#both of them hate long pants that go to or past their knees because they have stupid knees that jut out and could stab someone

[lowrisemiller]

ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ-ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ

bucky barnes x fem! shield agent!reader

first time writing for bucky <333

safe house, during a storm. after a long mission, you’re stuck sharing a room with bucky. you’ve always assumed he keeps his distance because of his past. but when the storm knocks out the power and you curl up on the couch, cold and shivering, he finally opens up — and his hands, calloused and careful, don’t stop at comfort.

masterlist | 3k words | soft!dom Bucky, praise kink, reader receives oral (f), unprotected PIV(she on da pill), morning sex, deep emotional intimacy, touch starvation themes,, reader is referred to as “sweetheart” and “baby”, slow and loving sex, post-orgasm cuddling, mentions of past loneliness, body worship, Bucky is obsessed and down bad, vulnerable!Bucky, safehouse setting, canon-typical trauma referenced, no use of y/n

The rain hasn’t let up in hours.

It batters against the tin roof like it’s trying to get in — thunder rumbling over the hills like a warning. You’re curled on the couch in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a worn S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie, one knee pulled tight to your chest, a book in your lap you’ve read the same page of five times. The fire’s dwindled to glowing coals.

And Bucky’s sitting across the room like a statue.

He hasn’t said much since you both got in hours ago —wet, bruised, exhausted from the mission. Just stripped off his tac gear and sat down on the edge of the bed, mechanical hand flexing like it couldn’t settle. He’s been like that ever since you joined his team —polite, helpful, quietly protective. But always… distant.

Like if he got too close, he’d ruin something.

Another crash of thunder shakes the cabin. You flinch without meaning to, hand clutching the blanket tighter.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Come here,” he says, voice low but solid.

You blink up at him.

“What?”

“You’re cold,” he murmurs. “Don’t argue, I can tell. C’mere.”

You hesitate. He looks so serious, dark hair still damp from the rain, black T-shirt hugging the hard lines of his chest. His expression is guarded, but his eyes are warm — warmer than you’ve ever seen them.

You cross the room slowly. He shifts, leaning back against the headboard, lifting the blanket beside him in invitation. Something tight coils in your chest. You’ve slept in the same room before — hotel rooms, bunkers, quinjet corners — but never like this.

You sit beside him. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders, pulls you in.

And suddenly you’re tucked under Bucky Barnes’ arm, your head resting against the soft fabric of his shirt, the sound of his steady breathing in your ear.

Your body relaxes before your mind can catch up. He’s warm. Unbelievably warm. And strong. You feel it in every inch of him —the way his arm curls protectively around your back, the subtle press of muscle as you lean into him.

“You okay?” he asks after a while.

You nod, barely. “Yeah. Just… long week.”

His chuckle is barely audible. “Understatement of the century.”

For a moment, it’s just the storm and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then he speaks again — so quietly it barely registers.

“I hate seeing you scared.”

You look up. His jaw is tight, his gaze focused on the firelight.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he says gently. “It’s okay.”

You swallow. There’s something aching in his tone —something raw.

“You don’t talk this much,” you say softly.

“I know.” He turns his head, meets your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think it.”

Your breath catches. His eyes are ocean-deep, stormy like the night outside, but warm — so warm.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

You nod.

“I think about touching you all the time.”

Your heart stops.

He keeps going, voice steady but trembling at the edges.

“Not just sex. Not even that, really. I think about… brushing your hair out of your face. Holding your hand. Pulling you onto my lap just because I can. I think about waking up next to you.”

He swallows hard.

“But I don’t. Because I don’t want to scare you. And because I don’t know if you’d want that. Want me.”

The rain seems to hush for a moment, like the world is listening.

You reach up slowly, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed like he’s afraid to believe it’s real.

“I’ve been waiting for you to touch me,” you whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

His eyes snap open —like you just lit a fuse.

“Don’t move,” he says hoarsely.

You stay still.

His hand —warm, broad, careful —comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, then your lip. His other hand, the metal one, rests on your thigh with featherlight pressure, like he’s scared you’ll flinch.

You don’t.

You lean in.

And he kisses you.

It’s gentle at first —lips soft and reverent against yours, like he’s still scared he’ll wake up. But then you press closer, fingers tangling in his shirt, and he deepens it —groaning into your mouth, tongue brushing yours, hunger bleeding into every movement.

You shift into his lap, straddling him instinctively, and Bucky grabs your hips like he’s grounding himself —like if he lets go, he’ll wake up alone again.

His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, and the look he gives you is hungry —like you’re the first warm thing he’s touched in years.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls. “You know that, right?”

You rock against him gently, and his jaw goes tight.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, hands in his hair. “Anywhere. However you want.”

He huffs a breath like he’s trying to keep from losing it.

“Fuck, sweetheart…”

His metal hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider over him. His other hand slides under your hoodie and up your back, warm and solid, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it aside.

When he sees you —bare, flushed, breathing hard —he curses under his breath and cups your chest with both hands, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they stiffen. You gasp, grinding against the hard line of him beneath his sweatpants.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

You do —breathless, already aching —lying back on the bed as he kneels between your legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your flannel pants.

“Every inch of you.”

He drags them down, slow and deliberate, along with your panties —eyes never leaving yours as he exposes you. When you’re naked and spread out under him, he runs his hands up your thighs, parting them wider with firm, reverent pressure.

Then his mouth is on you again.

Warm, slow, worshipful.

He kisses your inner thigh, then the crease of your hip, teasing you until you’re trembling, trying to press yourself against his mouth. But he pins your hips with his metal arm and groans, low and broken, like the taste of you has him spiraling.

He laps at you slowly, teasing your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking softly. You moan—high and sharp —and tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue circles, flicks, licks deeper until you’re whimpering, thighs trembling.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes, voice muffled against your cunt. “So perfect, so good…”

You try to respond, but your hips buck when he slips one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Oh—fuck, Bucky—”

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “Let me hear you.”

He adds a second finger, fucking you slowly with a perfect rhythm as he sucks your clit again. The pressure builds like a wave — deep and hot and inevitable.

“I—I’m gonna—”

“Do it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

You fall apart on his mouth, writhing, gasping, your hands pulling hard at his hair. He doesn’t stop — licking you through it, holding you firm until your body finally slumps back against the mattress.

He looks up at you, lips slick, eyes glazed with want.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You reach for him, dazed. “Need you inside me.”

That’s all it takes.

He strips fast — sweatpants gone, briefs gone — and your eyes go wide at the size of him, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip.

“Condom,” he mutters, reaching for his bag—

“No,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill. I want to feel you.”

His eyes darken. “You sure?”

You nod, pulling him in. “Please.”

He lines himself up, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, and groans like he’s barely holding it together.

Then he pushes in —slow, stretching you inch by inch, until he bottoms out and you’re both gasping.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants. “You’re so tight. So fuckin’ perfect.”

He stills, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, your jaw. “You okay, baby?”

You nod. “Move.”

And when he does —slow and deep at first, then faster, rougher —it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you. His hands grip your hips, his mouth never leaves your skin, and every thrust drives you higher.

He murmurs praise like a prayer—

“So good for me.”

“You feel like heaven.”

“I could stay inside you forever.”

When he feels you tighten around him again, he fucks you through your second orgasm — hard and deep — before groaning into your neck and coming inside you with a shudder that rocks his whole body.

He doesn’t pull out. Not yet.

Just stays there, buried deep, breathing against your collarbone.

“I’ve never—” he murmurs. “Never had this. Not like this.”

You stroke his back, warm and damp with sweat.

“You have it now.”

He kisses you then —soft and slow, like a promise.

And this time, it’s not about hunger.

It’s about home.

The fire’s burned down to embers.

Outside, the rain has stopped. All that’s left is the gentle patter of water dripping from the eaves and the faint glow of early morning light peeking through the curtains.

You’re warm —so warm —tucked beneath the threadbare sheets, wrapped in Bucky’s arms.

His body is solid heat against your back, chest rising and falling steady with sleep. One hand is splayed across your belly, the other curled under your neck, holding you close like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re real.

You shift slightly, and his breath catches. The hand on your stomach tightens, thumb brushing your skin like a reflex.

“Did I wake you?” you whisper, voice soft.

“Mmm,” he hums sleepily, lips brushing your shoulder. “Been awake. Just didn’t wanna move. S’too good.”

You smile, turning in his arms to face him. He’s a mess of tousled hair and morning stubble, blue eyes heavy-lidded and soft.

“Hi,” you murmur.

“Hi.” He leans in, noses at your cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

“You never have to ask.”

The kiss is slow —tender and lazy, mouths fitting together like they’ve always known how. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting all your life to be held like this.

When you shift again, your bare thighs brush his —and you feel it.

He’s hard. Already. Pressed warm and thick against your stomach.

You pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are pink. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t be sorry.” You reach down, wrap your hand gently around him. His hips twitch.

“I want you again,” you whisper. “Just like this.”

He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?”

You nod. “Slow n soft.”

His jaw clenches, just a little. Then he exhales and kisses you again —sweeter this time, deeper, like a slow ache.

Like gratitude.

The sheets fall away as he shifts over you, pushing your legs apart with his hips. He slides his metal hand beneath your thigh, lifting it gently as he rolls his body over yours.

He’s big —broad and warm and so careful —and you feel yourself open for him all over again.

“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?” he murmurs, brushing your hair back.

“No,” you whisper. “You made me feel so good and safe.”

He groans softly, like that this alone is enough to undo him. Then he reaches between you, guides himself to your entrance, and sinks in slow.

The stretch makes you sigh —familiar now, but no less intense. He presses deeper until your bodies are flush, his cock buried inside you, and stays there for a moment, unmoving.

His forehead rests against yours.

“I could stay like this forever,” he breathes. “You feel so good. So warm. So perfect.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist.

“Then stay.”

He moves slowly, rolling his hips in deep, rhythmic strokes —not chasing release, just feeling you. Making love like he has nowhere else to be, like your body is the only place he’s ever felt peace.

The way he looks at you —like you hung the stars —has your whole chest aching.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his shoulder. “Touch me more.”

And he does. Big hands exploring your body all over again —your waist, your breasts, your thighs. He never stops moving inside you, never pulls all the way out. Every thrust is slow and deep and intimate, like he wants to leave a piece of himself inside you.

When you start to tremble beneath him, he cups your face with both hands.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You come with a soft cry, clinging to him as your body shudders. He follows moments later, gasping your name, cock pulsing inside you as he buries himself one last time and spills deep.

You stay tangled together afterward — skin flushed, breath slowing, heartbeats syncing.

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Good thing we’re stuck here another day.”

He chuckles, pulling you tight against him. “Don’t tempt me.”

But his voice is soft. Sweet. Like he wants to be tempted. Like he already is.

divider by @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra

[xazse]

Wolf!HybridGojo who constantly has to be told not to tackle you: his PuppyGirl!Hybrid and try to play fight with you, that he can’t be that rough with you regarding your size difference, he hates being told what to do.

Wolf!HybridGojo who can’t help but wrap you in a tight embrace in his lap and lick you everywhere, your face and neck are covered in saliva, no matter how much you whine and try to get away from his rough tongue he won’t let you up until he deems you clean enough.

Wolf!HybridGojo who finds it so easy to pin you down and hump his throbbing cock against your party-clad ass. You could be laying on the couch relaxing until you feel the cough sink and Satoru putting his full body weight on you. He usually sports no underwear so it feels ten times better when he’s grinding against you, even before he finally cums his pants are soaked with his precum, he produces a weird amount of it.

Wolf!HybridGojo who hates when you want Suguru’s attention, he hates when you leave his lap to crawl into Suguru’s lap, he hates when Suguru indulges you and scratches your ears and your tail. He can be heard on the other side of the couch huffing in frustration, he’ll reach over and pinch your tail because he knows it hurts you, That’s only happened twice and each time Suguru scolds and punishes Satoru.

Wolf!HybridGojo who can’t handle his heats, they get too strong to the point where he has to be locked in a room with Suguru, he can’t be near you in fear of hurting or losing control of himself. He’s whining the entire time in the room, his pocket-pussy toys don’t last long before he destroys the thing, Suguru jerking him off can only do so much, he just wants to be buried deep inside you but knows he can’t :(

Wolf!HybridGojo who just wants to attempt at letting you take him, so he begs and begs Suguru to let him have you or at least try, with some stubbornness he agrees but only if he’s in the room too.

He’s so damn excited when you’re being guided into the hot room by Suguru, his tail can’t stop wagging at the mere thought of you naked and all for him. Suguru had spent half the day prepping your little hole just for him. There’s dried tears on your face probably from the overstimulation you endured but you’re beaming when you finally get to see Satoru, you hug him tightly.

Hes so quick to kiss you, already trying to shove his tongue down your throat. He’s sucking on your tongue loudly and obnoxiously. He was hard before you even walked into the room but now he’s throbbing. In the midst of the kiss he’s using one hand to shrug down his pants snuggly sitting them under his balls. He moves you body closer to him, till his cock rests right inbetween the both of you and on your stomach, he begins stroking his pretty pale cock, his thick precum leaking in droves.

He pushes you on your back rather harshly: “Satoru” Suguru says through clenched teeth. He apologizes in a submissive tone: it clearly was an accident.

He places his hands under the back of your knees and pushes them till they rest on your chest. Your pussy is so small compared to him, but he loves that difference: it makes everything so much more hot. Looking closer he sees your pretty cunt is wet and shiny with your cum. he rubs his tip inbetween your folds gathering the cum and smearing it everywhere.

He pulls you lips apart and takes a minute to admire your hole, though Suguru stretched it it’s still gonna be a tight squeeze. He sees no need to wait anymore and begins sliding himself in, the first word that comes to mind is hot, how just a little past his tip its already warm and how you’re already sucking him in. He groans rather loudly mixed with your soft whines he drives him to want to stuff his full length in one go but he knows Suguru will get a different type of angry.

Wolf!HybridGojo who doesn’t stop fucking your wet sloppy cunt after one round, he keeps digging his cock deeper and deeper. The wet slapping sounds bounce off the walls and right into your ears. You can feel every vein on his cock when he throbs inside you,

[ninisdollie]

‎ soft spot - takayama riki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which sweet loving Taki is obsessed with his girlfriend’s boobs”

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹��₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x taki, established relationship, body worship, groping, nipple play (f rec), riding, oral (m rec), phone sex, idk just taki being normal about reader’s tits, also size not specified so both big and small chested girlies can enjoy this.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, hate comments will be deleted and blocked !!

Taki is the sweetest boyfriend ever. He makes you laugh, takes care of you in his own way, showers you with kisses and gifts whenever he can. But if you ask him what’s his favorite thing about you?

Your boobs.

He isn’t even subtle about it. He’ll come up behind you when you’re doing the most mundane thing—making coffee, folding laundry, scrolling on your phone—and just wrap his arms around you, hands sliding up under your shirt like it’s his right, cupping both of your breasts and thumb brushing against your sensitive nipples. He sighs dramatically against your neck, lips brushing your skin. “Why are they so perfect?” he mumbles, palms full of you already. “It’s not fair.”

You always roll your eyes, try to act unfazed, but your breath still shakes every time he does this.

He’s obsessed. Like can’t-sleep-without-cupping-one-in-his-hand obsessed. Will literally whine if you roll over and take them away mid-sleep.

Your poor boyfriend Taki who suddenly becames so desperate and needy from just putting your tits in his mouth.

The second he sees your chest, he groans like hurts him to go too long without touching you. His hands are warm and shaky, cupping you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. His thumb brushes over your nipple, and the way his hips jerk against the bed below is so desperate it makes you clench around nothing. “You don’t get it,” he pants, lips already latching onto one like he’s addicted. “I think about this all the time. All the fucking time.”

He mouths at your skinc wet, slow, needy, his warm tongue circling and flicking until your back arches up into him. You feel his hard cock pressed against your leg, untouched, and still he doesn’t care. He’s humping the sheets like a desperate virgin just from kissing your chest, rutting with soft, shaky moans escaping against your skin. “Fuck, I could come just like this,” he whimpers, dragging his tongue from the underside up to your nipple before sucking hard, so hard your thighs clamp around his waist. “You’re making me so hard, baby, you don’t even know…”

Your hands twist into his hair, and he moans at that too, like every part of him is made to fall apart just from sucking your tits. He keeps licking, worshipping, obsessing, spit glistening all over your chest, lips swollen, hips grinding faster with each kiss.

And then suddenly he freezes. “Shit—fuck—I’m gonna—” He gasps into your chest, hips twitching violently as he comes in his boxers, untouched. Just from you. Just from your body.

Your boyfriend Taki can’t control himself when you suck him off on your knees, chest bare because it’s the best view of his life.

His head falls back against the wall, chest heaving, fingers tangled in your hair a little too tightly because he’s on the edge. You’ve been teasing him for the past few minutes, slow strokes of your tongue, soft moans that vibrate against his length, and he’s already shaking. “Fuck, baby,” he pants, hips jerking forward into your mouth before he tries to pull back, struggling to keep control. “I-I’m close…”

You just hum around him, not stopping, just taking him deeper until the head of his cock touches the back of your throat, and that’s what makes him whine. He looks down at you, sitting so pretty on your knees for him, looking up like you’d take anything he gives you, and that’s when he cracks.

“Wait—shit—can I…” He pulls out with a gasp, cock twitching in his hand, a string of spit connecting you. “Can I finish on your chest? Please?” His voice is breathless, pleading, like he’ll actually lose his mind if you say no.

You nod, already squeezing your boobs together to give him a full view, and the second he sees you like that, lips parted, tits pushed up just for him, it’s over. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He strokes himself fast, messy, one hand still clutching your hair while the other works over his cock. His eyes never leave your chest, and he’s swearing through clenched teeth, hips stuttering forward like he wants to paint every inch of you.

He moans your name as he comes, long, hot ropes landing across your chest, spilling over your skin while he keeps stroking through it, watching it drip and smear. His jaw is slack, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with obsession and lust. “Holy shit,” he groans, collapsing slightly, still holding your face in his hands like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You look so fucking good like this. My perfect girl.”

When you’re above him, that’s his actual favorite view. Hair messy, skin dewy with sweat, riding him slow and deep while your chest moves with every thrust. He moans every time you bounce a little harder, head falling back into the pillow before snapping back up like he can’t bear to miss a single second of it. “Fuck, baby—your tits,” he groans, completely breathless. “I swear they were made to sit in my face.”

You lean forward, dragging your hips in a way that makes his whole body jolt, and his hands slide up your body instantly, palming your breasts, squeezing, thumbs brushing over your nipples just to watch them bounce more.“Holy shit,” he gasps, eyes wide. “I’m gonna come—fuck—keep going, keep going—” You start grinding down harder now, and he’s moaning like crazy, his mouth open like he wants to taste them, no, needs to. He tugs you down suddenly, arms wrapping around your waist as his lips close around your nipple. It’s messy, he’s licking and sucking and mumbling into your skin like he’s drunk on you.

“You’re unreal,” he pants against your chest. “My perfect girl—fucking bouncing on my dick with your tits in my face—what did I do to deserve this?” And when you clench around him and ride out your own orgasm, he nearly blacks out, grabbing at your waist, cock twitching inside you as he spills, whimpering your name like a prayer.

But to be honest, it isn’t even just him anymore. It’s like he has molded your body to response to his touch. Because now, every time his hands find your chest, your brain shuts down, immediately.

His hands settle on your chest, warm and possessive. And the second his thumbs brush over your nipples, you moan, back arching up into his touch. “God, you’re already dripping,” he whispers, palming you with both hands like he’s waited all day for this. “You’re so fucking easy for me.” He pinches one nipple just right and you jerk, thighs spreading wider instinctively. His mouth follows next, sucking, licking, teasing, until your whole body is trembling beneath him. “You needed this, didn’t you?” he pants, dragging his tongue over your chest. “My hands, my mouth—everything on you.” You nod, helpless, grinding your soaked pussy up against his thigh for any kind of friction. “You’re so perfect when you beg,” he growls, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “So fucking wet when I play with your tits.”

And when his fingers finally slide down between your legs?

“Fucking knew it,” he groans. “You’re soaked for me, baby. All this just from my hands on your chest.”

When he’s on tour, it’s even worse. You already know when your phone lights up in the middle of the night.

Takibear 🧸🖤 is facetiming you…

“You’re shameless,” you murmur, voice thick with amusement as you lie back against your pillows, screen tilted toward your face. Taki groans dramatically. His camera is all over the place at first, showing a dark hotel ceiling, then the edge of a bed, then finally him, shirtless, hair sticking up, cheeks flushed. “I miss you,” he whines, already flopping onto his back. “You have no idea how bad it is.” “You miss me,” you repeat slowly, “or my tits?”

“Both,” he says without hesitation, shifting the camera closer to his face. His lips are pink and pouty, eyes slightly hooded. “But I’m gonna go insane if I don’t see them soon.” You drag your fingers slowly down your chest, just enough to hint at what you’re not showing. “That bad, huh?”

“Babe.” His voice is hoarse now, a little breathy. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I got hard during soundcheck. K caught me zoning out and asked what was wrong. I had to tell him I was tired.” You giggle, not budging.

“Why don’t you just go take a cold shower?”

“I will, if you don’t help me,” he threatens, flopping back onto the hotel pillows like he’s truly suffering. His camera shifts again, revealing the waistband of his sweats, a very clear bulge pressed up against the fabric.

His hand slips beneath it, and you hear the tiniest hiss escape his lips. “God. Baby. I need it. Please.” You cock your head. “Need what?”

He groans again, this time with more desperation in his voice. “Your tits. I need to see them. Just for a second. Please—please, baby, I’ll be so good.” You slowly pull your shirt up, just under your chest, teasing the very bottom curve. He whimpers. “Don’t tease me,” he says, eyes locked on the screen like he’s watching something sacred. “I’m hard as fuck. Literally can’t even jerk off unless I see you. You’ve ruined me.” You laugh softly but finally tug your shirt up over your breasts, baring them fully to him. The reaction is immediate.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, one hand disappearing out of frame again as he stares. “Jesus Christ. You’re perfect.”

You start teasing yourself, palming your tits slowly, dragging your fingers over your nipples, and you hear the slick sound of his hand moving faster. “God, don’t stop,” he moans. “Fuck, you look so good. I wanna bury my face between them. Wanna suck on you until you cry. Fuck.” You press your tits together, squeezing just how he likes, and his breath stutters hard through the speaker. His hips jerk. He’s close. “Gonna come, baby—just keep touching them for me. Don’t stop. Please.”

You moan his name softly, and that’s what finally tips him over. His mouth falls open, face twisting in pleasure, head tilted back against the pillows. He rides it out, panting and messy, hips twitching as he spills into his hand, totally wrecked. There’s silence for a beat, just his heavy breathing. Then he looks back at the screen with a dazed, fucked-out grin.

“I screen recorded this.” You roll your eyes, laughing. “Pervert.”

You love how much he worships you. How obsessed he is. How good it feels to be wanted that much. Taki doesn’t just love your body, he cherishes it. And yeah, sometimes that means falling asleep with his hand still down your shirt.

[elliesmainhoe]

need ellie to take care of me drunk desperately

i love your writing 😭

Rescue Remedy

e.williams x fem!reader

summary: you call Ellie to come and rescue you from a bar after having a few too many drinks

warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of hangovers, slurred speech, drunk crying, fluff.

just realized this is basically a self insert vent post of a very similar situation I've been in LMAO

WC 1K

DAY 4 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

you were relieved when the familiar beaten up Ford focus pulled up beside you. you'd been sitting on the curb for almost 15 minutes- tear stained cheeks, smudged glitter and mascara as your body shook and jittered from both the cold Seattle night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and alcohol causing the most humbling case of hiccups you think you've ever had.

"Ells!" you whined, a new flood of tears streaming from your eyes at the sight of your night in shining armour- your girlfriend.

"c'mon sweet girl" she huffed, hair thrown up messily in the usual half up, half down style, clad in red and black checkered pyjama pants, black hoodie that was splattered with paint topped off with the obnoxious lime green crocks you'd gotten her for her one Christmas, of course decked out in charms shed collected over the past few months.

before you could even process it you were sitting in the passenger seat, leather seats sticking to your sweat glazed skin, and sobs turning to hiccups.

this had been the worst night out you'd had since your 21st. and as soon as the car revved and moved down the road, Ellie's hand pressed firmly on your bare thigh, the fabric of your dress not long enough to cover the majority of your thigh.

"what happened sweet girl?" oh and by that one question, it's like Ellie had opened a flood gate.

firstly, you got to the club of choice after having to walk almost a mile from where your designated driver had parked, accompanied by a couple of friends. after queuing on the curb for almost thirty minutes, you reached the front of the queue and then promptly realized you had left you purse. with your id. in the car. a mile away.

so after you'd trekked all the way to the car, retrieving your purse and id, getting back to the club, queuing for another 30 minutes, on your own this time- as your friends who had not forgotten their id decided to go in and leave you to sort your shit out.

let's just say you were already a little pissed off.

secondly, you got in the club and it stunk. not just of sweat and booze, but piss. fucking piss. and to top that all off you couldn't find your friends so- you did what any other sane person would do and ordered shots.

shots that were actually doubles, but of course you hadnt realized that until way too late.

which leads into the final stage of the night, your head being deep in a grimy toilet bowl, knees bruised from having to kneel on tiles that were not grouted properly and pieces of them shot out and cut at your skin.

and by that point you had gotten out your phone, which was now on 7% charge because you had offers to use your GPS and it drained all your battery, and was a blubbering mess on call with your girlfriend.

you would later have to retell the story again, as apparently according to Ellie- she couldn't understand a word you were saying, just nodding along in a desperate attempt to keep you awake long enough to get a glass of water and a slice of toast down you.

it must have been during your tangent when you'd gotten home, as when you finally finished your incoherent mumbling you were sitting on the beat up leather couch of yours and Ellie's apartment, a couch you'd hated as soon as you moved in, but Ellie had a weird attachment to so it stayed in it's place, the first thing you saw when you entered the home.

Ellie was kneeling in front of you, sitting between your thighs and facing you, holding up a large glass of water,

"sip baby" she spoke softly, to which you groaned.

"do- do- I haveeeeeee to?" you whined, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to distract your girlfriend "jus' wan' sleep"

"you can sleep after you drink that." after another groan you took a sip of the glass of water- admittedly, it was refreshing, however you still gagged to prove a point.

"good girl" she purred, standing up and kissing your forehead, moving over to the cabinet to grab a packet of pills.

"fuck off"

she laughs, moving back with a small white pill in the palm of her hand, to which you begrudgingly take after Ellie promises to take you to get ice cream the day after.

you felt your eyelids droop once more, you couldn't tell if it was sleep, or just your false eyelashes becoming suddenly very heavy, you whine "'m tired ells..."

"alright I hear you, c'mon baby" she sighs, leaving a half eaten piece of toast on the coffee table, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees as she made her way to your bedroom, plopping you on the mattress and you sigh, already drifting to sleep before you screech at the feeling of something wet in your face.

"hey- hey" Ellie laughs, "I'm just taking off your makeup baby, just taking off your makeup", she smiles, dragging a cotton pad across your skin, taking off the creams and powders you had applied previously, smudged mascara coming off with it.

Ellie was thankful you'd taken off your clothes as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment saying something which she thinks was "dresses like these are modern day torture devices"- but with the way you slur your words when drunk she could never be sure, leaving you just in your underwear, making her job a whole lot easier.

trying to maneuver you, who had now dropped on the mattress like a deadweight, would've been a too strenuous task for 3am.

after discarding the used wipes and pulling your hair back into a very messy ponytail, Ellie scooted in beside you, the mattress sinking as you unconsciously snuggle in closer, head nuzzling into the girls neck, her hand going around to caress your back, soothing you into an easy sleep.

the hangover tomorrow was going to be horrible.

••••••••••••••

The third time I've tried to write this, I almost gave up 🥰

[formulafanfics13]

your fics are genuinely the reason i come on tumblr everyday. could i ask for a smut with charles hooking up with his ex wife. like they fuck after cota or something because she’s american or at f1 75. i

post-COTA reunion - CL16 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: After a bitter divorce, you and Charles reunite unexpectedly at COTA. One charged conversation leads to a raw, angry, heartbreak-fueled night in his hotel room — a desperate attempt to reclaim what you both lost.

Warnings: Smut, divorce angst, angry sex, unprotected sex, rough oral (f receiving), hair pulling, possessiveness, emotionally intense reunion, unresolved feelings, mentions of past relationship breakdown.

He didn’t expect to see you.

Not at COTA. Not here. Not ever again, if he was being honest with himself. But there you were, standing in the VIP lounge like a fucking ghost, talking to someone from Red Bull, your hair up in that lazy twist he used to fuck his hand into, wearing that denim mini skirt and cowboy boots like you weren’t the most dangerous thing in Texas.

He stopped walking. The noise of the paddock disappeared. Your eyes met his across the room.

The last time he saw you, it had been ugly. Lawyers. Screaming. Divorce papers that still smelled like the perfume you used to wear. Monaco had felt too small with both your names on the same mailbox, but now the whole continent wasn't big enough. He was supposed to be over it. Over you.

He wasn’t.

You walked over like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t shattered each other and left the pieces uncollected.

“Charles.”

Your voice still felt like a hand around his throat.

He gave a tight smile. “You look good.”

“You look tired.”

He snorted. “I just finished a race.”

You looked at him for a moment. Took in the fire suit half-unzipped around his waist, the sweat on his neck, the grease still clinging to his jaw.

“I remember,” you said softly. “You always looked best like this.”

Something in his chest twisted. You were the one who left. But he let you go. That was the problem.

“How long are you in Austin?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “Flying out Monday.”

Silence stretched between you.

“Do you want to come to my hotel?” you asked.

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

The second the door shut behind you, it was over.

You didn’t speak. You just kissed him like you hated him. Like you wanted to erase him. Like you never stopped craving the taste of his mouth. He groaned, hands already on your ass, lifting you up against the wall like muscle memory never died.

“Still wearing fucking cowboy boots?” he muttered against your lips.

You laughed. “You used to like them.”

“I still do.”

He carried you to the bed, dropped you, stripped his shirt in one motion. You followed, tugging off your top, your bra. He stared like he hadn’t seen you naked a hundred times. Like he was starving.

“Get on your knees.”

You did. Without question. Without shame. Like your body remembered exactly who it used to belong to.

He pulled his race pants down. His cock was already hard.

“Use your mouth,” he said, voice hoarse.

You licked a slow stripe up the underside of his length, just to watch him twitch. He hissed. You sucked him in, slow and deep, watching his jaw clench, his hand fisting your hair like he still had a right to. His moans were low, angry, half-choked. You loved them.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re still so good at this.”

You pulled off with a pop. “I didn’t forget how.”

He yanked you up by the arm and kissed you hard. “You’re still mine.”

“No,” you said. “You gave me away.”

He growled and threw you onto the bed. “Then I’m taking you back.”

He didn’t take your panties off. Just shoved them to the side and buried his face between your legs like he was furious. Tongue rough, fast, focused. You arched, gasping, hands in his hair, thighs shaking.

“Charles-fuck-”

He sucked your clit like he wanted to punish you for leaving. You came with a sob, your whole body curling around him. He didn’t stop.

When he finally stood up, his mouth was slick, eyes wild. “Hands and knees,” he said.

You obeyed.

He didn’t wait. Lined himself up and slammed into you with a groan so loud you moaned just from the sound.

“Fuck, you’re still perfect,” he hissed, fucking you hard, deep, relentless. “Still so fucking tight.”

You whimpered into the sheets.

“You miss this?” he asked. “You miss me fucking you like I’m gonna break you?”

You moaned.

“Say it.”

“I missed you.”

He pulled out. Flipped you over. Pushed your knees to your chest and slid back in. “I missed you too.”

His rhythm got rougher. More erratic. He was close. So were you. Your second orgasm ripped through you with no warning, clenching around him so hard he choked on a curse and spilled inside you with a gasp.

Silence. Breathing. Shaking limbs. You looked at each other. No words.

Just sweat and bruises and the sound of your heart still breaking.

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: CHANGBIN X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: ALPHA!CHANGBIN, OMEGA!READER, READER IN HEAT, NEST MENTIONS, TEASING, BREEDING, DIRTY TALK, UNPROTECTED SEX, CREAMPIE, ☾ ━━━ WC: 0.8K ☾ ━━━ NOTE: this feels lowkey rushed to me but I was just very busy today and had been up very early so I def was falling asleep writing this ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Y/n hated when her heart started and her boyfriend was gone. She also didn’t like bothering him when he was at work but she was desperate for his help. 

     “Hey baby,” Changbin’s voice came through the speaker

     “Binnie,” Y/n whined

     “Everything okay? Do you need me to come home?” She could hear the worry protectiveness in his voice.

     “Please. My heat—“

     “You started?!”

     “Yeah…”

     “Damn it, I was off by a couple days.” She heard him grabbing his things and saying bye to someone before a door closed. “I’m on my way home. Are you in your nest?”

     “Yeah. Smells like you.”

     “Is it still strong?”

     “No.”

     “I’ll be there in ten minutes baby.”

     “M’kay,” 

     She curled up into the little nest she had made earlier as she waited as patiently as she could for her boyfriend to come home. The past mating season, Changbin had just so happened to be home so it wasn’t a huge deal. They both knew it was starting soon and he swore up and down he knew when it was going to start just for it to be off for a couple days. He had been through heats and seasons with her before. The alpha learned last year that her heats became very intense because of the breeding season— not that he minded one bit. But they still weren’t entirely sure about having a liter just yet. But all his alpha instincts were kicking into high gear. Especially as he got closer to the front door, her scent strong.

      The second he had the door locked, he dropped everything and headed to their bedroom, finding her curled up in the pile of blankets, pillows, and his sweatshirts and clothes. Y/n’s head perked up as she smelled him. Changbin pulled off his shirt and added to her nest pile as he climbed over her.

     “How long before you were gonna call me?” Changbin asked, kissing down her neck. Taking quick notice that she was still in her sleep shirt and nothing else.

     “Tried holding off till you were off,” Y/n admitted

     “Glad you didn’t,” Changbin admitted, hands slipping under her shirt and pulling it off her head.

     Y/n let him toss the clothing to the side before pressing his lips to hers. Y/n moaned into his mouth as her hands wandered down to the waistband of his pants, trying to get them undone as his hard-on pressed against her. “Bin,” Y/n whined

     “Been sitting here waiting for me to breed your pretty pussy?” Changbin teased as he helped her get the rest of his clothing off his bottom half.

     “Mhmm,” Y/n agreed

     Changbin got the rest of his clothes off and in the pile, letting them join the nest as Y/n wrapped her legs around him. Changbin smiled at her as he grabbed the back of her knees and pressed her legs to her chest. He watched her flush before his eyes flickered down to her wet cunt. Ready to take him.

     Changbin rested her legs on his shoulders as he leaned forward. He grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed the underside of his shaft against her folds before finally slipping inside her. Y/n moaned as she grabbed one of the items behind her.

     “Good girl,” He groaned and started thrusting in and out of her, “Just lay there and let Binnie take care of you. Let me fill you up. Give you a litter this year?” 

     “Please! Want your pups,” Y/n agreed, brain clouded with the need to be bred by him. 

     Changbin was the same. He knew once she told him that her heat started that he had to help and take care of her. But the second her scent had hit his nose, that was all forgotten— somewhat— and replaced with needing to fill her up. Pump her full of his seed till it was spilling out of her and then fill her again. That was evident in the way he was thrusting into her, even as her walls clenched around him. 

     “Close, Bin. Need…”

     “Yeah? Your Binnie taking good care of you?”

     “Yes!”

     “Gonna show me how good I’m doing? Cum all over me then let me knot you?” 

     Y/n barely nodded as she could feel the knot start to plump up. He was close and she was closer. Falling over the edge in pleasure as he took her through it. Holding onto her thighs as he pushed himself inside her, his knot swelling up and locking them together as his cum filled her up.

     Changbin managed to wrap her legs around his waist as lay on top of her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Y/n caught her breath as she felt the alpha kissing her chest and shoulder, licking a few patches of skin. “More…” Y/n begged

     “Gonna have to wait, pretty girl. We’ve got all the time in the world for more.”

     “But…”

     Changbin chuckled then sat up on his forearms and pressed his lips to hers. Y/n returned the kiss and cupped his jaw. “Promise I’m gonna fuck you through this till you’re tired or pregnant with my pups, got it?”

     “Think the latter will come first,” Y/n replied

     “We’ll just have to find out, huh mama?”

☾ ━━━━━━ KINKTOBER M. LIST     M.LIST    TIP JAR

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[runninriot]

written for the @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the scenes'

fun to be famous

wc: 1000 | rated: M | cw: language | tags: famous Corroded Coffin, musicians Jeff, Gareth and Frank, frontman Eddie Munson, model Steve Harrington, the 'struggles' and perks of being famous

Eddie hates photo shoots. Hates the clothes the stylist chose for him to wear. Hates having to pose like a soulless mannequin just to portray some bullshit cliché - surrounded by cheap props like fucking plastic skulls with red glowing eyes that look absolutely hideous. Really ruins the magic of the end result when you know what’s going on behind the scenes.

But he knows it’s part of the game, part of what makes people want to buy their albums, and merch, and come to their shows.

It’s a small price to pay, really, when put in perspective. Because what’s a few hours of being uncomfortable if in return, they get to live their fucking dream.

To be the rock stars they always wanted to be, playing sold-out shows in huge arenas, listening to massive crowds singing their songs back to them.

Still, he hates it.

Especially because they always put him upfront, always the centerpiece of every goddamn magazine cover, as if the other members don’t matter as much. It's stupid but his band mates never complain about it. And maybe he brought it upon himself for being a bit of an attention whore on stage.

It was never a conscious choice; he’s always just being himself. Sue him for looking damn fucking good in his mesh tops, and skin-tight leather pants. For loving to make the crowd go wild when he struts around with his pierced nipples out in the open, wearing a skirt that barely covers his best bits, and thigh-high boots.

He loves to be just a little extravagant and coquettishly playful when putting on a show.

That, and the fact that he's always been unashamedly open about his sexuality and his many hook-ups in the past, gave him a certain… reputation. And he’s completely fine with that, really, as long as the way they’re marketing said image doesn't take away from the really important stuff, which is and always has been the music.

They are good at what they do, all of them, didn’t become famous for nothing.

Jeff, Gareth and Frank are exceptionally gifted musicians. And Eddie doesn’t just say this because they’ve been his best friends forever. It’s a fact. And without them, Corroded Coffin wouldn’t be the band it is.

Eddie wouldn’t be who he is without them.

That’s why he wants to protest when the photographer suggests to do a few shots of just Eddie, to ‘give the people what they want.’, but his treacherous friends beat him to it, agree happily to step back and let them do their thing.

He’s told to sit down on some kind of makeshift throne like he’s the Dark Lord himself, while someone calls for someone else to ‘bring in the models’.

Eddie’s mouth falls open when he sees the two ravishing beauties that look like they’ve just tumbled out of a kinky fantasy. The girl is petite with big blue eyes and the cutest smile, her strawberry blond hair in a high ponytail, dressed in lace and leather, enhancing the perfect shape of her body. She’s gorgeous and totally his type, but-

It's the other model, the guy, who has Eddie's full attention. Because holy shit, that man’s a wet dream come true and for once, being in the spotlight doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Eddie thinks he might be in love.

The photographer is yelling instructions but Eddie can hardly hear what he's saying. He’s too distracted by the way the girl drapes herself lasciviously over the armrest on his left, making him feel hot all over with her closeness. And when the guy drops down to his knees in front of him, both hands on Eddie's thighs, looking up at him like he's a fucking God - Eddie forgets how to breathe.

He moves on autopilot, mindlessly following orders. Not once taking his eyes off the beautiful fucking good boy at is feet, thinking dirty rotten thoughts about all the things he'd do to him if this scenario was real and not just for reader-baiting purposes.

It all ends too soon. He could've done this for hours.

Eddie is in the dressing room when someone knocks at the door. And because he assumes it's one of his mates, he just calls for them to 'Come in!', unbothered by his state of undress, naked except for his underwear – nothing to hide once you've shared a tour bus so many times – standing with his back to the door, rummaging around in his suitcase for a fresh set of clothes.

"Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to as-ohmygod! I am so sorry! I didn't know you where-"

Eddie turns around so quickly it makes him dizzy, surprised to find not Gareth, or Frank, or Jeff but another a familiar set of eyes staring back at him.

It’s hot guy from earlier.

“You’re not a fan, huh?” Eddie asks with a cocky grin on his face, just a bit too proud of himself for how quickly he regained his composure. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be so shocked to see me half-naked.” Eddie winks and pretty boy's face turns a deep cherry-red.

“No, I, uh, I mean, yes. I mean-,“ the guy struggles for words and it's so precious, Eddie wants to bite him.

“I wanted to ask you for an autograph.”

Oh please. Baby, you can have so much more.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll sign my name if you give me your number. How’s that sound?”

When Eddie reunites with his friends 30 minutes later, Gareth is immediately onto him.

“Please tell me you didn’t just fuck the model.”

“His name is Steve and you know what they say - what happens behind the scenes, stays there.”

“Literally no one says that. And you’re a slut.” Gareth laughs and Frank and Jeff agree.

They're not wrong, Eddie’s definitely a slut for Steve. And he can’t wait to meet him at the hotel room later to finish what they started.

[wlwnovak]

What We Carry

After a brutal attack leaves ADA Casey Novak physically and emotionally vulnerable, young SVU detective (y/n) steps in to care for her—revealing long-buried feelings neither of them have dared to admit. As Casey confronts painful memories of a violent past relationship and struggles with guilt and recovery, both women must face the truth: sometimes love doesn’t come with a grand confession, but in the quiet act of staying.

You’d seen plenty of victims in your time as a detective, but nothing could’ve prepared you for seeing her like that.

Casey Novak—brilliant, relentless, whip-smart ADA—wheeled out of the hospital in a baggy sweatshirt, pale and bruised, her arm in a sling, crutches tucked awkwardly beside her. The nurses gave you the rundown, but you didn’t hear most of it. Your eyes were only on her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Olivia had only stepped out for coffee.

They were mid-conversation, going over the case that had kept them both at the precinct long past midnight—Casey pacing with legal pads in hand, Olivia leaning on the edge of the desk, both running on caffeine and adrenaline. When Casey offered to keep digging while Liv ran across the street for drinks, it seemed harmless. Routine.

But when Olivia returned just minutes later, two cups in hand. The office was dark and the door was just slightly open.

"Casey I left for 5 minutes, I swear to god if you went home I'll-"

Olivia stepped in and found Casey on the floor. Her body twisted unnaturally, blood staining the carpet beneath her. The sight froze her. 

She dropped to her knees beside Casey, pressing her jacket to the wound, calling her name over and over.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Olivia was inside the ambulance, refusing to leave her side. Her hands were shaking as she dialed her phone. There was only one number she thought to call—not Cragen, not Fin, not even Elliot.

You.

Because Olivia knew: if there was one person Casey would want in that moment—one person who could hold her through the aftermath—it was you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you told Captain Cragen you wanted to be the one to look after her, no one argued. Everyone knew you were closest to Casey. You were the one who lingered in her office after hours, taking naps on her couch, teasing her with inside jokes, quietly catching the way she smiled when she thought you weren’t looking. You were the one who always stayed just a little too long.

You helped her into her apartment, one slow, painful step at a time. She winced when she sat, tried to brush it off.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she muttered.

You ignored that. “You don’t need one. You’ve got me.”

She didn’t argue again.

The days that followed were quiet, awkward, painful in a way you hadn’t expected. Not because of her injuries, but because of the intimacy of it all—helping her to the bathroom in the middle of the night, supporting her in the shower while she avoided your eyes, watching her struggle with rage and shame over things she used to do without thinking.

She hated the crutches. Hated the way they announced her fragility to the world. Hated the way they made every small task feel impossible.

The first night was the worst. Casey barely spoke, eyes glazed, movements stiff and full of effort. You helped her into bed, gently guiding her injured leg and keeping your hands steady even when she hissed in pain.

At 3 a.m., you found her sitting on the edge of the bed, panting in frustration.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said, voice flat.

“Okay, let me help you—”

“I can do it.”

You didn’t argue. You just stayed close enough to catch her if she fell. She didn’t look at you as she slowly, agonizingly shuffled toward the bathroom, gripping the crutches like they’d betray her.

The door stayed open a crack. You heard a muffled sob halfway through. Not from pain—at least, not the physical kind.

Later that morning, she let you help her shower. She kept her eyes closed the entire time while you held her steady and washed her bruised back carefully.

“I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate needing help.”

“I know,” you replied. "...Nice ass though".

Casey chuckled, the sound rough but real—the first time she’d laughed since the attack.

“Please don’t make me laugh,” she winced, pressing a hand to her side. “My ribs hurt.”

You smiled, but the moment hung strangely in the air, too intimate. The sound of the shower filled the room, louder than it should’ve been, covering the silence like a clumsy curtain neither of you knew how to pull back.

On the third day, she broke.

One night, you found her sitting on her bed, holding at a brown coat.

“Charlie gave me this,” she said. “I should’ve thrown it away a long time ago.”

You didn’t move. Just waited.

“I keep thinking maybe this was supposed to happen,” she whispered. “Like... I escaped it when I left him. And this was karma finally showing up.”

“Casey—” You approached her, sitting by her side.

“I left him,” she said. “When he got sick, when he started getting violent. He hit walls, hit me. I got out. And then years later, he’s dead. Homeless. Alone. And I lived.”

Her voice cracked. “Maybe that wasn’t fair.”

You grabbed her hand. “You don’t believe that.”

She turned toward you then, her eyes shining, vulnerable in a way she never let herself be. “Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I was meant to get hurt, and I just… delayed it.”

You gently cupped her face. “You left because you had to. Because you deserved to survive. This wasn’t karma. This wasn’t Charlie's payback or something. This was some asshole who hurt you, and I swear to God, Casey, he is the one who deserves to rot—not you.”

She stared at you, like she wanted to believe you.

You wanted to kiss her. Instead, you whispered, “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. Not then. Not now.”

And for the first time since the attack, she let you hold her. She trembled in your arms. The kind of trembling that only comes from finally letting go.

Later, as you helped her into bed, she looked up at you and said softly, “You know what’s funny? Everyone thinks I’m strong. But I don’t feel strong with you. I feel…”

“Safe?” you offered.

She nodded.

You swallowed. “You are strong, Casey. But you don’t have to be with me. You just have to be real.”

There was a pause. A long one.

“Could you um...maybe stay here?” she whispered, barely audible.

You nodded "of course".

You kissed her forehead, tucked her back to bed and held her until she fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were halfway through your paperwork when Olivia slid into the chair across from you, coffee in hand, watching you over the rim of her cup.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said casually. “Quieter than usual.”

“I’m tired,” you replied, not looking up.

“Mm-hmm.” She leaned in slightly. “You’re still staying with Casey?”

You nodded. “She needs help.”

Olivia tilted her head. “Is that all it is?”

You looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Olivia said, voice soft but knowing, “you’re sleeping on her bed. You drive home just to change. You haven’t gone out once in almost two weeks. And every time her name comes up in a case file, you look like you want to kill someone.”

You stared at her.

“She’s important to you,” she added gently. 

You exhaled slowly, chest tight. “She got hurt. I couldn’t stop it.”

“No one could,” Olivia said. “But you’ve been carrying it like it was your job.”

You looked down at your hands. “Because she’s… she’s Casey. And I’m—”

“You’re in love with her.”

You said nothing.

“You know,” Olivia said, standing, “I used to think you two were just stubborn. But now I think maybe you’re scared.”

You didn’t deny it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Casey didn’t expect anyone. She hated unexpected visits now. But when she opened the door and saw Elliot Stabler standing there, takeout bag in hand, she stepped back wordlessly to let him in.

“You look better,” he said, setting the bag on the counter. “Less murder in your eyes.”

“I’m on painkillers,” she deadpanned.

He grinned. “Fair.”

They sat in silence for a while. Casey poked at her food. Stabler almost finishing his plate.

“You know,” he finally said, “I used to think you and our young detective were just work friends.”

Casey froze.

“I’m not blind,” he added. “Neither is Liv.”

Casey tried to stay neutral. “She’s just been helping me out.”

Stabler leaned forward. “You flinch when anyone else touches you—but not her. She practically carries you to the bathroom and you don’t complain.”

Casey didn’t respond.

“She loves you,” Stabler said bluntly. “And you love her. But you’re both so damn afraid to say it, I’m starting to think we should lock you in the interrogation room until one of you cracks.”

Casey’s breath caught.

“I don’t deserve her,” she whispered. "She’s new to this job, still believes in things. I’m—”

“Casey.” He met her eyes. “Don’t push her away because you think you’re broken. She knows what she’s walking into. Let her love you anyway.”

//////////////////////////

End of part 1 ✨️ Lmk if you enjoyed it! Part 2 coming soon (comment if you wanna be tagged when it comes out)

[h0efor2ho]

Hi, how are you?

May I request something about reader being best friends with The8 and secretly fucking/seeing Hoshi (his roommate) The8 catches reader riding him in their living room and instead of walking away The8 jerks off to them having sex

If you decide to write thank you and even if you don’t thank you for your work 💕

I'm so happy someone other then me is enjoying my work lol so thank you<3

2) I can not tell you how excited I got thinking about this!!

I started writing it at work in a email to myself I couldn't wait lol

I hope you enjoy!!

WC : 1.6K

TW : Voyeurism, Secret Boyfriend! Hoshi, Best Friend! Minghao, Jerking off, Unprotected sex ( wrap it up everybody ) Cream pie.

"We only have a hour" Hoshi moans into your mouth as he pulls you down onto his lap. You straddle him, your pretty sundress bunching up around your thighs as you settle again the bulge straining against his sweat pants. "He left 15 minutes ago" He says pulling back to pull off his shirt exposing his chiseled body to you. 

You can't help your hands from roaming over the plains of his defined muscles. "I hate sneaking around and lying to him" you say meeting Hoshi's eyes as you grip the bottom of your dress and pull it up over your head. "I know babe" He says with softness in his eyes. "But you know how he is. I don't know how he'll take it when we tell him we're dating. God look at you didn't even put panties on"  "There could be worse things" you say lifting up on your knees allowing Hoshi to slide his pants down around his ankles. "Yea there could be" He says gripping your hips "Like you not sitting your pretty pussy on my cock right now" He tugs you down gently. You grab his cock and guide him to your wet entrance. Coating his tip in your juices before slowly sliding down onto him till your completely full of him.

"F-Fuck" Hoshi moans out as you adjust to his length. It's not long before your bouncing up and down on his dick. The room filled with the wet sounds of your body meeting, your moans and his grunts. Your so lost in the moment you don't hear the front door open and close. You don't hear the sound of keys hitting the entry table, or the foot steps coming down the hall. 

"So this is the stuff you had to do that you couldn't come to the gym with me?" 

Your blood runs cold. You hault your movements, eyes going wide as you look at Hoshi, Who is already wrapping his arms around your back pulling you to his chest to shield you from view. You tilt your head and look over your shoulder and there stands your secret boyfriends roommate, your best friend Minghao. His eyes dark and his brows drawn together. 

"Geez man you scared me" Hoshi says looking over your shoulder. "I forgot my airpods and well I'm not the one fucking my best friend, who i told you was off limits I might add, in the middle of our living room" "Hao'" you softly say, his eyes looking at you "Don't Y/N. I told both of you that friends were off limits as fuck buddies. It gets messy and I don't want to have to chose" "but it's not like that" you say looking at Hoshi. "How is it not, your stuffed full of his cock right now I literally see it with my own eyes" Hoshi gives you a devilish smile. "It's different because we're actually dating" He says, looking past you to Minghao. You wish you could see the look on his face as he just gives you a "huh" you peel yourself from Hoshis chest, turning to face Minghao more. "It's true Hao. We've been together for 3 months now. I'm sorry we didn't know how to tell you"

You expect him to get mad, to yell at you guys for lying. What you don't expect is for him to walk over and sit on the couch next to you and Hoshi. "Well don't stop on my account." he says. "what?" you as, eyes going bit wide. They both look up at you. You feel both sets of eyes racking over your exposed body. Minghao looks at Hoshi than back to you. "Hao' here, well he likes to watch, as you can see" Hoshi says, you follow his gaze down to your best friends lap where his basketball shorts are currently being tented by his hard cock. Your eyes shoot back up to the wall behind the couch. "Ohhh" your boyfriend says "Don't you like that babe?" His hand coming up to grip your chin tilting it down to look at him.

"She most definitely clenched around my cock" he gives Minghao a sideways glance before looking back at you "You like that idea? Minghao watching as I fuck you?" Your walls again involuntary squeeze Hoshis dick. You can't deny the idea pools heat in your stomach. "Yea she does" before you know it he's pulling you down into a needy kiss. His hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them as he gently starts to rock you back and forth. Hoshi pulls away slightly. "What do you say pretty. Can Hao' watch as I make you cum? I know you like the idea of being watched. I can feel how wet you're getting" You glance down at your best friend, who is now trying to subtly rub his cock through his shorts. You cant hold back any more "Yes" you moan out, rocking your hips in rhythm with Hoshi's hands. 

Before you know it Hoshi was you spun around, your back pressed to his chest and he rams his cock up into you. Across from you Minghao has his cock in his hand. You cant help but look at his hand pumping up and down his long cock. Pre cum oozing from the pretty pink tip. He's moving his hand in time with Hoshi's thrust's up into you. You watch as his slender fingers grip his shaft on the down ward tug. How he's trying not to thrust his hips up into his hand. How he's biting his bottom lip to keep from moaning to. You watch as his pumps pick up speed, becoming a bit erratic. Just at that moment Hoshi's hand snacks across your stomach to dip and find your clit. Rubbing tight circles on your nerve. "Come on and show Hao' what it looks like when you cum baby" he says into your shoulder. 

Your hips start to meet his thrusts, just as Minghao's reserve breaks and he starts to thrust up into his hand. His head falling back as he lets out a groan. "Fuck" he says. His eyes coming back to look at where you and Hoshi's body meets. "You take his cock so well" The coil in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter as you watch your best friend jerk off to you and your boyfrind fucking. Your walls begin to tighten, Hoshi knows you're close, angling his thrusts he hits the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. "fu-fuck" you cry out as you tighten around his cock. 

Your thrust over the edge, your release running down his cock as he begins to slam into you. His thrusts determined. You watch as Minghaos eyes are glued to your cunt. "Shit" he moans right before his abs tighten and streams of hot cum shoot from the tip of his cock coating his hand and abs. Hoshi slams into you one more time before he still. "Fuck fuck!" he shouts as his cock twitches inside you, coating your walls in hot sticky cum. You close your eyes, trying to regulate your breathing. Hoshi's arms wrapped around you, his face nuzzled into your neck. When you open your eyes, Minghao is gone. 

You start to panic for a moment, afraid you just ruined your friend ship between not only you and him, but him and Hoshi as well. A moment later you hear his footsteps as he rounds the corner. A warm wet rag in his hand. He makes his way over handing it to Hoshi, who slowly pulls out of you and onto his lap. Using the rag he helps clean you up. Minghao takes a seat back on the couch, looking at the both of you. A smile warms his lips. Silence settles over the room, heavy but not uncomfortable. The air still hums with the remnants of what just happened, an unspoken understanding hanging between the three of you. Hoshi presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder before moving to clean himself off, while Minghao watches, his smile lingering but unreadable.

"Well," Minghao says again, tilting his head as if processing the moment. His gaze flickers between you and Hoshi before he leans back into the couch, one leg crossing over the other. "That was... unexpected." You swallow hard, still catching your breath. Your mind races with a thousand thoughts—Was he upset? Was this a mistake? Had you just ruined something you didn’t even realize needed protecting? Hoshi, still warm against you, chuckles softly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. "You’re acting like you didn’t enjoy it." Minghao huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t say that." He pauses, his gaze settling on you. "Are you okay?"

The sincerity in his voice sends a strange warmth through your chest. You nod slowly, adjusting your position against Hoshi, who holds you a little closer. "Yeah," you murmur. "I’m okay." Minghao studies you for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied with your answer. Then, he shifts, stretching his arms above his head before letting out a breath. "Well, now that we’ve crossed that line… what happens next?" The question hangs between the three of you, heavy with meaning. You glance at Hoshi, who meets your eyes with a knowing look, before turning your gaze back to Minghao. "I guess that depends," you say softly.

Minghao smirks, the sharpness of it softened by the warmth in his expression. "Depends on what?" You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "On what we want this to be." The room falls into silence again, but this time, it's not uncertainty that lingers, it's anticipation.

** If you enjoyed, please reblog **

[noirsdoll]

-> pretty please? part four

all aboard! | the dinner party | room for three | nothing even matters

pairing: curly / wife!reader / jimmy

words: 4.0k

tags: referenced rape, anal sex (m/m), oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), missionary (f/m), curly and reader are married with two kids, anya and reader are 'friends', jimmy went to prison, references of jimmy's abuse towards anya, tiny feet mention, homophobia and use of the f slur, plot with porn, cheating, world's worst polycule, omniscient cucking

notes: i was stuck on that last scene for like. two months LMAO sorry this took so long omg no one asked for this but i need to make their lives worse idk. also wrote some more anya in here. curly's #1 antagonist is his bisexuality

read it on ao3

Curly is wrong.

He’s been wrong in arguments— you tell him as much. It’s easier that way. You’re right, he’s wrong, that way things stay stagnant. You don’t blow up at him and he doesn’t have to do anything he regrets.

He and Jimmy are in the backseat of the car, a five-seater to fit the whole family. Curly’s used to squeezing in the back with the kids because you don’t trust Jimmy near them. He understands. You’re right, he’s wrong— there’s no point in a fight. 

But he’s never felt wrong.

Curly hiccups, his face flushed with alcohol. Jimmy, startlingly sober, is sitting next to him. Jimmy’s feet are propped up against the back of the front seat, smearing dirt from his ratty sneakers. It’s so dark outside that Curly can hardly see anything.

The kids are inside sleeping; the pair are parked in the driveway, only recently back from the bar. This is the only time you let them both leave together. You don’t yell, you just sigh, well, because there’s no point in a fight. 

Jimmy doesn’t hold hands and doesn’t say anything that isn’t concealed in fifty layers of snark. He is unfeeling and unattached, yet Curly is so drawn to him. Moth to flame, gun to his head, does it matter anymore?

Here, they are in the dark and hidden. Here, Curly is free to sin. 

Jimmy uses his teeth more than his lips. He leaves marks because he knows you won’t say anything. You know what’s happening here just as much as Curly is pretending he doesn’t. He’s crowded against the car door, broad expanses of chubby muscle and big tits like a girl.

Jimmy plays with them like they really are tits, flicking his nipple and biting down on one hard enough to make Curly cry out, tears beading on his waterline. He even fucking cries like a girl. Jimmy doesn’t even need to say it— Curly is thinking it.

Perhaps he is a girl. You made him your bitch, going so far as to parade him around to the former crew like a trophy, perfectly situated at your feet.

Jimmy digs his unclipped fingernails into Curly’s flesh, fatty muscle spilling past his fingers. His pants are bunched around his thighs, his knees are bent and shoved up to his chest, situated awkwardly on the seats. 

Jimmy clicks open a bottle of lube. The only reason he has one is because Curly begged him to buy some— and if Curly were walking too funny to fuck you properly, you probably wouldn’t feed Jimmy for the following month. 

It’s cold as Jimmy drizzles it down Curly’s balls and his ass, he catches it with his fingers before it soils the car seat. He shudders at the chill, preparing for when Jimmy pushes in. 

There’s no prep and no room to breathe, Curly hates this. It’s painful. Unforgiving. It feels like a punishment. Maybe it should be, Curly finds himself more and more at home with that thought. He should be punished for wanting this. 

One hand shoots up to press flat against the window, his body instinctively trying to squirm away from that first push, the one that aches the most. It never seems to hurt for Jimmy. All he can see is the shadow of Jimmy’s hair and the glint of his smug grin as he nestles his hips flush against Curly’s ass. 

Jimmy fucks mean and rough, fogging up the windows and making Curly feel like nothing. His cock sits uselessly against his stomach, balls heavy and begging for release. You don’t let him cum if you’re mad at him, and you’re always angry at him for something or another. Jimmy lets him orgasm if Curly can get himself there. 

Jimmy’s nicer than you are, Curly finds. Ever since that day, you seem to have a fucking vendetta against him, like he cheated on you and not the other way around. This thing, between him and Jimmy, isn’t even sex, not really. 

If it were, you’d hold it over his head like everything else. Look, honey, you’d say to the kids, Daddy’s a faggot. That’s why they never do it in the house, Curly makes sure of that. He doesn’t want his kids to know about this; he’s supposed to be a man. Men don’t do this.

Jimmy pulls out to cum on Curly’s tongue, it drips down his chin. He spits in Curly’s mouth too for extra measure, finishing off the pretty picture. He swallows it all down.

He didn’t get to cum.

You fucking hate coffee.

You stare down at your crappy cappuccino and then longingly across the table at Anya’s earl grey latte. Anya asked to hang out and Curly was off today, so you agreed. Before departing the hell hole you called home, you made sure to leave a sticky note on the coffee table with thoroughly detailed instructions on how to make baby formula and change diapers. You’d figured she’d be better conversation than your one-year-old.

Anya’s glowing: the type of woman who’s pretty without makeup and treats it like an option. She's wearing a ribbed dull-colored turtleneck. Her hair is long, straightened, and ends at the small of her back. To think, two years ago, you were both on the Tulpar’s twilight cruise.

“How are you doing now, Anya? How’s med school?” You ask with a tight smile.

She brightened up more at that if it was even possible. “Oh, it’s so exciting! I got an internship at a lab, and I’m helping to make mRNA vaccines. The interesting thing about mRNA viruses is that there’s a new strain every year…”

You tune her out, drinking your coffee and pretending not to hate it. It’s giving you a migraine. Anya has money, albeit less now due to student loans, and she looks so irrefutably happy. She’s not waking up at random hours of the night to feed a baby that looks nothing like her husband, she’s not finding new stretch marks every other week, and she’s not constantly mentally exhausted.

“...and yeah, it’s a small job, but it makes me feel part of a bigger picture, y’know?”

“Yeah, completely.” The coffee leaves a film in your mouth that you can’t quite swallow down. That’s what you get for ordering coffee in a tea shop.

She reaches across the table to grab your hand, and you can’t help but glance down at the simple band of silver wrapped around her ring finger. Anya pulls back with a soft laugh. “You’ve noticed! Yeah, he proposed a handful of weeks ago. It's no big deal, really,” she pauses, clearing her throat. “Enough about me. How are you?”

You shrug. “Same old. My eldest just learned how to walk and now he wants to run everywhere. Can’t get a hold of him long enough to feed him.”

Her eyes light up. “I should come over some time! I bet they look just like you, wonderful face and all.”

You smile and agree. You might pass her off to Jimmy to see if all that therapy’s been doing its job. Anya doesn’t know that her beloved Captain paid off Jimmy’s bail so he can suck his dick right at home— no need for a conjugal visit. You wonder if that will sour any opinions on Pony Express’s best.

Eventually, your little play date ends. Anya leaves with a wave and sets off into the dazzling afternoon, a smattering of earth tones and a fluttering maxi skirt.

You rub your eyes with a sigh. It’s time to go back to the kids.

You return to Jimmy on that god-awful couch, watching sports on the TV. You’re used to that—not your kid perched on Jimmy’s knee and playing with him. He’s a mix of you and Curly, thick blond curls with your eyes.

“Dada!” Your kid squeals, giggling as Jimmy tickles his stomach.

Jimmy glances at you and snickers. “You hearing this guy?”

You swallow down your anger. God, not in front of the kid, not in front of the kid. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know that Curly’s his dad. Jimmy’s a deadbeat who’s always hanging around here, so it’s no wonder he got confused. Curly’s off working most days. You can remedy this later.

“Where’s Grant?”

He gestures with his head down the hall. “He’s feeding the baby.”

You ruffle your kid’s hair and kiss his forehead, uneasy about leaving him with Jimmy, but you have bigger fish to fry. Walking into your baby’s room, you find Curly standing there, holding the bottle up to your baby. 

He sees you and his face melts with relief. “Ah, there you are. I’m not sure, no, I don’t know how to do this.” Curly offers both the baby and bottle and you take them.

“Why’d you leave Jimmy alone with our son?” You ask flatly. You’re glancing down at your baby. His features are close enough to Jimmy’s to make you sick.

“I figured he’s got it. He’s been living with us for over a year now, he must’ve picked up some of it—”

Your glare shuts him up. “One thing, Grant. I asked you for one thing.” You sigh, trying not to let your emotions wash over your baby. You read somewhere that they sense that sort of thing. “Could you get his dick out of your mouth long enough to think for yourself?”

Curly’s hands itch at his sides, but you know he won’t hit you when you’re holding his baby, even if said baby looks nothing like him. You continue. “I left you a step-by-step list. What, do you need an instructional video too? His formula is too cold.”

Curly’s forehead creases in a myriad of frown lines. He’s just standing there and pouting. “I read the instructions. They never said to warm anything—I’m trying, okay? I want to be a good father!”

You scoff, appalled. “Oh, you want to be a father all of a sudden? Our kid just called Jimmy his dad, so go to the living room and make fucking sense of that.”

Curly bristles, but he leaves, all six feet of him wilting into a dejected heap. It’s like that pose is muscle memory to him, so perfectly trained into his nature.

“Useless fag,” you mutter, loud enough to make sure Curly hears it.

Jimmy’s got the beloved Captain tonguing his balls in a bar bathroom.

You’re the everpresent cuck in this relationship, whether you know that or not, you know that they fuck at this bar, you know that Curly’s busy getting hard for a man that isn’t you and you just let it happen.

Jimmy thinks you have bad stamina. What, you lost your energy to fight the good fight? To preserve the tranquility of your marriage? You got raped once and you lost your spine. 

He should’ve done it earlier, he should’ve done it on the Tulpar. He should have broken you down early so you weren’t such a fucking nuisance. You have too much of an ego to press charges. Anya didn’t, that’s why she has all his fucking money. Because she was enough of a little bitch to cry on camera and smear his name with loads of filthy shit that didn’t fucking happen.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore. He doesn’t need to want for anything any longer when Curly’s always there to foot the bill and spread his legs for him. Jimmy’s living the dream.

Jimmy doesn’t even care for the sex all that much. It’s a fat load of work to make himself cum—he just likes the way Curly looks with his lips stretched over his balls and seeing his cock hang there unattended and flush with shame.

Curly’s the one with his knees on the dirty tiles, close enough that Jimmy could dunk his head in the urinal and make him lick a cake. He’d fucking like it, if the way his cock is drooling pre has anything to say about it.

Curly wraps a hand around it, his big mitts almost making his dick look small. He pumps it eagerly, squeezing near the tip, treating it too well for what Jimmy thinks he deserves. 

Jimmy presses a shoe up against the underside of Curly’s dick, pushing it against his stomach and soiling a wet spot on his shirt. The soles of his shoes are filthy; he thinks he stepped in dog shit on the way here. Curly doesn’t care, panting around Jimmy’s sack as he continues. 

He rocks his foot back and forth, knowing it hurts. Jimmy couldn’t care less. The dumb Captain can’t even tell the difference, it seems. Curly cums all over himself, staining his shirt. 

Jimmy adds to it, stroking his cock alongside Curly’s mouth as his cum lands on Curly’s thick eyelashes, dribbling down the underside of his shaft. Curly licks it all up. What a fucking faggot. 

Curly stands up, shakily pulling up his pants and examining his ruined shirt with a frown. He’s gonna have to walk out of this bar with this mess all over him. Gonna be hard to hide that, huh?

Curly tries to lean in for a kiss, but Jimmy turns his head. Curly just had Jimmy’s balls in his mouth for the last ten minutes—he’s not interested in finding out what that tastes like. Also, Jimmy doesn’t kiss.  Well, he does, but only when you can see. 

He only does it because you hate it. 

You’re trying to get some sleep after the exhausting day you had. The kids are finally in bed and you’ve barely had enough energy to eat a proper dinner today. Motherhood fucking sucks. You knew it would be hard, but you didn’t expect this. 

Your back always hurts and your feet ache from constantly being kept on them. You’re usually chasing after your oldest to try and get him to strapped into his high chair for dinner or worrying that your baby isn’t latching onto your nipple right. It’s a full-time job and out of the three adults in the house, you’re the only one fulfilling it. 

So when you wake up in the middle of the night to Curly’s entire body weight pinning you down to the mattress, you’re pissed. You can tell he’s drunk because he's burning up, hot enough to raise the global temperature by a couple of degrees. 

“Grant,” you push at his shoulder, but he’s too busy muttering nothing into the crook of your neck. With no response, you shove again. “Grant, can you get off of me?”

“Baby, honey, sweetheart,” he purrs against you. Your breath hitches. 

“Grant?” You ask again, more inquisitive. You can’t help being a little concerned. All that time sucking Jimmy’s dick must’ve given him a lobotomy at this point.

He sits up, his arms on either side of you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, if you were sorry you wouldn’t come home at the ass crack of dawn.” You wrinkle your nose. “God, you reek of beer.”

Curly shakes his head, taking your hand and pressing the palm flat against his chest. Through the thick muscle, you can’t exactly feel his heartbeat, but he stares down at you as if you can, pupils blown wide in the darkness. 

He tugs your hand up until it’s framing his neck, close enough to wrap around his throat and squeeze. “I’m sorry. I wanna be good. I want you—,” he swallows, closing his eyes and sighing. “I want you to think I’m good.”

Curly’s hair falls over his eyes. He takes your hand off of you, kissing your wrist, down your forearm, his warm breath curling over your skin and erupting goosebumps. 

“Grant, what the fuck are you doing?” He’s just babbling now. Does he think this half-assed apology is gonna work on you?

He sits up and kisses your fingertips, one by one. He kicks the blanket off of you, kissing along your exposed stomach, maneuvering his way down until he’s hunched at the foot of the bed. Curly pressed his mouth onto your panties, right over your cunt. You feel his tongue on you through the fabric. 

His arms wrap around your thighs and he continues. You can feel your panties get soaked with slick and his spit. You watch in tempered shock as he hooks the material to the side and delves into your pussy.

It’s pleasant and not half-bad for being done in a drunken stupor. To be fair, you’ve trained him to eat it the way you like it. If he didn’t know how to do it by now, there’d be even greater problems with your marriage.

Yes, you’re aware your marriage has gone to shit. That half-baked plan you cooked up on the Tulpar turned out to be soft-boiled at best. Curly’s too busy warring with his bisexuality to raise his kids and you’re too exhausted to keep Jimmy’s influence away from them.

Pinning the blame on someone has lost all its satisfaction. You’re more interested in making it to the next day, even if it means biting your tongue and letting your husband suck a guy’s dick. Complacency has become your best friend and yelling at Curly for banal things is your side piece.

When you cum, Curly lifts his head from between your legs with a lazy grin. You indulge him and slip your fingers through his hair, dragging your nails against his scalp. His hands mess with the button of his pants, working them down his hips when you stop him with a foot on his stomach. He sits back on his heels, confused.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” You want to hear him say it. You miss when controlling him was as easy as this, as easy as pills in his coffee and a ring on his finger.

Curly takes your foot in his hand, using it to spread your legs wider and shift his hips closer to yours. “I’m sorry, honey. I want to show I’m sorry.”

You make an unimpressed noise. If he wants it, he’ll have to try harder than that.

“Please. Can I?” He’s like a big dog—you can almost hear his tail flopping eagerly against the mattress.

Look at him, asking for permission. It brings a smile to your face. “Yes, of course, you can.”

Curly fishes deep in his pocket for a condom, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it on. He lines himself up with you and slides in with a wet sound. His hand loops around your ankle and he fucks you sloppily. 

You melt into the sheets, watching as his grip on you turns desperate. His moans grow jagged and breathless, forming into one unbroken whine that pings off the walls and blooms warmth in your stomach. 

He slides your feet up to press against his chest, pulling your thighs together and ushering him in deeper, fucking your guts. Curly’s head ducks down and he kisses the pad of your toes. They’re freshly manicured because he loves to pay for it, though it often feels like a gift to him rather than to you. 

“You like it?” You ask, much too content with the gentle rocking of his hips, humping you at a loving tempo. 

Curly moans around your foot, nodding as his tongue darts out to lick your toes and his eyes roll back. Your cunt throbs. You’re a little off put by just how much he likes your feet—but this marriage has been a marathon stretch of appealing to his fetishes. First the dresses, then his humiliation, now this.

He lets go of your ankle, setting it down gently and giving him space to work above you. When he leans over you, rubbing your clit, an idea sparks in your head. You cup his cheek and he takes it and moans into the palm of your hand, eyes glazed over in simplistic pleasure only a man of his caliber can handle.

Curly lifts weights, but all those bar trips with Jimmy are catching up with him. He’s got a little pudge in his belly. It’s just more scalding skin to press against you and it makes you content enough to fall asleep. However, you want to prove a point. 

His cock grinds against your cervix. Curly doesn’t have the energy to pull out enough for a thrust. You moan, the blunt nails of your free hand dragging along his back. Your hips ache with the force of his wanton movements.��

He buries his face in your neck, huffing and whining, warm breath washing over your skin. “Gonna cum—fuck, please, think I’m gonna—,”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, you give his curls a tug to bring him back to Earth. “Didn’t say you could, baby.”

Curly groans then, bordering on animalistic. His hips plow deeper, with more fervor. It’s loud and sloppy to the point where you can hear how wet you are. “Need to—shit, need to. I’m sorry, honey. So, so, sorry,” he cuts himself off with a loud gasp that makes you arch into him. “I need to. Just want to, just once, please.”

You wonder how much of this is him being drunk and how much is not allowing him to cum for weeks. If you let up now, he’ll go soft—softer than he already is. But he’s your husband, and you love him, even if it feels more like a trauma bond now. 

Your neck feels wet, and you realize he’s sobbing, his hips slowing to a torturous cant that makes your thighs shake. Maybe you’re cock drunk, the way you used to be for him, because you let him cum. 

His load follows soon after and he presses his body flat to yours, eager to get every bit of his skin against you. Curly relaxes, the weight of him on you is a comfort you missed. 

You talk him down from his high, mumbling praises, the same ones he gave you that first night on the Tulpar. When he’d first succumbed to you and you’d foolishly believed that would be it. 

You didn’t know enough about him when you made that decision to make him yours—you don’t know much more now, just that this bed is one you’ll have to lay in. For life. 

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling rather than him. “I forgive you, Curly.” Saying that hardly alleviates the pressure in your chest, but it lessens it. 

He looks up at you in shock. “Honey, you don’t have to,” he says. 

You cup his cheek and he leans into you like it’s gravity keeping him tethered. Maybe it is. “You and Jimmy… I don’t want to hear about it or know about it.”

He nods, barely moving an inch, “I won’t tell you.”

His compliance stirs in your stomach. You want it to be a fight—you know what to do when it’s a fight. Now, you just feel lost. Despite your earlier words, you feel the anger in your voice. “It’s cheating.” You struggle to even say the words. “That ring was a commitment to me and you just—,”

He cuts you off. “I didn’t make a commitment to you, honey. I made one to our family,” he whispers into the quiet, sober and soft. 

You purse your lips. It hurts, but it’s what you need to hear. You’d never admit any fault of your own out loud, but you both know it’s there, simmering under everything. The weight of your mistakes built this relationship, Curly’s are the wind that tries to knock down this house of cards.

A part of you wants to be tougher with him, but you’re tired of being tough. You just want to coexist now, inhabit a place where everything is some semblance of normal. 

And maybe you can. If you try hard enough, pretend hard enough, and focus on bringing up your kids right. Maybe that’s what will make it all okay: securing their future. You have to believe it’s true. 

Months later, you receive Anya’s wedding invite. You debate ripping it to shreds.  

[stqrgirlie0]

⋆✮theodore nott-pt 4✮⋆

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

you were running out of concealer, and it was showing. the purplish blue bruise less inconspicuous than the day before. theo had no chill when it came to hickeys- even though you guys weren’t official yet, he saw no problem in marking you his. one could say it just happens in the moment, and honestly why would anyone blame him- especially when he had you pressed up against the wall, head tilted back, mouth parted open, eyes closed and your neck and collarbone exposed. he just can't help himself.

it was becoming a daily routine, everyday right after last period you'd walk past the same empty classroom and everyday you'd hear someone whisper your name from behind the door. not very long after you'd be unbuttoning theo's shirt while he picked you up and sat you onto a desk. your fingers would tangle between theo's fluffy curls while his lips littered kisses and hickeys. soft pants from the both of you filled the air, and your were more than glad that theo did his little magic and muffled the room's noise to the outside. the sound of theo ripping your tights made you gasp out loud as you gave theo a light smack on his shoulder, while he muttered a 'i'll buy you new ones.’ soft kisses planted into your inner thighs and as soon as he was on his knees, he got down to business- ate you out like he didn't have breakfast in the morning. euphoric- that's how you felt every single time this man was on his knees, stars were starting to form in your vision. squeezing your eyes shut, fingers gripping his hair and the edge of the desk, you reached your climax and theo was all over you again, fervent kisses with teeth clashing and soft giggles in between.

obviously you guys hadn't been caught yet, but even if you did, i doubt that it would stop the two of you. this whole thing between you and theo hadn't been out in the open yet, so every moment between you two in front of the group was seen as an interaction between two "friends". it wasn't the best thing however it wasn't the worst. the thrill of getting caught and no one knowing egged on both of your antics, but not being able to grab theo and kiss him in front of the girls that cannot keep their eyes off of him, took a lot off self control. then again having this little secret meant that no one could have a problem with it- what they didn't know couldn't hurt them right?

unsettling thoughts would cross your mind so frequently, that you found yourself asking the question 'what are we?’. not dating but talking, talking but not progressing- what the hell was going on. you wanted it to work out you really did, so why didn't he just ask you out? and just like that your wish was granted- be careful what you wish for tho.. it was romantic you'll admit it- the candle, the flowers, the chocolates, the black lake glistening in the moonlight and the warm breezy air blowing your hair. it was literally a scene out of a romcom and you felt like you would literally MELT for the man right then and there. everything was perfect- so why was there still this iffy feeling? i'll tell you why- despite all of this lovey dovey, will-you-be-my-girlfriend stuff, our man Mr Theodore Nott asked to STILL keep it a secret. now why on gods green earth would he ask that? obviously you wouldn’t let this ruin you mood, you were on cloud nine girl!! but that bridge was fast approaching, and you were gon have to cross it at some point.

months pass by, and you've both still kept it a secret, but boy has it taken a toll on your side. keeping secrets, lying, it's never been your thing and you hate doing it to the people you love and care about. was it all worth it, was it worth the lack of energy and excitement? your secret link ups with theo got more frequent over time obviously- and maybe it was just because your friends just didn't hang out with you because you'd always run off, to him, for him. your lack of energy doesn't go unnoticed, and obviously it's brought up. just not in the nicest way. you're accused of not putting any effort into the relationship, and this sets you off-you see literal red.

‘i don’t know what you’re talking about theo.’ you sigh, standing up.

‘i’m talking about the 0 effort you put into our relationship,’ he says pacing across his dorm room and rubbing his temple. ‘every time we get time alone it’s like as if you can’t wait to fucking go back to your friends or some shit, what the fuck is going on.’

‘what’s going on? what’s going on?’ you seethe, walking right up to him. ‘i’ll tell you what’s going on. it’s that i can’t take this fucking secret thing further. there i said it, i CANT do it.‘ you wave your hands up in surrender.

‘so what, that’s it?’

‘i don’t know, do you want it like that? theo we can’t even talk until we’re behind closed doors, it’s like we’re trapped. you say i put no energy and effort into this, but maybe it’s because i use it all up lying and making excuses for us. it’s not working out..’

the argument only ended with tears and slammed doors. nights that you used to smoke with theo on, turned into nights you sat by yourself, leaning your head against the window, accompanied by only your thoughts. every day going to lessons and acting normal was truly a test, especially when theo would still catch you with his longing eyes across the room. it was so hard but you couldn’t give up, you owed yourself at least that much. your heart yearned for the boy, for the way he would brush your hair out of your face, for the way he would look at you- like you were the prettiest girl in the world, for the way he’d play with your hands every time you slept. it was getting harder and harder by the day, and theo wasn’t finding it any easier. he also longed for how your fingers would play with his hair, for how your nails would scratch down his back. so it wasn’t long before the both of you snapped, and there you guys were making out in the corner of the empty corridor. your top two buttons undone and theo’s hands firmly planted at the sides of your waist, lifting your shirt up a bit as his fingers pressed into your skin. you felt his lips slowly travelling to the middle of your neck, your head leaning back against the wall to allow him as much skin as you could. his lips trailed back up again, finding your jawline as he pressed kisses along. the scene caused the majority of the students walking by, to avert their eyes and fasten their pace down the corridor.

i think it’s pretty much official now.

#i think pt 4’s come to a natural ending.. right.. #id like to confirm that there will not be a pt 5 xoxo #because i genuinely would not know what to write, but hopefully you guys enjoyed the (very unplanned) series♡ #lots of love xoxo

taglist: @iamgayforyourmom1510 @lovelyygirl8

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

For the person, who requested the bullies König and Horangi I accidentally deleted the ask 😔 but! I tried to write down all that I remember and I think it's pretty much all of it. I hope you enjoy it and to let you know how happy you made me with your wonderful kind words💜.

(Warnings: Non-con, Force blowjob, Oral (Fem), Breeding, Humiliation, Degradation, Bullying, Panty sniffing, Full nelson, Creampies, Squirting, Force handjob, Choking, Hair pulling,)

This is dark! If this is not your thing please move past it. You don't have to hate on me just because you don't like what I write. I decided to make this a part one and put 2 because I feel like it would be too long if I didn't so.

Chewing on part of your bottom lip, you looked up at the building of the College you attended. Dark gray clouds dominated the usual blue sky, and the scent of rain heavily whiffed in the air. You huffed a sigh as you began to walk with your fellow students, you muttered thank you to the boy who was nice enough to open the bulky door for you as you watched the floor, squeezing your books more against your chest as you heard the hectic, loud chatter of friends meeting friends.

You hesitantly looked ahead and a few feet from your locker were the men who loved making your life miserable, you still felt the bruises from them holding your wrist too hard. König, the Star Quarterback and captain of the football team, and Horangi the most liked member of the basketball team. Both transfer students from different countries who became the populars of popular people. Horangi laughed and könig smiled as if someone must have made a good joke and like some sixth sense of torture, they looked your way, wicked smirks on their lips once they saw you.

Whoever was up there took pity on you and the ball rang, sparing you from their torturous ways, for now.

The ball rang for the last time, signaling the closing of the college and for everyone to head to their dorms. Slowly you packed your stuff, while the rest of your classmates hurried to leave your last class and go home. By the time you were walking to your locker, the hallway was bare of life, your footsteps brought a ghastly, eerie feeling to the otherwise silent path, it felt like you could hear your breathing echo around you.

You drop your backpack and shove your shelved books in it, sway it over your shoulder, and continue your journey to your dorm. Your yelp was muffed as a large hand clapped around your mouth and pulled you within a lightless janitor closet. "Don't scream unless you want to be hurt, Ja Liebling?" the austrian voice of one of your bullies purred from behind you and took his hand away. Horang stepped closer to you after turning on the light and reached out to move a stay hair behind your ear.

"P-please just let me g-go." you stuttered, heartbeat was beating like a drum in your ears. "No can do, sweetheart." König cooed, spun you around, forced you to your knees, fisted your hair, and shoved your face against his bulge, "Scheiße! Braves Mädchen! (fuck! good girl!)" he groaned, throwing his head back,  and squeezed his celeste eyes shut as he humped your cheek, in desperate strokes. "Such a good girl." Horangi purred in agreement as he replaced his best friend's hand and yanked your head back as König rushed to unbelt his pants and pulled them down, his girthy dick slapped his stomach from his fast movements. Your eyes widen at the sight, he is long, veiny, big, and has an uncut head. 

Both men chuckled and smiled wickedly at your terrified expression. König pumped his cock, pre-cum drooling out of the slit on his bulbous tip, suddenly he thrusted his dick into your maw and throat, you gagged harshly, you never sucked a dick before, and if you have it wouldn't be as huge.

Horangi pushed your head forward as König drew his hips back and snapped them, causing you to gag again. The salty/ sweet pre-cum overpowered your taste buds as König used your throat as a fleshlight, a mess of saliva and pre-cum pouring down your chin, his sticky heavy, full balls smacked your chin his ginger pubes dark and wet. They smelled a little bit musky an almost addiction scent.

You peaked through your eyelashes and the sight above you had your core heat up with slick. König'd broad chest heaved and sweat glued his usual fluffy and mid-ear cut hair to his forehead, his groans and moans high-pitched in tone. His thrusts fasten, his balls tighten, and unexpectedly robes of his warm cum, painted your mouth white and forced you to swallow every drop.

Once he pulled out after staying in place, you coughed have nearly choked on his jizz. You didn't have time to rest when you were lifted from your spot on the tiled floor and pushed into Horangi's chest "Forgot about me,여자 아기? (babygirl)". He pouted before taking off your shirt, bra, and skirt and when he got to your panties, he took a deep whiff of the crotch area, his honey-brown eyes rolling back in his head as he inhaled the tang of your arousal. 

You whimper as your body begins to heat up at the pervy vision of his clear satisfaction.

When your form was completed naked you shoved back into his taller, giant companion. Your back against his chest, your legs now in his forearms and hands behad your head as he lined his cock with your opening "Don't worry Schatz, I'm gonna fuck this whore of cunt till you see Sterne. (Stars)" he said before dropping you down onto it, inch by inch buried into your cunt until he was balls deep. "Scheiße!(Fuck!)" König growled and drilled his cock up.  Each snap of his hips slammed his tip to your cervix, it was so fucking good! You aren't a virgin but they never had any good rhythm, never moved their hips at a good angle. You moaned feeling Horangi's pink tongue lapping at your clit, hooking into the hood and König jerked his cock at an angle that glazed your G-spot and cervix with powerful thrusts. Hornagi used the tip of his tongue to flick to his friend's movements before suckling in your swollen bud and the knot within broke, your pussy clenched and sprayed your juices onto König's dick and balls, a load of warmth filled with your cunt, thag must have been the groaning man that hold you in his arms cum. 

You panted but you didn't have the time to rest as your back touched the cool tile and your leg threw over Horangi's shoulder, eyes black and hair messy like he ran his fingers through to push back his bangs that stop semi-past his eyebrows, his blue jeans off and his dick hard. His was just as thick yet not as long as Königs, the head cut, and balls heavy, ready to pour his potent in a breedable hole. He wasted no time and slammed into your wet core, Horangi leaned down, and the very motion dug himself deeply, "Is our little toy ready to get her brains fucked out?" Horangi chuckled as you whined pathetically for him to move. A second chuckle joined with his, and  from your peripheral König kneeled by you, pumping his cock "Ja, she's already becoming a cock hungry whore for us." König grinned grabbed hold of your hand, and made your fist his large cock. You felt a wave of humiliation and embarrassment but that didn't last as Horangi began to jackhammer into you, grinding into your cervix, his now wet dark pubes became sticky with slick rubbed at your bud of nerves and that was enough to get your toes curling, your moans, and squeals was music to your bullies. Just as good as a song from your whimpers of pain when they hurt you.

"Goddamn bitch!" Horangi growled in pleasure, the feeling of your clenching cunt edged him closer to his climax, and he'd never admit but your pussy was the best he had so far. His pounding was harsh, fast , and precise, you gasped as he kissed you deeply, sneaking his tongue past your lips and swirling around yours. All the while König groaned at the sight, watching you become more and more cockdrunk, he bit his lip as he fucked your closed hand like your core.

With one thrust Hroangi spilled his seed into your already cum filled cunt his hips continued to jerk and stutter. You came with a powerful vengeance, your body couldn't handle it. And the void welcomed you into it's dark embrace.

(shout to @diejager and @konigsblog for making me addicted to these men)

[basilone]

Reorganizing my harddrive brought this little gem up today, and as we're in the season of sharing... Gale/Lottie post-war, anybody? I'm adding a warning for explicit sexual content, but it's just a little snack and not a whole meal in that respect. 😉

She doesn’t need to look.

There is the jingle of his keys, abruptly dying down as they scrape against the small porcelain dish they both hate but keep on hand for keys anyway. There is the immediate scuff and drop of his boots, laces seemingly already loosened, kicked off before he even crosses the bedroom’s threshold. There goes his watch and there goes her ring that he keeps on a necklace when he goes away without her. She hears the snap of the lid to her new jewelry box, which he got for her this past Christmas just because he got tired of seeing her stuff scattered everywhere on her small vanity table.

It’s been a good flight, because he pauses near her chair long enough to remove his jacket. The rustle of his jacket meeting the back of her chair before his cufflinks drop atop his pile of books is familiar. The tread of his footsteps is light – an easy flight, then, if he still carries so much spring in his step – and she bites back a smile when his shirt meets her bare feet. He folds it neatly, fingertips ghosting at her ankles, warmth of his hands tickling the soles of her feet. Undoubtedly he sets it aside atop the dresser for laundry day, next to her own small pile of shirts that has accumulated in his absence.

The bed dips. He fits in the hollow of her body, seated between her arms and legs. Her nose crinkles as his scent permeates her space soon after.

“Jesus Christ, Gilly,” she laments, still not bothering to open her eyes, “you smell like a damn bonfire. Like them fireworks from last month, too.”

“Drove past a fire, stopped to help because one of their dogs had escaped. Told them I had practice catching one.”

“Meatball’s been good for somethin’, huh.” She cracks one eye open. Stretches until she can fold her fingers around the crease of his pants, just above his knee. “Everybody make it out all right? Fire not too bad?”

“They’ll lose an outbuilding, but they managed to put it out before it spread,” he sighs, rubbing at his eyes before raking his hair back. “They’re all fine. Kids were crying, but I still had those lollipops in the car and that seemed to do enough to calm ’em some.”

Lottie can’t help but smile as she opens her eyes to look at him properly. “Regular ole saint, you.” She pokes at his knee until he hisses through his teeth and covers her fingers with his hand. “Bet them kids thought you were a lollipop angel or somethin’ like that. Saving the dog, givin’ out treats… I’m glad everybody made it”– she adds, more sober than teasing now –“damn bad business to have a fire going in this heat.”

“Mmm. Depends.”

“On?”

Her belly flutters as his hand lands warm on her side. She still tries to frown at him. Knows she has failed when his mouth quirks into a soft smile and the squeeze of his hand becomes more pronounced. He turns toward her, then, scooting back onto the bed until his back presses against her thighs.

“On the type of fire,” he says, then, still smiling, eyes alight with a mischief she knows all too well. “You seem to have had a heat crisis of your own while I was out.”

She preens a little. Stretches out languidly, eyeing the ripple of muscle in his arm as his hand comes to rest on her hip. “Had a cold bath earlier,” she says, “kept my hair out of that hassle”– it takes too long to dry now, having grown well past her shoulders again –“but then just… didn’t wanna get dressed no more.”

“Lazy,” he tuts, voice softening. “You feelin’ all right, Lot?”

“Yeah. Just a little drowsy, ’s all.” She illustrates it with a slow blink as his hand slips under her to meet the small of her back. Smiles at the small frown that creases his brow. “Whatcha doin’, baby?”

“Thinking.”

“Mmm, Gilly,” she warns, arching into his touch, smiling bigger still, “don’t think too long on whatever it is. Doing is better.”

He bows until his lips brush her upper arm, streaking a kiss just past her elbow. “Is it?”

“If you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna,” she allows, squirming a little as his lips travel to meet her shoulder. “Nobody ever got off on thinking before, ya know?”

“I don’t know, Lot,” he says, voice slightly muffled as he readjusts his position on the bed. “Sure got hard enough the other day when I thought of you. Cock twitching just thinking about how sweet you taste, how you sound right before you tell me you need me.” A laugh sparks in his eyes before he actually huffs his amusement out in the small space between them. “Thought about you on my lap so much it made my cock leak before I even got my hand around it.”

“Ah, but ya did wrap your hand around it,” she says, rather pointedly, squirming a little more as his lips meet the hollow of her throat before his touch vanishes again. “Couldn’t wait until you got home, huh? Bet you were doin’ that the same night I slipped my fingers inside of me”– she’s almost sure of it, because it’s always the same day the other’s absence grows almost too much to bear –“even though they ain’t a match for your cock at all.”

“How’d you do it this time, hm?” he asks, squeezing her hip none too gently. “Because when I thought of you, Lot, I thought of you down flat on your belly”– his voice lands against her ear now, all warm purr and honey-coated tease –“working your hand between your body and the sheets, palm pressed against that little nub I love sucking on when I’ve got my mouth on you.” She shivers as his warm breath meets her skin before he presses a soft kiss just below her ear. “Thought of you raising your hips for me, showing me how deep your fingers have slipped while you were waiting for my cock. Thought of pressing you down by winding my hand into your hair and telling you to put your hand away.”

“Would only do that if you promised I could get your cock,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss of her own against his days-old stubble. “Would be whining for it something fierce. And yeah,” she admits, flushing ever so slightly, “I had to fix them sheets on this bed after I was through the other night, had myself dripping down my thighs a little too much once I’d fucked myself with my fingers and thought I could rub myself again after.” She grins, unapologetic, as his soft groan greets her ears. “Just like you thought I did, Gilly. Bet you’re sorry you missed that, huh?”

“Missed it?” His hand moves further under her, coaxing her to roll back onto her side. “I didn’t miss a damn thing, sweetheart.” His other hand is in her hair now, while his lips still move against her ear. “Fuck, Lottie,” he groans out as her hand slips against his waistband, “you’re acting like I’m not going to make you come over and over again today.”

“Oh really? You gonna make me come, huh? Gonna ruin our sheets a second time this week?”

“Until you beg me to stop,” he promises, “and then I’ll need your mouth on me until you can take me again. Think you can do that, Lot? Be that good to me?”

She nods, breathless, as he rolls her over on her belly and immediately moves to straddle her bare thighs. “Yeah, I’m gonna be good to ya,” she promises, already arching her back, seeking friction against him. “You gonna keep talking that dirty to me tonight?” Heat suffuses her belly at the thought, knowing what it’s often accompanied by. “You gonna make me beg for it until I cry, ain’t ya?”

“I like how you sound when I put you on that edge,” he agrees easily. His undershirt meets the floor as he presses flush against her ass, making his own want perfectly clear to her. “Had you screaming through your teeth last time, didn’t I?”

Lottie groans out loud as his hand squeezes her hip. “Fuck, Gilly, gonna scream the fucking house down if ya give it to me that good again.”

His voice is a rasp against her ear as he bodily presses against her. “Touch yourself while I get undressed, Lot, and don’t you dare make yourself come with that.”

“What’re you gonna do if I…”

“Pin you down and not let you come a second time tonight until you promise to be good,” he replies evenly, as though he’s talking about the weather rather than about her. “I know how you sound when you’re close. And I know you can come just from being fucked at the right angle, so I’ll change that just enough too.”

“Gilly…”

“Mm?”

“You’re fucking evil,” she snickers, allowing her hand to travel down to her innermost thighs. She turns her head on the mattress enough for him to see how broad her grin has become. “I fucking love you so damn much.”

The press of his kiss against her head is sudden, fierce, wild. He punctuates it with a small swat to her ass that leaves her gasping. “Love you too, Squeak,” he says, rising from the bed. “Missed you.”

“Missed you more,” she smiles, eyes alight as her husband begins to strip out of his remaining uniform. “You gotta come back to bed, handsome,” she teases, slipping a single finger between her wet folds without bothering to bite her moan back. “Don’t leave your poor wife alone like that, it ain’t fair…”

His laugh is soft. “Only you could pout about being left alone for a minute tops.”

“And ya love me for it.”

“That I do,” he murmurs, hand patting her cheek. “Always.”

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Ron/chris prompt, if you don't mind?

While still flying together, Ice and Slider go missing, hurt probably, but alive somehow.

Mav goes against orders and secrecy and warns Chris, because Chris deserves to know and Mav needs someone who understand. They don't know what happened, nor if their boyfriends are even alive. They cam only wait for them to come home to them

Aki I will quite literally never mind writing about them.

Mav was off on forced leave when he got the call. He was with Carol. He collapses, falls straight to his knees.

Technically he’s not supposed to know that they’re MIA, but somehow the admiral got a soft spot for him and called.

God it’s only been a year since top gun. He can’t lose Tom without not knowing so much about him.

Oh god.

Chris.

Chris who is in small town in Texas waiting for three weeks from now where they get to meet a ship together and have their boyfriends back.

Mav dodges past Carol and throws up. “It’s fine I can’t talk about it. But they’re MIA. I gotta go.” Carol looks worried. She gives him a hug and a kiss on his head. “Go we love you it’ll be fine.”

He’s gotta tell Chris. He can’t not tell him. He’s known them both for so long this might kill him. He gets the next flight to Texas.

Chris is woken up by pounding on his door. He has a split second where he thinks he missed his shift but no it’s a Saturday and also 4am.

He pulls on pants and wanders out to the front door, he opens it.

It’s Mav.

Chris knows what that means.

He starts crying. He starts shaking so hard he has to hold onto the wall. “It’s Ron isn’t it. He’s dead.”

Mav shakes his head, he pulls Chris into a hug. “It’s both of them. They’re MIA. Neither of us are even supposed to know.”

And just like that. Mav breaks. He realizes how bad this could be. He knows the odds. They collapse together on the porch. Holding on and crying.

“Mav you can’t go after them I can’t loose you too.” Their in bed now. Still holding on to each other. Chris had dug out a sweatshirt that’s so clearly Tom’s that it made Mav a little sick. He pulled it on without hesitation.

He sighs. “I can’t promise because the Navy might make me. But you know I’ll try.”

Chris let’s out a shaky breath. He just starts talking. “I’ve known them since I was 23. I don’t know how to live without them Mav.” He sniffs and smiles. “Have you had the experience of Tommy being really drunk and singing?” Mav shakes his head with a small smile “he doesn’t always losen up still. He’s been getting better though.”

Mav didn’t know that Chris had known them for so long. God no wonder Tom kept Ron’s accident a secret. That would’ve actually killed Chris.

~

It’s been three days. Three days of no sleep. Just straight walking.

Ron honestly doesn’t know exactly where they are. He just knows that Tom’s arm is broken and he’s got a hell of an concussion, and that they need to find people soon.

Fortunately they found water yesterday and have been following that. Where there’s water there’s people.

Tom hasn’t let go of his hand since yesterday. At first Ron thought it was so keep track of him. But the longer Ron watches he thinks it’s something more. The way Tom screamed when they had to land with their parachutes and how Ron had to sit for a second after landing.

He guesses it reminds him of a few years ago.

They’ve been hearing planes go over for the last day. People must be looking for them.

He hopes they find them before the cut on his leg makes him bleed out.

He can’t do that to Tommy.

God Chris.

If he thinks about Chris right now he won’t be able to focus.

“You doing okay Tommy?” “I want to go home and curl up with Mav. I wanna watch from the couch with him and see you and Chris be in the kitchen together dancing.”

Ron let’s out a small sob. He laughs. “I know. I do to.”

They keep going.

~

They’re back in California together. Chris refused to let Mav go back by himself, which Mav might never admit but he appreciates it. He hates sleeping by himself now. It’s been almost a year of sleeping with Tom. He’s too used to someone else breathing.

They share a bed. Chris wakes up with nightmares almost as often as Mav.

Mav had no idea Chris had so many nightmares. Thought he’d be free from that since he’s a civilian.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

The amount of times he’s woken up with Tom or Ron’s name in his mouth makes Mav think there’s a bit too much history of their boys coming back home to Chris injured.

They run on the beach together before Mav has to go to work. Chris has basically cleaned their entire house. He said he’s going to start on the flowerbeds next.

When they shower they cry. They both pretend to not hear it but they sob.

~

They stumbled into an air base. Tom can’t believe their luck. He turns to grab onto Ron but sees how pale he is. It’s been almost 9 days. He’s not shocked at how pale he is but it’s concerning. They’re in the med bay when a nurse asks how long Ron’s been bleeding.

Tom has no idea. “He never said he was. I didn’t know.”

She nods and touches his hair. It reminds him so much of his mom that he starts crying. She looks startled but ends up holding his hand until Ron is back. He’s got a blood drip.

“Hey Tommy.”

“Hey Ron. Ready to go home?”

~

Mav gets the call at around 6 am. They’re just about to leave on a run. When he hangs up he grabs onto Chris. “They found them.”

Chris collapses against the counter. He can’t believe it. “Alive?” “Alive.” He slides into the floor.

“They’re coming home today. Should be here by 7pm.”

“Oh god Mav.”

Chris starts crying with a smile this time. He knows it will be bad. Missing for 12 days will make it bad. He can’t wait to see Tom and Ron.

-

Chris can’t stop bouncing lightly in place. He’s technically not supposed to be here for this but Mav got him in.

They’re both walking off the plane.

Oh god.

When they finally reach the entrance to the building they see each other. Ron gasps. “Chris?”

“Hey flyboy.” Ron starts crying. It’s the first time since he found out they’re fine he’s cried. He grabs onto Chris. He doesn’t care who sees.

He can see Mav and Tom holding on just as tight.

They pull away and switch hugging. Ron and Mav hug for much shorter amount of time then Chris and Tommy.

They all hold hands when going into the hospital, they just have to get their blood tested and then they can go home.

4 months off.

Ron doesn’t want to say there’s an upside to this but he thinks there might be one.

-

They all go back to Tom and Mav’s place. “Chris what the fuck did you do to the flower beds?”

They’re huge. Tom doesn’t have any abilities to keep plants alive. Mav is worse then he is.

“Guess I’ll have to come back and take care of them then.”

Tom loops his unbroken arm around Chris and presses a kiss to his head. “Yeah you will.”

Ron smiles. He reaches out and puts a hand on Mav’s shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of each other. You’ve got no idea how much it means to me.”

Mav smiles back, “Of course I was gonna tell him. I knew how badly I would want to know. I couldn’t leave him in Texas just waiting.”

“Hey y’all coming?” Ron smiles at Chris. He thinks it might be time to try and get married.

Maybe not legally. But physically. Mentally.

He’s got 4 months he can talk him into that. But now? He passes Mav over to Tom and takes Chris back. “Yeah we’re coming.” He kisses him. Doesn’t even care that they’re on the front porch.

He hears Mav make a shocked sound and knows Tom is kissing him also.

He pulls away. “Come on I wanna hold you.”

Chris smiles up at him. “Come on Tommy, I wanna watch you try and figure out things without your hand.”

They end up in the bedroom. Chris is leaned under Tom’s shoulder. Broken arm in his lap next to Ron’s head. Ron’s got a hand tossed over Tom’s legs holding onto Mav’s shirt. Mav is curled almost exactly like Ron. Chris keeps running his hands through Ron’s hair, Tom’s petting Mav almost the exact same. He can’t believe they’re as fine as they are.

He’s not religious. But he says thank you to the universe anyways.

[vampy-campy]

snippet from a fool's paradise chapter 9

"What do you mean, purge the area?"

"Of vampires."

"You went out to kill vampires?"

"It's an epidemic."

"How many?"

"I lost count," Armand says and looks away again.

"Why?" slips out of Daniel's mouth.

Cool breath against his ear. Cool hands on the skin of his torso.

Armand looks past him again, this time out the window, into the night. "You know why. You know how to work it against me. Now you keep me as your hostage."

"Bullshit," Daniel says again but he is not quite as sure anymore. "You're stronger than me."

"What is the measure of strength? The load one can bear?" Armand asks the black night. He's closing in on himself again, crossing his arms to his chest.

"I wasn't going to die," Daniel defends himself. Armand doesn't react to it. Why don't you look at me! In his impatience, Daniel snaps: "I thought you went to Marius," and now that has an effect. Every last small movement in Armand stops. The pause is not long but it is noticeable. Then he starts again, like someone had pressed 'play'. "Marius burned," Armand says, and he does not seem strong at all, but small and hurt and helpless, and Daniel feels cruel, cruel for the game he has played and cruel for mentioning the name, cruel like man is cruel against those he traps, just because he can.

"In a fire," Armand continues. He seems to be talking to himself. It's too much. Daniel takes a careful step forward, then gets down on his knees and starts crawling closer. This is how one approaches a hurt animal. If Daniel lets him out of his sight he might disappear, yet if he moves too harshly he'll jump away. Daniel feels it now: he doesn't hate Armand. How could he? He's close enough now to touch Armand's foot. At the contact, one of them flinches, or maybe they both do. Same blood, in Daniel's hand and in Armand's foot, drawing closer. Daniel wraps his fingers around the ankle. It's so very slim, his thumb can almost meet the tips of his fingers. Armand is still, except for breathing. His breathing is the only sound in the room.

After a moment Daniel feels a hand on his head, like a blessing. He leans against the contact, it's muscle-memory, and Armand curls his fingers in his hair. Daniel slides his hand higher up the ankle, inside the hem of the pant leg.

"Daniel…" Armand breathes. Daniel wraps his arm around the leg and presses his head against Armand's left knee, clings to it, because now Armand is here. The blood runs hot inside him. Armand is cool against it, his hand is cool against Daniel's head. Then Armand leans in, grabs Daniel's hair and pulls his head back, forcing Daniel to look at him.

"Is it what you always wanted?" Armand whispers to him with a strange look on his face. "This life?"

Always is a strange choice of word. Armand says always and means something Daniel doesn't know — something Daniel lost. You took it from me! Daniel says in his mind as he looks in Armand's eyes. The black irises are like two deep wells. He forgets to answer the question.

"Do you regret it?" The voice is Daniel's but the question is not his, no, it comes from somewhere deeper. His hand has moved up the leg, below the knee, and his fingers press deeper against it, demanding. Armand loosens his grip in response, he moves his hand to Daniel's cheek so delicately, the cold fingers brushing the skin, titillating, and Daniel shudders an exhale. Oh, he's good, a tiny voice of reason whispers somewhere, he's got you here on your knees, ready to beg for a piece of him. You're pathetic. And it's right, but it simply doesn't matter, not now. Daniel's starving, his fangs are out and dug into the inside of his lip, his heart and lungs flutter and spread the heat all over his body, his cock is painfully erect, and he needs someone to touch him, he needs Armand to touch him, this vile, cold, insane creature.

Another kiss of the cold fingertips on his face and Daniel loses it, he brings his hands to Armand's waist and finds the waistband of the pants — how can his hands shake so? — and he struggles the button open. Then he needs to take breath to steady himself before he manages to touch the zipper —

read more at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59039512/chapters/172258933

[blues824]

Happy Holidays! Could I have Housewardens + Jamil with a female s/o who cooks/bakes food for the holidays for them and their dorms? Thank you!

I'm so sorry that this took so long, Anon! I hope you had your fair share of happy holidays in the past few weeks!

Riddle Rosehearts

What you made: Strawberry tart with chocolate message over the top

It was a no-brainer that Riddle favored strawberry tarts over all other desserts, so you decided to add something that would definitely appeal to his sweet tooth. You had chosen to write a message upon the tart in chocolate.

The following day, you went to Heartslabyul and presented a neatly wrapped box to your boyfriend. The Housewarden had to admit that he wasn’t expecting a gift from you, but he was excited nonetheless. He carefully unwrapped the box to see a neatly packaged tart with a message in chocolate, saying Happy Holidays!

He then led you over to the table that he was previously sitting at and asked you to stay and share the dessert with him. It was silly to think one would eat a tart on their lonesome when they had such great company. He waited until you sat down to push your chair in. He cut the tart into two pieces, and you both had a wonderful time hanging out with each other.

Leona Kingscholar

What you made: Medium-rare 8 oz. steaks with mashed potatoes and collard greens

You knew how much Leona loved meat, but you also knew that he hated vegetables. So you invited him over for a low-key date. He was down, mainly because you agreed that you would cuddle with him under the stars as you both enjoyed a picnic with each other.

When Leona showed up in his pj’s along with a few blankets, he had to admit that you looked gorgeous, even though you were just wearing plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt. When you both sat down, he didn’t like how far away you were from him so he pulled you closer. Your knees were touching, and he got his serving (he even picked up some greens).

For the next few hours, you both just talked about whatever came to mind. Leona told you about how there was a legend in his homeland that said the stars were the great kings that passed years ago. He expected you to laugh, but you had fallen asleep. He took this time to admire you and how sweet you were for making sure he had a good meal.

Azul Ashengrotto

What you made: Fried chicken with green beans, sweet potatoes, and fried okra

Azul had invited you over to the Mostro Lounge for a private date in his office. He hadn’t been able to hang out with you all week and he missed you, so you thought it would be extra special to make him his favorite food. However, since you knew that Azul was worried about gaining weight, you paired the chicken with some healthier sides.

When the cecaelia sees you in the doorframe, he is so relieved. He walks over and presses a kiss on your cheek while he takes the food from your hands and places it on his desk. When he opens it, he is immediately hit with the wonderful smells.

He was trained to be a gentleman, so he had you sit down across from him at his desk and he even pushed in your chair for you. As you both served yourselves, you indulged in great conversations. Azul deems the fried chicken as the best he’s ever had. Maybe it’s because his girlfriend made it for him and therefore was made with your love. He’s been told that it makes food taste better.

Kalim Al-Asim

What you made: Mango mochi with coconut milk.

You were aware of Kalim’s taste for coconut, so you decided to make him a dessert that had elements of coconut in it. It ended up being a Japanese-tropical theme dessert in the end, but you were absolutely certain that your boyfriend was going to love it.

The excitement on his face as he opened Scarabia’s door to find you with a container of food. He trusted you with his life, and that meant you were able to make him some food without him feeling like he was in danger of being poisoned. He led you to the lounge where he helped you to the ground. He sat next to you and opened the container.

He had to admit that this was one of the best desserts he has ever had. The mango and coconut paired nicely with each other. You held up a mochi to his mouth and he ate it out of your hand. Before you had the chance to bring your hand back down, he quickly swallowed the mochi and pressed a kiss to the palm and gave you a beaming smile.

Jamil Viper

What you made: Thai chicken coconut curry 

You both decided that since Jamil wouldn’t be able to have time to hang out with you by yourselves, it was best for you to join him in making dinner for his dorm. Curry was chosen to be the main course, and so you rolled up your sleeves and started making it.

You both had fun cooking with each other. It was one of your favorite pastimes, and it made Jamil’s chore seem more tolerable. You were a great team, and you operated as though you could read each other’s minds. It was truly a magnificent sight.

As you were finishing setting up the table, Jamil quietly walked up behind you and placed his hands on your hips while burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath tickled you, but you leaned back into his arms. He whispered a small thank you, and you just stood there for a bit until it was time to serve dinner.

Vil Schoenheit 

What you make: A strawberry-banana smoothie with rutabaga vegetable shakshuka

Vil likes to eat healthy, so you decided that you should make him breakfast so he doesn’t always have to drink the smoothies he makes every single morning. You texted him the night before and told him that you were making him food for him in the morning so that he wouldn’t make anything.

He admitted to himself that he was very excited to see what you would make. He was certain you knew his food preferences, and he knew about your talents in the culinary arts. He is placing a lot of trust in you since breakfast is the most important meal of his day. You gently woke him up, and it was a waking up he welcomed happily.

He thought the food was heavenly, it was a nice change of pace rather than having another smoothie by itself. He was happy to hear that all the ingredients were clean and healthy, and he considers taking you up on your offer about giving him some recipes he could try. Before you left, he made sure to place a gentle kiss on your temple before walking you to the door.

Idia Shroud

What you make: Chocolate Peppermint Cookies

Your lovely boyfriend had a sweet tooth himself, so you thought that you would treat him to some cookies. Since the holidays were nearing, you thought it was fitting to incorporate some candy canes into the treat. That’s how you came up with the idea.

The next afternoon, when classes were out of session, you brought the container of cookies over to Ignihyde. Idia opened the door and kind of pulled you inside. At this point, he had gotten very comfortable around you and was slowly growing accustomed to physical touch. He looked at the cookies and he was touched that you would go out of your way to do something like this for him.

You reached in, grabbed a cookie, and brought it to Idia’s mouth. The ends of his hair went bright pink as he leaned forward and took a bite out of the baked good. He treasured soft moments like these more than you would ever know.

Malleus Draconia

What you made: Peppermint bark ice cream

Over the course of your relationship Malleus has given you so much, such as the heart of his dragon hoard. You decided that since they didn’t have the best chef in Diasomnia, you would repay a small ounce of his generosity by making him his favorite frozen treat.

The dragon fae was super excited when he saw you at the front door of his dorm, and you seemed to have a basket in your hand. After gently taking it from you when you entered, he set it on the table before going to wrap you in a hug. You then took his hand and led him to the basket, and took out the preserved container of ice cream.

The expression on his face made you think of a golden retriever getting a treat. As he dives in (don’t worry, you get a serving as well), you explain the intention behind it. He stops eating and tells you with a straight face that he gave you the emerald because he saw you as his mate and that it was basic dragon culture to give their lover the heart of their hoard. You blushed so freaking hard.