#but the lighting in here was nice so whatever get that boy on his knees

[cybernomads]

(there's definitely a couple BDs starring him out there)

[madaqueue]

18+, MDNI - f!reader

sukuna wasn’t a jealous man per se, but he absolutely was possessive - what’s his was his alone - especially when it comes to you. but that just made it all the more fun to taunt him, seeing how much you could get away with. sometimes, sure, maybe you get a little too touchy with random guys at bars just to get a rise out of him, to see what he’ll do to put you back in your place, remind you that you’re his.

“sukuna, what’s the big deal?” you whine as the bathroom door slams shut behind you.

finally releasing his grip on your wrist, he looks at you with nothing short of rage flowing behind his crimson eyes. “the ‘big deal’ is you practically begging that wanna-be frat boy piece of shit to fuck you right in front of me,” he spits.

rolling your eyes, you rest your back against the wooden doorframe. “he’s just a friend.”

“oh, so you get touchy with all your friends like that, hm? put your arms around ‘em, tell ‘em how nice they look in their ugly ass knock-off gucci shirts?”

crossing your arms, you feel the heat of excitement building in your chest - now, it was all too easy to fan the flames. “he was just offering to buy me a drink.”

“oh!” he practically yells, voice echoing off the faux tiles of the bar’s restroom. “well then by all means, go back out there and get your free drink! while you’re at it, why don’t you see if his daddy’s money can get you a new car, or a yacht or something - maybe he can be the one to shell out the cash for you to get your nails done every week, and your hair, and your lashes ‘n shit, because clearly i’m not providing for you enough if you feel like you have to whore yourself out for a fucking $10 vodka cran!”

uh oh. whenever he starts monologuing like this, it’s never a good sign. maybe you pushed him a bit too far this time.

shifting uncomfortably, you soften your tone. “‘kuna,” you sigh, “you’re right, i’m sorry.”

“‘sorry?’” he mocks. “you didn’t look very sorry when your hands were all up in his hair or on his chest, hm?” they should only be on me, he thinks, but manages to hold himself back. “were you ‘sorry’ when you told him he’s the funniest person here for making some lame ass joke about how ‘working class’ i look?”

“look, that’s not-“

“no, no! why don’t you go fuck the trust fund baby and see if his three-inch house-in-the-hamptons dick can satisfy you! i bet they’ve got housekeepers and personal chefs and shit, maybe they can teach you some goddamn manners about how to treat people!”

oh, this is bad. yeah, you went too far.

slowly, you raise your hands to his chest, locking eyes with him as you steady your breathing. “‘kuna, you’re right. i fucked up. i shouldn’t have said that shit, i didn’t mean it and i’m sorry.”

the flames of anger crackle under his skin as he looks at you - god, he wishes you didn’t look so beautiful under the flickering lights in this shitty bathroom, maybe then it would be easier to stay mad at you. “yeah, yeah, alright. whatever.”

but you aren’t done - he’s clearly still mad, so your work isn’t finished just yet. “how can i prove that i’m sorry?” you murmur, batting your eyelashes up at him.

the corner of his lip twitches ever so slightly into a smirk. “‘prove it,’ eh?”

you nod, plastering as innocent of a look on your face as possible, wide doe eyes and glossed lips smiling softly.

“well, i have an idea of how you could make it up to me.”

“anything,” you hum. you just want him to forgive you.

almost instantly, the cool tile floor hits your knees as the sound of a zipper being undone fills the silence. looking up, you’re suddenly face to face with his fully erect cock, a small drop of precum beading at the tip.

“well?” he smirks, “better get to apologizing.”

this smug bastard.

rolling your eyes, you figure it's easier to just accept your fate and apologize in whatever way he happens to see fit - in this case, with his cock in your mouth. parting your lips, you slowly roll your tongue over his flushed tip as he lets out a low groan that echoes through the space. after a few moments of working him into your mouth, a calloused hand reaches behind your head, guiding you further down his length.

“juuuust like that, good fuckin' girl” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he tugs you up and down his cock.

the salty taste of his pre on your tongue has heat building in your core, your thighs beginning to rub together. trailing your fingers between your legs, you nearly make it to your cunt before he roughly kicks your hand away.

“acht - no touching. you're supposed to be makin' me forgive you, remember?” your lips attempt to curl into a frown around him as he chuckles above you. “aw, don’t pout,” he coos sarcastically. “if you wanted to get fucked, you should’ve just asked me instead of acting like some fuckin’ slut out there.”

fair point.

taking in a breath through your nose, you continue working him in and out of your mouth. sukuna was big, and you always struggled to take all of him. sometimes he would be nice and let you take your time opening your throat for him.

but not today.

with one harsh thrust, he pushes himself all the way past your lips until his tip knocks at the back of your throat. a menacing giggle overpowers the sound of your gags as he pulls you off him.

“c’mon baby, not doin’ a very good job saying sorry, now are ya? i thought i taught you to be more grateful.”

with that, his hips jut up again, all the way into you. tears begin spilling over your lashes as you struggle to breathe, but each time it threatens to become too much he pulls back, letting you desperately suck in air.

drool spills down your chin as he fucks your mouth, ravenous and greedy. the lack of oxygen has you lightheaded as thick tears cascade down your cheeks.

but if this is what it takes for him to forgive you, so be it.

the hand at the back of your head tightens in your hair as he drags you up and down, his chuckles becoming more and more breathy.

“fuck baby, m’close, y’gonna take it all for me, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically as you couldn’t answer with the way his cock fills your mouth. all you can let out is a weak whine in affirmation.

with one final thrust, thick ropes of cum shoot down your throat, the salty taste lingering as he pulls out. tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping his jeans, he takes in the sight of you on your knees, black trails of mascara streaming from your eyes, drool spilling down your chin. your chest rapidly rises and falls as you attempt to steady your breath.

reaching a hand down, he strokes your cheek, wiping away a trail of spit before helping you to your feet.

there’s a glimmer of mischief behind his ruby eyes as he leads you from the bathroom, purposely leaving you in this disheveled state. “c’mon baby, let’s go - wouldn’t want to keep your ‘friend’ waiting.”

[kurooh]

Thanks sweetie🥺🥺

Can't believe my boys don't have a birthday💀 ALSO, now I can't stop thinking about riding Ino in the backseat and hearing him whimpering🫣

🐺

⊹ ₊˚. TEST DRIVE. car shopping with ino goes in another direction when you’re looking around the backseat.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, fluff, cowgirl, car sex, ino’s whimpers, cockwarming, creampie

xoxo, juno. happy birthday again <33 🎉

“she runs well, don’t you think?” ino’s fingers squeeze your thigh as he takes the car down the road, cruising along smoothly. despite a few bumps in the asphalt, the car cushions them with a bounce so that neither of you feel it.

“this is a pretty nice car, babe,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat and savoring the view of the sunset through the tree leaves.

since your last shared car broke down, ino decided to take you shopping for a new one. he prefers the sports cars, and wanted to take one out for a test drive, but you’d told him absolutely not. knowing him, it would be easy to get carried away and then end up having to pay thousands after an accidental crash.

“do you like the color? we can always get it wrapped with your favorite,” he turns to you with a wink, beanie sagging on the back of his head while stray hairs hang around his forehead.

“always so thoughtful,” you laugh, “i think the fact that this car runs well is more important than the color. oh, wait, we didn’t look around at the trunk to see how much space it has.”

“shit, you’re right,” ino agrees, turning on his directional just before pulling off to the side of the road, tires sliding on a patch of grass. he unlocks his door but doesn’t unlock yours, making you roll your eyes.

“give me the keys—”

“ahem. you may step out now, m’lady.” before you know it, ino’s raced over to the passenger side to considerately open your door for you.

“come here,” you hold your arms out, jumping onto him happily, and he spins in a circle with a laugh. “ugh, you’re such a cutie.”

he giggles, his beanie slipping off the back of his head and onto the grass. you’re quick to pick it up and put it on your head, and he kisses your forehead with a chuckle.

“you’re almost rocking it better than me.”

“that would be a true statement if you didn’t use the word ‘almost’.”

ino hits a button on the key fob, effectively popping open the trunk for you to both look into. it’s spacious, with plenty of room for groceries or whatever else you may be driving around with.

“backseat,” you instruct, closing the trunk and opening the back doors. ino climbs in beside you, thoroughly impressed.

“well, well, well,” he strokes his chin with a finger, eyes closing in faux contemplation. “this is quite a nice backseat, wouldn’t you agree? it’s very roomy, in my opinion.”

“mmm, yeah,” you play along, laying down and resting your head on his thigh. “i can even lay down fully without being cramped. you should try it too, taku.”

“really now?” and you nod, sitting up and scooting over to where he’s sitting. ino lays back, knees bent just a little because you’re taking up some of the space.

“this is quite a nice backseat,” you both fight back your laughter, playing along with the dumb little scene. it’s clear you’re both thinking the same thing when the smiles fall from your faces the second you’re straddling his waist, squeezing him between your thighs.

“wow, hot stuff. look so good wearing my beanie.” his tone is playful as his hands squeeze your hips, making you roll your eyes as you lean forward.

“shut up and give me a kiss, taku.”

ino’s lips meet yours in an impatient, hungry kiss. the force behind it is practically bruising as he sneaks a few light bites to your lower lip to get you to open up. your lips part around a gasp as you start to bounce on his lap, feeling his hard cock through all the layers of clothes.

“s-shit,” he whines, back arching and lips pulling away from yours after a particularly hard drag of your hips against his. “baby, i want these off.” he tugs at your shorts, quickly shimmying out of his jeans and sweeping up the hem of his shirt to expose his belly.

“what do you want, hm?” you ask, shorts and panties off. your ass is up as you kiss at his belly, fingers sweeping beneath his waistband.

“uh, i-i want to be inside you,” ino swallows, fingernails digging into his palms as you slip off his boxers, exposing his hard cock to the air.

you giggle, blowing out some air on it, and he bites back a whimper, hips twisting. “doors are locked, right?” you ask, distracting him. he pulls out the key fob and fumbles with it, locking the doors and almost popping the trunk in his haste.

“calm down, taku,” and your voice is honeyed and sweet as you plant a hand on his stomach, slowly lowering yourself down onto his cock. the head nudges between your folds and grows sticky with a mix of precum and your own slick.

just a little grinding and kissing, and you’re both this desperate. it’s impressive, really, the way you’re already trembling and he’s biting marks into his lower lip as he wills himself not to cum yet. the beanie on your head combined with the way you’re panting as you rub your wet cunt along the length of his cock is too much.

“d-don’t,” ino huffs out, and you look up at him. “don’t start up with that damn teasing, please don’t. baby, i need you right here, right now.”

“patience,” you answer, swallowing at the sight of cars racing by from the corner of your eye.

“come on, i just want you to—” he cuts himself off with an embarrassed noise, throwing an arm over his eyes. “you know i don’t say this often, b-but, i want you to fuck me.”

“taku, you know i will,” you let out a breathy gasp as you sink down on his cock, moving so slowly that he’s forced to buck upwards. in one movement, his cock is fully sheathed inside you, wrapped by your twitching walls. his throat bobs as you start to move, eyes widening as he watches your pussy eagerly swallow his whole cock.

oh god, is it possible to get lightheaded from sex?

only thoughts of pleasure race through your empty head as you fuck yourself onto his cock, breath hitching each time his tip hits your cervix. he’s so deep, so big — the perfect size.

ino’s enchanted, tears building in his eyes as he watches the delicious bounce of your tits and savors every single moan that falls from your lips. your pussy’s so wet and warm, comforting in a way that nothing else could ever be — fuck, is he really about to cum this quickly?

you notice as his breathing grows frantic, heat rushing through your body at the prospect of him finishing this quickly; excitement chases it, the idea of overstimulating him electrifying. you’re squeezing around him like a vice, pussy eager to drink in everything he’s got, and it’s hard to hold on.

“babe, baby,” he huffs out, his voice tight. “kiss me, i want a kiss.”

ino’s hands help you lean forward, fingers digging into your sides as his lips mesh against yours. once again, a perfect fit — he’s so in love, so absolutely infatuated with you in every single way someone could be. the loose beanie slips forward, off your head, onto his face.

you giggle, pulling away to fix it; his lips drag along your cheek as you adjust it on his own head, hips pausing momentarily. he’s so cute like this — a flush high on his cheeks, eyes glassy, lips pulled into a pout as he waits for you to hurry up with his beanie. if you’re still busy with that thing in the next three seconds, ino swears he’ll throw it out the damn window.

“you okay?” you pant, hands falling away from his head and cupping his face.

“i was worried you’d take forever with that thing,” he confesses with a laugh, hips thrusting up. “still got the energy to ride me?”

“i’m just getting started,” you roll your eyes, picking up a quick pace and bouncing on his cock. it happens fast — within a minute, he’s as close as he was before, weakly rutting his hips upwards while you shove them down with your own.

ino’s fingers wander to your clit and he rubs sloppy circles on the sensitive nub, whining deliciously at your body’s immediate response.

“‘s good, taku, keep going,” he thinks his name sounds best when it’s coming from your mouth.

despite how overwhelmed he is, ino’s fingers don’t falter, and with his free hand he gestures for you to lean on top of him like earlier. he tucks his face into your neck, tears pouring down his cheeks and wetting your skin.

white hot pleasure races through your body, bolting between your legs like lightning. “t-takuma, baby,” you huff out, gasping into his skin as you squeeze around him frantically, “‘m gonna cum— want you to with me, please—”

a needy moan tears from your lips and his skin absorbs it, your hips stuttering against his with a few last smacks of skin against skin. before you know it, you’re cumming hard, barely able to hear his words over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

ino’s whimpering, shaking beneath you and sobbing out, “wanna fill you up, c-can i?”

every one of your senses is hazy, and you manage to nod against him, pressing your lips to his ear. “y-yes, ‘course you can.”

with that, his cock spurts white inside you, hot and thick and deep — for a moment, you wonder how long it’ll take to drip out of you. you’ll be able to keep it inside till you get to the dealership, won’t you?

“you okay?” you ask, body shifting and tearing a choked whine from his throat. “takuma?”

he exhales sharply, taking a second to answer you as he recovers, chest heaving beneath you. “yeah, i’m okay. hey, let’s turn over?” you oblige, ass pressed against him and cock still buried deep.

“we’re supposed to get this car back to the dealership, we can’t just sit on the side of the road—”

“yes we can,” ino hushes you, trailing kisses along your jaw before moving to your neck. “let’s just wait for a while and cuddle. also, i’m kinda cold and you’re warm.”

“how could you possibly be cold after full on sex?”

“i have no idea, but it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“five minutes,” you say matter of factly, although you curl up against him comfortably. “then we have to go.”

“yeah, yeah,” ino huffs.

later, you’re charged a ton of money for bringing back the car a few hours late. ino blames it on you for falling asleep against him and you blame it on him for enticing you to fall asleep by cuddling.

[dadsbongos]

megumi x airhead fluff please don’t let gege get u again 😔

iehjejeueueh

GASP this has been in my drafts so long and i totally forgot about it, i am sooo sorry nonny :')

761 words no big warnings just fluff n idiots pining, not super proofread

the ghost of gege has been cleansed from my soul!!! ~~~

“Do you really think that?”

Megumi stiffly avoids your gaze, soon after shrugging, “Yeah. What of it?”

You frown, and it could be how attuned he is to your mood but Megumi swears the sudden shift actually overhauls the entire room’s energy. Something morose and slithering around the darkness, somehow the gloominess only thickens in the areas sparsely lit by Megumi’s lamp.

“That’s sad,” you lean up from your sit and onto your knees, fingertips just barely pressing into the springs below, “You’re not a bad person, ‘gumi.”

“I don’t think I’m the devil,” he turns his whole head to avoid your piercing stare, “Just not a good person.”

“That’s sad!” now you’ve flung your hands up on his shoulders, squeezing down his arms as if a heartbroken widow clutching her poor, dead husband, “‘gumi you’re the best guy I know!”

Scrunching away from you, Megumi presses his back into the headboard of his bed, swallowing harshly and continuously dodging your stare, “Yeah, sure.”

“Hey,” you whine, now squishing his hands between yours, “You are! You’re super nice all the time, and you’re way smart.”

The accusation of kindness pulls a little chuckle from Megumi, especially considering how often Yuuji and Nobara curse his nasty attitude. He cannot comprehend why you’d marvel over him this way, or in any other way for that fact. Megumi’s eyes flutter shut, he soaks up the warmth of your hands on his, and your face by his cheek. If he dared lean up, he’d easily be able to kiss you (he’s not so bold, he thinks he’d rather die actually).

“And you’re so pretty,” you tack on, as if you can sense the worst possible thing to say right now.

Though, Megumi knows better -- you’re soft and mellow, his opposite if anything. The knowledge of your earnesty in the compliment does nothing to calm his racing heart, or the raging red slathering his face.

“Whatever…” Megumi sinks down until he’s laid back on his mattress. He sucks in air slowly, boring holes into the ceiling rather than your face, “You’re pretty, too. And you’re nicer than me,” he cringes, “If you’re still sure I’m nice.”

“You are,” you lay beside him, petting a hand over the bunches and wrinkles in his sleep shirt, “You’re being nice now! You let me come over after my nightmare.”

“You sounded scared,” he tries to shrug off the praise, but your words are clinging to his brain stubbornly, “Why would I make you sleep alone after that?”

“Exactly,” you’re bolder than Megumi, bold enough to spike your chin onto his chest, “You’d be a great boyfriend.”

“You don’t say,” he chokes out, heat clogging his cheeks and red burning into a deep crimson. He prays the dim light emitting from his nightstand doesn’t expose the sight to you. 

A melodic knock on Megumi’s door makes the duo flinch, and despite logic telling him nothing is wrong Megumi lets his arm come around your waist protectively. When its Satoru that pokes his head in, the boy grumbles.

“Hey, problem children,” Satoru coos, “if you’re gonna break rules, at least move apart when your teacher comes to scold you.”

“They had a nightmare,” Megumi’s hold on you tightens, “they didn’t wanna be alone.”

“Is that right?” Satoru’s blindfold is still snug around his face, but Megumi can feel his teacher’s stare pointed at where your head lays on his chest.

You nod viciously, “It was so scary! I thought I died for real, so ‘gumi let me stay with him so I don’t have another one.”

“Well how sweet,” Satoru taps the doorframe, “But c’mon, time for everyone to go to their own rooms.”

“Huh, no way!” you cry in protest, rocketing up straight.

“No way,” Megumi parrots.

Raising a brow, Satoru grins at his student’s sudden audacity, “You want me to stay in here with you both, then?”

“You want me to tell Yaga about the secret number in your phone?” Megumi glares, “The one you know by heart.”

Satoru grimaces down at the boy, then sighing and back out of the room, “Don’t do anything to make Yaga yell at me.”

“Wow, ‘gumi, you really got him.”

“He’s easy to wrangle, like training a big, stupid dog,” Megumi feels his heart thundering in his chest the longer you go without saying anything, simply sitting there and grinning at him, “What?”

“You stood up for me.”

“Duh.”

“That was really nice of you.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you back onto him, “Yeah, whatever.”

[mediumgayitalian]

“Come here, you dweeb. Let me fix it.”

Will pouts, dragging his feet over and slumping half on top of him. Nico allows it with a smile and a roll of his eyes, pinching Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t react except for a wounded noise, muffled in Nico’s lap, so the situation is evidently quite dire.

“It’s just hair, Will.”

“But I worked on it!” He shifts around until he’s got his head in Nico’s lap, face turned towards him, body curled up on the grass around him. Nico brushes his tangled bangs off his forehead, meeting his big sad eyes. “I spent forty minutes with a stupid brush! And yet!”

“And yet,” Nico agrees, unable to appropriately school is face into one of somber understanding. Will scowls at him for his lack of proper sympathy, a little bit of genuine hurt in his eyes, so Nico leans down and kisses right between his brows in apology. He seems mollified, if only slightly, or at least he leans into Nico’s touch and stops mumbling quite so much.

“‘S’not fair.”

“Mhm.“

“Your hair listens to your instructions.”

“Yep.”

“Even Cecil’s hair listens to him, and no one listens to Cecil.”

Nico purses his lips thoughtfully. “I think Austin listens to Cecil.”

“Yes, I know. It’s an ongoing issue. I’m trying to train him out of it.”

“And how’s that going?” Nico murmurs, curling a strand of golden blond hair around his finger.

“Oh, well, I’m doing my best, so of course it’s going horribly.”

Nico snorts. He resists the urge to hold his palms to Will’s cheeks and kiss every single freckle at light speed, because he will screech something about how Nico is one-upping him in the romance department or something stupid like that. Instead he settles for looking at his dumb dramatic boyfriend’s face and marvelling over the fact that the cutest boy in the entire world, and Nico is being totally objective, hunts around camp until he finds whatever tree Nico is hiding under and curls up into a ball around him and trusts Nico to hold him while he complains about stupid things that genuinely hurt his feelings a little. It’s nice. So many people at camp are still so rigid around him, like he’s collecting information for their judgement day or something. Will prefers to exercise his lesser-known Apollonian talent of being a bigger drama queen than the god himself.

“Stay still,” Nico says softly, moving Will around so he’s laying perpendicular to Nico, now, head centered in his lap and staring up at the sky. Will sighs and squirms a little and turns his head to press a kiss to Nico’s knee, scrunching up his face and releasing it, and then settles in the position.

Humming something soft that exists on the fringes of his foggy memories, he sinks his hands into Will’s hair.

“It’s not that bad,” he promises, moving slowly and pausing whenever he comes across a knot.

Will harrumphs.

“I mean it, Marilyn Monroe. You can tone down the histrionics.”

“I used gel.”

Nico flicks a dried clump of it onto Will’s forehead, amused. “I can see that.”

“I followed every single one of Mitchell’s instructions!”

“I bet.”

“And yet!”

“And, yet.”

Nico has a sneaking suspicion that someone made a comment about Will’s hair, in the last few weeks. He can never confirm it and Will has been shifty about it every time he asks, but Nico has noticed the uptick in hoods and hats the past month and his little flinches every time Nico reaches up and tugs on it. Despite being oddly confident about the oddest things — why he is so proud of being able to fit his fist in his mouth, Nico will never know — Will is very sensitive to how people think of him. He needs to know he’s liked, and when people don’t like him, he gets…desperate, pleasing. The opposite of Nico, who becomes worse in an attempt to push them away on his own terms.

Nico leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I like your hair, you know.”

“It’s a stupid mess.”

He smooths down a handful of it, pressing it over Will’s eye. He manages to keep a straight face for one, two, three seconds before he huffs a laugh, batting Nico’s hands away. Nico grins.

“I like the stupid mess.”

“Yeah, well, you like a lot of weird things.”

“Like you?” Nico suggests, pressing another kiss to the tip of his rounded nose.

“Shut up.”

Another strange thing about him, that Nico has to duck his head to hide his automatic smile: he gets embarrassed easily.

Nico never expected it of him, with all the dorky, medical-themed pickup lines and general shamelessness in his affection towards everybody on Earth, but especially Nico. When the poking, prodding attraction is turned on him, however, he shuts down like an overloaded Playstation. Nico can sometimes see the error messages playing behind its eyes. It’s hilarious.

“Will.” He pokes him in the cheek. “Hey.”

“What,” Will grumbles.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Watching the slow spread of red from below the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair is a delight. Nico watches in glee, wrestling Will’s hands away when he tries to slap them over his face.

“Shut up! Leave me alone! Go — flirt with somebody else!”

“You’d curse them to speak in rhymes for ten years,” Nico teases.

Will makes an agonised noise. “Who! Asked you! Shut up!”

“You’d sic Kayla on anyone who so much as winks at me, you jealous bitch.”

“I would not!”

“You would so. You rolled your eyes at everything Percy said for three weeks when you found out I used to crush on him —”

“I did not!”

“— and you didn’t even have the balls to ask me out, back then.”

“You are a — peddler of falsehoods! A prevaricator, a perjurer, and a fabulist!”

“And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus,” Nico snickers. He catches the hand Will flails at him, pressing a kiss to the wrist, which only serves to fluster him more. He decides to take mercy when the kisses he trails down his arms result in one loud, long, tortured screech, pulling back and giving him some space.

Notably, he doesn’t move from Nico’s lap.

“I like it,” Nico admits, once Will has calmed down some. “I like that you’ve liked me for so long.”

Will peeks through the fingers he has covering his eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.” Nico squeezes his shoulders. “And endearing, which seems to be your sweet spot.” He presses a much softer kiss to the underside of Will’s ear, lingering there until he sighs, slumping under all the tension finally leaving his body. “I love you, Will. I love your clumsiness and your rambles and your nose and your freckles and your awkwardness and your jealousy and your hair and I love you, Will, all of you. Even the embarrassing weird parts.” He kisses him again. “Especially the weird parts.”

Will breathes slowly, carefully, evenly, face pressed to the inside of Nico’s thigh. His long eyelashes tickle his skin. Nico can feel the press of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, pulsing against his calf.

“I never thought you were a freak.”

Nico brushes his knuckles over his cheek. “I know.”

“I used to — talk about you. All the time. And your oxytocin levels.”

He smiles.

“I know.”

“Lee had a — chart.” Some of the flush rises back up in his cheeks. “A ‘Days Since We’ve Heard About Di Angelo’ chart.”

Nico bites his lip. Hard.

“The number never got higher than six.”

“…I am trying really, really hard, Will.”

Will sighs.

“You can laugh.”

Nico cracks up, trying desperately to muffle his giggles in his bitten fist. It doesn’t work very well, but the glare Will sends him is somewhat softened by the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Gods, you are — a mess.”

“Mhm.”

Nico cups the side of his face. Will turns, slightly, enough to press a kiss to the centre of his palm and then stay there, eyes closed, breathing against his sword-callused skin.

“I love you too, by the way. Obviously.”

“I know.”

“Don’t Han Solo me, you bastard.”

“Go ahead and try to stop me,” Nico challenges, grinning into the passionately indignant kiss Will presses to his lips, finally, letting Nico curl his hands in his hair.

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 2/7

summary: this is part two of my short story about the boys’ trip to curaçao (read the other one first, or don’t). hamzah’s getting you all riled up and mandy and martin begin to notice his unusual behavior with you.

contains: SFW content

wc: 2k-ish

~

You wake up to an empty bed and some part of you feels disheartened at the sight. The only evidence of Hamzah ever being there is the indent in the pillow and the shorts he borrowed folded neatly atop the mattress. You sit up to stretch, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 10:02 and you decide to get dressed.

When you grab your phone on the way out, you see a text message light up your screen.

morning :)

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can type out your reply, a pair of large hands grab your shoulders and you nearly launch into the ceiling.

"Fuck—Hamzah!"

He cackles at your scream. You slap his arm, immediately shutting him up as he rubs the spot to soothe it.

"Dumbass," you grumble.

"Good morning to you, too." The grin on his face doesn't fade for a second.

"Whatever.” You shut the front door and walk down the hallway alongside him. “When did you wake up?”

"'Round 9,” he yawns out. "Martin called me back and we got the room situation sorted."

He pulls his new key card out of his wallet and holds it between his fingers to show you. “Nice.”

Upon finding the hotel pool already chock-full of people, the two of you decide to meet Mandy and Martin at a restaurant they told Hamzah they'd be at. The GPS on your phone’s map gives you a hard time and you nearly walk into oncoming traffic with your nose deep in the screen. Hamzah reaches out to grab your forearm and pulls you back right as a taxi flies by.

"That was way too close," he says. Both of you breathe heavily at the realization that it could've ended way worse. "I think I know where it’s at anyway, just follow me."

"Sorry," you apologize, blushing. He smiles and shakes his head to dismiss your embarrassment. His hand stays on the middle of your back as he leads the rest of the way. The sparks you feel from his touch can hardly be ignored.

You get seated in a booth with the couple, who have already ordered some appetizers in anticipation of your arrival. The four of you dig into some sort of steamed veggie dish and catch up.

"Martin kept me up all night," Mandy says.

"Yeah, I got stamina." Martin nonchalantly shrugs.

"No, you literally passed out the moment you went to bed." She rolls her eyes. "I had to check if he was breathing, like, 5 times."

"She got yo lying ass, boy," Hamzah says, laughing with you. "I think I was snoring all night. Those drinks had me messed up."

"You weren't," you assure him.

"How do you know that?" Martin diverts the attention to you.

"Because someone was dead asleep and couldn't help his best friend get back into his hotel room," Hamzah replies pointedly. Martin sinks into his seat and takes a bite of food while pouting.

"So, you guys were stuck in the same bed?" Mandy asks, genuinely interested. "How'd that go?"

"It was—"

"We were—"

You look at each other and you nod your head, gesturing for him to talk first. He nods back and places his hand on your knee under the table before continuing. Your heart leaps to your throat.

"We were watching some show in Dutch that we couldn't understand until we knocked out."

"That's it?" This earns Martin a light smack on the arm from Mandy and a fiery glare from you.

"Was it the one with the bald dad and the ginger kids?"

"Yeah, how'd you—?"

"I watched it with Martin's mom the day before we came. It’s pretty popular here."

Hamzah's hand is still on your knee, occasionally running his thumb over your skin like it's the most natural thing in the world. You try to be attentive and contribute to the conversation, but it's a struggle when your mind is constantly wandering. When the waiter comes to take your orders, you choose something random off the menu because you were too lost in thought. You’re starting to think you need to be spayed because of how much this affects you.

"I can't believe we have to leave in a week," Hamzah says. You look up from the table.

"Don't remind me," you groan.

"I miss Rudy," Mandy admits with a sigh, "and Fish and Carl, of course."

"Every parent has their favorites.” Martin shrugs.

Your food arrives after some more chatter. Hamzah's hand leaves the spot on your thigh he’d slowly worked up to and you feel like you can breathe again. This trip has made you guys a lot closer than you ever anticipated, but it makes you wonder how things will be once you get back home.

“Wanna bite?” Hamzah whispers to only you. “It’s pretty good.”

“Lemme try.” You pluck a piece of omelette from his plate and bite into it. “Yum. Try mine.”

He shovels a scoop of your yogurt bowl into his mouth and hums. “Let’s split?”

“Yes, please.”

The meal ends with Martin paying for Mandy and Hamzah paying for you, in a surprise turn of events. You try to fight him back on it, but once he swipes his card without a word you know it's settled.

"All that YouTube money has gone to your head," you joke.

"I got fat stacks."

"Ew." You and Mandy cringe.

The couple walks ahead of you up the street and the two of you walk side by side.

"Was that alright?" Hamzah asks once the others are out of earshot.

"What do you mean?"

"Y'know, me paying." He nudges your shoulder. "It felt like the right thing to do."

"It did?" you ask, a smile growing on your face. "I didn't mind it."

"Good, good..." He walks with his hands in his pockets, kicking a rock every couple of steps.

"I actually thought it was cute."

He exhales through his nose, smiling at the ground. "Was it?"

"Yeah." You nod. "Thanks, Hamzah."

"No biggie."

You scrunch up your face and he laughs once he sees your expression. His laughter could cure even the most fatal illnesses, you're convinced. You take steps in unison for a bit—right, left, right, left—until he clears his throat to speak again.

"And, um," he starts, licking his lips. "When I put my hand on your leg..."

"Mhm?" You enjoy seeing the way his face contorts as he tries to find his words.

"Was that... alright, too?"

"I didn't mind it," you repeat.

He shakes his head and this time it's your turn to laugh. The tips of his ears turn red under his hat, making your heart pound at the sight. He fixes the hat tighter on his head and you fight the urge to tuck one of his stray curls behind his ear. Instead, you find that your feet lead you closer to his side, your fingertips brushing past his ever so slightly.

The couple eventually stops at a building and the two of you rush to catch up.

"We made it, kids," Martin says with a smile once you reach them.

"An art museum?" Hamzah questions as he reads the sign at the door. "Are we museum people?"

"We are now," Martin says, turning to walk inside.

"He's been talking about this since we landed," Mandy explains. "C'mon, guys."

Your group enters the museum and you look around at the historic paintings and sculptures from various Curaçaoan artists. Any and all doubt is washed from your mind as you make your way through the space, carefully observing art you haven't had the pleasure of seeing before. Hamzah follows close by, never straying too far as to not miss the way you react to each piece with 'oo's and 'ah's.

"Here's what we came for!" Martin points at a painting in the corner.

You walk closer and catch sight of a beautiful beach landscape. There's bright green shrubbery in the forefront, leading up to a peachy-toned sunset with tropical birds flying in the background. Mandy excuses herself to check out the gift shop and Martin huddles the three of you together.

"One day, I'm gonna propose to her here," he whispers. His finger traces the plaque below the canvas. You'd been to this beach the day you touched ground in Curaçao. It was the first thing you guys did, even before checking in at the hotel.

"Martin," you gasp, eyes wide. He shushes you and you lower your voice. "That's so sweet, oh my god."

"She walked right by it," he beams. "She has no clue."

"That's great, man." Hamzah clasps his hand on Martin's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "She'll love it, for sure."

"I can't believe I'm gonna be a maid of honor," you squeal as quietly as you can. Martin shushes you again but you can barely contain your excitement, turning to Hamzah to find his eyes already on you.

"What makes you so sure it'll be you?" he teases.

"It will be." You raise your eyebrows, challenging him to say otherwise.

"As long as I can be best man."

You take a couple pictures of Martin standing next to the painting with his thumbs up, narrowly avoiding Hamzah's photobombing attempts. When you finally walk away, Martin motions for you both to zip your lips. You mime crossing your heart and make your way to the gift shop.

There's shelves of souvenirs with prints of the art pieces from the museum, as well as some nearby tourist attractions that you recognize from visiting recently. You get to the jewelry section and run your fingers across the array of bangles and necklaces, hearing how they jingle as they move. Once you get to the end of the table, you notice a reddish-brown beaded bracelet.

"'Handmade,'" you mumble, reading the tag.

Hamzah stops close by your turned back and sees what's caught your attention from over your shoulder. "What's that?"

"Isn't it pretty?" You slip the bracelet onto your wrist and hold it up to show him. He grabs another one, doing the same.

Mandy suddenly calls for you and you walk over to her.

"I want this book so bad." She holds up a leather bound book with golden letters on the front, flipping through the pages to reveal photographs of nearby landmarks. "Wouldn't it look cute on our coffee table?"

“We have so much stuff from this trip already—“ Martin starts, but upon seeing Mandy’s glare, agrees.

You conclude that married life would suit them very well.

Your group loiters around the museum until you've seen everything it has to offer, snapping a few pics of your favorites along the way. Hamzah volunteers to take a few aesthetic photos of you, but when you get your phone back, your camera roll is full of him making funny faces. You know you’ll get him back for it eventually.

The four of you make it halfway back to the hotel when you look down and realize the bracelet is still on your wrist. You halt in the middle of the sidewalk and curse at the wind.

"Guys," you call out, making them stop as well. "I'll meet you there, I forgot to put this bracelet back."

"You stole?" Martin exaggerates. "Dang it, now we're all accomplices!"

"Say it louder, why don't you?" You roll your eyes, turning on your heels to walk back up the street.

"YOU STO—"

Hamzah slaps his palm across his friend's mouth, "I got it, don't worry."

"What?" You turn back.

He holds his free hand up and shakes the bracelet on his wrist. "I paid already. You don't have to go back."

You part your lips, but no words come out.

Mandy and Martin share a glance with each other, him mumbling something unintelligible. Hamzah drops his hands and fidgets with his hat.

"I feel bad," you finally say, your cheeks warming up uncontrollably. "You're too nice."

"I wish I had a sugar daddy," Martin complains. You collectively ignore him.

"Thank you, Hamzah," you say with a smile. "I appreciate it."

"You liked the bracelet, so..." He shrugs it off.

The walk back to the hotel commences and you feel your pulse thumping with each step. Once again, the couple get ahead of you two, but that’s fine by you. Mandy turns a few times to make eye contact with you and raise her eyebrows ridiculously. You just shake your head and try not to grin too hard.

The weather is muggy and the sun is beaming on your heads, but Hamzah’s warm hand finds yours despite it all. Your bracelets graze each other and you wordlessly make a pact to not let go.

~

a/n: u get what u want in the next part ya filthy animals!!! also sorry i took so long, i’m still not 100% happy w how this turned out but i wanted to pump something out before u guys start chasing me w wooden stakes and pitchforks :-)

[devilmademewriteit]

Ultraviolence

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: thank god—a handsome stranger saves you from the grips of a pack of cruel, cruel men. unfortunately, said stranger, joel miller, is cut from the exact same cloth as the rest of them.

warnings: oh. boy. rough sex/smut (fem penetration, fingering, cum play if you squint) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; raider!joel; canon typical violence; mentions of hair pulling/reader having long hair; light dacryphilia; age gap; pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, girl); slapping, spanking, choking; !!!NONCON!!! (sexual violence/assault, coercion, allusions to more sexual abuse—Dead Dove, Do Not Eat y’all, protect yourselves).

word count: 4k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all!!! here is the non-con raider!joel fic!! stay tuned for the version coming out soon wherein Joel actually rescues the reader LOL join the taglist to be notified when I post it!!! y’all’s requests will quite legit be the death of me BUT this was fun to write so im not mad. this version is just purely depraved & Joel ‘Big Dick’ Miller is a mean mean man. wrote it pretty fast too so b nice 2 me.

love u all, sorry for searing your eyeballs:)

-em<3

—

The stucco prickles and tears at the flushed skin of your cheek, a reminder that it’ll be winter soon. The birds are sure of it, and most of them managed to get away before the frost stood a chance of nipping them.

You didn’t.

After a few years of non-stop struggle, losing everything but your own life, you figured there were worse ways to go. At least you would be… well—you, in the end.

In whatever shape this man and his leering group of accomplices left you in.

“Against the wall,” and his voice had been the crack of a whip, snapping by your ear as electricity shot up and down your spine, as the tingling realization that the chase was over—the jig, up—settled into your bones. “Spread your fuckin’ legs.”

There were more hounds around… waiting.

Always waiting.

They’d already gotten to your old, tattered clothes. The brisk air bites at your exposed skin, but at least the cold would account for the violent shivers wracking your limbs. Even as the beast pins you to the side of the decrepit house, forces himself between your knees, your primary preoccupation is to stifle your fear.

They’d get everything else on display—but they would never get to see that.

When the screaming starts, those confused grunts, huffs, and squelches of a blade carving into flesh, you mostly commend your own imagination:

“I did it. I’m in my happy place. This will be quick, then.”

But then a rough, unfamiliar hand grabs hold of your naked waist, flipping you around, slamming your spine against the frosty stucco.

This is real.

And you bear witness to his carnage.

He painted the side of the house into a mosaic of inter-mingling blood, splattered like a Pollock against the grass, the wrinkled clothes and the rugged face of your salvation.

His eyes rake over your still-trembling body before he wrenches a red-coated knife—never breaking eye-contact—from the throat of the man you’d been at the mercy of just a few seconds ago.

Blood gushes up from the fatal wound, and you both watch the cruel scene, mesmerized. The attacker’s eyes dull, all evil dissipating from that once-ferocious gaze. The rescuer’s big, wide hands flip him over, stripping him of his stained beige jacket. Then, he carelessly kicks the lifeless form face-down onto the yellowing grass.

“Put it on.”

You uncross your arms, snatching the coat from the stranger’s extended hands. It doesn’t bother you, its belonging to him.

He’s dead; you get his coat.

A fair exchange.

He keeps an eye on you as he sorts through the pickings: a few strips of dried meat here, a loaded gun there (two bullets in the clip—you watch as he checks), and a few good blades, stashed inside pockets, bags, and down shirt-fronts.

The man straightens up.

Tall.

“Get in front of me,” his low baritone strikes you, causing your knees to concede to a slight wobble. “You run, you die. Got it?”

Texan.

Slowly, you nod, and a firm grip circles your wrist, tearing you from the wall.

“Walk.”

Your heart hammers—near deafening in your ears—as the stranger stalks behind you, directing your trembling movements with brusque, snapped commands.

Finally, the scattered orangey-red leaves begin to multiply, the domestic remnants of a past civilization thinning. The neighborhood opens into a field; large oaks and slouching willows shiver under the weak glare of the afternoon sun.

There’s a house up there. It seems to be in alright shape (some things are built tougher than others) and it’s certainly a step up from a few of the more… unsavory places the outbreak had led you to.

Nearing it, you take not of how much it resembles a barn-house. Red, pentagonal roof, and a big, wide, brown front door.

Gingerly stepping a foot on the cracked wood of the porch, you turn to face your rescuer, uncertainty tying slippery knots in your tummy.

Because there’s clamour coming from inside. There’s people in there.

The momentary hesitation allows you to get a good look at your rescuer: he’s greying and dark—mixed, likely, or just disposed to a stubborn tan—and probably in his mid forties. Probably handsome, too, if it weren’t for the resident cruel scowl deepening his apathetic expression, or the violence dancing in his eyes.

A raise of his eyebrows.

“I tell you to stop?” He nods towards the looming house. “Move.”

But… you don’t.

“Are you gonna kill me?” and you’re downright shocked by the strength—the resignation���of your tone, the way the question comes out so matter-of-fact.

That sparse mustache crinkles in the corners, teasing into something wicked. “You want me to?”

“No.”

“So get movin’, then.”

That left little room for debate.

So, you turn, fingers and knees shaking with anxious anticipation. He cuts in front of you at the last minute, shoving the front door open with his knife at his side—for you or for something else, you’re not entirely certain.

He pulls you into the foyer by your forearm; to your great dismay, you’re faced with an entire group of middle-aged men. Killers—for sure—leering at you with that same starved, animalistic look your rescuer had fixed you with.

Then, he tosses the bag on the floor.

“Found ‘em by the school. Decent haul.”

Their eyes tilt to your shuddering frame, dwarfed by the jacket weighing down your shoulders. One of them looks strangely familiar, proud features reminding you of something else you were afraid of. “No shit, huh,” he commends, “Nice work, Joel.”

Joel.

As the shaggy-haired man speaks, his voice strikes familial resemblance, and it dawns on you. Your rescuer’s brother, or at the very least a cousin.

And what he says is a clearly marked taunt. That much is clear. Uttered with the kind of cruel camaraderie which collected on the tongues of men who committed acts of violence together.

Who hunted together.

And it’s obvious you’re not being rescued. Just… reclaimed. Redistributed.

Fuck.

Another voice joins the mix. “How much you think y’could get for her?”

Joel’s profile turns, harsh, brutal lines forming as he assesses you. “Depends,” and then—ohmothermary—he smirks.

“Gonna have to test her out first.”

A few snickers.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

You’re trapped with nowhere to go, once again surrounded by a gaggle of soulless monsters. Fear grips you, but thankfully, it’s muted, now, having been mostly expended during the harrowing events of the morning.

Just an hour ago, pressed to the side of an abandoned house, you’d allowed yourself to give up.

So, it feels easy—natural—settling back into that rhythm.

To submit to your inevitable, violent fate.

Joel’s voice cuts through the clamour of your racing thoughts. “Upstairs, the room with the open door. Go.”

Eyes glued to the floor, you put one foot in front of the other, your insides twisting and turning inside your core. Fuck, you can feel the pairs of eyes following you with every step you take. The stairs creak as your weight presses into them, squealing like wounded prey.

“N’ take that fuckin’ jacket off,” Joel calls after you, the echoes of his booming voice and the group’s degrading laughter chasing you all the way up into the room—the one with the open door.

And it’s nice, surprisingly. Dusty, admittedly, and clearly having belonged to someone else—a long, long time ago—but the bed is made, the window lets the light in, and the walls remind you of cinnamon.

No, this wouldn’t be the worst prison. Or the worst place to die. It’s a sure-fire step up from the gutter between two dilapidated houses.

You keep the jacket on, shivering under its weight. Even as you hear footsteps climbing the stairs, even as the more rational, civilized side of your mind urges you to accede to your (non)rescuer’s every command.

The conversation downstairs dies off just as Joel rounds the corner, appearing in the doorway—a giant. Though your stomach lurches, and though your legs feel like putty, you hold your ground.

“I’ll fight, you know,” you hiss, watching him seal off the entrance to the room behind him. His flannel has droplets of blood on the collar—reminders of your previous captor—would your other attacker have been a better option? Who’d be more merciful to your quivering body?

You charge your voice with every last modicum of strength at your disposal. “I’ll fight.”

He turns, smirking softly at your clenched fists. “S’good, sweetheart. I like a little fight.” He stalks towards you, swiping his thumb along the plushness of his bottom lip, his intimidating presence forcing your back to meet the flat hardness of the wall behind you.

So much for fighting.

There’s nothing living in his eyes as he says it—nothing save the roiling flames of hunger: “You see those guys downstairs?”

You glare up at him, trying not to notice the alluring hook of his nose, or the way your body works against you, responding to the earthy smell of him.

Then, you nod, wordlessly.

“Did you count ‘em?” He splays a hand beside your head, using one hand to pry your arms uncrossed.

Again, you nod. “How many?” He asks, his voice deceptively soft.

“Five.” Breathless.

“S’right, sweetheart. Ever had your lil’ holes stuffed by five guys at once?”

A swallow, and your voice cracks when you’re finally able to put it to use. “No.”

He pries your elbows to your sides, pulling the beige fabric open, revealing the torn remains of your underwear.

It’s almost a croon, feigned concern underpinning his low tone. “You wanna see what it’s like?” He drinks in the sight of your bare chest, almost groaning at the sight of your naked front.

It’s not cold anymore; no, suddenly you’re very hot.

“No, please, no.”

He slips the coat off of your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap to the ground. He assesses you once more: studying every square inch of your skin under his shadowed eyes.

“M’only gonna say this once, sweetheart.” All that fake-gentleness fades from his tone, replaced by the sadistic, authoritative timbre he’d first greeted you with. “I need you to be very careful.”

You’re frozen—all that fight, it drains out of you, captivated by the raider’s looming form, his mesmerizing speech.

“You’re alone, yeah?” A nod, which he acknowledges, trailing a hand up the length of your waist. “S’what I thought. N’ the way I found you today? That’s a best-case-scenario for a girl like you, out here on your own.”

He drags a finger up the centre of your breast, skilled fingertips just barely brushing the peaked nipple. You lean into his touch—the near imperceptible arch of your back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you kick yourself internally as the corners of his lips twitch up.

Still, the raider ignores your trembling.

“You’re mine, now,” he continues, egged on by your involuntary movement. “Means you’re gonna be a good girl n’ do as I say, n’ I’ll make sure I’m the only man who touches you.” His big hand drops to his heavy silver buckle, and the clearly defined, bulging lines underneath it have your heart clawing out of your chest. Joel senses your fear—and it only makes him harder. “I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine, y’know? But you try anything—you step outta line—I’ll throw you to my guys downstairs.”

His hand finds your throat, hunger and warning beating to the same rhythm in his gaze. “I have no problem watching.” He gives your larynx a squeeze, multitasking as he pulls the strap of his belt through the worn loops of his denim. “Understood?”

You have no words left, shaking from head to toe as the reality of the situation finally settles in.

As he works the intimidating weight of his cock out of his jeans.

A huff. Joel flips you over, impatient, pressing your scraped up cheek to the cinnamon-brown of the wall.

Déjà vù.

Your knees are separated by his own, and his weight flattens you. He wastes no time: lining himself up, his tip separates your folds. Resistance is futile—with one hand, he holds your thighs open—even as they try to press themselves closed, even as you whimper at the rough, male knuckles pressed to bruise on the insides of your legs.

Leaving his mark.

It’s not an option to simply take it. Joel forces you to participate in the sinful act: “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he growls, gripping your chin indelicately. “You understand me, girl?”

A swallow and a flinch as you feel the head of his cock poke at your entrance. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

“Yes, Joel,” he corrects. “Use my name. You’re mine now. Use my fuckin’ name.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the promised savagery in his tone. Holding back a sob, you respond: “Yes, Joel.”

You watch his hand, large and capable, splaying out a mere inch away from the tip of your nose. “Good,” he commends. “Z’are the only fuckin’ words you know, from now on.”

His free hand slaps against your hip, yanking you down onto his hard length. Your hips buck up against his abdomen, responding to the pull of his fingertips, even as you cry out at the sting, the stretch. The raider tries to force himself between your walls—muttering a grunted “shit”—and thrusting up against your ass.

But you’re too tight, too tense, and your stubborn body refuses to open up for him. Finally listening to you.

“Relax,” he orders, surprisingly softly. He moves his hand from your hip to the apex of your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit. Fuck, how’d he find it so fast? You gasp at the feel of his fingertips against your most sensitive, touch-starved spot, hating yourself for the way his pressure makes you feel.

Because…

Because—fuck.

It feels… good. The man knows exactly what he’s doing—methodical in his ministrations, prepping you only enough to ensure his own eventual pleasure. “S’too tight, baby,” he breathes against your neck, “Need to loosen up for me, yeah?”

He’s not gentle. No part of it is gentle. Nonetheless, pleasure ripples through your centre and down your thighs as he effectively turns you on.

“Thaaaaaa’s right,” and his voice is mocking and taunting and degrading as he drags his digits away, grabbing and pulling at your breasts, instead. Feeling the involuntary release of your cunt, Joel finally pushes himself in, sheathing the long, thick length of his cock inside you.

“Need to show this pussy what it’s fuckin’ made for.”

A current of pain flutters up your cunt just as he fills it up to the brim. You can’t help it—your stoicism crumbles to dust—and a soft, scared, pained whimper tumbles from your lips.

And he groans at it, thrusting roughly, over and over again. And again. “Hurts, does it?”

His breath is hot against your ear, and despite the fear, the ancient instincts gripping your bones, telling you to run, run, run, fight, fight, fight—it’s… enticing.

Hot.

“It hurts.”

He laughs, low and dark, bringing his hands to circle your hips, steadying you as you stumble on your tip-toes.

“Cry about it.”

And he keeps on going, tearing you open. The way his girth touches every starved part of your insides leaves you wanting, even despite the sting of his fingernails biting into your hips, the tears and cuts stinging at your opening.

You hate yourself for it.

But you clench around him, stifling a pathetic moan.

God, no—I am not enjoying this.

He breathes another laugh. “Feelin’ full, baby? Tell me how good it feels, c’mon,” and your inhalations come in heaves as he pounds into you, delivering a harsh slap to the side of your hip, hard enough for your skin to ripple from the contact. “Do as I say.”

When you refuse to sate him, swallowing all of your little noises, Joel grips your throat, bringing your head slamming against his shoulder. Your back arches into a perfect crescent, spine contorting at his will. A gasped cry fans out against his salt-and-pepper jaw.

A sob—of fear, of frustration, of reluctant pleasure. “You’re evil.”

The grip on your throat tightens, and he looses another laugh, squeezing your skin, muscles, and tendons oh-so-tight.

You’d be wrecked, bruised—branded—come sunrise.

“Yeah?” He groans, cock slamming up into your very guts.

“M-mhmm—” and the saltwater tears start pouring, trailing glistening slopes down your cheeks in long, long lines. Distantly, you hear his answer—“Yeah, well, you’re wet”—as those silver droplets keep on falling. Where they come from, you aren’t certain; of course, the terror, the physical torture, and the frustration at your entrapment contribute to the mess under your eyes.

But that warmth… the unbridled desire radiating between your thighs… that wasn’t helping, either.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, muttering another “S’it—s’right,” and releasing your throat to tilt your head up to face him. He drinks in his creation, the ruined sight of your tear-stricken face, and his cock swells between your beaten walls. “God, you look so fuckin’ pretty takin’ it from me—cryin’ like your lil’ pussy ain’t desperate for this.”

Joel smiles when you sob.

It goes on for a while. He doesn’t tire quickly, bringing you right up to the edge of reluctant ecstasy before you remind yourself of the hatred you owed the man fucking into you. You get used to the sound of his hips snapping against your skin, your cries mingling with his gravelly, low grunts. It’s a dirty, depraved symphony—orchestrated by the monster between your thighs.

You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips when he finally, finally brings his fingers back down between your legs. He grunts in approval, barely grazing the length of your folds, pressing his thumb into the delicate flesh of your thigh, instead. “Dirty lil’ girl—fuckin’ dyin’ to be an old man’s whore, z’that it?” and he doesn’t even touch you, focussed on his own pleasure, but the proximity alone is enough to have you wrecked.

And you just can’t help it: “J-joel—”

“Y’know,” he chuckles, slightly out of breath, slowing his strokes to address your wanton whine, “You’re gonna make such a good lil’ fuck-toy, baby, f’you keep makin’ those pretty lil’ noises for me.”

The reality of the situation comes barrelling down on you as he acknowledges—praises—your enjoyment of his torture.

This man… this man was cruel. He was hurting you, and enjoying it.

You struggle against him, a pathetic show of weakness. Joel holds you in place effortlessly, arching your back further, keeping your hips preened back to receive the harsh thrusts he delivers to your torn, ruined cunt. “Where you goin’?” He laughs at your pathetic attempt at resistance, grips tightening. “Thought we were havin’ fun, baby—don’t it feel good?”

And he quickens again, slamming into every needy spot inside you. His breaths grow shallow, as rough as his hands and the ferocity of this punishment.

“No,” you manage, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He tuts, the vocal click constricted with lust, and his hand travels the length of you, settling against that aching bud between your thighs. “Fuckin’ liar.”

He presses down, proving his point. Your entire body tenses as pleasure ripples through you—despite your best efforts, climax crests through your core, threatening to implode within you. Joel hums, smirking when he feels your legs parting even wider.

“S’mine now, alright? You’re mine now.” He crams every inch of his cock up inside you, pulling you flush against his chest. “S’okay to come for me—s’okay, baby, I want you to—s’fuckin’ right, let go for me, baby—” and his crooning takes you over the edge.

Christ, it feels so good.

You clench around him, high-pitched pleas and moans tumbling from your lips, his own pair dragging down the swoop of your ear. In that split second, Joel—the devil at your back—is your favourite thing in the world: your hero, your haven, your God. Fuck, you could just kiss him, marry him, fuck him over and over and over and over—

A hand clamps over your mouth during those brief, blissful moments; the man practically bounces you up and down the length of him, muffling the cries of pain and pleasure tearing from your sore throat against the rough skin of his palm. He groans inside your ear—a stammered, sinful “fuuuck”—and then he’s spilling his seed inside you, shoving it impossibly deep as those quick, harsh strokes stutter and slow.

You come to, waking up from your pleasure-drunk daze. Before you get the opportunity to wriggle away from him, the monster flips you over again, slamming your shoulders to the wall. With his forearm barring your chest, and despite your fear and ire—somehow, all you can think about is the fact that he’s not as out of breath as he really should be (given his age and, of course, what he’d just done to you).

Joel leaks out of you. His cum paints masterpieces down your legs.

He slides his free hand down the length of his cock, collecting the last bits of slick clinging to him and not dripping out of you. The intermingling juices are brought to the roundness of your breasts—the raider slathers your sore peaks with his own spend.

“Nobody’s gonna fuck with you—but that means you’re Joel’s girl. Hear me?” With your head bowed, you glare up at him through silver-lined spider lashes, shame beating at your cheeks. When you hum your acknowledging “uh-huh,” the stranger continues on, gripping your jaw to angle your gaze up: “Means you listen—you-you don’t fuckin’ try me—n’ you take everything I give you, every fuckin’ time. Understand?” He tucks his softening length back in his pants, dark eyes dancing with satisfaction as he leers at your destroyed form.

When you don’t respond, he brings the back of his punishing hand colliding with the side of your face.

Something between a squeal and a gasp tumbles from your lips; Joel catches it, placing the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down. Your cheek stings from his harsh slap, delivered on top of the scrapes and wounds a different cruel man had left upon your skin.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I will f’I have to,” and he’s earnest, commanding and pleading at once. “You gotta answer me.”

Slowly, you croak out a timid, “Yes,” and an “I understand,” followed by a final “Joel.”

Nodding, he straightens, the violence in his gaze fading just minutely. When he lets go, you stagger—the raider senses the instability of your knees, reflexively snaking a steadying arm around your waist.

You’re not sure where the impulse comes from. Perhaps it’s exhaustion, the aftermath of your orgasm, or maybe it’s just a sick, twisted desire to sink into something beyond your body—either way, you respond to Joel’s support by throwing your arms around his neck.

And he responds by lifting you, walking you over to the bed, and tossing you down on the sheets. Awakening into reality, you scamper back, grabbing and yanking at the surrounding bedding in a desperate attempt to cover yourself.

But Joel pays you no mind.

Having had his way, he’s through with you—for now. Nonchalantly, apathetically, he runs a hand through his hair, tracing heavy steps towards the door.

“Lock the door when I leave,” he instructs, but his tone is soft… possessive and commanding, yes, but… caring. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”

He waits for your show of understanding, your near imperceptible nod.

Then, he sighs, yanking on the handle and giving you his final address over a pair of creaky, squeaky, rusted hinges. “Try to sleep, sweetheart—got a long night ahead of you.” Chuckling to himself, he leaves the sanctuary of the room.

All you can hear as your body grows heavy and warm, travelling somewhere far, far beyond this violent world are the echoes of male laughter down the hall, and a familiar, satisfied, gravelly voice:

“Not worth much, now. Might just fuckin’ keep her.”

And you slip away, dreaming of belt buckles, blood-stained collars, and the lung-squeezing heat of the setting Texan sun.

—

He used to call me DN

That stood for deadly nightshade

'Cause I was filled with poison

But blessed with beauty and rage

Jim told me that

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

Jim brought me back

Reminding me of when we were kids

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

He used to call me poison

Like I was poison ivy

I could've died right then

'Cause he was right beside me

Jim raised me up

He hurt me but it felt like true love

Jim taught me that

Loving him was never enough

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

We can go back to New York

Loving you was really hard

We could go back to Woodstock

Where they don't know who we are

Heaven is on earth

I would do anything for you, babe

Blessed is this union

Crying tears of gold, like lemonade

I love you the first time

I love you the last time

Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines

'Cause I'm your jazz singer

And you're my cult leader

I love you forever

I love you forever

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

—

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TAGS WILL CONTINUE IN A REBLOG (there are simply too many of you & I don’t want this post to crash <3)

[coryosbaby]

STEPSISTER AND ETHAN?HER SECRETLY RIDING HIS COCK DURING A MOVIE NIGHT.

Ultraviolence- E.L & C.M

(pt. 2)

Fandom: “Scream Vi”

Pairing: Stepbrother! Ethan Landry x fem! Reader, Chad Meeks Martin x fem! Reader (not in this chapter), Ethan Landry x Chad Meeks Martin (not in this chapter)

Warning: dubcon, slight sliiiight mention of vomit and suicide (but not in a serious manner), stepcest (stepsister x stepbrother), public sex in front of relatives (the parents are completely clueless), scent kink, dom! Ethan, dark! Ethan, sub! Reader, p n v, squirting, finger sucking, degradation, possession, rough sex

A/N: 😱 how have I not thought ab stepbrother! Ethan before ??!! Thank you for this. The way I wrote the whole situation is literally so unrealistic but fuck it we ball. Literally going to write so many more stepbro fics now and am totally making this a series 😘 this is pt 2! Pt 1 is already posted <3 luv u

“Care if I sit here, sis?” Ethan’s voice is laced with sarcasm, and you cringe.

It’s movie night, and your mom and Ethan’s dad are sprawled out on one couch. The only spots left are the ones on the smaller couch with two seats. The lights are off, and Ethan is standing above you, a large green comforter clutched in his ring clad hands. The light of from the television makes him a warm silhouette.

You give him a thin awkward smile, mumbling a small “yeah, sure.”

He grins, but there’s a mischievous look to it that doesn’t sit right with you.

“Great!”

He plops down beside you, covering his tall form with the blanket. He moves close to you, even though he has a whole other half of the cushion to take up. Your face flushes when you catch a whiff of his cologne, and you have flashbacks to a few weeks ago.

A flashback, it seems, that racks you with a shit ton of guilt.

You cant stop thinking about it. About how Ethan threw you on top of the kitchen counter when your parents were gone a few weeks ago and fucked your virgin pussy open. Can’t stop thinking about how his hands had felt, how his cock had felt.

You shiver, and your stomach twists in knots. What the fuck is wrong with you? This whole thing is sick. He’s your stepbrother, for god’s sake!

Ethan’s fingers gently skimming along your knee cap is what pull you out of your thoughts. You narrow your eyes at him, not in the mood for his antics right now.

But, as usual, Ethan doesn’t know how to fucking listen.

“Sis, you’re practically freezing. You should move a little closer and share the blankets with me.” Ethan suggests. You are freezing, but you aren’t going to admit that.

You scoff, and then roll your eyes. “Fuck off.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” Your mother scolds from across the room. “And be nice to your brother!”

Brother. You might throw up. In fact, jumping off the roof sounds like a very good idea right about now.

“Whatever.” You mutter, and scoot closer to the the boy next to you. Your mother turns her attention back to the movie as Ethan’s dad wraps his arms around her.

Ethan’s scent gets stronger, more prominent, now that your arms and legs are touching. You notice that it’s not just his cologne that smells so good; it’s him. Just, completely and utterly him.

You really do hate yourself right now.

Ethan throws the blanket over the two of you and he begins to slowly lift you and sit you down on top of him. You stiffen, his closeness in such a public setting confusing you. Does he just want you both to get caught?

“Oh, look at them, Wayne! They’re bonding!” Your mom gushes when she sees Ethan holding you. She’s so naive.

‘We’re certainly bonding all right, but not in the way you want, mom.’ You think. You move around to try and sit correctly on Ethan.

And then you feel it. Big and hard, pressing against your ass. He’s hard.

In front of your fucking parents, too. Jesus, this motherfucker is demented.

You try to ignore it, you really do. But your pussy has a mind of its own, and Ethan isn’t making it any easier. His thigh flexes and pushes the muscle against your soaking pussy. He seems calm, but his grip on your hips is a dead giveaway. You try not to gasp, to moan at the feeling of the friction against your swollen little clit. It’s difficult.

“Oh! See, Wayne? This is my favorite part.”

Your mom’s voice cuts through your wild thoughts, and your face gets hotter than it was before, if possible. She doesn’t deserve this.

Ethan’s hands rest on your upper thighs now, and you feel the coldness of his rings against your skin.

He’s breathing quietly down your neck, and you feel him adjust. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head when your lightly lifted by his strong arms, while he moves his sweatpants down. You try to act calm when he lowers you back down and his big cock is resting in between your pussy and his thigh. And then, when Ethan sees that your parents aren’t looking, he presses a light kiss to your neck.

“Be really still, angel. Don’t wanna get caught, do you?” He whispers, lips against your ear. You shake your head.

He chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

You clench. And then, you feel the boy gently pull your sleep shorts and panties to the side. He lifts his cock and presses the tip into your tight hole, and you almost whine. He already feels so good. Why does he feel this good?

His cock is wet, and you can feel his pre cum spreading around your outer lips. You cringe when you hear the faint sound of your creamy wetness sliding around on his dick. It’s hard for him to stick it inside, really. You had only had sex once since before this moment, that time a few weeks ago. The stretch burns, and Ethan’s above average size doesn’t help. But you sit, and you take it like a good girl. And eventually, slowly, while slightly readjusting you, Ethan’s cock slides all the way in. You feel filled to the brim, and ashamed. Your parents are still watching the movie. Your mom has no idea that her sweet little girl is getting impaled by her stepbrothers big dick.

And then Ethan just…stays there. He doesn’t move, or even try to, and you don’t understand how he can physically handle it. Because as of right now, your thighs are almost shaking from the feeling of being filled. You know you’re soaking, can feel your juices trailing down onto Ethan’s balls and his sweats. You can feel his cock throbbing, can feel all 9 inches and every vein. Your walls clench down on him on accident and you feel his breath hitch.

You smirk. If he wants to play dirty, you can too.

You clench again, your hands going down into the blanket to run your fingers over his balls. He inhales sharply, and his fingers go up to put your arms in a tight grip.

“Stop it.” He growls, his tone low. You lean back to whisper in his ear in a hushed tone.

“Why don’t you make me?”

All of Ethan’s willpower is trying to stop him from plowing you straight on the fucking couch. He can smell the intermingling of yours and his arousal dripping down his cock. His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

God, you smell so fucking good.

Both of your thoughts are interrupted when the both of your parents sigh tiredly. The end credits. Ethan’s dad looks incredibly tired, barely even acknowledging the both of you and saying goodnight as he throws you the remote.

“If you guys aren’t going to go to bed anytime soon, just put on something else.”

Ethan’s head is leaned back against the couch, his chest heaving slowly at the feeling of you. Your face is hot, for obvious reasons. Your mom frowns at you.

“Honey? Are you okay? You look a little sick..” her hand goes up to feel your head and Ethan adjusts his hips. You gasp, but quickly cover it up with a cough.

“I’m f-fine mom!” You smile, all teeth. “Just a little tired, that’s all. We’re probably going to watch the wizard of oz… or something.”

Your mom looks at you both strangely for a moment, but decides to shake it off. Both you and Ethan give her a sheepish smile as you begin to actually turn the wizard of oz on as a distraction. She goes upstairs, and lastly, you and Ethan are alone.

As somewhere over the rainbow plays, Ethan instantly throws you onto the couch, shoves his fingers into your mouth, and pounds you so hard that you can feel his tip kissing your cervix. He reaches down to rub your soaked clit, the sound of your wetness prominent.

He begins speaking in a hushed but growling whisper. He’s angry, most definitely. And his full intention is to take it out on you.

“You dirty fucking slut.” He sneers. “Think you can get away with the shit you do? The shit you say? You’re lucky our parents were here tonight, or I would be spanking that cute little ass until it bleeds.”

You let out a cry, one thats muffled by Ethan’s fingers, one you hope doesn’t catch the attention of your parents upstairs. You can feel that elastic in your gut start to snap, can feel yourself letting go.

And then you literally ejaculate onto Ethan’s cock and balls.

He grins down at your squirting pussy, his teeth shining. Your sobs and moans are muffled by his hand, and he gives your cunt a light slap.

“Yeah, squirt all over that cock, baby. Fuck, just wait until mommy and daddy aren’t home. Gonna ruin this fuckin’ pussy, sweet thing.”

He watches your hole as he spreads it apart with his fingers, watches your greedy walls suck him in. Your face is contorted in pleasure, looking up at him like he’s God. His eyes are completely black, almost evil. As he looks at your precious face, your fragile body, possession overtakes him.

Family be damned, you belong to him.

[gag-me-munson]

Prom Date

Pairing: Eddie x Fem!reader

Warnings: None really. Mentions of oral on Eddie but it's not explicitly written. Mostly fluff today.

"She was supposed to be here already," Eddie was frantic around the trailer. His Uncle, Wayne, trailing behind, "Or was I supposed to get her? How do these things even work?"

"Just settle down and let me fix your bow tie, boy." Wayne was huffing, slightly annoyed by Eddie's insecurities but also smiling through it because Eddie was finally doing something, well, normal.

Groaning loudly, Eddie hangs his head and walks towards his uncle and gritting his teeth. Prom was definitely not his idea of a fun time, but you had promised him road head to make up for it. Reluctantly Eddie agreed to this plan, but only after begging him for another five minutes.

"What if she doesn't like this stupid flower thing I got? You picked it out anyways, how about you go instead?" Eddie trying to get out at the last minute was so him. Especially for something that made him feel like more of an outcast.

"It's called a corsage, Eddie." Wayne mumbles and lifts his nephew's head up to fix the bow tie. "You said her dress was purple, right?"

"Well, she calls it lavender." Eddie says sarcastically, waving his hands in the air before running one through his hair, cursing under his breath and running straight back to the mirror to fix it. He wanted tonight to be over with already, to have you sneak back into his bed after a smoke and cuddle you.

"Well, white goes with anything," Wayne calls out after Eddie, "even lavender." He chuckles and after a moment there's a small knock at the door.

Wayne answers it and smiles when he sees you all dressed up. Sure enough, it's a lavender shade of purple, to the knees with ruffled sleeves. Small black heels adorn your feet and you have on one of your mother's necklaces.

"Well, darlin'," He grins broadly and ushers you into the small trailer, "don't you look nice. Eddie, your date is here, now leave your hair alone and get going!"

At first Wayne had been unsure of you, knowing the type of girl Eddie usually went for around the park, but after watching you help him not only with his homework but listen to his nephew go on and on about the latest dragons and dungeons- or whatever it was called, he didn't pay much attention- campaign, he changed his mind completely.

Eddie rushes past you to the fridge and quickly pulls out a plastic container. He shuffles towards you, blushing with ferocity so much that even his ears are red, and brings out the white rose corsage.

"I got this for you..." and as he takes it out of the packaging, Eddie places the beautiful flower around your wrist with a gentle ease.

"It's perfect, Eddie." You smile and lift his chin up so that his deep brown eyes meet your own. "Thank you."

He finally offers you his famous grin and nods fervently, "yeah, no problem."

"Alright kids, off you go before you miss the damn dance." Wayne hurries you both out as he lights the cigarette in his mouth, waving goodbye.

After helping you into the van, Eddie hops into the driver's side and starts up, turning the volume dial down.

You had offered, many times on the way, to give Eddie the road head you'd promised but in his words, "I'll fuck up the tux, I know it." And that was that.

Usually he had his free hand on your leg but tonight he was anxiously playing with the rings on that hand, biting his bottom lip and paying more attention to the road than usual. He was so nervous to be out of his element and around the "normal" kids that he just was shutting down.

"Why, Eddie Munson," you venture and take his hand into both of yours, "I have never seen you like this before. It's just a dance!"

"Yeah, just a dance," he scoffs and exhales loudly, "where everyone will be staring because I can't do that. Dance, I mean."

You kiss the top of his hand and let it rest on your lap, shaking your head, "I don't care about them. You shouldn't either. I'm going because I wanted to dance with you. To show you off because you are worth showing off, Eddie."

At the stoplight, Eddie seems to relax, his shoulders moving down from his ears and he looks at you quickly with a faint smile. "I love ya, babe." He grins and starts driving again after the go from green.

After the short drive and finding a parking spot nearer the back, away from the rest of the cars headed towards the school, Eddie gets out and comes to your side. He opens the door as you grab your dress and hop out, thanking him.

"Well, here we go." He sighs and offers his hand. You take it and give it a squeeze of confirmation, letting your boyfriend know that you're more than ready.

The music is loud and it's a faster song, most definitely pop music, too. You laugh at the look on Eddie's face before you point to where a line of people are waiting to get their portrait taken in front of a simple paper backdrop.

"Oh come on, we have to!" You say with glee and before Eddie can even begin to say "nope", you're dragging him to the line.

He is completely and totally out of his element and you can tell how nervous he is, so when it's your turn for a photo, you make Eddie stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. You look up and behind to him and smile brightly before the photo is taken and the girl taking them is now onto the next.

"See... that wasn't so bad." You grin and notice a slower song is finally on. His hand in yours, you take Eddie to the dance floor and stand in front of him.

"Now, I know you can do this. We've danced in the trailer hundreds of-"

You're cut off with a kiss and Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist, yours going around his neck. He's blushing again.

"No one needs to know what we do in private." He rests his forehead on yours and chuckles as you smile back.

Cyndi Lauper blares her "Time After Time." In the background and as clichéd and overplayed as it is, you can hear Eddie singing it to you in a near whisper of a voice. You pull your head away and look into his eyes, his watching you as his mouth sings the words to you, making you feel like the only person in the dressed up gym.

"If you're lost, you can look and you will find me. Time After time..."

School will be ending soon and who knows what will happen with you and this amazing boy, so you can only gulp hard, blink your oncoming tears away and hug Eddie close.

"I know we're young... and I know this is stupid, but I want you. Forever." He whispers your name into your ear and butterflies begin to spread throughout your stomach. Can he really be asking you-

"Be my wife. Please..." With now fresh tears you once again take a look into those beautiful and dark brown eyes, searching for the joke or at least the sarcasm.

"What'd you just ask me?"

With a newfound confidence, Eddie grins from ear to ear, picking you up so you can't run away when he loudly declares, "I love you and I want you to marry me!"

You're blushing now but your eyes still don't leave his, not even as the other people in the gym look or roll their eyes at the pair of you.

"Oh Eddie," you sigh dreamily as he sets you slowly down, "Eddie Munson, '86 is definitely your year."

-------

Tags: @after4evrr

[pedgito]

Thinking of an modern! Eddie fic idea where the fruity for and the reader are all hanging out (doesn’t matter where) and the reader is flirting with a guy over text, she decides to go to the restroom and take some nudes but instead of sending them to the guy shes talking to she sends them to her best friend Eddie Munson who is sitting across from her. Eventual smut.

author's note: i took some liberties here and excluded the fruity four scenario, it just wouldn't fit the way this idea came to me so i hope you don't mind!

cw: 18+ (minors dni), modern!eddie, slightly inexperienced!eddie, confident!reader, established friendship, mentions of reader having lots of casual sex/partners, a little bit on pining/unrequited crushes, handjobs, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 3.4k

You can’t help but feel a little regretful when your phone dings for the millionth time that night, screen light illuminating the darkness of the room, the only other light source being the television position in front of you both. 

Eddie was, hands down, your closest friend. He was the person you came to for everything, even slow nights like this when you just wanted to be around each other. And it could, from an outside perspective, look too codependent. But, if either of you were ever feeling sad or upset you always seeked out the other without hesitation.

Eddie felt ridiculous, practically on his hands and knees after school in an effort to have you come over tonight—it’s mostly for show, hoping to make you laugh, but you can see how desperately he needed it. 

Still, the notifications on your phone aren’t immune to Eddie’s senses, his eyes dragging toward the phone set atop the coffee table that his feet are resting on, a quick succession of messages in one go. 

He clears his throat softly, angling himself away slightly as you reach for the phone, looking back at him apologetically. 

You weren’t always this inconsiderate, but Eddie never seemed to mind, not initially anyways. 

It was pointless too, some bland conversation with a boy who was much too desperate to get in your pants—but you couldn’t lie to yourself, you were being just as promiscuous as you wanted to be, so the flirting ensues. 

It’s not bad either, but it starts to blend together, things you’ve seen time and time again. And Eddie looks like he’s on the brink of passing out, head slumped in his hand and his lip pouting out slightly. 

“You don’t have to stay,” He says quietly, his free hand tucked under his shirt, pressing against the warmth of his skin, “I get it.”

Did he, though? Or was he just trying to be nice?

Either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him high and dry on a night that he really needed you. And usually you both would be cuddled up against each other, but that wasn’t how tonight was going. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or exhausted, maybe a mix of both. 

“I’m not leaving,” You respond, half offended that he would even suggest it, “I just—I’m gonna deal with this so they’ll stop bothering me.”

Whatever that would entail.

“Okay,” He relents, his voice soft, “I’ll pause it if you want.”

The movie, pausing the movie—you glance at the screen and back at Eddie, shaking your head.

“I’ll be quick.” You assure him before fleeing down the hall to the tiny bathroom, unlocking your phone.

And while you don’t necessarily condone sending nude photos of yourself to people you barely knew, you weren’t exactly a stickler for following the rules. Plus, you were good about keeping any identifying marks out of the pictures, namely your face. 

You can hear Eddie move around in the other room, his walls dangerously thin. The old couch creaks as he moves and then the front door is squeaking open and slamming shut a few seconds later.

Smoke break. 

Well, that or he was giving you some privacy. 

You get a text from Eddie a moment later confirming your suspicions.

‘Out front for a smoke if you want to join.’

Followed by another.

‘When you’re done.’

You sigh heavily, switching over to your camera and dealing with the pressing task at hand, lifting your shirt up just above your breasts, a thin and see-through material that gave the subtlest view of your nipples, the curve of your breasts pushed together deliciously—you had to give yourself some credit, they were absolutely picture-worthy. 

You snap the picture quickly, fleeting before you overthink it.

But, it doesn’t feel like enough.

You reach your hands around to cup your tits, pulling them out of the material with ease so they sit perfectly on your chest, still slightly supported by the fabric bunched up underneath them.

Was it deserved? Maybe not. But, you couldn’t be bothered to second guess yourself, snapping the second picture and readjusting your clothes, phone scattering into the bowl of the sink as you set it down.

You did want to join Eddie, so you sent the pictures without checking, not realizing how detrimental of a mistake you made. The phone is shoved into your back pocket and you meet Eddie outside a few moments later, his back turned toward you as he puffed on the cigarette, nearly down to a stub. 

You reach around him effortlessly, plucking it from his fingers and pressing it to your own mouth.

“You could’ve asked for your own,” He laughs lowly, a deep chuckle that makes you feel warm all over, “I was trying to finish that.”

“Too late,” You smile, pressing the cigarette to your lips and puffing it dead, “I never finish mine and you know it.”

Eddie smiles knowingly, twisting you gently to urge you inside.

“Quick, before we freeze.” He tells you, opening the door to lead you back inside, the butt of the cigarette falling from your fingers as Eddie snuffs it out with his boot. 

“I really am sorry,” You apologize timidly, “I know this is supposed to be our time and—“

“Hey, it’s fine,” Eddie shrugs, poking at the frown line in your cheek as you look over at him, “you’re here, at least.”

Eddie grabs a few snacks and drinks to finish out the movie, letting you settle into the space between his legs on the floor, pillow pressed against his lap for you to lean against. He’s playing with your hair absently, your eyes drawn to the screen as he checks his phone, the insistent buzzing of an unchecked notification driving him crazy. 

He could only guess it was Dustin bugging him about something only he and Eddie would understand, but it’s not.

It’s not that at all.

It’s your contact name: two pictures attached.

Eddie’s fingers freeze against your hair, but it’s lost on you.

He’s not an idiot, he knows. God, he fucking knows.

And because he loves nothing more than to torture himself, he braves the fear that riddles his body and unlocks his phone, faced with the last thing he could ever expect.

“Oh fuck.” He says quietly, mostly to himself.

“Hmm?” You inquire, not bothering to look back at him.

Eddie stammers, phone almost slipping from his hand.

It’s not the first pair of tits he’s been blessed to see in his lifetime, but it’s not like he’s being bombarded with them on a regular basis. He’s had sex once, seen a girl naked once, in person, not counting the porn he watches on a regular basis—and he’s still new to all of this. But, this feels invasive.

Yet, he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

The silence is digging at you and you turn slowly, hand pressed like a fire-hot brand against his knee that makes him jump, his eyes pulling up toward you.

They’re wide—shocked, lost, and the words that he wants to say are dead on his tongue. 

“Eddie, is everything okay?” You ask, concerning flooding you at his state of emotion, “Is it Wayne?”

He could keep it to himself, never tell a soul and live with the fact that he’s a total creep, bound to jerk off to the pictures of you at some point—he’s never outwardly admitted his attraction toward you, but he doesn’t hide it either.

Eddie hasn’t tried to ruin the one good thing he has going on in his life because his dick is telling him so, it’s the one thing he prides himself over.

But, that’s quickly flying out the window.

“Hello,” You call out again, “earth to Eddie? You’re starting to freak me out now.”

Eddie rubs at his brow in exhaustion, forehead creasing as he flips his phone around, “I uh, don’t think these were meant for me.”

You look at him, confused, tearing the phone from his hands and suddenly your mouth is falling open, not a word to be spoken. 

“I mean, I’m flattered but—I think it’s safe to assume I wasn’t supposed to see those,” Eddie rambles, “not that like, I wouldn’t want to, but I figured it’s probably better to tell you rather than you finding out later and thinking that I didn’t tell you for some other reason, not that there is…a reason.”

You smile widely at his dramatic rambling. He only ever did it when he was nervous, which was inherently clear now.

This was going…great, clearly. 

“That’s–” You laugh uncomfortably, softly, “I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

“No, no—don’t be,” Eddie interjects, “I’m not like I’m bothered or anything—“

“God, I’m so stupid,” You reprimand yourself, tossing the phone back into his lap, his hand tensed tightly into the fabric of the pillow when you move, a small thing you wouldn’t have noticed without the cause of current situation, but you ignore it for now, “you text me—and I didn’t even think to switch it back to the other conversation and I just sent it, like an idiot.”

“I’ll delete it,” Eddie says, reaching for the phone, “I’m going to delete it right now.”

“You already saw it, I don’t think it really matters.”

And it’s the first inkling Eddie gets that maybe you don’t mind—it was a genuine mistake, but you’re more panicking for the sake of Eddie, rather than yourself. Seeing your friend naked wasn’t exactly an ideal situation, but it wasn’t one Eddie had a problem with, not with him harboring such a deep crush on you. 

“It feels wrong,” Eddie says, trying to laugh off how awkward things felt, “I mean, not that they’re bad photos—I think I should delete them.”

He shifts slightly, sitting up further as you turn to face him fully, knelt on the carpet at his feet—and that stupid, fucking pillow.

It’s covering the painful hard-on pressing against his jeans. Eddie hasn’t dealt with a situation like this since…well, ever.

Your eyes connect their briefly, the skin around his rings going white from his forcefully he’s gripping it, almost like he’s trying to rut into it secretly, relieving that silent ache. 

“Should? Because you want to, right?” You check in with him, his fingers hovering over the delete button, staring intensely back at you. 

“Yeah, of course.” He nods jerkily, “Friends don’t–don’t keep pictures like that, do they?”

He’s never been in such an unorthodox situation, learning the rules as he went. He never cuddled with friends or played with their hair, spent nights sleeping next to them in bed because the other was too tired to drive home–it’s a line you both have been walking on for a while, all that unspoken about tension collapsing in on itself.

“Only if they want to,” You tell, “You can–if you want to.”

“They weren’t meant for me.”

There’s a long beat of silence that has his heart racing in his chest, his face heating up.

“They can be.”

“But, what about–”

You shrug lightly, the light from the television shadowing around your face in a way that has Eddie mesmerized, caught up in the way you’re staring straight through him, your hand creeping toward his own, pulling gently at the fingers gripping the pillow.

“They were boring,” You tell him honestly, “and this is...a lot less.”

Eddie resists the pull for a moment, embarrassed by how easily he’s given himself over. It’s far from where he expected the night to go, and his internal monologue is screaming for him to say:

No. This won’t work. This can’t work.

“Eddie.” You say his name once, the tone in your voice telling him everything he needs to know.

Regardless of if this was a one time thing, you wanted it. And if all of this happened purely by chance, he’s thankful for the best goddamn divine intervention he’s ever experienced.

Eddie’s still speechless when you climb into his lap, thighs spread out over his own and his hands reaching around to squeeze at the wedge behind your knee, settling you more comfortably. 

This was normal, no different than any other time that you’ve sat in his lap, but your hands are hovering, pillow tossed to the side. You can see how painfully hard his dick is from where it’s pressed up against the thick fabric of his jeans. 

“I’m really trying not to make shit weird,” Eddie admits with a clipped laugh, “my body just kinda reacted.”

You shrug again, nonchalant. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Eddie glances down briefly, his hands rising up your thighs slightly, soft skin against rough denim. They squeeze at your hips, his gaze tilting back up toward you.

“What are we doing?”

It’s a question with a million and one answers, but you settle for something simple. Something Eddie can grasp and figure out himself.

“Whatever feels good,” You smile softly, pushing his long tresses behind his ears, the skin stained a deep red, “or we can go back to watching the movie and act like this didn’t happen.”

Eddie grips you a little tighter, like he might lose you.

“I can…help you out,” You suggest, glancing down with a mischievous grin, hands dragging toward the waistband of his jeans and tugging at the belt, “no stipulations or anything, unless you think it’ll go away on its own.”

“Probably–probably not.” Eddie admits. His morning wood wasn’t nearly as bad as this, but it always ended in him tensed up against the shower wall, fucking messily into the tight grip of his hand until he can finally find some relief. 

You eye him wordlessly–he can see it in the way you light up.

A silent ‘Then?’ hanging between you both.

Eddie makes the first movie, surprisingly. His hands reach for his belt, unbuckling it with anxious fingers and sweaty hands, fumbling with the zipper until he can finally get it far enough down that he can wiggle his jeans down a bit. You lift yourself slightly to allow the action before settling back down, hands smoothed out over your own thighs. The aggressive tent in his boxers is lingering still–

“I’ve never done this before,” Eddie admits, “Like, without all the other stuff.”

And kissing didn’t feel right, too intimate for the situation despite how badly you wanted to touch him.

“You jerk off, right?” You ask, knowing the question is a little redundant. Of course he does.

He nods.

“So, I’ll just help,” You tell him, “or just watch, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Uh, no—I want,” Eddie nods slowly, looking up at you timidly, “I want you to help.”

There was no sense in him being shy, not with you. But, you get it—it’s uncharted territory, nothing either of you prepared for, but neither of you were turning down the opportunity. So, facing it head on seemed like the best.

“Okay,” You reply easily, dipping your hand between both of you to stretch under the material of his boxers, gripping him firmly. He’s hard, but everything about him is soft. You don’t dare a look, not yet, his eyes connecting with you briefly at the touch, his lips parting. It’s a soundless gasp, eyes pleasing silently, “is that fine?”

Eddie nods again, nose scrunching as you squeezed lightly, fingers rubbing over the fat head of his cock, the heaviness of him resting wonderfully in your hands. 

“Might—might be easier if you take it out.” Eddie suggests, lifting his hips slightly to do just that, freeing himself to allow more room for you to move, bare skin pressed against denim.

You peek a glance down in the poorly lit room, flushed pink head disappearing under your grip as you fist him tightly, his hips rocking every now and then to meet your movements, his hands squeezing tighter and tighter against your hips, subconsciously rocking them in time with his. There’s no friction for you, but you don’t need it—this was about Eddie.

For now, at least.

“God, that’s so good,” He whines softly, head dipping back against the cushion as his eyes squeeze shut, “yeah—like that.”

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth, rubbing testingly over the tip for a prolonged amount of time, precum drenching your hand until it’s sticky with slick, making a horrendously hot sound as your hand sinks down to the base and squeezes.

Eddie breathes uneven, a mix of a sigh and groan wrapped into one, voice cracking in the middle. 

“Fuck, what are we doing?” He rambled, a sudden moment of revelation. “This is so—fuck—“

“Feels good?” You tease, “I’m having fun, Eddie—and I think it’s safe to say you are too.”

If the sounds he was making were any indication. 

“You had other plans—didn’t you?” Eddie asks curiously, pausing in between words when things get too intense, his fingers digging into your back. It’s not painful, but you can definitely feel it. 

“Maybe,” You shrug, “but you’re my best friend, Eddie—I’d do anything for you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice sounding higher than usual.

“Mhm,” You nod, leaning over him slightly until your arm is pressed flush against both of your chests, the ridge of his cock rubbing against the front of your jeans at this angle—he’s so close to where he desperately craved to be, but still far enough away that it hurts. “Anything.”

“Fuck, I’m almost there.” He warns, feeling ashamed at how easy it was to work himself up. “Don’t wanna make a mess.”

You’re quick, using your free hand to lift your shirt over your head, hand leaving him for a brief second—he almost pouts, the feeling flagging slightly as his orgasm approached, but then he’s got your breasts in full view, pressed tightly against the intricate lace of your bra.

He really can’t take it, his hand cupping over your own as you return your grip around his cock, just as furious and tight as before, guiding you down as he likes, bringing himself closer and closer.

“Can’t believe you,” He says aloud, not for any reason in particular, “—doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

You laugh softly, hand sifting into his long curls and gripping at the root gently, he moans softly, eyes boring into your own.

“Depends,” You start menacingly, “how much are you enjoying it?”

He snorts softly, “Too much.”

His eyes linger toward your breasts, follow the slow rise and fall of your chest, the thin gold chain that dips between your cleavage and holds a similar guitar pick to the one he wore, a gift for you after a year of friendship.

It wasn’t because he wanted to see you dawning a piece of himself, it wasn’t that at all. But, you wore it proudly. 

You smirk knowingly, guiding him toward your chest encouragingly until his mouth latches into your skin, his hands sprawling out against your back.

It was the push he needed, confidence surging through him as he mouthed at the swell of your breasts, fingers dipping around the cups to stretch the material down, revealing the softened bud of your nipples as they harden in real time, the breeze hitting them immediately.

Eddie comes with his face buried against your chest, panting into your skin hotly as he stifles the lengthy groan that escapes him, rocking into your joined hands with the aftershocks as his come hits your stomach.

He lets out a weak noise, somewhere between surprise and disbelief, sprinkled with an astute feeling of real exhaustion.

“Fuck me,” He groans, reaching blindly for the shirt you hand him, wiping away the mess he’s made without question. He can only assume you don’t mind, given that you so freely handed it to him, “that was…intense.”

You chuckle, climbing off of his lap slowly, adjusting your breasts back into the confines of your bra.

“Still want to finish the movie?” You say jokingly, but he almost seemed pleased that you asked. 

“If you don’t mind—“ Eddie laughs slightly, adjusting himself back into his pants, leaving his jeans undone, “I didn’t get on my hands and knees earlier for nothing, you know.”

“Fine, but—“ You point at his wrinkled shirt, yanking at the fabric gently, “I’m gonna need something to wear, since, well—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waves you off slightly, a grin splitting over his features, “or?”

It’s a challenge, a brave question to propose in a situation like this. 

“I’m not sure you can handle me, Munson.” 

“Try me.”

It’s no surprise, Eddie knows you better than anyone. If there was anyone to take you on, it was him. 

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[peachyloveswriting]

hiiiiii can u do a kyle x f!reader smut? literally anything i just need some good smut 😣

MOVIE NIGHT --- (Kyle Brovloski)

SUMMARY: Kyle gets extremely horny during movie night with the boys.

WARNING: Smut, all stories aged up unless stated otherwise, degradation, praise, mirror kink or whatever, penis in vagina sex. I am in no way good at writing smut so fair warning.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

In the living room, I can hear the low chatter of the boys getting settled in for movie night while they wait on me. Tonight we're all supposed to watch a movie marathon and pass out halfway through and technically, I'm not supposed to be here. Boys night's only, but Kyle insisted I come with. So I agreed. Walking out of the bathroom in one of Kyle's oversized shirts and a pair of comfy shorts, I make my way over to the couch. A whistle flies through the air, heads snap in my direction.

"looking sexy beautiful!" Kenny cheers.

Heat raises to my cheeks, smiling sheepishly I lift my hand and wave him off. The others chuckle. "It should be nice having a mediator here tonight." Stan sighs. He's laying on the floor in front of the table, behind him on the couch is Kyle and Butters, and right in front of the couch in Eric. Hands grab my waist, pulling me onto the couch. I find Kyle's chest against my back, he's pulled me onto his lap.

"No! Just as always, Kyle has ruined boys night!" Eric fusses. He gathers his feet beneath himself and stands, stretching up for the light string on the fan. Tugging it with a click, the room falls dark apart from the lit TV screen. He nestles back down onto the floor.

"Shut up Fatass I haven't ruined anything!" Kyle hisses behind me. His grip on my hips tighten. Reaching beside me to the blanket on the couch, I pull it over both of our laps and comfortably lean back against him, the back of my head rests on his shoulder. He sighs before pressing a chaste kiss to my temple. Smiling sweetly, I press a soft kiss to his cheek before looking back at the screen.

"Just try not to commit murder, okay?"

That was that and afterwards, silence fills the room and a movie softly begins to play. Everyone, including me, is enthralled by the movie. No one's said anything yet, we're all too intrigued. It's some romance Sci-fi about aliens invading. However, beneath me and in-between Kyle's legs I can feel his dick harden. At first I hadn't taken notice of it, as it wasn't as bad but I kept shifting to get comfortable. His discomfort is noted when I hear a low groan of pleasure in my ear, it's deep and muted. His hips are lifting for further contact. Involuntarily, my clit throbs with the beat of my heart and I push back against his rising hips. Thankfully everyone's too sucked into the movie to realize what's about to happen right beside them, and the darkness covers us.

Kyle's hot breath fans over my ear. "I'm losing it babe." He growls. I shudder in response and spread my legs just comfortably enough that his knee slips between them.

"Just wait a little longer." I urge.

The leg I'm sitting on starts to bounce, it's quick and unrelenting in its pressure against my already throbbing clit. It warms my gut, pushing my crotch harshly into his knee. I bite my lip softly and grip the blanket covering our laps. Like a fire lighting slowly, it begins to burn bright. Against my ear I hear Kyle. "You just look so damn good in my shirt." He whispers. It's just low enough that no one in the room even bats an eye, except me. Squirming and pressing myself against him I reach my hand back, grasping at the shirt on his shoulder.

"Kyle." I warn. I keep my voice low and try not to drag any attention to myself. Leaning my head back I turn to hide my face in his neck. Abruptly he stopped bouncing his knee, the hands on my hips are slowly sliding to my legs. Again I shift under the blanket, pressing my ass against his hardening erection. He releases a stressed breath, the hot air puffing out onto my shoulder. His rough hands are sliding between my thighs, lightly tugging at the plump skin to pull them apart more.

"That's it, open your legs for me like a good girl." He coos right as I Let him pry my legs open. Letting go of his shirt and dropping my hand back, I grasp his hand and lift my head to turn and glance back at him. "Are you sure about this?" Getting caught is way too much of a risk but I can't help the anticipation that's in my stomach when I think about it. He grins devilishly at me, half lidded eyes look back at me. "Yes, I'm sure angel."

His hand frees itself from my grasp and works its way down between my legs where it presses against my clothed cunt. For a while he stays doing that, his fingers rubbing me through my shorts. I find myself lost in the moment, my lips pressed tightly in anticipation for what he does next. Gently his hand pulls away and slides up just above the waistband of the shorts. He doesn't wait for my confirmation before he slips his hand under into my shorts and bottoms. Softly, Kyle's fingertips brush against my entrance before pressing down and sliding to the sensitive bud. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself against him.

"You're so wet." He breathlessly laughs in my ear. "Does this turn you on? When I play with you like this in front of my friends?" Kyle taunts. Pleasure is radiating from his finger encircling my clit, I buck my hips and grind back against him biting my lip trying to keep quiet. "Yeah, you like that don't you baby? Feels good... My fingers are toying with you, inside of you, all while my friends are clueless." At that his hand slips down to my entrance and presses in without a moment's hesitation. I gasp in surprise, my back arches into his touch. Frantic, I look over at the others. Stan glances at me but looks away to go back to watching the movie.

Feeling me look away, Kyle curls his finger inside of me, I jolt at the sudden press of pleasure and reach back grabbing the back of his neck. My head is thrown back against his shoulder, mouth open with a silent moan before turning and biting my lip.

"That's it." He purrs. "Don't pay attention to them. Let them watch if they want."

A whimper slips past my lips but it's drowned out by the sounds of the movie. His teeth sink into the crook of my neck, biting and sucking before he raises his head again. "Shh, don't make a noise." He curls his finger again, the pleasure jolts my hips forward before I lower them back against him. Ever so slowly his finger thrusts into me, the pace is so slow but I just can't seem to breathe in deep enough. Suddenly a second finger slips inside of me adding onto the first. Just to keep the gasp from escaping again I bite my lip even harder. I know I have to be close to drawing blood but it feels so good. If I open my mouth I'm bound to make a noise everyone will hear.

The pace stays the same but the pleasure never leaves. It builds and builds, creating a tight knot in my stomach. My breaths come more shallow, my legs shaking, and back arches against him. The pleasure comes in waves, my hips gyrating against his hand. I blink, pressing the back of my head further against my shoulder. I can feel my climax coming and coming fast. Abruptly, it's torn from me. His fingers slip from inside me just for him to bring them up to his mouth. He smirks down at me, his tongue winding around the slink on his fingers. Harshly, I rut against his leg searching for any friction.

"Please." I whine.

After he finishes licking my juices from his fingers, he leans down into my ear. "Please what? Use your words baby. Tell me what you want."

Reaching down I lift my hips up to slide my hands under me. Frantically, I grab the button of his jeans and undo it. Kyle doesn't stop me, instead he looks me in my eyes as I undo the zipper. Just as I reach down to my shorts he pushes me back into his lap. "Use your words. Speak to me." He presses.

"God... Kyle. Fuck me, please." I whisper.

Without second thought he pulls the blanket off of us and pushes me to stand. "Using the bathroom, be right back." No one even bats an eye at us as he takes my hand and pulls me back towards the bathroom. Reaching the door he pushes it open and tugs me inside with him. Closing it behind him he locks it and turns back to face me. We wasted no time finding our bodies pressed into one another. His hands pull my hips close while I grasp his curly hair, only deepening the kiss. His tongue explores my mouth while he tugs my shorts and bottoms off of me. Hastily I pull my lips away and lean down to pull them off the rest of the way. As I do he slips his own pants off as well, leaving his cock to present itself to me when I stand back up.

"Fuck me Kyle." I plead again. Wrapping my hand around his cock and rubbing it softly I look back up at him and step closer. The breath in his throat hitches before he pulls me back into a heated kiss. Roughly, his hand slipped up my shirt groping my breasts and pinching my nipples. Gasping into the kiss, a soft moan escapes me. I can feel his cock bobbing against my stomach, the temptation to have him take me right now is irresistible. He seems to read my mind as he takes me and turns me around. I brace against the counter, his hips lining up against mine while my eyes meet his in the mirror.

"Watch me fuck you slut." He growls. Without warning he slips inside of me. Loudly gasping I reach back to find purchase on anything onto to hand my hand pushed against my back and held there roughly. Snapping his hips into my pussy harshly, he grunts with each thrust. He's fast and unrelenting, pulling soft moans from me with every move. The pleasure melts into my gut and spreads all throughout my body. I can't find the courage to look at myself in the mirror and instead close my eyes.

"look at yourself." Kyle orders behind me. I don't listen, instead opting to look at the floor instead. The rocking of my body stops abruptly when he lays an open palm on my behind. Whining, I bite my lip and lift my head looking at him in the mirror. His eyes meet mine again and immediately the slapping of skin returns to the air. "That's right, slut. Don't stop watching me while I fuck you."

The pleasure rocking through me makes it hard to keep my eyes on him, watching the way he's pounding into me at speeds I hadn't thought possible. Growing tighter in my gut is the knot, it's building even more than before, the rise of pleasure giving way to a shocking end. I clench around him, pulling a long groan from him. He doesn't stop the snapping of his hips while I grasp at the counter so hard my knuckles turn white. A wave of extraordinary pleasure washes over me. Eyes rolling back and walls fluttering around him I reach my end. The pleasure is so burning hot, the heat in my lower abdomen feels like summer. I can feel myself spill around his cock, his name falls from my lips. A stutter rises in his thrusts and he pulls out, his cum coating my ass.

Panting, I stand to turn and face him. Without pausing his lips find mine again in a slow and soft kiss. Without my list coated mind I can feel the softness of his lips on mind and the way his hands carefully caress my sides. He pulls away, breathless from the exertion.

"I love you so much."

I smile, my chest squeezing tightly. "I love you too."

He helps me clean up the aftermath, his touches soft and loving while he wipes me clean. Tossing the rag to the floor he picks up my bottoms and shorts to slide them back on my legs. "You don't have to do that Kyle." I reach down to swat him away and grab my clothes. He pulls them away from me and scowls. "Let me."

With a heavy sigh I lift my foot and step into the bottom and the shorts one by one. Standing he slips them up and smiles sweetly at me. Pressing a chaste kiss to my lips he walks over to his own clothes and begins to pull them up. At this time we both hear a knock on the door.

"Are you done yet dude? I have to shit." Stan says from the outside.

With wide eyes Kyle looks back at me, softly, I shake my head. "Yeah. Be out in a minute." He called back before readjusting his belt buckle. He smiles back at me and motions for me to follow. Happily I do so allowing him to lead me from the bathroom while Stan watches in shock.

"Dude! They fucked!"

[pastlivesxpastlie]

NSFW Alphabet

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧˚₊

Sub!Vessel Version

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧˚₊

afab!reader

a/n: I have a multiverse of head cannons for Vessel. I’ll probably use this format for ✨fleshing things out✨This feels like the smuttiest thing I’ve done on here. Idk. Enjoy!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare with Subby Vessel can go either way. Sometimes he’s the one taking care of you. He’ll do whatever you need—hold you, get you a snack, give you space. But the praise will be constant. He’ll thank you for whatever you did to/with him, tell you how incredible you were. He’s just happy to be here 🥺 If you’re taking care of him he’s gone nonverbal and just giggles and hums happily as you play with his hair.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Vessel’s really really proud of his whole-ass torso. Honestly. Just look at the difference between the 2018 Download Festival and the TOG tour. Baby boy has 👏🏻 PUT 👏🏻 IN 👏🏻 THE 👏🏻 WORK! He’s loves when you rub your fingers down the ridges of his muscles but he REALLY loves it when you use your mouth (argue with the wall, he loves having his nipples played with).

His favorite part of YOUR body is any nook he can find. The crook of your neck is perfect for kissing, sucking, biting, breathing you in. The valley between your breasts is soft and yummy and good for nibbles. Oh…and the spot between your legs 🤭

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Subby Vessel loves cumming inside you (it’s nice and safe in there!) but he also loves when you make him watch himself cum. He’ll cum in your mouth but you rest the tip juuust on your tongue and keep your mouth wide open. If you’re giving him a handjob you tell him to watch as he cums on his pretty tummy. Then you tell him what a mess he is🥺

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s been trying to figure out how to talk to you about light pet play 🤭🐶 he just wants you to call him “puppy” and “good boy” and be spoiled like a lil animal.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In general, he knows EXACTLY what he’s doing. The quantity of partners is irrelevant because the quality is AMAZING. But in terms of being subby, that’s a little new to him! Sometimes he gets a little shy when going into his subspace and it’s hard for him to relax and get going.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Intercourse: missionary. He wants to see how you react and he feels so good and encouraged when you hold his neck and call him a good boy! Close second is seated cowgirl. He loves to hold you close and hide in your chest as he whines and moans.

Handjob: he either likes to be the little spoon or a get a reach around while he sits or lays between your legs

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn’t mean to be goofy but sometimes he’s just so darn cute when he gets flustered from you playing with him. It’s hard not to share a giggle.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

We all know now that he has a cute lil happy trail, but in my hc it leads down to a nicely trimmed patch. He uses a guard on his trimmer to keep some length. You begged him to keep the happy trail, and he agreed the second you dropped to your knees and licked up its length.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is SO happy to be with you like this. He feels really vulnerable being subby but he trusts you so much. Sometimes you two break the (already loose) dynamic just to kiss and whisper sweet nothings

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he’s not with you (like if you’re at work) he’ll get himself off and text you all about it. Sometimes he’ll text you the aftermath and ask if he did good 🥺 (I actually dreamt that. I’m serious. It was glorious)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He wants to try pet play but nothing too degrading or humiliating. Just something fun and brainless! He loves to be praised but also loves to be teased! He thinks your light degradation and condescension is really sexy. Other than that he just likes to be in his subby space and be your boy toy.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He won’t actually fuck you in public but he’ll kiss and covertly grope you or rub up against you. His favorite spots are the bed and the couch in his home office because they comfy and easy to maneuver on.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Vessel is motivated by you two getting to turn off your brains for a bit and just indulge. He loves it when you lightly scratch his scalp…that alone gives him a semi🥺

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t want either of you to receive pain or injuries beyond hickeys and soreness. He also doesn’t want to wear any fetish gear. He also never ever wants someone else to join 😡

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Blow jobs: he likes to either stand or lay so you can get a good look at him before you start. Maybe you’ll even compliment him 🥺 when he’s good he gets to hold the back of your head and face fuck you until you make him stop

Pussy eating: he’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t really have a method to his madness but my god he’ll make you see stars. He moves around a lot to make sure he’s all up in your business and that you’re enjoying it. Those long fingers are up in you before you know it while he licks you. Oh and those eyes when you look down to watch them 😫

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He wants you to set the pace. He likes it when you take your time together but he secretly lives for when you tell him to just let loose. He’s rough and frantic but he’s able to edge himself so it doesn’t end too soon. He’s loves to get permission to be a scrappy, naughty little guy and pound into you like it’s going out of style.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

When he’s feeling subby he doesn’t want it to end quickly at all! He wants to luxuriate in it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He isn’t risk adverse by any means but as I said earlier, he doesn’t want either of you to feel hurt or totally dehumanized. He’s willing to try new things if that’s only a little part of the session at the beginning. Then he expects to be cooed over with all his favorite things (read: eating you out and hearing what a pretty boy he is)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go 2-3 times on a good day. He loves to lay back and let you make him cum as much as you want him to and where you want him to. Sometimes you’ll go three times without him even leaving your pussy. It’s so fun to sit in his lap, cock warming him, and watching his face as he tries to relax from the overstimulation but then wince because you’re tightening around him (for fun).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has no need for toys on himself but he LOVES to watch you use yours. He isn’t threatened at all by how it fucks you or sucks your clit— it’s just the best free, ethical porn on the planet.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Subby Ves doesn’t tease, he just likes to be a brat sometimes by playing coy when he wants something. He’s blush and hide a little in the pillows. What a sweet little dummy 🖤🤭

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

CEO of whimpering and whiny moaning. That’s all.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

There’s plenty of signs pointing toward this man having an oral fixation of some sort but he loves to bite and suck. Even just your arm or thighs he’s giving you little chomps. It actually makes you feel subby sometimes and be his chew toy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I am NOT in the Prince Albert camp at all. What I do believe is that it’s LONG and uncut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

You two have sex often but he isn’t always subby during. When he wants to be subby, he is sooooo horny. Like pathetically rubbing against you and whining in your neck saying “pleeeaaassseee”

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Being subby actually gives Vessel the zoomies. After he freshens up he usually spends a few hours playing something on XBox or PC, having a little snack, and info dumping about something as you rot on the couch and recover.

[lemoncrushh]

Fratboy Harry - Part 10

Summary: Harry Styles was a boy with a reputation, one that you couldn’t care less about. Yet one night at a frat party changed everything.

Warnings: Smut, drinking, angst, a very cocky Harry. 18+ ONLY!!

Part 10 Word Count: 2618

STORY PAGE

You awoke with a jolt. Sitting up, you felt a deep burning in your stomach. The room was spinning, and the fact that it was dark didn't help. For a second you forgot where you were until you recognized the record player and vinyl collection that sat underneath the window.

Bolting out of bed, you ran for the bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet before the vomit rose to your throat. When you thought you'd expelled everything you possibly could, another wave of nausea came over you. As you fell to your knees, you suddenly felt a hand grab your hair, pulling it back out of your face. Your body trembled while another hand rubbed your back. You stayed there on the floor beside the porcelain throne for a few minutes until the sickness subsided. Lifting your head, you wiped your eyes.

"Here," said Harry, handing you a tissue.

"Thanks," you muttered, taking it from him to blow your nose.

You rose to your feet, Harry standing with you, his hand still on your back.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice deep and raspy.

"Not really," you shook your head, though it hurt to do so.

"C'mon. Let's get you back to bed."

You followed Harry back to the bedroom, easing down on the pillow slowly, noticing that Harry had turned the lamp on.

"You might be more comfortable without those on," he pointed at your jeans.

You knew he didn't mean anything sexual by it, and you nodded. You were sweating profusely as it was. Sitting up again, your head throbbing, you began to unbutton your jeans.

"Be right back," said Harry, turning for the bathroom again.

When he returned, you'd removed your jeans as well as your bra and were lying underneath the covers.

"Here, take these," he demanded, handing you two pills and a glass of water.

With a grimace, you sat up once more, taking the items from him. When you'd swallowed the pills, you set the glass on the nightstand. When your head hit the pillow this time, Harry placed a cool wet wash cloth on your forehead. You sighed with relief, shutting your eyes.

"Is that better?" you heard Harry inquire as you felt him sit beside you.

"Mmm hmm," you sounded. "Room's still spinning though."

"Yeah, it probably will for a while," he remarked. "Just try to get some more sleep."

You felt Harry's hand brush your hair back before he placed a soft kiss on your nose. Then you felt the bed shift again as Harry got up and walked over to his side and turned out the light.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" you asked just above a whisper.

You heard Harry clear his throat as he crawled underneath the sheets.

"We'll talk about it in the morning."

"What time is it?"

"Five A.M."

"It's morning, then," you noted.

Harry was silent for a moment, though you could hear his breathing. You could tell he was lying on his side facing you, even with your eyes closed. You jumped when you felt his hand touch your skin underneath the covers, running the backs of his fingers down your arm.

"Get some sleep, baby," he murmured, his hand meeting yours and giving it a squeeze.

You were alone when you woke up again, but you could detect the sounds of someone puttering around in the kitchen. You groaned as you licked your lips, realizing that your mouth was dryer than a desert. When you sat up and stretched, your head felt like a bowling ball.

"Shit," you cursed, tossing your legs over the side of the bed.

You pulled on your jeans and shuffled to the bathroom, hoping to find whatever pills Harry had given you earlier. Washing them down with water, you poked around for a spare toothbrush of some kind, but came up empty handed, resolving to putting toothpaste on your finger. It was better than nothing.

When you opened the bathroom door, you nearly bumped into Harry who was standing there holding a mug in his hand.

"Made this for you," he said.

You shook your head. "I don't think I can handle coffee."

"It's not coffee. It's a hangover cure."

You stared at him incredulously before taking the mug from him. You sniffed it, immediately wanting to gag. Harry chuckled.

"I know it doesn't smell great, but I promise it works. Old family recipe."

You reluctantly took a sip. It actually didn't taste too bad. Sort of like a spiced tea. Harry smirked, waving you toward the kitchen. You followed him, taking a seat at the small table. You watched as he slid an omelet onto a plate and poured himself a glass of juice. Then he came and sat down beside you.

"If I didn't feel like utter shit," you mumbled, your head in your hand, "I would say that looks pretty damn good."

Harry smiled as he dug his fork into his eggs.

"I'd be happy to make you one later if you're feeling up for it."

You sighed and sat back in your chair. "Thanks. But I'll stick with this for now."

You sat in silence sans for the sounds of Harry chewing for a few minutes until you decided to speak.

"So are you gonna tell me why you're being so nice to me?" you asked.

Harry cocked a brow, side-eyeing you.

"Not until you tell me why you did what you did last night."

"What do you mean?" you shrugged. "I was drunk. I do stupid things when I drink."

"Really? Like follow some guy you just met to the bedroom?"

You leaned forward, placing your mug on the table, your eyes focused on him.

"Yes," you stated. "Apparently."

Harry gave you a look that was a cross between a scowl and hurt. Shifting his gaze to his plate, he picked up another forkful of eggs.

"I see," he muttered.

Sitting back again, you crossed your arms over your chest with a huff. "You're one to talk."

"You're right," he agreed, mid-chew. "I am."

You narrowed your eyes, feeling perturbed. You didn't like this nonchalant side of Harry. You'd expected him to argue, to be defensive. But he just continued to eat his goddamn omelet like nothing was wrong. It irked you to no end.

"So are you going to tell me the truth?" he asked over his glass of juice before taking a sip.

"What truth?" you practically shouted.

"Why you made that little scene in the kitchen with the tequila shot. And why you allowed that wanker to drag you upstairs."

Your jaw dropped as you considered his accusation. To say you were embarrassed and ashamed would be an understatement.

"I don't know," you managed to say, looking down at your lap.

"Yes you do."

Lifting your head, ready to yell at him for being a know-it-all, you noticed his face shown no signs of a cocky asshole. His eyes were kind, almost pleading you to tell him the truth.

"You- you made me so angry!" you choked.

"How?"

"You know how! I told you!"

"You think I'm an asshole," he nodded.

"Yes!"

"But you also said I'm a phony."

"You are."

Harry tilted his head as he stared at you before picking up his plate and glass and bringing it to the kitchen. You watched his shoulders as he rinsed his dishes. Then he returned to the table, taking a peek inside your mug.

"You'll wanna drink all of that," he said.

You looked up at him in wonder and confusion. Then grabbing your mug, you swallowed the rest of his hangover remedy. Taking the empty cup from you, he brought it to the sink and washed it out. After placing it in the cupboard and drying his hands on the dish towel, he sat down next to you again.

"What?" he blinked, noticing you were staring.

"Just wondering..." you admitted, "if you're really a jerk or if that's just for show because you think you're supposed to be."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "You mentioned something like that in your text."

"Well are you?"

"A jerk? What do you think?"

You bit your lip and shook your head. "Truthfully, I don't think you are. I wouldn't be here right now if you were. You wouldn't have given a shit about me and...whatever his name was."

Harry scoffed. "You didn't even know his name?"

"You didn't know mine when you met me!" you accused.

"Yes I did," Harry nodded. "I told you, I asked somebody. Because I wanted to know you."

"See?" you sighed. "If you were some other guy, I would think that was incredibly sweet, and I would have been flattered. But you have this reputation as being a prick. And I think you like it that way."

"What makes you think I would like it?"

You shrugged. "Keeps people at bay? From getting to know the real you? You can screw around, and people don't judge. They expect it."

You didn't miss it when Harry swallowed hard, running another hand through his hair. His eyes were averting yours, jumping everywhere around the room except at you.

"I'm right, aren't I?" you finally asked, your voice low.

Harry licked his lips. "No one's ever called me on it before."

"Because everybody either adores you or fears you. You have them where you want them."

He quickly turned his head to glare at you, his eyes burning. "I'm not an asshole, Y/N!"

You bit your lip, giving a short nod. Rising from your chair, you lightly brushed the backs of your fingers across his hand.

"Thank you for taking care of me last night. I'll call my roommate to come get me."

"What? No. I-I can take you," Harry insisted.

"It's okay. You've done enough. I'm sure I've overstayed my welcome."

Harry shook his head. "You haven't. I swear. Please...stay."

Giving a small smile, you asked the question that had been buried in your brain. "What about your girlfriend?"

"My girl- I told you, she's not my girlfriend," he argued.

"Then what is she exactly?" you put your hands on your hips.

"Exactly? She's my best friend's sister."

Your eyes just about popped out of your head. "What?"

"Alex Webster," Harry explained. "We've been friends for years. Jamie is his sister. She kinda developed a bit of a crush on me and would follow me around. She started at the university this year and would come to the parties with Alex and me. I got really hammered one night and made a huge mistake."

"Oh no," you breathed.

"It's just like I told you. She wanted more out of it than I did. She thought we were a couple. I tried to let her down easy, but she wasn't having it. So, I started being a jerk to her. But it backfired on me because she ran crying to Alex. He wouldn't fucking talk to me. So, whenever she showed up, I just let her hang around. But then I met you."

"Me?" you mouthed.

Harry nodded. "I really liked you. I admit, I was kind of an asshole that night, but like you said, it's just my persona. I kissed you in front of her on purpose. It wasn't that I was using you, I swear. But I did hope she would get the hint."

You shifted the weight to your other leg as your crossed your arms.

"That next week," Harry continued, "that's when she started showing up here. Telling me she was in love with me. I was really getting angry, and I told her to leave me alone. I wasn't lying when I said I'd been studying a lot. But I also didn't want you to know about her. I'd hoped I could get her go away before you found out."

"How noble of you," you rolled your eyes.

Harry sighed, dropping his head. "I know just about everything I do sounds like I'm an asshole, but I swear that was not the case with you. That night...when I texted you at the party? I'd only gone hoping to see you."

You gnawed on your lip. "What about Thursday?"

"Thursday?" Harry raised a brow.

"I saw you at school with your arm around Jamie."

Harry nodded. "I was at a student body election. Alex, Jamie's brother, is running for president. After you'd called me a phony, and told me to go to hell, I decided to try my best to come clean with Jamie. We had a nice long talk. Even though I think she still has a thing for me, she agreed to stop acting like we're anything more than friends. I had my arm around her that day because we were both there supporting her brother. It didn't mean anything more than that."

You stood quiet for a little bit, absorbing Harry's words. They sounded so convincing, you wanted to believe him.

"What about the girl in your lap last weekend?"

Harry took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Unfortunately, that's true. I was angry at you, just as you were angry at me last night. She'd been flirting with me all night, and I let her. It's not something I'm proud of. But I didn't sleep with her."

You looked down at your feet, wanting to say something but you didn't know what. Harry took a step closer to you, reaching for your hands.

"Y/N, I'm not that guy you met that night. You're right, I was a cocky asshole. The tequila shot and everything, that was me trying to get your attention. And maybe it was phony. But I haven't been phony since then. At least not when it comes to you."

You looked up into his eyes, your heart fluttering in your chest. His face told you he was sincere, though your brain was turning its gears on high speed.

"I want to believe you, Harry," you whispered.

"I detect a but in there," he chuckled nervously.

"I just..."

Harry slid his hand under your ear, giving you goosebumps. Before you had time to protest, he pressed his mouth against yours, gently, softly. When you didn't push him away, he grinned, taking your face in his hands. Capturing your bottom lip, he swiped his tongue across. You felt your body melt into his as you wound your arms around his waist. Breaking from the kiss, Harry rested his forehead against yours.

"Um...so where does this leave us now?" you inquired.

"Wherever you want it to," Harry replied, breathy. "I'm leaving it up to you. But I suggest we start over."

"Hmm," you sounded with a slight grin, running your hands up his chest. "Starting over would mean we haven't slept together. Or even kissed."

"Yeah," he lifted his head, considering that fact. "I don't think I could pretend to forget that."

You smiled wider. "So..."

"So, I think maybe we just move forward? Spend more time together? Get to know each other?"

You nodded. "I'd like that."

Harry beamed down at you, pushing a loose strand of hair away from your face.

"Thanks again for taking care of me. I think that says a lot about you, to be honest. The side of you I wanna get to know better."

"Good," Harry said. "I can't wait to show you."

Pulling you to his body closer, you rested your head against his chest. He rubbed your back up and down, making you feel content.

"Are you feeling better?" he murmured in your ear.

"Yes," you giggled lightly. "Thanks to your old family recipe."

THE END

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[sweetsdereese]

When the darkness comes pt 2

Part 2: Not alone tonight

summary: He may not be fine but maybe one day he will be

pair: Leo Valdez x Jason Grace

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 578

requested tag: @aspenii @erosjournal

part one | part two

           

               Leo isn’t sure how long it had been, being snapped back to the present by the sound of someone calling his name.

               “Leo? Leo”

               Opening his eyes, Leo lifts his head up from where it had resting on his knees and looks towards the source of the voice. There knelt beside the table was none other than his boyfriend, Jason Grace, in his pajamas with a concerned look on his face.

               “H-hey there Sparky, we have a sleepover planned that I d-didn’t know about” Leo jokes, trying to play it cool but if his tear-stained face didn’t give him away the stutter and hoarseness of his voice did.

               “No, we didn’t. I went to make a brief appearance with everyone and since it’s an off day the uniform isn’t mandated. I couldn’t find you, so I searched practically everywhere till I found a trail of singed footprints. That led me here, do you want to talk about it?” Jason softly explains before gently guiding the conversation back to the pressing matter at hand.

               “I’m fine Jason, really. I just have a headache a-and everything is just too loud” Leo says, trying to cover for himself, murmuring the end.

               “Ok, can I join you under there? I want to help you with your ‘headache’ “Jason asks, not wanting to push Leo in such a sensitive state.

               “P-please” Leo croaks out, voice cracking.

               Jason sets aside the bags he brought, crawling underneath the table and shuffling close to Leo. Leo watches as his golden boy boyfriend squeezes himself under the table; his fists gripping the blanket as to keep himself from visibly flinching from the fireworks. You ruined his night. He’s now stuck having to care of a crybaby for a boyfriend.

               “Here, try these on. If the noise is bothering, you these will help” Jason says as he gently puts the noise canceling headphones he had just been wearing onto Leo’s head.

               Everything is finally quiet. Jason softly rubs his arm comfortingly, pulling him close when Leo leans into his touch. Looking around now that he’s slowly grounding himself, he notices the things Jason brought.

               “Is that a duck?” Leo questions, sniffling as he looks at this duck figurine that’s in a sitting pose.

               “Oh, its Uncle Quakis. It’s a night light” Jason explains, lightly tapping the duck’s head causing it to emit a warm glow.

               “Uncle Quakis?” Leo amusingly questions, raising an eyebrow at him.

               “I was 5 when I named him. I got him on one of my beginning quests, he mainly resides in the trunk by my bed. I thought that if something was wrong, he could at least help put a smile on your face” Jason explains after defending his choice in names.

               Snorting at the thought of 5-year-old Jason naming a nightlight “You’re a dork” Leo fondly says.

               “I’ll be whatever, as long as I get to be by your side” Jason says as he looks at the adorable boy that’s snug against his side.

               “Such a hopeless romantic” Leo retorts.

               “I am... but I want to ask you, do you want to talk about what happened tonight?” Jason questions.

               “Not tonight, just want to rest and eat the food that you brought” Leo says as he closes his eyes.

               “Alright, then that’s what we’ll do” Jason says as he wraps an arm around Leo’s shoulders.

               Leo didn’t have a lot of nice things in his life and a feeling of being alone that haunted him but right now? With Jason here holding him and humming a song he didn’t know? He didn’t feel alone anymore, as long as he had Jason by his side.

[breannasfluff]

Legend catalogs the reaction he’s noticed of each person with the newest hero.

Wild scares the ever-loving shit out of Four. The smithy steers far away whenever he can help it and his eyes swirl a riot of colors. Legend’s watched him circle the Champion at a prescribed distance—a good 10 feet away if he can make it. Situations that bring him closer result in a flighty energy that steadily worsens until Four bolts further away.

Hyrule spouts so much flowery language and courtly manners he gives Warriors a run for his money. The veteran didn’t know he even knew that many manners, much less how to use them properly. Yet every greeting to Wild is some drawn-out, overextended mess of words that leaves everyone confused. The champion doesn’t seem to get it, either, so who knows why Hyrule insists on keeping it up.

Warriors…well, Legend’s not sure what happened between him and Wild, but the captain is waging a one-man war against his chainmail. Some days he wears it and others he’s stripping as fast as he can. It’d be funny if he didn’t look so frightened. Or if the chainmail stripping didn’t coincide with Wild’s close attention.

Wind is too easy-going to stay away from the champion, but he doesn’t seek him out, either. When they stop at rivers or lakes to bathe, the sailor goes in the water before or after Wild, but never at the same time.

Sky looks perpetually ill, sometimes tripping over nothing when Wild runs up to him. The champion peppers him with questions about his loftwing, or his Zelda. The last brings a frown to his face and if Legend didn’t know the chosen hero was just that, he’d say Sky was jealous.

Legend? He thinks Wild is fucking awesome . Oh, he’s still scary as any monster—scarier, even. The champion brings with him the ache of cold teeth, like chewing on an icicle or eating cold food too fast. Prolonged conversation with him results in a headache.

There’s something wrong with Wild, but not enough to keep Legend away. After so many adventures, it’s rare to find something that surprises him so thoroughly. As long as he doesn’t start manifesting dream creations, he can stay.

“You want to spar?” Legend plants himself in front of Wild, ignoring Warriors choking behind him.

Wild looks up, eyes reflecting light in a way they shouldn’t. “Spar?” It probably hasn’t escaped his notice that no one will fight him, even in training.

“Sure, I need to loosen up.” Rolling his shoulders, Legend moves towards the open area Four and Hyrule were using earlier. The sharp spike of cold goes straight to his head and he futilely presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to warm it.

Warriors, stick in the ass that he is, is trying to get them to stop. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea right now.” He casts about for an excuse, then shifts pleading eyes to Time.

The old man looks like he’s not paying attention, but the veteran catches the tightening in his shoulders and sideways glance. “Play nice, stay safe. Run through some drills, first.”

He’s not a child to be told what to do. Legend tosses one of the practice staves at Wild, not willing to consign himself to metal against the other. “Here, this should do.”

Wild runs a hand over the wood and bends it over a knee, checking it won’t snap. Then he nods and waits for Legend, who stares back.

“Drill?”

“What drill?” Wild’s head tips too far to one side.

Legend doesn’t answer, just starts running through some basic moves. Wild watches but doesn’t join in. Finally, he stops. “Forget it. Fighting or not?”

“Boys,” comes Time’s voice.

“Whatever.” Legend ignores him and raises his stick. “Ready? Go!”

Wild’s not ready, but Legend makes a wide swing to give him time to settle. The kid made it through his journey with whatever weirdness he’s got going on; he can handle one spar without chopping someone’s head off.

His follow-up swing is met with the crack of wood; Wild’s focus is fully on the fight, now. He stays on defense, then switches to offense, and then back again.

Wild’s style is…unique, in that it seems to be a mash of moves with little flowing grace, but he’s a proficient fighter. He’s focused and in control. He doesn’t turn into evil incarnate because he’s crossing blades—or staves, with someone. Warriors worries over nothing.

Legend keeps up, periodically landing faster hits to see how he’ll react. Through it all, the sharp ache in his teeth grows. It’s distracting and the adrenaline of movement isn’t enough to block it out. The tightening band around his head is an indication enough of the growing headache.

Finally, Legend steps back and raises his stave to signal an end. Wild stays poised for one, sharp moment, then steps back as well with a grin.

“Thanks, this was fun.”

Nodding back, Legend tosses the stave to the side and meanders across the camp. Time’s gaze burns, but he ignores it to settle next to Four, far away from Wild and his tooth-aching chill.

The champion may be awesome, but curse the Goddesses, Legend could do without the headache.

Read the rest here!

[imrllytootiredforthis]

My manifestation is complete. Prepare yourself because I'm going to leave you a shock (Hopefully)

OK sub yandere felix/hyunjin/jisung (pick one because I can't 🫠) Who you dated but eventually broke up (Nothing horrible you just didn't want to be in a relationship anymore). After hearing that they're absolutely devastated. You guys can't break up, he's your baby boy and your his mommy/mistress, you're supposed to be together forever. So the'll do anything to get back together. They make unexpected visits to your job, they send you lots of gifts, they'll send pictures and/or videos of themselves in "compromising" positions while wearing lingerie, the'll send you letters writing in great detail what he wants you to do to him. He'll even break into your apartment because he has a BIG surprise for you. When you enter your apartment and head to your bedroom, he's right there, on your bed, wearing lingerie and makeup (maybe a leash) and he is absolutely BEGGING you to use him and treat him as your little toy. Use him as you please, everything he is belongs to you.

That is my manifestation, I hope you enjoy.

-🐟anon

I ENJOY SO MUCH

HOly FuCK

y'know i'm gonna pick my hannie bc he's my babygirl and i can't resist him.

he'd do anything and everything so that you would take him back, yes, including sending little gifts to your office. flowers (your favourite kind ofc), chocolates, little trinkets he found that made him think of you.

gradually though they get bigger and bigger. an expensive purse you'd been wanting, high end shoes and clothing that was just your size, some new earbuds because yours had broken...kinda weird, you'd never told him that yours had broken but whatever!

it's sweet at first, adorable and sweet until suddenly it isn't. until one day you get a little box with a seemingly innocent little bow on it.

inside is a small remote control, one arrow pointing up and the other pointing down, a power button and a small note written in that recognizable handwriting

'go wild;)'

you hesitate, where does it cross a line, where does it become falling back into the same old patterns. but on the back it has another message.

'don't overthink it, please, you know you want to.'

he'd be so desperate to get you back, shame is gone. who's she? he doesn't know her.

he only knows humping his pillow, moaning your name as he clutches at the soft fabric, begging to cum while his hips rut needily and a camera sits recording catching all of it to send to you later.

he knows pictures of his hard dick, messages underneath describing absolutely sinful imagery of everything he'd let you do to him-everything he wishes you'd do to him.

lacy lingerie and pretty collars that dig into the delicate skin of his neck, a little tag engraved with "(name)'s property". thigh highs and skirts and tiny crop-tops that show off his slutty little waist that you were oh so obsessed with.

lighting and positioning and exactly what angle he knows will rile you up the most-he's mastered the art of nudes and sexting-knowing exactly what sets you off and what leaves you wanting more

it's all yours anyway. he belongs to you. even if you've moved on, even if you're done with him. you're not really.

you can't really be. because here he is, sending you the lewdest images you could possibly fathom and there you are, still getting off the them.

and then you come home one day, and there he is.

dressed all up in a pretty little outfit with his collar and leash, makeup done up all nice.

he gets down on his knees, begging for you to take him back, to love him, to let him please-he'll do anything, anything for your love and affection, for your praise and attention.

tears well up in his eyes, ruining his perfectly done eye makeup in a way he wasn't expecting-he was ready for a much different scenario to make him cry.

use him- treat him as your toy. use him as you please-take anything and everything.

it's all yours anyway, without you he's nothing, without you he feels like nothing matters.

he's yours. he belongs to you. you can't move on, not when he's still here and you're still here and you never could resist his pretty tears.