#but my mouth waters when i smell cigarette smoke

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

Ok really stupid question but any headcanons on what Rust would smell like?

Sorry😭😭 it's been stuck in my mind for weeks 😭

PAHA VALID THOUGHT

honestly just cigarettes and sweat and heat and cheap deodorant

[wriokitty]

The heater’s out. December’s cold is unforgiving as it seeps between the cracks of your doors and through the windows, forcing you to huddle closer.

Sukuna grunts as your freezing, icy feet press against his calves. “Your feet are fuckin’ cold. Get’em off.”

“No,” you whine, “You’re warm.”

Just to prove your point, you press them harder against his skin, making him hiss in irritation. “Quit it! It’s fucking freezing.”

“Yeah? Why are you wearing nothing but boxers in this cold, then?” You challenge, raising a brow as if you’ve sufficiently turned the tables on him. He glares at you—a bit cutely at that, given that his tussled hair and the blanket tucked beneath his chin both make him look far less intimidating than he hopes.

He pulls his legs away as he mutters, “Because I’m too used to sleeping like this.”

Your feet follow them as they move away from you, pressing them against his heated skin once more stubbornly. “To used to what, sleeping half naked? I wonder what that says about you.”

Money has been tighter. Enough that when you and Sukuna shower together, it really is to save water and not as an excuse for…well, other things. You don’t buy your little goods from the bakery on your way home sometimes anymore. He doesn’t go through his cigarette packs as quickly when stocking up on more isn’t as simple as it used to be. Things aren’t as easy as they used to be, but never hard.

It’s never hard with Sukuna.

Sure, the heater’s out. And December feels like a harsh, unrelenting reminder of that. The apartment is cold, but Sukuna is warmer, so maybe, when you count your blessings, you’re not doing all too bad.

“We should get the damn heating system fixed,” you say softly, smiling as he curls under the blanket further. He glowers over the edge of the comforter, just the tip of his nose peeking out as his muffled reply comes.

“Yeah, as if I hadn’t already thought of that. We ain’t got the funds, idiot.”

“Maybe I can pick up a few more shifts,” you murmur. He frowns at that—because really, that means more late nights where you’re not home where you should be. Safe and sound and not out there.

“Nah,” he mutters, clicking his teeth. You fight back a grin as he pulls you closer and tangles his legs with yours, grimacing when your painfully icy toes torment his poor legs again. This time he lets you, though. “I’ll figure something out.”

“That’s okay. You should use your money to get some clothes, or something. Sleeping naked in winter is not doing you any favors,” you giggle cheekily.

He raises a brow—that familiar, smug, almost nauseatingly handsome smile erupts across his lips as he chuckles lowly. “Yeah? You’re sayin’ you don’t appreciate the view?”

“Well, I guess that would be a pretty harsh loss,” you sigh deeply, pretending to wipe a tear. He rolls his eyes. You wink slyly. Heat trickles along your body from under your ribcage where the heating system could never reach.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” He says gruffly, and a large hand comes to grab your face gently and press your cheeks together. Your puffed up lips make him crack a small smile.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning (as much as you can through squeezed cheeks) before offering a muffled reply of, “I keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

“More like on my deathbed,” he snorts.

You don’t answer—it’s too cold to think of a reply right away.

You let out an involuntary shiver as a small wave of frigid, chilly air breezes through the room. You shuffle closer, and his arms are wide and open and waiting. He smells like cologne and coming home. Feels like warm flesh and your favorite place. You lean in and kiss him to share your body heat, pressing your lips against his and letting his tongue invade your mouth briefly. He tastes like mint mingled with cigarette smoke and oddly enough, that’s all you need.

“We kind of suck at this adulting thing,” you whisper as you pull away.

“What gives you that idea?” He hums as rough, callused fingers stroke the skin of your back under your shirt. You shiver again—this time from heat igniting your skin instead of the cold, though.

“We can hardly afford to stay warm,” you shake your head, “What does that say about us?”

“That we’re victims of this stupid fuckin’ economy. They should compensate us for our suffering.”

You roll your eyes and grin. You’re cold, but not devoid of heat. Sukuna is warm, and so are your toes against his calves, and so is that place in your chest that happens to do a squeeze here and there. You think it might be your heart—think he may have found his way to that weird, necessary organ in your body that keeps you going. But the difference is now that he’s here, you’re alive and not just living.

And yeah, the heater’s out. December is as cold as it is every year, and nothing’s going to change that. You can’t make yourself warmer, but you can be cold with Sukuna. That’s more than enough to make things bearable.

“I’ll keep you warm,” you offer, batting your lashes sweetly. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his cheeks in a flurry of kisses.

His face does a small, red flush.

“Quit it,” he snaps. He doesn’t mean it because his arms grip your hips tighter as if to keep you firmly in place. Right there where you are and where you belong and where he needs you to be.

You shouldn’t be anywhere else but here, keeping his body warm in this sorely harsh weather.

“Why? It’s already working—you’re overheating,” you tease.

He pulls the blanket up and between your faces to create a barrier as you come in for the next kiss, and when you laugh, bright and warm, he forgets he was ever cold.

————————————

Wrote this bc my place is freezing. Not because the heater is broken though it’s just because I’m too lazy to get out of bed and turn the heat up so I am suffering the same problem yes, but I do have a solution. That doesn’t mean the solution will be used though. I fear I am but just a girl

[eccentricallygothic]

Pairing: Dark Daddy!Rafe Cameron | Naive Little!Reader. 

Warning(s): Dubcon, cold shower, waterboarding, possessive!Rafe, Dark!Rafe, toxic relationship, dumbification, dacryphilia, manhandling, fear kink, dark ddlg, allusion to spanking, he's mean okay? Browse at your own discretion. 

Rafe does not like his little girl smelling like anyone or anything other than him.

But she's too stupid to understand it, even though he has explained it to her many, many times with all the patience he could muster. 

So now? 

He will teach her. 

"Daddy, please–"

"Shut up" a cigarette dangled from Rafe's lips as he pushed the younger in the bathroom by her hair, the force he used causing her head to loll forwards.

"B–" 

He pulled her head back roughly to level her ear with his mouth. "Not one word, little girl" she had been too engrossed with pleading her case to notice where he had brought her. But now that he pushed her inside the shower, the girl looked around her in confusion as her body scrambled about due to the raw strength it was being subjected to. 

She resisted the urge to voice her distress, knowing how easily irritable her boyfriend became when he was unhappy. 

But this, this was something new. 

Y/n had no idea what was brewing in his head but with the rather ample knowledge of how creative and cruel Rafe got during the times when he felt like she needed adjustment or maintenance, she could not help but feel scared. 

Even though her boyfriend always assured her that he was the only person who she wasn't to fear because all he wanted to do was to protect her since she was too little and dumb to do it on her own, it did not feel that way when he got angry. 

Like, right now. 

Rafe took a drag of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke in her face after turning her around with the grip he had on her head. "Smell yourself" Y/n blinked up at him in confusion at first but hurriedly grabbed her shirt when he raised a dangerous eyebrow at her. "And tell me, what do you smell like?" 

Tears glistened in her eyes at his tone and she whimpered, ducking her head a little and moving the shirt up the rest of the way until it touched her nose. Her hands trembled as she took a sniff. 

"Well?"

These kinds of situations were tricky. 

She never knew what he wanted to hear. 

And wrong answers only damned her further.

The girl opened and closed her mouth a couple times, unsure. Rafe shut his eyes and took a deep breath, the action causing her to panic as she raked her mind for an answer, aware that he did that whenever he was struggling to remain composed. 

And he only bothered with that for her. 

"Sweetheart" he cradled her face closer with his other hand, the nicotine stick between his fingers dangerously close to her cheek. "My question isn't gonna answer itself…" The sudden tenderness in his words as he tried to remain as calm as he could manage caused her to sob in both guilt and fear, shaking a little as she spoke. 

This was why Y/n was one of those girls who preferred not to piss their Daddies off. 

Rafe was too scary when he got like that. 

"... D- Dunno… D- Daddy…" His features scrunched in annoyance and he craned his neck back to take a long drag of his cigarette, causing her bottom lip to wobble.

It was only after he had exhaled did he chuckle slowly, nodding to himself. "Of course, how could I forget?" Looking back down at her, he wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb, nails scratching her scalp in a comforting manner where he held her hair. "You're too stupid to know anything, aren't you, baby?" 

The girl went to agree just for the sake of pleasing him but before she could respond, he was hauling her under the shower head and hitting the handle at the coldest setting. 

"So let me just teach my little girl this time around." 

Y/n screeched as heavy drops of ice cold water splashed against the top of her head and then the rest of her body like millions of tiny shards of ice, trickling down the rest of her alarmed skin in a way that stiffened every muscle in her body. 

Her spine tightened inwards.

"DADDY!" Half of her cry drowned under the unrelenting burst of the shower head, her hands weakly trying to tap and push at his hard arms that did not budge. 

Their strengths were incomparable. 

The sizes of their bodies did not and would not matter regardless of how big or small she was.  

Rafe was too strong, especially when his mind numbing rage was pumping through his veins. 

Like right now. 

"I know, baby, I know" he was unfazed by her gasping and thrashing around for air and comfort as he sucked at his cigarette, his buzzed head glittering with the droplets that had sprayed on him. "You wanna thank Daddy for making the effort to set you straight, I know." 

Y/n's lungs burnt for oxygen as she choked on the icy water, blindly tapping about with widened eyes that stung under the chilling water. Her nostrils ached whenever she tried to breathe, since the unforgiving water seeped in quicker than the air she so desperately needed.  

A loud, strangled gasp escaped her when Rafe jerked her out by the hold he had placed on her neck, bringing her face in close proximity to his so she could hear his menacing whisper. 

"Since you are too stupid to remember that I don't like it when you smell like anything other than me everytime," to make matters worse, you smelt like your male bestfriend's -whom Rafe could not stand to save his own life- body spray. "Maybe if I show you what will happen the next time I smell asshole on you, you will actually try to use that tiny brain before getting close to anyone other than your Daddy." 

The male remained unbothered when she coughed out water in his face to try and clear her system so she could speak, the drops causing his cigarette to hiss. "S- Sorry– Daddy- Sorry–" 

Rafe snorted. "Oh, yes. Sorry you will be," her eyes widened and she screamed only to have it get muffled again when he pushed her back under the unforgiving stream, "by the time I get done with you." It was not that he didn't trust his baby or doubted her loyalty, it was everyone else. 

The fucked up world that was too dangerous for his precious little special girl. 

Who seemed to brush his concerns and worries off like they were nothing. 

Silly little thing. 

He was not one to be taken lightly. 

And she would learn that for good by the time the night was through. 

"Hmm…" Y/n was shivering and wheezing when he pulled her away from the vicious downpour again. "Let's see–"

"Daddy, please! I am sorry! Swear I am!" He only cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow at her pleading sob. 

"I told you to shut up" Y/n's heart hammered against her ribcage and breathing nearly ceased when he pulled her even closer, squeezing her throat for emphasis. "Didn't I?" 

"Sorr–" she was too panicked and cold to properly process anything.  

Rafe clicked his tongue in disapproval as he shook his head, snorting before sucking on his cigarette again. "Oh, bunny" using his free hand to push the drenched strands away from her face, he sighed. "Your little mind has forgotten all its manners, hasn't it?" And she was shoved under the water again. 

"Constant back talk as if it's not already bad enough that you still don't smell like my good little girl" her nails were turning white from how they dug into the skin of his hand that forced her still. 

Rafe kept her in for the longest duration this time around, only pulling her out when her body nearly went limp.

Though she was dunked back in the moment he saw light return to her eyes. 

The male kept at it for a good few minutes, constantly stripping her of all dignity and freewill before allowing her a shred of solace only to snatch it away again the moment hope would try to rekindle in the flushed face that he adored so much. 

As much as Rafe loved Y/n, he liked her best when she was in her place. 

Which was under him and at his whim. 

"Hm" he took a sniff of her shaking and panting tired form when he thrusted her body towards himself this time. "This will do" nodding to himself in approval he shut the shower off. 

She was ordered to strip from her drenched clothes. The girl obeyed, the only task on her mind to make her Daddy happy again by pleasing him.

Because he was right.

He looked out for her and protected her all the time, the least she could was to follow her rules and be good for him.

Daddy was always right. 

"You're lucky I care for you, baby" her uncontrollable tears were warm against her cheeks in contrast to everything else. "So I will teach your pea brain the same old thing again" discarding the finished cigarette, he reached for his belt before undoing the buckle. 

The girl just stared at the floor quietly; trembling and meek.

Though she could not maintain the silence for very long and was forced to break it when her chest rumbled at the sight of his belt snaking out of the hoops of his jeans. Soft sobs fell from her lips as she hugged her arms. 

Oh, no.

"Go ahead now~" Rafe nodded towards the door as he helped himself to a new cigarette. "In the bed, face down and ass up."

[d1s1ntegrated]

dabi and hawks fighting over reader🫣

luv ur workss!!!!😩😩😩💗💗💗

🎀•—•—•—•🎀

YEEEASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS IM FROTHINGGGG

much to be desired

dabi vs hawks x reader <3

crossposted to my ao3!

cw: dirty talk, unprotected, threesome - F/M/M, sadomasochism, multiple positions, doggy, missionary, oral, rough, biting, dacryphilia, light somnophilia, why choose?mutual pining, backshots, slight breeding kink if u squint, dabi has a pain kink, wing play, wing kink, hawks has really sensitive wings, dabi has a lotttt of piercings, minor cuckolding, pet names, hair pulling, slight choking, really descriptive smut lol, no use of y/n, blank name space instead, fem!afab!reader, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

wc: ~4300 words

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

you didn't think the boys were ever actually fighting. their dynamic was just like that. as their roommate, you witnessed a lot of fights and bickering that could be comparable to an old married couple, but you never made anything of it. after all, at the end of the day, the two were inseparable- with you squished between them, of course. at all times.

but when you came home late at night, slightly tipsy from the bar, and stumbled into kiego's arms...touya just about lost it.

"c'mere, ________. come here baby, lemme take care of you" keigo's soft voice whispers in your ear as you cling to him, smelling the expensive cologne on his chest.

"yo, keeg, i got 'er." touya's rough hand grabs at your shoulder and keigo smacks his hand away.

"nuh uh, crispy, go smoke a cigarette or something" the winged man snaps at touya as he slips your jacket off your arms.

"tch, you dont know what the hell you're doing anyways." touya extends his hand back out to you, and you grasp it gently. he leads you away from keigo, who trails behind the both of you like a predator on prey. he sits on the armchair across from you, leaning forward and placing his chin in his hands as touya takes your hair down, smoothing out the tangles. keigo rolls his eyes and huffs as he sits next to you, handing you a water bottle.

"how much did you drink, angel?" keigo asks, rubbing your face with a loose feather. touya reaches out and yanks the feather away before you can even answer, flicking it back to keigo. you shake your head and shrug. you didn't really have a lot, and it's already slightly wearing off, but saké has one hell of a kick to it. not to mention the walk home took a toll on you.

"not a lot. just enough..." you smile, and touya chuckles.

"that's my girl" he says, and keigo chokes back a laugh.

"somethin' funny, chicken?" touya leans back, crossing a leg. he taps the arm of the couch impatiently as keigo shakes his head.

"well, i mean, it's laughable that you're calling her yours," the blonde smirks in his seat, fiddling with one of his own feathers. his face remains unbothered as he continues, "as if her standards are that low".

the black haired man scoffs. he stands with a sickly smile, jabbing a finger in keigo's direction. "if i'm the low standard, you must be real shit, huh?" he spins to face you, as you rub the heat on your cheeks away with the palms of your hands. "_______, who would you pick?" he asks, raising a brow.

you furrow your brows for a moment. "in regards to what, exactly?". you can't lie, this whole conversation was confusing enough, but pair it with sakura-flavored liquor and two men who both suck at communicating...it sounds like he's asking you to decipher hieroglyphics right now.

"i dunno. just pick. me," he gestures to himself with a dramatic flair, "or him". he hides his face from keigo with one hand and shoves a finger to his mouth. the childlike motion makes you laugh, and shake your head.

"if i'm supposed to be mediating this pissing contest, count me out boys." you raise your hands in defeat and stand from your seat, still swaying a bit. "i'm gonna go lay down" you purse your lips into a thin smile and the two men watch as you trail off to your room. they immediately snap back, staring daggers into each other before kiego springs up and they both run for your door. you hear the cacophony of feet outside your door, but just sigh. the handle jiggles for a moment as you undress, ignoring the light knocking and mumbling from the other side.

"stupid boys", you shake your head as you change into comfier clothes. this wasn't the first time you'd been caught in the middle of their little spats, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. however, all you needed right now was some goddamned peace and quiet.

you open the curtains, letting the city lights glimmer in through the windows. you fling yourself on the bed, grateful for the silence. a few minutes pass as you stare at the ceiling, the question still tumbling around in your head. in what world would you want to choose? you loved the boys equally, you essentially labelled them a package deal for you. also, in what world would they care anyways? to your knowledge, they considered you just another bro anyways. sure, they called you things like baby and angel and pretty girl, but that was par for the course with two male roommates. of course they learned how to braid your hair and they bought you refills of your makeup or skincare when it ran out, or your favorite snacks on your period. of course touya always invited you outside for a smoke, and always lit it for you. why wouldn't keigo always tag you with a feather when you went out, for safety reasons? they loved you, but certainly not, no, never in that way. right? they cared as much as most men would care, right?

your silence was abruptly ended by the sound of knocking, again. you stand from the bed, groaning slightly as you unlock the door. it pushes open swiftly as touya enters, his tall stature shadowing you as he grabs you, warm hands cupping your face. before you can ask why, or what he's doing, he leans down and kisses you feverishly. your mind slips as his lips crush yours, the cool metal of his piercings brushing against your soft mouth. you exhale heavily as you taste him, smoke and salt enveloping you. his hands trail down the curve of your spine to grab your ass, squeezing it as he nips at your bottom lip with sharp teeth.

your brain sputters as you try to understand what he's doing, but you lose to the greater thought of how badly you wanted him. it had crossed your mind-you wondered how the boys tasted, how they felt to kiss, how badly they'd stretch you out if you let them-but it was all just silly intrusive thoughts. late at night, when you felt lonely, you'd imagine crawling into bed with one or both of them, letting them have their way with you. the thought would comfort you to sleep, but you never imagined any part of it coming to fruition. now, with touyas hands running rampantly all over your body, it feels dreamlike.

you sink into his touch further, letting him push you back onto your bed as his tongue begs for intrusion. it slips in, and you slide yours past his lips, feeling his piercing tickling the inside of your mouth. you moan into the kiss, feeling him smile at the sound.

as you wrap your arms around him, you feel a soft tickle against the back of your hand. you grasp at it, feeling it crush slightly between your fingers, and you break the kiss. still speechless, you look behind touya to see keigo standing there, propped in the doorway. the sight of him shocks you-its not that you forgot about him, but you weren't expecting to see him looming against the doorframe, watching with a narrow gaze.

you realize then what you had grasped, and hastily release it as he summons it back, grabbing it with a lazy hand.

"i guess this is your way of answering the question, eh?" his voice is lower then usual, almost like he's trying to smother his annoyance. but it still rings true in your ear, and you shake your head.

touya doesn't shift his position, but stares at you with half-lidded eyes as you speak. as if on cue, keigo chuckles and closes the door behind him, locking it quietly.

"you know, touya, if you wanted her so bad, you should've said something earlier." his words bite as he approaches the bed, throwing his shirt to the floor effortlessly before crawling right up next to the both of you. touya snickers as keigo snakes a hand between you, tracing your silhouette with his soft fingers. you don't protest his touch, and he recognizes that, as he shoves touya slightly to press a warm, gentle kiss to your already-swollen lips. you immediately shiver as you realize what's happening, and you let the feeling tangle your mind.

keigo is different than touya. he's softer, slower, sweeter. his lips taste like coffee and honey, and as his scruff tickles your chin, you melt. to have one of them, you begin thinking, would be blasphemous. because the mix of the two feels like something even heaven couldn't replicate.

he pulls away from the kiss and strokes your face as he turns to touya, who's watching intensely from above the both of you.

"how about we give our angel a better way to choose, hm?" keigo nudges the scarred man with a smile, "let her experience it first, let us both show her the best so she can decide".

touya grins at the proposition, tilting his head back a bit at the thought. "it's her choice" he looks back down at you, that same grin splayed wide on his sharp face. "what do you say, pretty girl?"

your eyes widen as you take in the thought. without further contemplation, you nod, allowing the men to finally have you. your heart swells, unable to comprehend your own joy as they both let their hands free on your body, groping and grabbing wherever they can. they kiss and nip at you like starving dogs, taking a side of you each before they both grab at the hem of your shirt, yanking it over your head with ease. touya depravedly goes for your pants, tearing them off you without warning as keigo now cups one of your breasts, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. you moan out at the sensation, your eyes glossing over with pure lust. he takes a feather and motions as it drags up your side, sending a shiver from deep inside to course through you.

touya doesn't worry about your underwear as he greedily yanks the fabric to the side, dipping his head between your thights. he licks a thick stripe up to your clit, the cold air clashing with your already-soaked folds. he groans as his tongue sinks into you, the piercing rubbing up against the bundle of nerves just enough to get you to suck in a gasp. his nails dig into your thigh, his fingers heating up on the soft flesh as he squeezes. you grit your teeth as the pain and pleasure mix, feeling the skin under his hands swell with heat. keigo shifts up, grabbing your face and cradling you as touya devours you, his tongue working rapid movements around your clit. he kisses you again, a bit more crazed this time, his wings puffed straight behind him as his tongue collides with yours. he moans gently as you bite his lip, unable to hide your upcoming orgasm. he chuckles into your mouth before you pull him in deeper, your other hand grasping at touya's thick black hair, shoving his face even deeper into you. you cry out, wrapping your hand into keigo's wings as you get closer and closer, the waves washing over you. he whimpers out, shuddering as your fingers tangle with the crimson fluff, unable to control his impulses.

"right there, angel" his golden eyes roll back slightly, long thick lashes fluttering. you tighten your grasp, and he moans loudly. from below, touya chuckles as his tongue laps up at you as you're sent over the edge. you freeze for a moment before your body shatters, your eyes squeezing shut as your thighs tighten around touya's face. you moan a string of obscenities as the flood rushes through your burning body. your cries only entice the two men further, as they both smile at you. touya pulls up for a breath, then turns to keigo.

"you want a taste, birdie?" he smiles, his lips glistening with your essence as your juices drip off his chin. keigo dutifully nods, and touya stands up to allow for the swap. he strips his bottoms off, including the boxers. you soak in the sight of his scarred body, piercings littering his pretty skin alongside the staples. tracing down the white hair from his navel, his cock stands proudly. metal adornments go up his shaft to his delicate red tip, gleaming under city lights. keigo even raises his brows before replicating touya's actions, his tongue dipping into you immediately. your hips buck up at the stimulation, your body already sensitive from the both of them.

touya comes back to the bed, but instead of laying beside you, he sits directly on your chest, muscular thighs warming your ears.

"be a good girl for me, open your mouth" he commands with a low tone, and your jaw slackens. you draw your tongue out as his hand works up and down his length for a few strokes. he slides it in slowly, and you wrap your lips around it gratefully, letting your tongue form around the girthy shape. you trace the little metal beads with it as he thrusts gently into your mouth, groaning as he watches you take the full length with a gag. "that's it," he says with a hiss, "take my cock."

you lick and suck around it, feeling him shake as he perches on you. he moans loudly as you cry, the gagging sending hot tears to stream down your face. he laughs lowly and continues to thrust into you before whispering, "use your teeth, baby, i know you wanna". you sob as your mouth finally relaxes a bit, your teeth grazing against the delicate flesh. he takes a thumb and wipes the tears from your face, licking it off with a crazed moan. his cock leaks down your throat, and you can feel from his incessant twitching that he's close. you let your jaw clamp just a bit tighter, his piercings rubbing against your bottom molars.

keigo sends you over the edge again with fat, lazy licks alternating with snake-like flitting against your clit. his fingers grab your hips as he presses himself further into you as you rut against his sweet mouth, moaning in sync with you as he grinds down into the mattress, edging himself on your pleasure. touya feels your mouth loosen a bit as you orgasm again, and looks down at you with a sadistic smile. he shoves his cock all the way in again, choking you again with the size as keigo licks you clean, sending overstimulated crackles through your legs.

touya leans back as keigo lifts his head, and grabs the blonde by the nape of his neck. his face is slicked, and he's panting. as touya pulls him closer, he smiles, licking a canine before he's yanked into a very sloppy and aggressive kiss. your body seizes at the sight, the two men grasping and groping at each other the same way they did to you just moments ago. touya's cock jumps as keigo moans, and the two pull away with a thick string of saliva mixed with your fluids.

"i was just about to cum in her pretty mouth" the pierced man says, annoyance coating his words.

"this ain't about you" keigo says unbothered as he slides off the bed, his wings puffed as he fully undresses. his tan skin glows under the low lights of the room, his muscles rippling with the contrast. your eyes focus on his equally impressive cock- it's clean shaven, only slightly lengthier than touya's, with a soft pink tip. your eyes dart between his and touya's, unable to hide your excitement as he re-approaches the bed. touya slides off your chest without a word, and the two men kneel by your feet.

"heads or tails, baby?" keigo coos at you, and you tilt your head. he shakes his head, waving a finger. "nuh-uh, just pick" his voice teases, heavy with craving. "dont overcomplicate it".

"uhm, i dont...heads, i guess?" you stumble over your words, and he nods. he moves and lays against the headboard next to you, spreading his legs a bit. touya notices your confusion and extends his hand to you, pulling you into an upright position.

he kisses your neck lazily before whispering in your ear. "turn around". it isn't an offer, rather an instruction, so you nod and turn to face keigo. touya grabs your waist and shifts you between the hero's legs, then pushes your upper back so you fold.

"tch, hands and knees, pretty girl." he smacks your ass as you move into the position, your back arching sleazily. he hums in approval and teases your entrance with his leaking cock, and you feel the fluids mixing. you instinctively press yourself back, trying to already take it before he stops you. he leans over you, his body warming yours as he wraps a hand around your throat.

"don't be so eager, slut. and be nice to keigo, too" he spits as his grip tightens, then releasing as you dip your head down to meet keigo's cock. the winged man looks down, stroking your chin as he wraps his fingers around the base of his shaft, extending the length even further as he presses down. the tip brushes against your pouty lips, and you open your mouth, drool already spilling out before you lower your head down. you moan around the size as it twitches, and touya slaps your ass with a cupped hand, the sound reverberating around the room. he pushes into you slowly, the sheer size of it causing you to buckle as it stretches your painfully-tight hole. he growls as you adjust to him.

he starts with slow, deep strokes as your mouth works on keigo. the both of them moan and huff with pleasure, and touya picks up the pace. his thrusts force kiego further down your throat, the same tears beginning to sprout from your eyes again as the pain and euphoria battle inside of you. with a moan, keigo throws his head back and laces his fingers into your hair, keeping it away from your face as your drool drips down his throbbing cock. you swallow as his precum slides down your tongue. his wings, previously pressed against the headboard, wrap around him as he shakes. you resist the urge to reach out and grab one of them, knowing it'll throw you off balance.

as keigo reaches his orgasm, touya thrusts into you rapidly, roughly. he snakes his own hand into your hair as keigo's grip loosens, and he yanks your head back forcefully as you and kiego both near orgasm.

"wanna fill you so badly, i love how good you're taking our cocks baby" he draws out, shoving your head back town to keigo, who's shaking and panting, near begging to finish. as you take him back in your mouth, he begins to fill your mouth with sticky strings of cum. his moans are loud and breathy as he calls out your name, his eyes squeezing shut and his legs tightening. he thrusts into your mouth from below, and you force yourself to swallow it all before it begins to leak from your lips. his wings jut out, the feathers ridged, some shooting loose as he rides out his orgasm. as you clench around touya, he smacks your ass and reaches around to press and flat finger to your clit, rubbing it as you squeam and shatter around his cock. bliss overtakes the three of you, touya roughly slamming into you with a clapping noise before he rapidly pulls out, and you feel as he shoots thick white ropes all over your ass and back, a string of curses coming out in the form of moaning alongside it.

your body collapses, drenched in overstimulation as you cry out. even after three orgasms, you still crave more. your mind is still broken, the only thought being the image of the two boys using you. you feel waves of darkness washing over you, the heat and endorphins flooding your vision as it all goes dark.

you awaken on your back, your head still spinning. you blink up, trying to let the light slowly seep back into your sight. to your left, touya lays lazily, a scarred hand slowly stroking his cock as he watches you. for a moment, you can't see kiego, but then you feel him as he slowly, gently slips the tip of his cock inside of you. from above, he watches you wake, a sly smile painting his face. you stir under him, still cloudy as he pumps inside of you. he leans down, kissing your cheeks and neck, your pussy ultimately clenching around his length. you feel a deep, throbbing ache in side of you, causing you to hiss in pain. he tuts at you quietly before kissing you languidly, sighing as he tastes himself on your lips.

he breaks the kiss, his motions speeding up, and touya leans down to take his place.

"welcome back," he teases, licking up the side of your neck. his charcoal hair tickles your face as he sucks on your throat, just below your ear. you gasp quietly, unable to produce a sound louder. kiego slides his hand between the both of you and toys with your poor clit again with a thumb, his cock rubbing right against your spot. as much as your body wants to protest it, it's already close again as he abuses the bundle of nerves. you pull keigo in closer, lacing your shaky fingers between the base of his crimson wings. he cries out as you both work each other up, with touya swapping between the both of you with sanguine kisses and bites. a few to your neck, nipple, or face, and then a few to kiego's side, arm, and ear.

you feel your fourth orgasm rush over you as kiego fucks you, his hips rutting into you achingly. touya fists at his cock desperately as he watches, his breathing matching everyone else's as you spasm, clenching tightly around keigo's thick cock.

"fuck, angel, my god, you're so tight," he pounds into your spent hole even harder, his hands gripping the bedding. you weaken under him, your body going loose as he relentlessly tortures you with his length. his citrine eyes lock with yours, a primal glaze washed over them. his core tightens and he slams himself against your cervix repeatedly, worsening the bruise on it. "touya was nice enough to leave you nice and fuckin' clean for me" he breathes out, his voice much deeper and aggressive compared to his usual bubbly tone. your eyes widen in both fear and anticipation as his nails dig into your shoulders. touya's own moans grow louder next to you as he finishes again, splaying the sheets with pearlescent cum. keigo watches as the cum leaks out of the scarred man and it sends him over the edge. he shoves himself as deep as he can, dragging his sharp nails down your arms as he fills you, and you feel the heat rush into you furiously as he cries out with a low guttural groan. his wings shoot back out, more feathers exploding off of him, making a mess of the room as he makes a mess of you. your body quivers as he pulls out, panting, and your legs immediately snap shut in pain. there's a deep throbbing inside of you, but you cant help but still feel exuberant.

both boys sigh and collapse on the bed next to you. touya wipes a strand of hair from your face as kiego kisses your cheek gently, none of you having the energy to speak. you all lay there for a few seconds before keigo gets up and leaves, returning with a wet cloth and a towel a few seconds later.

touya sits up and helps to wipe you and himself off, and kiego does the same. they lock eyes for a moment, and touya speaks.

"d'ya have an answer, pretty girl?" he asks you gently, still cleaning you up. you shake your head and close your eyes, not bothering to filter your response.

"both".

your indifference causes them to both pause and laugh.

"both?" keigo raises a brow, and hands you a water bottle.

you take a sip and nod. "mhm."

"you heard her, drumstick," touya starts with a breathy chuckle, "why make her choose?" he shrugs and raises his hands, taking the water bottle from you after.

keigo slips into bed with the both of you, a shit-eating grin plastering his golden features. he reaches and drapes an arm over you, holding you close. "i guess we can't ask you to make a decision now, hm?" he tucks himself into you a bit, the scent of sweat and his cologne swirling around your senses.

touya nods and rubs his thumb along your bottom lip before kissing you. "no, we wont make you choose right now" he confirms, settling in on the other side, hand resting on your thigh. he pulls the covers over all of you and sighs, his eyes closing softly as he sinks into exhaustion.

you finally crash from the second-wind, and yawn before coming to rest between the two, humming contentedly at the revelation of your deepest fantasies. you smile at the consensus- you can have the both of them. your mind eases as your own eyes flutter shut, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the two.

"we'll try again tomorrow" touya mumbles with a smirk.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

thank u for the ask! enjoy <3

also this was poorly proofread, i apologize for any typos!

[chainmail-butch]

Year 3

I stand in a dojo with 5 men. I'd forgotten to shave this morning. Sweat is dripping down from my face to the floor. The instructor, a man I have been working with for 3 years, gestures me forward.

"This!" He says, "Is how you break a man's fingers!" I know this move, and grab his wrist to begin the demonstration. I do not correct him.

"You first establish the bridge by seizing his wrist!" I do not correct him. "You rotate his fingers-"

"She." I interrupt.

The lesson stops cold.

"Of course, Comrade." He says kindly, "My apologies."

"You rotate the comrade's fingers-"

-

I am drunk in a gay bar. It's two in the morning and a beautiful woman has seized me on the dance floor. Behind me, the DJ cheers as her tongue enters my mouth.

Her hands are ravenous. They seek every inch of me as she presses me backward into a wall.

She freezes when her hand squeezes my cock.

Her body is rigid. Her tongue is flaccid in my mouth. She pulls away ashamed and apologetic. She stumbles a few words as the house lights come up and the DJ announces the last call.

-

I am on the phone with a scammer. I have not yet realized its a scam.

"And can I speak to Sophia?" He asks politely.

"I am Sophia, I know that my voice is confusing I-" He does not let me finish.

"Oh!" He says. "That's cool. That's so so cool. I'm cool with that. I'm so cool with that." Something tells me he's lying to me. But, anyway, if I'm ready to send him a deposit I can lock in a wonderful house at well below market rate.

-

I am outside the bar again. Savoring a rare cigarette as I lean against a railing. It's too hot for me to wear my leather inside.

A beautiful man weaves into my vision. His abs glisten with sweat beneath his crop top. His lips are full and red.

"Aren't you just so butch!" He purrs. His hand has found its way onto my arm and he's close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath. He and his boyfriend had just broken up and I looked awfully yummy. He knows a quiet little alley down the street if I feel like giving him a taste.

"I'm a dyke" I rumble, voice full of gravel and cigarette smoke.

-

I'm out on the streets, safe behind my sunglasses. My boots make a satisfying thunk and my carabiner jingles reassuringly with every step I take.

"The encampment is just over there!" I call. Under my direction a swarm of volunteers shifts into motion.

As lines of boxes and bottles pass me, one of the security detail steps up and says, "Holy hell, man! You look scary as fuck!"

"Yeah."

I grunt as I hoist a case of bottled water onto my shoulder.

"I know."

[javier-pena]

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Warnings: smoking | drinking | canon-typical violence | allusions to rape | reader is a virgin | loss of virginity | descriptions of injury and medical procedures (Arthur gets stitches) | reader has hair that can be pulled | hand job | oral (m receiving) | masturbation (f and m) | mutual masturbation | dirty talk | voyeurism | exhibitionism | praise kink | fingering | (unprotected) p in v sex

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

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[softaestluv]

Three’s A Crowd

Ghoap x Neighbor! Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5

Tags: Teasing, Flirting, Attempt at humor, Ghoap are cocky dicks, Who also have big d!cks, explicit smut in the last two chapters, double penetration, anal, butt plugs, lingerie, creampie, & all the works

Summary: When you moved into your new apartment complex you thought your biggest concern would be something practical such as mold in the shower or weak water pressure. Maybe even the smell of lingering cigarette smoke or marijuana from previous tenants.

You never expected it to be your neighbors who seemed to have a sex drive that rivaled any succubus or horned college teenager.

“Oy, hi, las— what are ya wearin’?” John asked, standing outside his apartment door staring at you with an incredulous expression.

You looked down at your outfit, brows furrowing as you examined your clothes: a black shirt and jeans. You had to admit, it wasn’t the most amazing outfit considering the fact that you were late to work this morning, but it wasn’t anything horrendous. Wasn’t anything to comment on at least.

Especially since you were late this morning because of them.

The pair had kept you up all night long with their loud extracurricular activities. It had actually been several days since you’d been woken up by it, but they were abnormally loud last night. Had seemed to have forgotten any shred of this decency they were gracing you with. As if they were making up for all the quiet sex they were trying to have for you.

Could still hear John’s moans of ‘sir’ and desperate pleas ricocheting in your mind. Who the hell calls someone else ‘sir’ during sex? And who the hell sounded like that? Like John was on the brink of tears, sobbing to cum.

You weren’t a virgin, by any means, but you also weren’t having the same type of sex they seemed to be having. Sex never had you pleading, pathetically begging to cum. Though maybe if you had begged any of your past lovers you would’ve actually been able to get off.

“Uh, my clothes?” You responded, holding the seam of the shirt out with both hands in a display, realizing that it was more oversized than you registered this morning.

“Nae, nae,” John interjected, waving your words away before moving behind you, brushing his pointer finger against your back as he read aloud, “Lieutenant Riley.”

“What?” You gripped the fabric on your back, arching your neck as far as it could go.

There it was, in bold white font: ‘Lieutenant Riley’ printed across your back.

“You two up to somethin’ I should know ‘bout?” John asked from beside you, snickering loudly behind his hand.

“I don’t, I don’t know who that is,” You responded, confusion washing over you at John’s apparent amusement.

“It’s mine.”

You snapped your head up at his words, finding his gaze. A stare that was usually dominant and intimidating, turned sharper, impossibly so. Unwavering and assertive. Had chills collecting on the low of your back, cotton practically drying your mouth.

It was quite ironic that you had seen him half-naked before, could picture his bulge and blonde happy trail perfectly in your mind, but you didn’t know his name. Knew how he sounded during sex, knew the things he would demand of John in a hoarse voice, but not his fucking name.

“What?”

“The shirt. It’s mine.”

You swallowed thickly as John stepped to the side of him, both of them staring down at you. Trapped between massive stone walls and your apartment door. Though their demeanor couldn’t be any different. John had a shit-eating grin, something you were starting to understand he always wore, but the masked man, this ‘Lieutenant Riley’ was piercing you to the spot. Staring at you like you committed a fucking crime like he could analyze every pulse in your veins.

“I-I don’t know how I have this. I didn’t; I didn’t notice when I got ready this morning. I was running late, so I threw on the first black shirt I found,” You paused your sputtering, inhaling a breath before continuing quickly, “Was late because of you two, might I add.”

This comment had ‘Lieutenant Riley’ arching his brow under his mask, which only made John laugh harder.

“I don’t know how I ended up with this. It probably got mixed up in the laundry room and ended up in my basket,” You explained frantically, face burning at your long-winded monologue, “Maybe if you two weren’t too busy eating others' faces you would put your clothes in the right bin.”

“Oh, so now this is our fault?” Riley asked, deep timber practically vibrating through your ears.

“Well, yes!” You exclaimed, “You two don’t have any decency for anyone else!”

“We gave ya an offer tae join, seems pretty decent tae me,” John sneered, grin dipping into a smirk as he leaned in close, had you stepping backward nervously, back hitting the door.

“Well, I already told you I don’t want to join,” You stammered, trying your best to keep your voice steady, but your nerves betrayed you, tone shaky and high-pitched.

“Awe, that’s a shame,” John teased, frowning dramatically.

You ignored him, peeling the shirt off quickly before shifting your focus to Lieutenant Riley, holding it out for him, “Here, I’m sorry, I didn’t wear it on purpose.”

He accepted the shirt, “Lace.”

“Huh?”

He gestured to your chest, “Lace.”

You looked down, eyes widening as you realized you were standing in front of the pair in nothing but your lace bra. Lace bra that matched the fucking pink panties they had teased you about in the laundry room.

“Matches yer panties,” John said, the amusement in his voice vanished, turned gravel, stare becoming just as tense as Lieutenant Riley’s was.

You crossed your arms over your chest in an instant, mouth shutting and closing in shock. Could practically hear each deep exhale the pair was taking, unblinking eyes focused on your smaller frame. Examined you like you were their prey, had your heart accelerating in your chest.

“So you do like lace then?” Riley asked, husky and deep.

You turned around, frantically barging into your apartment without a second thought, ignoring the sounds of protests John made when you slammed the door on their faces. Cursing your existence because the pair was definitely trying to ruin your life.

Tag List: @avatar-lover @cheese-pull @entityunbound @theheartcollecter

[ilium-ilia]

Everything You Touch

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | previously known as "soft spot" | masterlist

Chapter Three: the apotheosis of the sun

tw: alcohol, man handling, crude name calling, violence

“I didn’t think you’d come.” 

Simon squeezes into the seat across from you, long legs knocking against the table legs as he attempts to settle into the old, creaky booth. You’ve already retrieved the drink you claimed to have wanted so bad earlier—some red, fruity drink that smells so sweet it makes his stomach churn—and it’s nearly half gone. It’s nothing but melted cherries on your tongue as you smile at him diffidently. 

You stick out like a sore thumb. Still donning your knitted jack-o-lantern themed sweater, you hunch your shoulders over your drink as you sit tucked into a booth meant for a group. Thick heat bakes you, wetting your skin with perspiration until you’re glowing beneath the tenebrous sconces that keep the pub shrouded in a thick penumbra. A sweet aura emanates from you so strongly that it nearly drowns out the decades worth of built up cigarette smoke in the building. 

Humming, Simon adjusts his mask from sliding off of his nose. “I said I’d come.” 

“I know,” you giggle. Your teeth bite into your lip as you cringe, then settle. “I just didn’t know if you meant it or not.” 

“I always keep my word,” he deadpans. 

Your smile cracks as you lift your drink to your lips, eyeing him. He looks no different than he usually does. Still obscured with a mask and veiled with the hood of his jumper, he’s the Simon Riley you’ve always known. As you let the bite of vodka sear your throat, you wiggle your toes in your shoes as you push a cup across the table to him. The glass sings against the wood, leaving behind a trail of thin, vitreous water. 

“I got you some water. Wasn’t sure what drink you preferred, and I’m always bad at guessing so I figured I’d play it safe,” you explain. 

Simon’s hand swallows the cup whole as he moves it to the side, freeing up the empty space between the two of you. His fingers are thick—scarred. The slightest bit of pale hair glistens on his fingers just by his knuckles, and you swear you catch a hint of a tattoo on his wrist from beneath his sleeve. 

“None for me,” he says. He eyes your glass for a split moment before they flicker back up. “Just here for you.” 

Blinking, you scoff as if he’s joking—soaking you in saccharine flattery that has your bowels moiling. Your fingers tap against your glass when you realize you can’t see a smile dancing beneath the fabric of his mask. 

“Well, you’re quite the gentleman,” you say nonchalantly. 

Neither of you speak. The silence between you is filled with the incoherent chatter of the pub around you while patrons drink their fill and munch on salty chips. Your attention is continually caught by a small group of men in the corner playing darts—they cheer for each shot made, even when the needle embeds itself into the wall next to the target. 

“Your cut’s healed nicely,” Simon murmurs. 

Lips parting, your hand shoots up to the corner of your mouth as if your wound is still fresh. Your fingers prod at the raised skin as you frown. “Oh, thanks. I guess it has. If I’m being honest, I’ve just been trying to ignore it these last few weeks. Little embarrassed about the scar.”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve seen worse.”

“I’m sure you have,” you grin. 

Sharp frost melts as the conversation begins to pick up. As much as a conversation can with only one person talking, anyway. You talk about everything and everything on your mind as the alcohol loosens your lips, and Simon is all ears to receive it. He’s the most interested wall you’ve ever spoken to, anyway. The tension in your shoulders deliquesces after your second drink, allowing you to languidly lounge in your seat, but Simon has yet to touch his. Crystalline, still water rots away in his glass—his mask stays firmly on his face as if it’s always been a part of him. As if it would kill him to remove it. 

“So, military, huh?” you ask. Your fingers lazily trace the rim of your cup as you hiccup. Simon has a sneaking suspicion that the bartender might be making them a tad too strong for you to handle. Simon nods. “What’s that like?” 

He gives you a dull shrug. “It’s work.” 

A slight pout appears on your lips as your hands lay palm down on the table. “Oh, come on. It’s gotta be more interesting than that! Seriously, what do you do? I know there’s like, different branches, right? Something fun, I’d wager. Maybe an explosives expert? Oh, are you a pilot?” 

Simon scoffs as he leans back. His back hits the wood behind him and he presses his shoulders back until his scapulas hum with the stretch. You’re not too shy about the way your lips part at the sight of him like this—broader than you’ve ever seen him before. “Bit too tall for that.” 

“Really? Wouldn’t have guessed,” you say with playful snark. Suddenly, your eyes widen as you snap your fingers. “Oh! Wait, I get it. You can’t tell me because you work on high priority missions? Like secret agent shit, right? A little James Bond action?” 

It takes everything within Simon not to chuckle at your inebriated dreaming. “Somethin’ like that.” 

Humming, your eyes gloss over as you rest your head in your hand. “Must be neat. Despite all the military stuff, anyway. I bet you get to travel the world and see so many things. So many places,” you say. Your tone drips with awe as your gaze stares blankly through the table, words nearly dissipating on your tongue. “I’d kill for an opportunity like that…” Then, your eyes revive as your lips pull into a smirk. “No pun intended.” 

Your bluntness catches Simon off guard—so much so that you manage to bring a grumbling chuckle out of his throat. It’s warm and thick, like blood and syrup. It’s nothing but music to your ears as you grin, seemingly satisfied with his titter. 

“Reckon you ought to make that drink your last one for tonight,” he says, finger pointing to your empty glass. “Don’t think I can stand your shitty puns much longer.” 

You laugh as you look down at your drink—or, what’s left of it. It’s dissolved into nothing but the unwanted dregs of watered down vodka and cherry stems. The back of your neck burns with a hungry heat, and you find yourself having to rub your sweaty palms off on the front of your knitted sweater. 

“Right, of course. I forgot the bad jokes were your thing. Didn’t mean to steal the spotlight from you or anything,” you tease. Your smile dissolves into something softer as if you’ve found yourself in the grasp of some caprice. You wet your lips before humming. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. Honestly, I really didn’t think you’d say yes, let alone show up. Doesn’t really seem like your type of place.” 

“Think I’m too posh?” Simon deadpans. 

“Yeah, the work boots really sold you out,” you quip with a giggle. “But really. I appreciate it.” 

He tilts his head to the side where his dark eyes quietly study you. “Don’t mention it.” 

A sonorous drone echoes through the air. It pulls you into a gentle lull that tickles the back of your skull until your thoughts are muddled and fuzzy. Everything is numb, and too far out of your reach. Even the tips of your fingers begin to melt.

“Well, I’ll probably be headed out, then,” you say as you push your empty glass toward the edge of the table. “I’ll just make a quick stop by the restroom. You can head out now if you don’t wanna stick around.” 

Simon sits for a moment in thought as his mind wanders to the bitter memories of your battered body. How blood once dribbled down your chin in a crimson river; how you didn’t seem to grimace at the taste of it. For a moment, he can’t remember when that image of you—torn to shreds—started to plague him worse than the death and gore he’s seen out in the field has. 

“I’ll wait,” he says after deliberating. “Sure you don’t need a ride?” 

“No, I’ll be alright. I walked here,” you assure him as you slide out of the booth with a wave of your hand. 

Somehow, that’s worse. 

You sneak away before Simon can protest the idea. He grumbles as he pushes his cup of water towards the edge of the table—it’s still completely full and untouched. Quiet music fills his ears as he sits there waiting for you, and without your voice to drown out the commotion, it quickly consumes him. Each cheer from the men playing darts, the clack of empty glasses on the bartop, the entrance screeching as the door swings open—it eats him up. Unravels his DNA until he’s nothing but a soldier composed of iron bones and scar tissue. 

A new loud, ostentatious voice fills the pub. It’s so jarring that Simon finds himself twisting in his seat to see the idiot for himself. The new patron is a tall man; shorter than himself but still garners the height to stick out in a crowd. He stumbles around tables and people as he makes a beeline straight to the bar. Hoppy alcohol and stale cigarettes rolls off of his body in noisome waves that has even Simon’s nose shriveling at the intrusion. 

Saving himself the headache, Simon turns his attention away from the patron as he adjusts the mask on his nose. Instead, he studies the grain on the wood table. There’s several faint rings from people refusing to use their coasters properly, but the finish is dark and rich. This pub isn’t the most salubrious, but he’s certainly seen worse. Though, he is rather surprised to find someone like you frequenting it. 

Someone so soft—someone who’s the apotheosis of the sun. 

That’s when he hears your name. 

Simon’s head snaps to the sound, and he finds you standing a few steps away from the bathroom with wide eyes. Your lips part to speak but your feet are frozen to the ground. He knows your expression well. It’s something he’s seen too much. He’s seen it on his mother’s face when his father would return home from a night of drinking. On the face of an enemy as he stands above them, ready to deal the final blow. On his own face when he looked in the mirror as a child. 

“Don’t talk to me.” Even over the buzz of the crowd, Simon can still hear your voice. It’s shaky—fracturing at the seams—and not strong enough to ward off the man sauntering up to you. Simon quickly recognizes him as the patron who entered just moments earlier; nothing but a galling moron pub hopping. 

“Come on, don’t be like that,” the man pushes. “I miss you, you know that? Despite all your bitching, I still fucking miss you.” 

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head as you push past the man, muttering something about him getting lost, but you don’t make it far before he has his hand wrapped around your wrist. Trapped like an animal in a cage, your face morphs into horror as your eyes find Simon. You garner attention from the crowd as you turn around to face your harasser, free hand pushing at him as if you can undo the crushing grip on your body. 

“Get your fucking hands off of me,” you seethe. 

While anxious eyes watch on with tight lips, it takes little time for Simon to cross the pub. He slices through the building like a bullet, and it only takes a short moment before his hand is pressing against the assailant’s chest. 

“Right, that’s enough of that,” Simon murmurs a warning. 

Doubling down, the man’s grip only strengthens as he cocks his head at Simon with furrowed brows. “Who the fuck is this creep? You look like you ought to be on the register.” 

“Shut up, Eric,” you hiss. 

“No, really,” the man pushes further. “Is this the type of people you’re hanging out with now? This fucking nonce?” 

An eerie silence settles across the pub just in time for it to shatter with the sound of flesh crashing against flesh. The palm of your hand bites the side of the man’s—Eric’s—cheek, temporarily stunning him into submission. Patrons look on with quiet murmurs as Eric’s attention snaps back to you, your slap having done nothing to phase him. 

“Watch your fucking mouth,” you warn. 

“No, I’d rather watch yours, babe,” he sneers. His jaw sets taut as his free hand comes up to grab your face with bruising force, drawing you closer to him with a squeak as he bares his teeth in a snarling grin. “You have such a pretty mouth. Would love to put it to work like the fuckin minx you are.” 

It’s disgusting. This man with his hands on you like he’s won some prize. Avaricious fingers dig into your face like he plans to take, and take, and take. Simon’s seen it all before. Seen it in his own flesh as unwanted hands claw at him. He’s felt it on his face in the form of a vile, wet tongue swiping around his mouth. It’s in the screams he couldn’t hold back as a curved hook weaved between his ribs and tugged. It’s in the blood that spilled down his body as he was strung up to the soundtrack of laughter and a crackling fire. It’s in the maggots that he sat in when he was buried alive. 

It’s here, right now, and it’s staining your face. 

Simon refuses to give Eric more time to right his wrongs. His fingers rip into his shirt as he yanks him away from you, allowing you to finally be free from his unwavering grasp. Then, there’s nothing but a yelp as Simon’s knuckles collide with the side of his jaw, sending Eric toppling to the floor where he lays limply like a rabbit finally succumbing to a wolf.

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[lay-z]

👑 Day 13 – The Ice Queen and her Stooges

A continuation to 🦌 Day 5 – Bambi, which means it’s set in the same universe! 

Synopsis: After the ice-skating incident and a quick trip to the infirmary, Gaz and Soap take you back to their flat on base to coddle and pamper you. 

Pairing: John Soap MacTavish x fem!Reader x Kyle Gaz Garrick  Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | military!Reader; friends/teammates to lovers; humour; cussing; fluff; dub-con (I guess, for good measure.); dirty talk; fingering; cunnilingus 

Word count: 2.1k

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“Here, take these with water.” Gaz says firmly, bordering on an order, as he keeps slipping into his male nurse persona. He grasps your good wrist gently and turns your hand up before dropping the subscribed painkillers into your palm. 

“Oh, really? Wanted to take 'em with vodka.” You huff, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Gaz puts his hands behind his back, pressing his lips together with a sad frown, looking like a kicked puppy as he stands in front of you by the couch. 

When you pop the pills into your mouth and lean forward to pick up the glass of water from the coffee table, he swiftly grabs it for you, so you don’t have to bend awkwardly as you try to keep your injured right hand still.  

“Thanks.” You grumble with your mouth full before taking a gulp and swallowing the pills down with a grimace. Once they’re down, you scrunch up your nose at the bitter aftertaste. You hate swallowing pills. 

After the incident at the ice-skating rink that left you with a sprained wrist and several bruises on your body, mostly on your ass, Gaz and Soap took you to the infirmary on base, where one of the medics on duty taped your wrist, told you to keep it cool, and gave you a bunch of painkillers before sending you on your merry way again. Needless to say, Captain Price was vexed when you had to inform him about your unfortunate accident and the fact that you won’t be able to attend training for the next two weeks at least. Paperwork it is, then. 

“She still mad at us, mate?” 

Your frown deepens as you watch Soap enter the living room, though your eyebrows twitch in surprise as you notice that he changed into more comfortable clothes just like Gaz did when they’d brought you back to their shared flat on base. 

The sweatpants he’s wearing hang dangerously low on his narrow hips and when Soap stretches his bulky arms over his head, his T-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of pale skin. A taut stomach with a healthy layer of fat on his abs, a dark happy trail that disappears below the waistband of his sweats. Not that you would care about that. Of course, not.  

“Unfortunately.” Gaz replies with a sigh while you take another long drink of water to wet your suddenly dry mouth. 

Soap scoffs, “Och, lassie, we already said we’re sorry.” He flops down on the couch, right next to you, forcing you to tuck your outstretched legs in to keep some space between you and him.  

Gaz takes a seat on your other side, sandwiching you in between them on the couch, and suddenly, you feel like the room is getting hotter, stuffy. Or perhaps it’s just the painkillers making you fuzzy and stupid. They’re close enough that you can smell both me. While Gaz smells like his subtle cologne and expensive laundry detergent, Soap smells like the cheap military issued bodywash and faint cigarette smoke that he’s tried to get rid of by brushing his teeth just now. 

You keep pouting and try to cross your arms in front of your chest, but the slightest pressure on your right wrist makes you flinch and pull your hand free with a wince. 

“Hey, careful there, sunshine.” Gaz reprimands you, but his empathy and care only agitates you more, and you snap, “Would you stop with that? I’m not a fucking baby that needs to be pampered, Kyle. I hurt my wrist. I didn’t take a bullet for you.” 

And you immediately regret it once you see his face drop and his warm brown eyes lose some of their shine. Next to you, Soap nudges your thigh with his foot as he leans against the armrest with his legs stretched out, “Oi, dinnae be like tha’ ta Garrick. He’s jus’ tryin’ ta take care o’ ye an’ by the way–” 

He switches positions in the blink of an eye, sitting on his knees while you subconsciously lean into Gaz to glare at the other man stubbornly. 

“So am I.” Soap admits, scooting closer, “That’s why we took ye to the bloody ice rink. We wanted ta spend more time with ye outside o’ work.” 

Gaz shifts behind you and you recoil from him with a small huff as you realize how close you are to him, but he reaches out and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back in. 

“Soap’s telling the truth,” Gaz murmurs against your ear from behind, warm breath puffing against your skin, “He came up with the stupid idea to take you ice-skating, but it’s true that we’ve been wanting to take you out on a proper date for a while now.” 

You grunt softly as you try to squirm out of his grip, heart racing and cheeks heating up while Soap watches you struggle with a mischievous grin. He reaches for your ankles and pins them to the couch, keeping you from squirming in Gaz’ embrace. 

“Shut up. Both of you muppets!” You grumble as your embarrassment becomes all too visible. 

“Only if ye stop bein’ mad at us and stompin’ yer feet like a wee bunny.” Soap chuckles, glancing up to share a look with Gaz, though you can’t see the curt nod the latter gives to his friend, but you can definitely watch as Soap’s azure eyes start gleaming before he pulls your legs towards him to lay you flat on the couch while Gaz shifts behind you, adjusting his position. 

“What are you two doing now, huh?” You try to sound angry, but you’re too distracted by the way Soap massages your calves over your leggings, rubbing up and down your sore flesh as he simply keeps watching you while Gaz makes sure you’re laying comfortably with your back against his chest, and keeping your injured hand still. 

And then you feel his hands on your shoulders, massaging your sore muscles slowly, “We just want to take care of you, sweetheart. Can you let us do that and stop being so fussy?” 

“Fussy?” You repeat indignantly, your voice rising in pitch, making Soap laugh and your cheeks heat up once more. Gaz chest vibrates with a deep chuckle and your skin starts prickling with goosebumps, but then Soap’s fingers are suddenly peeling off your socks and your attention is back on the Scotsman, nearly kicking like a horse, though he catches your leg with ease. 

“Damn bunny,” he laughs again, tickling the underside of your foot teasingly, making you writhe with a mewling whine, “Stop kickin’ like tha’. Be a good girl for us, aye?” 

Good girl. That makes you freeze, your brain short-circuit, and your stomach do that rare little flip that has your thighs squeezing together. It’s like the moment comes to a screeching halt as you stare at Soap, like he just grabbed you by the scruff, wide-eyed and chest heaving slowly. 

Soap tilts his head to the side curiously, still smirking, before his eyes flicker up to look at Gaz, who leans in to murmur into your ear once more, “Did you like that? Being called a good girl by him?” 

You swallow thickly and lie, shaking your head half-heartedly, “N-No.” 

“Liar.” Soap clicks his tongue and quirks a thick eyebrow at you, “A terrible one at tha’.” 

Now Gaz’ strong hands start roaming; leaving your shoulders to caress your upper arms, down to the hem of your TF-141 hoodie with your rank and surname stitched in small letters over your chest. He hums, agreeing with Soap, because he can tell how affected you are by him and the Scotsman. He’s a bloody interrogations specialist, after all, and you’re an easy target right about now. 

“What else do you like, princess? How long has it been since someone loved on you properly, huh?” 

You can’t stop your body from letting out the whimper that bubbles up in your throat at Gaz soft-spoken words while his warm, big hands slip underneath your hoodie; caressing and touching your flushed skin while he rucks the thick fabric up and up and up, until your sports bra is exposed to Soap’s eager eyes. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, Garrick,” he mutters somewhat breathlessly, “That’s one bonnie lassie we got ourselves here.” 

“I–I’m not–ngh–!” Whatever pathetic attempt at an objection was about to blurt past your lips, Gaz silences it as he pushes your sport bra up, exposing your supple breasts before he cups both gently, giving them a squeeze that has your spine arching and teeth gritting. 

And while Gaz gropes and explores your tits worshipfully, you barely notice how Soap hooks his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down your legs swiftly and throwing the fabric to the side carelessly. He nudges your legs apart then, and scoots even closer. 

You want to say something, but the way Gaz is playing with your nipples has your eyes roll and your head loll back against his shoulder with a soft moan; hips jutting out to meet Soap’s thick fingers as he drags his knuckles over your clothed slit. 

“How does her pretty cunt feel? ‘Cause her tits feel amazing, MacTavish.” Gaz says, crude words spoken so sweetly that your body goes all pliant against him, his voice carrying the hint of a smile, and then his plump lips latch onto the side of your neck, kissing along the smooth curve down to your shoulder. 

Soap clicks his tongue with a boyish grin as you squirm again when he rubs the pad of his thumb over the fabric of your panties, right above your rapidly and throbbing swelling clit. 

“Very wet,” Soap answers eventually, eyes trained between your legs as he keeps teasing you, “Been a while since someone touched ye there, ey?” You nod, face flushed and contorted in a desperate, pleading expression, and Soap’s eyes seem to darken at your answer, “Good.” 

And then your panties come off and you’re nearly bare between the two men, though Gaz makes sure to keep your hoodie up over your chest as he turns your head to kiss you deeply while Soap gets cosy between your legs.  

The first lick of his tongue through your folds has you whining into Gaz mouth, while the latter swallows your noises down. He kneads your tit roughly, tugs on your stiff nipple and dives his tongue into your willing mouth, all while Soap is practically making out with your sopping cunt. 

You’ve never been this embarrassingly wet for someone; never been this close to climaxing this fast, either. But when you buck your hips against Soap’s face, he swiftly pins your hips down to the couch with a feral growl. 

“Let him have his treat, princess. Let us take care of you.” Gaz murmurs against your lips, still claiming your mouth and breasts for himself while his cock strains against his pants and rubs against your lower back. Soap, too, is grinding his throbbing crotch against the couch cushions, desperate for relief, but you’re oblivious to all of that. Too blissed out as both men worship you thoroughly.  

And once Soap works two thick fingers past your twitching hole, curling and pumping them deep inside your velvety channel, you can barely keep it together anymore. 

“Kyle–” You’re not quite sure why you’re telling him, it just seems appropriate in this moment, “Kyle, fuck, I’m... ‘m gonna–” 

“You hear that, MacTavish?” Kyle calls out, pulling back from your lips to peer over your shoulder, down between your legs where Soap is feasting eagerly; slurping and lapping, groaning and grunting obscenely. 

“She’s gonna cum, so you better keep it up, mate.” 

Soap babbles a reply against your slick flesh while your pleasure keeps mounting, waves of it making your body shudder and your breath hitch in your lungs. The heels of your feet dig into the cushions for purchase while your thighs flex around his head, buzzed hair and stubble tickling and scratching your inner thighs. 

When you writhe under the overwhelming sensations, Gaz grasps your forearm gently to keep your injured wrist from bumping into the couch and hurting yourself; his other arm still wrapped around your torso, right below your breasts. 

He leans in again, bites the sensitive spot right below your ear and sucks a love bite into your skin before he speaks, “Next time, we’re gonna take you out to dinner first, princess. Promise.” 

[superblysubpar]

series masterlist | part two ->

📻 tracks 01 - 07

5,786 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains mentions of cigarettes, weed, sex dreams, and a troubled home life for reader

Her hands tremble as they reach out to him. His eyes close from her gentle cup of his cheeks, though the tender sweep of her thumb across the apple of his right one has them fluttering open.

He wraps an arm around her waist at the sight of her distress, clutching her skirt in fistfuls as he pulls her closer and graces a gentle kiss to her jaw, catching the singular tear fated to drop with his lips before it can.

“I’m gonna be fine.”

His gruff voice against her skin doesn’t sound like he believes it, nor does the way he savors her beneath his mouth, kissing down the side of her neck like he knows he’ll never taste her again.

“You don’t know that,” she whispers into his temple before granting a kiss of her own to the same place.

Her shaking hands lift his jaw so he must look at her, unwaveringly, as she commands, “If you die-“

“I’m not gonna-“

“If you die,” she begins again, stronger, louder, clear in her decision. “I die.”

He knows she means it, her severe gaze promising and threatening and so unbelievably hot-

“Boy!”

Eddie blinked awake, finding his uncle shouting above him and smacking two pot lids together.

His alarm clock flashed red, 12:00 over and over again and he yelped, shooting out of bed as he shouted, “What time is it?!”

Wayne started to retreat down the hall, yelling over his shoulder, “Seven thirty!”

“Fuckfuckshit!” He scrambled out of his room, slipping on open notebooks and campaign books he fell asleep with as he went. Knocking over Old Spice and knickknacks on his dresser when he used a steadying hand against it.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?!” He accused his uncle as he squeezed too much toothpaste on the brush. He pushed the glob of paste back onto the bristles and shoved it into his mouth and began running the shower.

“Boy,” his uncle came into the doorway just to point a hand holding a pack of cigarettes at him, “You know damn well I go to the diner after my shift. And you’re jus’ lucky I got home when I did, Fran was real chatty this morning.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at the sink as he spit, then muttered, “Fran’s always chatty.”

Wayne leaned against the doorframe like he needed it to hold himself up. He shook his head. “You don’t have time for a shower, you’re already late.”

Eddie threw his arms out wide as if to say look at me, then actually said, “I smell like an ashtray.”

His uncle scratched at his chin, then suggested, “Quit smoking.”

Eddie pushed past him, flicking the pack of nearly empty Malboro’s in his hand as he went. “I’ll quit when you quit, old man.”

That got him a flick of his own to the back of his head and a gruff, “Don’t let the water run! We can’t afford it, especially since you’re getting fired today.”

“Har-har,” Eddie grumbled as the water turned off behind him. He jogged back into his room and scanned the contents of his floor for the clean pile.

He lifted a turquoise and black polo and sniffed it, recoiling from the garment and tossing it over his shoulder as a metal screech of the screendoor echoed down into his room.

Not the clean pile.

He quickly found a new one that didn’t smell as bad and pulled it on as he raced towards the laundry basket in the hallway in search of clean boxers and socks because he at least washes those on a semi-regular basis.

Fully dressed, he shoved his feet into his dirty sneakers and snatched the keys from the bowl by the phone, moving so fast he’s sure he’s created enough wind to actually stir up a cyclone to explain the mess he’s left behind.

His feet stamped against the rickity steps and crunched the gravel beneath them as he spun to yell back at Wayne.

“Thanks for waking me,” he nodded towards the trailer as he walked backwards to the truck, “Casserole in the fridge. And stuff for a salad.”

Wayne’s nose scrunched up at that, smoke billowing of of his mouth as he grumbled something under his breath while Eddie hopped in, rusty blue door protesting the whole way to closed.

“Salad!” Eddie pointed a finger out the open window of the truck at his uncle who waved it away before tapping at his watch. But there was a smirk of a smile on his lips wrapped around the burning cigarette.

The truck rumbled to life on the first try and he kissed the center of the steering wheel, “Good job, baby.”

Balled tires kicked up dust as he spun the wheel and whipped out of the gravel lot and onto the highway. He fumbled with the steering wheel, knee keeping her steady as he pulled a hair tie from around his wrist. He held it between his teeth as his hands worked at the mess on his head, pulling into something manageable as he sped down the two lane blacktop.

And then red and blue lights swirled to life behind him and a siren chirped out into the air once.

Eddie groaned as he spit the tie into his lap and grabbed the wheel with two hands, hair falling limp again. He guided the truck to the shoulder and turned the key. He let his head fall to rest on the steering wheel while he waited, forehead furrowing against the cracking leather.

This girl was good, but he missed his van.

Footsteps stomped towards his open window as a voice too eager to be pulling someone over greeted, “Good morning Mr. Munson! You know why I pulled you over today?”

Cause you’re a dick.

“I haven’t the slightest clue, officer.” Eddie lifted his head to look out the open window at Callahan’s smug face.

He pointed a meaty finger in Eddie’s face, “That’s sheriff to you, Munson.”

“Sorry, sir,” Eddie gritted out, wrapping his fingers around the wheel tighter so he wouldn’t lean out the window and rip each hair of Callahan’s mustache out one by one just to watch him suffer.

Callahan looked amused as he asked, “Were you aware of your speed leaving the park this morning, Mr. Munson?”

“Dude, were you just sitting outside the trailer park waiting for me? I could have you written up for stalk-“

Callahan tapped the roof of the car twice, making Eddie’s teeth grind together in silence again.

“I could have you written up for a number of things, Mr. Munson,” Callahan started. “Calling a member of the police force, dude, for one.”

Eddie stared ahead through his windshield and thought of all the places he’d rather be.

“Or maybe write you a ticket for speeding. Or how about that taillight you haven’t fixed yet?” Callahan crossed his arms, but lifted a finger and pointed like he was onto something, “Or maybe, if I search the cab of this…” he trailed off and gave the truck a grimace before continuing, “Fine vehicle, I’ll find some illegal drugs you have the intent of selling.”

“I don’t do that any-“

His volume and argument quick to die off when Callahan raised his eyebrows like he was just waiting for an accuse to arrest him.

“Please, man,” Eddie tried to get an ounce of patience squeezed out of himself to continue, “I’m already late for work. Can you give me whatever ticket you’re planning to give me so I can just be on my way?”

Callahan glanced at the logo on Eddie’s wrinkled polo and clicked his tongue. “Such a heartwarming thing to name such a fun place after such a nice girl. It’s a shame what happened to her though…”

Eddie’s hands twitched on the steering wheel with the thought of what Callahan was insinuating. Like he had something to do with the mall fire too somehow.

“I thought that the Chief told you that if you made any more comments about the rumors about me somehow being involved in that-“

Callahan raised his arms in surrender, “Woah, woah, woah,” he pressed a hand to his chest, “Mr. Munson, nobody is making any comments here. You have an alibi for that night, as we’re all well aware of.”

Just one mustache hair would be satisfying. No harm, right?

“Well,” Callahan squinted at him, pleased smile on his face, like he was god’s greatest gift to this earth for what he was about to say, “I’ll let you off with a warning today, how ‘bout? No need to make all the kiddos at Holloway’s wait for their fries and skates, right?”

Two mustache hairs. And a punch to the face.

Callahan’s grin widened, like the look on Eddie’s face was all he wanted out of the interaction. “But if you don’t get that tail light fixed and learn to slow down, maybe get to work on time, I’ll have no choice but to bring you in.”

He tapped the top of the truck, grimaced, then rubbed his hand on his pant leg.

Eddie saluted two fingers at him and watched him walk away in his side mirror, rolling his eyes at the way he whistled and walked like he was in a John Wayne movie.

“Prick.”

Once Callahan drove away in the opposite direction, he slammed the stereo on and cranked the tape he had left in, and started to dig around for his pack of Camel’s he swore he wouldn’t break into today.

His tires screeched when he peeled onto the road again, speedometer quickly going much higher than ten over now.

📻 “I’d spend my days alone. I used to stay at home. Lost in seclusion there, like I was in a cell.”

The Judas Priest that had been on in the car was quickly taken over by Top Hits, and his shoulders hunched as Madonna started to play.

Again.

He spun around and handed two pairs of skates to two teens and dully said, “Enjoy.”

One smacked her gum as she pushed the scuffed up pair back over the counter and said, “I said sixes. And these smell.”

“You-“ Eddie bit his tongue as the teen blew a bubble and popped it loudly. He rubbed at his temple, “You said six. So I gave you sixes. Then you said they were too small. So I gave you sevens.”

“Yeah but these are too big,” she put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.

“How do you know?” He held his hands out to the pair he had quite literally just slid across to her.

“I just know.” She snapped her gum again and his eye started twitching.

“You just know?” He grit out, closing his eyes as Madonna sang about it being time for the good times and he hated that he knew the next lyrics.

When he opened his eyes and his lips parted to say something he hadn’t thought through, you slid up next to him behind the counter.

“Hi there!” You greeted the girls, bubbly and tossing your hair as your hip bumped his. “How about we try a different pair of sixes then? Those other ones might not have been broken in yet.”

“That’d be great,” the teen smiled at you and then let her features fall slack again as she looked at Eddie.

His fist balled on the counter and you slid a shiny pair over to her and exuberantly told the girls to have fun.

Your features shifted as you turned your back to the rink. Your face now turned from perfect customer service ‘pleased to be here’, to more of a dulled delight as you looked at him and gestured to the snack bar with your head. “Go take a break, Mr. Sunshine.”

He shook his head and started grabbing skates for the boys who came up to the counter practically drooling over you and unable to say anything other than their size without taking their eyes off of your profile.

“No way, I was late, I don’t deserve a break. Plus my shift is almost over anyways. You should take one.”

The skates rolled across the glass countertop and the boys continued to blink at you until Eddie flicked one of their foreheads and pointed to the rink, “Beat it, pervs.”

“Be nice,” you laughed, glancing over your shoulder at the boys retreating, causing one of them to trip and take the other down with him.

Eddie gestured to them, “Me? You’re the one out here taking down innocent men without even trying.”

“Shut up.” You knocked his shoulder with yours as you spun around, but smiled at the counter.

He leaned on his forearms and you did the same, and he stared at your profile for a little too long as he said, “Thanks again, for covering for me for being late.”

“No problem,” you smiled at him and then turned to look at the rink again, chin in your palm as you hummed along to the end of Holiday but then added, “I should have came and knocked when I didn’t hear your stereo this morning.”

Eddie looked down at the counter and grimaced, painfully aware of your bedroom window that faced his bedroom window and he mumbled, “Sorry, I’ll keep it down.”

Your shoulders shrugged, polo sleeve catching his as you turned to look at him again, “I don’t mind. I’m not a huge fan of silence anyways.”

He stared at your eyes, something in them duller from the words you’d just said.

Eddie didn’t know much about you yet, it’d only been about a month since your family had appeared next door one morning and you’d waved with a small smile on your face to him and Wayne. Came over and introduced yourself that evening with a plate of brownie squares.

He did know that you rode a bike with a little basket to work every day, that you sat outside at the picnic tables doing something for hours on the days you didn’t work. That you hung up pale yellow sheets on the clothes line in the moonlight as your radio trilled quietly next to you and your parents voices carried over into his open window.

So he swallowed and asked, “Any requests?”

Your eyes lit up again as you nodded and held up our fingers to list your demands.

“You gotta get some more Hall and Oates in your life, Munson.”

Eddie shivered and you laughed, adding on, “Oh and Queen. Fleetwood Mac! Whitney Houston!”

He moaned until your laughter subsided and you continued, “Oh, and you.”

“What?” He blinked at you as you smiled warmly at him. Looked at him in a way that made him think he’d never actually been looked at before, suddenly all too aware of the wrinkles in the shirt that smelled like weed and his hair all pulled into a low bun and frizzy.

“You, I request more of you,” you tilted your head, as you clarified, “Your guitar?”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat and blinked at the counter, “Right, yeah-“

“Are you in a band? I saw you hauling all sorts of…” You trailed off and stood up and nudged your hip against his and hissed, “Save yourself. Take your break.”

“Wha-“ The teen with the gum and size sixes was returning, and he didn’t need to be told twice. “I owe you. Big time.”

“Yeah you do, I like strawberry milkshakes and really expensive shoes,” you pointed at him but then smiled and waved him away. You turned your attention to the counter again and put on your best older sister kind of voice, “Darn it! Those didn’t work either?”

He was fairly certain you were an angel, sent down to earth to somehow outweigh the devilish goings on of his life.

So when he was sitting at the snack bar and watching you, thinking about how he was rudely woken up this morning before anything good could have happened in his dream, it was even worse when he was knocked in the back of the head and told he was drooling.

Steve flipped a chair around and straddled it, sitting across from him and yanking a fry out of the tray. He spoke around the hot potato, “You ass her out yeb?”

“Quit it,” Eddie groaned, yanking his fries back over to himself while he risked a glance back up at you. Watched as your hips swayed behind the counter while you put skates away and sang along to the music playing in the rink.

“God,” Steve snorted and pulled at a loose fry, “You’re down bad. I feel for you, man.”

“I know,” he moaned, head hitting the tabletop in defeat. He sat up and crossed his arms, watching you pull a teddy bear down for a kid who approached with four tickets and he knew you were giving it away for less than what was needed. He quietly admitted, “I had a dream. Last night.”

“Yeah?” Steve sat up eagerly, munching on a fry as he raised his eyebrows.

“You’re such a perv,” Eddie flicked his straw wrapper at him.

“You sicko,” Robin concurred without evidence as she sat next to Eddie with a large lemonade and a boat of popcorn.

Steve frowned when she smacked his hand away from the popcorn as he defended himself, “I did nothing, here. He’s the one who had a sex dream!”

“Shh!” Eddie swatted at him as Robin perked up, straw between her teeth as she asked, “Oh?”

“I didn’t-“ Eddie rubbed at his forehead, Steve and Robin together somehow worse for his head than the teens or pop hits, “It wasn’t like that. It was…a campaign. I fell asleep working on it, and she just happened to be…in my dream about it.”

“Yeah?” Robin asked eagerly as Steve frowned and asked, “That’s it? Did you even kiss?”

Eddie shrugged, “Not like, on the lips. I was going off to fight this…” he waved his hands around as Robin’s lips split in a grin and Steve’s nose wrinkled, “It doesn’t matter.”

“What was she wearing?” Robin asked, chin perched on her interlaced fingers as she batted innocent eyes at him.

“Don’t…” Eddie moaned, covering his eyes as his ears turned red.

“Was it…Return of the Jedi like?” Steve asked quietly, then added, “Because if it was like that dream, then you get a few more points back.”

Eddie opened his eyes to glare at him, “I didn’t have the Leia dream. Robin did.”

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Listen. You both are nerds okay, I’m just trying to keep up.” He grabbed a fry and waved it around, “Is your warrior elf princess or whatever coming to the party tonight?”

“Is your lady coming tonight?” Eddie threw it back at him with raised eyebrows.

Steve rolled his eyes, perfect little curl over his forehead bouncing as he shook his head. “She’s not-“

“My lady,” Robin and Eddie chimed in together, loudly as Steve sighed.

“And bold of you to call her your lady, when you can’t man up and ask her to be,” Steve poked his forehead with a fry. “No guy who looks at a girl like you look at her should be over here talking to us when he could be over there, with her.”

You seemed to time it perfectly, coming onto the intercom just then, “Happyy Fridaayy! Don’t forget that here at Holloway’s we get that everybody is just working for the weekend. So grab one of our punch cards today! Every ten weekday punches you get a free snack pass! We also know that, everybody wants a new romance - well, Holloway’s is now pleased to offer Skate Date! Saturday nights from five to eight is couples skate. So to grab a piece of her heart, bring her to Holloway’s! We’ll get back to our regular skating, now, but don’t forget! No street shoes on the rink, laces must be tied at all times, kids under the age of five must have an adult with them, and no jumping over the walls. To skate here at Holloway’s, you gotta start from the start!”

Your voice crackled over the speaker, then a cowbell loudly played overhead and Eddie grinned.

He watched as you spun away from the mic and pointed directly at him, mouthing the words along with Loverboy.

📻 “Everyone’s watchin’ to see what you will do. Everyone’s lookin’ at you, oh. Everyone’s wonderin’, will you come out tonight? Everyone’s tryin’ to get it right, get it right.”

Steve stood up abruptly and said, “Let’s go. You’re asking her out.”

“Wha-“ Eddie sputtered as Steve yanked him up under his arms. “Get off me, man!”

“This is pathetic. She’s clearly into you too. Ask her out.” Robin snorted at Steve’s words while Steve straighted out his polo for him, spun him towards you and called out, “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

Eddie glared at him over his shoulder as he stumbled back towards the counter.

He stood on the opposite side though, like he was a customer, hands sweating at his sides as you smiled at him.

“I think that one was my best yet, what’d you think?” You asked before slipping your lips around the straw of your coke.

“Ye-yeah, it was good,” he cleared his throat, wincing at the squeak of it as he watched your cheeks hollow.

“I think Loverboy should definitely be on your evening rotation.”

Eddie winced, playing along and grateful you were easy to slip into conversation with, no matter how nervous he was. “I draw the line at leather pants, sorry.”

“Not a fan of leather,” you nodded, slipping your drink under the counter again, “Noted.”

His mind started to melt thinking about you in leather. Like in his dream. Leather battle vest laced up the back and corset like and-

“I mean…you, if you were wearing it, I’d…” He stumbled over the words and felt a billion degrees warmer than the eighty degree day when you grinned at him all knowing.

“Noted,” you said again, though this time you tilted your head at him before glancing down at the counter.

“Um, so you-“ Eddie tapped the counter, he spun his rings and rocked on the back of his heels before spitting out, “There’s this party tonight and I was wondering if you’d want to go?”

He watched your eyes sparkle, your mouth parted to answer when a customer came up and interrupted.

You apologized to him with a smile and helped the kid with their tickets and prize for the small arcade attached to the rink. He risked a glance back at the table to only find Robin and Steve sharing her popcorn and out right starting. He waved them away, mouthing for them to get lost when your voice made him freeze.

“So…” you drew it out, “This party…is it like a date?”

Eddie spun back to face you, face heated from the smirk on your lips and your gaze cutting to behind his shoulder. He had no doubt in his mind you were watching Robin and Steve do something insanely stupid like pretend to read invisible newspapers or have a wildly animated and over the top “conversation”.

He closed his eyes, and winced, “I mean, not if you…I’m not sure…”

“You’re not sure? If it’s a date? ” You asked and he opened his eyes to find you smiling sincerely at him.

Maybe you weren’t a princess or angel, but a witch, casting a spell on him, determined to have him make deals with the devil instead of preventing them.

“I’m sure that…” He swallowed and took a step closer to the counter, “I’m sure that I don’t think you deserve a shitty house party for a first date so no, it’s not a date. But I’d love to get to know you more. And I’m going, and I know you haven’t met too many people probably so maybe you could do that. And also just have fun. With me. There.”

He stared at you, watched you seem to inflate and deflate in a matter of seconds.

“I have a shift at Family Video after this,” you whispered to the counter, fingers fiddling with the hem of your polo. When you looked up at him, you seemed like a smaller version of yourself as you asked, “Maybe if it’s not too late and I’m not too tired, I could meet you there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, suddenly feeling like a thousand rocks were in his stomach. He had no idea you worked two jobs. “Do you…you ride your bike home after that shift? At night?”

“I get the car at night,” you shook your head no, explaining, “I bike home, drop the bike off, my dad gets home from work and I take that to Family Video.”

“Oh, okay,” Eddie gestured to you, “Well if you ever need a ride…I have a semi-reliable truck.”

Your smile was mind meltingly sweet as you looked down at the counter then back up at him again. He swore there was a choir singing when you made eye contact that time.

“Noted,” you said it softly, the third time the best of all. Like you were really taking little facts about him and noting them down.

“So,” he drummed his fingers against the countertop then started to back away, “I’ll see you tonight…hopefully?”

“I’ll be the one in leather…possibly,” you offered and flashed him an even more dazzling smile and he stumbled, turning his back to you as he tried to hide his grin.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?” He spun to face you, too fast, cheeks warm as you laughed.

“Where’s the party?”

“Oh shit!” A mom walked by with a small child, frowning and he bowed from the to pass, “So sorry, ma’am.”

You laughed as he returned to the counter and quickly scribbled the address on a ticket you passed over.

“Have a good rest of your day, Eddie,” your fingers brushed his as you took the ticket and slipped it in your back pocket.

He offered a discreet thumb’s up to Steve and Robin as he faced them again, and they fist pumped, and he floated back to the table on the sound of your laughter.

Maybe this Summer, working this shitty job, wouldn’t be that terrible after all.

📻 “She didn’t know it was his last cigarette.”

Eddie’s face, hopeful for you to come to the party that night, was all you could think about. Butterflies cracked out of cocoons in your stomach as you remembered how flustered he got from the mere mention of leather.

Allowing the hot Indiana summer night and boy making your sheets cling to your skin wasn’t worth lying in, you decided, especially just to do so while listening to them argue and ruin the giddy hope filling you.

So you climbed out of your window, as you’ve done most nights since moving to this odd town, sketchbook and pen in your hand and the image of Eddie’s hair all tied up today itching to come out of you and onto the paper.

The wet grass clung to your bare feet as you quietly snuck out towards the picnic table in the back field, the moonlight, crickets, and bats your only company.

Or so you thought.

Your hand flew to your chest in shock, your body warmed even more as you became increasingly more aware of what you were wearing and who was sitting in your spot to see you in it.

“Hey,” he spoke first, all shadows and a smile that looked sleepy even from far away, an acoustic guitar on his lap.

You didn’t know much about Eddie Munson yet, but you wanted to. He’d filled more of the pages of the book in your hand than anyone had in awhile. He had a story, one you were desperate to draw out of him, literally on the page, as well as to learn from listening to him tell it in a way only he could.

You knew he had two very close friends in the boy everyone called Harrington who worked at the theater and the girl, Robin, who loved to chat with you whenever she came in. Knew he had a group of boys that followed him around that he pretended to be annoyed by. Knew he brought food over to the girl Max and her mom. Knew he listened to music you didn’t necessarily care for, but loved when he plucked things out on his own guitar, even if you didn’t know for what genre. You’d heard of some rumors surrounding him and the town that you didn’t really believe, because of the things you already knew.

The most important thing that you’d learned about him, was that if he already intrigued you this much, he was dangerous - a risk to all of your plans that you weren’t sure you were willing to take.

So each step forward was a timid one, the summer breeze drifting by fluttered the hem of your shorts, and from the quick glance he gave down at your chest then back up, it seemed to have peaked your nipples as well.

“What’re you doing out here this late?” You asked quietly, though you were far enough away, and they’re loud enough, that you weren’t sure why you bothered to lower your volume.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he offered just as softly.

Now that you were closer, you could see he wasn’t wearing his typical uniforms - his literal uniform or his almost imperceptibly different daily outfit of a different but similar shirt and the same jeans. Tonight it was a cotton white shirt, that ached to be wrinkled by your fingers. There was something about it that made you long for your pencils, to sketch him for hours, like this was the most vulnerable you’d ever get to see him.

“Can’t sleep,” you shrugged, holding up your sketchbook.

“Same,” he nodded to his guitar he laid across the tabletop gently, his notebook, scribbled words taking up a majority of the page.

“You write your own lyrics?” you asked, eagerly taking more steps to close the gap between the two of you to catch a glimpse and Eddie promptly folded the notebook closed as you got within sight.

“Oh come on,” you teased, reaching past him for it, “Can’t I read it?”

Eddie looked up at you, down at your sketchbook, then in a low tone of voice that should be illegal, asked, “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Your thighs pressed together when, despite his confident delivery, the tops of his cheeks turned pink, daring you to take a bite out of them. You didn’t have a doubt in your mind anymore:

Letting yourself have Eddie Munson was dangerous.

“I don’t know you that well,” you shrugged, like you were sorry, taking a step back.

“You could,” Eddie offered.

It sat like a bubble waiting to burst between the two of you. His hopeful eyes and your butterfly infested stomach, waiting for the other one to blink first.

He looked back at the trailers when a particularly loud slam of a door made you flinch.

“How was work?” He changed the subject, body shifting to face you fully and smiling. “I mean your other work?”

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter sandwiched between the sticks and he leaned forward. His elbows on thighs covered in gray sweatpant material, cut with little care and revealing black ink on one of his thighs that dared you to get closer and inspect him.

“It was,” you cleared your throat and looked up at the stars, “It was fine. Typical Friday night rush. How was the party? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

Eddie shrugged. “A party.”

“Not a fan?” You spun slowly, looking at the sky.

Eddie inhaled sharply as you turned slowly, your profile to him and his gaze on the hem of your shorts as he forced out a quiet, “Drunk idiots playing truth or dare and spin the bottle as adults, cheerleaders dating the jocks, still? No, not really.”

You hummed, head on the stars as you got an idea and timidly asked, “Truth or Dare?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I just hung out in the basement with Steve and Robin for most of it.”

He placed the cigarette between his lips and started to fiddle with the lighter. Your heart thrummed as you spun to face him fully and nervously laughed, “No, Eddie, truth or dare?”

You inched closer to him as he looked up at you, unlit cigarette between his lips still, and asked more than said, “Truth?”

Your stomach swooped a little, hoping he would have said dare but a little glad he hadn’t, not sure if you could have followed through. Your knee knocked his as you took a step closer, then closer.

Eddie’s hands caught your waist as you leaned forward and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. His breath grew shallow, chest rising and falling fast in front of you when his hand slipped between the thin shorts and thinner top, resting against your skin. You were close enough to see few freckles across his nose, smell mint on his breath and something woody and spicy in his hair.

Despite knowing it was dangerous, you were starting to not care.

His fingertips buzzed along your hipbone, sending shocks all the way up your spine, like a lit sparkler was cracking and fizzing inside your chest.

Eddie swallowed thickly as the tip of your nose brushed down the bridge of his, his hands flexing on your waist and the way his legs spread to make room for you to wedge between gave you a confidence you hadn’t had before.

“Do I make you nervous, Eddie?” Your question whispered in the centimeters of space between his lips and yours.

“Jesus,” he breathed it out through a rough chuckle, “More than you know, sweetheart.”

Your smile pressed your top lip to his bottom, a quick brush of your mouth against his that he sighed into.

“Good,” you murmured against his plush and pouty bottom lip that was ready to catch you and keep you there.

Then you turned and promptly walked back towards your trailer without looking back at him.

Your tingling lip caught between your teeth suppressed your giddy grin as he called out, “Don’t I get to ask you now?”

Maybe this Summer, in this town, wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

[ineylesian]

Adler taking care of a drunk/and or high reader😭😭 THERES NOT ENOUGH ADLER FICS IM GONNA CRY I LOVR HIM

AO3 | NAV

wc — 1k

author’s note — hii sorry this took so long!! arqhms we’re-so-back arc took a little longer than expected, but here a little drabble for you. still learning how to write for adler, he’s a little tricky, but i’ll cook when BO6 comes out 🫡

Your head is pounding. 

The world around you is shrouded in a dark shear. Blurred sit the lights that shine down on shaking hands, gently tapping against the ring of a nearly emptied glass. Ice swirls and clashes as you slide the drink back and forth, in and out, steady as the breaths that pool from your mouth. 

In. Out. You’re convinced that you’re fine. You just need another drink– something bitter to wind you down and help you forget. That’s all it does, anyway. All you can do is forget, and drink it all down once you remember. 

You raise your hand, silently waving to the woman who served your last four, five shots to you. Her head falls into half of a nod, eyes moving from yours as she stills, cloth in hand slowing on the rim of the glass she cleans. 

“That’ll be enough for tonight, thanks.”

Your eyebrows narrow as her nod changes to acknowledgment toward the voice behind you, sending a look of sympathy your way as she turns. Sighing, you quickly down the last watered down drops in your glass, swiveling sideways to glare at a pair of tan aviators looking your way.

“You can’t tell me-”

“You reek of whiskey, can smell it all over you.” He’s quick to cut you off, ice clinking together as he pulls the glass from you, sliding it out of reach. “It doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve had enough.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, your gaze wanders down to his jeans. Your features contort into a resemblance of a sneer, finger jutting out to point at the outline of a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

“And who says what’s enough for you?” 

A few moments of silence pass; you don’t miss the quick roll of his tongue over his lips. The aviators can’t hide the vision of him briefly closing his eyes, searching for what he’ll say next. It’s something you know he always does when he’s trying to pick his next words carefully. 

Drunk or sober, Adler is always logical with the way he talks to you. You believe it stems from the desire to never give the sense of a false promise. They sit reserved for nights of uncertainty, unsure of whether tomorrow is a guarantee. Whispers of his desires only seem to visit you in your dreams.

“Smoking doesn’t impact my ability to think.” You sense his gaze flick between your face and legs. “I could go through an entire pack and still be able to carry myself out of here. Half a bottle of Jack Daniels prevents you from getting up and walking out of here.”

Adler doesn’t miss the look of defiance that crosses your face after he’s done speaking. Following the clearance of your tab, he leans back, arms settling over one another. 

“Go on, then. If you can get yourself out of here, you can tell me when to stop for the rest of my life.”

Antagonizing, snide. It’s the tactic you’ve seen more times than you can count, saccharine tongue used to taunt and beckon failure. However, the amount of alcohol in your stomach lets his provocation slither into your brain like honey, liquid courage screaming at you to shut him up. 

You barely lift your shoes off of the barstool’s bottom level when your vision goes blurry, large spots of black making the floor seem akin to the wall 10 feet away. The rush of fear that you’re falling is swiftly diminished as a pair of hands pull you forward, and you’re met with the brush of cashmere on your cheek.

You’re too drunk to notice the action. He’s quick, the way that his fingers gently card through your hair, the feeling gone as a summer breeze washes over your skin. However, the warmth lingers, and you lift your head to look at him, eyes brimming with tears due to the gradual worsening of the pounding in your head.

“Take me home.” You drawl, arms blindly reaching around his torso, locking together. “Please, Russ.”

You hear his scoff, lightly chiding, but you can barely make out the amused quirk of his lips as he stands up, slowly situating your feet onto the floor.

“Walk with me.”

You do as you’re told, whining incoherently at him as he loops your arm around his neck. Adler calls a thanks to the bartender, and you stumble over your feet two or three times before you reach the door. The cool rush of night is quick to dust your face as you move outside, a harsh contrast to the contents of your stomach that causes you to mindlessly shiver.

“Adler...”

Your complaint is met with a soft click of the tongue, yet, the sensation of warmed leather falls over your shoulders within seconds. A lopsided smile graces your face, and you allow your eyes to roam from chestnut strands that fall over his aviators to the polished black leather on his feet.

“And the next layer?”

A gentle push follows your remark, and you scoff dramatically, arms looping around Adler’s neck as he spins you back toward him. You grin as he tilts your head up against his chest, silently celebrating the empty streets that allow him to hold you as he does. 

“Does the princess require any more care?” 

Still heavily whiskey blooded, you hum, neck craning up to meet his gaze. 

“Just your bed.”

You don’t expect a response, and he doesn’t give one. Satisfied, you lean back into the soft fabric of his turtleneck, knowing the soft strokes of his hands along your back won't leave you alone tonight.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Could I request a barmaid employee!reader x Tommy where he finally convinced her (pressured her) into trying opium with him and he takes advantage of her blissed out state please and thank you 👀

-Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy!

warnings: drug use, date rape basically, noncon, smoking, p in v

Shining the glasses behind the bar, your not so busy night was coming to end only the lonesome Shelby you could see walking toward the pub in the rain. He was drenched when he walked inside, the smell of soaked clothes and whiskey wafting through the air when he stepped inside.

Tommy had been interested in you for awhile now but hardly ever made an appearance in the pub since you were hired. Something about you kept him astray. Maybe it was the way your hair flowed effortlessly, your strands shining in the dimlight. Or the way your skirt hardly covered the bare skin of your exposed thighs, the fabric sometimes getting bunched up without you know. Such a mysterious, yet beautiful young thing.

Taking a seat at the bar Tommy pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping at the bar signaling for a glass of whiskey as if he hadn't had enough.

"Mr. Shelby, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He chuckled, lighting one, this one not having that orange hue at the bottom like most cigarettes. You'd heard of people rolling their own but Thomas was wealthy enough that there was no need.

Crossing your arms, you crossed the bar, taking a seat beside him when he offered his hand out, motioning for you to take a hit. Perhaps the man just wanted company, a stranger to share his time with from his dreary life, yet something seemed off. He hadn't even said anything to you and you'd heard the rumors about him.

“It’s just a smoke. What do you think I laced it or something?” Tommy chuckled casually, keeping his calm composure, those blue, charming eyes shining like diamonds toward you while the sound of water dripping from his hair onto the floor being the only sound in the room.

After some contemplation, perhaps one cigarette wouldn’t be too bad, besides it wasn’t often your boss even checked in with how the pub was doing. The casuals never failing to show up and drink their lives away while wallowing over women who’d left them, throwing a few flirtatious remarks in the process.

“Alright fine.” Tommy leaned over, his firm grip on the drug pressing to your lips, telling you to inhale. It wasn't even nearly five seconds later that you were coughing up a lung. You didn't normally smoke, the feeling of smoke filling your airway still new to you but this tasted different. Maybe it was imported tobacco or something, definitely not weed.

“Tom, you didn’t tell me cigarettes were going to make my mouth as dry as a fucking desert.” Your eyes were dazing, vision turning blurry from the drug. Was this how cigarettes were supposed to make you feel? It was working, Tommy was pleasantly surprised how fast the potent effects had on you.

"You alright y/n, eh?" Your body suddenly felt a euphoric rush, angelic eyes rolling back as your eyelids fluttered shut.

Noticing your head falling, Tommy sat back you temple resting lazily on his shoulder as he smoothe back your hair, other hand gliding over the bare skin of your thigh.

The last thing you remembered before everything turned black was Tommy’s fingers inching under the thin fabric of your panties.

Your vision and thoughts came and went in waves, only conscious for certain periods of his abuse.

Tommy hummed in approval, before unbuckling his belt buckle and flailing your blissed out body over the bar, ignoring your incoherent mumbles of protest. Fuck you could hardly see anything, the atmosphere just spinning, unable to form any basic thought while a numbing sensation inhabited your brain and body. The only thing you could sense was the profound danger you were in, body unable to do anything about it.

His hands grazed up the smooth skin of your thighs, landing on your perky cheeks and gripping tightly at the fatty skin. He was going to have so much fun.

"Fuck." He cursed in a low, desirable groan finally having your most private area on full display just for him.

His fingers slicked between your wet folds, stopping at your hole. Plunging his fingers in, he was surprised to feel how wet and tight your hole was, it was even better than he imagined.

Groaning and trying to bat him away with a flick of your hand, he grabbed your wrists holding them behind your back while unzipping the zipper of his pants, allowing his girthy, eager member to spring free.

“Aw c’mon sweetheart. I’m simply doing you a gratuitous favor.” You whimpered underneath him, unable to close your legs due to his tall, over powering figure standing between them.

Aligning his cock he took a deep breath in before plunging into your sweet, tight abyss. Your head rolled from the slight sting, still unable to do much from stopping him. He felt rather large, girthy even. Stretching you open wider, his eyes glued to his cock sliding in and out between your slicked walls. “Tommy-“ The only thing you could mutter out, wincing from the pain and still delirious from the effects of the drug.

“Look at my favorite barmaid taking me cock so well.” He continued to hold your wrists back, hips snapping against you roughly, hitting your cervix with each forceful thrust. You cried out from the pain that still had yet to turn into any type of pleasure.

Your ass cheeks ricocheted off of his movements each time his length pounded back into you. You were out of breath, body weak. The sight of you so weak and ar his complete mercy only pumped the raging hormones inside him, stepping closer so that he was rutting into you like a fucking dog relentlessly. Claiming what he’d wanted to for quite a long time.

His fist curled in your hair, lips just inches away from your ear as he moaned lustfully against your lobe, biting at the sensitive skin roughly.

“Gonna fucking cum in you like the whore you are…” The last thing you felt was Tommy’s cock pulsating inside of you before you passed out.

When awoke, Tommy must have layed your damn near lifeless body up against the shelves of liquor in the basement. Jolting up, your head was pounding, eyes scanning the room frantically before the shattered pieces of your memory came flooding back into your mind.

Upon noticing the bruises on your thighs, you could hear menacing footsteps walking down the stairs toward you. What else had he done to you?

"Ready for a second dose?"

[how-serene]

In Your Eyes

Pairing - Dwayne (Lost Boys) x Neutral!Reader

Summary - A night on the boardwalk with Dwayne.

Word Count - 775

Warnings - fluff, mentions of smoking, no use of y/n, pet names

A/N - Billy Wirth, you absolute beauty.

Santa Carla’s cool breeze washed over your face. Behind you, the shrieks and laughter of friends broke through the crashing of the waves. They danced wildly around a bonfire, Mötley Crüe booming through a radio speaker. Despite the night bringing a cold chill, hoards of people still strolled along the boardwalk. Even from your place on the pier, you could feel the public’s infectious excitement. 

You leaned against the rickety railing, a cigarette held loosely between your fingers. Summer’s full moon hung high, reflecting off of the rippling waves of the water. Stars blinked down at you, against the sky’s black canvas. The pungent smell of the ocean invaded your airways, mixing with the bitter smoke. 

A pair of leather cladded arms snaked around your waist, startling you. 

“Hey, baby,” Dwayne purred, breath fanning against your ear. His hands traveled down to rest on your hips, squeezing at the flesh. 

“You’re late,” you pointed out, fighting back a grin. 

He merely hummed at your words, instead choosing to leave faint kisses on your shoulder. Even through the thick fabric of your shirt, his lips still managed to leave your skin buzzing.

Dwayne trailed his lips up, til he met the shell of your ear again. His rough hands turned you to properly face him, the railing pressed into your back. 

“Got caught up with something,” he explained, dark eyes shining down at you. 

From the faint ruby stain in the corner of his lip, you understood very quickly what that something was. You brought your thumb up, to swipe at the red smudge. The corner of his lip quirked up, carefully watching your movement. 

“You’re cold,” he noticed, leaning into your touch. 

“”The pier isn’t exactly the warmest place on earth.” 

“How long have you been waiting?” 

“Thirty minutes, give or take.” You shrugged, letting your hand fall back down to your side. 

Dwayne sighed, dark brown eyes drifting past you to stare out at the ocean waves. The wind had picked up, now faintly brushing against his thick black hair. He seemed lost, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t begin to decipher. 

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, effectively getting his attention. His eyes softened, sweeping over you. 

“Wanna know what’s been on my mind all night?” You asked, brushing the tip of your nose against his. Dwayne’s sweet mouth was only centimeters away from yours. His hands slipped up the back of your shirt, the cool silver rings he wore ghosting over the skin.

“What is it, doll?” he muttered, lips grazing the corner of your mouth. Patiently waiting for you to speak. His unshaven stubble scraped against your chin.

You planted a firm kiss on his cheek, before pulling back. 

“Winning that giant stuffed panda I saw near the balloon darts.” 

The pier was alive, as bright neon lights illuminated the boardwalk. The flood of patrons rushed past you, of kids dragging their parents by the cuff of their sleeves, or friends huddled together like packs of wolves. All vying for that last ride on the Ferris wheel, or an overpriced corndog before the park closed for the night. 

You walked, with Dwayne’s arm slung over your shoulders, and a stuffed Panda lovingly held in your hands. 

“Since when were you so good at darts, mister?”

Dwayne sheepishly smiled, glancing down at you, “Just one of my many talents.” 

You snorted, bumping your hip with his. It was odd, at times you realized. Dwayne smelled of cigarettes, and cheap booze most likely snagged from the victims of bonfire parties. His mouth tasted of mint, and nicotine when he would kiss you. There was always something beyond it though, a metallic taste your mind would block out before you could process it. 

Even though you knew. 

He appeared so human at times, it knocked you back. It was almost easy to brush off the strange coolness of his skin, or the carnivorous look in his features when a hoard of people would pass by you two. 

Then there were moments when the human-like quality of Dwayne overshadowed everything else. Moment’s like now, when he pressed you into his side, grinning as he peppered kisses over your hairline. You giggled, leaning back away from him, your heart thudding in your chest. Up ahead, his pack was gathered around a picnic-table, lazily leaning against it. Their ravenous gaze met yours, locked on your approaching form. Marko, with an infectious toothy smile and unkempt golden hair, waved at you. Dwayne grumbled, muttering something under his breath.

You were reminded that monsters lurked on every corner. 

In Santa Carla, at least. 

[nanamineedstherapy]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize—Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended. Warnings: Frat House Buffoonery™ Characters Being Absolutely Oblivious Until It's Too Late Unexplained Boners (Yes, It Needs a Warning)

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the empty bottle spin. It twirled and twirled, catching the dim glow of fairy lights as it whirred against the wood. The room smelled of cheap liquor, stale perfume, and the faint, acrid trace of someone’s recently smoked cigarette. Laughter and hushed whispers filled the air, but your world had narrowed to this single moment.

You wished it would slow down.

You wished it would stop.

And then—it did.

Pointing directly at him.

Your stomach dropped.

Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes seemed to bore into your soul, the dim light of the room amplifying the intensity of their sparkle. You felt like a small, insignificant thing, lost in the vastness of his attention.

The cheers that erupted around you felt distant, like you were hearing them through water. Someone clapped you on the back, and before you could fully process what was happening, hands were shoving you forward. Your heels skidded against the floor. The closet door swung open.

Then—darkness.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in a space so small it felt like the walls were pressing against your back. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and forgotten dust, and somewhere in the darkness, he shifted.

You strained to hear the sounds of the room, but it was as if the world had narrowed to a single, fragile thread—the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until his voice—gentle, smooth, husky and entirely too amused—broke through it. "So... only seven minutes?"

A shiver ran down your spine.

You swallowed hard, pressing your back against the wall, desperate for something solid. "Oh God," you whispered.

His low chuckle was warm, rich—dangerous in a way you couldn’t quite place. “Oh God...? That’s the first thing you say to me? Not gonna lie, kinda hurts my feelings.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You forced a laugh—nervous, brittle, barely a sound. "I should leave," you stammered, the words rushing out too fast.

He tilted his head, smirk evident even in the dim light. "Leave? Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?"

Your hand shot out, scrambling for the doorknob.

It rattled.

Didn’t turn.

Locked.

You barely held back a whimper. "God, nooo."

He let out a sharp, genuine laugh, the kind that made his shoulders shake. “Hey… relax. Why’re you panicking so damn much?” His voice was softer now, teasing but not unkind.

You opened your mouth, but your brain short-circuited and your tongue betrayed you. "Why are you so cute and tall?"

Silence.

Then, his laughter deepened—low, honey-warm, curling around you like smoke. You felt it more than heard it, the way it filled the tiny space, and seeped under your skin. He took a slow step forward, his presence swallowing the remaining inches between you. The scent of his cologne—clean, a little sharp, like cedar and something fresh—hit you like a second wave of intoxication.

"You think I’m cute?" His voice was laced with amusement, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Oh my… and you’re the one panicking right now."

“I’m not,” you blurted out, even as your pulse betrayed you.

He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “Not panicking? You tried to run, like, three seconds ago. Plus—” his gaze flicked down “—look how shaky your hands are.”

You looked down, and they were.

“Because…” Your voice came out barely above a whisper. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

His smirk faltered.

Just for a second.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he schooled his expression back into that effortless confidence. But you saw it. The pause. The way his breath hitched, the way he went completely still.

He knew he was handsome. Knew people stared when he walked into a room. But beautiful? No one ever called him that.

“…You sure you aren’t blind?” he murmured, voice quieter than before.

You shook your head. “No. It’s true.”

His throat bobbed, and for a second, you thought he might look away. Instead, he took another step closer—so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the barely-there brush of his sleeve against yours.

“…That’s an exaggeration,” he muttered.

But the pink dusting his ears said otherwise.

You nervously started cracking your knuckles.

Your fingers twitched, nerves unraveling one by one.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

The soft pop of your knuckles breaking the silence made you wince, but before you could shove your hands behind your back, his fingers wrapped gently around yours.

Warm. Steady. Confident.

He lifted your hand between the two of you, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "You a little nervous, huh?"

“Yes...” You kept your gaze anywhere but on him.

That was a mistake.

Because the next thing you knew, his fingers ghosted over your chin, tilting your face up—effortless, like he had all the time in the world to make you look at him.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“Noo.” Your breath hitched. He was too close.

Your first instinct was to wriggle away, but his touch—light yet firm—kept you in place.

Not trapping. Not forcing.

Just holding you there, as if he knew you were already melting under his attention.

“Now you’re trying to get away from me?” His smirk deepened, amused. He was already enjoying this way too much. “Don’t like me having a hold on you?”

The way he said it sent something sharp and warm through your spine.

“Come on, look at me.”

The words weren’t a command. But they slithered into your veins like one.

So you did.

And immediately regretted it.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared into his eyes—striking, consuming, too much. Your brain fully short-circuited, leaving you scrambling for words. Any words.

“…Ahhh, your eyes are like… hypnotizing, bro.” Your voice cracked. “Like biblically accurate angels saying ‘be not afraid.’”

For a moment, there was a pause.

Then he threw his head back, laughing. A real laugh, rich and easy, like you’d just said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

You dropped your gaze, mortified. “Well, it wasn’t supposed to be one, but sure.”

His laughter softened, settling into something quieter, something heavier. The tiny space between you shrank, and you felt yourself retreating—only to realize there was nowhere left to go.

His fingers slid away from your chin, trailing down, featherlight, until they rested on your waist.

Testing.

The touch barely there.

You sucked in a breath.

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered.” His voice dipped lower, sending a shiver through you. “Am I making you nervous, princess?”

Your stomach flipped. “Princess?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

His smirk deepened. “Yeah… you’re all cute and shy, like a little princess.” His fingers flexed slightly, pulling you closer.

You were losing to him. And you were losing badly.

He chuckled at your reaction, watching as your cheeks continued to flush a deep shade of red. “Yeah… you’re all cute and flustered. Like a little princess.” He smirked, his hand on your waist slowly pulling you closer.

A warmth spread up your neck, filling your face.

Before you could think—before you could second-guess yourself—you acted on impulse.

You leaned up, fast, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

And then immediately tried to flee.

Big mistake.

His arm was tighter around your waist before you could so much as turn, pulling you flush against him in one smooth, effortless motion. The sudden heat of his body against yours sent your brain into a full-blown shutdown.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” His voice purred against your ear.

You stiffened. “Home.”

He chuckled, the sound curling around you, sinking into your skin. “Now, now… you can’t just steal my first kiss and run away.” His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. “Besides… what do we have left?” He looked at his expensive watch. “Five minutes?”

“Oh…” You swallowed hard, heartbeat pounding in your ears. “…So now what?”

He tilted his head, feigning deep thought before his smirk curled into something lazier. Something dangerous.

“Now? Well…” His hand on your waist barely moved, but you felt the shift—how deliberate, how controlled every inch of his touch was. “Since you’re stuck here with me, how about we have a little fun?”

You were done for.

“Wh—” You cleared your throat. “I mean, like, what?”

His grip didn’t change, but his presence alone felt suffocating.

Too much heat. Too much confidence.

He leaned in closer, lips hovering just above your temple. “Oh, nothing too crazy... but I have a few ideas.”

Your hands flew up, landing on his chest in a desperate attempt to do something—only for your fingers to betray you by gripping his shirt, balling the fabric into your fists like it was the only thing keeping you from combusting on the spot.

He noticed.

Oh, he noticed.

“Someone’s holding on pretty tight, huh, princess?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Yes, because you are like a beautiful eldritch horror. I can’t look away.”

His chuckle was deep, vibrating against your skin. “A beautiful eldritch horror?” He hummed, tilting his head. “And you say you can’t look away… I’m surprised you’re not terrified of me, then.”

“I am.”

That made him pause.

His hand lifted once more, fingers tilting your chin up again—gentler this time, slower, as if savoring the motion. His gaze burned into you.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t run, princess.” His voice was softer, lower. “I quite like having you in my arms like this.”

Your breath was uneven. Your pulse was a mess. And before you could let yourself think, before you could stop yourself—

You wrapped your arms around his neck, cutting him off with a kiss.

For a split second, he stilled.

Your lips against his.

His breath caught.

Then, like a wave crashing against the shore, he melted into you.

A slow, devastating surrender.

His hands slid to your hips, fingers pressing with something dangerously close to possession. He pulled you in—closer, closer—until there was no space left between you, until you could feel every inch of him against you. His lips moved against yours, slow and teasing, yet demanding all at once. Spearmint. Heat. A smirk ghosting against your mouth, like he was already savoring the way you trembled under his touch.

His left hand moved and he tilted your head—his fingers slipping into your hair, guiding you like he had all the time in the world to kiss you exactly the way he wanted.

The way he needed.

The heat of him was everywhere—his chest pressing into yours, his thigh slotted between your legs, the faint tremor of his breath against your skin.

You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading into his snowy-white hair—too soft, too unfair—and he let out the smallest, pleased hum in response. The sound vibrated against your lips, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

His touch was a paradox—gentle yet commanding, teasing yet desperate. He kissed you like he was trying to memorize you, like he could drown in the heat of your body pressed against his. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, sent another rush of warmth pooling in your stomach. You could feel the intensity of him in the way his hands explored you, in the way his breath hitched when you tugged lightly at the strands of his hair.

That did something to him.

Because the second your fingers threaded through his hair again, he kissed you harder, deeper—like he was losing control. Like he wanted to lose control.

His grip on your hip slid lower, fingers grazing the curve of your thigh before hooking under it and hitching it around his waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement sent a dizzying shockwave through you—the friction, the pressure, the overwhelming heat of his body pushing you against the door, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you.

And god, you were more than willing to let him.

You smiled against his lips, dazed and breathless.

That was his undoing.

A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest. His fingers curled tighter, his arm locking around you, his grip at your waist firm yet careful—like he wanted to devour you but still didn’t want to break you.

Your warmth. Your scent. The way you melted into him.

It was intoxicating. Maddening.

His heartbeat pounded in sync with yours, the weight of his desire pressing against you, sending another pulse of heat straight to your core.

And still, he didn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go.

Wouldn’t let go.

And then—

You did.

Vanished.

Like you were never there.

He stumbled forward, arms suddenly empty. His breath hitched, chest still heaving.

“What the f—” His voice died in his throat as he whipped around. Had you run away in the dark? That was impossible. The door had been locked.

The closet door slammed open, harsh overhead light flooding in.

And that’s when they saw it.

Gojo Satoru. Standing alone in a musty closet. Flushed. Panting. Sporting a full-on, undeniable, raging fucking boner.

Suguru was the first to react, stepping into the doorway with the kind of deadpan horror reserved for witnessing a catastrophic natural disaster. His gaze flickered from Satoru’s messy hair to his swollen lips, then down to the obvious problem pressing against his jeans.

"Jesus Christ, man." Suguru's face twisted in disgust. "Tell me you were at least jerking off and not—"

"NO! What the fuck?!" Satoru nearly tripped over his own feet as he scrambled out of the closet, hands thrown up defensively.

Behind Suguru, the rest of the frat house was in disarray. Red Solo cups were strewn across the floor, someone was passed out mid-handstand on the couch, and Kashimo was crouched over a half-eaten pizza like a feral raccoon.

Suguru’s brows furrowed. "Dude, I told you not to party with Fine Arts hippies. They always slip you something weird."

“I took nothing.” Satoru semi-yelled.

"Kento, how much did Satoru drink?” Suguru asked aloud, not trusting him.

Kento came up behind Suguru, looking already done with this conversation. "He didn’t drink anything when he was with me, then I left for five minutes to put Haibara’s lightweight ass to sleep, and he ran off."

"You were taking forever," Satoru shot back, still breathless.

"Haibara threw up on me," Kento deadpanned. "I’d rather not walk around campus smelling like his five-day-old burger lunch."

"That’s valid," Toji affirmed, lazily leaning against the hallway door, tossing a peanut into his mouth. "Pukeboy's been living on McDonald’s and spite."

Kento approached closer, rubbing his temples with the exasperation of a man who had seen far too much in his short life. "How much did he drink?" he asked, already regretting it.

Suguru dragged a still-stunned Satoru forward. "He claims he didn't drink at all."

Kento stared at Satoru, then at the situation going on in his pants. Then back at his face. Then back down. Then back up.

Finally, he cracked open a fresh beer from his hoodie pocket and started chugging it while turning the fuck back around.

"Okay, hold on—" Suguru cut in before the inevitable drunk fighting started. "Satoru. Who the hell were you kissing?"

Satoru blinked, still half-dazed. "What? What do you mean? Her." He turned, gesturing back toward the closet.

Silence.

A long, loaded silence.

The group collectively paled.

"Satoru," Shoko said, suddenly way too serious as she stepped forward and pulled the closet door open wider. "There was no one in there. And no one left besides you."

His stomach dropped.

His skin still tingled where your hands had been. His shirt still smelled of your vintage perfume. His lips were still warm from your kiss.

“What did you smoke, man? Better yet, tell me your plug,” Sukuna called from the couch, not even looking up as he flicked his lighter absentmindedly.

"Nothing! I haven’t even had a sip of beer!" Satoru snapped.

“It’s okay, dude. We won’t snitch.” Kashimo snickered, passing the blunt to Sukuna.

"Stop messing with me," Satoru scoffed, but his voice wavered.

Suguru and Kento exchanged a look.

A very specific look.

It was Choso who finally broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck as he reached for the blunt. "...You do know the story about that closet, right?"

Satoru deadpanned. "What story?"

Yuki let out a slow breath, passing the whiskey to Shoko, uncharacteristically serious. "The girl. The one who got locked in there."

A strange, ancient wrongness settled in his gut.

Hiromi sighed, exhaling smoke from the blunt he had taken from Choso. "No one found her in time."

The air shifted.

The music from the other room seemed quieter now, the hum of the house pressing down on them like a weight.

Satoru’s breath hitched.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

"It’s just a lame story to scare freshmen," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“This is giving me a bad trip; let’s go somewhere else,” Sukuna muttered, getting up from the couch.

Sukuna wasn’t the type to get spooked—not even when he was piss drunk.

He didn’t seem scared now, but if he was avoiding this place, then maybe... just maybe... the stories were true.

"It’s just a story," Satoru muttered again.

"It's not," Haibara called weakly from the couch, still half-conscious but somehow invested. "She’s been seen before. But never like this."

Shiu grabbed a beer. "Man, I hate this place."

Suguru hesitated. "...Satoru, she’s not—"

Satoru’s throat closed.

He turned back toward the closet.

At the empty space where you had been.

Where your warmth had been.

Where your hands had trembled in his.

It seemed impossible—your touch, your breath, your mouth on his—it all felt too real.

And yet…

A deep, aching sadness settled in his bones.

And then—

He smiled.

Soft. Almost wistful.

"Well," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

"At least she thought I was beautiful."

The rest of them were too scared to grimace as they dragged his stupid ass out of the house.

A/N: Well. That happened. Got the idea when my mom told me to clean my own closet. Like I'm an adult mom, chill it's just PTSD ruining my life. Not me!

All Works Masterlist

This story is already written & will be 3 chapters total and I'll post the next part tomorrow.

Next Chapter 2 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

[aishnico]

so ummm... is the slash angst ready? 😶‍🌫️

#𝙎𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦

» summary: slash finally realizes that he caught feelings for his friend with benefits. does he really think so, though?

» word count: 2k

» warnings: nsfw content [implied smut, nudity], smoking, angst with no happy ending, that one gossip girl reference, grammar issues

» a/n: i’m truly sorry for posting this after so many months, actually i was writing two more different versions of the promised angst but eventually i didn’t like them so i wrote from the start again, also the college life is pretty tiring soo ❤️‍🩹

saul hudson didn’t have many serious relationships. almost all of them ended in an unpleasing way and quickly. 

he is a guitarist from a famous rock band. his and their popularity grow more each day. they tour around the country and the world. that means he spends most of his time on roads and rehearsals. 

so why would he be in an established relationship? groupies and one-night stands were enough for him.

that was what he believed in before spending one particular night with you about a week ago, a one-night stand turned into a friend with benefits later. this situation was still unusual to him.

“i think it’s bullshit,” you commented on his thoughts about relationships while trying to light your cigarette. “you can always find some time for someone, it’s just your ass is lazy, that’s all.”

“you talk like an expert, have you ever dated someone before?” he replied, lying on your messy bed which happened during your sexual activities. he tapped your exposed waist to grab your unsmoked cigarette. you handed it to him then got up to open your balcony door for fresh air. the room was filled with the smell of sex and smoke.

“no, but don’t think about only relationships. think about your friends and family. get it now?” 

he didn’t reply as his eyes wandered on your naked back while puffing smoke, thinking of a possible nth round with you.

you felt his hungry eyes on your body while pouring him a glass of water, and putting it on top of the nightstand next to him. he muttered a “thanks”

“aren’t you tired? you have a rehearsal tomorrow. you can’t be late. i don’t wanna hear any more complaints from your annoying carrot friend.”

“pfft!” he started to laugh as water spilled from his mouth. you just huffed in annoyance as you watched your bed getting dirtier. “what i am going to do with you..?”

you decided to take a shower so you left him alone in your room. just when you turned the warm water on, you heard heavy sounds coming from outside.

you wrapped your body with a towel then rushed to the window to check what was going on. he was already standing in front of it, sighing loudly as he puffed his almost-finished cigarette.

the rain…

“why are you not closing the doors, do you want my place to be soaked?!” you frowned as closed the door of the balcony immediately.

“‘m sorry, it’s just outside looks fascinating. the dark sky, yellow street dim lights, the rain…”

a soft sigh left your mouth, and then a comfortable silence filled the room while you two were admiring the usual, crowded l.a. view. he coughed then walked to another cross of the room, looking for something. 

“what are you looking for?”

he didn’t answer as he put his jeans back on, then his belt. you walked next to him with big steps.

“you’re kidding, right? you can’t just leave the house with your sweaty shirt and leather jacket.”

“i’ll get in a cab,” he avoided eye contact while wearing his wrinkled shirt. he pushed you to the side quickly, heading to the door.

“you’ll get sick, saul. you can just stay until the rain eases or stops.”

“why do you care though?” he managed to catch your guard off. you coughed, getting in front of him to face him.

“because we’re friends, and i wouldn’t be happy if one of my friends got sick. c’mon, let’s take a shower together. maybe the rain will stop at that time.” you gently grabbed his hand, then guided him to your bathroom. he couldn’t protest, not when he was taken aback by your words.

friends…

is it a true word to describe your relationship?

could he still continue to call you a friend when you try to be good and sweet for him so he could receive the pleasure he deserves after a tiring day?

could he still continue to call you a friend when you give him the most adorable eyes and smiles both in sex and other times, when you try to be intimate with him as much as you can, when you almost shower him with all of your love, making him feel wanted for a good reason and safe?

he wasn’t used to it, he might fucked some of his girl friends a couple of times -maybe when they were drunk- but it was different with you. it wasn’t just sex,

it was an urge to build a new deep, lasting bond with the right person he has come to love.

he was ready to burn all the old pages so he could create new ones with you and fill them with new memories that deserved to be remembered even in an old age.

however, something was stopping him.

and he knew why.

“you’re a fucking pussy, that’s why.” his bandmate, izzy, muttered between a cigarette on his lips. “you’re just afraid to break up with her afterwards just like you did with other girls before.”

“i don’t know, man, i really want to try this but i don’t want her to feel alone or neglected. i don’t want to screw up things like before.” he buried his face in his hands. his dark, curly hair tickling some parts of his face.

“then call her often, write her letters i don’t know, man! just try to do something beyond yourself for once!” izzy was already done with his shit so he put out his cigarette and then left the recording room, leaving his friend behind with complicated thoughts. 

the next day he was going to ask you out.

he thought there was no point in waiting more. he’s not the most outspoken man but for once he was confident enough to spill everything. hell, he even bought a bouquet of roses for you, nothing could stop him except-

“i have a date today, let’s meet at my place tonight as usual.” was what you said before you left him standing there speechless, the bouquet falling from his hands slowly -glad that you didn’t pay attention enough to see what he bought for you just minutes ago-

where did he go wrong? was he too late? god, he wished he wasn’t too late and your date went awful. unfortunately-

“i don’t want to have sex with you anymore, saul.” you cleared your throat while puffing the smoke from your lips. suddenly, your sweaty naked body felt cold to him.

“why?” he knew the answer, yet he was asking anyway.

you tried to shift from your space but his big arms held you firmly there, even pulling to himself a little bit. “my date went well today so i'm seeing someone now. it won’t be good to continue our… sexual activities, yes.”

he didn’t answer anything, he just held you in his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his curly messy hair tickling you a little bit. 

“it was our last time together. we can either continue to be friends or stop talking.”

“what would you prefer, though?” he asked, voice coming out in a low tone, almost like a whisper.

“i would love to still be friends with you. you’re fun and silly, i like that in you.”

he turned your body sideways so he could face you. his mouth hanging open, calloused fingers tracing on your cheek. the risky words are leaving his mouth finally. 

“can you still see me as a normal friend, even after our most intense moments together? can you still see me as a normal friend when i made you come countless times like no one before? can you still see me as a normal friend when our hands were intertwined while kissing like there was no tomorrow? can you-“

“please shut up?” you suddenly managed to free yourself from him. then got up on your legs, looking at him annoyed.

“i see, you have no intention to move on. well, so let it be. we’re not fucking or friends anymore.” just when you decided to go to the bathroom, he caught your right hand with a quick move, maybe a little bit harshly. he then slowly made you sit on the bed again, releasing your hand. 

“all of this time, i was running from the thing i’ve never managed to experience fully. i was just making excuses to not try to bond with others romantically, but you changed my whole world upside down. i don’t want to let you go, not when i really want, no, need you by my side. let’s start everything from the start, just you and me-“

“no! listen to me, you’re just confused and lying to yourself!” you shouted and interrupted him. “you, you just want everything to be under your hand and reach them whenever you want, that’s all! i can’t be your side piece forever, i don’t want to…”

“me neither! that’s what i’m saying now!” your aggression was passed to him now. “you’re not my side piece and i don’t want you to think like that. you mean much more to me.”

your eyes got filled, still not looking at his breathless face. words coming out of you like a mutter as you covered your puffy eyes with your right hand. “we can’t be together. nobody can be together with a rockstar, not forever. they always end in the most tragic way possible. i don’t want to be hurt by you, nor you hurt by me. i don’t want alcohol, drugs, and girls to get between us. answer me, can you give up on all of them?” 

“yes, i can give up on girls. i don’t want any other girl besides you in my life. you’re all i want and need.”

“what about alcohol and drugs?”

could he really give up on them? he spent too many years with them, so could he just throw them away from his life? he tried to go to rehab a couple of times already, and none of them helped. 

“i-i don’t know,” he was trembling. “but i can surely say that i’m ready to give up on them. it’s gonna be so damn difficult but for you, it worth it.”

you didn’t reply anything to him, not sure what to say. the silence was getting more uncomfortable so he continued.

“i know the distance is gonna be a major problem. i’ll be away often and i can’t spend time with you too much. maybe i can’t be with you even when you need me. but i swear, i’ll call you and write you the sappiest shit you’ve ever read as much as i can.”

he grabbed your hands, leaning his head so he could meet with your gaze. it was pointless to avoid him so you turned your head to him. he started to caress them gently. you inhaled deeply, finally opening your mouth again.

“three words. eight letters. say it and i’m yours.”

“i, i…”

why the words he wanted to say desperately aren’t leaving his mouth? just two more words, what’s stopping him? he is so damn sure of his feelings about you, he has been thinking about it for a while. then what was it?!

then he realized that he was doing it again, lying to himself. to you and himself. 

he can’t give up on girls, he is so damn horny that he can’t keep his hands to himself even when he’s away. he’ll cheat on you. 

he can’t give up on alcohol and drugs. these two have become a part of his life. he’ll go to countless rehabs and still run to them with open arms.

he won’t call you nor write letters to you. his mind will be on something else, maybe girls, maybe alcohol, maybe drugs… you won’t be in his mind when he’s at rehearsals or on tours. 

and finally, he doesn’t love you.

like you said a couple of minutes ago, he just wants everything to be under his hand and reach them whenever he wants.

“thank you,” you let your warm tears fall from your eyes. “that’s all i needed to hear.” before he could reply, you already made your way to the bathroom, shutting the door loudly and leaving him there all alone. 

[angelic--kitty]

caught in a lie!

cheater!beidou x rebound!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, dom!beidou x sub!fem reader, cheating (ningguang/beidou are a couple), rough sex, fingering/strap usage (r!receiving), oral (beidou!receiving), size difference, daddy kink, hurt no comfort/no aftercare (sorry), smoker!beidou btw

quick plot synopsis: after a rough patch in their relationship, beidou and ningguang agree on a "break" they both know won't last. though, beidou has no qualms about using you to her advantage in the meantime....

a/n: rushed ending, not proofread, but i wanted to try out something angsty

word count: 1.6k

you knew something was off when she had texted you at 2 am. you knew something wasn't quite right when she asked you to come over.

she hadn't even bothered to offer to pick you up or get you a ride. yet, like the pathetic little thing you were; you hurried to get ready and drive over to her place. how predictable.

she left the door unlocked for you, not expecting any other visitors (at least not tonight).

when you arrived, the state of her place was... sad at best. empty beer cans sat next to full ash trays, the house smelling of cigarette smoke.

the woman of the hour herself sat next to the open window on her beat-up couch. classy as ever, wearing low-rise gray sweatpants that framed what she was packing rather nicely, and a loose black t-shirt.

she leaned forward, blowing smoke out the window and into the cool night air. as she came back, she glanced over at you, a little smirk taking over. "hey. you got here pretty quick."

it was a sleight, though you simply shrugged, kicking a crushed can by your foot. "you don't live that far away from me, you know."

wouldn't bother you to stop by or call sometime, you muse silently to yourself.

she simply hums, taking one last drag of her cigarette, blowing it out the window before putting it out, closing it up as you shiver from the cold air. "i was trying not to stink up the place before you got here." she admits, standing up in front of you. "let me take your jacket."

"it's freezing." you huff and she sheepishly rubs the back of her neck.

"sorry about that. you want something to drink? or...something."

after an awkward few minutes, you settle for tap water, quietly sitting across from her as her foot taps on the tile. "why did you call me suddenly?" you ask meekly.

"i don't know. guess i missed you."

"you're not seeing anybody?" you ask, confused.

"what? it's a shocker someone like me is single?" she grins, and you smile, shrugging. "look at you. you're in the same boat, huh, pretty girl?"

"beidou, please-" you whine, but your face feels warm as you tap your nails on the glass.

"are you gonna sit there all night nursing your glass or..." she leans in, tilting your chin up with the side of her index finger. "wanna head to my room?"

you nod, your eyes wide and excited, having desperately missed this with her. you trail behind her like a little lost puppy, letting her toss you onto her bed. "did you get smaller?" she teases you, looming over your body.

one of her rough hands traps your wrists above your head. "no, maybe you just got bigger!" you squirm playfully, tilting your head as she leans in to kiss down your throat.

she pushes her hips against yours as your thighs widen to give her room. you moan at the feeling of her strap rubbing against your clothed cunt as she laughs.

she sits you up, tossing your coat to the side, admiring the little outfit you put on for her. it accentuated your body perfectly and gave her easy access.

beidou didn't bother taking anything else off, just sliding your panties down from under your skirt and pushing your top over your tits. "fuck, would you look at that, huh?" she leans in, pinching your nipples to hear you squeak.

she pulls her strap out of her pants, rubbing it against your cunt as you squirm for her. the same hand slides to your mouth, tapping her fingers on your lips. "open up, baby." she coos, sliding her fingers over your tongue.

she goes too deep, eliciting a gag from your throat that she seems to enjoy a little too much. your throat constricts around her fingers while she plays with your gag reflex, her thumb gripping your cheek.

beidou roughly pulls her fingers away, strings of spit falling down your chin as she uses her slick fingers to spread your pussy open for her. "someone's eager." she snorts, sliding a finger into you as you gasp.

"fuck- beidou-" suddenly her other hand comes to lightly smack your cheek, grabbing your jaw.

"lost your manners?" she asks, her head tilted as your eyebrows furrow.

"i meant...daddy." you correct quietly and she grins, sliding another finger into you just to see your nose scrunch.

"better. good little slut always listening, yeah?" she crooks her fingers into you while you whimper and squirm around for her, your hands feebly grasping at her biceps.

she fucks you through your orgasm with ease, dragging her fingers out of you to coat her strap, giving you a little show as her wrist flicks in practiced movements.

you pant, leaning up a little before she pushes you back down, holding your thigh open wide. "but-"

"you don't need to suck me off, you're plenty wet enough." she smirks at your dejected look, swiping her thumb across your cheek. "you can use that pretty little mouth for me later." she promises, lining her strap up with your pussy.

you think for a moment she'll be gentle, but as she pushes the tip in, you cling to her, whining. "daddy, it's too-"

"you can take it." she reassures you, giving you a rare kiss to the top of your head. she always did prefer to fuck you with something too big. she liked to see you squirm. "take it for daddy, baby."

she fucks you roughly, leaning down to press her body weight into you. the tie of her sweatpants rubs against your exposed skin, her clothed chest pressing against your bare breasts.

her body covers yours, making you feel impossibly small as you sink into her bed, hearing the squeaks of the springs from how heavy her thrusts were. although, her low grunts and your own whines drowned them out, of course.

a calloused thumb sneaks down to rub your clit, feeling your hips jerk up against her. the rest of her fingers splay over your abdomen, admiring the bulge her strap makes as she fucks you.

she listens to your incessant moans and whines, half-ignoring you as she shoves you into the mattress, leaving bruises on your thighs and hips. though, you don't seem to mind, chasing your orgasm as you beg her for more.

once you finally cum, she drags her strap out, tossing the fake cock aside and sitting beside you on the bed. you're twitching and leaking, looking up at her as she leans down, teasingly pinching your nipple.

she slides her pants down further, taking her boxers with them as she spreads her thighs. "come on, get on your knees, baby." she taps your cheek, watching you limply slide down between her thighs.

her hand weasels its way into your hair, guiding you to eat her out while she leans back. she ends up using your mouth, holding your head steady while she fucks your tongue. you look up at her, doe-eyed and eager for praise as she keeps you pressed to her cunt.

her hair tickles your nose as you moan against her clit, desperately trying to keep up with her movements. her orgasm doesn't take long to hit, and as soon as it does, she pulls her pants back up, lighting a cigarette and lounging on her bed.

you climb up onto the bed, fixing your clothes and awkwardly clearing your throat. "um..."

beidou takes a long drag, blowing the smoke to the side. she scrolls through her phone, typing a long message to someone as you try to peer over at her phone. she sends you an annoyed scowl. "what?"

you frown, leaning away. "nothing! i just-"

"you can go." she scoffs, resting the cigarette on her lips as she finishes her text.

"beidou..." your voice is pathetic as you look at her dejected.

"what did you expect? i called you at 2 in the morning, you're the one who ran your ass over here expecting something." beidou scoffed. "i didn't promise you shit."

you blink at her, confused and hurt as your fingers ball up the fabric of your skirt. "i didn't think it meant nothing!"

she blew her smoke into your face, snorting as she put the cigarette out in the tray next to her bed. "you're a distraction. that's all."

your heart sinks to your stomach. "a distraction from what?"

"who do you think?" beidou shrugged, turning her phone off and shoving it into her pocket. "she came before you, she'll be here after you. isn't it enough you got fucked? isn't that what you wanted?"

"that's what you wanted, not me!"

"well you never complained until you got it in your head that you deserved more. not my fault."

you sniffle, tears gathering in your eyes as you stare at the photo of them on her nightstand. pictures of them were littered around her room. one of her hairpins, an empty tube of lipstick, a half-filled bottle of perfume on her desk.

"it's always going to be her." beidou asserts. "we fight sometimes, yeah, but i love her." she runs a hand through her hair, sighing. "she's just as fucked up anyways. neither of us are naive to sleeping around."

you stand up hurriedly, wiping your eyes. "fuck you. fuck you both!"

beidou simply sits there unbothered. "i just needed something to play with until i get my girl back. if you're that sensitive, you should've ignored my text."

and with that, your heart shattered, leaving you to drive home in tears. you had been used, and she didn't even care...