#dancin tonight

[pulcheriebalhoud]

STEREOPOL dancin tonight

[the-memphista]

Lana Del Rey’s modeling photos from a poncho knitting patterns book (x)

[glittergroovy]

Summertime Sadness ~ Lana Del Rey

[soulmvtes]

KISS ME HARD BEFORE YOU GO SUMMERTIME SADNESS

[deadinarussianelevator]

Reading chapter 62 (Ghosts) and 63 (The Dinner) of The Count of Monte Cristo like

[anti-gravity-insanity]

I am getting up and going dancing I am getting up and going dancing I am getting up and going dancing I am getting up and going dancing (etc etc ad nauseum)

[truly-quirkless]

"....shit."

[futsuucmplx]

tag drop 1 of who fuckin knows

[im-ovulating]

For kinktober can we have a kiribaku x reader or dekubaku x reader or dekubakutodo x reader but public sex or double penetration or maybe knife play or quirk play🥺🤤🤤

(A/n: Kinktober Day 9/15! Sorry it's late, but this is way better than anything I was writing yesterday so I'd say the wait was worth it lol)

Word Count: 2,623

Summary- You get dragged off in the middle of the annual pro hero gala for some bathroom fun.

Warnings: Double Penetration, Public Sex, Double Creampie, Riding/Hitting from Behind, Fucking on Sink Counter

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Bakugo x Izuku x Fem! Reader: Double Trouble

--------------------------------

As you dance with Katsuki, feeling the heat radiating off of him and smelling his mouth-watering cologne, you can't help but feel a permanent warmth in your cheeks. The fitted black suit you and Izuku damn-near had to wrestle him into somehow making him even more attractive. You catch a glimpse of Izuku chatting with a pro hero you don't recognize and see his eyes are locked on the two of you even as he smiles at something his companion says. You've always loved the way Izuku looked at you, his eyes full of desire and admiration, making you feel like the most important person in the room at any given time. And to him, you might just be - well, you *and* Katsuki. The three of you had been together for over a year now, and it still gave you butterflies to think about how lucky you were to have snagged up both of them.

Suddenly, Katsuki's grip on your waist tightens, and he pulls you closer. His breath is hot against your ear as he grumbles, "Keep those damn eyes on me; you're dancin' with me, not him."

"You say that as if I didn't have to practically beg you to dance with me," You shoot back with a grin, not fazed by his glare.

After the song ends and the live band begins the next, Izuku makes his way over. "May I have this dance, beautiful?" he smiles with an awful "proper" accent, holding out his hand.

"Why, of course, good sir," you reply with a small laugh. You take his hand, feeling the warmth of his rough palm against your softer one. The two of you sway to the slow melody of the song as Katsuki is swept away by Mina, who you swear materializes out of nowhere.

You return her excited wave with a chuckle, watching as Katsuki tries and fails to get free.

"You look stunning tonight," Izuku murmurs, his breath tickling your ear as he pulls your attention back to him. His tone is so sincere and reverent that it makes you smile like a fool.

You lean into his chest and wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the familiarity of his body against yours. "Thanks, Izuku," you whisper back. "You both look pretty great yourselves."

As the song continues, you lose yourself in the warmth of Izuku's embrace and the comfort of his familiar presence.

Eventually, the band slows to a stop, announcing that they're going to take five. Izuku leads you off the dance floor with a hand on the small of your back.

"You know..." Izuku begins, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I meant it when I said you look gorgeous tonight; good enough to... eat." You don't miss the shift in his tone. The deep rumble of his voice sending a tingle down your spine and heating your core. "Kacchan thinks so too," he hooks his chin over your shoulder from behind and gently takes your jaw in his hand, turning your head until you're met with the intense stare of Katsuki who leans against the bar. Seems he got away from Mina after all.

Katsuki takes a deep swig of whatever alcohol he's drinking before setting the glass on the bar and heading towards the bathroom. His eyes never leave you and Izuku - a clear invitation as he slips inside.

As soon as the door shuts behind the blonde, Izuku is leading you towards it. The hand on your lower back is firmer as he guides you through the throng of guests, ignoring the occasional call of 'Deku!' from reporters dotted around the room.

Your face flushes as you realize that being escorted by the number one hero, Deku, means there's no inconspicuousness in your oncoming bathroom tryst.

"Ignore them," Izuku murmurs, holding the door open for you.

Katsuki is waiting, suit jacket and tie already off and the top buttons of his dress shirt undone.

As soon as you're within reach, he's pulling you in by the waist while Izuku locks the door and hangs his jacket next to his.

"Whose bright idea was this?" You ask as Katsuki uses his hold on your waist to lift you onto the counter and starts to bunch the skirt of your dress up. "I'm not complaining, but the top two heroes in all of Japan disappearing into the men's bathroom for an undisclosed amount of time with their girlfriend isn't something that's going to go unnoticed, especially at-" You cut yourself of with a small gasp as his thumb meets your clothed clit. "-at such a big event..." You finish, sounding less resolved as you close your eyes and tilt your head back. A pair of lips meet your neck, causing you to open your eyes and be met with soft green curls.

Izuku's hands curl around your jaw once more, turning you so he can kiss you. Katsuki pulls his thumb away from your clit in favor of spreading your knees apart and yanking your panties off, dropping to his knees so he can bury his head between your thighs.

"O-oh my god..." your groan is swallowed by Izuku's hungry kiss as your hand reaches down to tread through blonde tufts, tugging lightly as you try to pull Katsuki even closer.

He lets out a small grunt at the hair pulling, but obliges, tightening his grip on your thighs and harshly sucking. "Fuckin' hell, woman- be patient." he growls against you, sending vibrations up your spine through your swelling clit. Your arousal has started to pool, only to immediately get swallowed by the blonde.

"Says the one that dragged me in here for a quickie when he's supposed to be showing face at the gala," you shoot back, tilting your head so Izuku can suck and lick at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of soon to be hickeys that you don't have concealer to cover. Great.

"Shut it." Katsuki grumbles, shoving two fingers inside your cunt as he resumes his assault on your clit. You can feel the mix of spit and arousal dripping down towards your ass and it only makes you squirm even more.

Izuku's hands work on pulling the straps of your gown off of your shoulders so he can push the top passed your breasts and duck down you suck one of your nipples into his mouth. The rough pads of his fingers close around the other, pinching and twisting it as Katsuki adds a third finger.

The back of your head thumps against the mirror behind you as your moan echoes in the empty bathroom. "Careful..." Izuku grins, pressing a kiss to your hardened nipple. "We wouldn't want people to hear you..."

It's as Katsuki bullies a fourth finger into you that you realize what they're intending.

"Here??" You gasp out, biting down on your lower lip to stifle the moan that nearly rips out of you as Katsuki's fingers curl against that soft, spongy inside of you.

"Why not?" His gruff voice asks as he looks up at you; the sight of him on his knees, face so close to your dripping pussy as he looks at you through his lashes and his fingers pump in and out of you has you damn near speechless.

Nearly...

"I can think of 3 reasons off the t-top of my head- oh, fuckk..." you choke out as he and Izuku double team you; Katsuki curls his fingers back against your cervix as he sucks on your clit at the same time that Izuku sharply nips at your nipple.. "But those can wait- do that again," your chest heaves as your hands clutch at the counter aimlessly.

"Screw you both-" you groan, gushing around the blonde's fingers. "Just fuck me already! I'm prepped enough-" You feel more than hear the chuckle Izuku tries to hold back.

When Katsuki doesn't immediately pull away, pressing a few more kisses along your slick folds, you use your grip on his hair to yank his head back so you can meet his crimson gaze. "I said fuck me."

You barely get time to process his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare before your pulled off the counter, your high heels clacking against the floor as you land on them. Katsuki shoves Izuku back against the counter where you just were. "What'd *I* do?-" "Shut up, Deku and get your pants down." Katsuki interrupts. If our girl wants to be fucked so bad, that's what she'll get."

As soon as Izuku frees his cock, Katsuki is manhandling the both of you again. He shoves Izuku back once more so he's forced to sit in the counter and then he's turning your back to him and lifting you so your straddling Izuku. Stepping between Izuku's legs so he can press against your back, Katsuki rasps in your ear. "Better keep quite, there's a lot of reporters out there that would just love to hear your desperate little noises so they can confirm what they're already thinking..." His grin is sharp against your ear.

His hands still on your hips, Katsuki pushes you down on Izuku's length. It presses into you hard and thick. Just before you can bottom out, you hear the sound of his belt and zipper coming undone before he lines his own cock against your already stretched out hole. With a gentleness that contradicts his behavior a second ago, he reaches between you to hook a finger into you and tugging, stretching you carefully more so he can slip himself inside as well.

Your head fall against Izuku's shoulder as you're filled impossibly. You can't even moan as you shift your hips, causing them to rub deliciously against all of the right spots. Your small pants and gasps mix with Izuku's muffled moans that he's hiding with his hand and Katsuki's ragged breathing.

"Oh, my fucking god," you swallow hard, rocking your hips down to try to adjust to the feeling of both of them inside of you. "A-ah... please... please move. One of you needs to fucking move-"

And they do. Izuku replaces Katsuki's grip on your hips with his own, slowly lifting you up before pulling you back down. You can hear Katsuki curse under his breath as he braces his hands on the counter on either side of Izuku.

Izuku begins to slowly thrust up into you, his hips grinding against your back. Katsuki's face presses harder into your neck as he groans, his cock twitching within you. "Damn, woman," he grunts. "You're so fucking tight."

You feel his face scrunch up as he starts to move with Izuku, his thrusts matching his, but opposite; one in while the other's out. The friction between their cocks within you is exquisite, and thanks to Katsuki's skilled tongue and fingers earlier, you can feel your climax building fast.

Your nails dig into Izuku's shoulders, no doubt wrinkling his shirt in the process, as you tip your head back so it rests against Katsuki's.

Grunts and moans fill the room, the marbled walls echoing your obscenity back at you as it combines with the lewd squelching of their cocks bullying your poor cunt.

A particularly loud moan leaves you as Izuku's cock hits your g spot and he keeps it there, grinding slowly into it just as Katsuki slams into it. The handle on the door jiggles and Katsuki's hand slaps over your mouth as a knock sounds. "Occupied!" The blonde growls out, still grinding inside of you with Izuku.

Spots dance in your vision at the relentless assault against your most sensitive spot and before you can stop it, your cry of pleasure slips passed the firm grip on your mouth. The doorknob stops jiggling and it goes eerily quiet as the three of you wait with bated breath.

After nearly a minute of nothing, Katsuki finally relinquishes his hold, shifting his hand to your neck, tilting your head back impossibly more. "Well, now someone definitely knows. Just couldn't hold it, could ya?" He sneers, slamming into you harshly,

The hard, deep thrusts are clearly affecting Izuku as well if the way he squeezes his eye shut and tips his head back is any indicator; their cocks rubbing perfectly against each other with each thrust. "No need to -mmh- be mean, Kacchan." Izuku manages, his fingers digging into your hips in a way that will definitely leave bruises in the morning. "She can't help it if she's a needy for our cocks," he adds with a small laugh, just when you thought he was on your side.

"F-fuck you both," You whine, already barreling towards the edge again thanks to the nonexistent window of reprieve you got after your first.

They both laugh, Izuku's a soft chuckle and Katsuki's a mean snicker.

"Whatcha think we're doin', dollface?" Katsuki snorts, gripping your waist for better leverage.

Izuku has gone quiet, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and his freckled cheeks painted a pretty red and you know his close. His hips continue to buck up into you but his rhythm is starting to falter; long deep strokes turning into quick bunny humps as he gets closer and closer. Finally, his balls tense and spill into you as he lets loose a debauched groan.

Katsuki isn't going to be too far behind if they way his movements turn erratic tell you anything. With one last thrust into your cervix, you're cumming again, crying out helplessly as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. The only thing grounding you against the overstimulating ecstasy is the four hands tightly holding you.

Your pussy clamping down is his final straw. Katsuki slams him hips against your ass and keeps his cock buried as deep as he can as he floods your cunt with even more cum.

For a few minutes, nobody speaks. the bathroom silent aside from three ragged breaths.

Finally, Izuku speaks up.

You can feel them both shaking with aftershocks as they slowly release their holds on you. When you finally look down, you see that you're covered in your own juices, Izuku's cum, and Katsuki's. You swallow hard, feeling surprisingly unashamed of what you've just done.

"We better get you cleaned up," Izuku says, his voice still shaky. "We need to get back out there..."

Slowly, Katsuki pulls out of you, allowing Izuku to flip yours and his position so he can pull out of you without staining his slacks. You watch as his Adam's apple bobs, his eyes locked on the cum leaking out of your still gaped pussy. He's snapped out of it by Katsuki throwing his jacket at his head. "Hurry up, fuckwad," he tells Izuku. "We've already been in here long enough to draw suspicion."

All you can do is lean back against the mirror as they work on getting you, themselves and the counter cleaned up. As Katsuki takes a damp paper towel and starts to clean the mess from between your thighs, Izuku helps you fix your dress. He helps you get your arms back in the sleeves and turns to look for your discarded panties.

"She's not getting those back yet," Katsuki grins, pulling them out of his slacks' pocket to flash the fabric to Izuku before putting them back and fixing his tie.

Izuku turns just as flushed as you feel as he changes course to help you off the counter and stand you on wobbly legs as you pull your dress back down.

Another knock, this time accompanied by a voice, rings out, muffled by the thick wood. "Are you guys done yet? I really have to piss!" You can hear the shit-eating grin Kaminari wears.

[ddejavvu]

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader giving each other a good luck kiss before a tornado chase🩵🌪️

Spotlight - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're relieved that Tyler won't be gone for days, crossing state lines to chase this twister, but that comes with a downside: it's local. That means that, though the tornado's path isn't projected near your home, you're still on high-alert as anxiety convinces you that something will change and your house will be torn down plank by plank and blown away into oblivion.

"I'll be back for dinner," Tyler vows, grinning at you with the thrill of the chase already gleaming in his eyes and smile, "You just sit pretty 'til I'm back, darlin', and we can go out tonight. Get somethin' real nice, then we can go dancin' afterwards. In our own little corner, I promise." He tugs you close, miming how things will go only hours from now, knowing your tendency to be shy in large crowds.

The roaring of tires on gravel lets you know that Tyler's crew has arrived, and you've mostly conquered your nerves surrounding them. They're lovely people, if only a little intense, but you still feel sometimes like a complete outsider. Still, you wave sweetly to them, and a chorus of greetings floats your way over the open Arkansas air.

"Alright," Tyler pats once, twice against your hip, "That's my cue. If I don't get goin' soon, Boone's gonna start throwing shit at me."

"I'll protect you," You shrug, drinking in the last of his embrace- logically, the last of it for only a few hours. Irrationally- the last of it you might ever get. You shake away a shuddery feeling in your chest as Tyler laughs at your joke, squeezing you tighter around the waist.

"That's right, you're my little protector, aren't you? 'Gonna get those big ol' muscles out and show 'em all who's boss?"

Flexing your biceps does absolutely nothing to show them off like it does when Tyler does it, and you can feel the fondness in his ear-to-ear grin.

"Alright, darlin'." He lets go of your waist and suddenly the handprints on your sides are cold, terribly so, as a mild wind blows through your front yard, "Stay safe in here, m'kay? The storm's projected to go east but you know the drill; keep weather alerts on and hole up in the cellar if anything changes. Love you," He squeezes your hand in lieu of a kiss, something you're decidedly uncomfortable with in public, but when he turns to walk away, you act on impulse and grab his wrist.

"Ty-" You gasp, almost as shocked at your actions as he is when he turns to raise a questioning brow at you.

"Hm?"

"Uh- I," You stammer, his eyes like spotlights showcasing your awkward stance before you realize that words are failing, and the only thing you can do is kiss him.

You surge forwards, tugging him along to meet you in the middle as you lean up to press your lips to his. He's surprised if the way that his eyes go wide is any indication, and you feel like you're stealing his breath when his chest tightens up. It takes him barely a second to melt into it, but it's a second that feels like an eternity as your brain and heart race in tandem.

There's cheering, whooping, shouting, and a slew of other reactions from his crew that you'll lay awake embarrassed about later tonight, but for now you kiss Tyler Owens like it's the last time you'll see him- because it might be.

The words, 'Good luck,' are whispered softly against his lips when you part from them, and his eyes are hazy before he blinks away the cloudy daze he's trapped in. He stares down at you, equal parts bewildered and head-over-heels, and his grin is less cocky, more sappy now as he watches you.

"That was one hell of a kiss," He remarks, smoothing his tongue between the seam of his lips and catching your chapstick, "I don't even think I wanna go out now. Tornado be damned, the real fun's right here."

"Go," You push against his chest, and your laughter comes easy despite having just stepped so far out of your comfort zone, "Go and be back for dinner and dancing!"

"Yes ma'am!" Tyler calls, walking backwards towards his own truck as his crew splits in half to fill both vehicles equally, "I love you!"

He says it like it's an inside joke, like it's something he's informing you of for the first time instead of something you'd just pressed against his mouth.

You grin back, lazy and sure even amongst the watchful eyes of his crew, "I love you too, Ty."

[applejarjar]

Well hot damn

[steddieas-shegoes]

When Eddie comes out to him, Steve makes a big mistake. His first reaction was to thank him for trusting him, which is what Robin told him to do in this situation.

But his second reaction was to say “I also like guys.”

Eddie blinked at him, clearly confused and defensive, like maybe Steve was making fun or not taking him seriously.

“Uh. You do?”

“Yeah man! I mean, no one else knows, but yeah.”

Eddie smiled and thanked him for trusting him with it, said they should hang out more, and recommended a queer bar in Indy if he needed a safe place to explore.

And Steve smiled and nodded like he couldn’t agree more.

As soon as Eddie was gone, he rushed to the phone in his kitchen and called Robin.

She called him an idiot, a dingus, a bisexual disaster —whatever that was—, and told him he absolutely wasn’t allowed to go to a queer bar without her.

She did at least agree to keep up the lie until he could find a way out of it without Eddie thinking he lied to hurt him or something.

But he started hanging out a lot more with Eddie and finding that they had more in common than he originally thought.

Eddie took Robin and Steve to the queer club and Steve…felt at home, felt welcomed, felt like he belonged. Robin kept giving him these looks all night, and Eddie kept dragging him to meet people who he cared about, and one of the guys on the dance floor kept pulling him out there to dance with him.

He felt free and alive and-

Queer.

It hit him as the guy, Paul maybe, was pulling him closer by his waist as his hips rocked to the beat of a song he didn’t recognize but felt like something he wanted on a mixtape. It hit him that he liked this because he liked dancing with Paul like this. He liked this because he saw himself visiting more, even without Eddie and Robin. He liked this because he could picture making out with Eddie in the bathroom.

He froze.

“You okay, sweet thing?” Paul asked him.

“I think I’m in love with my friend.”

Paul’s eyes widened momentarily before patting Steve’s hip. “Is he gay, honey?”

“Huh?” Steve was already trying to find Eddie in the crowd. “Oh, yeah. He’s here tonight.”

“Shouldn’t you be dancin’ with him then?”

Steve finally looked back at Paul, who had his hands on his own hips now, teasing smile on his face.

“Yeah. I should,” Steve thanked him, apologized for any misleading, which was immediately brushed off. Paul was here to dance, he didn’t much care for who he was dancing with.

“Send that beauty over here. She looks like she needs some lessons,” Paul pointed to Robin, who was still looking a little nervous despite the friendly bartender handing her sodas every time he passed by her.

“She’s gay, man.”

“So am I! Doesn’t mean we can’t dance!”

Steve laughed. “You’re right.”

He walked over to Robin quickly, avoided getting pulled back into the crowd.

“I’m in love with Eddie.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “I know, dingus. You literally risked your entire reputation to come to a queer bar to try to impress him.”

Steve balked. “That’s not what this was!”

“Uh huh. Well he’s sulking in the bathroom if you wanna go tell him.”

“Sulking? Why?”

“He saw you dancing with that guy. Think he assumed you were interested in him.”

“Not a chance. I prefer long hair and ripped jeans,” Steve winked. He turned to walk towards the hall with the bathrooms when Robin stopped him.

“Don’t do this if you’re not 100% sure,” she said seriously. “Eddie really likes you and it would destroy him if you were lying to make him feel better.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Steve started, but stopped when Robin gave him a look.

“You’ve literally been pretending to be queer for the last two months because he came out to you and you accidentally came out to him. You’re lucky it wasn’t a complete lie.”

“Yeah but I wouldn’t fuck with his feelings like that.” Steve knew what it was like to be led on. He wouldn’t do that to Eddie. “I’ll be careful with him.”

“And be careful with you.”

He saluted her as he walked away.

When he found Eddie sitting on the counter at the sink in the bathroom, he was swinging his legs back and forth and humming something distinctly less pop than what was playing on the dance floor. No one else was in here, but that didn’t mean no one would walk in.

He walked over to Eddie and placed a hand on his knee.

Eddie immediately stopped kicking his feet and looked up.

“What’s with the face?” Steve asked, reaching up to touch the line between his brows that always appeared when he was pouting.

Eddie shrugged. “Just not feeling it tonight I guess.”

“The music isn’t really your thing. Kinda surprised you like this place,” Steve said as his hand drifted down to his wrist. “Seems closer to a small club than a bar.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Eddie’s tone was sharp, laced with jealousy. Even if Steve hadn’t had his realization five minutes earlier, he would’ve seen what that was from a mile away.

“I was until I realized I’d rather be out there with you.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t really dance.”

“But you’d dance with me if I asked, right?” Steve’s fingers circled his wrist and he tugged Eddie off the counter. “Even if I asked you to do it right here with no music?”

“Steve, what are you doing?”

“Dancing. Or trying to.” Steve rested his hands on Eddie’s hips and started swaying them in sync with his. “It is hard without music.”

“Why don’t you go back out there?” Eddie’s hands went around Steve’s neck.

“Because you’re not out there. I don’t wanna be where you aren’t.”

“Steve-“

“You know I didn’t actually know I liked guys until tonight?” Steve huffed out a laugh. “Well, I really like this one guy. Not sure about others yet.”

Eddie was silent, but didn’t push Steve away.

“He was hiding in this bathroom though. I didn’t really think he’d join me out there, so I brought the dancing to him,” Steve winked.

“You like me? You? Like me?”

Steve nodded.

“And you just realized this?”

“Kinda.”

“In a queer bar?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty gay, dude.”

Steve snorted and smacked Eddie’s chest. “That’s the point.”

Eddie moved in impossibly closer, no room for Jesus between their chests anymore. “So you lied when you came out to me?”

“I panicked! But it doesn’t actually count as a lie if I’ve seen the light.”

“Was it a rainbow light? Or the reflection of the disco ball in the glitter shorts Perry was wearing?” Eddie joked.

“Perry!” Steve smacked his own forehead. “He’s nice. Made me come tell you how I feel.”

“Oh. He did?” Eddie seemed shy for maybe the first time ever.

“Yeah. Said I should come dance with you if I’m in love with you.”

Steve hadn’t felt like this in a while, and hadn’t left his heart on his sleeve like this in even longer. As Eddie’s face went from shy to shocked to flustered, Steve thought about how long he’d been dancing around these feelings.

But no more dancing around them. Now it was time to dance with them.

“Can’t believe you just said you’re in love with me in the bathroom of a queer bar. Don’t even think they clean this place,” Eddie laughed, letting his forehead fall against Steve’s.

“I’ll tell you again outside.” Steve kissed his cheek. “And in the van.” His nose. “Your house, my house.” The corner of his mouth. “Everywhere.”

Eddie licked his lip, skipping over a soft kiss for a hungry one. It was hot, desperate, impatient. Everything Steve hadn’t known he needed.

Then again, he hadn’t even actually known he liked guys until tonight. Maybe he was just late to learn things about himself.

[2tarbell]

thinking about TRAILERPARK!READER who begs rafe to take her out dancing. it’s a saturday night and she’s feeling antsy, talking to her girlfriends on the phone and giving her boyfriend the best puppy dog eyes she can muster. he can’t ever deny her anything, not when she looks at him like that.

“a’ight fine. stop whinin’ and get dressed, kid. jesus…”

(he loves to see her in her short shorts and going out top, cowboy boots adorning her feet. she always does a little twirl for him that makes him smile.)

once they get to the country bar, she’s all but dragging rafe inside. meeting her girls on the dance floor to do whatever linedance was on when they walked in. rafe’ll say it over and over again: he’s not a dancer. so he’s watching her most of the night glide across the floor, eyes lingering on the sway of her hips and radiant warmth emitting from her. he talks to some buddies but mainly sips on his coke (dd duty), ordering her more vodka cranberries when she asks.

but when she wants to slow dance? rafe is jumping in no hesitation. he’d rather eat nails than watch his girl dancing with some dumb drunk freshly twenty-one year old. so he’s standing tall, hands low on her hips. his face stoic except when looking down at the precious gem in his arms. reader has her head on his chest, gripping tightly to his purple shirt. she’s stepping on his toes a little bit and swaying maybe too much, but he doesn’t mention it. just whispers in her ear that it’s time to go. his voice is low and like a lullaby, her mind goes blissfully blank as he leads her to the truck.

it’s saturday! and what’s there to worry about when rafe will take care of it all?

on the way home, she’s a bit more than tipsy. hanging off him and pressing kisses to his jaw and cheek, just so grateful and happy. she’s a sentimental drunk and he placates her with an arm around her waist and hums of acknowledgment to her drunken rambles. he praises her and praises her, reveling in how she stares at him like he hung the moon.

“jus’ — jus’ had sooo much fun, daddy. and y’look sooo handsome… oh! and was dancin’ and it was s’all wooooo!”

“shhh, i know, sweetheart. you were so good f’dad tonight, you know that? my good girl.”

back at home when he gets her in the trailer, she’s trying to push her hands into his jeans, already on her knees. grabby hands and whines so incoherent, rafe can’t even begin to decipher what she’s actually saying. he just shushes her and helps her fumbling hands remove his belt. smirking at how she immediately dives in with an open mouth. she’d be content to just fall asleep, mouth filled with the most perfect cock ever. eyes looking up at him doe like and she slowly and lazily sucks him off. words garbled as she whines about how much she needed him all night.

“cant ever get enough, huh? jus’ more and more with you, want and want. go on, baby, since you needed it sooo fuckin’ bad…”

[glittergroovy]

Summertime Sadness • Lana Del Rey

[knightjpg]

analgesia

It's not the first time he's got himself skunk drunk when back home on leave, and part of you resents his decision for joining the military. Clearly that has to be the reason for him living it up like it's his last goddamn night on Earth at every opportunity, right? You're more familiar with his sloppy cheek kisses and wandering hands while you get him home than you'd like, but such are the burdens of best friend privileges. It's Johnny—harmless, familiar. A little stupid and a lot sweet.

tags: dubcon, johnny/reader, alcohol mention, unprotected piv (wrap it up kids)

“Fuck's sake, Johnny, keep your feet—!”

Johnny just laughs and leans all of his weight on your shoulder again, making you squeak and scramble for balance. 

“Le's dance, bonnie, c'mon, we gotta go dancin’,” he slurs in your ear. 

A laugh bubbles up your throat before you can help it. You're tired and annoyed and exasperated, but it's just so damn hard to stay angry at Johnny with his big blue puppy eyes and the way he's always smiling like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn't have. 

Dancing... Ridiculous. He can't even walk in a straight line. 

“No,” and you try to sound firm through your smile. “We're going home, and we're getting you a glass of water. You stink.” 

Johnny answers you with a full-on whine, burying his nose in your shoulder and scratching against your skin with his stubble. “Why're you s'mean. Why d’ye hate me.” 

"If I hated you I’d dump your ass at a bus stop and leave you to sober up by yourself.” You hoist his arm more securely around your shoulder while you walk, thanking every higher being you can think of for wearing sensible sneakers tonight. Johnny's leaning into you so hard you have to lean back an almost equal amount just to stay upright and keep shuffling forward. 

And so when he suddenly stops you almost fall face-first on the hard stone pavement. “What—” 

You can see Johnny turn pale even under the dim lantern light, and he presses a hand to his mouth before doubling over— 

“No no no please don't throw up—” 

...and retching his guts out in the gutter. You allow yourself a deep sigh and watch your breath turn into a puff of cloud while listening to Johnny heave the alcohol out of his system. It's so dark out you can even make out the flicker of some stars when you look up, winking in and out of existence as the opaque curtains of cloud drift by. 

When he's done you look down and wince at the stains on his shoes. He's shivering, and pity has you rubbing a hand over his shoulder. 

“Ah dinnea feel s’good,” he mumbles. 

“I can see that. C'mon, big boy. It's gonna be okay.” 

He unsteadily lets you help him to his feet again. He's been feeling off all night, and you watch him with a mixture of worry and sadness. 

It's not the first time he's got himself skunk drunk when back home on leave, and part of you resents his decision for joining the military. Clearly that has to be the reason for him living it up like it's his last goddamn night on Earth at every opportunity, right? 

You're more familiar with his sloppy cheek kisses and wandering hands while you get him home than you'd like, but such are the burdens of best friend privileges. It's Johnny—harmless, familiar. A little stupid and a lot sweet. 

But it's never quite felt like this. He was all smiles tonight until... 

Until when? 

You don't know what set him off. You were with the usual crew, old friends. Everything seemed fine—Johnny'd been playing darts with some of the other lads and you'd been with the girls, gossiping over dates and breakups and relationship advice. 

You'd shyly told them the bloke you'd gone out with last week called you back asking for another date, and were hounded afterwards for details. You'd been having fun until you weren't. Or rather, until you were too distracted by Johnny slamming back drink after drink with tense shoulders and tight eyes. 

You sigh again when you reach your apartment. You had plans for tomorrow, but... You glance at Johnny. His head's slumping forward till his chin is almost touching his chest. You don't want to leave him feeling sick by himself. 

Johnny's drunkenly mumbling to himself while you fish around your bag for your keys with one hand. One of his arms curls around your waist, making it harder, and then his hand wanders high enough to grope at your breast. 

“Chrissake, Johnny,” you smack his arm. “Play nice. I'm trying to—” 

“Love ye s’much, bonnie,” he mumbles against your neck, hand not moving an inch even with your nails digging into his skin. If anything it makes him cling to you more tightly, and you're worried he'll fall and break his thick stupid head if you push him off you with more force. 

“Yes, yes, love you too. Idiot. Now let go, I want to get out of the cold...” 

Somehow you manage to move around his iron grip and click open the door. You put up with his slobbering against your neck because it makes him a lot easier to deal with getting up the stairs and then, fucking finally, you're in your apartment where it's warm and cosy. 

You shuffle over to the bedroom because it's closest and there's just absolutely no way Johnny's going to fit on your couch. You've tried. It's not worth putting up with the complaining about back pain the next morning. 

Johnny flops onto the mattress and just when you think the finish line is in sight, his hand snatches yours so quick it's a blur. 

“Dinnea leave...” 

“Have to get you a glass of water,” you tell him gently, trying and failing to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

“Dinnea want ye t’fuckin’ leave...” his voice breaks in the middle and you stop short for a second—is he crying?  

God, how drunk is he...? You'd hoped throwing up would have counted towards sobering up, but apparently not. 

“Shush, it's okay, it's okay. We'll get you some water and you'll sleep it off, alright?” 

Johnny slurs something you don't catch and you take the opportunity to slip away and get him a glass. You make him drink it all, even manage to get him to rinse his mouth. He does as you say without fuss, wavering between stubborn as a rock and pliantly obedient as always. 

“You're a handful and a half,” you say, but without any real heat to it. You brush back strands of brown hair—his mohawk's been growing out. He'll probably ask you to cut it again before he returns to base... 

When he starts to slump over again you quickly take the glass from him and set it on the bedside table, and push against his shoulder to get him to lie on his back. “Christ, what are they feeding you,” you mumble to yourself. He's got to be bigger every time you see him—you don't think you could fit two hands around his arm. 

When you pull back to get Johnny a blanket he grabs at you again, and this time you're too caught off guard to keep your balance. You fall half on top of him with an ‘oomf!’ and narrowly avoid kneeing him in the groin. 

“Give me a fucking break,” you huff when he takes this as the go-ahead for a nice cuddle. Those thick arms immediately wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

“Love ye s’much,” he slurs again, mouth tucked just below your ear. Every time he moves his lips it's like he's kissing you, and despite everything you have to suppress a few shudders. “So fuckin’ bonnie. Was lookin’ at ye all night. Wanted t’go dancin’ with my girl, take ye home...” 

You flush. It always takes you by surprise, the drunk ‘my girl’s, to the point where you asked him about it one time. Johnny just laughed and shrugged. “You are my girl. Known you the longest since forever, aye?” 

You pointed out that's not quite what it means, and the only reply you got was that he wouldn't call you that if it bothered you. It's a promise he forgets every time he goes out, though... 

“You're drunk,” you tell him. 

“M'not,” he says, breath hot against your neck. It's followed by something wet, and you jolt in his arms. 

“What’re you—Johnny, gross, what the hell!” 

He licks at you again, and the twitch that follows is involuntary. Your neck is sensitive and, well, so what if it's been a while? The guy you're planning to see next week was going to fix that. Not Johnny. He's not... He's not supposed to be— 

“Taste s’fuckin’ good,” Johnny groans against your neck. The bed shifts and creaks, and this time there's a graze of teeth.  

“Wait,” you gasp, voice suddenly thin and airy and so distracted by Johnny biting at your skin it takes more than a few minutes for you to realise the bed is creaking because he's humping your thigh. 

An embarrassed heat zaps through you right to your core, and the intensity of it makes you break out into a sweat. 

“Johnny, Johnny, wait—” 

He outright moans when you say his name, hands squeezing your waist before sliding down to cup your ass and angling your hips to slot his own into. “Make it so good for you, kitty, need ye s’bad...” 

Jesus Christ. Mortifyingly you can feel yourself getting wet. Just—the proximity, the heat, the electricity running up your spine every time his big hands slide over your thighs. You feel trapped, suffocated, almost, and unfortunately the fact that you can't get away from him even if you try makes the dizzy feeling in your stomach spin harder. 

When Johnny sucks at your neck and roughly tugs up your shirt to knead your chest through your bra there's a few seconds of white-out bliss, and you seriously consider giving in and just— 

No. He's drunk. Probably barely has any idea what he's doing—never remembers what he said or did the next morning. You can already imagine the apologetic hugs, the huge pleading eyes. He'd feel terrible. 

“You're drunk—you're drunk, c'mon, Johnny, we can't, we gotta...” you cut yourself off to muffle the moan that threatens to slip when Johnny ducks his head down and starts giving your chest open-mouthed kisses.  

“No,” you protest weakly, unsure if you're telling him or yourself, because despite your good intentions you really don't want him to stop. Would it be so bad? Would it be so bad if you let Johnny make you feel good? He won't remember, will honestly probably pass out before anything actually happens, and... and... 

“We gotta be—gotta be smart, Johnny, oh—” his name comes out as a sob when he flicks your nipple with his tongue, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Say my name, bonnie, sound s’fuckin’ pretty for me... Gonna make ye sing, make ye feel so good,” Johnny pants against your skin. One of his hands worms its way down, almost rips the buttons off your pants, cups your core right through panties. You shake from just that, back arching, hips stuttering away and then back towards him because this is unfair. Isn't drunk sex supposed to be shite? Why is he making it work? What's wrong with you? 

Johnny moans loudly, unlike you completely unashamed and uninhibited and very happy to let you know that you're “So fuckin’ wet for me—tha's for me, aye? All mine? Fuck, tha's good—Sweet little cunt...” 

You push at his shoulders with less and less conviction. You try tugging at his mohawk to get his attention, desperate not to have to be the voice of reason here, but all that does is make him shudder and bite at your tits. 

And neither gets him to take his hands out of your pants, though he very quickly decides just feeling you soak your panties isn't good enough. With a lot more alacrity than you should reasonably expect of him he pushes aside your underwear, starts flicking your clit, and sticks his tongue down your throat to eagerly drink down your sounds of pleasure. 

“Missed ye so much, miss my girl all the time,” he whines into your mouth. You can feel his cock thick and erect through his jeans, still rubbing against your hip, and you shiver, because Johnny's stupid big fingers are working you to completion at a rollercoaster pace. But when you start to tremble, breaths coming short and quick and needy— 

He stops. 

“No!” you whimper, sounding as pathetic and desperate as you feel. If he falls asleep now you're going to kill him. 

But Johnny hasn't fallen asleep. When you crack your eyes open you look right into his, glittering in the half-dark of your room. When he speaks his voice is husky, low and tight with desire coating the edges. 

“Tell me y’need me, aye? Wee lil’ cunt need me so bad?” 

To punctuate his question he flicks at your clit again, and when your hips jolt in response his free hand presses them down into the mattress. Keeping still. 

There's a split second of doubt, the voice of reason rearing its head in the back of your mind. This isn't right—he's drunk. You've just started seeing someone, kind of, not quite dating yet, but it wouldn't be fair—right? 

You can't quite catch Johnny's expression in the low light, but the edges of him seem to sharpen when you don't answer right away. In one fluid motion he pushes himself up to hover over you, knee nudging your legs open wider, and presses his forehead against yours before starting excruciatingly slow circles on your clit. 

You gasp and pant and can't do anything except lie there and let the weight of both his body and his gaze pin you to the bed, helpless and mortified at your own body's response. Because even though it's slow you are soaking him, him and yourself. Your jeans are ruined; your underwear is a joke. You're pretty sure if Johnny pulled away now his hand would be wet up to the wrist. 

And you don't want him to pull away. You almost cry in relief when he speeds up his rhythm, so glad you don't have to make a decision after all and can simply receive whatever the alcohol in Johnny wants to give you... 

Until he stops. Right on the edge, mean fucker, and this time tears slip past your lashes. “No, no, please, please, you can't—please, Johnny...” 

“Tha's better,” he says roughly, the hand on your hip travelling up to pinch at your nipple until you try to wriggle away from him. “Love ye so much, kitty. Tell me you love me, c'mon.” 

“I—” you swallow, mouth feeling dry despite all of Johnny's slobber. This feels like more than it should be. You love your friends. You love Johnny. But— 

“Y’want it?” One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance without ever really entering, and the promise of relief so close is what breaks you. 

“Yes,” you whimper. “I want it. Please. Please...” 

Your reward is one thick finger slowly entering you, and you squeeze your eyes shut and sob at the sensation. It's almost—almost—everything you've ever needed. Johnny's breath has gone ragged above you, eyes glued onto your every expression. 

“Y’need me, aye? Say it. Say you need me.” 

“I need you,” you manage to stutter out, the last vowel of which transforms into a drawn-out moan when it gets you a slow crook of his finger inside you. It's so fucking slow, Jesus H., but it's something. If he stops now you're going to lose your mind. 

Your desperation along with your evident arousal softens Johnny, and he coos at you while he fingers you. “Don't hav’ta go anywhere, jus’ stay right here with me, give you everythin’ you need...” 

It'd almost be sweet if you could think straight, and you should be, you're supposed to be the one keeping a clear head, but it's really hard to think anything at all when Johnny's messily kissing you again. 

“Pretty girl,” he groans when you squeeze around his finger. “My pretty girl. Ye love me? D’ye love me, bonnie?” 

Your stomach is tightening and with a spike of panic you rush to answer this time: 

“Yes, yes, Johnny, love you—” 

How unfair that that makes him stop. He looks at you, eyes big and wild, cheeks flushed, like a kid opening a Christmas present he was told his parents didn't have the money for. And then he pulls away entirely to rip your jeans off. By the time it catches up to you, you barely have the wherewithal to raise your hips to help him. 

His own clothes follow suit so quickly you fear for the fabric, and then realise it's yourself you should be worried for. You had an inkling of Johnny's size, have woken up to it pressing against your ass too many times to count, but... 

That's not going to fit, you think wildly, and Johnny must see some of the panic on your face, because while he lines his thick leaking tip up to your soaking cunt his other hand pets at your cheeks, lingers on your throat. “Doing so good, bonnie, gonna make ye feel so good, fill you up so nice...” 

His moan fills the room when he slides in another few inches, bounces off the walls and ricochets inside your head. It doesn't hurt, thank God—you're drenched and desperate and at this point frankly impatient. 

Johnny slides in deeper and tugs your legs around his waist, makes you keep them there when he bottoms out and lets out a wild groan from somewhere deep in his chest. You can feel it in your own, pressed against you as he is. 

“Perfect girl,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then slamming them back into yours. “Fuckin’ mine—all f’r me.” 

This time you're not sure who leans in for the kiss first. It doesn't matter anymore. Your moans and whimpers steadily grow in volume until you're crying under Johnny, clinging to him while he fucks you following a rhythm too quick and wild to try to meet. 

When he presses his thumb to your clit again it barely takes anything to ignite the fire again, wild and hot and ready to boil over. Johnny coos at you again when your mouth drops open in long, silent cry, cunt clenching around him hungrily. “Tha's it, bonnie, feel so good, aye? Pretty kitty feelin’ so good? Fuckin’ made for me, gonna fuck ye so full—” 

It doesn't take long for him to do exactly that. You can feel his cum filling you, hot and heavy, long spurts accompanied by Johnny's desperate moans and whimpers. 

You whine when he collapses on top of you to give you more lazy, open-mouthed kisses—“You're heavy, Johnny, get off”—and try to catch your breath in the two seconds of reprieve you get before he's pulling you into his chest. 

You're spent. Sweaty, flushed, and boneless. The sheets are no doubt disgusting, but it's so late and you're too fucked-out to care. You file it away for tomorrow, just like the hundred other things you're going to have to talk about somehow... 

Johnny lets out a deep, contented sigh, tucking you under his chin and pulling your leg over his waist like he's rearranging a doll. You don't have the strength in you to protest. It's only when you feel his cock prodding at you again that you jolt away from him and try to remove your leg, but Johnny frowns, clicking his tongue like he would at a disobedient pet.  

“I want to sleep, Johnny, 'm tired...” 

Johnny tuts softly, keeping you still with a firm grip while he enters you again. “’S just for keepin’ it all in, bonnie, dinnea fuss. See? ‘S nice all full like this, aye? Wake ye up all nice ‘n proper tomorrow.” 

You wriggle in his grasp with a soft whine—Johnny's cock is girthier than any other you've had before and you're sore from being used like a battering ram, even if it felt mind-numbingly good. But Johnny's arms are iron, and the more you try to move around the tighter he holds you to him. 

Eventually you give up and give in. Sleep is tugging at you insistently, and when you relax around him it's not so bad. Johnny kisses you when he feels you settle, his hand running soothingly over your bare skin. 

It's enough for you to be lulled into sleep. Before you drift off one last thought surfaces: 

Isn't Johnny supposed to be good at holding his liqueur...? 

[whitehotwild]

took a peek at amazon music’s The Boys character playlists (really just Butcher’s and Hughie’s… womp womp)… ohhhh old man Butcher my beloved.

all i can imagine is being at Butcher’s apartment for one reason or another.

☆ maybe the team went out to a bar together, and as everyone turned in for the night, saying their goodbyes, you and butcher were the last ones there. For whatever reason, he refuses to send you off by yourself to your own apartment this late at night and tells you to just come over and spend the night at his, that it’s closer anyway.

you try to ignore the zip up your spine when he leads you into his apartment with a hand on the small of your back. you try to ignore the soft flush of your cheeks when he teases you about snooping while you look through his one (barely filled) bookcase.

“what? you scared I’m gonna find your fuzzy pink handcuffs?” you tease right back, squatting down to flip through the vinyl records he has sitting in a milk crate next to the bookcase.

butcher rolls his eyes with a smirk, “mine ain’t fuzzy… d’you even know what those things are?”

you don’t react, but you do store that in the folder labeled ‘Useful Butcher Information’ that lives in your brain. ignoring his teasing, you let out a soft huff of laughter when you see a record you’ve only seen at your grandparent's house and in the back of a shitty thrift shop uptown.

“exactly how old are you?” you ask, pulling it out and showing him the record in question: Roy Orbison Sings Lonely and Blue (1961).

butcher walks over and takes the record from your hand, switching it for his beer. he had asked you if you wanted one when you two walked through his door, you had declined before, but have taken to stealing sips of his. it’s probably the closest you’ll get to kissing him tonight.

“old enough to know this is real music… not that Taylor Swift shite you force me to listen to in the car.” he snarks, slipping the record out of the sleeve, setting it on his cheap turntable.

you stand back up straight with a scoff, “you can make fun of my ‘brat summer’, but Miss Swift is where I draw the line.” the beginning of the record starts to ring softly through the room…

‘Only the lonely… (dum-dum-dum-dumby-doo-wah)’

“oh… you can’t be serious,” you smile softly and he holds a hand up as if telling you to ‘wait for it’. “…so corny,” you mutter shaking your head, still with that same smile.

butcher takes the beer bottle out of your hand, taking a sip before setting it on one of the shelves, “nope… classic.”

he lets himself be a bit softer around you, even if only for a moment. it’s only when you two are alone, usually late at night, usually after a few drinks that he lets the walls drop… only just a bit.

like now, when he pulls you into the empty space of his living room, placing your hand, the one that isn’t wrapped in his, on his shoulder, his free hand goes to the small of your back.

“so now you wanna dance?” you ask with a bit of snark.

butcher lets out a soft huff of amusement as you two start swaying, “what you lot was doin’ at the bar wasn’t dancin’… you was flailing about.”

“hm… whatever. least we were having fun, i mean… even M.M. got up!”

“‘cause he’s a sucker for ‘Earth, Wind & Fire’.”

“well yeah… who isn’t?”

“me.”

you roll your eyes with a soft sigh, “suuure… stick in the mud.”

you’re both quiet after that, only the sound of old music coming through shitty speakers and gentle steps against his floor fill the room. he dances you through the whole a-side of the album, the hand on your back has snaked around your waist, your head rests against his shoulder, and he holds your intertwined hands closer to his chest.

you take as much of this as you can get from him, knowing these moments are fleeting. there are so many unspoken words between the two of you, you’re too stubborn to make a move, and well… butcher’s too… butcher. he thinks he’s much too undeserving of something as precious as you.

and maybe he’s right. maybe he doesn’t deserve you, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you, it doesn’t stop you wanting him. so for now… the soft, fleeting, moments are enough.

it’s always strange when those moments end, though. the way you can see his demeanor shift in an instant.

like now, the music stops and he looks away from you when you look up at him. you can see the way his face changes, like he’s snapping out of a trance or he’s caught himself doing something he knows shouldn’t.

butcher pulls away from you, wiping his hands on his pants as if the feeling of you lingering on his skin has to go. he turns to put the record away and turn off the turntable.

the silence lingers for a minute before he speaks up, “think we should turn in. you take my bed.”

you try to protest, “the couch-“

“don’t fight me on it.” the command isn’t harsh, it’s not mean, it’s only a bit stern, but he just wants you to listen to him.

he just wants to do something nice for you.

you nod with a quiet sigh and thank him with a soft smile. you both retire for the night and you both know you’ll be gone in the morning before he wakes up. you both know you won’t make any mention of it when you're both in the office tomorrow.

but you both know that for now, the fact that it happened at all is enough.

(divider by @/plutism)