally take notice of how close you were to him. It was a force of habit. Your body was just naturally drawn to him like a magnet. You scoot back a bit with a sheepish smile and a nervous laugh. He sets his phone down and shakes his head. He reaches over, looping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

"You know better than to run from me, love," he smirks.

Him and that stupid smirk! It was like it was permanently etched onto his stupidly smug face. The stupidly smug face that you fell in love with—the stupidly smug face you're trying so hard not to kiss

"Don't call me that," you hesitantly whisper.

"But you get to call me Hyuk?" He retaliated. He rests his forehead against yours while you hold eye contact.

He had a point; it wasn't fair that you got to call him your favorite nickname when you two were together, but he couldn't. It just felt too intimate to you, though.

"Should I call you Haechan?" You start, but he cuts you off.

"Can we just stay like this? Just for tonight, can you let me pretend that you're mine again?" he whispers, a breath away from your face. He didn't mind you calling him Hyuck; it was the only proof he had left that you still loved him. If you called him Haechan, he had nothing else to hold onto.

"I don't think that's a good idea." You hesitate.

"Please, you owe me, remember? Let me just hold you like this just for tonight." Haechan is often one to make jokes, but at this moment he is as serious as ever.

You sigh in defeat. Owing Haechan a favor is never good, but this was a pretty tame request for him. You just didn't know the effect it might have on your heart later. As usual, you ignore the possible consequences and agree. He leans in and pecks the corner of your mouth, holding his lips there for a second longer than necessary.

"Hey, you said we would only cuddle!" You reprimanded him.

"Let me have just a little more, ok? I promise I'll be good to you from now on. No more loud music," he bargains.

You should have known he would have been content with just cuddling. Haechan was always an affectionate lover, and he always needed to feel all of you to be satisfied. His pecks trail from your cheek to your jaw, and when they reach your neck, they blossom into kisses. At this point, you're breathless and squirming. His arm that was around your waist unwraps itself, so he can use his hand to massage your lower back. His slow, passionate kisses turn wet and sloppy when he grabs your ass. He can't help the groan that escapes his mouth at the feeling. At this point, you wanted to feel more of him. You knew he wouldn't touch you like you wanted, though, Not until you asked. Even when he was the one who started it, he couldn't help but have you begging for him.

He pushes your shirt up past your chest as His kisses move lower, leaving hickeys in his wake. You try to hold on; you really do, but when he ventures even lower to leave kisses near your navel and then to the tops of your thighs, you crack.

"Hyuck… just a little more."

"Just a little more?" He repeats your words back to you. You bite your lip and nod your head. "You want me to touch you more, pretty? I thought we were only going to cuddle?" He questions spreading your legs so he can lay between them.

"Just a little farther; it's ok if we go just a little bit farther," you relent.

"If that's what my princess wants," Haechan pulls your shorts swiftly from your core and settles back down. He looks into your eyes once more to make sure it was really okay, and when you let out a moan and buck your hips into his face, he knows you can't bear to wait any longer. Haechan licks a fat stripe from the heat of your core to your clit and showers it in gentle kisses.

"Please... more," you cry.

"So greedy!" Haechan tsks at you and finally sucks your clit into his mouth.

He can't hold himself back anymore and begins to eat you out like he really means it, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you down. He's making a mess as he spits onto your pussy, adding to the slickness. Before you know it, he's fucking his tongue deep into you, moaning at the taste. Your chest is heaving at this point, and you can't help but grab his hair and try to fuck his face. You roll your hips deep into his mouth, practically riding his nose as it bumps against you, clit at your movements.

He pulls away, and before you can even moan out a complaint, he's bringing two fingers to your entrance and slowly penetrates you with them, holding eye contact as he hums a sound of approval at how well you take his fingers. He licks his lips clean as he fucks his fingers into you faster. You pull his hair again, but this time you're pulling him up so you can kiss him. It's the first real kiss you've shared since the breakup, and it's all teeth and tongue as he's knuckle-deep in your pussy. You moan into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue. He pulls away to look at you with heavy lids; a single string of saliva connects you and breaks when he licks his lips.

"You gonna let me fuck you, baby?"

"Hyuck, we really shouldn't be doing this," you slur.

"Just the tip, I promise."

"You also promised just cuddles."

"We are cuddling, extreme cuddling, '' he jests. You've already crossed the line with him, so what's the harm in indulging a little more?

"Just the tip," you say with a nod, pulling him into another messy kiss.

You pull off his shirt and push his boxers down past his hips, and he takes them off the rest of the way. His length slaps against his stomach in all of its glory, and you know you're fucked. There's no way you'll be satisfied with just the tip. You haven't had him in so long, and he's so long. He always made sure to fuck you so that you’d never forget the feeling. He filled you up just right and knew how to make sure you felt every inch of him. He guides his tip to your entrance and coats it in your slick, letting it trail up and down your slit, prodding your entrance. He lazily thrusts forward, making his length slip up and nudging you clit. He did this a few more times, knowing it would drive you up a wall. You wrap your legs around his waist, threatening to pull him closer.

"Just the tip, baby, remember?" He reminds you that you're the one who suggested this stupid idea in the first place.

You shoot him a glare, and before you can choose the right words to verbally abuse him, he's sliding in. He keeps his work and just fucks his tip into you, using his hand to act as a barrier so he couldn't slip father into you. He pushes in, and when he pulls out, he smacks the head of his cock against your pussy creating a wet sound from how drenched you are. He repeats it a couple of times before fucking his tip back into you.

You notice that the longer he fucks you, the lower his hand slides down his cock as he sneakily fucks more into you with each thrust. You don't even think he notices because, when you look up at him, his lip is caught between his teeth. He looks like he's concentrating so hard to not slip more. After a few more thrusts, his hand is gone completely, and he's fucking deep into you.

"You liar," you smile. You knew he couldn't do it from the beginning, but you admire his perseverance. You reward him by clamping your walls down on him. He lets out a shaky whine and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," and the look he gives you genuinely reflects remorse, but not because of what he did but because of what he's about to do.

He roughly unhooks your legs from around his waist and manhandles you onto your arms and knees just to shove you down onto your chest so that your ass is the only thing stuck in the air. He reenters swiftly and fucks you from behind. He's snapping his hips deep into you; it's almost too much. You reach your hand back to rest on his hips, and he grabs onto it and pins it to your lower back.

"Come on love, I know you can take it; fuck me like you mean it," he groans.

He's almost as fucked out as you are; no one else can ever make him feel like you do. He struggles to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head when you fuck back into him with a vengeance. He told you to fuck him, so you do. You throw your hips back into him so hard that he stops moving. He's trying his hardest to pull himself together, but all he can do is take it. Mouth agape as he moans at the feeling. You think you might have gotten the upper hand on him, but then he pulls out of you and flips you back onto your back, throwing a leg over his shoulder as he starts hitting deep again. At this point, he's gone. He's completely pussy drunk, and you can't see a thought behind his eyes as he drills into you.

 "Hyuck.. Don't forget to pull out," you moan, barely able to catch your breath.

If he can hear you, he sure doesn't show it; his pace doesn't let up, and he's pressing a hand against your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you and can only moan. Any previous worries you had are completely wiped from your mind as you tighten around him and release all over his cock. He fucks you through it, and when you meet his eyes again, you know he's about to cum. His brows are furrowed, and he's biting his lip so hard that you're surprised he hasn't drawn blood.

"Hyuck. Pull. out," you try to say sternly, but it comes out as more of a whine as the overstimulation sets in. Haechan shakes his head as his grip on your waist tightens. He can't think straight when you feel this good. At this point, he can't even control his moans as they spill out. He's close, and you do the only thing you can think of to snap him out of it.

You slapped him across the face.

You think you may have brought him back down to earth, but when he lets out a high-pitched moan, you know you're screwed, and not in a fun way. His hips stutter, and he's releasing deep inside you, hiding his face in the crock of your neck as he tries to ride out his high. Every weak thrust is accompanied by a pained moan from him as he continues to fuck you.

"No more hyuck!" You scold him and push on his shoulders. You pull his head back by his hair so he can meet your eyes. "Pull out," you glare.

He knows he messed up and finally pulls out. When he rolls over next to you, you slap and pinch his arms and chest.

"You're unbelievable! Just the tip, my ass!" You yell at him, and he's trying to roll away from you on the bed, but you follow him, continuing your assault.

"I'm sorry I got too carried away; I couldn't resist. Don't worry, I'll buy you a plan B first thing in the morning," he says with a flinch each time you attack him. You finally settle down with a huff and lay facing away from him.

"I know your memory sucks, but remember this was a one-time thing; after tonight we go back to normal," you mumble.

Haechan scoots closer to you and lays a soft kiss on your shoulder. Well, then let me savor this moment," he says in a whisper that you almost don't catch. He pulls you back into his chest and warps you up in his body, and you let him. As much as you want to be mad at him, Haechan is like a giant teddy bear; you always feel safe in his arms, and soon you're fast asleep.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.::･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･

The next morning, Haechan stays true to his word and goes to grab you a plan B as you wait for your landlord to give you a new key. When he returns, he finds his apartment empty. He assumes you were able to get into yours. He knocks on your door, and when you answer, he hands you the pills. You don't spare him a look or even a thank-you as you shut the door in his face again. Haechan may suck at keeping his word, but you don’t.

You were set on making sure you didn't cross the line with him ever again. During the week, he begins to notice your colder than usual behavior, so he goes back on his word about the loud music as well. You don't want to see him, so you try texting him instead. When you ask for him to turn the music down, this time he ignores you and leaves you on read. 

It's like you two are back at square one. You should be happy, but a part of you kind of hates the fact that you two have become bickering neighbors once again, this time worse than the last. You know Haechan is only acting like this because he's hurt. You confirm this when you sometimes catch him in the breezeway returning home from work, but he doesn't try to make small talk anymore; he looks more tired as the days progress. One day, you can't ignore the bags under his eyes any longer. You know you're the one who made him like this.

He returned home at the same time as you; you were always scheduled on the closing shift again, so when you arrive, Haechan is unlocking his door. You find the courage to speak.

"Hey, are you okay?" you ask, concern filling your voice.

"I'm fine," he sneers, pushing his door open. Before he can enter, grab his arm.

I'm worried about you. Have you been getting enough sleep?" You ask, trying to meet his eyes, but he's avoiding eye contact. He snatches his arm away from you.

"Since when do you care what happens to me?! I thought you wanted me to stay away. Fuck. off," he snaps and slams his door in your face.

You know to let him cool off when he gets like this, so you decide to leave him be. Maybe you can catch him in a better mood tomorrow and ask. Before you can enter your apartment, you hear a loud thud from Haechan's apartment. You think maybe he dropped something, but the absolute silence that follows has you worried. You don't hear any footsteps or movement coming from the apartment, so you go to knock.

Hyuck, I'm sorry I upset you, but is everything okay in there?" You wait for a response, but nothing comes.

"Hyuck?.....if you're ok, please answer me." You twist the doorknob to his apartment and notice he left it unlocked.

When you open the door, you find him lying on the floor. His eyes were shut tight, and his chest was heaving. You rush over to his side to check on him. When you touch his skin, he's sweating heavily and burning up. He clearly has a fever.

Hyuck, I know you don't feel good, but we've got to get you to a hospital," you say, trying to help him to his feet.

"No, I'll be fine; I just need to lay down," he says, stumbling as he stands.

You help him to his room and lay him down. You help take off his shoes and change him into something more comfortable to sleep in other than his usual ripped skinny jeans and leather jacket. Once you get him settled in bed, you grab a towel and chill it in cool water so you can help cool him down. He's been up for half the night, tossing and turning from the uncomfortable heat of the fever. Eventually, he's able to cool down and enter a deep sleep. You stay by his side all night and call into work once morning comes. When Haechan wakes up the next morning, he finds you asleep by his side and feels terrible. He knows how much you hate missing work and feels bad that he was the reason why. He gently shakes you awake. Once you're up, you immediately reach for his forehead. He's still a bit too warm for your liking, so you hop out of bed.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"I'm gonna grab you some soup, and you're still running hot, so I'm going to grab you some ice." Before you can get too far, he grabs your arm.

"Thank you for staying with me, but I promise I can take care of myself."

"I've already called out of work today; you might as well let me take care of you," you counter.

He lets your arm go and falls back into the sheets. In truth, he still felt terrible; he was having a hard time even trying to sit up. He's been feeling a little under the weather for a few days now, but he's been able to persevere through it. His body must have just given up on him at this point. When you return, you have an ice pack and some chicken soup. You helped him sit up and fed him since he still seemed really weak. After you made sure he ate, you tucked him back into bed and set the towel on his head. You turned on his TV and put it at a low volume so as not to give him a headache, and you binge-watched a few shows as he fell back asleep.

It's around 9 p.m., and he's still heavily sleeping when you're bored of the shows you've been watching on Netflix. You decide to straighten up around the house a bit. Haechan isn't particularly dirty, but he hasn't had the time to properly clean up in a while due to his schedule. He has band rehearsals during the day and is booked for gigs at night. When he's not with the band, he's out partying. He only ever returns in the dead of night.

When you two were together, though, Haechan made an effort to make more time for you. He showed up late to rehearsals, stopped partying, and even turned down a few well-paying gigs to spend more time with you. You, on the other hand, refused to call off work. You were constantly working overtime, and you made no effort to make time for him. He tried really hard to be understanding; he was happy with the time he got to spend with you; he knew you had a lot of bills to pay, and he did too. At one point, he realized it wasn't enough; if you truly loved him, you would want to make time for him and make an effort. All he wanted was to know that you loved him, so he asked you to take more time off so you guys could go on more dates. When you agreed, he was content. You were finally making time for him; you must love him. He thought everything was going well until you broke up with him. You told him he was a distraction from work and that you didn't have the time for a relationship at the moment. He was heartbroken. He tries to take it back; he tells you that it's ok that you don't see each other, but you insist that he should be with someone who has more time for him. You said it wasn't fair to him. That's how your relationship became what it was.

You think you let him go out of love; he thinks you gave up on him.

You finish cleaning around 11 p.m. and go next door to your place to grab some more of your stuff. You grab your skin care essentials, body wash, and a new pair of clothes. You set up your things in his bathroom as you shower. It was bringing back memories of when you used to be together. You were always at his place and kept a lot of your stuff there. You shower, and when you get out, you start your skin care routine. While looking in the mirror, you can't help but reminisce about the old memories.

You finish up and return to his side. You checked his temperature again with the thermometer you got from your apartment. He was able to kill his fever. You figure his body is just catching up on all the missed sleep from the past couple of days. You don't want to disturb him, so you exit the room and lay on his couch. You stare at the ceiling.

How did it become like this? Since the last time you saw him, feelings that you previously thought had died have come back full force. That's why you were so bent on avoiding him at all costs. You were already confused, and being near him would only muddle your feelings more. You didn’t want to listen to your heart; you wanted to listen to logic. No matter how much you missed him, it would not work out. You couldn't afford to think with your heart; you didn't want to hurt him again, but it seemed the more you pushed him away, the harder he fell for you.

What was that saying? Absence makes the heart fonder. Well, whatever it was, it had you running laps in your mind, trying to escape thoughts of him. All you could think about was Haechan. If you're being honest, your job wasn't the only reason you pushed Haechan away. You were a little scared; you had never cared for someone as much as you did for Haechan. Your other relationships always ended before things got too serious, and you were afraid that this one would end up like the others. You were afraid of being hurt by him. You didn't want him to leave you, so you left first. You hurt him before he could get the chance to hurt you. You were a coward, and it seemed like you would stay that way forever.

You don't know when you fell asleep, but you wake up to the smell of coffee and breakfast. You sit up and feel the weight of a cover as it pools around your waist at your sudden movements. You don't remember grabbing one last night.

"Hyuck?" You call out, half asleep.

"Sorry for all the trouble I caused you, but I'm feeling better now," he reassures you as he sets a plate of food down on the coffee table in front of you.

You smile at him gently and reach for the food. "I'm glad to hear that." Silence falls between the two of you as you both eat. Once you're done, you clean up the mess you left behind and turn to him once again. "Well, I should get going," you say awkwardly.

"You can stay if you want," He says hopefully.

"No, I think I've already overstayed my welcome."

"You're always welcome."

"Hyuck…please" 

He runs his hand across his face, trying to collect his emotions, and says, "You know what? Do whatever you want; I don't care anymore." Even though this is what you wanted, it still hurts to hear him say it. You quietly leave and return home.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.::･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･

Tonight, you're going out for the first time in a long time. Your friend Jungwoo was finally able to convince you to take a night off. He even offers to pay you for any hours that you miss. You reject his offer to pay you, but you do join him for a night out. After all this time, you deserve to relax a little. You can't just work until you die.

You and Jungwoo go clubbing, and you're having a great time. Haechan was right; you have to stop working so much and live a little. If you have to budget a little harder or even move into a smaller apartment, you think it's worth it if you get to spend less time at work and more time around the people you actually care about. You're sitting at the bar with Jungwoo when you hear a commotion behind you. At the back of the club was a stage. The club had strippers that put on shows some nights; tonight must have been one of those nights. That's what you think when you see people crowding around the stage, but when you see a band set up on the stage, you think that's highly unlikely.

"Oh god, please no," you silently pray.

Jungwoo turns once he realizes you're not paying attention to the story he's telling you. He follows your line of sight to the stage. "A band must be playing tonight," he says, taking a sip from his drink. Hey, didn't your ex used to... oh my god," he says as he finally catches up to speed with the situation. "You don't think..." he asks, turning to you again.

You pray and pray that it's not who you think it is when you see five silhouettes walk onto the dark stage. The band finally finishes setting up in the dark, and when the lights illuminate them in all their glory, you can't help but curse every god in existence.

Of course, it was The Neos.

"It's fucking him," you say, turning to Jungwoo with wide eyes.

Look, don't worry about him tonight; we came here to have fun, and seeing your hot ex isn't going to change that."

"Jungwoo!" 

"I'm sorry, look at him!"

look at him? You could barely take your eyes off of him! His messy hair is a little longer than the last time you saw him. His eyes were adorned with his signature black eyeliner, and he was wearing simple black ripped skinny jeans and a baggy t-shirt. His fingers were littered with rings, and he was wearing his favorite bracelet. When you looked closely, you spotted a silver lip piercing sitting pretty against his plump, heart-shaped lips.

"Wanna get closer?" Jungwoo suggests you can only nod your head, still distracted by your ex’s new look.

You get closer to the stage, and he looks even more delectable up close. You're so terrible. You pushed him away all those times just to imagine pulling him closer to you under different circumstances. This was your first time ever hearing him play with his band. He’s played you a few songs before at home, but you never made time to actually see him play at a gig. He was amazing; he was truly born to be on stage.

As the band played, the crowd got bigger and more lively, jumping to the music. You almost forgot you were at a club and not a concert. Reality comes crashing back down on you when you lock eyes with Haechan. You immediately stop dancing, and it's like the entire world slows down. The flashing strobe lights and the bodies around you all move in slow motion as you're locked into this moment with Haechan. You can't hear anything; all you can see is Haechan. His eyes don't leave you for a few more moments, but when they finally do, it's like the spell is broken.

Everything begins to move again, and you can hear the music blaring, but you're still rooted to your spot on the floor. Jungwoo turns to look at you to ask if you're okay, and that's when you notice the band has wrapped up their last song. The crowd is starting to thin out when you see him jump down from the stage with the bass still hanging from his shoulders. When Jungwoo doesn't get a response from you, he turns to see where your eyes are looking.

"Oh shit he's coming this way." Jungwoo tries to be a good friend and pull you away, but it's too late.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a bit?" Haechan says it loud enough to be heard over the music of the club that resumed playing after their set.

"I don't think..." Jungwoo starts before looking at you for reassurance.

"It's ok, Woo, I'll just be a minute, ok?" You say this as you finally manage to pull yourself together.

"Are you sure?" he hesitates.

"Positive, I'll text you when I'm ready, ok?" You say this before following Haechan to the back of the club. He's guiding you through the back halls of the club when you two finally reach the spare room the band was using to store their extra equipment. Everyone was already packing up.

"Hey, we're heading out—oh, who's this?" the one with the pink hair says.

"This is my ex," Haechan somewhat introduces you.

‘Hello ex. I’m Jaemin," he flirts with a smile.

"Cut it out Jaem, before he punches you again," said a smaller male with messy brown hair.

"I'm just messing around Renjun. We all know he still loves his ex; he won't shut up about her." Jaemin laughs,adjusting a gig bag over his shoulder.

"Im going to fucking kill you." Before Haechan can make a move forward, another male finally speaks up; this one was probably the buffest next to Jaemin. He grabs a hold of Haechan's arm.

Guys, cut it out. Mark is already waiting for us in the van. Come on before he leaves us again."

"Jen's right, let's go. They obviously want to be alone," the one they called Renjun said.

The boys clear out the room supplies in tow, leaving the room almost as barren as when they arrived, save for you two still occupying the space. Haechin heaves a big sigh, his cheeks still tinted pink with embarrassment. "I'm sorry about them; they just like to tease me," he tries to cover up.

You nod, trying to help him change the subject. "You guys were amazing tonight. I knew you were good at playing, but hearing you with a band was incredible," you gush.

Haechan can't fight the huge smile that takes over his face. "That means a lot." An awkward silence falls between you two as you run out of things to say.

"So you wanted to talk to me?" You rock back and forth on your heels nervously.

"Honestly, I didn't really have anything to say; I just wanted to see you again."

It's been a hot minute since the last time you saw Haechan. Lately, you have been completely missing him in the parking lot and in the breezeway. He stopped playing loud music completely, and if he was bringing home girls, you couldn't hear them anymore. It's almost like the apartment next to you is empty.

Well, here I am," you say with an awkward smile.

A few beats pass, and he finally speaks again. "I see you came out with Jungwoo. What? Are you two together now?" He says it a bit bitterly.

"Oh god, Hyuck, don't start; you know I don't do relationships."

"So you're fucking him?"

"I didn't say that!"

Well, what is it then? He can convince you to take off work for a night out, but I couldn't even get you to spare me a few hours of your time?"

"Hyuck, you know that's not true! Look, I didn't come here to argue, ok?" You yell exasperatedly.

"Come home with me," he states. It's not really a question.

"I'm out with someone right now." You look away from him.

He stands in front of you now, "still too busy to fit me into your schedule?"

You remain silent.

"Too busy for me, but never too busy to take my cock like a fucking slut," he sneers.

"Go to hell," you say, pushing him away from you.

"What. Am I wrong? The only time you spent with me was when we were fucking. Let's be real." The usual warmth isn't behind his eyes anymore; they are almost as cold and steely as the lip ring that adorns his lip.

You're such a fucking jerk; I broke up with you because I knew I couldn't provide you with the attention you so desperately crave all the time. I kept it real with you from the beginning! I could have strung you along, but I ended it before it got too serious." At this point, you're fuming.

Oh, yeah, right! I'm sick of hearing your excuses; you knew your schedule from the moment you said yes. You knew what you were signing up for. Just admit it. You're scared of commitment; you were scared of it getting too serious."

You feel called out because he was 100% right. "Fuck you, Haechan."

"I bet you would love to, princess," he spits back.

You both stare at each other, chests heaving from anger. "Tell him you're not going back with him."

"You can't seriously still be on tha-" Before you can finish your sentence, his lips are locked on yours.

One moment you're screaming at each other; the next you're ripping each other's clothes off. There was no way this was healthy, but you didn't care because Haechan was your favorite drug. He's pushing you back into the vanity in the corner of the room and lifting you onto the tabletop. You spread your legs, allowing him room in between. You can feel his hard length through the tight fabric of his pants. You feel The cool metal of his lip piercing when you kiss him, and you can't help but imagine how it would feel on other, more intimate parts of your body. You grind against the front of his pants, trying to feel more of him as you breathe him in like he's the only air you need, until your lungs are screaming at you for air.

"You're no good for me, but I can't get enough," he mumbles between breaths.

Your fingers find purchase in his already messy hair as you use it to pull him towards you once again. You two continue to make out when your phone starts ringing in your back pocket. You try to ignore it, but Haechan can’t. He knows who's probably calling. He pulls away from you, biting into your bottom lip and tugging it with him until he lets go.

"Answer it," he demands. You try to pull him back into you, but he shrugs you off. "Answer it or I will," he threatens.

You want to test him, but the way he's looking at you makes you want to give him everything he's ever wished for. You decide to be his good girl tonight. You slip your phone from your back pocket and answer it.

"You good? It's getting late; we need to leave soon," Jungwoo voices through the phone speaker.

You hesitate with your response, trying to find your voice.

"Hellooo… Don't make me come find you." Jungwoo says you can hear him readjust his phone against his ear as he whispers sorry to someone, probably pushing through bodies looking around for you.

"Im good, Woo; go ahead and head home without me; I'm going to catch a ride with Hyuck.'' As you speak to Jungwoo on the other line, Haechan is peppering kisses up and down your neck, and you can't help but let out a few quiet, breathless moans.

"oh-OHH!" Jungwoo exclaims. "You're nasty; have fun and stay safe, bye!" Jungwoo hands up the phone upon realization of what's going on.

You drop your phone on the counter and continue where you left off. See, I can be good for you," you say.

"Only when you want something," he punctuates as he uses his teeth to snip at your neck.

Haechan knows you guys only have so much time before security comes around and makes sure they have vacated the room. They only have it for the duration of the time they booked the gig. He pulls you off the vanity and turns you around to face it. He flips up your skirt and pulls the neckline of your shirt down past your boobs, keeping you partially covered in case you have to cover up quickly. You met the eyes of your reflection, and you were able to see for the first time how fucked out you already looked. He hasn't even properly touched you, and you're already dripping down your thighs.

"Look at how pretty you are, angel. I want you to look at yourself as you take my cock. Don't you dare look away." Haechan lays a sweet kiss on the top of your head, and you know that's his promise to you that he's going to absolutely ruin you.

He makes quick work of his studded belt and pushes his jeans down past his waist. He pulls your panties to the side and quickly works in a finger. He stretches you until you seem ready enough to take him, so he frees himself completely and spits down onto his tip. He mixes his saliva with your juices as he strokes his tip through your wet folds. He doesn't hold back any longer and thrusts into you. You keep your promise and don't take your eyes off of your reflection. You can see the way your mouth drops at the way he fucks you deep, and you watch as your brows furrow up when he hits a particular spot inside you.

"Right there! Please don't stop!" You cry.

Haechan leans over your back and rests his chin on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirror. His movements slow as he uses precision to repeatedly bully the spot inside you that's making you see stars.

"Do you feel that love? No one else knows you like I know you; who else is gonna make you feel like this, huh, baby? Tell me." His eyes don't leave your face, and when you don't respond, he lands a harsh smack against one of your ass cheeks. "You can't fucking hear me? I said answer me!" he yells as he picks up his pace. He wraps his hand around your neck, and you can feel the cool metal of his rings against your skin.

 "No one! Only you can make me feel this good. Only you can fuck me like this. Fuck me until I can't remember my name," you rasp.

"That's my good girl," he whispers in your ear.

He tugs you back into him with the hold he has on your neck. Your back meets his chest as he fucks into you at a new angle. You can't hold on any longer, so you let go. You come all over his cock, and when he doesn't slow down for even a second, you feel your second high quickly approaching.

Hyuck, please, I can't take another one; I'll make a mess," you plead. You know this next one is going to be messy. You can feel the pressure building up in your stomach.

That's ok, baby; I want to drown in you; let go for me." And for the second time that night, you come again, but this time you're squirting, and it's dripping all onto the ground below you. "You're so fucking nasty," he says to you as he pushes you to your knees on the wet ground. A hand goes to your hair, and you can feel the sting as Haechan tugs your head back so that you can meet his eyes.

"Open your mouth, slut."

You do as you're told and stick your tongue out for him. He moans at the visual and slowly lets a trail of spit fall from his mouth into your awaiting one. When you swallow his spit, he can't help but be proud: "That's my good girl."

He guides his length into your mouth, and you choke on him before you know it. Mascara running down your face, spit covering your lips This is what Haechan wanted you to see: you made him a mess on the inside, but he was always going to ruin you on the outside. It's a shame you couldn't see it. He fucks your face, and you take it like a champ. You look up at him, and all you can see is infatuation. That's when you realize it. He was never going to let you go. He was going to keep forcing himself into your life, whether you liked it or not, because he was disgustingly in love with you. Even as you kneel on the floor of a dingy club, covered in your own release, choking on his dick, his eyes are filled with love. His brows furrowed, and he let out a long moan as he released down your throat. He's still feeling a little mean, so he pinches your nose and makes you gag. He holds your head down and fucks deep into your throat a few more times before letting you go.

Did he love you? Yes.

Was he above making you suffer a little bit? No.

You catch your breath as you look up at him. Before a word can be spoken between the two of you,a knock comes at the door. Security announces themselves and tries to open the door but finds it locked. You and Hyuck look at each other in fear as you scramble to dress yourselves properly.

"One second, we were still cleaning up," He calls to the door.

"You guys were supposed to be gone 20 minutes ago." The security guards' annoyed voice can be heard through the door.

"Sorry, dude, we will be right out."

"You guys have 5 minutes!" security yells before walking away.

You fix your hair in the mirror, and Haechan tries his best to clean up the mess on the floor with whatever he can find. "Come on, let's go home," he says as he grabs your hand as he guides you through the back halls of the club on to the main floor and to his car.

In a matter of 15 minutes, you're back at your shared apartment complex. You're making your way up the stairs when Haechan offers to properly clean you up. You had left some of your skin care products over at his place a while ago anyway, so you agree. He runs a bath for the two of you, and afterwards, while you remove your makeup, you also help him remove his eyeliner. He's sitting on the counter when you gently wipe his eye makeup away. The silence between you is no longer awkward but a comforting one. You decide to break the silence first.

"I thought about what you said before, and you're right; I was making excuses. I was afraid you would break my heart, so I decided to hurt you first." You switch to taking off the makeup on his other eye. "I'm sorry for that, but I realize now that you would never hurt me; no matter how hard I push you away, you will never leave me alone."

"You make me sound like a nuisance," he said, glaring playfully at you.

"Because you are," you peck him softly on the lips, "but I've decided I don't want to live hurting the people I love anymore. I want to try again with you. Will you accept me?"

Haechan has been waiting forever to hear those words again. "You love me?"

Yes, I love you, idiot. Is that all you heard?" you joke.

"I love you too," he responds with a kiss. "Do you promise not to run from me again?" He looks at you, and you can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

"I promise, I'll never leave your side again". 

You finish removing his makeup, and you two set off to bed. This time, when you go to sleep in his arms, you don't dread the morning after; you know this is not a mistake. When the morning comes, you're going to be a new person and not the one that gives up on Haechan again and again; this time, you will love to the fullest.

[djs4nddisc0s]

toby headcanons? :) sfw or nsfw I just live for him 🖤 thx!

sighhh Toby… sighh my submissive and breedable malewife…🙁🤍🎀

Of course, thank you for requesting<3! (All other asks in my inbox are being worked on btw! Remember, these are my personal headcanons, you’re allowed to disagree and these also won’t relate too much to canon. Kinda ‘realistic’. Not proofread.)

Toby Rogers sfw and nsfw Hc’s!

(SFW)

Starting off with his looks I deff agree with how shatteredankles draws him. (their art is so😻)

His style is like midwestern emo but with a bit of grunge

I like the hc of him being German, but I think he grew up in Colorado

However his mom still used the language, culture, food and stuff like that in the household

He has a small cabin in the woods that he lives in (sorry no slendermansion this time)

TERRIBLE trust issues due to his past

Craves physical touch but also is scared of it thanks to ole daddy-o🤓 (ew cringe)

That being said he loves giving physical touch but since he can’t feel pain it’s hard for him to know if he’s hurting you

He may not be able to feel pain but he can feel other sensations like pleasure or little tingles (he can bc I say so, fight me)

Smokes every once in a while but only weed

Picnic dates.

If you do your makeup he’ll watch you with all the wonder in the world

Has even let you do it on him a few times

Pretty possessive, you’re the only person outside of his sister and mother that has been so understanding and loving, the thought of you leaving terrifies him

Whenever you go out for groceries or with friends (which sadly is rare due to his attitude towards it) you have to text him with little check-in texts to ease his nerves

(NSFW)

About 7.5 inches

HAPPY TRAIL MEOOOOW😻

He used to jerk off like a teenage boy in the middle of puberty

Once he met you (before dating) he would continue to do so but just to you

Pictures, voice recordings, even on call with you a couple times

Finally once you two started dating he could try the real thing

FEM! “F-Fuck… your pussy feels f-fucking amazing..!”

MASC! “Such a g-good boy- shit! So good”

HE IS A SWITCH AND YOU CAN NOT PROVE ME WRONG‼️

Mommy/Daddy kink no questions asked

I feel like most of the pastas would have a thing for chasing you through the woods to catch you right there and ravish you right where they caught you… just silly thoughts😋

He’s deff be open to trying anything you like if it makes you happy

However he wouldn’t want to hurt you too bad if that’s what you’re into

Light degradation on both parts

Fucking AMAZING at giving head, you’ll be seeing stars

If he’s bottoming he can either be the most obedient you’ve ever had or he’s a pain in the ass brat.

I feel like even though he can’t feel the pain from edging/overstimulation it still gets him worked up

Pull his hair while he’s going down on you it lets him know he’s doing good

WHIMPERS🔥

If you’ve edged/overstimulated him too much he’ll either take control or start begging so pretty for you

Will do the same back as punishment if you kept going even if he begged

Tying your hands behind your back and PLOWING into you like it’s the last time he’ll be able to

Remember when I said he was possessive, yeah jealous sex comes from that

Also remember the makeup thing? Mascara running down your face turns him on more

Sighh I love my gf he’s such a fucking loser freak☹️

(I hope you enjoyed<3!)

[morlao]

Secret Admirer

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

■ friends to lovers

■ Isaac Garcia x fem!reader

Valentine's Day or in other words: that real fun time of the year where boys buy roses for their crush and (since most of them give the roses anonymously) girls try to find out who the rose is from. It was always really funny, especially when it involved one of your friends. Last year Kiley was the lucky one. She was invited on a date, a blind date, and she came home super excited, telling you and your friends that it was a guy from the Football team.

This year you are sure it would be Jackie. You and Skylar have a bet about who would make the first move. He says Cole, you say Alex. Your chances of winning are quite high since you and Kiley are telling Alex for weeks that this would be the perfect opportunity for him.

Jackie herself doesn't seem so sure about getting a rose at all. When you meet up with her in school she and Grace are talking about it. "No Grace, Cole is with Erin, he for sure won't get me a rose!" "Bullshit." "Grace!"

"Oh, come on Jackie," you sigh, joining Grace's side, "I'm pretty sure you'll get at least one rose today." The blush that starts to rise to Jackie's face makes your grin even wider. "And you know that too", you tease her.

Jackie clears her throat, grabs her backpack and stands up. "Okay, time for class, we can talk later" You know exactly that she is just trying to avoid this topic but nevertheless you nod. "Yeah, classes", you murmur with absolutely no motivation.

Slowly you start walking into class. Of course there are already a bunch of roses lying on some of the desks. The girls stand around them and whisper excitedly, while sometimes stealing glances towards the boys. You walk to your place and... Wait, there is a rose on YOUR desk. For a moment you stand there, confused and in disbelief. You have never received a rose before. You also have no idea who might have put it there. Maybe the boy put it on the wrong desk by accident. It for sure isn't meant for you. You would have noticed if someone had a crush on you, wouldn't you? At least if the boy showed it as obvious as Cole and Alex did concering Jackie.

When you are finally able to break free of your paralysis you slowly start walking towards it. Only then do you notice the little note that was attached to it. Your heart starts to race as you see that your name is written on it. It is no accident, the rose is really for you! You take a look around, searching for any suspicious behaviour, but nobody seems to act strange. With your fingers trembling you unfold the paper and stare at the few lines that were written there by computer.

"Y/N, I've been in love with you for quite a while now. I hope you like the rose."

Of course you couldn't wait for the lessons to end. As soon as the bell rings, you storm out of the classroom, nearly bumping into one of your classmates, and run to the cafeteria to meet up with your friends.

"Guys, I got a rose and a note!"

Immediately they all gather around you, almost ripping the note out of your hands as each one of them wants to read it. "Do you have any idea who it could be?" Jackie sounds super excited. "Nope, sadly not. Could be anyone." You try to think about whether someone acted strange around you. Nothing unusual.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Isaac walks up behind you and tries to get a look at the note. Hastily you try to cover it with your hands. Yes, he was one of your closest friends and yes you trusted him with your life but you also knew that he could be a real pain in the ass especially when it came to boys.

The last time you mentioned that Cole was cute he complained so loudly that all the girls were crazy about Cole that the whole cafeteria heard it. You had never felt so embarrassed in your whole life. Also the next week Cole kept walking up to you with his arrogant grin, asking if you would like to come to his place that night. It took several weeks for him to stop.

Quickly you snatch the note away from him. "Nothing, just..." "You got a love letter!" "No that's not..." You sigh as you don't know what else to call it. It is right, it is a love letter. "Okay, yes I got a love letter and I also got a rose. Don't ask who it is, I don't know." Isaac looks at you, his dark eyes sparkeling as he teases you. "Who do you want it to be?"

You feel all your friends' eyes on you. A very good question. Who did you want it to be? A year ago you would have immediately answered Cole. But now... of course you still think that he is very attractive - nobody would deny that - but his behaviour and the rumors about him making out with numerous girls even though he seems to be with Erin, made you change your mind. You wouldn't want to be with someone who plays you like a toy and gives you mixed feelings or even a roller coaster of emotions.

If you were completely honest, lately you catch yourself often thinking about Isaac. Why didn't you notice before how handsome he actually is? Maybe because you knew him practically since kindergarten. He had always been one of your best friends, it would be weird to see him as more. Or wouldn't it?

You blush as you notice that your friends are still staring at you, waiting for your answer. What should you say? Your eyes dart across the room and the first one you see is... "Er... Dylan. Yeah... I think I might have a crush on Dylan."

Isaac's shoulders tense. "Dylan?!" He almost spits out the name, then he rolls his eyes murmuring something about bad taste in men before walking away.

Kiley looks at you, ignoring him completely. "Do you think the note could maybe be from Dylan?" You shrug, as you didn't really care if it was him or not. "That's the worst about it... I have absolutely no idea who it could be."

The following days you all do your best to find out more about your secret admirer but it seems to be impossible. He really did his best to stay anonymous. Isaac still seems to be upset. You don't really get it, because as far as you knew you did nothing to piss him off. Nevertheless he still avoids you during break and sometimes you catch him glaring at you or your friends from across the room.

On top of that you slowly start to regret calling Dylan your crush as Kiley tries her best to be a good friend and gives him little hints in order to find out if he likes you too. All you could do is watch and act like you were excited about it when in reality you couldn't care less.

Almost two weeks have passed and you still have no idea who your secret admirer is. Valentine's Day was over so no more notes and no more roses. What if he disappeared until Valentine's Day next year? You would have to wait the whole goddamn year and that only for another anonymous note? And what if he didn't like you anymore next year? You would probably never find out who it was!

Frustrated you bang your head against the kitchen table. Jackie had invited you to the Walters' house for a girls night. Probably she wants to distract you from racking your brains over who it could be. But as she is just as curious as you, the topic comes up again and again.

"I asked my classmates. Nobody saw who left the rose", you tell her. "Do you think it's someone you know? Maybe someone you're friends with?", Jackie asks. "Why do you think that?" "Well, it was written by computer. Maybe the person feared you would recognize the handwriting." Your eyes widen. Why didn't you think of that?

A quiet laughter makes you turn around. Isaac has entered the room. He grabs a glass of water and grins at you. "Are you still trying to find your secret lover?"

"Yes, I do and I won't stop until I know who it is." Your voice sounds determined even though you have no idea what else you could do.

"He could have at least left a hint", Jackie sighed, "Why send someone a rose without the intention to maybe go on a date together?" Isaac shrugs. "Maybe it was just a joke."

You glare at him across the table. "Thank you so much for encouraging me, idiot!" Again he shrugs and walks out of the kitchen again, murmuring just as loudly so you could hear it "Well, if you are into popular Football guys, you should get used to being played."

You don't know what to say. Why is he being such an idiot? Jackie takes your hand, smiling softly. "Hey, forget about him. Maybe he's just stressed." You nod and smile at her even though you don't think that being stressed gives him the right to let it out on others.

A few days later as you walk up to your locker with Jackie you see another note stuck there. Again it had your name written on it. Jackie squeaks excitedly as you take it and unfold it.

"Meet me at 8 on the Football field."

Your heart skips a beat. He wants to meet you! That is your chance of finding out who it is. But as you continue to think about it, also a feeling of nervousness starts to appear. Do you really want to know who it is? What if it is someone you don't like or aren't attracted to? Maybe it would be better not to destroy the illusion of your secret admirer.

Jacky looks at you in disbelief as you tell her your doubt. "No way, you're going!" Her voice allows no contradiction. "You were trying to find out who it is for weeks and now you don't want to take this opportunity? You go there, otherwise I'll drag you there! Your choice."

Okay, sounds like you had no other option. You will go there.

You can't wait for your classes to end. Your eyes are fixed upon the clock and you tap your foot nervously. When finally the bell rings, you are upon the first to storm out of the classroom.

Your friends are there to comfort you during waiting for it to finally be 8 o'clock. Grace lists tons and tons of names who she thinks it is, not noticing that she makes you even more nervous by doing so.

At 7:55 you stand up, gather all your courage and make your way to the football field. It's already getting dark and nobody's there. You stand there waiting, your eyes darting around in search of someone.

Times goes by, it's 8:05 then 8:10, 8:15. Your nervousness fades and instead you start to doubt. Are you maybe really getting fooled? What if it was really just a joke? You are just thinking about leaving when you finally notice a figure walking towards you. Your heart starts racing and as he comes closer you finally see who it is. You stand there in disbelief. "Isaac?!"

The boy smiles shyly at you. "Hi, Y/N." "You... are you... no that's not possible!" You don't know what to say. It seems like all the words had just disappeared from inside your head. Was this a joke? Isaac rubs the back of his neck nervously. He can barely look you in the eye. "Are you disappointed that it's me?"

You had never seen him this shy or nervous before. He always seemed so... relaxed and cool with everything. It had to be a joke, it had to be a joke! Every second that you remain silent is pure torture for the poor boy standing in front of you. He clearly seems to take your silence as a "yes". "I know I'm not the hot and charming Cole Walter or fucking Dylan!" His voice cracks and he tries desperately not to show how hurt he is.

You finally manage to get out more than just a stutter. "It was you? The rose was from you? This is not a joke?" Isaac looks at you, torn between sadness and confusion. "Why should this be a joke?" Your face burns with embarrassment. "You're one of my best friends... I never thought that you'd have feelings for me."

Isaac lowers his head and his dark hair falls into his eyes, covering them almost completely. "You're amazing, you're smart, beautiful and the best friend someone could wish for. How could I not fall in love with you?"

Would it feel weird to kiss him since you had known him for so long? You had thought about it before, never seriously though, he was only a friend after all. But now... the thought of it doesn't sound as weird as you thought it would. Slowly you walk towards him. "Why did you never tell me?"

Isaac bites his lip. "I wanted to, I really did, but then you stood there in front of me and I panicked. Also I didn't want to ruin our friendship."

With a small smile you grab his hand and he looks at you, clearly surprised. "I want to tell you a secret", you whisper and lean towards him, your heart racing in your chest. Just before his lips touch yours you confess: "I lied when I told you I hoped it was Dylan. Actually I hoped that it was you."

You can see from the look on his face that he didn't expect that. "Really?" "Really." A huge smile crosses his lips. He cups your face with his hands and pulls you towards him, smashing his lips onto yours. His kiss is passionate and warm, sending a tingling sensation through your body.

As you pull away from each other he looks at you with the brightest smile possible. "If I had known that, I would have confessed years ago!" You roll your eyes laughing and pull him in for another kiss.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 15

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Thank you as always for the lovely responses on the previous chapter! It was a long one, so thank you for sticking through with me. We're about to lighten up a little with some Christmas spirit! ❄️🎁

**Also, if you're a fan of The Boys (and Soldier Boy), there's an awesome book you can check out, called Supes Ain’t Always Heroes: Inside the Complex Characters and Twisted Psychology of The Boys.

If you want to learn more about the book (including cast interviews and a character study on Soldier Boy), I wrote a review about it here!

Otherwise, on to some more firefighter!Dean!

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of feels.

Part 15: “The Good Part”

“How many damn arrests does that make?” Daniel asked. He gripped his pool cue with both hands while he leaned on it.

His son stood at the other end of the pool table, lining up his shot. He paused to think.

“Six,” Nick replied. His cue released, and it knocked two of his balls into the pocket.

“Six,” Daniel repeated, while Nick came his way to find an angle for his next turn.

Daniel shook his head. His lips were angrily pursed. His eyes might’ve been on the pool game, but he was playing chess in his mind. He had underestimated John Winchester for far too long, it seemed.

The man was stubborn as all hell. And he’d been busy lately, getting “Azazel’s” men busted for all manners of bullshit.

“Alastair’s mole says Winchester’s been calling in favors from his old friends in Narcotics, trying to bust our small fries,” Nick reported. “Getting them on everything from petty theft to drug possession, with intent to sell. But it’s nothing we can’t pull ‘em out of.”

“Time, money, added risk,” Daniel cited on his fingers all the reasons why John Winchester was a pain in his ass. “It’s only a matter of time before they get a warrant to rip apart Savage & Co., sweep the whole damn building. For forensic evidence, our files, all the jazz.”

Daniel’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin. “A damn cop thinks he’s being cute.”

Nick missed his second turn. His hand fell against his thigh in annoyance, but he looked up.

“Dad, it’s your move.”

Daniel rubbed at his chin. His eyes were no longer seeing the board in front of him. Eventually, they slid up and met his son’s gaze.

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” he said.

Nick’s face gave away his confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Daniel just smiled.

It was Christmas Day, and John was late. Sam and Dean were used to that drill, so they weren’t expecting him until dinnertime.

Meanwhile, it gave you a chance to find your footing as you got to know Eileen. She had helped you bake the pies that were now cooling on the counter (pumpkin and berry crumble), and a few of the side dishes for dinner. Sam had covered cleaning up the rest of the house, while Dean tackled his favorites: the ham and the mac and cheese.

Now the guys were in the living room watching football while you and Eileen were still in the kitchen, decorating some gingerbread cookies you two had made. She enjoyed it; doing holiday crafts with her students had been bringing out her artistic side, she told you. You were happy for the help and the conversation.

You later tried to cover up your snort of laughter as she finished telling you the story of how Dean once dared Sam to wear women’s underwear for a whole week.

If he managed it, Dean had promised to do all the household chores for three months. If Sam couldn’t make it the whole week, then he would face the consequences: Dean would tell their dad about the bet.

“How old were they?” you asked.

Eileen scoffed. “Sam was a senior in college.”

You burst out laughing again. “So too old, is the answer… Did he win?”

Eileen gave you a mischievous smile.

“He did,” Dean said, as he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a familiar smirk. “I’ve got photographic evidence. It was a cheetah print thong, in case you were wondering.”

Your eyes widened on a laugh. “Oh my God.”

Cheetahlicious, you couldn’t help joking in your mind. Even if you’d rather not think of Sam wearing a pair of Victoria Secret’s best.  

Eileen giggled with you. Dean’s amusement gave way to curiosity as he eyed the little gingerbread men you two were icing. You warned him off with your eyes, but it took Eileen batting his hand when he tried to steal a cookie.

“Hey! Wait ‘til after dinner,” she said.

Dean pouted. “Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Rolling her eyes, Eileen sighed.

“You’re like one of my kids,” she said, while signing with her hands. But she caved and handed him a cookie. “Here. To tide you over.”

Dean smiled and signed back to her in ASL, Thank you.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly gesture.

He shot you a wink before taking a bite of his prize. You shook your head at him, even though you were smiling. He came around to your side of the table. His hand rested on your back and he bent down towards your ear.  

“I actually came over for you,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Your brows rose, but you turned to Eileen in askance. “I’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

She nodded and made an “OK” gesture. “Of course.”

You smiled and let Dean lead you out of your chair, and even out of the apartment. He made sure you both grabbed your coats by the front door.

“Where are we going?” you asked. While you put on your coat over your sweater and jeans, you didn’t notice him grabbing two sets of keys.

“Just downstairs. No big deal,” he said, hefting on his own leather jacket.

You eyed him with some suspicion, but you walked with him down to the elevators and let him keep you close to his side. He smelled like the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and he was already wearing the new watch as well.

You’d struggled to find him the right gift. Nothing felt quite enough after everything he’d done for you the last few months. He’d assured you that he was grateful for both gifts, and had even tried to say the watch looked too expensive. (You’d shut him up with a kiss.)

Now, you had to wonder what he was up to as he led you into the parking lot, but not toward Baby. Instead, you two stopped in front of a shiny silver Chevy parked in a guest spot.

“Dean, what’d you do?” you asked, both excited and worried. He shot you a grin and dangled the keys in front of you.

“You like her?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. “You could keep her, if you ask nicely.”

Your face slackened. You looked between him and the sleek looking car.

“What?” You covered your mouth with both hands. Even after a few moments, your brain was still having a hard time computing. “No…what? Oh my God!”

You grabbed onto his jacket, just in case your legs failed you. Dean laughed and gathered you up in his arms. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the silver beauty to look up at your boyfriend, there were tears already swimming in your eyes.

“Dean, this is really too much. Where’d you find—”

“Bobby had it sitting in his garage for years,” he explained. His hand came up to brush your cheek, and the tears there. “I cleaned her up, dropped in a new engine, safe-proofed with new tires, new airbags, the works. Got her purring like a kitten.”

Your eyes grew a little wider with every admission. Then you softened, gripping the edges of his jacket while you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling.

“How much did he sell it to you for?” you asked. Dean dropped his head back with a sigh.

“Don’t you wanna take a test ride before we start hagglin’?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Hey. How much?”

He let out another heavy sigh, but you eventually got it out of him. While the price wasn’t as bad as you might’ve expected, you still shook your head.

“I still have a decent chunk of insurance money left. I’m giving you at least half,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”

Your lips pursed, despite the smile that wanted to peek through.

“Nice try,” you said wryly. “You already got me perfume.”

“That was just the decoy.” He grinned, and held you a bit tighter against him. He nodded towards the car. “She’s the main event.”

You wanted to sigh, but this conversation wasn’t over. You were definitely not letting him buy you a whole new…old car. You turned to look at it again.

“What model is this?” you asked.

“2002 Camaro Z28,” Dean rattled off. It sounded impressive, but you didn’t know much about cars.

He let go of you so you could get a closer look. Your hand passed over the hood, but didn’t touch, as if you were afraid of staining the paint with your fingerprints. He had to admit, he’d waxed it up good and managed to get rid of a lot of superficial nicks and scratches.

What he said was true though; Bobby had given him a frankly ridiculous deal. Because when Dean had told him what you’d been through after the car accident, dealing with your grandfather’s passing, and now your ever-mounting expenses, Bobby hadn’t let him walk away from Singer Salvage with anything else but this car. He’d even helped Dean get the new parts he needed to fix it up.

“Is it automatic or manual?” you asked, trying to peer through the driver’s window. “I haven’t driven stick in a hell of a long time.”

Dean came up from behind you and his warm hand found your hip. You let him draw you back into his arms, leaning against his chest.

His lips were close to your ear when he said, “I think you’re damn good at driving stick.”

It took you a second, but the heavily laden innuendo in his deep voice was hard to miss. You uttered a laugh and swatted his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. You were still smiling when you turned and twined your arms around his neck. Then you leaned up for a kiss—one that kept getting deeper with the full force of your gratefulness, and your love for this man.

“It’s an automatic,” he answered, between kisses. You giggled against his lips.

You barely felt the chill on the air. Your heart was beating fast, even when you pulled away from him. Your eyes slowly opened and met his. He smiled down at you and curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. As usual, you had most of it clipped up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

You let out a shaky breath. Emotion was clogging your throat, making your tears burn anew.

“This is a bit more than a Christmas present,” you said. He gave a more self-deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s also kind of an apology,” he said. “For getting you mixed up in my ‘family business.’”

He still felt guilt beyond belief for putting you in danger. For your life being threatened. For being the reason you couldn’t go home.

You just shook your head. Your hand raised to press against his cheek. Your thumb drew tenderly along his chin.

“I thought you said you were part of my family now?” you said. “We’ll figure this out together, like everything else.”

Dean’s eventual smile lightened you, and his kiss warmed you down to your toes. 

“If you want, let’s go for a ride after dinner,” he said.

It was your turn to smirk. Your hands migrated under his jacket and teased at his belt.

“Well, I’m certainly down for a ride,” you said.

Dean laughed and squeezed your hips. “All right. I’m puttin’ you on my naughty list.”

When John finally arrived, the brothers welcomed him in first with big man hugs and good-natured ribbing for him being so damn late.

In Sam’s words, Upholding a Winchester family tradition.

John had taken that with a chuckle. “Smells damn good in here.”

“Yeah, food’s been done for an hour,” Dean prodded at him again. His grin betrayed his teasing, however. His welcoming hand stayed on his dad’s shoulder until they reached the living room, where Sam had set up a longer fold out table and chairs to function as the makeshift dining room, since the table near the kitchen only seated three.

There you were opening a bottle of Jack Daniels. You smiled up at John.

“Figured you were more of a whiskey than wine kind of guy,” you said. You were a bit nervous to see him again, no doubt with flour in your hair and frosting staining your hands. He clasped your shoulder with a hint of a smile.

“You’d be right. Good to see you, darlin’,” he said.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the fact that the first and last time you two had met, it had been in front of your house as the police rifled through your life, looking for more explosives. He graciously didn’t bring that up as he greeted Eileen next.

Once dinner was on the table, there was a lot of catching up between the brothers and their father while you and Eileen continued talking, even through dessert.

“This really is amazing,” she told you, pointing her fork at her slice of berry crumble. “I can see why you went to culinary school.”

You blushed as Sam, Dean, and even John echoed her praise. All three men had generous slices of both pies. 

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you guys enjoy it,” you said, and your smile was genuine.

You loved making good food, but you loved feeding people even more. Whether it was a simple hearty soup or a rich dessert, you liked putting smiles on their faces and giving them a good experience; one they could share with their family and friends. Even better if it was your family.

Or as Dean would say, Your people. 

To you, that was life.

“I’m tellin’ you, if you opened up a bakery you’d make a killing in this town,” Dean said. He nudged your hand with the one that held his fork; it held a precarious piece of pumpkin pie.

You shot him an amused look.

“Don’t you look at me sideways, I’m serious,” he said, laughing a little, but his gaze was steady.

Your cheeks warmed against your will. He believed in your dream, even when you couldn’t quite let yourself.

“Hey, if you ever want to look into applying for a loan, I could help,” Sam said, earning your attention. “I have a friend who works at a bank.”

Your brows raised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we were pre-law together back in college, but he figured he was better with numbers.”

You smiled. “Well, it would make it easier knowing I was dealing with your friend.”

“Yeah, his name’s Brady. Let me know if you want me to call him,” he said.

You bit your lip, but you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe you should start to believe in yourself, just a little bit more.

“This was all real delicious,” John said to you, when you came back from bringing the leftovers to the kitchen.

Sam and Dean were already arguing about who was doing the dishes and who was drying them. Meanwhile, Eileen was putting away the food (and probably rolling her eyes).

“Yeah, it was a team effort for sure,” you replied. “Dean’s actually a really good cook.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me. I can barely boil a damn egg.”

You smiled to yourself; you could imagine Dean got it from his mother then.

Meanwhile, John was watching you stack the empty plates as he grew more contemplative. He’d always been proud of his sons. They were good men, with strong heads on their shoulders.

He often looked at Sam and saw that he seemed happy. Despite the demands of his job, he was learning to balance that with the life he led with Eileen. As a father, John looked forward to the day when they made a firm foundation, taking the next step towards building a life together.

But Dean had seemed to him, a little unstable. John was still proud of his eldest, but while he’d seen a glimpse of it that day at your house, he saw it even more today. Like his son finally had an anchor, tethering him to dry land.

Even so, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh. And he asked you something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Have you given any more thought to filing a report on Nick Savage?” he asked.

You paused in your plate and cup stacking. You looked up at him with a frown, but you thought about your words before you said something rude.

“Yes, I did,” you replied. “I decided my life and my peace were more important.”

He let out a short sigh. “I understand—”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t think you do,” you said. Your words were matter-of-fact, if a tad more sharp than you meant them to be. Your hands were starting to tremble.

You crossed your arms to try and steady yourself, but Dean ended up doing just that, by joining your side and resting a hand at the small of your back. He was frowning, glancing between you and his father.

“Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you are,” Dean said, addressing John in particular. “Not on damn Christmas.”

“Like you said, it’s her decision,” John replied. His gaze once again focused on you.

You let out a breath, mostly of exasperation.

“I’m going to bottom-line it for you. If I report that man, and you can’t guarantee me a job and safety until it’s all over, then I’m not poking the bear,” you said. “I plan to keep my head down until I can find another job. Until then, you can have at him all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Part of you felt selfish. You knew what John was trying to accomplish, and you knew how personal this fight was for him, and for Sam and Dean for that matter. You just couldn’t shake your gut instincts here. You knew Nick far too well by now, and you didn’t want to underestimate him again.

“I agree,” said Dean. You gave him a grateful look.

John conceded with a nod, but all of you knew he wasn’t satisfied. It became a bitter ending to an otherwise brilliant day after he left for the night.

In your mind, it wasn’t quite over yet though. You had a plan up your sleeve for one Dean Winchester.

Sam and Eileen had their own time together while you and Dean went for a drive in your new car. You’d have to transfer your plate and registration and insurance, so it was technically an “illegal” drive, but it was already late and traffic was scarce.

By the time you pulled back into the parking lot, you were smiling from ear to ear, and Dean was giving you that smug grin that said, Aw yeah, I did good.

You couldn’t even fault him for it, because he did exactly that.

Even when you and Dean were getting ready for bed, it didn’t quite feel real. You were living with your boyfriend of just a few months, you now had a new car, and a crime lord had threatened your life.

You chose to focus on the new car. And on your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of his side of the bed, rubbing his right shoulder through his shirt. You knew it must still be sore, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

Hence, you were about to enact Phase 1 of your plan…

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

You withdrew your hand from his arm, but you spoke close to his ear.

“Are you asking?”

He let out a small sigh, despite his lingering smile.

“All right. Will you please give me a lil’ massage?” he asked.

He couldn’t see your triumphant smile, but you happily kissed his cheek.

“I sure can,” you replied. You laid gentle hands on his shoulders, however briefly. “Stay right here. Don’t move, but take off your shirt.”

“All right, Miss Bossy,” he grumbled. You knew he was teasing by the amused look he threw your way.

“I thought you liked that,” you teased back.

You climbed off the bed before he could playfully grab you, and you giggled all the way to the bathroom. There you began Phase 2 of your plan. 

First, you collected a few different bottles from your designated drawer under the sink. Then, you made a quick wardrobe change, after popping back into the bedroom to grab something from your nightstand.

You also connected your phone to the speaker on his nightstand and put some music on a low volume. It was a playlist he’d made and shared with you a while ago, with songs he thought you’d like. The Eagles’ “Take It to the Limit” was definitely on the list.

By the time you returned to Dean, he was indeed shirtless, still in his sweatpants, and checking his watch.  

“I’m here, I’m here,” you said. You climbed across the bed with your small haul—a difficult feat with your hands full, but you managed.

Dean turned to look at the bottles of moisturizer you dropped next to him on the bed. He rose a brow.

“Twilight Woods. Japanese Cherry Blossom. Appletini. Are these my only options?” he asked. His face was half bemused, half reluctant.

You almost burst out laughing. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

He scratched the back of his head. You opened the second bottle first (your personal favorite), so he could smell.

“Not bad actually,” he muttered. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t giggle, but you managed to open the other two for him to get a whiff.

“Eh, the first one I guess,” he said.

Japanese Cherry Blossom. AKA: a classic from Bath & Body Works.

You finally had to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ve got this.”

You held up a jar you’d been hiding behind him. Its logo said: Massage Oil.

“I just wanted to see which girly moisturizer you secretly wanna slather all over yourself,” you said.

Dean shot you a wry look, but only then did he see what you were wearing.

“Oh, hold up,” he uttered.

Your hair was let loose, how you knew he liked, and you’d teased it out a little. You’d had to give away the red lingerie you’d bought, to rid both of you of its lingering memories of your work Christmas party. Instead, you’d found something in a vibrant emerald green: satin and lace.

Dean’s hand reached for your waist, probably to bring you closer. But you playfully slapped his hand.

“Eh-eh! Not yet,” you said to his surprised face. You smiled. “I have a plan for you tonight.”

Slowly, he smirked. His eyes still dipped to take in the rest of you, from your pretty face, to exposed skin and cleavage, to shiny satin that clung to your curves and draped down to mid-thigh. 

“I can see,” he said. His voice was a notch deeper. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Despite your blush and growing smile, you turned him back around by his shoulders.

“Just relax.”

You let your hands drift up the back of his neck to slide your fingers through his hair. There you began with a slow, gentle massage of his head. You felt him take a deep breath.

You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes had closed at your ministrations. He secretly really liked the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. It made his shoulders loosen; with tension he didn’t know he had releasing from the neck down.

Aside from the rigors of his job, he also had to work out and condition his body to keep up his stamina. He probably didn’t spend as much time as he should on this aspect of things, making sure he wasn’t overtaxing himself.

He appreciated what you were doing though. He knew you cared about him, that you loved him. But he liked that you were also a caring person, who tried to take care of him. Dean hadn’t really had that…from anyone before. Sometimes, it was hard for him to let you.

…Damn, we really got too much in common, he realized.

When you migrated back down his neck, your hands left for a moment to gather up some oil. It was warm against his skin when you started between his shoulders, digging with the heel of your hands.

He groaned deep, surprising even himself.

Behind him, your brows were furrowed. “You’re really knotted up here. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Dean chuckled. “Never.”

You frowned. “Hmm. Okay, we’re definitely doing this more often.”

“No complaints from me,” he said with a grin.

Of course, you gave special attention to his right shoulder. You were gentler there, asking what was tender and what felt good, or too much. By then you had an easier time getting the truth out of Dean. He let you know when the pressure was too much, and you even helped him stretch out that arm until the muscles and joints were warmed up and the pain was gone.

You encouraged him to lie on his stomach in the middle of the bed, so you could start on his back. Your hands glided down planes of muscle and smooth slopes while you straddled his thighs. The only sounds you heard from him were occasional moans and rumbling, pleased sounds. That was also what let you know that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Okay, turn over,” you said, smiling when he groaned in protest. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“What the hell’s the good part then?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the mattress, but when he turned around, flopping onto his back, his eyes once again took in the green satin and seemed to remember what your real intentions were.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His grin was lazy, now that he was beyond relaxed, but his hands found purchase on your hips. You smiled down at him.

You let the remaining oil on your hands glide up his chest, until you lowered down for a kiss. It was unhurried and sweet.

“I love you, you know?” you said.

Dean swept his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear.

He smiled. “I’ve got some idea, yeah.”

You both laughed, soft and true. Your hand rested against his cheek as you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow at first, but soon gaining in both passion and urgency. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, grinding your center against his growing length.

He groaned. No goddamn panties on. Good.

You kissed your way from his lips to his neck. Your teeth grazed his ear while you rolled your hips into his. It was a tease for both of you, but not for long, as Dean grew impatient enough to slide his sweatpants down, followed by his hands slipping under the satin covering your thighs. They traveled further still, squeezing your breasts and rolling hardened nipples under the pads of his thumbs.

Your breath hitched, and your pleased hum was music to his ears. By now you were bracing yourself against the mattress, but you used his shoulders as leverage to raise yourself up.

You took his hands and encouraged them to bunch up the satin and pull it over your head. Dean sat up with you still in his lap, and once his strong arm wrapped around your waist, it was skin to flushed skin.

You held his face and brought him down to you for another fierce kiss. He held you tightly against him, hands splayed across your back and tangling in your hair. His arms were a cage you never wanted to escape.

But you did press away from him, just for a moment, so you could reach down between your bodies to take a firm hold of his cock. You guided it to your entrance. There was already a small flood between your legs, and your core ached for him.

There was almost no resistance when you slowly sunk your hips down and down, until he was buried deep inside you.

You both made sounds of pleasure, with labored breaths as Dean’s hand cradled your cheek. He laid open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

You clung to his shoulders and began to move, slow in the way you let almost the full length of his cock escape you, before you slid back down. Dean moaned into your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh.

You pushed at Dean’s chest until he was lying back, and you continued rolling your hips against his. He helped you create a steady rhythm on top of him, but he was being treated to a feast of the eyes as well as the pleasure rocking through his body. He watched the way you swept your hair back. The way your eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip.

But he couldn’t stay still for long; he knew he was close enough to practically taste his end, but you had some miles to go. He gripped your thigh with one hand while the other glided up between them, to further part your folds. His fingers found your clit, circling insistently like it was a button. It had your hips stuttering.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. “Dean—”

He managed to smirk through panting breaths. “Right there, right baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You continued to move as steadily as you could, but the feeling of him deep inside combined with his talented fingers playing you like a five-string guitar—it finally made you tighten on him, shuddering deep inside. Tingles broke across your skin, zipping up your spine as you gasped.

Dean helped you with the last few hard thrusts that brought him along with you, and you felt his warmth spilling inside you.

It was a heady feeling, and you needed a moment just to recover. Even though you were on birth control, every time he came inside you still felt like a dangerous, delicious game.

But after you slid off his lap and practically rolled into his side, him welcoming you with an arm wrapping around your waist, it did make you think, as you caught your breath.

It made you think about the first time you and Dean slept together. It had been the first and last time you’d asked him to wear a condom. The next morning, he’d made a remark that still hung in the back of your mind…

“You like kids, huh?”

The thought still rattled through your mind now, after you and Dean shared a quick shower, ridding you both of the oil clinging to your skin. The thought remained when you slid into bed, under fresh sheets and thick covers, and close to your man. He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

Contrary to what this night had been, the whole “moving in together” thing hadn’t been all that easy. You two had bickered about the way he often left drawers and cabinets open and dirty clothes on the floor.

He had made remarks about your hair products taking up too much space in his drawers. Not to mention how morning routines needed to adjust because Dean liked to shower in the morning, but you needed the mirror not fogged up in order to do your makeup.

Right now, however, you had peace. You felt safe here, and you weren’t alone in a huge house filled with far too many memories.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

Dean’s lips lingered on your forehead. “Hmm?”

“I know this situation is sort of temporary, me living here,” you said. “So much has happened that we haven’t really talked about…what we both want, down the line.”

He pulled back enough from you to see your face. His face betrayed a thread of confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean like…” you hesitated, but you realized you were probably going to have to be direct. “Are you a marriage and kids kind of guy? Is that even something you’ve thought about?”

Dean met your gaze. It took him a moment, but he let out a short sigh.

“You wanna know what made me want to start dating, for real?” he asked.

You blinked; you hadn’t expected that, but you nodded.

“I started thinking about what would happen if something happened to me on the job,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, he raised a placating hand.

“I thought about what I’d leave behind,” said Dean. He quirked a wry smile. “It’s not much, besides my car.”

You frowned in earnest. Your hand flattened against his bare chest.

“That’s not true,” you said. “You have your brother, your father, and your friends. That’s plenty, Dean.”

He conceded that with a nod. “You’re right. But I just started thinking, maybe I want more. Like uh…like what my parents had, when they were happy. The house, each other, me and Sammy…a family.”

You couldn’t be certain in the near total darkness of the room, with only the moonlight filtering through the blinds and casting a glow behind him, but you thought you saw a shine in his eyes. Your hand crept up from beneath the covers to find his cheek. It was rough with stubble, yet you tenderly swept a thumb back and forth.

“I think that’s beautiful,” you replied.

Dean paused. He then huffed in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, hoping he could see it. 

“Then uh, is that something you’d be into?” he asked. You were amused by his tentative approach. 

“With you?” You pretended to think. Your fingers slipped into his hair. “Yeah, I think I’m into that.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then. Good to know.”

He grasped your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

And he spoke into the dark. “I love you too, you know.”

Your smile deepened as you rested your head against his arm. You whispered into the small space between your faces.

“Yeah, I’ve got some idea.”

AN: All righty, how'd you like that fluff overload?

...Ready for some more drama? 😏

Next Time:

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

Keep Reading: PART 16

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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[lamentofabramo]

Can I get an NSFW alphabet for Tobias Rogers (ticci toby) 🫶

I've been doing a bigger piece, so I might as well do something smaller like this since it's been a good while since I've posted now. (oops)

I'm basing this less on the fandom vers of him, hopefully.

Didn't proofread this much. (edit: I feel bad that I didn't acknowledge the heart, so <3 of course you can doll)

MINORS DNI

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Toby obviously is one of the more caring of the creepypasta's, of course that's a low bar, but he is considerably more human than some of them. He's still gruff and fairly untalkative after the deed, yet he'd offer some water before leaving if you were just a one-off/ casual fuck.

If you were his partner however, I'd imagine he'd be more caring, still untalkative and unaffectionate, but maybe he'd hold you or hold your hand in this. Of course, he'd blame this on being unable to properly feel what he's holding, but the slow decrease in his twitches as he holds you speaks a lot more than he ever will. He's not comfortable, but he feels slightly less stress in your presence, at least until he has to leave, his mind penetrated by the voice of the foreboding presence of the ever-taller man.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His own favourite body part would probably be his arms, he was a scrawny kid for most of his life, but you sure would start gaining muscle if you swung your axe at people who you considered worthy of it. There's probably also some scars across his arms that remind him of his life before. Of course, he'd hate that idea, but he still has some attachment to his sister, his mother, no matter how hard he may try to push it out of his head.

For his favourite part of his partners, I feel like it'd most likely be your waist. It's something for him to grab, to hold onto to remember you're real, that you're still alive against his better judgement.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) If you asked for it in a specific place, sure he'd do it if he was in a good mood. On your chest, ass, inside even. He'd risk it, he had nothing to truly lose anyway. But his favourite place would most likely be on your stomach, just the wet streaks across your stomach would do things for him. He's not sure why either, he wouldn't register that he does that almost every time unless you pointed it out to him.

If you did, he'd probably consider why for a second, his eyes widening in realization before shrugging. "Any better ideas?" he'd mumble, absently listening as he stroked himself. Toby would listen if you told him anywhere else, but… his eyes focused on that smooth surface.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He secretly wants to push the boundaries of his condition. He wants your hands around his neck, trying to choke him until it hurt. It was strange really, he had a high pain tolerance, yet he craved this pain. Maybe it was because he wanted to be normal, maybe not. He didn't want to think too hard on it, like many other things he just shrugged at the idea and continued with his life.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Toby was definitely not an experienced guy, even before the accident where he finally became 'free' (If you could say being slenderman's lackey was free) the most he'd done was hold hands with a girl in primary school.

He wouldn't be insecure with it however, he never viewed himself as a sexual being, the most he'd ever fucked was his fist on particularly rough nights. Sure, he'd had crushes on women, but when you become a serial killer you go one of two ways. A sex maniac or a complete recluse. Unfortunately, Toby became the latter.

However, since he had a less than regular childhood, he was never able to go through the same sexual awakenings as many of his peers. Instead, that most likely came later, so when he met you he was awkward, like a teenage boy. Most of his language is through grumbles and grunts anyway.

When he realized you were stuck in his head it all changed though, his sex drive increased massively. His poor hand.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying) Cowgirl probably rocks his world, he loves that intense eye contact that comes with it. The way he looks up at you through his fringe, his mouth slightly open as he pants and grunts, is a reward in itself. However, he would get impatient, his hips thrusting up to meet yours or his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you down further on his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) If something was funny to him, then he'd smirk, like if you hid your body from him even though he was about to be deep inside of you.

When he gets further into the activity, he'd let out breathless laughs, sometimes blaming that on his tics. He couldn't help it, though, he loved the way you responded to him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Toby probably doesn't care much about how groomed he is, sometimes he'll shave, but other than that he's got whatever going on.

He has a small happy-trail up to his belly button though, it shows when he raises his axe too high. It's a dark brown colour, just like his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect) He's probably not particularly intimate, maybe some words here or there if he feels like it, but don't overestimate him too much. He probably came inside you before he kissed you.

His cheeks pinken slightly whenever you suggest kissing, but he quickly slouches and looks away with an almost childish pout to pretend as though he doesn't care.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Like I said in the earlier one, sure he jacked off every now and again, but it was more so a way to pass the time, to get some serotonin in his ever-pleasant life. But when he gets fixated on something, or rather in your case, someone, his sex drive spikes. He wants you in his hands, in his vice, it frustrates him, so he takes this frustration out on himself.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) He's probably degrading, mixed with praise. He's basically up for anything. He's killed someone, I'm sure a weird kink won't kill him.

However, if he does think your kinks are unusual he will take the piss out of you for it, teasing, but he still takes part in it. Its fun.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do) Wherever you want, he's not arsed, really. Against a tree sounds the most fun.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) As cheesy as this sounds, you. Maybe some aggression on your side would get him going too, that mouth of yours was lethal sometimes.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) Like I said before, he's practically up for anything. He might not be physically aggressive for you too much, though, it'd remind him of his past.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He's a munch, if he's in the mood enough, he could probably cum from giving you head. He'd deny that though, God that'd be embarrassing.

Not only that, but he'd receive too, no doubt, Toby would find it fun to just gently tug your head up and down on his cock.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Toby would probably be slow but deep if he's teasing you. But if he's just fucking you, then it'd be fast, his hands pulling you down on his cock with faster speed.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Hell yeah brother. Just give him the words, he might tease you for it, but he'd never say no (unless he's in a more depressive mood).

He'd love to fuck you in the back of his car too, or masky's car. Just for the hell of it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) He's a risky guy, but surprisingly, he wouldn't do anything that could get him potentially caught by the law. He's on the run for a reason, he's not willing to risk his freedom for a good fuck (sometimes).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) He'd probably like to overstimulate slightly, 2/3 rounds before he's clocked out and completely dry. He'd last an average enough time, 20 minutes normally.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) Seeing your body twitch with something that isn't him would make him jealous. However, a little vibrator never hurt anyone. He'd tease you if you had any dildos or anything, though, asking pettily if he "wasn't enough" or that you were "stretching yourself out" for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Big tease, but he always fulfils your wants. It may take a while, though.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) The only noise he really makes is grunting and whispers on how dirty you are. He's loud enough that you can hear him, but not loud enough for it to be a full-blown moan.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He does want to see how you'd look crying for him all bloodied up, most likely someone else's blood, but he's not picky. Maybe fucking you on top of a recently deceased.

But he'd never admit that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) An average to slightly bigger man, About 6.4 inches. Probably measured it one time when he was bored, and he hung onto the .4 for his ego.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Not too high unless you exist, then…as much as he can get his hands on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He doesn't sleep much after it, doesn't feel comfortable sleeping in front of others, even someone like you. His nightmares don't help.