#and if you look it seems he has a dip in his knee around where his hands rest

[crazyw3irdo]

also vincent van gogh was born in 1853. in 1869 he would’ve been 16.

Colorized photo of Vincent van Gogh at his home in Arles in 1869.

[moonstruckme]

I absolutely adore your roommate James series! It’s so tender and soft and sweet and it feels like the literary version of a hug 😭 you nail it every time!

Thank you sweetness!!! I am giving you a hug actually <3

cw: threatening with a weapon

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Things have come to a point where James needs to admit to himself that he likes you as more than a friend. 

The problem is, he likes you as a friend so much. He’s no stranger to the dilemma of risking a friendship for something more, but he’s not a teenager anymore and you’re not Lily. James knows he wouldn’t be able to play it off as a silly, harmless crush with you. And, really, he wouldn’t want to. You bully your way into his thoughts all day long. Your sweet voice, the way you talk with your eyes, tiny moments like the way your lips parted when he’d first slipped and called you sweetheart. You’d schooled your expression into teasing exasperation almost immediately, but there had been a softening in your eyes that made him impatient to do it again.

If he told you all that, James would probably come home to find all your things gone. You can barely handle it when he tells you you look nice. He doesn’t want to lose you. 

So, against his wishes and all his instincts and proclivities, he’s going to let it lie. James wants to be your friend more than he wants to discover what else you could be together. He can love you this way, too. 

That doesn’t do anything to deaden the thrill that goes up his spine when he picks up his phone and hears your voice on the other end, though.

“James?” 

“Y/n?” He checks the number on his phone. It’s not in his contacts. 

“Yeah. Um, are you—are you busy?” There’s a wobble in your voice. James’ heart drops straight down to his stomach. 

“I’m not,” he says, stopping short of the field where his teammates are gathering and turning back towards his car. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah.” It’s clearly not, but he was silly to ask. Of course you’d say that. “I just, if you’re free, I was wondering if you could maybe pick me up?” 

That wobble hasn’t gone from your voice. James’ heart trembles in solidarity. 

He gets back in his car, starting the ignition with perhaps a tad too much force. “I’m on my way,” he promises. “Where are you, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m outside the Waterstones on Manor Road, you know where that is?” 

“I know the one, yeah.” 

Your voice sounds held together by fragments. “I’m sorry, it’s far.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, then regrets it instantly. This is hardly the time for a good-natured scolding. He turns out of the parking lot. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve—I’ve had my phone and wallet taken. I don’t have my key to the apartment.” 

“Taken?” James’ head buzzes like a TV turned to the wrong channel. “By who?” 

“A man, I—I don’t know. Um, I’m borrowing this woman’s phone, and I think I should give it back.”

His lungs feel small, panic choking him. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be safe, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” A breath crackles through the phone. James wonders if you’d been choking, too. “Thanks, James.” 

“Just be safe.” 

The sun has dipped below most buildings by the time he gets there. It makes it difficult to see you, but James’ eyes work like a compass, finding your shadowy form curled up on the curb. The bookstore looks to be closed or close to it, no patrons walking by you as you sit with your knees bent close to your chest. 

You see his car pull up, and he’s halfway to you before you’re even standing. Your arms come around James as readily as his around you, your face squished willingly into the fabric of his workout shirt. Your breath seems to stutter out of you. 

“It’s okay,” he says, grasping the back of your head. He’s not sure if he’s talking to you, or himself, or either of you. He’ll tell whoever will listen. “You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s alright.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I don’t know why I’m crying now.” 

“You’re okay,” James says again, just for good measure. His lips find the top of your head. “What happened?” 

“I think I was mugged,” you laugh. It comes out warped, completely unlike the sound he’s spent months chasing after. “This guy showed me a knife, and told me to hand him my bag and phone, and I just gave them to him. It was right out in the open.” Another jagged, heart-aching laugh. “I feel so stupid.” 

“Why would someone else mugging you make you stupid?” James lets you go enough to give you a little space, but his arms stay around you, his hand rubbing firmly over your shoulder blade. “Did you call the police?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. It already looks bitten to shreds. “No.” 

He nods, taking a breath. James isn’t typically the responsible one in his relationships. He’s not good at knowing what to do. It makes him think of being thirteen and seeing Sirius all bruised and broken, feeling his heart break and knowing that he had to fix things despite the both of them being too young to have any clue how to deal with something so huge. James is an adult now, but he still feels too young. 

“Do you want to go home?” he asks you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, but your eyes gloss anyway. “Yeah,” you say, voice breaking. 

James pulls you close and gives in to treating you the way he wants to, kisses pressed into your hairline and tender words pouring from his lips. He gets you into the car and takes you home. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, you’re at once more reticent and more talkative than you’ve ever been. You’ll stare into the distance for minutes at a time, but then you’ll speak up, seemingly randomly, about some small fact you’d forgotten or a thought that’s been pushing at your consciousness. You tell him that you don’t think you could describe the man well enough to the police. That you have no concept of how long you stood around before you thought to ask for someone else’s phone. That you sort of wish you’d refused to hand yours over, because really what was the worst that could have happened?

“Well, he could have stabbed you,” James says.

“Yeah, but how often is that really fatal? And he might not have. It’s embarrassing, all he had to do was show me the knife and I turned everything over. I probably would have been fine.” 

“I don’t think you’re automatically fine if you’re not dead, angel. You were still at risk of being stabbed.” 

“I’d still have my phone and everything, though.” 

“I think you’re worth a bit more than that stuff.” 

“Mm, agree to disagree.” 

James does things he doesn’t particularly want to do—phoning your bank, filing a police report online, texting your landlord about a new set of keys—and several things he really does want to do. Once you’ve changed into your cozy clothes he practically swaddles you in blankets, putting a hot chocolate in your hand and that show you’re always watching on the TV. He makes you dinner, teases you until he gets a real smile, puts your mum’s number in his phone and texts her to let her know you’re okay. James touches you amply, lips on your cheek and hand smoothing the hair from your face and one knee pressing into your leg through the blanket. 

And you let him. 

[urhoneycombwitch]

mean mouth

foreword: and if I said Eddie liked when you talked a lil' mean to him. what then. n e ways. just a little exploration of his early-day sub tendencies. I generally write Eddie as older but since this takes place in some nebulous time before s4 u can think whatever u want +18. ‘unnamed freak’ is Jacob. punk band name was not thought of by me but isn’t it great <3

cw: gn!reader w/breasts + V, oral (R receiving), unprotected PiV, soft!dom(ish) R, Eddie subbing from the top 😎, gotta-be-quiet-when-we-fuck trope my beloved

wc: 3.7k

____

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Eddie’s a blur of motion in the little trailer kitchen, knocking against your knees where you’re propped up on the counter (not entirely helpful but, in his words, ‘much-needed eye candy for the chef’), closing cupboards with a bang and talking animatedly over the hiss of onions cooking.

Your boy is loud, always has been, and tonight is no different- he’s crowing and cackling, recounting a particularly genius foible that he’d orchestrated during last night’s campaign, wooden spoon dipping in and out of heated pots over the stove like some crazed frizzy-haired potions master. 

“And then.” He punctuates with a jab of the spoon towards you, a long drip of spaghetti sauce narrowly missing your leg- you flinch and squeak in alarm, but Eddie just grins wildly, eager to get to the punchline. “Red rolls a natural. Fucking. Twenty.” 

“Holy shit!” Your smile is wide, natural and easy for him- Eddie’s excitement is infectious. 

“I know!” Eddie spins back to the stove, plunking the wooden spoon back into the simmering sauce before opening the oven. Heat from the broiler rises in a mouth-watering cloud of herby smell, and Eddie reaches for the metal sheet of garlic bread, still talking. “Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. And then I- shit!”

You don’t put the pieces together until Eddie’s spinning away from the open oven, whole body moving with the force of his hand being shaken in the air- he’d touched the roiling-hot metal with his bare hand.

“Oh, shit, babe-” Sliding from the counter, you nudge the oven door closed with a foot, reaching out to assess the damage- but Eddie’s a whirlwind, jumping up and down, swinging his injured hand around in jerky movements, howling in pain.

It’s kind of freaking you out, ‘cuz you can’t tell if he’s playing up or if he’s actually got a third-degree burn. The voice that comes out of you is commanding, one that you rarely use, firm and louder than his hollering. 

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake- stand up and let me see it.”

That seems to do the trick. Eddie’s eyes snap to you, pausing mid-hop, and you take advantage of his semi-stillness to snatch his wrist and drag him towards the sink. The water runs cool and you turn his palm over in both of yours, breathing a sigh of relief when the pink welt across the bridge of his hand doesn’t have any blisters.

“Under the water,” you instruct, pushing at his silver-link braceleted wrist until he gets the memo, letting the flow from the tap ease the burn.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, and then goes quiet for the first time in ages.

There’s a few moments of this strained silence as you watch his hand carefully, color leaching back into his palm until you notice Eddie’s looking at you sideways.

Your shoulders hunch in a bit, arms crossed over your chest as you take a step back, misinterpreting his look as wounded. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just-”

“Hey, whoa, no-” Eddie’s hand automatically reaches for you, dripping water on the floor until he remembers his injury with a wince and plunges it back under the tap. “You don’t have to apologize for that. At all. Um.”

His left hand, the uninjured one, braces against the linoleum, ringed knuckles creaking as he shifts his stance. He sounds uncomfortable, and you’re about to start apologizing again until he lifts his head, eyes twinkling- “You were so bossy. It was totally hot.”

A shocked laugh burbles out of you, unsure if he’s joking or not- when he shifts his weight again, your gaze flickers down to the zipper of his dark jeans- he’s fully hard. 

“Oh my god.” Split between amusement and mortification, adrenaline from seeing him get hurt fizzing through your veins, you laugh again- this time, sardonic, into your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus christ, Eddie.”

“Can’t help it.” He’s close to whining, hips pressing flush into the cabinet, partly to relieve the ache in his groin and partly to toy with you. “Goddamn. Sound so sexy when you tell me what to do-”

There’s a teatowel hanging from a nearby rack; you snatch it up and whip it at Eddie’s shoulder, playful and irritated as you snap, “Shut up.”

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby-” Eddie’s fake sultry voice earns him another towel-whip, this time at his neck- he squawks, ducking to avoid another blow while still keeping his hand under the water.

“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” you announce with finality, slinging the towel over your shoulder and turning on your heel. “I’m gonna get the burn cream. Try not to cum or die while I’m gone.”

His bright laughter follows you all the way down the hall.

___

The next time it happens, it’s sort-of on purpose.

Eddie’s glowing with a post-show rush- a local business convention meant Corroded Coffin got to play for a nearly-packed room. Nevermind the fact that their Bruce Springsteen cover was the one bringing in the most applause; Eddie’s always been able to feed off the energy of a crowd, and tonight was a riotous success.

The Hideout is loud but your boy is louder, as per usual. There’s sweat curling the baby hairs at his temples, bright spots of flushed pink in his cheeks from the round of whiskey you’d bought the band as a congrats. 

He’s making a toast to his laughing bandmates, to beautiful you, to any nearby drunk who will listen, proclaiming his lust for life with one boot on the well-worn table in noble pose.

“And to Bev, the best of us-” Eddie tips his half-empty glass towards the nearby bar, shouting over the din of the jukebox and lively chatter, “-may your sharp-tongued wit live on!”

Bev pauses service to flip him off, and Eddie collapses back into the comfort of your arm over the booth’s top, grinning when the band trio of Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob nearly fall out of their chairs with laughter.

It’s always hot to see Eddie in his element, and tonight’s not an exception. He turns to lean into you, looking down the slope of his pretty nose like he knows why you’re staring.

A charming wink precedes, “Come here often?” but his flirting is interrupted when Jeff gets up for another round and bumps the table- whiskey sloshes over the side of Eddie’s cup and coats his hand in stickiness. 

He swears viciously, yanking out his bandanna to wipe at the mess while you laugh over the rim of your own glass at him. “Real smooth, babe. Good thing you killed it on stage, otherwise I might not take you home.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, inhaling for another cheesy line to wow you with when his gaze flicks past you and his face falls. 

Across the table, Jacob mutters, “Oh, shit,” and Gareth glowers.

Following their eyelines, you look over your shoulder to see Nico Hawley, frontrunner of Hawkin’s own punk band (the Scumshots), enter through the front door in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

When you turn back to Eddie, he’s already twisting the damp bandanna around his rings. The usual softness of his doe-brown eyes are now flint-sharp, and with a rush of panic, you remember the last time Eddie and Nico ran into each other; the night had ended with you back at the trailer, holding a cold pack to Eddie’s split lip, which he’d received from engaging in what he referred to as “friendly fisticuffs”.

There was nothing friendly about the way Eddie stood, then, to his full height, dark and imposing with his big mane of hair and leather jacket. The other Corroded boys won’t start any shit themselves, but will absolutely back Eddie up (fearless leader, resident shit-starter, instigator extraordinaire). 

Time’s running out for you to get a handle on the situation, Eddie already moving to slide past you out of the booth when you snag his left jacket sleeve in a tight grip.

The first yank you give stops him in his tracks; the second, more intentional tug gets his face level with yours, Eddie’s hardened stare giving way to confusion as you pull him into your space. 

In that same authoritative tone, you pin Eddie in place with a fistful of leather and command, low, right in his ear to be heard above the bar noise, “Don’t. Sit down and be good.”

At first, you’re not sure it worked, because Eddie’s just staring at you- slightly slack-jawed, pretty pink o mouth as his gaze flickers to your lips, back up to lock in your gaze again.

And then, by some miracle, Eddie obeys. Like a well-trained, marvelously-behaved dog. He’s back in his seat with a jolt to the booth, hand curling around his whiskey again. 

Curls spill and shift around jacketed shoulders as he shoots the rest of the glass, adam’s apple bobbing, other hand slipping to cup your thigh hidden from view. “It’s not worth it,” he announces to the rest of the group, sounding strained, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, knuckles white with force.

Jake sighs, relieved, but Gareth scoffs, tipping the neck of his beer across the table to point, goading Eddie with  “Since when have you been the one to take orders?”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back, blood returning and redistributing enough from where it had all rushed south, enough to defend you and himself against his drunk bandmate. “We’re already on Hop’s shit list, asshole, can’t be catching any more charges for stupid fuckin’ bar fights.”

Nico had disappeared into the throng of people at the bar while your group has been arguing- probably for the best that he’s out of eyesight. Unperturbed by Gareth’s comment (he likes you fine, he’s just grumpy from the alcohol and itching for a fight), you sip your drink and give him a shameless wink. 

Underneath the tabletop, Eddie’s palm flattens over your jeans, fingers dipping to toy with the denim seam hugging the fatty plush part of your inner thigh. You shift your hips, subtly, feeling flush with heat and power. Just a couple of words and you have him eating out of your goddamn hand. 

Jeff returns, setting a handful of beers in the middle of the table. “Saw that shitstain Hawley at the bar. What’d I miss here?”

Gareth swoops in with accusatory explanation, seizing another bottle out of Jeff’s hands. “What you missed is Eddie’s balls on a leash-”

“Jealous you don’t have someone at home to tie you up, Emerson?” Eddie’s dig comes swiftly, lips quirked in a smile around the rim of his drink. 

There’s a raucous burst of laughter, Gareth’s curly mop of hair gets ruffled playfully, and everyone eases back into celebration, all while Eddie’s thumb edges closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

___

The next time, though? Totally on purpose.

There’s a sliver of gold from the hallway light spilling under Eddie’s closed door, left on in case Jeff or Gareth needed to use the bathroom during the night. 

And despite the fact that two of his bandmates are passed out on the couch and floor just a short walk away, Eddie’s hands are exploring the length of your body under the sheets like he’s got plans to map you with his tongue. 

“We- ah- can’t.” Your whispering scold is interrupted with a sharp gasp when Eddie nips at your neck. “No fooling around. Not when we have guests.”

His left hand drips over the swell of your breast, squeezing and kneading, your nipples perking to attention (traitors) underneath the bra you haven’t yet had the chance to take off.

Eddie adopts your quiet tone as he speaks between kisses that trail further down your body, not outright ignoring your weak protests but not doing much to combat them, either. “Mmm. Got me so worked up. Been driving me crazy since the bar, y’know that? ‘S cruel, baby, can’t just talk mean and expect me not to act on it.”

“Wasn’t mean,” you counter, hands shifting automatically to wind through the soft locks of hair tickling at your stomach as Eddie continues his path downwards. “Didn’t wanna have to patch up a split lip. Had to make you behave somehow.”

The vibrating groan Eddie gives against the soft skin of your stomach tickles; when you squirm, shushing him again, his hands slide to your hips, pinning you in place. 

Nose to your navel, warm breath fanning across the strip of skin just above the band of your panties, Eddie sounds strung-out already, close to begging. “Please, baby. I’ll be good. Make it so good for you. I’ll be quiet-”

His head snaps up at your sudden gasping laugh, chin perched on your tummy as he scoffs. “What, you don’t think I can keep quiet?”

“Eddie Munson, you couldn’t be quiet to save your life.” Your hands migrate to his cheeks, squishing them together fondly as he grins around your touch, his thumbs working circles at your bare hips. 

“Ye of little faith.” In the dim light of the room, Eddie’s teeth are a flash of white before his mouth dips to press against the wet patch at your underwear.

“Fucking… shit-!” The expletives fly out harshly, only because you weren’t expecting the wet stripe of his tongue against your clothed folds. Head dropping back to the comfort of your pillow, you get one hand in Eddie’s hair again, the other finding its way to twist at the sheets.

You can feel his smile, equal parts smug and sympathetic as he coos saccharine to your inner thigh- “Now, now, angel. Gotta be quiet.”

Not willing to lose the fight, you focus on clamping your mouth shut, eyes closed in concentration- even as Eddie slides your underwear down and off, a quick flash of blue fabric before it’s swallowed by the floor’s darkness. Even as he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard like he’s been deprived of your taste for too long.

When his tongue breaches your entrance, a soft gasp escapes, one that has your head turning sideways to grab some pillow with your teeth. 

Eddie brings the wetness from your entrance up again, spreading it over your pulsing clit, nerve endings fizzing bright and hot in your stomach from the attention.

On instinct, your right leg kicks out, jolting with the spasm of pleasure- Eddie’s quick, though, taking advantage of the movement to find a new hold at the back of your thigh; rings biting cold, he pushes until you bend for him, your knee now pressed towards your chest.

“Gonna make it so good for you.” Eddie’s mumbling pussy-drunk rambles into your cunt that’s now on display, dragging his nose through the slick that weeps out of you, all for him- “So wet for me, angel. Fuck’s sake. This all for me?”

As if he doesn’t know. The hand that isn’t busy holding you open trails up your thigh, middle finger teasing at your entrance before slipping inside, no resistance thanks to the river of slick that rushes to greet it.

There’s a soft squelching noise as Eddie adds a second, curling them up, stroking against that tender gummy spot that always skyrockets your pulse. 

The noise is almost enough to give you pause; feeling wild and flush with heat, your hand tightens in the crown of Eddie’s hair, eyes popping open as you prop yourself up on an elbow to give a strangled hiss of warning through your teeth.

Eddie senses your unease, pulls his fingers and mouth out and off (a travesty), softening the blow by giving a placating kiss to the top of your mound. “Shhh, sweetheart. S’okay. You hear that?”

Past the noise of nighttime crickets from the nearby cracked window, past the hum of the kitchen, you hear it as Eddie crawls back up- distant, tandem snores from the boys in the living room.

“They sleep like the dead. Like rocks,” Eddie promises, settling his weight into his hands planted on either side of your head, hair creating a curtain around your faces as he leans in. “So we can get our rocks off.”

“That was awful.” You kiss him anyways. He tastes like you, earthy and warm and wet, saliva mixed with your arousal as the kiss turns sloppy.

Eddie rocks his hips forwards, the friction from the fabric of his boxers making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. He’s achingly hard, cock leaking and smearing precum through the cotton; there’s a hurried, manic shift as you both work to strip the last pieces of clothing from yourselves, his boxers and your bra following your underwear from earlier into the dark of the room.

And then Eddie is sliding his cock through the folds of your pussy, slicking up the sizable length as much as he can before the tip nudges at your entrance; Eddie’s arms tremble with effort as yours wrap around his shoulders, soothing with a kiss to his cheek- “Lotta talk about keeping quiet, Munson. That’s all it was? Just talk?”

Now that his mouth isn’t intent on making you fall apart anymore, you’ve got some breathing room to tease. To be the one to work him up. Tucking a curly lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers trace adoringly over his temple before sliding to grip the back of his neck. “Gonna prove me wrong, hotshot?”

With this new proximity, you can see Eddie’s eyes- fixed intently on yours, black pupils nearly eclipsing the soft amber of his irises. He looks slightly feral, sweat sticking his bangs in place, lips parted, spots of pink staining his cheeks. 

As if he doesn’t trust himself to speak, Eddie’s near-silent as he slides himself in to the hilt, jaw dropping as the warmth from your walls encompasses him completely.

The chained guitar pick around his neck tickles between the valley of your breasts. He pants, chest heaving, not daring to move yet; your breath stutters. You can feel him in your throat.

“So big,” you murmur, an honest reaction but one that has Eddie’s brows drawing together, a little whine escaping as his hips jerk forward, reflexive to your words.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” 

Eddie’s voice, strained though it may be, is on its way to regular volume. At the back of his neck, your hand flexes, a warning as he begins to rock steadily into your tight heat. 

“Gotta be good.” Biting back your own groan, you sling your leg over his waist. At this angle, you can press your heel to the dip of his lower back. “Be good and quiet for me and I’ll let you come in my p-”

His hips snap forward, audibly, subsequent wet noise obscene, filling the room. Eddie moans into the curve of your neck before your sentence is even fully formed- “Jesus, baby. Oh my god. Can’t say stuff like that, gonna come too quick-”

His cock fits along the contours of your cunt like you were made for him, ridged tip dragging against that same sensitive spot of your front wall with each pull and thrust.

Eddie’s forehead thunks into yours as he rolls it back and forth, mindlessly. All the tease has melted out of his voice: it’s been replaced with a lust-filled rasp, rock-salt and deep. 

Your voice, however, is all tease, still hushed but laced with mischief despite your mounting pleasure. “Yeah? Gonna come in my pussy?”

It’s almost not fair and you almost feel bad, seeing the way Eddie fights to make his gasp silent as the channels of your cunt clench in answer to his fucked-out expression. With his next thrust, Eddie loses the battle- a hoarse, blissful moan much too loud spills over and out into the quiet room. 

Moving quick, your hand slips from the back of Eddie’s neck to his mouth, palm flat over the plush of his lips.. The commanding tone comes easy this time (with practice, you’ll surely be a natural).

“Eddie. Be. Quiet.”

Usually, Eddie’s got stamina enough to prioritize your pleasure, making sure you’re taken care of at least twice before he even thinks of himself. Tonight, though, he’s already been straining in his jeans for hours, unbearably turned on from your earlier sharp words, pushing the limits of desperation.

Your words, once again, do the trick. Eddie’s cock pulses, and he comes hard, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your hand, chorus of whimpers successfully dampened. His dark brows knit together, eyes pinched shut, nostrils flaring with each stilted breath.

He’s so fucking hot when he comes, hair a riot around stormcloud eyes that open to take you in. Even prettier when he’s coming down, leaning into your hand for support before you take it away, guiding and encouraging him to lay down.

Eddie collapses, carefully enough that it doesn’t jostle you, but still with his full weight. The crown of his head radiates heat against your chin. 

His arms wrap solidly around your middle as he whispers (he’s learning) in croaky fragments, “Jesus fucking H. I think you just broke my brain. Smashed it into a million little pieces. Never come so hard in my life. I’m in love with you.”

The laugh you give him is quiet but golden, the rise and fall of your chest causing his head to bounce a bit (but Eddie could die happy between your breasts so he doesn’t mind). “See? It’s worth it to listen to me, sometimes.”

“You’re so smart. Gonna do whatever you say, forever and ever. Cart-blank.” And then he’s pushing up onto his elbows, keeping his face level with your left breast so he can suck your nipple into his mouth, gently worrying his teeth over the peaked bud.

Previously tangled in the sheets, your hand flies up to grab his shoulder, nails digging in. “Fuck. Fuck, Eddie. That’s good. And- ah- it’s ‘carte blanche’.” 

He leaves the comfort of your breast with a sigh. “Whatever you say, princess. Gonna let me fuck you some more? Your turn to be the loud one.”

[bunnys-kisses]

vegetable patch (3)

farmer!captain john price & (brief) hybrid!simon

cw: hybrid au, bunny!reader, farmer!price, pregnant!reader, pregnancy, man-handling, fingering, pwp/smut, full nelson (sex position), oral sex (f receiving), threesome, guard dog!simon, double penetration, older!price, mindbreak, (there's a lot happening),

part one (simon) | part two (simon & johnny)

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own!

john never thought it would get to this. when he bought the farm and raised his hybrid guard dogs, he never expected to have a bunny around. let along a pregnant one.

but almost six months into your pregnancy, he had grown affectionate of you. sure you were a bit to handle sometimes, but in a way pregnancy, a roof over your head and a fully belly (in both ways) has made you softer. less of a wild animal and more of a pet.

it was cute.

the one thing that didn't change was your insatiable lust. originally price thought that two strong hybrid dogs would take care of your little bunny cunt, but not even those could stop you. let alone the heaviness of your middle.

the boys were out patrolling the yard with you safe in the house. you were curled up on simon's doggy bed with your hands on your belly and your hands situated on your belly with your head propped up on a pillow.

it was cute, john found himself almost enamored by the sight of you as he relaxed on the couch with a beer in his hand. you were just so small, the little bit of chub at your hips only made you seem cuter.

he got up from the couch and left the beer on the table as he walked toward you. he crouched down and rubbed your cheek. you leaned into his touch and whimpered a little. he chuckled and said, "good girl."

your eyes opened a little and you looked up at price, "what time is it?" your little tail did a wiggle under the over-sized shirt that you wore. he chuckled and pulled you close to him.

he fully sat down on the floor and took you into his arms, delicately. his hand grazed your middle, "not even close to lunch, the boy's are still out. it's just you and i."

you dipped your nose into the crook of his neck and you whimpered, "i feel wet."

"yeah, havin' wet dreams about simon, mama?"

"no." you said, "about you." as your hand reaches for his shirt and you held onto it. you buried your face deeper into his neck as he held you on the hardwood floor.

price's eyes went wide for a moment but then slowly got up with you in his arms. it was like holding a sack of potatoes. the most prominent part of you was the puppy was slept soundly in your belly.

"then i guess we must go to bed then. i know you love simon's bed, but my knees and back won't let me fuck you on the floor." his voice was gruff.

you giggled, "be gentle, baby's sleeping."

"of course, bunny." he replied as he brought you upstairs to his bedroom. there was a spare room for guests and an extra room for the three hybrids of his home.

but right now he was taking you to his room where he could fuck that sweet bunny cunt. it hadn't been the first time he had ever done it, but every time it was something else. a wild little hybrid now tamed and under his gentle care, the way he tamed his boys.

the bed was large and soft, he placed you down and started to work on the jeans he wore followed by the flannel of his shirt. he was hairier than simon and johnny, who had tufts here and there to show their hybrid heritage. but price was hairy that was a man was.

you wondered if a human got a hybrid pregnant then what would the baby be. because from the size of price, you were certain to have a heavy newborn. you got off your shirt and sat there naked on the bed, exposed to your farmer.

his large hands touched your belly gently, thumb grazed the stretch marks, "keepin' the little pup nice and safe, huh? bein' a good mama for me?

you nodded, "only the best for you, sir."

he reached down and rubbed your chubby little cheek, "i can see why simon trapped ya." he chuckled, "cute thing like you shouldn't be wandering the woods. that little cottontail will get into too much trouble."

he got onto the bed and man-handled you into his lap, he wanted to feel you as deep as he could. he wanted to know the inside and outside of bunny cunt. but the position he got you into was more of a wrestling move to keep you pinned against him.

you put your knees up to your head and he had your arms pinned back against him. your squirmed a little, you sort of loved the idea of being trapped. john was propped up against the oak headboard with his little pet bunny in his lap with her cunt soon full of his cock.

it was a little hard to do with such a big belly in the way, you had to squish it a little as you were moved to fit his position. you faced the door that led out of the bedroom and with a few misplaced thrusts, you moaned when price sank his cock into you.

"ah, sir!" you whimpered.

he thrusted into you and kept you in the position. it tested you physical limits but john was a strong man and you were a flexible bunny. after all you had to get through his fence somehow. but now you were all nice a plump with child.

price groaned at the idea of you pregnant with his child next. such a sweet little bunny carrying the farmer's seed made his cock throb while buried inside of you. you sweet noises were music to his ears.

"you like that, mama." he groaned, "you like when i fuck you hard?" he kissed the shell of your ear, "simon got lucky to have a taste of you first, because if it were me. if i caught you in my vegetable patch, then you'd never get the taste of my cock out of your mouth."

you kicked your legs out a little bit as he sank into your further, as deep as it would go. you could feel his cock pressed against your womb. your ears twitched and you felt soaked.

"you'd like that wouldn't you. maybe a little bit more time before you go on birth control would do you some good. see if you can take this old man's seed in your pretty, fertile cunt." he grumbled, "bunnies are known for their many babies."

you felt something churn in your stomach as your pregnant belly bounced with every hard thrust. the sex was rough, heat filled the air as you two moved together.

"i like how you look, mama. all swollen with pup. i bet it was so easy for you, took simon's seed so nicely." he purred as he held you tightly, making it slightly uncomfortable.

but you felt on cloud nine, until the bedroom door opened. and on the otherside was none other than your lover, simon. you whimpered and kicked out your legs.

simon was covered in muck, blood across the shirt he wore. he watched you as you were cock drunk and raised an eyebrows, "price." he said, "what are you doin' with my girl."

"she needed a little tlc, simon." he replied, "you know what bunnies are like. they could be having thirteen kits and still beg for another." he looked over your shoulder and asked, "what the hell did you get into."

"had to scare of a coyote." simon replied, "he could smell bunny all the way from the fence. that's how i knew you were fuckin' her."

"then get that shirt off and help me out." john replied as his pace became harder. you saw stars and your mouth hung open for a moment in pure lust.

with his shirt off and dropped to the floor, followed by, his jeans. he was soon on the bed and licking at your sweet cunt as price fucked you. you were trapped between the two men and you felt a dizziness in your mind.

this was somehow more intense than the threesome you had with johnny and simon. simon only let those in his 'pack' have a taste of his pregnant mate, which meant coyotes like graves were off limits. if simon ever saw graves' paws on you.

simon kept your legs open with his strong hands, the tips of his claws left indents in your skin as he lapped at your cunt. his tongue did touch price's cock which made the older man feel hot all over.

you were the loudest out of the three of you, your voice was high pitched and you felt so full. you squirmed against both men but they kept you still as best as they could.

you came once, then twice, the three times from the pleasure from both men. it was sensory overload. your mind went blank by the third orgasm that the men pulled from you. which left simon painfully hard.

"got any room in there, price." simon said as he pulled away from your cunt and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. his cock stood at full attention in his underwear.

"well, she'll need a good stretch if she's havin' your pup." price chuckled, he could feel himself getting closer. you on the other hand were mindlessly moaning without being able to form words.

your pussy was so wet that he slid in next to price with ease. the stretch made you whimper like an animal, but soon you were dropped back into the depths of pleasure as both men used you.

price let go of your arms but caged you with his around your middle. you felt sore, but your brain couldn't register much. your mouth hung open and drooled a little. your brain felt like it was broken in half.

"i know you can't smell it, price." simon said, "but bred bunny smells the best." his hands were on your belly and soon were price's. simon felt superior for having seeded you first.

sure his other packmates had their fun, but everything from the pup in your belly to the cotton on your tail was his. he watched your gasp for air as you tried to formulate thoughts.

his poor pregnant mate, such a beating to your pussy. but it was okay, he knew that you liked it. bunny's had a pension for a little pain.

both men, fucked you without much abandon. they ever managed to pull one last orgasm out of you which tore from your throat as you went limp against price's hairy chest. the feeling of two cocks inside of your cute little cunt was just too much.

and not wasting any seed, they flooded your poor pussy with human and hybrid seed alike. they stayed in you for a moment more before they pulled out at the same time. cum oozed out of you and simon petted your belly.

"johnny's gonna be jealous he didn't get to join." price remarked.

simon replied, "before he went out on patrol with me. he stuffed a sock in her mouth and fucked her in his bed on the floor. she's got all of our seed in her."

price held you in his arms as you twitched and moaned from the aftershocks of your activity. he watched simon kiss you before he rubbed your belly, "good mama. good little bunny, now you rest and keep growing that pup. simon and i will come back for you later."

you managed to give them a weak nod, your brain felt flat-lined but the lingering feelings of pleasure still shook you to your core <3

[silaslich]

Ghost eating pussy?! 🗣️🙏🏼

Papers scatter and the desk lamp drops to the floor - the lightbulb shatters.

Neither of you stop or pull away.

Simon’s lips are harsh, they bruise, fuelled with purpose and greed. You hadn’t heeded his warnings, hadn’t listened to him when he told you just how far he would go to ruin you. “You’ll be beggin’ me to fuck you by the end of the night darlin’” He’d whispered in your ear, a low drawl, barely a rasp from the back of his throat. “Won’t be laughing when I’ve got my cock stuffed in that pretty mouth’a yours” He’d said. His hand cupping your throat and his thumb swiping across your lips where they’re stretched over a wide drunken grin.

Thats the immediate reaction you’d had. Laughing in his face. Your palm flattened over his chest, maintaining space between the two of you, “you couldn’t handle me Angel” you teased, tilting your chin to look him dead in the eye.

This has been ongoing- for how long?

It’s hard to say. Too long perhaps. The teasing and the flirting, getting under one another’s skin and flustering each other to the point it comes time to walk away. It’s unprofessional, it’s time consuming and purposeful the way you both seek each other out, for the pure and simple goal of pissing one another off.

He spots your sets when you’re both working out, putting his hands all over you without a real need to, he takes a handful of your ass or twangs your bra strap so it hits your skin with a sharp sting. You have to bite your tongue, you have to keep up the facade that he’s not bothering you, that you’re stronger than he is.

In return, you make sure that you’re seated next to him in every briefing and meeting. You press your thigh against his, rub your knee against his to the point you can tell it annoys him. Only then will you put your hand under the table, unnoticed by everyone else in the room, stroking up and down his thigh as languidly as possible.

Again - just enough to get him to the point he starts to fidget, when he starts to clear his throat and sit a little straighter in his seat. Thats when your hand finds itself at the juncture where his thigh meets his groin, applying pressure, squeezing his skin beneath his clothes. Slowly sliding your palm across, cupping his cock where it sits half-hard in his trousers.

Now you’re kissing him. He’s kissing you. It’s all boiled over to this moment, a stolen moment that belongs to only the two of you.

He’d tried hard to wait, patiently watching from afar all fuckin’ night, his resolve had broken the second another bloke dared to ask if he could buy you a drink. One second you’re smiling politely at the man and the next your wrist is crushed in Simon’s vice like grip, being pulled through the pub doors toward the closest taxi rank.

Somewhere between hauling out of the taxi and getting back to base, your hand had slipped into his, and he’d held it so fucking tight. His room is closer than yours, it’s a logical and strategic choice, neither of you can wait. The thick fog of competitiveness seems to have slipped from the two of you, it’s just lust now. Pure unadulterated lust.

Now he’s between your legs, so tall and striking in the low light as he dips his chin to kiss you again - and again and again.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk, sullying his paperwork because your dress was quick to be pushed up till it’s pooled around your tummy. You hadn’t argued, hadn’t had the strength to ask for breath even. You let him guide you all the way, you let him push up your dress and pull your panties down till they’re hanging around one ankle.

A warrior by day and a pacifist in the confines of your lieutenants room.

She who breaks bones and fractures minds is to be broken and fractured by the very man who taught her all that she knows.

Sickly sweet irony.

His palm cups your jaw and squeezes, you gasp and your head tilts back against the pressure. All you can do is close your eyes and focus on his touch, when his lips find your jaw and trail downwards all you can do is moan out his name. There’s a sharp sting off teeth to the skin between where his fingers now sit against your throat. “So fuckin’ pretty” he whispers against your skin and you’re panting, needy for this man and his simplest touch. You would hate to prove him wrong, but a little bit of selfishness never hurt anyone.

Tilting your head you catch his lips, closing the space he’s created with the way he holds you by the neck like a prized bird. He hums against your lips, curling his tongue into your mouth when you part your lips to do the same. Sloppy and greedy. A string of spit connects your mouths when you lean back onto your palms, dark eyes looking up at him, “I want you to fuck me” you whisper. He looks triumphant. “I said didn’t I” he presses, bracketing your thighs with both palms against the table as he kisses your jaw again, “I knew you’d be beggin’ me for it” his tone is probably the cockiest you have ever heard him. You’re quick to snatch his chin between your fingers, forcing his face straight to look at you, his eyes darken as he meets yours. You smile, leaning forward to kiss him filthily again, all tongue and teeth and spit on his lips, you kiss across his cheek and down his jaw till you reach the pale skin of his throat. Feeling a moan vibrate against your lips when you sink your teeth into his flesh. “I wasn’t begging you, Angel” you say, letting your lips glide up his throat until you’re at his lips again, pressing a wet kiss. “I was telling you to fuck me” you’re still looking up at him when you pull away, his irises are blown wide and you note the way his chest heaves.

A broken man is Simon Riley in this moment.

He captures your lips once more, he takes your hands from your sides and guides them to his belt - you don’t need any further instruction. His teeth sink into your bottom lip when his hands fall to your thighs, he braces a hand under each one and pulls them even further apart to better fit his hips. When he takes a single step you’ve already freed his cock, heavy and hot in your hand, it makes him hiss.

There’s always so much talking, so much venom spat between the two of you, it’s been a constant dick-measuring contest between the two of you since the day you met. Now, here - your mind can barely comprehend it all let alone think of something to say, whether encouraging or derisive.

“Fuck” he pants, dipping his chin to his chest, watching as you lean forward and let a glob of spit fall from your lips and into the space where your fingers circle around his cock and start pumping. You look up and meet his eyes, he looks drunk, and it’s not the bourbon. It’s something else, something worse, it’s you.

Your lip is between your teeth as you hold his gaze and continue pumping him in your hand, your free hand scratching upwards through the thatch of hair at his happy trail - continuing upwards till his shirt begins to bunch up. “Take this off” you’re stern, or at least, you want to be. He chuckles, the sharp white of his teeth catching your eye, “yes ma’am” he complies and begins working on the buttons. Who is he to argue? You’ve got his cock in your hand.

You can’t help but watch dutifully as he goes, there’s no haste in his efforts, he’s watching you watch him and he knows this is turning you on. It always has, the width of his shoulders and the expanse of his broad chest, the thick cords of muscle and solid flesh that make him whole. It’s admirable. His shirt is tossed aside somewhere and then his hands cover your cheeks, smothering the hair out of your face from where it sticks to the sweat on your forehead. For a few drawn out second he just looks at you, drinks you in, scanning every scar and freckle and mole. Committing it to memory, locking it away somewhere in his head deep down.

The whole time your hand never stills where you rub him, where he twitches in your hand, the tip leaking and desperate. Then he’s pulling your face toward his and meeting you half way, kissing you again with too much of everything - but not enough of him. He rocks his hips into the friction of your palm, panting against your lips, moaning your name. You can’t help but do the same, whispering his name against his lips, making sure this is all real.

He’s close, you can tell, the way his cock hardens even further and the way he pulses in your grip. You quicken your pace, smearing the pad of your thumb over his slit, he practically growls in his chest. Then his fingers are curling around your wrist, pulling your hand away, your heart almost falls out of your chest. It’s the fear you’ve done something wrong, something to hurt him, something he doesn’t like. He sees that in your eyes and is quick to react, pulling your hand to his lips and kissing your fingers. “I need to do something first” he assures, but it doesn’t work to settle you, not until you watch as he sinks to his knees before you, hooking your legs over his shoulders. You brace yourself on your palms, leaning back and pressing your hips into the wait of his mouth. He tuts at you, “patience sweetheart” he drawls, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. A sound of disappointment leaves your chest and it earns you the sink of his teeth, a bruise for you to wear tomorrow. It makes you gasp. Then he kisses the other, closer and closer to where you need him most. Your breath quickens and you watch him intently, unable to break your eyes away from his as he drinks you in. He drags two fingers through your sex, gathering the wetness there, entranced it seems.

Every touch feels like electricity, every featherlight brush of his fingers and lips, it feels like he’s kindling a fire - and soon you’ll burst into flames right before his eyes. When you steal a second to focus on breathing, staring up at the ceiling, that’s when he takes the opportunity. He strikes when you’re not looking, pressing his mouth against your pussy, kissing you there. You almost leap out of your skin and you can’t be held accountable for the noises he pulls from you, each intricate flick of his tongue and purse of his lips has you clutching at the blonde of his hair for leverage. The curls that are soft against your fingers, as soft as his lips as he buries them between your folds, tasting you like this is the first and last time he’ll be able to. “Fuck- fu-“ it’s all you can manage, punctuated by the drawling moans that heave from your chest when you dare to take a breath. You feel him smile against you and you fist his hair tighter, but in retaliation, he only fucks his tongue deeper inside of you - making you arch your hips into his face. He goades you, flatting his tongue across your entire pussy, focusing on your clit. It takes very little to push you, he’s been dragging this on for months, you’re simply putty in his hands.

He kisses your clit, flattens his tongue over the sensitive nerves. You’re so so close, but when he pumps two fingers inside of you alongside the attention of his skilful tongue - that’s when the heavens sing and hell cracks open beside where Simon kneels. He guides you through it, removing your hand from his head and threading his fingers with yours. Letting you squeeze him tight, almost as tight as your walls squeeze around his tongue. Nevertheless, he pushes on, laps at your juices as they spill out of you, spreading over his lips and chin.

There’s no more time, your patience has more than worn thin, it’s blown away like dust on the breeze. You lean forward and wrap your palm around his throat; you couldn’t hurt him at all, not even if you tried, but the hunger in his eyes at the action is more than rewarding. Using the leverage of your hand you guide him up, watching him rise off of his knees as he looms over you once again. Even when he kisses you, you don’t take your hand away, this feels different and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a good feeling. You’re stroking his cock again, retreating for only a second to gather some of your own juices from where they leak onto Simon’s desk, smothering them over the head of his cock and down to the base. His lips are at your neck, laying wet kisses to your skin, pressing his tongue against your pulse.

“Simon” you moan, urging him to look at you, which he does, those big dark eyes that are full of hunger and lust. Your hand skates up over his abdomen and chest, cupping his throat and then his jaw, stroking your thumb across a thick scar that lays there. “Please fuck me” you whisper, smiling up at him, he smirks and kisses you hard. You’ve proven him right. Not for his ego, he doesn’t need it, they barely make helmets big enough for him as it is. It’s because you want him to, no, you need him to - and if begging him will make him fuck you quicker then so be it.

He can win this once, just this once.

“Told you” he whispers, curling his tongue into your mouth. He takes his cock in his hand and strokes it, lining himself up with your cunt. He looks into your eyes, making sure you’re looking into his and paying full attention when your name falls from his lips. He presses into you, pushing home, and even when he stuffs all of his cock inside of you - it’s still not enough.

He punches the air right out of you, the thick of him, he stretches you wider then you thought possible, but the pain and initial burn die away just as quickly as he kisses away the stray tear that falls over your cheek. The tenderness, it’s not what this is supposed to be, but he gifts it to you anyway. You begin to meet his thrusts, canting your hips into the rhythm he sets, kissing every bit of exposed skin you can reach as he fucks you with abandon. You moan his name, it slips in somewhere between God and fuck.

That’s all you’re capable of, begging Simon to fuck you harder and pleading to a god you don’t believe in.

There’s that irony again.

The desk rocks beneath you, the legs creaking and the feet scuffing against the floor with the way Simon uses his body weight, thrusting deeper, bracketing you between the thick of his arms. Your name drips from his mouth more times than you can count, between how beautiful you look and how good you feel, he’s giving you all of it tonight.

It nears again, the white spotting of your eyes and the way your limbs feel like rubber, he’s pushing you closer and closer, pressing his thumb against the already sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His pace quickens and you’re desperate to keep up, but it’s futile, he’s seen red and he’s chasing it down like a dog would a rabbit. His fingers dip harshly into your skin and his lips leave a wet trail from the bottom of your ear to the start of your jaw, your pussy walls tense in response to his touch and then it boils over again. His orgasm seems to take even Simon by surprise, burying his teeth in your shoulder as he cums inside of you, his hips struggling to maintain the previous rhythm. Somehow, he manages to pull you with him, to drag you through that fiery heat again. Through the feel of white hot metal as it presses under your skin and brands you, a blinding light that beams from all around, it’s too much.

Yet from Simon Riley - all you want is more.

[penvisions]

stages of devotion {away from the city}

Pairing: Tired Dad! Joel Miller x Experienced Camper! Reader

Summary: The neighboring campsite hosts a tired dad who seems to be ill-equipped for what he openly admits was a rather impromptu getaway with his teenage daughter. Thankfully, you keep extra supplies in your hatchback and are willing to share.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: canon typical language, cussing, brief mention of bleeding injury, sexual tension, pining, mutual pining, fluffiness, super soft yearning, sexual content, adult content, piv, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, depraved descriptions of the male body, just a light little piece for me!

A/N: hoping this isn't as lame as it seems in my head. imposter syndrome is flaring, y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

“God dammit.” A deep, gravely voice solemnly murmurs from the next site over. Slightly muffled from inside the tent the broad-shouldered man had dipped into shortly after pulling into the parking spot in a dark blue trunk. He had managed to get it pitched in a miraculously short amount of time despite the giggling and bouncing teen tangling the guy lines and rucking up the corners of the tarp underneath.

“Everything okay, dad?” The teen in question asked as she popped up from the cooler she was digging around in, a can of soda in her grip.

“…yeah, everything’s good, baby girl.” She glanced over at you with a roll of her eyes, not believing him for a second and needing someone to share in the moment. Before she could call him on the obvious lie, a loud hissing sound ruffled the side of the tent, billowing it out in a rather funny way.

Trying to keep your laughter low to avoid attention, you got up from your spot tending to the flames of your fire, foiled single use pan over the grill plate of the pit. A casserole you had parbaked last night in preparation for today. It was a broccoli cheddar one, the noodles and chicken beginning to season the air along with the crackling pine offered for visitors at the general store at the entrance to the park. The trunk of your SUV was silent as you lifted it and scanned the supplies you had stocked up in the space.

The spare air mattress you kept was on the smaller side, but it didn’t hurt to offer it to the little father and daughter duo. You pulled the fabric of your hiking shorts down a little, to cover up the bandage over a cut you had gotten earlier that afternoon on a hike before gripping the box and walked over to the edge of your site.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Uh, give me sec!”

“Sir?” You walked over the invisible line between yours and theirs, aware of the girl now fiddling with a small MP3 player, wired earbuds already popped into her ears beneath a mane of kinky hair pulled back into low buns at the back of her head. “I’ve got an extra mattress if yours has holes in it.”

“Huh?” His head appears in the opening of the tent, dark curls tousled and slightly damp with sweat. His brown eyes were wide, his plush lips parted underneath a thick moustache. He was on his knees, prompting you to look down as you approached the tent. He looked up at you through his hooded eyes and you swore your heart jumped in your chest. He had crows’ feet at the edges of them, those and the deep wrinkle in his brow adding to his appeal.

“This is my spare, you’re more than welcome to borrow it.”

His eyes flicked behind you, gauging where his daughter was and why he hadn’t heard an interaction from her before you appeared before him with a gift in your hand and kind words on your lips. She knew how to hold her own, but he still worried for her because the world could be cruel. Her music was a low hum even from here, telling him she was gone from his world for the meantime, social battery probably low or even just a bit bored with him out here in the middle of the state park while he set things up.

“Uh, thanks. Who’re-“

“I’m from just over there,” You lean back a little to wave to the left. He had seen the hatchback parked there all day but hadn’t seen the camper until just now. You must’ve snuck back into the grounds from a mid-morning hike that begins off the campgrounds or a nap you were possibly taking in your rather clean tent. He felt self-conscious at the way he was looking up at you with wide eyes, the dirt and dust that coated everything from his cooler to his own truck to the tent he was currently kneeling in. The trip was last minute, but it just reminds him of how much better he needs to be about upkeep in his own home and garage. The truck he could get away with, but he didn’t want to bring his work home with him more than he already did. “We’re campsite neighbors.”

“Mighty nice of ya, think mine has a leak somewhere.” The admittance is easy from his lips, shocking you in its honesty. The last time you had tried to offer similar help, you had been shot down and denied a chance. Told you didn’t know what you were talking about and that the person who had been having trouble knew more than you did, that you should mind your own business. Shaking the bad memory and relationship from your mind, you offer a polite smile and lean over a little to peer into the space around the man eclipsing the entrance.

“Mind if I take a look?” You set down the rather hefty box containing the spare bed and lean down to unhinge the ankle strap on your campsite sandals. It may be a little forward of you, but he seemed willing to discuss the issue, and you wanted to help any way you could. When he doesn’t protest, still gazing up at you with that doe eyed expression, you step into the rather dusty interior. The mattress is in the center of the back wall, the foot end of it facing toward your campsite. You crouch down to inspect the area around the boston valve. Just as you reached out a hand to feel around the base of it, you felt heat at your right side.

“’s over on the other side, I think.” The man’s voice was close, the baritone of it vibrating through you as you turned your own curious expression over to him. He seems to have composed himself, as he shuffles close to you, nearly pressing his broad chest into your side to motion to the left side of bed. The near contact makes you jolt, the way he had almost unconsciously fallen into your personal space. Not having been so close to anyone in recent memory makes the moment into more than it is on the surface, and you try not to let it get to your head. Just a friendly interaction, that’s all.

“Apologies,” He’s moving away just as suddenly as he had appeared beside you, leaving your heart racing in your chest so loud you hope he can’t hear it within the confines of the nylon enclosure. You can’t tell with the bright afternoon sunlight, if there’s a tinge to the tops of his ears and the back of his neck. But you’re pretty sure if there is one it’s because of his embarrassment of the thoughtless act and nothing more. A simple accident of invading a stranger’s space and nothing more.

He’s just a stranger who needed a bit of help, nothing more. Tamping down the runaway thoughts of the man and how calming his presence is even with just a few moments of interacting with him, you focus on the task at hand.

After a few moments of fiddling with the valve and ensuring its secure, you have him press down the palms of his hands on the top of the mattress as you scoot it out to feel where the air is leaking from.

There’s a slit in the groove that helps to support the weight of whoever lays atop it, barely visible.

“Ah, yeah. It’s here.” You switch places with him and he sees what you’re talking about.

“Shit,” He’s rubbing a hand over the dark scruff on his chin, dragged down the column of his neck as he realizes it’s not even a hole but a tear. A mighty long one that he’s incapable of fixing out here with no duct tape or putty.

“No worries, you can use the spare I brought over.” Standing up, you clap your hands to rid them of the dust that you had gathered on them. Doing the same with your knees, you glance around the space and realize how small it is. “Is this the only tent you brought?”

“No, uh, Sarah – my girl out there,” Joel is hunched over, the inside of the tent not tall enough for him to stand at his full height, he’s following your form as you exit, taking the offered box that contains the solution to his current problem. “This one’s hers. Gotta get mine set up. Was just gonna give her mine if hers was damaged. Saved me the pain of sleeping on the ground.”

“I’ve got a small handheld vacuum, if you want to get the dust cleared up for her.” You offer with a slight smile, the small worry of overstepping making you self-conscious. “Just…if you want to.”

He pauses as he places the box beside the slowly deflating bed he had tried to set up. His eyes catch yours and you see something flash in them.

“’m not normally this unprepared, but she was…well, she was havin’ a bad week so we packed up after school and just hit the road.”

“Hey, no worries at all! I totally get needing to get away sometimes. That’s why I have enough to offer you my spare. Keep a bit in the car, a bit in the garage. Kinda ready to go whenever I feel the need.”

“It’s much appreciated.” His own lips twist up and you feel butterflies between your ribs. He’s effortlessly handsome, his chocolate curls mused and his face showing the years he’s spent raising his daughter and no doubt working hard to do it.

“I’ll just go grab that real quick then, leave you to finish setting up.” You crook your elbow and point back to your own campsite, but your feet stick to the ground when you see Joel crouched back down on the ground in his simple tee and jeans. His biceps flex with the way he begins to roll the remaining air out of the no-good mattress, catching your attention like a cat to a sunbeam.

“You’re an angel, can’t believe we lucked out with such a cool neighbor.” Joel chuckles to himself as he works, unaware of your watching gaze. “Last time we had this older couple that didn’t believe she was mine. Kept asking if she was okay or needed any help.”

“S-Sounds like a nightmare.” The lump that appears in your throat sticks even after you attempt to swallow it down. You couldn’t imagine the stress that caused, even if just fleetingly. They were obviously bonded, their easy temperance with each other speaking volumes for those around.

“Much better this time around, despite the faulty mattress.” He looks up once it’s rolled up and secured with velcro ties. His smile is brighter, reaching his eyes in a way that makes them sparkle. “Name’s Joel, and the tone-deaf teenager out there is Sarah.”

You look over your shoulder at the dancing, twirling teenager. She’s still got her music playing a touch too loud, her lips mouthing along to most of the words. Some of them she sings aloud, and it’s…it is rather tone-deaf. But it brings a smile to your face all the same, she’s allowed to feel like she can be herself around her father. That’s an impressive feat, that they seem so close with no underlying awkwardness or feelings of insecurity.

Turning back to him, you offer your own introduction.  

The sounds of Joel finishing setting up his campsite fill the air but aren’t bothersome. Just a part of the afternoon that grows into the evening. Others showing up as well, the sound of rubber mallets securing tent spikes in the soft ground, of vinyl and tarp being stretched out and shifted into place, of grills being filled with charcoal and the sizzling of food as it hits the hot grates. Laughter and soft conversations float through the air amid the gentle breeze and you sigh as you sit down at your table with a bowl of the casserole that had finished cooking.

The peaceful reverie is enhanced by the infectious giggling of Sarah, the teenage girl just over the invisible line between the campsites. Joel’s own carefree laughter making your chest feel light. They’ve got their stuff all set up, the propane grill Joel brought working hard as he cooks what looks like too much food for just the two of them. But they both load their plates up and settled at their picnic table with freshly opened drinks from the cooler.

You feel the look before it registers, so caught up in the book gripped between your hands. It’s been on your list for far too long, a few pages read here and there throughout your hectic day, before bed as you try to wind down but end up passing out with it flattened on your chest. But now, the reading seems to be disrupted in the form of Joel. He’s at the edge of your space, calling out your name.

An offer for food if you wanted some, that there was a little bit of everything and plenty of it if you cared to join them. With no thought for the passage you had just been immersed in, you close the book and leave it in the seat of your camp chair. The vinyl hushes with the wight of the paper but you pay it no mind as you ask after what all he’s got and pick up a fresh beer from your cooler.

Easy conversation flowed and soon your laughter rung in the air alongside theirs.

Sarah had gone to bed after a bit of gentle prodding from Joel. Her head had bobbed a few times, trying her hardest to stay up despite her fluttering eyes and deep breaths as she sat in front of the dwindling fire alongside you both.

They hadn’t been able to get one going in their own pit, too much debris left behind from the previous inhabitants. So yours had been stoked and kept alive for hours now as night fell. Their chairs had been effortlessly moved beside yours, surrounding the once roaring warmth, something you hadn’t minded in the slightest. He’s walking back up to now, hands in his pockets and a flannel added over his tee. He looks so cozy, so at home now that he’s gotten settled.

He sighs heavily as he plops back down in the chair beside your own, scooting it closer now that you’re alone. You can smell the lingering scent of his cologne on the new addition of clothing and it has you unconsciously leaning into his space.

“Mm, you smell good.”

“Thanks, darlin’. You smell mighty good yourself.” He’s smirking when your eyes snap up at the realization that you just said that out loud.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn’t-“

“’s okay. But I’ve been wonderin’ something.” His tone tilts, pitches low as he regards the fire that’s more smoldering ashes than flames in the pit. The shadows cast over his profile take your breath away, make your heart ache for how beautiful he is. He’s a good man, if your evening together was anything to go by.

A devoted father, a caring family man, a capable man who worked himself perhaps too much sometimes.

“Y-yeah?” You feel the air shift, something sparking between you two now that you’re alone. You wonder if he’s about to tell you his wife is back home waiting for their return, if he’s going to ask you why you keep stealing ogling glances his way. If he’s going to reveal to you that he’s onto you and doesn’t like the attention. But his question is exactly what you wanted to hear, because you have the exact same one for him.

“You got anyone waitin’ for you back home?” Joel’s voice is even, despite the way one of his hands is tapping away at the armrest of his chair. The empty beer in his mesh cupholder sweating and the label is peeled off. It’s endearing to see his quirks, the man rather enticing despite only knowing him for a few hours. Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies tickling your insides as you realized he may be as attracted to you as you are to him. Unless he was just making polite conversation now that it was just the two of you…

“Like a boyfriend?” You dare to ask, seeking clarification. Feeling the slight charge in the air is making you a little dizzy, the looks you had caught him giving you when you were busy helping Sarah with her smores only making you feel even more so as you recall the way his eyes had shown in the amber firelight. You lean toward him, finding that he had done the same. There are only a few inches between you now, elbows crooked and bodies curved toward each other. You try to disguise your surprise, but you’re sure he can see in as his lips quick up on one side.

“Like a boyfriend.” His breath is so warm as it puffs against your lips. He’s so, impossibly close and it wouldn’t take but a tilt of your head to close the gap.

“Oh.” Your eyes search between his own, looking for something behind them. Finding no ill intent, no underlying darkness. There’s only hope flickering there, shielding the loneliness you can sense in him, the same that you mask in your own life. You feel your lips pull up into a teasing smile as you glance down at his plush lips. “No.”

“Good.” And he’s closing the gap. Hands coming up to cradle your face and nose brushing against yours as his lips capture yours.

The next morning, you’re packing up the remainder of your stuff as quietly as possible. The sun has yet to rise, the sky barely beginning to lighten on the horizon. Joel is snoring just loudly enough that you can pick up the sound coming from inside his tent. You don’t want to bother him, seeing as he’s resting after a rather long night. You feel the ghost of his lips against yours, the way they had dragged down your throat, your collarbone, lower still beneath your shoved off flannel and rucked up tank top.

“Don’t normally do this kinda thing.” He groaned into your skin as his exploring fingers undid the small tie at the front of your shorts. The thickness of them as they hooked in the waistband and pulled made you dizzy, made your body clench around nothing at the heady thought of them delving lower.

“What? Make out with strangers?” You huff a giddy laugh that turns into a choked whimper as his knuckles graze between your legs, feeling the dampness there. He presses close, and you feel the pressure of his hand against your swollen lips, can feel the way he slowly parts them with gentle movements. Fingertips find your sensitive bud and your body glitters, eyes fluttering shut.

“Make out with anyone. Been so focused on other stuff.”

“Focus on me then, just for now.” You whisper as you reach for him, guiding his face back up to yours and kissing him deeply. He swallows the moan that bursts from your chest as his fingers find your fluttering entrance. He’s knuckle deep and crooking them before you can catch your breath. It hitches, leaves you and causes you to break away from him when they nudge a spot just right, lighting up your body in a way it hadn’t been in ages.

“That’s the spot, huh darlin’?” He thrusts his fingers in a slow, deep rhythm. Feeling your soft walls clench around him, the jolt to your body and the arching of your back telling him he’s found exactly the right spot. “C’mon, you feel so damn good. Lemme see how pretty you are.”

Through a heavy-lidded gaze, you see him hovering above you. His outline stark in the glow of the string lights strung up around your campsite. His brown eyes are glittering and blown wide, his lips are parted and panting for breath, chest dusted with the same dark hair atop his head. When had he even taken his shirt off? It doesn’t matter, you lose the thought as your hands begin to explore his chest. Nails raking lightly down his pecs and toward the softness of his belly. Belt unbuckled and pants undone, but still secure around his waist.

Heat encompasses you, your body alight as he beckons you closer and closer to the edge. You fall with a cry of his name when he leans down to nip at your breast, nipple taut between his teeth. He guides you through it, fingers dragging it out before he gently removes them from your fluttering core and twitching clit.

“That’s a pretty sight indeed, darlin’.” He kisses your temple, your cheeks, your forehead. A grunt of surprise falls from him when you surge up and wrap your arms around his neck and use your feet to push his jeans off. His rumbling laughter fills the dark space as he quickly pushes them off all the way and kicks them off the bed. “Gonna let me have you, sweet girl, gonna let me feel you come on my cock?”

“Fuck, Joel, yes, please.” You rut against him as his erection bobs up toward his stomach, needing more, needing to feel him. This safe, beautiful stranger you hadn’t known existed until today. He was intoxicating. The hot, long line of him hard where you grind against the underside of him. He groans a deep, guttural sound at the feeling, the slick of your swollen lips and the beads of precum falling from his tip making for such an easy glide.

His hand snakes down to guide himself a little lower, eliciting a cry from you when his head rubs roughly over your clit.

“Shh, shh, gotta be quiet now, don’t wanna wake the whole campground, do we?” He’s watching your face twist in pleasure, the way your bottom lip plumps between teeth as you try to quiet yourself. He tries to muffle his own loud moan when he finally pushes in. Everything stills for the barest of moments, eyes meeting and breath hitching. Before he’s snapping his hips against yours, bending over you to lift a leg over his shoulder and his teeth grit as he tries to keep his sounds restrained.

You’re lost to the feeling of his body moving against yours, moving inside yours. He’s filling you so deeply, hitting that spot you didn’t believe any guy could find and it’s making your vision sparkle bright white.’

Your face heats as you recall the way he had desperately asked ‘where’ in that gravely twang of his. The feeling of him still filling you, dampening your underwear as he dribbled out a little bit at a time. It had been rather risky a move, but the pills you took everyday would help prevent any…mishaps with the handsome man you hadn’t expected to meet on your own impromptu excursion from the city.

Austin.

He was from there too and something compelled you to write your name and number on a blank page of your small notepad. A little note saying to call you for a coffee sometime because it had been nice to talk to him and his daughter. You left the remainder of the casserole in the tin and secured the crumpled foil over it before cautiously lifting the lid to their large cooler. Thankfully there was space for the extra food, they would need it with their additional night in the park.

But you needed to go, real life responsibilities calling your name back from the slice of reprieve you had sought out.

Picking up the packed tent, the handles rough in your hand like Joel’s calloused palms, you looked the campsite over one last time. Everything was packed now, the city beckoning you back though this camping trip had provided you with something you hadn’t had a taste of in a long time.

Hope.

next part

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[eclipseslayer]

A HARD DECISION

• OUTLAW!TOJI FUSHIGURO X F!READER SMUT ONESHOT

• SUMMARY: Toji Fushiguro steps into a saloon after making a kill, and when he sees you, he knows he has to persuade you so he can bunk with you, which, luckily, isn't too hard.

• CW: Penatrative sex, mentions of fingering, pulling out (😔).

• WC: 2kish.

Toji comes to a standstill; his boots clank against the dry, desert dirt with a thud. Heavy boots shift into the dirt beneath him as Toji spreads his legs, coming into a unwavering position as his hands slowly find their way to hover trepidatiously over his guns that sit in their holsters that are strapped to each thigh.

His hands curl into fists, and then they unfurl slowly, while green eyes stare down his opponent that stands about twenty feet from him. Anxiety rages through his hands as he recites the mantra in his head,

Kill 'em like you always do, Toji.

then, suddenly, his hands are still once confidence fills his body. His eyes dart to the left and to the right, and sees that practically the whole town is lined up—leaning against their buggies and the railing of the storefronts, watching this showdown between him and his opponent.

He grins. Looks like I gotta show to put on.

He lets out a slow breath after collecting his thoughts, while his eyes return back to his opponent standing far from him, feeling tension rise in the air as tumbleweeds pass between them.

Suddenly, the tension breaks when Toji's eyes narrow to his opponent's hand, which quickly slips into his holster to retrieve his gun, but, Toji doesn't even give his opponent a chance to grasp the handle before acting, demonstrating his quick reflexes as Toji quickly slings his guns onto his fingers; whips them out of their holsters, and grips the handles firmly. His thumbs flick the safety off like blowing out a candle, and he lights it again when his index fingers quickly press the trigger.

Bam, bam, bam!

Three shots fire, and each of them hit his opponent, making him jolt with each shot until he collapses onto the ground.

Toji sighs, feeling the anxiety from earlier quickly fade, and a grin appears on his face while he watches the smoke rise from his guns.

He pulls his bandana cowl down; blows out the gunsmoke, and gives it a quick whiff, enjoying the satisfying moment from the kill, and then places his guns back into their holsters before pulling the cowl back up.

He sighs and moves his head around once he feels relaxed enough and sees that the crowd has dissipated, mumbling to themselves as they go back to their daily routines, meanwhile, Toji rubs the back of his head, figuring he could go for a drink.

He makes his way to the saloon, boots clinking as he makes his way. He pushes the swinging doors open with a big boot and steps into the saloon with a thud.

Luckily, everyone stays busy in the crowded saloon, not bothering to look at Toji as they play card games, or are flirting with the saloon girls, or are drunk off their asses.

He dips his head, and pulls the brim over his eyes as he makes his way through the loud, bustling saloon, shoving and pushing past people. He steps over a few drunkards passed out onto the floor before he finally reaches the bar, where he sighs once he sits upon a bar stool.

His eyes flick over to the bartender, which, surprisingly was a woman, who was dressed quite scantily as she wore a her skirt quite short as it met her knees, and a pretty, colorful corset covered the top half of her body. He raised an eyebrow, and a smirk pried at his lips from underneath the cowl.

You seem to spot Toji as you quickly whip your head around. You look at him for awhile—probably judging his appearance—and then make your way over.

You give Toji a cheery smile and brace the countertop with your forearms.

"Well, aren't you that fella that was outside just now, gunnin' down that other fella?" You grin and clasp your hands together.

Amused, Toji chuckles. "Yes ma'am," Toji replies, simply.

"Well, that was quite the shootin' I saw out there. I was amazed, honestly," you grin and begin to draw shapes on the countertop. "We don't see much of that 'round these parts. Why'd ya shoot that fella anyway?"

Toji sighs, a groan begs to slip from his lips but he withholds it, just to keep the lady pleased. "Got told to kill 'em. Simple as that."

Your eyes widen suddenly and you gasp. Your hands grip the edge of the counter as you suddenly bounce excitedly.

"Oh my Lord! Are you... what do ya call 'em? One of them uh... you know..." You lean in, "...assassins?" You whisper before leaning back. You reach behind yourself and grabs a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass, and start pouring while you keep your gaze on Toji.

Toji watches her as you pour the drink. He nods. "...Maybe. What are ya gonna do if I am?" He replies with a slight edge to his tone, eyeing you once you finish pouring the whiskey. You slide the glass over to him and shrug simply.

"Dunno. Just find it fascinatin' I suppose." You brace the counter again.

Toji pulls the glass toward him, and pulls down his cowl and then takes a sip. He furrows his brow as the amber liquid drowns his tastebuds—tasting nothing but a harsh, smoky flavor—and then travels smoothly down his throat. He sighs after he swallows.

"Is that right?" Toji mutters before taking another sip.

He furrows his brow again once he hears you gasp.

"Oooh! Ya got a scar on your lip..." You say, ignoring Toji's previous question as you point at it. You lean forward, your elbows resting on the countertop and lean your chin onto your palms. "I like it."

Toji's eyes widen at your comment, as it was the last thing he expected from you, although, you are a saloon girl, so he supposes he should've been able to guess it.

He swirls his drink around in his glass. "Really? Ya like it, doll?"

Your eyes widen at the sudden nickname and you nod slowly. "Yeah. Mmhmm. Looks dangerous..." you lean in a bit closer. "I like danger."

Toji finds this conversation all too amusing as a grin crawls onto his lips. He takes another swig of his drink.

"Yeah? Do you now? You know uh..." He leans in, closer to you, and he whispers into your ear. "I'm not even supposed'ta be here, doll."

You pull back a bit, your eyes twinkling. "Really? How come?"

His eyes shift up to the poster that's nailed to the wall behind her and he nods his head at it. "Take a gander."

You freeze for a second, and then slowly you turn around. Your eyes widen even more and you feel your heart suddenly pound in your chest when you feel so quickly gobsmacked.

A poster hangs up for the wanted fugitive of Toji Fushiguro, with a prize worth a million American dollars.

You swallow thickly, and then your body turns itself back around as you make eye-contact with the man in the poster.

"I could turn you in and be rich," you mutter, your words rolling off your tongue in a moment of realization as you stare at the man in front of you.

"You could," Toji takes the final sip of his drink before slamming the glass down onto the countertop, right next to your hand. He leans in, the rich smell of whiskey on his breath as it graces your ear, "or, ya could gimme a place'ta stay, sweetheart."

—

It was a hard decision, really.

So hard, in fact, that you whine as you sink down onto Toji's hard cock.

"That's it... yep... jus' like that, sweetheart," Toji murmurs as his large, calloused hands find your hips and grips them tightly, and begins to guide you up and down on his cock.

Your head is spinning. Out of the many times you've brought a man up to the room above the saloon, you've never felt a man treat you this good.

So far, you've been fingered. Twice.

Now, he sits your fucked-out brain onto his big, thick cock that nearly splits you in half, and has your legs wanting to clamp at his sides, but, Toji notices this and moves his hands to your thighs to keep them spread.

"Nuh-uh, none of that, now, doll, keep 'em spread," he commands, and he punctuates it with a harsh slap to your ass, making you whine.

"Toji!" You squeak, and your eyes roll back.

"That's my name, girlie," a wry grin appears on his lips and he pulls his hand back again before smacking your ass another time. He grunts as he feels you pulse around his cock.

"Keep, sayin' it. Like it when ya scream my name when you're stuffed with my cock."

Slap!

"Toji!" You moan, loudly again and Toji lifts up his hips, and begins to thrust harshly into you as you stay on top of him.

"There we go," he coos in your ear. "Just like that."

"Toooojiiiii!" You moan with every thrust, as each movement makes his cock hit the back of your g-spot.

It moves in and out, and it fills you up so deliciously, leaving no room for questions simply because you feel him so squished and snug within your walls, as if he's scraping inside you, digging for something. Maybe, digging for gold as he hits that spot that sends shocks through your body.

"Got a pretty mouth on ya, sweetheart. Keep moanin' my name like that."

"Tojiiii!" This time it was more whiney than the last as your breath falls short. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he continues to hit that spot, over, and over, and over, and over again.

It's like a rollercoaster, except, you're going all the way up every single time Toji thrusts in and out of you, and now, you feel as if you're teetering over the edge.

"Toji I'm—"

He interrupts you with another slap to your ass which leaves him grunting as he feels you squeeze and throb around him. Fuck. You're squeezing his cock so tightly that it makes his balls ache with a need to release.

"I know, sweetheart. Just... haaa... fuck, fuck, I'm close, too," he groans, unable to keep it in any longer because of how good your squeezing him.

"Toji!"

It was your last, final warning as you feel the rollercoaster fly down it's tracks, making you squeeze and convulse around Toji as you finally cum. White liquid gushes out of you and runs onto Toji's cock, making him groan loudly.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming too—" he curses and, with a grunt, he grips the globes of your asscheeks and lifts you off of him, and spills onto his stomach as he finally cums.

You're both a panting, wet mess as you come off of your orgasms, just laying against each other. There's a good moment of silence before you speak up again, murmuring,

"After another round, I'm getting rich today."

[rememberwren]

Ghoap x Reader. Let's talk aftercare.

I said, how would aftercare work if the scene ends before it begins?

CW: Simon's history of non-con, safewording, not much aftercare for aftercare being my primary focus tbh, established ghoap, fem!reader.

-

Ghost safewords and disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Johnny hasn’t even kneeled up onto the bed yet. You’re still wearing your robe. The scene which the three of you had planned with near religious fanaticism for the last two weeks had barely even begun, and now it has already ended. 

You and Johnny stare at each other with twin expressions of confusion. Johnny, quick and long used to Ghost’s unpredictability, rushes the door. He knocks and then braces his hands against the doorframe, head down. 

“Simon? Can I come in?” he calls through the oak. 

“It’s unlocked,” Ghost says back, scathing. The water faucet has been turned on, muffling his voice a little but not his tone. He’s furious. You can take a guess as to at whom. 

It isn’t his fault, though, you think. You sit on the edge of the bed, toying anxiously with the hem of your robe, any and all arousal having sublimated into thin air with Ghost’s safeword. It’s hard to believe that only a few minutes ago, the three of you had been setting up with excitement, eager to play—or had you? Had there been signs that Simon wasn’t in the right headspace? Should you have been looking more closely? You draw your knees up toward your chest, wrapping your arms around them, feeling hollow. 

“Prefer if you opened the door instead of me,” Johnny says calmly, a pillar of strength, stone strong amongst the uncertain shifting sands. 

The door jerks open. Johnny disappears inside and gives you a sheepish glance before he shuts the door behind him. It’s fine. You can wait out here. The hollow feeling inside your chest seems to grow and swell, throbbing in time with your heart like an angry bruise. You wished you were inside the bathroom too, a part of their duo, more than just a temporary fixture in their bedroom. Should you get dressed? God, should you leave? No—you couldn’t do that, not before making sure that Simon was okay. 

After nearly ten minutes of heated whispers back and forth, the door opens and the two trudge out of the bathroom. Simon can’t meet your eye. 

“Well,” says Johnny, rubbing the back of his own neck. “This has been enlightening. Time for aftercare?” 

“Doesn’t aftercare usually come after something?” Simon asks waspishly. “Didn’t even manage to fucking do anything.” 

“Prepared to do something, didn’t we?” says Johnny, like it is a simple matter. “Can we get you anything? W—”

“You can get the hell out.” 

You slip off the bed. You don’t need to be told twice. You find where your clothes are piled carefully on top of the dresser and slip your underwear on beneath the robe, feeling too raw to just let the slinky, silky fabric fall to your feet and bare you to the room. 

“It’s important, Simon,” Johnny says, calm and resolute. “The way you’re acting tells me you need it.” 

“I need you to stop yapping for once in your goddamn life,” says Ghost, dressing himself with jerky movements on the other side of the room. 

“Then do it for her, aye?” Who? you wonder, looking over your shoulder. There is only you. You glance over your shoulder to see that Simon has stopped dressing himself, top half still bare, eyeing down Johnny like a dog who hasn’t decided yet if he intends to fight or find the threat beneath him. Johnny tips his head toward you. “She needs it too. Can’t you tell?” 

Simon’s brow furrows, mouth dipping into an even deeper scowl. His eyes flicker towards you, but you are determined to show him that whatever Johnny is saying is wrong. He doesn’t need to let you do anything; you’re fine. You hadn’t even been the one to safeword! But whatever he sees on your face has his eyes going a little soft, his mouth a little less harsh. 

“Water, I guess,” he mutters. “‘M thirsty.” 

“I’ll get it,” says Johnny. When he passes you, he lets his hand rest on your shoulder, dragging softly from one shoulder blade to the other. He asks: “Will you stay with him?”

You nod. Johnny isn’t giving you much of a choice. Not for the first time, you resent his meddling, the near-omniscient way he seems to know what everyone needs even when you couldn’t say for yourself  what that is. 

Simon has seated himself on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. With his back turned, you feel fine to drop the robe and tug a shirt on. Carefully toeing your way around the bed, you stand beside him, frowning, unsure what you’re doing here. Why you’re here. Johnny should be here. You should be fetching water like Lassie.

Simon glances up at you, a flash of irritation. He heaves a sigh. “Not angry at you.” 

“I know,” you say. You’re pretty sure that’s true. 

“I’m doing every fuckin’ thing right. Why’s it still going wrong?” he wonders, letting his hands down to hang loosely between his legs. 

You step there, until he has to put his hands on your hips, until he can bury his face in your chest. You stroke reach up tentatively, stroking at his hair the soft, easy way that he likes. You’re no good with words—are just as likely to stutter over the wrong words as you are the right ones. 

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I just know I’m not finished trying. Not if you aren’t.” 

He huffs a breath against you, turning to place his cheek and ear against your sternum. Your heart must be beating out of your chest, but he doesn’t mention it. Each of his slow, even breaths seems to melt away the icy hollow feeling inside your ribs.

“Thanks for stopping us,” you say, in case Johnny hasn't already. 

He looks up at you, dark, endless sort of eyes. He says: “Thanks for letting me.” 

You scratch his scalp softly, unable to respond. Johnny reappears, waters in hand.

[motherroam-rs]

Knee Deep in the Passenger Seat

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

NSFW Ahead Minors DNI 18+!!!

A/N: Thank you always to the best proofreader @totallyunidentified 🫶 (Yes I listened to Chappell Roan whilst writing this, hence the title even though Reader and Joel are in the drivers seat for most of it)

Tags/Warnings: Smut, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Age Difference (Reader is over 21), Anal Play/Anal Fingering, Knife Kink if you squint

Word Count: 3.4k

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

“Fuck, Darlin’,” Joel sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, face set in a stern look, and yet his eyes close in bliss. The hand that was previously gripping the leather of the steering wheel brushes the hair from your face, a curtain that had been shielding the sinful activity in the front seat. Now he can admire the way your lips wrap around the girth of his cock, a mess of saliva and precum dripping down your hand. “Jus’ like that..”

You’re leaning across the gear shift, one hand wrapped around the thick base of his cock as you take him deeper into your mouth. The wet sounds elicited from each bob of your head can be heard over the faint hum of the radio station and Joel’s jaw clenches when you take him too deep. You choke, only slightly, but it’s enough to cause you to pull away with tears streaming down your face, though he’s not prepared to let you give up that easily.

A large, calloused hand threads through your hair, still a mess from where you had been driving with the windows open, and Joel pulls you back down. It’s not an aggressive touch in any way, simply gentle pressure to encourage you. The weeping head of his cock enters your mouth again, but this time, he’s guiding every movement.

“There we go, Honey,” He praises from above you, relaxing more against his seat as he works on slowly rocking his hips up to fuck the wet heat of your mouth. “’S better, isn’t it?”

Your only response comes in the form of a whimper around his thick length, and the vibration of it has him gripping your hair as he curses under his breath.

“Fuck, sweetheart, do that again and I ain’t gonna last much longer.” He chuckles, half serious, still in disbelief at the way his cock disappears into your mouth with each small motion of his hips.

You move your hand to splay open across his thigh, attempting to steady yourself by pressing against the coarse fabric of his jeans. Underneath your palm you can feel as his muscles tense with every single restrained thrust into the soft warmth of your mouth until he can’t take it anymore.

In a quick motion he pulls you back from his cock, and you half expect him to mark your flushed face with his hot cum, evidence that you’re his. But he doesn’t. The older man is muttering something beneath his breath, features pinched in such focus he looks almost pained.

Joel releases your hair, but grips the back of your neck, not prepared to let you go as he brushes his calloused thumb against the smooth skin behind your ear.

“Joel?” You whisper and he nods, seeming to snap out of his trance as you half sit up, still leaning across the middle of the truck.

“I’m not cumming anywhere except for inside you tonight,” The hand slips down to your jaw, tugging you towards him as his other darts out to grip your hip.

“Not in your mouth.” He pulls, rougher than he was before, and you land on his lap, half straddling him in the drivers seat. If you lean back much more you would be pressed to the horn on the driving wheel.

“Not on your face.” He presses a firm kiss to your swollen lips, and you feel the scratch of his stubble with the force of it.

“Not anywhere else,” The hand on your waist dips down to grip your thigh, almost mirroring your earlier action, except his slides up, past the hem of your skirt. You gasp against his mouth when your soaked panties are moved to the side, allowing him to circle your tight entrance with the tip of his middle finger “But in here.”

You had been dragging out this little arrangement of yours ever since you moved in across the street. Late night drives that always ended with tears running down your face, not just from how you took his cock in your mouth, but also from how his thick fingers seemed to reach every part inside you that your own just couldn’t.

But that's as far as these encounters went, until tonight, with his husky voice low in the small gap between you, brown eyes searching your lust dazed expression for any uncertainty. He tilts his head to the side as he rocks his hips up, allowing the head of his cock to glide between your wet folds and rest there, a physical reminder of what he was asking.

“You okay with that, Darlin’?”

As you stare down into the deep brown eyes of your neighbour, every part of your vocabulary fails you. It doesn’t help when he pulls your panties even further to the side, pinning them against the crease of your thigh, and places a hand on your face, tilting your head down to force your focus onto his thick cock that was now coated with your arousal. The head rested just against your clit, so with every small shift of his hips in the cramped front seat of the truck you felt it, and it was driving you crazy.

He tuts, seemingly disappointed with something and the hand pinning your panties to the side slips into his pocket in search for something. “Don’t move sugar, I’d hate to nick you.”

The light from the moon catches on the edge of the blade and you shiver when he trails it up your thigh, teasing before he slides it under the waistband of your panties. Then he pulls, easily slicing through the left side before repeating the motion on the right, freeing you of the material before flicking the switchblade closed and tossing it on the dashboard. “That’s better, can see all of you now, Sugar.”

“Joel,” You plead, fingers twisting into the heavy fabric of his flannel shirt, trying to pull him closer to you, but he doesn’t budge. His face pulls into something between a grin and a smirk, eyes twinkling as he shakes his head.

“No, Darlin’, I wanna hear ya’ say it.”

Joel bucks his hips once more, the contact sending a jolt through your body and he takes the opportunity to grasp the back of your neck, pulling you close so your face is buried in the soft fabric of his shirt. He’d been at work all day and despite the quick shower he’d taken before your drive, you were still intoxicated by the scent of him. Not a body wash, or cologne, but him.

With your new position pressed against his shoulder, he takes advantage by brushing his lips against your ear. You can feel his stubble and the warm breath that fans down your neck with each quickened breath he takes. “Tell me what y’want, Sweetheart,” Another grind of his hips has you melting against him. “Tell me you want my cock buried deep inside that pretty lil’ cunt of yours.”

“Please Joel…” Your whine echoes through the truck, desperate over the sound of Joel’s heavy breathing and the crackling radio. You attempt to move your hips against his cock, but you feel the rumble of a chuckle in his chest as he moves both hands to your hips to stop you.

“Ask nicely, Honey, tell me what y’want.” His voice is teasing in your ear. You’re both still fully clothed, his jeans undone and your panties sliced up beneath your skirt, allowing you to be pressed together. And yet you still felt so far apart. Months of fooling around led up to this, the only thing he was waiting for was the words from your mouth you so desperately wanted to say. Needed to say.

You look into his eyes, the small flashes of grey in his dark hair and beard reminding you of just how different you were in ages. He had a full, settled life, he was a father. You had only recently finished college just before you moved back in with your parents, before you met Joel. It’s what makes you pause; that ever growing feeling of not being enough, of having to sneak away for stolen moments of passion in his truck.

If he were a guy your age, you think you would have ended it after the initial high of the situation wore off, but this was different. Joel was different. You’d had flings in college, sure, but they always ended with you finishing yourself off after they fell asleep. But Joel dragged orgasm after orgasm from you until your legs would shake as he knelt between them in the passenger seat before he even dared to ask for anything in return.

Even now, he’s patient and not in the slightest bit pressuring as he looks up at you. Joel’s not some needy college boy just looking to get in your pants. He’s a man, one who despite keeping your relationship a secret for obvious reasons to both of you, has made you feel nothing but cared for. You could even say loved.

“I want you, Joel,” You place your hands on his face, silencing him with a short kiss before he can protest and tease you further. “I want you inside me,” You rock your hips, shifting upwards so the thick head of his cock is flush against the dripping hole of your entrance.

“I want you to ruin me for anyone else.” The soft glow of the moonlight outside illuminates the desire in his eyes, brighter with every word you say. “Please…”

“Since you asked me so nicely, Honey.” The words roll off his tongue as he pulls you back to him. His hands slip up your skirt, resting on the curve of your ass as he digs his fingers into the plush flesh. “I’ll take care of you real good.”

You gasp when you feel even just the tip enter, he’s thicker than you expected. He’d worked you open on his fingers earlier, sure, but it still didn’t take away just how long it had been since you slept with someone. Let alone the fact it had only been a couple of inexperienced college boys who were nowhere close to the size of Joel.

“I can’t, Joel, ‘s too much…” You curse, pressing your forehead to his as you begin to tighten around his girth, barely at the halfway point. Your legs almost shake with the effort as you hold yourself up, not confident in your ability to take any more of him.

“Shh, Sweetheart, y’can take it for me, isn’t that right?” He peppers soft kisses to your face as one hand slips away from your ass. Two fingers draw languid circles on your throbbing clit, eliciting a whine from you as he uses his other hand to force you down further onto his cock. It’s both too much and not enough at the same time as you stretch around him, you’d rather die than pull yourself away now.

“Y-yes…” The words slip out as if they have their own free will. You aren’t certain in your own capabilities, but if he tells you that you can take it, you sure as hell know you aren’t going to let him down.

“Atta girl, I’ve got ya.” His voice is deep, nothing like you’ve heard before as he eases you further onto his cock, silencing every whine with a tender kiss. Joel is nothing if not a patient man, especially when it comes to you. By the time he’s fully inside, you’re digging your nails into his shoulders, trying not to fight against the overwhelming sensation. Joel strokes your back through your t-shirt, a form of gentle reassurance as you come to the conclusion your college experience with boys was nothing in comparison to the man beneath you.

“How’s it feel?” He presses kisses along your jaw, giving you some space to breathe as he keeps you there, your body still in his lap as you adjust to the feeling of his cock stretching you.

“Good… Really good.” You whisper, every syllable was a conscious effort as he begins to grind his hips up, starting with slow movements. Wet sounds fill the truck, each thrust punctuated by a needy whine that you never could have imagined making until you met Joel.

“I know, honey, I know.” Joel praises, a small smirk on his lips as if he knows just how close to the brink he’s pushing you with each slight thrust of his cock. “Jus’ keep being good for me.”

You can’t even respond, fixated by the way his cock is nestled inside you, grinding against that one place it seems only he was ever able to find. Your hands grip his shoulders as you rest your forehead against his, lips parted and you close your eyes, focusing on the pleasure.

“Right there?” The fingers on your clit press harder as he simultaneously forces you down as he thrusts up, continuing to hit that same spot inside of you which makes you see stars.

“Fuck, Joel!” You cry with a desperate nod, thighs tensing as you ride him, encouraged by his guidance. “Right there, pleasepleaseplease-“

“Filthy language, honey, any other time and I’d punish you for that,” He chuckles teasingly, but makes no sign of stopping. “Luckily for you I’ll let it slide this once.”

The windows have fogged and your skin is coated with a sheen of sweat that makes your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin as you rock your hips on his cock. Joel recognises the familiar moans that indicate just how close you are to coming undone for him and he takes over once more.

“Open your eyes, sugar, look at me.” You obey with no hesitation, and he rewards the obedience with a rough kiss, teeth tugging on your lower lip.

“Such a pretty sight, Darlin’, you gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock, hm?” He drives his hips upwards, harder, fingers circling your clit faster. He wears a teasing expression but you can see the glint of determination in his eyes as he forces you to look at him when you begin to unravel. You writhe on top of him, kept in place by the pleasure every inch of contact with him is giving you. You think you’re crying but you’re so lost in him that you can’t be entirely sure of anything except for his presence.

“That’s it, there you go, easy girl.” He moves slower as you slump against his chest, robbed of the ability to support your own body. But you don’t need to, he’s got you. He always does.

After a short moment to allow you to catch your breath, his fingers ghost over your over sensitive clit and you can’t help the choked moan as you shake your head. You were lucky if you ever got to have an orgasm before you met him, and yet he would drag them out of you one after another until your legs would shake and you only had just enough energy to walk up the driveway to your house.

“It’s okay, you can give me ‘nother, I know y’can.”

It’s not long after he starts moving again when you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt as you feel it. The hand that had been guiding your hip has moved on your ass, just enough that you feel his finger dip down to coat itself in your slick that dripped down between you, before trailing up to circle the tight hole.

He must notice the way your breath hitches, your movements faltering with uncertainty as he pulls back, breaking your kiss. Your ex boyfriend in college brought up this same topic constantly, often falling into childish annoyance when you said you weren’t interested in trying it. Really, you just knew the outcome of it all, of college boys chasing their own pleasure without much of a care for the girls they were with.

But somehow with Joel it was different. You trusted him to not take what he wanted from you, but to instead give you what you needed.

“Relax, darlin’, you’ll like it.” He presses his lips to your forehead, giving you an opportunity to back out. But you don’t. You whine when his fingers leave your clit for a moment, instead focusing on guiding the movement of your body on his cock.

“Shh, honey, let me take care of you.” True to his words, he angles your hips so that you’re now grinding your clit against the base of his cock and you melt against him with a moan. Even now, the older man still had your pleasure at the front of his mind and it only made you tighten involuntarily around him, forcing a moan from his throat.

Joel recovers quickly, pressing another kiss to your temple. His warm breath tickles your ear and you fight the shiver threatening to run through your body. His thick finger stops its teasing motions, and your lips are recaptured with his own when he presses his finger into you, swallowing your gasp.

“Relax,” Joel encourages as you nod, reluctantly relaxing against the intrusion and fuck, you’re glad you do. You’re surprised, you half expected it to hurt as he sinks his finger in, all the way down to the knuckle. You expected not to like it, you didn’t expect the jolt of pleasure that has you arching your body against his.

“That’s it, see, not so bad is it?” You shake your head as he begins to thrust his finger in time with both the thrust of his cock and circle of his fingers over your clit. You have no idea how he can be this controlled, this in sync, when you’re falling to pieces just inches away as he watches with a relaxed smile. No trace of the lost composure from earlier.

“Easy, sugar,” He chastises when you grind your own hips faster, breaking his even rhythm. He lands a light slap against your cunt “There’s no rush.”

“Think you can take another, honey?” For a brief moment you’re confused, thinking he means another orgasm but the question is clarified when you feel the stretch of another finger entering your ass, shallowly thrusting the pair of them until he’s sure he can sink them entirely inside without resistance.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ good for me,” He thrusts his cock inside you harder as he works your ass with his two digits and your clit with the pads of his fingertips. His composure begins slipping when your cunt flutters as he ruins you. He's so big, not just physically, his entire presence envelops you, smothering out the rest of the world. “Taking me so well ‘n letting me in that pretty lil’ ass of yours.”

His sweet words are dripping with pure filth in your ear, a reminder of who is in control of you and you can’t even deny it. “‘M all yours Joel, all yours…”

This response seems to please him because a deeply possessive sound comes from his throat before he picks up the pace of his thrusts. Joel grunts, frustrated by how he’s restricted from the way he truly wants to fuck you. He wants you screaming, tangled in his bedsheets as you soak them, but he’d have to settle for this.

“Where?” His question is strangled, muffled by the sound of the radio and melody of your moans. There’s doubt in his voice, like he already knows the course of action he’s supposed to choose, and yet he can’t drag himself away from you unless you ask him to.

Thankfully for him, you don’t want that either.

“Inside, Joel-“ He thrusts harder and you practically sob the request, a shaking mess as you tighten around his cock and fingers one last time. “Please, Joel!” You whimper desperately as you gush around him, coating his cock and the front of his jeans in your release as he captures your mouth in a rough kiss.

His fingers have withdrawn from your ass now as he plants both hands on your hips, keeping you firmly pressed against him while cock pulses, releasing himself deep inside you. He continues to thrust, stuttering as he groans against your mouth, each movement causing his cum to leak out of you and on to him. But he doesn’t care, all he wants is you.

“Good early birthday present?” You pull away to rest your forehead against his once more, laughing weakly. You allow your eyes to flutter closed, suddenly tired from the pleasure he’s drawn out of you this evening.

“The best, Darlin’.”

[lemmetreatya]

actor!armin who always plays innocent, helpful characters on screen but is a manipulative menace in real life.

when press conferences and interviews come around, he knows how to put on an act; sweet smiles, careful attention to younger children and their fumbled words, barely any contact when it comes to female colleagues. when fans catch him outside of the studio, he’s friendly and never shuns admirers away. actor!armin knows he has the whole thing down to a T and has never had to worry about his exposure of behind the scenes behaviour.

but when it comes to you, his most trusted fan site runner, actor!armin doesnt know what draws him to you.

you’re fucking crazy, he thinks — follow his press tour routes, know most of his family and friends on a personal level. hell, sometimes you post updates on schedules even he hasn’t found out yet

actor!armin wants to get rid of you; really and truly, because you make him feel a way about himself that no one else does. you seem to glorify him on a level he’d hate to attain. yes, actor!armin wants people to worship the ground he walks on, but you seem to worship his very being.

“don’t you have any family to fucking attend to? friends? a life?”

actor!armins cornered you around the block wall of the studio although hes due up on stage in 15 for the press release of his latest action film. all he wanted to do was take a quick smoke break, have a breather! but he couldn’t even have that as you too seem to be round the back too.

with a snort, you dont even mind the way he heaves a wad of spit near your foot. did he think that was going to push you away??

“what, you think i do this for free?” a sweet giggle leaves your mouth along with the wad of smoke you puff into his face. “your pa pays me too handsomely for me to walk away because simply because you told me to.”

actor!armin wheres a confused look on his face because actually yes, he did think you did this for free. now that he thinks about it, the fact you were being paid for this makes sense, but he just never thought that was the case. as you watch his face, you realise that too.

“you didnt know?! fuck, you’re more pathetic than i imagined.”

actor!armin doesnt know why but he feels his straight trousers grow slightly uncomfortable at your words. and of course you notice that too because as his mouth gaps for lack of answer, you’re raising your knee between his crotch — the ghosting sensation causing him to slip out an unsolicited moan.

“just think…” your free hand comes down to palm at his trousers in replacement of your knee, your other hand letting you take another drag of your cigarette.

“imagine if people knew just how nasty you were. if all your fans were aware about what the sick type of fuck you were — mighty and worshipped armin arlert getting off to user arminofficialupdates at the back of a conference building, gets hard off of an insult. fucking lame.”

actor!armin starts to let out watery whimpers as he hears you talk down at him. he didnt even realise your hand had slipped past his trousers or boxer briefs until he feels the icy cold air of your hands invading from outside.

actor!armin had his head dipped just over your shoulder whilst his hand stayed on the brick wall by your head for support. your hand dryly ran up and down his cock. the shick, shick of his handjob over powered by actor!armin’s pathetic whines. you continue to finish your cigarette, throwing the stub to the ground once it burnt to the filter. all throughout, your face was unbothered as you continued to degrade the blonde in spouts of annoyance — the occasional “good boy” added in for affect.

actor!armin messily finished over your clenched fist and the light grey of his suit jacket — the material now blotched dark.

the blonde pants for his breath, still stood in the same position. however, you duck under his arm to escape his grasp, but not before wiping the semen that was on your hand onto the back of his jacket. actor!armin whips round as soon as you do it but you dont stay long enough to face the brunt of his reaction. you only smugly walk back into the building through the side door, the fire exit shutting with a grinded halt.

actor!armin lets out a loud “fuck” as he angrily shrugs off his suit jacket — the item soiled. his pa was so gonna kill him.

[murdrdocs]

Sigh I miss reading your stepcest 😔 Rafe and Sarah fighting for the attention of the newest addition to the Cameron household 😔😔 Both of them seeing red when their sweet innocent angelic stepsis starts pulling out dirty new tricks they didn’t teach her and she only could have learned from one other person 😔😔😔

god im pulling my hair out from the roots DARK CONTENT MDNI

both cameron siblings believing they're exclusive with their new stepsis. they pass off the infatuation from the other sibling as a typical cameron tryst, believing that the other was not nearly brave enough to act on their implications. cocky rafe thinks that darling little sarah is too much of a daddy's girl to commit the unspoken sin of fucking her new stepsis. and naive sarah chooses to think that rafe is too brazen and values ward's opinion too much to actually make a move on you.

it's not until many dinners and hangouts around the island together that they start to suspect their stepsister isn't only with them. sarah's hand brushing along your ass makes rafe rethink those squeals that sounded just like yours he heard from sarah's room late at night. rafe pulling you into his side makes sarah reconsider those times he's taken you shopping and you came back with a dazed look in your eyes.

their suspicions aren't ever verbally confirmed, but more so physically.

rafe comes to his conclusion when you have your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue and your hand in tandem all while making eye contact with him. it drives him crazy, seeing his previously innocent little stepsister on her knees like this, making him feel like that. and he's almost too lost in euphoria to ponder on where you've learned this from. just a few days ago, you'd seemed almost timid at the sight of rafe's length, shyly taking him in your hand and hesitantly bringing his tip to your lips. he urges you off of his cock, letting you take a breather before he cups your chin and stares you down. "have you been with anyone outside of this house?" and your answer is sincere, honest. a shake of your head and a curt "no". rafe almost grinds his teeth.

sarah comes to her conclusion when your fingers are deep within her. fingertips brushing along her walls, clearly searching for something, and just when sarah teasingly asks you what you're looking for, you find it. her words die off in a gasp, high and pretty and it makes your eyes widen. "there? it that the spot?" sarah's eyebrows furrow as she nods, her expression only intensifying whenever you dip down and press your tongue in around your fingers. she's seeing stars, a hand on your shoulder both to push you away and pull you closer. it's not until she cums that she starts to wonder where you'd learned it from, something she hadn't done to you nor have you done to her. you just shrug, wiping your mouth clean with the back of your hand and simply telling her, "someone did it to me before," before sauntering out of her bedroom and to the bathroom.

when sarah has her shorts pulled back up around her waist, she walks out of the bedroom to find you in the bathroom, bumping into rafe along the way. the stare they give each other is possibly the dirtiest thing of the entire ordeal, nothing but distaste and a hefty amount of rage behind similar gazes as rafe steps away from you and sarah steps towards.

meanwhile, you're none the wiser, humming to yourself as you fix your appearance.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Scars Like Mine

paring: Azriel x Reader | type: angst | words: 3,3k | warnings: this story explores a little darker themes, like childhood trauma and fire, so please, read with caution. playlist: hurts | scars to your beautiful | beauty marks | stronger | fly with me

“Where did you get those from?”

Azriel startles, both at the little voice talking to him and the soft touch against his hand. It is featherlight, almost like a gust of wind and feels so odd in a place like this. In front of him, is the barren landscape of the Illyrian mountains, around him the eerie war camp, frigid and somber. 

The shadowsinger’s gaze drops immediately and he‘s met with big, brown eyes that belong to a tiny girl, barely reaching to his knee. Her wings are tightly tucked in. She is wearing a dark blue wool hat that has a few holes in it, and a jacket that looks far too big for her small frame. 

Shock runs deep the moment he sees that half her face and also the exposed part of her neck is marred by scars, very similar to those on his hands. But despite those scars, there is a smile on her lips. One that seems so bright within the darkness of this camp. 

Azriel’s throat is all of a sudden so dry and constricts when he wants to talk. A cold shiver curls around his spine, and his knees tremble. What could have possibly been done to her? Where did she get the scars from?

Finally he crouches down, his hand still in the hold of the little Illyrian girl. He is nearly on eye level with her when his lips part to say something, anything, but she beats him to it.

“From fire?” Her eyes open wider, and curiosity sparks within the deep chocolate brown. Her lower lip, though, trembles slightly. “Like mine?”

Slowly, Azriel’s chin dips, his chest squeezing and his heart beating in a sad rhythm. He has accepted so, but hearing it out loud hurt. He feels tremendously bad for every child who had to experience a similar fate to what he had to go through and telling by the amount of scars she has on her body, the fire she had to face wasn’t a small one.  

“Do they still hurt?” She flips Azriel’s hand in hers, the back of it exposed now, and trails her little index finger over one particularly bad and deep scar. 

“Not that much,” Azriel says in a calm, soft voice. “Only in winter when my hands are so dry.” He smiles at her and the little girl nods, a pensive look on her face.

“Mine do too,” she finally says after a moment. “You need to put cream on them. My mummy always puts cream on my skin. I can ask her if she can help you, too?” Her smile widens a little, her eyes looking so hopefully that tears brim Azriel’s.

But the mention of her mummy—Azriel suddenly realises that the girl is all alone, in the middle of the war camp. 

“Where is your mother? Why are you here all alone?”

A cold breeze blows through the war camp, and Azriel notices that other than a few Illyrian brutes the little girl is completely alone (now with him, and he would of course protect her, but otherwise she is alone).

“Mummy picks up our laundry. I am waiting for her here. She is right in there.” Using her index finger, she points at the building behind Azriel and a breath of relief leaves the shadowsinger. 

Thank the Cauldron, she isn’t alone and her mother is close. Azriel’s tense shoulders visible relax, wings slouching to the ground.

The little girl drops his hand and looks at him in shock, eyes wide open, lips parted. “Careful!” she cautions. “Never drag them over the ground, there are pebbles and stones, you might get hurt.”

This is all it needed for a single tear to break the damn and slide out of his eye. Azriel releases a shuddering breath and says, “Oh thank you so much for the warning.” He quickly tucks in his wings, straightens up and smiles at her.

It is most definitely something her mummy has told her, and Azriel has to smile at the thought. A mother who truly looks after her child…

“She taught me how to fly when no one would,” the girl tells Azriel. “They thought I couldn’t fly with my crippled wing.” She lifts her right wing to show it to Azriel, the thin black membrane also adorned with the same scars that grace her skin. 

Azriel swallows thickly, his jaw clenching so hard it almost hurts. “But I‘m sure you proved them wrong.”

The corners of her mouth lift. “I did. I can actually fly really well.” A joyful grin spreads over her face and a kernel of pride blooms in Azriel’s chest — of course she can and of course she showed all the Illyrian fuckers that despite her wing being marred by scars it doesn’t stop her from flying. 

“Do you like flying?” he asks, still in his crouched position but now with his wings neatly tucked in behind his broad shoulders.

The girl shrugs and then inhales deeply. “I like it, but I‘m often not allowed to. Only when mummy has time.”

That makes sense. She is very young and letting her fly alone would be much too risky. Azriel nods slowly and braces his hands on his thighs. He makes a mental note to buy cream, although the mention of someone else taking care of his hands sounded so very wonderful. But obviously he could never accept that offer.

“What is your name?” the little Illyrian asks and brings Azriel back to the moment.

“Azriel,” he answers and likes that here in Illyria where somehow everyone knows him, she doesn’t know who he is. 

“I like this name.” She smiles and bounces on her toes, reaching for a shadow that curls towards her. “Do they have a name as well?”

Azriel has to chuckle at that. She is incredibly adorable and somehow talking to her, and her treating him like any other person and not showing a hint of fear, does something to his heart. And to his eyes. He clears his throat and says, “Unfortunately not. They are just my shadows.”

One of them now curls around her finger and it makes her giggle.

Azriel‘s gaze drops to her shoes. They seem a little too small and old and dirty. One is not fully intact, and it makes him sad. 

Quickly, he asks, “But, do you have a name?” in order to not overthink why she might be wearing those old shoes. It would break his heart.

“Of course, I do. My name is—”

“Elia!” A female voice calls and Azriel looks over his shoulder and is met with a female of beauty he has never seen before. You drop the basket with laundry you have held before and run towards him and Elia.

There is terror in your voice, and horror etched upon your features and Azriel quickly straightens up. He lifts his hands but you completely ignore him. All your attention on the little girl. “Elia! I told you to stay close to the building!”

You are so scared. So incredibly worried and terrified and Azriel’s shadows sense it, tell him.

“I don’t mean any harm or danger—”

“I don’t care. She isn’t supposed to talk to any Illyrian brute!” you snap and finally meet his gaze, your arm sliding around your little girl’s shoulders, pulling her to you. 

You have never seen a male of such beauty before and— he is the High Lord’s shadowsinger. But that doesn’t matter. After everything that has happened to you —to her— you can’t risk anything. Never, ever again. What has been done to you in Ironcrest—

Your breath catches, but before either of you can say anything, Elia opens her mouth. “He has scars like me, mummy.”

Your stomach could, and your throat works around a swallow. “I am very sorry to hear that,” you finally say and your gaze brushes his again. A cold smile is on his face, but other than that there is just empathy. No hint of cruelty, or 

“He also got them from fire,” Elia adds and looks up at you with her big brown eyes, her lips pouted. “Just like me, mummy.”

“Oh baby.” You brush your hand over her head and then turn to address Azriel again. “I’m sorry that this happened to you as well. And I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. Thank you for keeping her safe while I was gone.”

Azrirl bows his head. He technically didn‘t do anything, Azriel thinks and says, “Nothing to thank me for.” 

“But there is.” The sincerity within his eyes is proof enough that you really mean and he can sense your gratitude. After what has probably happened to your little girl, no risk could be taken.

“Do you want to have dinner with us, Azriel?”

“Elia!” you reprimand with a chuckle. She and her big mouth. But she is so joyful and so hopeful and seeing your little daughter happy is the greatest gift the Mother could ever give you. She has finally met someone with scars like hers, and you would love to invite him, solely to thank him for looking after her while you were inside the laundry place. 

He didn’t mean any harm and was kind to her which is a rarity for Illyrian males up here. 

But he works for the High Lord, you doubt he has time for such mundane things as having dinner with you and your daughter. 

“I’m sorry, she is always so straightforward. I would love to invite you to have dinner with us to thank you looking after her, but I totally understand if you are too busy and don’t have time to– ”

“I would love to have dinner with you. Only if it is alright for you, of course,” Azriel interrupts you and smiles a little sheepishly. “But there is absolutely nothing to thank me for. I didn’t do anything.”

Still holding onto your daughter, you step a little closer to him, gaze honest and sincere when it locks with his. “You did. You made her feel protected and safe. She wouldn’t have talked to you otherwise.” You swallow, and mean every word you say. It is the truth. “And you made her smile and I will forever thank anyone who does so.” Reaching out, you grab his hand and squeeze it lightly. 

What has been done to her can never ever be changed again, but every day forward and every little smile on her face, cures a little bit of the pain. And whoever helps you two in going forward and bringing her happiness, has a place within your heart. 

Azriel now also closes his fingers, naturally curling them around your hand. He wants to say something, anything, just so he can look at you a little longer without making it seem weird. But he doesn’t have to say anything, Elia does the job for him. 

“And after dinner, you have to put my cream on his hands as well. Azriel told me that in winter his scars also hurt a lot.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“Don’t, please, I can do that.” Your cheeks flush again at his closeness and how helpful he is. You are not used to behaviour like this from other Illyrian males and so you appreciate it greatly. 

Azriel places the plates in the sink and smiles at you. “Please, allow me to help you.” Lastly, he collects Elia’s empty glass, leaving yours and his own on the table, both still filled with a bit of wine. When everything is in the sink he collects a cloth and cleans the table. 

Dinner was wonderful and Elia asked Azriel many questions about his scars but also his shadows and if he likes to fly and what he likes most about flying. He answered each one of her questions, making your heart thrum happily within your chest. 

You know he didn’t tell her the real story about his scars, having seen the look in his eyes. Despite being grateful for it for sparing her the worst details, your stomach has been twisting and coiling since he started with his story. What could have possibly happened to him?

Elia didn’t want to go to bed when it was time for her (actually she stayed up even an hour longer than she is used to, but you allowed her to do so, loving how she thrived in Azriel’s presence, finally having met someone who shares the same past with fire as she does. 

She was almost asleep at the table, chin resting on her hand when you picked her up, cradled her to her chest. “Good night, Azriel, and thank you for sharing your story with me,” she said to the shadowsinger and smiled at him. 

Azriel said her in return, “Thank you for inviting me to dinner and remember all these scars are just proof of how strong you are.” This brought tears to your eyes. 

By the time you reached her room and laid her down she was already asleep. 

He sits down at the table again and you claim the spot beside him, a shy smile on your lips and a small jar of cream for his scars in your hands. 

“We are not from here actually,” you start and loose a long breath, lifting your eyes to meet his hazle ones. “Elia and I come from Ironcrest. After the fire, we fled. Ironcrest was no longer safe for us. My…my ex-husband wanted us gone, thinking I betrayed him and that Elia was not from him. It was utter bullshit, I would have never cheated on him, but his mind told him other things.” 

Your throat constricts as the memories replay in your mind and a shuddering breath leaves you. You close your eyes for a second and suddenly feel a soft touch against your hand. 

“You continue when you are ready,” Azriel whispers, his hand gently placed upon yours. Your lids flicker open and with a look full of gratitude, you meet his eyes and slowly bow your head. 

“Elia had to pay the price for it. I collected some last things for our departure when he set our house on fire. She wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t there fast enough. When I returned I saw the massive flames. It is all I can remember, and Elia’s cries. How she sobbed and wailed and how I held her and dragged her outside. And I–”

“But you were.” He squeezes your hand. “She wouldn’t be here today, if you had been too late. There is no blame on you. She got out of the fire before it was too late. You saved her. You, alone as a young Illyrian female, fled the camp and came here to give her a better life.”

His words…

Tears run out of your eyes and you flip your hand over, cradling it tightly and then lifting it. You bring his hand to your lips and kiss his knuckles. “No one has ever made me see the past like this. I’ve always blamed myself.” You swallow around the ache in your throat, tears tasting salty on your lips. “I should have stayed with her. Not left her alone.”

“You can’t always expect the worst and you arrived there in time,” Azriel breathes, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand, his own eyes glassy, tears visible in the corners of them. “You did all you could, and do so every day. Don’t be so hard on yourself, I know you are a great mother.”

Gratitude fills every fibre of your body, and through your tears you smile at him. “Thank you, and please,” –you have to chuckle– “this time just allow him to thank you.”

He dips his chin, the shadows around him that have been calm before, now swirling quite vividly around their owner. 

Azriel reaches out the hand that is not held by yours, and uses his thumb to brush away some tears and then tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are allowed to thank me, but only if I am allowed to say that Elia most definitely has the best mother in all of Prythian.”

You close your eyes when new tears start to bubble up. You want to shake your head at him, but his palm is placed against your cheek, his thumb stroking over the damp skin. 

“And most definitely also the most beautiful mother in the entire world.” His smile brightens and there is so much honesty within his eyes, you really believe him that he means it. It does something to your heart and to your soul, starting to glow deep within your chest. 

Your cheeks heat, probably also turning bright red and so you need to change the topic. 

“Now let me take care of your hands.” You let go of one of his hands so you can reach for the small jar. Azriel also lowers his own hand, humming in approval. 

“And while you do so, maybe you want to tell me the real story of what happened to them?”

Sadness and pain passes over his face replacing the former lightness. He says nothing for a long moment. You give him time, the same he gave you before, and unscrew the jar, scooping up a bit of the cool cream with two fingers. 

Gently, you apply it to the back of his hand, softly starting to apply it to the rough surface. 

“My step-brothers thought it would be interesting to test my Illyrian healing powers. They held me, poured oil over my hands and set them on fire. When my father’s warriors arrived, it was already too late, the damage has been done.”

Shock knocks the breath from you. How could people be so cruel? How could your own family do something like this?

“I am so sorry.”

“It is alright,” he whispers. Azriel enjoys the soft touch of your hands and what you do to him too much to allow himself to dwell on past memories and those haunting experiences. He wants to revel in the feeling of your hands on his forever. 

“But it isn’t,” you insist. “It never is. I hope they paid for it?” You lift your gaze to meet his, and move on to his other hand, gently taking it into yours while beginning to work a bit of the leftover cream into his skin before scooping up some more. 

“They did,” he assures you and releases a long sigh, visibly relaxing in his chair. “Your hands work wonders.”

A little giggle leaves you, letting your fingers glide over his, intertwining them for a split second. “I assume you need to come here more often then?”

“Is this an invitation?” With a small smirk on his lips, Azriel raises his brow at you. 

“I’m sure Elia would appreciate it greatly.” You smile at him. 

Azriel leans forward a bit and your breath catches, heart hammering against your ribcage. For most part of your life, you have feared males, avoided them like the plague except for the male you one day had to marry but who is now your ex-husband. It is different with Azriel. You like being near him despite not even really knowing him. But you like to be in his presence, to talk to him, to touch him. It is something new, and something that surprises you but it is a welcome feeling. You like it. And he even has the bonus that also Elia likes him and feels safe and secure in his presence.

“And her mother?” Azriel says in a voice that is an octave lower, almost like a velvety brush against your skin. “Would she like to see me again?”

You grin at him, some tears having dried on your cheeks by now. “She would love to see you again.”

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[satorusugurugurl]

Hiii can i request reader x gojo, where reader keeps ruining his orgasm n just messing with him? And he’s all whiny and begging and shit? 🥺👉👈

Cranberry Juice and Rings

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,725

Warnings: Edging, orgasm denial, smut, whinny Gojo, dirty talk, sexting, toys

A/N: Ah, nothing like a good old whing Gojo fic! I love whimpering, groaning men!

Satoru was known by many as a pain in the ass. He was arrogant and cocky, but that didn’t stop you from loving him. He was one of your favorite people, a goofball, and he spoiled you rotten. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

But he was Gojo Satoru. Some days, he was unbearable to deal with, even for you. Days like today, for example. You had gotten a nasty UTI and were on a strict sex ban for a week. Gojo had been kind the first few days, picking up your prescription along with cranberry juice and supplements. By day four of the sex ban, he was pent up and decided it would be fun to tease you relentlessly. He started sexting you, sending you pictures and voice memos that had you clenching your thighs to try to ease the throbbing between your legs.

Satoru: I’m so sweaty! Look, it’s running down my V-line, baby~!

You: Stop trying to turn me on asshole. I literally cannot flick my bean or have sex for the next three days.

Satoru: Oh? That sucks for you. I don’t have to deal with that.

The man then proceeded to send you a video of him jerking off in the bathroom. If you didn’t feel like razors sliced you each time you used the bathroom, you would have found him and made him pay for a new pair of underwear and take care of the mess he had turned you into. However, the unpleasant throbbing between your legs prevented you from acting upon your desires.

You: Keep it up, Satoru. I will make you regret your choices.

Satoru: Oooh, I’m so scared~!

Your dear, sweet, idiotic boyfriend did not heed your warning. He only seemed to get worse after your ominous threat. Three days of torture later, Satoru eagerly ra into your shared condo, his calendar chiming with a reminder today was the day your medical sex ban was lifted. He has a week's worth of pussy eating to make up for, and he planned to take his time with you.

”Sweetheart!” He sang out, making his way through the condo. “I hope you’re ready!” Stepping inside the bedroom, Satoru blinked, finding you sitting on the edge of the bed in your sky-blue lace set. “What a good girl you are!” Drooping to his knees before you, he clapped his hands together. “Thanks for the mea—“

”Shut the fuck up and get on the bed.”

The stern tone of your voice has Satoru staring. “I’m sorry?” His smile was full of confusion as he forced your legs apart. “I said thanks for the meal, didn’t I?” Satoru began to dip his head between your thighs, but before he could reach your sweet, dripping core, you put your foot on his forehead, pushing him away. “Hey!” His bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“Didn’t I warn you I would make you regret sending me all those thirst trap pictures and messages?”

”H-Huh?”

”I said, didn’t I warn you I would make you regret your choices?”

”W-Well, I m-mean you did, but I—“

”Good, boy.” A round silicon ring hit him in the face. “Now put that on and get on the bed.” Gulping, Satoru shakily did as you commanded, regret setting in the pit of his stomach as he did.

Any hopes for mercy went out the window as you bounced up and down on his cock as he sat upright against the headboard. You were grinning, hands gripping his shoulders as you came around him, pulling off, denying him the pleasure of feeling your cum, denying his orgasm for the third fucking time.

”F-Fuck Toru~ you’re such a good dildo.”

”S-Sweetheart—please, baby, I need you.”

”You need me?” You questioned with faux sympathy. “Oh, sweet boy, am I teasing you too much?” A delicate hand wrapped around his red throbbing length, the cock ring preventing him from cumming, thus making him ten times more sensitive.

”A-Ah! Yes, yes, baby, please, please, I need you!” Blue eyes watched as you stroked your hand up and down, pre-cum dribbled out of his tip, running over your manicured nails. “Oh fuck, I can feel it, keep going, keep going don’t stop!”

“Yeah?” Satoru cried out as you wrapped your other hand around him. Your hands squeezed his shaft as you moved them up and down, smirking as he whimpered, eyes transfixed on your tiny hands as his mouth opened in an ‘O’ shape. “Are you close, Toru? Are you going to make a mess for me?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

”Gonna cum pretty boy?”

”Fuck yes! Oooh fuck I’m so close, so fucking close, almost there, almost there!”

The second you saw white lashes flutter, you yank your hands away, preventing him from reaching his sweet release. Your boyfriend’s eyes narrowed and shot open in disbelief, focusing on the throbbing, swollen red tip that sobbed pre-cum instead of actual cum. His dick looked as upset as him, the intense orgasm fading.

”Babe!” Satoru threw his head back against the wooden frame with a pathetic whine. “I wanna cum!” Reaching out, you gently rubbed the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip.

”You wanna cum?”

”Yes, so bad!”

You straddled his hips with a hum, lowering yourself back down onto his velvety shaft with a satisfied moan. “Well, that sucks for you, I don’t have to deal with that.” You quoted his text before dragging your tight wet pussy up and down his swollen cock.

Satoru cried out, whining as you used his cock like it was a sex toy. This was literal torture, feeling your wet, warm walls clamp down around him, watching you tilt your head back in pleasure. Even hearing your moans fill the bedroom was driving him insane. You looked so hot and beautiful when you used him like this. He just wished he could be holding onto your hips, fucking his cock up into you, filling you with his cum as you both lost yourselves in pure orgasmic bliss. Lips moving against lips, swallowing each other, moans as you came down.

Instead, Satoru was crying out, whimpers sounding in the back of his throat. His hands fisted the sheets as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. He had thought teasing you this week was all fun and games! Get you all worked up and desperate for him to rearrange your insides. In his horny mind, it was like mental edging without touching

Yourself. What a terrible mistake that had been. The only one having fun and getting off at the current moment was you. While he suffered from the worst case of blue balls in his entire life.

“Shit! Oooh, shit!” Your brows furrowed as you cried out, reaching down and rubbing your clit. “C-Cumming~! Cumming Toru!” Just as your orgasm hit, you pulled off of him, squirting all over his stomach and cock with a squeal.

“F-Fuck, oh god.” Satoru quickly grabbed his cock, stroking himself off while you came all over him. “So hot~ so fucking hot!”

You recovered just in time to see Satoru jerking himself off, the tips of his ears turning red as his eyes began to roll back. “Nuh-uh!” swatting his hands away, Satoru groaned. “Bad boy!” When he reached for his swollen cock again. You grab both his wrists, pinning them down on either side of him. “I said no!” Poor Satoru cried out in frustration, tears welling in his eyes.

“Sweetie, baby, please.” He sobbed, cock dribbling more pre-cum onto his lower abdomen. “Please let me cum, please, baby, please! I'm sorry I was such an ass this week. I won't ever do it again!” Fingers gripped the sheets underneath him. “Please let me cum! Please!” Those tears filling his eyes finally spilled over his white lashes, staining his flushed cheeks.

“Oh, my baby~” Leaning in, you locked the salty tears up with the tip of your tongue. “You learned your lesson?”

“Uh-huh!” Satoru hiccuped as more tears streamed down his face.

“You see how it's not nice to tease? How cruel is it to cum in front of your partner when you're unable to do anything?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, honey! So sorry!”

Releasing both his wrists, you grabbed the sparkly blue cock ring that was securely on his base. “Good boy, Toru.” As soon as the toy was off, Satoru shoved you off, pushing you into the mattress. “Ooh fuck!” Giggled erupted as he threw both your feet over his shoulders before sliding into you.

“So good! S-aS good!” He cried out, throwing his head back, crying softly, and he slammed on and out of you. “I’m going to cum! Please cum with me! Milk my cock, baby! Milk it!”

“Yes, Toru! Cum inside of me, baby!” Your fingers found your clit with ease, rubbing it back and forth, whimpering as Satoru twitched inside of you. “Cum on, baby~ cum for me!”

Satoru’s jaw dropped open, eyes clamped shut as he cried out. He was crying out your name, whining, and whimpering like a cat in heat. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, filling you to the absolute brim, leaving you crying out with him. He rubbed his hips against you, only stopping when his eyes rolled back, dizziness overcoming him.

He collapsed onto your chest, full weight resting on you as he whimpered into the crook of your neck. He could stay like this forever, but just as he found himself dozing off, you were tapping on his shoulders. Lazily lifting his head, cerulean eyes met yours.

“Five minutes; I’m pushing you off if you stay inside me any longer.”

“Huh? Why?” Your boyfriend panted out.

“The last time we fell asleep like this, I got a UTI!”

“Mmm, it’s fine.” he’s sleepy, wrapped his arms around you. “Just five minutes.” you relaxed against him as he agreed on your time limit. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Satoru.” as he snuggled in closer, humming sleepily, you smiled, fingers brushing strands of hair off his brow. Maybe ten minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Forever Tag List!

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness

[sanguineterrain]

about a boy - e.m.

Summary: You've never had a boy in your bed. You're not sure what you're meant to do with one.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: none i don't think? mainly fluff and an overthinking reader (they're so me)

divider by firefly-graphics

There's a boy in your bed.

"M&M?"

You turn your head. Eddie holds the bag of candies to you.

"Okay," you say, and take a blue M&M.

Eddie smiles, about fifteen M&Ms in his own mouth. His attention returns to the screen. You have no idea what's playing.

A boy is in your bed, and he's put a movie on, and now his thigh is pressed against yours, lean and warm.

Eddie's socks are green and have tiny yellow stars on them. He's pulled them over his jean cuffs to keep the cold away. Not that it matters when he has a sleeveless Metallica shirt on.

But Eddie doesn't seem to get cold, anyway. You went for ice cream last week even though it had snowed the night before.

Eddie had paid for your ice cream, which isn't something to look too into. Steve's paid for your ice cream before, because Steve's a nice guy. And Eddie's a nice guy too. So maybe nice people pay for ice cream. And that's all.

Your eyes trace the dip of Eddie's belly, the slice of skin that peeks out between his waistband and shirt hem. His exposed arm and neck is sprinkled with freckles and you can see the edge of the demon tattoo on his breastbone.

Your heart races. That's wrong, isn't it? Looking at Eddie like that? Hoping he'll give you more?

You don't know. You've never had a boy in your bed. There's no guidebook.

Eddie laughs at the screen. You relish in his swelled cheeks and glimpse of fanged canines. You love Eddie's smile; bright and all-encompassing. You can't help but be pulled into his orbit every time you're around him.

You ought to give Robin something for introducing the two of you. A fruit basket, or maybe Vickie Summers in a gift box.

Need curls deep in your chest as you watch Eddie sink further into your pillows. You wonder if he can feel your eyes on him. That would be embarrassing. But maybe he'd be flattered that you're looking at him; that you can't help but.

He's touchy. Affectionate. You're really not, but Eddie takes it in stride. He gives you little half-hugs instead of his usual squeeze-the-soul-out-of-you ones. He bumps your shoulder or simply walks beside you, respecting your space.

And funnily enough, through all that, you've begun to wish Eddie would touch you more.

"'M gonna get more popcorn," he says. "Y'want something else?"

You turn your head in a vain attempt to make it seem like you haven't been mooning over him like a lovesick calf.

"No, no, um, thanks. Thanks."

You cringe at your clumsy mouth. Eddie's oblivious, hopping off the bed and disappearing into the hall.

Are you even allowed to want more? You and Eddie are friends. Maybe even Good Friends, especially after the 'murderous monster tries to swallow Hawkins' crisis died down.

But you don't hang out like this. Where Eddie can see all the Polaroid pictures of trees you thought were good reasons to love the earth and of your mom and of the deer you saw once, and your sky blue wallpaper with clouds painted on it. You wonder if he thinks you're childish or silly.

Why does he even spend time with you? Are you the only one free? Was today a non-Hellfire day and that's why Eddie had agreed to come over? Nothing better to do?

You haven't the slightest idea what's happening in the movie. You should pay attention because Eddie might want to talk about it afterwards, and he'll be cross if you don't know what he's talking about.

Except, that doesn't really seem like Eddie. Still. You've never had a boy in your bed. You don't know if they expect you to pay attention to the movies they play.

You chew on a cuticle. Eddie returns in a couple minutes, climbing onto the bed with his knees. He offers you the bowl of popcorn. You shake your head.

"Everything okay, sweet thing?" he asks.

Oh, don't you just melt over that. You feel like the yellow M&M between Eddie's fingers.

"Yeah, f-fine."

You stare at the foot of space between you. Once, you'd dared to lean on the shoulder of a boy you didn't like that much. Your head hadn't stayed long on his shoulder, and afterwards, you wished you'd been struck by lightning.

What if this is like that? What if Eddie sneers at you and shuffles away. God, you can't handle that. You like this boy in your bed so much, it frightens you.

"This guy, the one in the raincoat." Eddie points. "He's one of my favorite actors. I like the way he talks. You ever get that? Liking the way someone talks?"

You look at him. Eddie looks at you. He's trying to pull you out of your head. He thinks something's worrying you. You're so anxious all the time. And Eddie knows that, so he tries to ground you. You withdraw and Eddie will call out to you and ask you questions. He always sounds lovely. Sometimes, you try to gather the courage to ask him something back. But the words remain lodged in your throat.

"Yeah, I get that." Be brave, be brave. "I like the way you talk."

You wait for lightning to strike.

"Really?" Eddie asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"Uh-huh. You have a nice voice."

Nothing. Not even a rumble of thunder.

"Sweet thing, you're gonna give me a big head," Eddie says with a grin.

He's not teasing you. Once upon a time, you might've thought he was, because it seemed like that's all people were capable of. But Eddie's not. He thinks they're nice, the words you say. You want to say more nice words. You want to keep this boy in your bed.

You also want to close this distance. Be a permanent planet in Eddie's orbit. Be brave.

You stare at that tiny foot of space between you again. You're probably being too quiet and still, and Eddie's probably worried you're stuck in your head again.

So before he can coax you out again, (because he cares about you. He cares about you, and you're just going to have to get used to that, alright?) you scoot an inch.

And another inch. And another.

You move at a glacial pace. You don't think Eddie's picked up on your little scheme. How fiendish you are, attempting to cuddle with the boy in your bed. Wicked!

Now, you're so close you can feel Eddie's body heat. His shirt looks soft and worn. You wonder what he smells like.

You move closer. Now, your chest is touching Eddie's side. He looks at you.

His eyes are dark like the blackest parts of space. If you do this and fail, those eyes might just swallow you up.

You listen for thunder, but the skies are clear.

"What's goin' on, pretty?" he murmurs.

"Do you like me?" you blurt, helpless in his pull.

Eddie's brows lift. He blinks, cocks his head.

"'Course I do, sweet thing."

"No, like." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, then open them. "You like me enough for a movie, but do you like me enough to let me put my head on your shoulder?"

"Is that all?" he asks, eyes dancing. There's stars in them. "I like you so much, I want your head on my shoulder forever."

Cinnamon. Eddie smells like cinnamon.

You no longer wish to be struck by lightning.

"Oh," you breathe.

Eddie hums and gently taps your head with one finger.

"That what you've been thinking so hard about?" he asks.

"I've never had a boy in my bed," you say.

"'M honored to be the first."

You nod, jittery with hope. "I'm glad it's you."

And then Eddie eases you into his side. It's perfect. It feels like you're young and don't know any better. It feels like you'll never find anything else like it.

Eddie bows his head. His curls tickle your cheeks and shroud you from the rest of the world.

"And will you kiss me too?" you ask.

"As much as you want, pretty."

You think you can get used to having a boy in your bed.

[sarawritestories]

You're My Forever

High Lord Eris Vanserra xFem Reader

Summary: Eris Vanserra sits on his throne, allowing himself to be lost in his thoughts when his mate comes looking for him.

Content warning: A little bit of self doubt. A whole lot of love

A/N: This is dedicated to @milswrites who helped me have a major breakthrough in a plot of my Novel and this was the best way I knew how to thank her!

Word Count: 1.3k

ACOTAR MasterList

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.

A title the eldest Vanserra child never thought he would receive. Running his hands along the gold arm rests of the throne, as if the cold bite of the metal could keep him rooted in reality a reminder that he wasn’t dreaming. Beron was dead. His reign of terror came to an end. This throne, this manor, the entire Court of Autumn was Eris’. Eris sat on the extravagant piece of furniture crossing his leg over the other and allowed himself this one moment to be lost in his thoughts. A moment where he let his doubts rise to the surface.

Would he be a fair ruler?

Could he make a difference within his court?

Was he a good mate? A good husband?

Would he make a good father?  Make sure his kids experienced no harm by his hand as he had with Beron?

Was this just a dream? Would he wake up tomorrow back in the clutches of

“Eris?” Eris blinked at the sound of his name looking up he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your voice. You had stepped into the throne room a pink silk robe wrapped around yourself, your hand supporting your swollen belly. Your hair fell in soft curls right above your chest, face as radiant as ever.

The newly appointed High Lord met your eyes once more, his mate, his beautiful mate, wife soon-to-be mother, the most beautiful female in all of Prythian in his eyes. Your soft smile still made his chest tighten. “My Little Doe, what are you doing out of bed?”

You approached the dais, you were halfway through your pregnancy and walking was becoming more challenging, “I’m looking for my husband, who should have met me in bed hours ago.” She stopped right in front of him and looked around the room, “I can’t seem to find him, High Lord, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

Eris rubbed his chin as his eyes dipped slightly, your robe slipped down revealing your shoulders just enough, that Eris saw the light pink lace bra and the swell of your breast. and he adjusted in his seat. “My fair maiden, what does this male look like?”

“Handsome, has adorable freckles across his nose, eyes that resemble fiery embers.” Your eyes glanced down to his mouth, “A very kissable mouth,” You smiled, “His hair is red and long and smooth enough that I find myself always running my fingers through it.” You grip his knee clad in his riding clothes from going out to the villages earlier.

“Well, he sounds very beautiful,” Eris puffed out his chest causing you to giggle, and he loved that melodic sound. “He must be if he was lucky enough to have you, as his mate.” His throat tightened; he was a lucky male indeed.

“I believe I am the lucky one. The mother blessed me with a mate, who is brilliant, kindhearted and passionate as he is pretty.” Your smile fell slightly. “Are you okay?”

Eris smiled, and adjusted his legs and patted his lap, “Come here, My Love.”

The High Lord tilted his head as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m too big, I’ll hurt you.”

Eris growled, as his brows furrowed, “We’ve talked about this.” He leaned down and gripped your chin, “What did I say?”

You sighed, “I am growing a person, and with that is going to be changes I’m simply not used to.” He quirked a brow, waiting for you to continue. “And if you heard anyone talking down about me, you would be the one to teach them a lesson. Even if said person was me.”

The male kissed your forehead, “Good Girl, now come here and sit on your High Lord’s lap.” He released you from his grasp and leaned back. You stepped toward him, and Eris helped turn you and placed you on his lap, picking your legs up so that they dangled over the arm rest. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you placed your hand on the base of his neck. With a flick of his hand all the doors that led to the room locked causing you to jump briefly. “Now, where is that sweet little babe of ours?” You smiled as he tugged at the tie of your robe and the strings fell to the side and the silk slid off your round stomach. Revealing lace panties that matched your top, garter belts holding your sheer stockings in place. With his free hand he grazed your calf and worked his way up your body.

 As he began his slow ascent up your body, he could smell your arousal, “Waiting for me in bed? I am a fool.” He reached your stomach, admiring the stretchmarks that have appeared in the last few months. His russet eyes, met yours, “You are the most beautiful creature, and how hope our child is just as beautiful as their mother.” You could feel heat rise to your cheeks, as you leaned your head back as Eris warmed his hands just a bit to ease the discomfort.

“Eris Vanserra, I know what you’re doing.”  You lifted your head quirking your brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His lips pressed to your stomach his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties.

Your hand found his wrist. And he lifted his head, “Eris, what’s wrong?”

Eris sighed and moved his hand, wrapping you back in your robe. “Nothing is wrong. I have everything I want. I have my court, my throne,” He pressed his forehead to yours, “My beautiful mate, carrying my child.” He closed his eyes. “I’m terrified that I will wake up, and I will find that this will all be a dream.”

“Darling, how long have you been feeling this way?” You whispered pressing your hand to his cheek swiping your thumb a crossed his freckled cheek idly.

“Since I became High Lord.” Before you could scold him, he continued, “I didn’t want to worry you. Or worse, I was afraid that you would think I would turn into my father and leave.”

“You’re my mate, my equal,” You pulled away and lifted his chin, so he met your gaze, “When I accepted the bond, I did it because I love you. Because I knew then what I know now.”

Eris tilted his head, “What is it that you know?”

You leaned in and kissed his nose, “You’re my Forever. I will always choose you.”

Eris smiled and pressed his lips on yours and you granted him access to deepen the kiss. His tongue met yours as he devoured your taste. You moaned in his mouth and felt his cock rise to attention against your ass. You began to move your hips to give the high lord the friction he craved, and he grunted in your mouth. His fingers threading through your hair as he dominated the kiss, his hand idly rubbing your stomach.

He pulled away from you needing air, “You’re mine and I love you.”

You laughed, “I figured, the child in my womb would have been a strong argument for both of those statements.”

Mischief danced in his eyes, “You know I am keeping track of all of your rule breaking for when I can properly punish you.”

You smiled and pecked his lips, sliding off his lap facing the door. Turning your head you winked, “I’m well aware, High Lord.” You untied the robe and let the pink silk fall to the floor turning back to face the High Lord. He admired your full body, and his heart rate began to quicken. “Now, may I show you how much I love you?" You got down on your knee’s hands braced on his thighs.

Eris began unlacing his pants a smirk on his face, “As you wish, High Lady.”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

sunday seems so distant, these days.

”won’t you pray with me?” a young boy calls, in the visage of your mind — an ever-fluctuating memory. you can hear it, when you close your eyes; a voice far less tailored, dipped in drops of sunshine. the kind of voice that tastes like citrus on your tongue.

younger, warmer. 

(not yet tainted by the family.)

you had prayed with him, then. had clasped your hands together and wished for mercy.

for him, for robin, for you. for the three of you.

it feels like centuries ago. mountains of rubble, burning stars, two pairs of hands clinging onto yours for dear life. and then the prayers — endless, relentless, yielding to no one. you don’t know if anything is as enduring as a child’s heart.

that was then, and this is now.

”won’t you pray to me?”

sunday tilts his head, in rhythm with the glide of his fingertips along your pulsepoint. he’s smiling, just barely, and you can tell that he’s not asking.

whatever dream you were just in, whatever memory — it’s no more. the boy, the angel, fades away, leaving only a vague imprint on your muddled mind.

and your gaze overlaps with that of a certain halovian.

he still looks the same, fancy clothes aside. the same halo, the same feathers — only clipped, only slightly severed — the same honeyed golden eyes, piercing through the veil of whatever dream you find yourself in. his hair is the same, his bony fingers, his rosy lips.

it’s his smile that’s different. 

the way he speaks to you.

you’ve learned not to question his late night visits. sunday never leaves you alone for long, never has, though when he was a child it didn’t feel anywhere near as suffocating. even when he’s out of sight, you feel his eyes on you — one of them, all five of them. feel the phantom weight of his hands on your shoulders, guiding you in the right direction. 

you can’t tell when the change began. can no longer remember when he started behaving more like a god than an angel, when this distance was born.

his hand slips from your slender neck, slithers down, comes to rest on the bottle of wine he brought with him; a chartreuse glow in the dim light of your room, glimmering faintly, a crystallized firefly. he fills your cup, then his own. there’s more in one than the other.

his fingers wrap around the glass, one after the other, raising it to his pursed lips. taking a sip, dipping his tongue out to catch the droplets, feel them trickle down his throat; the residue paints his lips burgundy. you picture the sweet, weighty wine flowing through his esophagus, intoxication taking root inside his veins, eager to break into his bloodstream. 

you picture sin as a beverage.

it’s not just in the smile, not just in the voice. his whole demeanor has shifted — the elegance he moves with, the calculation, the presence of something that demands reverence even without words. it’s overpowering, to have him so close, yet so out of reach, overpowering to have to sip from your cup and feel the sting in your throat afterwards. 

(overpowering, to know he’s picturing you below him. on your knees, at whatever altar he fancies himself.)

when he parts his lips, it’s with decision. his voice flickers in the shadows of the room; you can almost see them, the words flowing from his lips, can feel them echo through the deepest parts of your soul.

”ask me for guidance,” he implores, demands, and you can tell the words are borrowed, stolen from a lesser man. ”and i will bestow it upon you.”

bestow.

the word rings inside your skull, crawls along your spine. he’s silent, now, unmoving. not even blinking. as if he’s trying to turn into a statue, a pillar of salt. moonlight streams in, illuminates his features, too beautiful to be human. sinners can’t be angels, but gods can’t be saints, so where does that leave him?

when you look into his eyes, you do not see a savior. you do not see your childhood friend. you see an overseer, the man at the end of every dream you have — a man yet to be quenched of his thirst.

you see a bird with its wings ripped off.

(when you flick the light switch of your mind, and squint your eyes — you see a god. your universe.)

the dreamscape outside your window glimmers and gleams, seeps through the translucent fabric of the curtains, licks along the walls; his cheekbones, your fingers. clasping them together comes easy, it’s muscle memory, you’ve done it all your life. it’s the prayer that’s difficult — the lack of a focal point.

you’ve always prayed for his protection, always. but you know that’s not what he wants from you. 

sunday wants you to make him holy. 

he wants you to expect nothing less.

he wants you to ask him for mercy, and he wants to give it to you with his own two hands. that’s all that lies in these late-night rendezvous — a promise of rot. the overseer watches you from across the table, and you know it would hurt less to simply walk away.

but you don’t.

you do exactly as he says.

with elegance, you clasp your hands together, and pray to him for guidance. sunday smiles — a finely tailored, made of silk, barely there kind of smile.

(the smile of a broken bird.)

moonlight dances on his skin, reflects in the glass of wine he puts to his lips — every single one of his eyes gazing down at you. pools of gold, the same as you remember, but infinitely colder — infinitely sadder. they look like solemn, broken windows, but there’s nothing behind them. what you see is what you get.

absolute order. 

gone are the days his slender fingers would search for your own, slipping into the valleys between them, a prayer on his tongue. gone are the days where mercy was the only thing you’d think to wish for. 

this is all there is, all you’ve got. 

you, on your knees, at the altar of his sins. feeding into them, picturing them in your mind’s eye; flowing out of his eyes in tender rivulets, down the curve of his lips. dripping, dripping, dripping down his wrist —

(soon, the cup will overflow.)