#fuck everything i just teared up watching the fucking clip

[teddybeartoji]

since i'm in it now..... waymond telling evelyn the iconic line of "in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you" is also very ihtctaot to me

[lokis-army-77]

Private Viewing

Camboy!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 6.8k

What happens when your favorite camboy is in your class? You should stop watching his content... or should you? What happens when you are eventually paired together for a project? Everything will be just fine, won't it?

Warning: 18 +. This is pure fucking filth. Spit, masturbation (m and f), use of vibrators and fleshlight, choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f reviving), fingering, voyeurism? Soft!dom Eddie, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Thank you @lesservillain for giving me this wonderful idea. 💗 and @munson-blurbs for figuring out if I should do this for Steve or Eddie and for helping give me a title💗.

Masterlist

Nothing but slick sounds filled your room, the occasional deep moan calling out from your laptop speakers accompanying your own sweet cries. The guy on the screen, Ed as he called himself, or DungeonMaster as he was known on Only Fans and Twitter, was fisting his cock in his heavily ringed hand. He was putting on a show for more than ten thousand viewers but the way he stared down the camera with those dark eyes made you think he was watching you, fucking his hand to the way you were pumping your fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy. 

You had stumbled upon his Twitter three months ago and he immediately captured your eye. The way his tattoos wrapped around his pale skin, how he wasn’t all lean muscle like the other OF guys, his tummy by no means a six-pack but he still looked strong enough to sweep you off your feet with ease. His moans were heavenly and so was the deep timber of his force as he praised you through the thirty-second video clip. It was all enough to convert you from your usual consumption of smutty books to the infamous Only Fans sight. 

Since then, his streams and videos have become the one and only thing you get off to. And like then, tonight was no exception. 

You were so close to the edge, Ed’s moans spurring you on. Your fingers move at an almost inhuman pace in and out, in and out. 

“Rub that clit for me, baby. Need you to cum.” He groaned, head resting on his shoulder as he continued you pleasure himself. 

“Fuck!” You gasp as you rub your clit with your free hand. Your rhythm is horribly off but it doesn’t matter, you are so close to cumming. So so so close. “Please,” you beg out into your empty room. You aren’t too sure why or what you are pleading for. More friction? More fingers? More words of encouragement from him? Maybe you’re asking to cum? 

It’s like he had heard you through the screen as he moaned out, “That’s a good girl. Just like that. Doing so well for me. You gonna cum baby? Yeah? Me too. Want me to count for you?” He nods his head lazily. “I knew you would baby. Okay. Five.”

You want to cry.

“Four.” 

The strings tugging inside you are becoming taut.

“Three.”

You feel like you’re going to explode. He’s counting too slowly.

“Two.”

The tears are flowing now.

“One.”

You let out a strangled scream.

“Cum baby. Do it, now.”

Your walls clench around your fingers and your legs snap shut, trapping your fingers. Every muscle in your body is shuddering as those strings snap and your release comes out in a stream, wetting your hand and the bed. Your hearing has gone, there’s a ringing in your ears but you can faintly hear Ed cumming as well. 

With watery vision and slow movements, you turn to face your laptop screen just in time to see his tattoo-covered chest painted with milky white ropes of cum. 

When the ringing subsides you hear him say more clearly, “Thata girl. Always make me cum so much.” He takes a towel and wipes off his chest and stomach before adjusting the camera view to the shoulders up. “Get you some rest baby, I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

And then the live is over. 

Slowly, sluggishly, you remove your hands from between your legs and begin the now regular clean-up routine before going to bed. 

…

Three days later, Thursday rolls around, and thus begins the fall semester of your junior year of college. It’s a groggy morning, everyone is tired and very unenthusiastic about having an 8 a.m. advanced music composition class. 

You had struggled to get out of bed at six this morning just to get one of the dorm showers first before they were all taken up. Luckily two of the five were open and you were able to get to class a whole twenty minutes early, even having time to grab coffee at the on-campus Starbucks on the way.

The music building was old and the tables you and your fellow students sat at were even older. It all added to the sleepy ambiance. Your eyes drooped and you yawned every time someone else did, the black coffee you had chugged not doing anything for you. 

You’re only awoken when your professor, a stout old man with a very severe receding hairline, slams open the door to the classroom a little too hard and it hits the brick wall, creating a loud, startling bang. 

He apologizes before making his introduction.  He then gets out a clipboard with a sheet attached and hands it off to a girl in the front row, instructing everyone to fill in their name and school email for his role sheet.

It’s only once you’ve finished and passed the clipboard on, that you notice the guy two seats down from you looks vaguely familiar. You can’t quite put a finger on it and it bugs you. 

His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his clothes make him look like the alternative guy of your dreams back in high school. He’s got rings on almost every finger and an aura that just screams confidence. 

It begins to become a problem, your inability to place this guy's face. You’ve only taken a handful of notes the entire first hour and thirty minutes into this two-hour class. Your eyes are constantly staring at him no matter how hard you try to make yourself pay attention. 

Then, he raises his hand to answer one of your professor's questions. That’s when it clicks. Your pen falls from your grasp and your mouth forms an O. 

“Oh my fucking god. No. It can’t be.” You think to yourself but just to be sure you take out your phone, turn the brightness and volume down, and hide it under the table. You open Twitter as fast as you can and you don’t even have to look for his user, he’s the first post on the screen. 

Ed @ DungeonMaster86 was boldly displayed above a picture of the guy sitting next to you with his massive dick in his hand. 

It’s a wonder you weren’t caught with how you practically choked on thin air and began furiously looking from your phone to the guy and then back to your phone. 

Your stomach drops. You can’t keep watching his videos, can you? That wouldn’t be right. That would be weird, watching the porn your classmate makes. 

When class is finally called to an end you pack up as quickly as you can and bolt out the door to your next class, hoping that by getting away from Ed, you'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind.

That statement turns out to be false when he is in your next class and when you spot him in the student commons talking with another guy. It's like once you made the connection of who he was, he was everywhere.

…

Arriving back at your dorm, you throw your backpack on your desk, snatch your laptop out of it, and struggle to jump up onto your bed. Never had you been so thankful for the single dorm than this moment as your curser hovered over the bookmarked Only Fans page at the top of your screen. No roommate meant no one would see the moral dilemma you were currently losing with yourself. 

‘You know him, it’s wrong to keep watching his videos.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though. The only way he would know you are watching is if you tell him, you aren’t going to tell him, are you?’

‘No…’ 

‘Then it’s okay, it’ll just add an extra element of taboo to his streams. Plus, he’d miss you in the chat.’

You sigh as the devil on your shoulder wins out once again, talking you into something you know you shouldn’t be. But hey, it feels good to be bad. 

Steadily, you click on his bookmarked profile and the first thing to pop up is the live stream that is currently in session. And against your better judgment, you enter the stream.

He’s only just started, people are slowly filtering in. Ed is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and a singular, ringed hand teasing himself through his black jeans. 

You breathe a sigh as he looks into the camera, eyes half-lidded, luring you in. It does the job, because in an instant your fingers are typing out a message in chat. 

Princess23: hi Ed

His eyes flicker as he reads his messages, smiling as he replies to you. "Hi, Princess. How's my girl been?"

There's a bubble of excitement at the fact that he recognizes your username, even if you've been a regular in the chat for months.

Princess23: stressful… you've been distracting me.

The reply to his question is truer than he realizes. 

"Aww, princess, is that so? You've been thinking of me?" He leans back on his free elbow, still groping himself with the other hand.

Princess23: yes. been thinking about your cock, how much I want it in my mouth. 

It's one of the less bold comments you make but it makes you blush all the same, especially now.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth? Of yours?"

Princess23: yes please

"Mmm." He hums, fingers now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans. 

You set your laptop to the side and start to situate yourself. Slowly taking your clothes off one by one. 

Ed replies to a few more comments before announcing that it's time to start.

He leaves the screen for just a moment before coming back with something in his hand. Smirking at the camera he shows it. A flashlight in the shape of a mouth.

"This one’s for you, Princess. Since you need my dick so bad," Ed explains. He sets it on his bed before making a show of taking his jeans and boxers off. 

As you watch, your hands roam your body. Fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples before trailing down. The light touch over your ribs makes you giggle. Then you rub and scratch at the inside of your thighs. 

Ed's moans are now coming through your speakers, you tilt your head to watch.

"Spit on my cock baby, get it nice and wet for me." He commands before spitting in his own hand and rubbing it on his thick length. 

"Your mouth looks so pretty like this, waiting, drooling for me. Need me to fill it so bad don't you, baby?" 

"Yes." You answer him breathlessly, fingers teasing around your mound. 

You watch and he sits back down on his bed, thighs spread, a hand cupping his balls and the other grabbing the fleshlight. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan when he inserts his cock into the fake mouth. 

"Fuck baby, your mouth feels so perfect." 

You can't help but whine. Allowing your fingers to finally circle your clit. 

The both of you go one like this for a bit. Him fucking the fleshlight and you massaging your clit. But then you need more, more than your hand can give you. So you reach to your bedside table, stretching at an uncomfortable angle to open the drawer and pull out the purple mini wand you kept there.

The vibrations start slow and constant as you press the toy to your clit. It pulls soft, quiet noises from you as you watch your computer screen. Your mind is blank, filled only with the pretty sounds Ed is making, the way his body looks, and the pleasure between your legs.

There are no thoughts. You follow his lead. When his hand speeds up, you kick up the vibrations, when he slows down, you turn the vibrator back to the first level. 

It's a rollercoaster, almost, taking your pleasure for a ride. The stream isn't even done yet when you feel that tight pull in your abdomen. The toy works you up fast. 

So you stop. Taking the toy away and changing positions. On your hands and knees, you hug a pillow to your chest and prop the toy up under you, keeping it standing as you push your clit down onto it. It's not even on and it's making your hips buck in sensitivity.

You turn it back on and immediately feel the slick seeping from your cunt and running down the toy. 

"Oh fuck," you cry.  Your eyes locked on the screen where Ed has also changed positions. 

He's got his own toy lying on the bed and he's laying over it. The way his leg and glute muscles contract as he thrusts into the toy has you memorized. 

He chants, "Baby, baby, baby." Over and over. What you would give to have him chanting your name instead. Like a prearranged falling from his lips, praising you, worshiping you.

The need for him grows and so does the tightness in your core. 

Reaching your hand down you turn the speed up. Your hips buck into the toy and you bury your face in the pillow. You're close.

He’s not far behind. Peering up from your pillow you can see his thrusts are sputtering. Sporadic as he draws close to his end. 

“God dammit, baby. Gonna cum in this perfect mouth of yours. Fuck. Can you swallow it like the good pet you are? Hum? The good pet I know you can be?”

“Yes.” You turn up the vibrator. “Fuck, wanna swallow all of you. Please.” 

The vibrations are becoming too much but you keep the toy pressed into you, hips shaking at the feeling of being overstimulated. 

Without warning, you cum with a guttural cry into your pillow. Body spasming, muscles twitching. You can still hear Ed moaning and the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the fleshlight. 

With barely any energy you reach down between your heavy body and the bed and turn your toy off. You don’t even bother with your computer, too exhausted and fucked out to exit the stream. You fall asleep to the sounds of your new classmate's self-pleasure. 

…

It’s October now. The semester is halfway over and you’ve still been watching Ed, or Eddie. You learned his actual name in class when your professor called role on him by name the second week. 

Today you are being assigned a partner for the final project. You have your fingers crossed that Eddie won’t be chosen as your partner but as your professor calls out pairs, it seems luck is against you. 

You freeze when your name is called and directly after so is Eddie’s. You groan internally. How the hell are you supposed to do this? You already have trouble concentrating when he sits two seats away, what’s going to happen when he actually interacts with you?

There isn’t much time to think about that as he abruptly moves from his seat to the one directly next to you. 

“Hi.” He says, eyes bright and expectant. “I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for you to shake but you just stare at him. He looks at you curiously before waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

You snap out of your stupor and accept his hand, shaking it as you introduce yourself. “Sorry. I was a bit out of it.” You say, trying to play it off as you just staring off into space. 

“No problem.” He smiles. “Uh, do you want to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this together?” 

“Oh, yeah. Here,” You open your phone and push it to him with the messages app open. “You can text yourself.” 

He does just that, even going as far as putting in his contact name as Eddie with the skull and crossbones emoji beside it. 

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m free. I have work on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays, but other than that I’m usually free.”

You nearly choke when you realize he’s given you his streaming schedule. “I- uh. Okay. Just text me when you can.”

"Sure thing sweetheart." He grins at you before standing, grabbing his things, and heading out of class along with the rest of the students. 

You sit there for a minute, thinking. God, what are you getting yourself into?

…

You both have finally come up with meeting times that work for both of you. Tuesday and Wednesday after seven. Giving you time to get to the school library after the closing shift at your on-campus job. 

It’s been two weeks of working together on this project and it’s been easier than you had originally thought to concentrate on the task at hand and keep your dirty thoughts at bay. 

Right now, you are both sitting in one of the private study rooms looking at Eddie’s computer as he explains why this particular cord progression would fit with the emotions you are trying to convey in your composition. 

You sigh, “Eddie, as much as I love that sound, I really don’t think it fits with the overall composition of the song. It isn’t as emotionally charged as I’d like it to be.”

“Well show me something similar to what you’re wanting.” He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s been a long night for each of you. It seems that every new section of the song you are creating for the project gives you a new challenge to work through together. 

You pull out your phone and Eddie leans over to watch as you begin to type. There is a particular song you are thinking of that has the weight and emotion you are trying to convey with your own music and as you type the first letter of the song, O, the first suggestion that pops up is onlyfans/DungeonMaster. 

Mortified, you slam your phone down on the table. Eddie looks at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” You answer. 

“Why did you slam your phone down?”

“Oh, I just forgot the title of the song.”

“Right…” He scratches under his chin and then stretches back in his chair. “Why don’t we call it quits for tonight? It’s getting late and we aren’t going to agree on anything if we’re both tired.”

A yawn suddenly comes up out of nowhere and you then realize how tired you actually are. “That sounds good to me.” You agree with Eddie and begin packing up your things. You don’t want to be with him longer than you need to be right now, even if he seemingly didn’t notice his OF user pop up on your phone screen. 

“Bye Eddie.” You wave to him on your way out the door.

Faintly you hear him call out to you, giving a goodbye of his own. "See ya, sweetheart."

… 

After your little slip, you began avoiding Eddie. At least in person, you still tuned into his streams. You bailed on the next three meetups you had planned, helping only through voice notes and text. Eddie said he understood when you said your boss was forcing you to stay late to deep clean. 

It was Thursday now and when you saw him in class he barely looked your way and you wondered if he had seen what you hoped he had not. 

You tried stopping him once your lecture was over, feeling an anxiousness creeping into your mind. Your conscience had been telling you to come clean. To explain your perversion. Let him know you watched him, that you paid to enjoy seeing him fuck into a toy or his hand. 

You called out his name and reached for his arm. "Eddie."

He turns to you. "Hum?"

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "I wanted to say sorry for not being able to come help with the project."

"It's okay, you said you had work." He replies, unbothered. 

"No, Eddie, I didn't get held back at work. That was a lie."

He doesn't look all too surprised. 

"I've kinda been avoiding you because- well, because of what I think you might have seen on my phone that day."

Eddie stops you there. "Can this wait until later? I've really got some errands to run before work."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry to keep you Ed." You had meant it as a nickname but as it came pushing past your lips it was too late to take it back. You had never heard anyone call him that outside of his onlyfans. 

You watched as his eyes widened at the name and a spark went off behind them. "I'll see you later sweetheart." The smirk he gives you isn't the usual playful one you'd seen him throw before. No, this was sinister, like he knew.

Your heart fell into your stomach as you watched him walk away, leaving you alone.

Tonight as you logged into the stream, it wasn’t to get off. It was to see if he'd show any signs of knowing you might be lurking about among the thousands of viewers.

When the video loads, Eddie is sitting in his desk chair. He's talking to the chat like he always does. There's something different in the atmosphere around him, mischief if you've placed it correctly. 

He keeps replying to comments until the clock reaches 6:10. It's time for the show to begin. 

"Tonight I have a very special treat for you guys." Eddie starts as he reaches over just off camera to his desk. "I've got the wand out." 

The chat erupts. Eddie doesn't bring his vibrator out often, but when he does, you know it's going to be a good show for every party involved. 

"I would also like to say hello to a special quest in the stream tonight." Eddie’s smirk gets bigger and your heart pounds in your chest. "Hi, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy yourself." 

You feel like you've been shot. There's a ringing in your ears and your breathing has stopped. 

He knows. Fuck. He definitely knows. You've never heard him say that pet name on camera. It's always babe or baby when he refers to the collective whole watching the stream. Eddie has only ever used that name with you.

Eddie starts up the vibrator, tracing it over his covered cock. He hums at the feeling, loud and long. 

You clench your thighs together. You tell yourself you should stop watching but you can't bring yourself to. 

'He knows." You argue with yourself.

'But he wants you to watch. Why else would he say his pet name for you? Why else would he say he hopes you enjoy yourself? He knows and he likes it.'

The devil on your shoulder makes sense again and you curse it. 

So, you watch. Intently, you watch. Your eyes never leave the screen. 

Eddie whimpers once he has his cock out of his pants. The tip is a deep purple/red color, showing how worked up he's gotten already.

He lets his head fall back, resting on his chair as he moves the vibrator down to his balls. He presses it into himself before dragging it up his shaft and to the head. 

You feel a wetness seeping into the cotton of your panties and as his legs widen, yours press together more. 

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, sweetheart." Eddie moans, mouth open slack and eyes squeezed shut. 

You can't believe he's saying your pet name and making those noises. You wonder what he's thinking about. How you'd look sucking on his cock? Maybe what it would be like to be pounding into you, watching your cunt suck him in and clench around him. 

Eddie grits his teeth when he turns the speed up. One hand is holding the vibrator just at the frenulum while the other is cupping and squeezing his balls. 

Your thoughts are running wild and your hips have started to rock in search of some kind of friction.

He moves his hand from his balls and begins to tug on his shaft. Deep guttural moans fill the air, and the sound of them turns you on even more. 

It's not long before Eddie is bucking his cock into his hand. You can see his muscles straining in his legs as he does. 

"Fuck fuck fuck- ah fuck sweetheart, you've got me so close. Fuck." His voice is pinched. You can see the exhaustion in the furrow of his eyebrows as he pressed the vibrator over his tip, the change in placement making his hips shudder. “God, I’m gonna cum. The thought of you is gonna make me cum, sweetheart.” 

Hearing his breathy, deep, timber of a voice say that the thought of you was going to do him in had you thinking you might just cum too. No touching required, just Eddie and his beautiful noises. 

In a matter of seconds, Eddie is choking on his words as his balls go taut. He lets out a drawn-out grunt and ropes of cum begin to spurt out over his chest, covering him like a painting. He doesn’t even bother to clean himself up before he looks into the camera and says good night, chuckling when he mentions your particular pet name again. Then, the screen goes dark. 

…

Fridays are slow in the used bookshop you work at. Especially after 4:30. No one had been inside in maybe an hour? Your boss left early, leaving you alone to close down at 6. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been putting misplaced books back where they belong, sweeping, and tidying up anything else you see. 

Because of the usual slowness, you have your headphones on. The music isn’t loud but it does drown out the sound of the bell chiming as someone enters the building. You are unaware of the person creeping up behind you until you are suddenly turned around and corralled against the bookshelf. 

You let out an alarmed screech only for your mouth to be covered by a big, warm hand. Your headphones fall to the floor beside you as they are accidentally knocked off your head. You hear his voice then, whispering in your ear. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” 

“Eddie-” You heave, relieved it wasn’t someone coming to kill you in cold blood.

“Did you enjoy my show last night?” He leans back, caressing a strand of hair away from your face. 

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You deny. Even after you had told yourself you would come clean to him, granted that was before you knew he knew your secret. 

“You don’t know, do you? I think you do why else would my account have popped up on your search suggestions the other day?” 

Keeping your mouth shut, you refuse to answer. 

Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and moves your face to the side as he leans into you. His lips tickle the shell of your ear as he speaks again. “So… Which one of my subs are you? Hum?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. 

Eddie tuts. “Don’t get all shy on me. Tell me. Now.” His tone is dominating. It’s one thing to hear it over a computer speaker, it's another when you hear it in person. His presence alone had your knees knocking. 

“I-I,” You can't help but stutter. “It’s Princess23.” You shamefully tell him your user, eyes looking anywhere but his.

He sucks in a breath. “Oh, Princess. That was you?”

He forces you to look at him and you nod your head. 

You hate that he’s making you look him in the eye, but you can see what’s swirling around deep within them. Desire, lust, dominance, but nothing mean. Nothing hurtful. 

As you watch him, you catch the minute changes in his expression. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, a hunger taking over as he stares you down. 

“I can give you a private show if you want, baby.” He leans back in. “Right here,” He nipps at your ear lobe. “Right now.” 

“Eddie, we can’t… We’re at my work.” 

He looks around you, head swiveling to peer down both ends of the aisle. “It’s fine Sweetheart, no one’s here but us, right?”

“Yes, but-”

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips. 

“Then let me show you why the real thing is so much better than what you’ve seen online.” He doesn’t give you time to think before his lips are on yours. 

They are soft, almost pillow-like as they mold against yours. His tongue slithers its way into your mouth, tasting you, he moans when he does. 

To you, he tastes like menthol cigarettes and black coffee with the faintest hint of weed. It’s intoxicating, and addicting. You’ve only had one taste and now you won't be able to function without him.  

His hand cups your cheek and pulls you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair. His body keeps you pinned to the shelves and he spreads your legs by inserting one of his own between them.

With him being so much taller than you, it only takes you barely bending your knees for you to make contact with his thigh. You are thankful when he doesn’t stop you from humping his leg. The friction of you rubbing yourself against him has the seam of your pants pressing against your clit. It’s a wonderful pressure that leaves your mind blank. 

When he pulls away, you follow, not wanting his mouth to leave yours. Eddie chuckles when you give a needy whine. 

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He coos. "But first, since you wanna get yourself off, you've got to make yourself cum on my leg."

You pout. "But Eddie…"

"Ah ah, don't complain sweet girl, you'll only make it take longer. Now get to work."

You do as he says, rolling your hips with purpose against him. He doesn't help you at all, he only provides support and kissed along your jaw every few seconds as he watches you work. 

It's harder than you thought it would be. The layers of denim dulled the sensations yet added to the tension your clit felt as the fabric rubbed against it. 

"Mmm, fuck." You gasp, fingers gripping onto Eddie’s shoulders. "M'so close. Eddie, I'm so close."

He smiles at you and he gives your body gentle touches. "That's it, Princess. Let go. Being such a good girl for me."

You moan loudly at his praise. 

"That right sweet girl, use me to get yourself off. That's it, keep going."

His words are spurring you on, your hips, although losing their rhythm and steadiness, keep going strong. Then, you feel it. That tautness in your tummy and the ache in your bones. You are so close.

"Please, Eddie. Ah- so close. Need more." Your words are short and your hips move faster. 

"What is it, baby? What do you need?" Eddie asks, willing to give you just a little.

"Kiss me again," you beg. 

He obliges. Taking your face in his hands and practically devouring you. 

The canter of your hips stalls as your body shudders against him. A sticky wetness can now be felt,  uncomfortably, between your legs.

"So good for me." He praises.

You can feel how hard he is, his needy cock prominently pressing into your thigh.

"Wanna feel you. Eddie please, I need to feel you." You're practically begging him to fuck you now.

"Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to stretch that pretty pussy on my dick? Make you feel so good, baby." He trailed his kiss down to your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. 

You nod frantically. "Yes, yes Eddie. Need you inside me."

Hands rush to unbutton pants, fingers caress bare skin, breaths hitch. You tug at Eddie's pants impatiently as he pulls your own down. The sudden feeling of cold air hitting the pool of slick between your thighs. 

You are both a whirlwind of arms and clothes and a few books falling from their shelf. Eddie’s fingers make their way to your center, exploring between your folds. 

You throw your head back, cracking it on the shelf above. "Ow," You moan out in pain.

"Careful there, Sweetheart." He gives you another kiss and moves his unoccupied hand to cradle your head.

The pain is instantly forgotten when two of his thick fingers circle your clit before pushing into your entrance.

"Mmmm- god." He feels so good inside you, fingers curling into your walls. The wet slick of him moving fills the stagnant air of the bookstore.

"You're sucking me in, baby. Pussy squeezing me so tight." Eddie rests his forehead on yours, his breath mixing with your own. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Gasping in response, you buck your hips up into his hand. "More-"

It doesn't take much convincing for Eddie to pull his hand from between your legs and position his hard length at your entrance. Slowly he slips inside, meeting no resistance with how wet you are. 

Eddie pushes into you, cock stretching you out farther than you think you've ever been before. His one hand rests on the back of your head while the other pushes your shaking hand out of his way as he goes to press it against your neck.

You grasp his arm, nails scratching his skin as he chokes you. 

"Oh- oh, Eddie. Fuck me." You cry, cunt fluttering around him. 

Your words are music to his ears. His pace begins steadily. In and out at a lazy, leisurely speed. Then he picks it up, hips bucking faster and faster. 

He's giving it all to you. Everything you've dreamed of since you saw him on your Twitter all those months ago.

The head of his cock is repeatedly hitting that one spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You can’t keep yourself up. The feelings coursing through you have your knees buckling and Eddie does a good job at catching your weight. 

He stops his movements to try and situate you. “Come on, baby, gotta stand up.” 

You shake your head. “I can’t, s’too much.” Your heart is pounding in your chest, if you even tried to stand you would just fall again. “There's a couch.” You point to the back of the store. “It’s in the break room.” 

Eddie grunts as he hoists you up in his arms and follows your directions. 

The couch is old and made of leather. It is cold on your skin as Eddie lays you down and you shiver as he rips your pants and underwear from around your ankles. Never would you have ever imagined being naked from the waist down in your work break room. 

In contrast to the cool leather, Eddie’s hands are searing hot. He grips the back of your knees, picking your legs up and spreading you out. You’re almost folded in half. 

“Jesus fucking christ. You. Are. Beautiful.” He enunciated every word. The complement has you keening and clenching around nothing. “Fuck, look at that pretty cunt. She’s gaping for me.” Eddie smiles, eyes flickering to yours before looking back to your most intimate part. 

You let out a wonton gasp when he spits, a glob of it falling right atop your parted slit. Eddie takes a hand away and grabs his cock. He rubs the tip through your folds, giving your clit a heavy tap tap tap before entering you again and grabbing the back of your knee again. 

Eddie wastes no time in pistoning his hips into yours. The new angle gives him free range of movement to fuck you fast and deep. The skin of his thighs makes a sharp slapping sound when he connects with your ass, it sets the rhythm for the song of your shared moans. 

“Pull your shirt up.” He commands and you do as he says. Lifting your shirt up and over your breasts. Eddie lets out an irritated grunt at the sight of your bra. “That too.” He puffs out and you pull it up as far as it will allow. 

Your breasts bounce as Eddie fucks you mercilessly into the couch. His eyes are shamelessly trained on them. “Fucking hell, Princess. Gimmie our hands.” 

You reach out for him and he grabs your wrists, guiding you to hold your legs back like he had been doing. With the newfound freedom of his hands, he extends them out to play with your tits.  He pinches and tugs at your nipples, making you moan in pleasure as he continues his assault. His thrusts become faster, harder, more desperate. You know he's close and you can't take much more either. 

“Eddie… Ah- Eddie-” You babble out his name. You wiggle under his hold and the harsh prodding of his cock into your cervix. The strings of another orgasm are being pulled tight. 

He growls. “I know baby, I know. Fucking cum for me. Cum on my cock.” 

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to overflow. Your body writhes, back bowing, muscles straining. You’re on the precipice. 

Eddie sees how close you are and moves a hand down between your legs, circling his thumb over your slick-covered clit. 

“Oooh- Oh fuck!” You scream. “Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit…. Ah!” 

“Louder.” He moans. “Want the whole town to hear you sweet girl.” 

“Eddie! Oh, I’m there. I’m fucking there.” You cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you let go. A scream erupts from your throat. Even in your ecstasy, you can feel Eddie’s tempo shift. He’s losing speed. 

“Goddammit. I cumming too.” Eddie whimpers, sinking into you fully. His cum fills you up and you can fill you as it runs down your ass as he pulls out. 

Your body is twitching as he moves you to lay more fully on the couch. He doesn’t follow though. No. He sinks to his knees and before your foggy mind can even comprehend it, he attaches his mouth to your pussy.  

You are pliant under his touch, unable to resist. His tongue explores you and you moan in pleasure. He’s lapping up the mixture of his cum and your slick, humming at the taste the whole time. 

You choke back a sob when his tongue flicks repeatedly over your clit before he begins to suck on the already abused bud. “Eddie, please.” Reaching down you tug on his hair but he doesn’t move. “Ed-” He starts shaking his head, burying himself in your pussy. 

Another orgasm is quickly approaching. Your breathing quickens and you can feel your body trembling as he works you up, sending you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and your body spasms in pleasure. He doesn't stop, continuing his ministrations until you finally come down from your high once more.

“Christ. You taste so good.” He says as he crawls up your spent body. Draping himself over you he places kiss after tender kiss all over your face. “Did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Yeah?” You whisper. 

“Mhum. So proud.” He grins, the light of the room catching in the wetness covering him from nose to chin. 

Eddie cuddles into you more and your eyes close. He’s exhausted you. You both lay there in silence, content in each other's presence. Eddie eventually falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You don’t have the heart or the energy to wake him. You stay awake, just barely, still in awe of what happened. 

It feels like hours have gone by when you finally do shake Eddie, calling out to him softly. He stirs, grumbling as he looks up at you. 

“Eds, baby, I need to lock up.” 

He only rests his head back down between your breasts. You shake him again. 

“Eddie.” You say it a bit more sternly. “Get up and I’ll let you take me back to yours.” 

That gets his attention and he’s up and dressing himself in an instant. You on the other hand are slower, feeling the prominent ache between your legs. He has to help you pull your panties and jeans back on. 

He has to help you close the store as well, your legs weak and not trusted to hold up your body weight without crumbling to the ground. 

Never had you thought this was how this would end. Sitting in the passenger seat of your favorite camboy's car as he drives you to his apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as you both think of all the fun things you’ll get up to. Round two was bound to be wilder than the first. 

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Rider

Pairings - Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Summary- What happens after Rafe flips his bike.

Warnings- unprotected sex, choking, fingering, oral (male receiving), dirty talk. 18+

Watching Rafe speed through the sand on his dirt bike had your insides curling into themselves, your panties soaked and you worried people would be able to tell you were horny. Nibbling on the skin around your thumb and rubbing your thighs together you watched with wide eyes, your heart rattles against your ribcage harshly.

Rafe speeds up behind Maybank causing your nerves to triple as he gets closer to the blonde hair pogue, you know what’s about to happen before it does. Your eyes zone in on his front tire moments before it clips JJ’s back tire. It sends them both into the air, your eyes squeeze shut on instinct, the air in your lungs catching in your throat. Everything feels like it’s going in slow motion around you.

Gasps echo through your ears and you pop your eyes open once more, Rafe lay on the sand in a heap of limbs and motorbike gear, his bike lay half a mile away from his body. He hasn’t moved yet, your instinct is to run and that’s just what you do. You're sprinting across the sand before anyone can stop you, completely oblivious to the other bikes coming towards the two boys on the floor. Your sight is set on Rafe as your legs carry you towards him, he cranes his neck when he hears your name being screamed and his eyes go wide when he realizes you're coming for him. “Y/N!” He shouts, too slow to push himself to stand as a sharp pain jolts his lower back, his eyes darting between the bikes and you in panic.

His own heart is racing now, most likely matching the speed of your own. You're throwing yourself on him before he can stop you and he curls himself around you as the bikes skid by you sending the sand and dust into the air around you. He uses his body to shield you as John B abruptly breaks just before he hits JJ. All Rafe can hear is the sound of his heartbeat as he holds you tighter against his chest, your body hidden by his.

“Baby” you cry into his neck as you cling to him. His arms tighten around you as he feels you shake against him, the sound of you crying is drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. His anger bubbles in his chest at the idea of you getting hurt because he decided to fuck with Maybank. Angry at himself for putting you in danger.

“Hey hey it’s okay, I’m okay” he whispers into your hair, placing a hand behind your head and pressing you further into his neck. He can feel the wetness of your tears on his skin, he pulls the two of you up from the sand and you wrap your legs around his waist. Silence falls between the two of you as he walks away from the crowd, ignoring the calls from Topper. He walks you towards his car and puts you into the passenger seat, clipping the seat belt in. Your chest moves rapidly as you watch him in silence. “Stay here while I get someone to take my bike home” he orders, closing the door before you can argue.

Wiping away your tears you watch him walk over to Kelce, the two of them chat and you see him side glance Rafe’s car and he nods. You sit in silence for a few moments before Rafe turns to stalk back towards the car, your eyes dance down the length of his body. Remembering the butterflies in your belly before he had flipped off the bike, you watch him open his door and slide into the seat. “I’m sorry” you whisper, knowing he’s angry that you had put yourself in danger for him. He reaches over and grips your thigh, turning the ignition on as he pulls out of the car park.

You ride home in silence, his thumb rubbing small circles on your thigh. You chew at the skin around your nail again as you take sideway glances at him in the driver's seat. He’s half man spread in his seat, his jaw tense as he grinds his teeth together. Glasses sitting on the bridge of his perfect nose as he stares ahead, his hand moves every so often around the wheel as the light bounces off his ring into your eye. You're turned on again, squirming in your seat to get comfortable. Rafe dressed in his bike gear always made you hot and bothered. He takes a few sideway glances at you but you stare ahead, trying not to be so obvious. His fingers dig into the flesh of your inner thigh sending goosebumps down your arms, you catch the small smirk on his lips but he says nothing.

As you pull up to his house, he’s rounding the car to your side before you can open and he helps you out. His hand pressed firmly against your lower back as he walks you towards the porch, inserting the key into the lock and opening the door for you. “Rafe” you whisper, unsure if he’s still angry at you. You stand at the threshold waiting for him to turn around to look at you. “Are you mad?”.

“I was… but I have something else on my mind now” he states, lacing his fingers through yours and pulling you towards the living room. “What?” You question, he takes a seat on the couch and pats his lap. You go to take a seat on his thigh but he shakes his head, gripping your hips he maneuvers you so you're straddling him. Your skirt bunches up and he catches sight of your black panties, knowing exactly what ones you're wearing. The ones he had brought you with the little bow on the front. “You were fidgety in the car” he states, his palms rub up the length of your thighs as he stares up at you with a knowing smirk. The small dimple causes your inside to melt again, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Just worried you were angry”.

He lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head, pushing his hands further up your thigh. The material of your skirt now completely rolled up exposing your panties. “I don’t think that’s why.. I think your horny” and you shake your head in protest “if I slipped a finger into your panties you wouldn’t be wet?” He questions, raising his eyebrows at you. You pull away from him slightly but he pulls you back in, pressing your mound into his belt buckle causing a strangled moan to slip from your lips. “That’s what I thought”.

“I am angry you put yourself in danger, angry that I put you in danger but… I’d rather make you cum than tell you off for being stupid”

“Oh” is all you can manage, your clit throbs as he rocks his hips into you. “What’s got you so turned on baby?” He questions, halting his movements as he waits for your answer. “You”

“Of course… but what exactly?”

“Your outfit.. you on the bike.. before you flipped”

He hums, picking up the rhythm of his rocking again. The cool metal of his belt buckle pressed firmly against your aching clit. Your fingers curl around his shoulders as he plays with you, your mouth dropping open slightly to let out soft moans. “Use me baby… rock those hips and dry hump me” he orders, placing his arms behind his head as he stares up at you. His movements have stopped now and your hips have started to roll against him. “That’s it baby, don’t be quiet. Tell me what you want me to do to you after you make yourself cum on my lap” he says, eyes roaming from his lap to your face. His eyes are full with lust, his chest beats rapidly as he watches you fuck yourself against his lap. “I.. I want you to touch me”

“Yeah baby but where? Where do you want my hands?”

“I want them on my tits… and my pussy, I want your fingers inside of me oh fuck” You cry out, riding his belt buckle harder as your toes curl with pleasure. You can feel that familiar pressure already, your panties soaking through and coating his pants. “I can do that baby.. what else do you want? Hmm?” He questions, his hands have moved back to your thighs. Sliding up the sides until he grasps the flesh of your ass and helps you move your hips against him.

“Your cock!”

“I want your cock.. oh fuck… I need your cock Rafe! I need you to fuck..shit… fuck me, please fuck me!” You're whining and cursing, throwing your head back in ecstasy as your body shakes around him. Your orgasm riddles your body the moment he touches you again. “Oh! Oh yes yes”.

“That’s it baby.. doing such a good fucking job” he praises, pressing a kiss to your throat and then your chest. Your hands move to pull your shirt over your head, Rafe eyes your tits that are enclosed in a black bra. He snaps the clips at your back and pulls the bra down your arms exposing your tits to him. “Please” you beg when his hot breath tickles your chest, his mouth encloses around a nipple. Arching your chest into his mouth more, one of his hands spread across the top of your back as he suckles your breasts. “That feels so good” you whine, rolling your hips into him again. You can feel his hard cock through his pants and you so desperately want it inside of you. “I need you”.

He pulls away from your chest and pulls his own shirt over his head, your fingers run down the length of his chiseled stomach and begin fiddling with his belt, slipping your hand into his pants as he unzips himself. You pull his cock free and fists him tightly, moving your wrist up and down as pre cum coats his tip. “What do you want baby” he grunts as he watches you, eyeing his hard cock, you're slipping from his lap and kneeling between his legs. Taking his cock deep into your mouth, your tongue swirling against the soft skin.

You can feel him throb against your throat as you suck him back, his fingers placed into the back of your hair. He holds you tightly but doesn’t try to take control until he’s pulling you away and gripping you by the throat.

“Sit on my cock” he demands, his hand doesn’t leave your throat as you move back onto him, reaching for his cock you coat him with your juices by running the tip between your folds before pushing down onto him. Synchronized groans slip from your lips as his cock is buried deep inside of you, it almost feels like he’s in your stomach.

He lets you take control again but doesn’t let go of your throat, he pulls you to his lips and devours you as you bounce on him. “Fuck baby.. that’s it.. take what you want” he growls, sucking on your bottom lip. His fingertips press a little harder into your throat, causing the air to come out in shorter breaths. “I- I can’t breath” you whimper, he doesn’t loosen his thought. “Breath, slow baby.. in and out” he says, your fingers wrap around his wrist but you keep bouncing on his cock. Thighs aching with each movement, a thin sheen of sweat coats your body. “That’s it baby.. such a good girl, it feels so much better when your head is just a little dizzy”.

And he’s right, as your eyes go slightly cross eyed and your breaths come out in short puffs, the ache in your belly grows and your hips coming down harder. “Fuck” you cry out, your clit throbs. “Such a good girl.. that’s it baby, I can feel you strangling my cock. Your so fucking wet” he groans, he’s pulling you off his cock and pushing you into the cushions of the couch.

Your ass high in the air, he thrusts himself back into you and grips your hips tightly. “Yes! yes yes” you scream into the couch, arching your back and digging your nails into the material. His palms connect with your ass with a loud smack, his red handprint appearing seconds after, choking on your saliva as he gets you closer and closer to your release. His hand grips your hair tightly as he pushes your face into the couch, crowding your body as he pounds into you. You can feel the beat of his heart on your back and the throbbing of his cock between your walls. “Oh fuck Rafe… I’m gonna cum!” Your warning far too late as your body shakes with pleasure, his fingers toy with your clit causing what seems like an explosion of pleasure to take over your senses and you cry and whimper into the couch. He’s cumming into you moments later, your walls pulsating around his heavy cock. Shooting his cum deep inside of you, grunts of pleasure spill from his lips and his fingers dig deeper into your hips. “Fuck” he groans, loosening his fingers from your hair and hips. He pulls you away from the couch and slips his cock from within you, moving the both of you so you lay on your back.

“Don’t ever put yourself in danger again” he states a few minutes later, your hand pressed to his chest and leg wrapped over his legs. “Don’t you ever do something stupid like that again and I won’t have to put myself in danger”. He chuckles under his breath and kisses your lips.

“You're lucky I could tell you were horny on the way home otherwise this afternoon could have gone a whole other route” he says, craning your neck to look up at him as he stares down at you. “Well I was ready to jump your bones the moment the race finished but you ruined that by doing a flip… maybe you should go for a ride again and I can show you what I was planning on doing after…”

“Yeah?”

“Call Kelce and get your bike”

[enchantedlov3r]

fwb!ellie x bunny!reader nsfw drabble

fwb!ellie who loves to tease you in public, no matter where you guys are. whether it was school or at a store, even dina's house, it didn't matter.

fwb!ellie who adores physical touch, no matter if you guys are supposed to be studying, she has to touch you, if you guys are eating, she has to touch you, if you guys are in a store or going somewhere fancy, she has to touch you.

fwb!ellie who buys you the hottest bunny rabbit outfit for halloween so she can see you all slutty and sexy just to then skip trick or treating to fuck you all night in your bunny outfit. after all you were her little bunny.

fwb!ellie who runs at your beck and call when you hurt yourself or when you are feeling down about yourself and your value. who wipes your tears and cradles you telling you everything is alright.

fwb!ellie who used to call you thumper when you guys were little and to this day still calls you thumper to remind you of the memory of you bouncing and stomping, having a little tantrum like a bunny.

fwb!ellie who tells joel all about you. who's eyes light up when speaking about you just to shut down by reminding herself that you guys aren't dating, but boy she wishes you guys were.

fwb!ellie who loves to eat you out any chance she gets. your feeling down, she can help, feeling stressed, puts her head between your legs, feeling happy, eats you out anyway whether you like it or not, she always has to taste you.

fwb!ellie who just loves to invite you to parties even though she knows how shy you get sometimes. but she loves to see you become the life of the party once you get comfortable.

fwb!ellie who loves staring at your figure from the corner of the room at said party with a red solo cup in her hand. you in that pink skin-tight dress with cute pink heels to match and that adorable pink hibiscus flower clip in your hair. she loves watching your hips sway to the beat as you dance with dina.

fwb!ellie who denies all accusations of you two dating. looking at jesse and dina with the best poker face she can muster up. "dudes, I swear, were not dating! we're just friends." ellie says. and just as she thinks she's convinced them, you walk out of her bedroom with her flannel on and it's buttoned up with her boxers on as you grab a snack. which leads to jesse and dina raising eyebrows at ellie and giving her a 'your lying' look.

fwb!ellie who talks joel into getting a pink promise ring just so ellie can propose it to you and officially make you her girlfriend. ellie is so nervous when she takes you out to eat and takes you to your favorite park where she does it. you immediately say yes and she smiles the happiest smile in the world.

fwb!ellie who is no longer your friend with benefits but your full-time girlfriend who takes you to meet joel and shows you off at dinner because she's so happy you're finally hers officially.

Taglist: @ribbonprincess @r3starttt @dollyfl1rt @raynesbandaids @quiet-villian + anyone else who wants to join!

COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND LIKES ARE MUCH APPRECIATED!

©enchantedlov3r| All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[ultravi0lence14]

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

DEAN WINCHESTER X BIMBO!READER

WARNINGS: ANGST!!!!, forced proximity, szn one, yeah these first chaps are going to be rough😃

SUMMARY: it’s been a while since dean saw his little brother, but somehow the first thing sam winchester seems to ask is, “where’s your girlfriend?” god, how much he wished sam hadn’t said that.

WC: 3k

HEARTBREAK HISTORY

the ride from palo alto, california to jericho wasn’t too bad, just a couple of hours and the winchester brothers would be at the last known place of their father. but what should’ve been a decent ride catching up with his baby brother turned into one from the depths that encrusted dean’s soul.

“i’m surprised she’s not here. when i left, the two of you were attached at the hip.” sam was oblivious to the glaring truth that rolled off of dean in waves. it was evident in the way the eldest clenched his hands on the steering wheel, a white sheen taking over his knuckles. his jaw clenched when he thought about you; the five year old hair curler you brought everywhere because it gave you those ‘perfect, glossy waves’, the type of blush you used that made it look like rose petals had dusted across your cheeks. and those lips. god, how could dean forget about that kissable pout.

but sam didn’t know. he didn’t know how badly dean fucked up, he didn’t know that his eldest brother lied to keep the girl he loved safe, and that’s what made you hate him so much.

the hate you held for him was the fuel for the hate he had for you. but it wasn’t because of anything you did; no, dean winchester hated you because he hated himself. the way he could carelessly throw away something so good, something he’s had since he was nineteen. you screaming at him, tears dripping down your face as you watched his turn into a snarl, he hated himself for it.

that’s why dean forced himself to feel nothing but hate towards you; because if he kept loving you, it would tear him apart.

the night still plagued his mind, finding him in his dreams. that perfectly curled hair getting all messy as you yelled at him, your cheeks flushed an angry red instead of it’s dusty pink. and those lips, how they curved around the words to his demise, the words that dean planted in your mouth.

he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to even mention your name for the flood gates would burst and memories of laughter and pure happiness would leak through. happiness that dean threw away. but sam kept pestering, kept asking where you were, and dean was sure that if he gripped the steering wheel tighter, he might break his fingers.

“we broke up.” dean grit through his teeth, his molars rubbing against each other in an uncomfortable fashion as he watched sam’s face twist into shock. “about eight months ago.”

eight long, gruelling months of self-loathing and wishing you were beside him, running your hands through his hair and telling him everything was going to be okay. but it wasn’t, and it would never be again; dean made sure of that.

a splutter came from the passenger seat, sam still trying to grasp onto what his brother just said. “seriously? no, no way, you’ve got to be kidding!”

dean felt his blood run hot as sam continued to blubber in shock. he hasn’t seen his brother in years for gods sake, he should be happy, asking him how his time at stanford was. he shouldn’t be thinking about you, about all the things he could’ve had.

“not kidding sammy,” the words came out clipped, like he was forcing himself to talk about it. “haven’t even seen her since.”

dean was trying to act nonchalant, like voicing the end of your story was an everyday task for him, as though he could speak about it and shrug his shoulders. but dean couldn’t, he couldn’t stand the thought of it. it ripped and gnawed at his insides, making the love he had for you fester into hate. hate that he ruined it. hate that even though it wasn’t your fault, you let him ruin what you’d had.

sam was still rattling off his questions drenched in surprise, which dean couldn’t really blame him for. you two got together when sam was fifteen, he watched you two fall more and more in love for three years before he went off to school. this year would’ve been your seventh year anniversary. he had every right to be shocked.

“how did it happen?” oh god, dean wished he skipped that one. “was it mutual? did something bad happen? i’m sorry if i’m pushing dean, but i’m rightfully confused about this.”

“don’t worry, i can’t blame you.” sam could hear the sadness behind his brothers words, a hidden sorrow that he wouldn’t let anyone see. “but we were on two different paths. i didn’t want to drag her down with hunting, and she had other obligations, so we decided to end it.”

lie. lie. lie. the only truth in that statement was how he didn’t want to drag you down with hunting. but you didn’t have any other obligations, and it definitely wasn’t a mutual breakup. dean had lied to you to make it all the more easier to let you go, make you hate him so there was no way he’d come crawling back and put you in more danger.

sam just shook his head, wondering what could’ve swayed you and dean to end the relationship you two had been in for half a decade. “are you okay though?” he knew it was a stupid question the second he saw dean’s breaths quicken, air coming out of his nose like a raging bull about to charge. but he didn’t show any signs of anger or emotional turmoil. all dean could muster was a shake of his head, hands gripping the wheel so tight sam thought he was going to break his fingers.

“i’m fine, sammy.” the words didn’t sound convincing, but sam didn’t question. “let’s not talk about it, okay? we’re almost at the bridge where the last victims car was found, let just focus on the case.”

sam just nodded, briefly turning his head to look out the window at the rolling greenery. it was strange, you not being here. he was so used to cramming in the backseat, you upfront with your hair flowing in the wind, dean’s free arm either around your shoulder or his hand placed on your thigh. he didn’t want to question his brother any further, but the reasons he gave for your breakup didn’t make sense in his head. sam wanted to wait; wait until dean seemed to have a semblance of peace when it came to the topic of you before he went poking around anymore.

the rest of the ride to the bridge was fairly tame. sam asking dean about the case, about their father. dean answering the best he could while simultaneously trying to forget you. it was all very peaceful. two brothers who haven’t seen each other in years catching up.

that was until they made it to the bridge.

off the jump dean noticed something was off. on top of the multiple police cars, a red, volkswagen beetle stood out in the mix. it looked familiar, and dean couldn’t help but get a keen sense of deja vu when he saw it.

he also thought he was dreaming when he saw ur perfectly curled ponytail swish behind you as you talked to a police officer. but as you turned, and your face masked into an even more vivacious horror and simmering anger, dean knew he wasn’t in a state of rem.

“is that. . .” sam had breathed out, looking at his brother and seeing the utter disbelief and slight horror on his face. you hadn’t changed, not even one bit. when you had turned around, dean swore it was like the last time he saw you; those perfect pouty lips painted in a muted pink, those rosy cheeks and big eyes that were full of wonder.

you wore dark washed skinny jeans with knee high heeled boots, dark pink cardigan peeking out of your petticoat of the same colour. professional yet girly was how you described it, and dean suddenly wanted to vomit all over his shoes.

why were you here? hunting was the main reason that the two of you broke up, so seeing you in the middle of a suspicious death was unbeknownst to dean.

the feelings swimming in his gut was nauseating, a mix of sadness, regret, and anger for how he fucked everything up. you were as beautiful as the day he left you, and dean winchester was now starting to feel the repercussions of how much of a fucking fool he was.

your insides were churning all the same, the one thing you still had in common with your former lover. dean looked different; more gaunt a little more worn down. ‘good’ you thought, lifting your chin up as you walked over to him and his brother. ‘i hope he’s fucking hurting.’

with a deathly smile on your lips that had dean’s knees buckling, you completely sidestepped his frame and went for sam. “sammy!” you squealed, a noise that had dean’s knees buckling and heart twisting in jealousy for his own damn brother. “i can’t believe it’s you! i haven’t seen you in what? 4 years?”

sam laughed, a huff leaving his lips as you threw yourself into his arms. the makeshift hug left dean’s hands clenching, watching as sam’s eyes turned to his and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “yeah, i’m back. but only for this case, sunny, i have an interview for law school on monday.”

sunny. the nickname sam had given you when he was only sixteen. he used to call you that because it was what you brought out in his brother; the sun, all the happy emotions that john winchester lacked in delivering. you made everything around you bright, and sam always thought that the name was especially fitting for you.

a loud gasp ripped through your lips, pulling back a little until your hands rested on sam’s shoulders. “law? jeez sammy, i knew you were smart, but damn!”

your voice rang throughout the air as you laughed and reminisced with sam, completely ignoring the other winchester’s presence. it was infuriating, how easily you could pretend that dean wasn’t there. it was a cruel punishment. knowing everything about a person; their dreams, what they love, how they look when they just wake up, yet you couldn’t reach them. dean felt like an outsider looking in, a wall of fogged glass between him and the one he let go away.

after a good five minutes of having to listen to your conversation with sam, dean finally cleared his throat aggressively, watching as your smile slowly faded into a scowl as you turned your head to his. “if you don’t mind, we’ve got a case to get to, sweetheart. though if you’re too busy chatting up my brother, than i could just go and do all the heavy lifting.”

gritting out a smile, you squared back your shoulders and tilted your chin upwards so you could look dean in the eye. “mad i got here first winchester? obviously you’re not used to it, since i never finished when we fucked.”

sam sputtered on a cough, hand going to cover his mouth as he took in the words you’d just said. your back was to sam, so he couldn’t see your face, but he could see his brothers, and he was pissed. dean’s fists were clenched at his sides, and the crease in his eyebrows was heavily visible.

your face was passive, and dean seemed to be staring into your soul, egging you to tell sam about how that was far from the truth. his eyebrow quirked, and a devious smirk grew on his face.

“very mature,” he spoke through his grin, an shade of ease over his face, though his insides were speaking the complete opposite. “why are you here, sugar?”

sugar. a name you hadn’t heard in eight months. while sam called you sunshine because you brought a brightness to his brothers life, dean called you sugar because of how sweet you were. it was your automatic setting; always being kind, sweet, and chipper to anyone who you met. but dean’s reasoning behind it now wasn’t the same as it was eight months ago. it was cruel, demeaning, like he was attempting to rattle your bones like you’d done his.

dean had watched your face falter, the whit and spark behind your eyes dying. it left a dampen on his heart, but if you were going to play dirty, then so was he. shaking your head a little, you lifted your nose up to dean, trying to wave an air of calmness while you spoke to the man who ripped your heart out. “i got a random text with coordinates. i didn’t know who it was, so i called the number back and it was one of your dad’s phones. so, i decided to come check it out.”

this had sam and dean looking at each other over your shoulder. why would john be sending you the same coordinates he sent dean? he was aware of your relationship, and he was aware you knew of the supernatural, but he was also aware that you broke up.

sam gave dean a look, speaking volumes about how unpredictable and difficult their father was. but dean just ignored it, turning his eyes back to you with a smirk like a wild animal. “you decided to come check it out? why sugar? you worried about me?”

rolling your eyes at the huge ego on this man, you crossed your arms over your chest and gave him your best sneer — even though to dean it looked nowhere near threatening on your poised and pretty face.

“why would your dad be sending me coordinates, dean?” you replied in a sharp tone of voice. “i haven’t thought of you in the eight months since you threw our relationship down the drain, so get your head out of your ass!”

lie. lie. lie. you thought about dean everyday since he broke your heart. his reasons for a breakup were so sudden, not something you expected to happen in a long shot. he told you that you were dragging him down from what his hunting, that you were to clingy and needy and that he wanted to focus on his family business more.

you begged and pleaded for him, telling him that what he was saying didn’t make sense. but he would not budge, saying that you were through, that your seven year relationship had run it’s course. you’d gotten furious with him, yelling and saying how much of a coward he was, how he was a scared little boy afraid of commitment. but he just left, leaving your relationship and and heart in the trash.

the eight months since you’ve seen dean has been hard. so now, seeing him act all smug, like he didn’t completely tear you apart was infuriating.

dean just stared at you, his smirk dying down a little. had you really not thought about him? he’d thought about you, and a hell of a lot too. but he couldn’t let his guard down, couldn’t allow you to see that all those cruel and selfish things he said were fake.

“well, thanks for stopping by sweetheart, but sammy and i got it from here.” the smile plastered on dean’s face was pure mockery, and you had every inclination to smack it right off. sam, on the other hand, was as confused as the day he was born. what happened between the two of you? obviously dean lied when he said it ended on good terms, but he didn’t think it was this bad.

your stare hardened, and at that moment dean remembered how stubborn you were. “i’m not going anywhere,” you declared, body turning so you could face both sam and dean. “your dad clearly sent me these coordinates for a reason, so i’m staying until i figure out what’s going on.” dean wanted to argue, but he saw the way sam looked at him from the side of his eye, the way you stared him down with that ‘taking no for an answer’ attitude, and he couldn’t help but sigh, turning away and walking towards the impala.

his retreating frame allowed a huff from your lips, jokingly bumping shoulders with sam as you followed dean to the impala. the younger man just sighed, following behind you as he thought about how tiring this was going to be.

and he wasn’t wrong. the case was gruelling. you and dean were either arguing or sending petty jabs to each other. and when one of you disagreed with the other — which was all the time, it was like a war zone. sam thought he’d lived multiple years when they finally caught the ghost. when it was time to go back to stanford, sam caught you by your car, throwing his hand over your shoulder as you both watched dean pack the impala’s trunk.

“you’ll tell me the truth of what happened between you two?” his words came out hushed, a whisper that floated in the wind alongside the scraps and thuds of dean’s packing. “dean said you ended on good terms, but from what i saw today, i don’t believe it for a second.”

all you could do was scoff, appalled but not shocked that dean would lie to his brother about what happened. “ask dean,” you said finally, turning and giving him a paper with your number on it. “and call me when you find out his reasoning behind his bullshit. ‘cause i’m just as confused as you are.”

sam took your friend request with grace, giving you a small hug before he departed to go back to his future. you watched as dean stared at you for a second longer before getting in the car, peeling out of the driveway of the old home without a second thought.

it was weird; having to see dean again, getting the note from john. none of it made sense. but you were okay with things being a little confusing. after this intermission in yours and dean’s ignoring game, you realized you never wanted to see him again. you were content with not ever seeing his face again, and the peace in your stomach was slowly coming back.

but we know how the things we dream for sometimes don’t come true.

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @floralscented @bluemerakis @haunteres @foolinthera1n @figthoughts @vaiieydoii @taurus-0-queenie-33 @misatxox @milkb0nny @youdontknowe @woaheasytig3r @whyyouegg @mimiimmii @ln4author @goblynnrockz @emisworldd @kaz-2y5-spn @dolliristel @ninii-winchester @piertomaximoffsgirl @mochminnie @aquaalanah

NAT BABBLES: i am giving these two NO COMFORT WHAT SO EVER. they are going to hurt, be angry at one another, heavy HEAVY pining and groveling will also be ensued. hope you all have fun!!!

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 20/4/24

prompt: accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

pairing/character(s): steddie

i somehow wrote 1.8k... enjoy

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been this distracted by a customer before at work. He’s just so… hot. Like, the usual customers he serves are rich and well-dressed, sure. But they’re businessmen well-dressed, and that can’t even begin to describe this particular customer. He’s been calling him Hot Guy in his head for the past thirty minutes.

Hot Guy is in a suit, yes, but that’s not even the best part of this man’s look. The suit’s all black and hugs his waist deliciously, but it’s everything else that has Steve practically drooling where he stands by the bar, waiting for his next round of drinks to be made. Hot Guy looks a little less pristine and perfect than the usual businessmen; his hairs up in a messy ponytail, strands of a fringe framing his face, and he has beautiful silver earrings on and an expensive looking chain around his neck. And every time he moves just so, Steve gets to see a peek of a tattoo on his chest as his half-unbuttoned black shirt moves. Gorgeous…

“All ready for you, Steve.”

He’s snapped out of it by the bartender on shift, and looks at the bar to see, oh yes, all of his drinks are ready. He offers the bartender a smile and a thank you, and gets to balancing them on his serving tray.

See, he can get a little distracted by hot customers, but he can’t be seen as a slacker. He cannot afford to lose this job.

He and Robin finally were able to move to Chicago four months ago, and it took him three months (and a good chunk of his emergency savings) to find a job as a waiter at some restaurant. It’s not even a particularly nice job. Sure, the restaurant is fancy as hell, and the customers tip really fucking well, but the pay leaves much to be desired. Like, a usual customer (rich) tips him more than he gets paid for a whole shift! And he’s not complaining about the tips, per say, but when the restaurant’s clientele can tip that much… surely the restaurant can afford to pay their workers a decent wage!

Just as he manages to balance the drinks on his tray, he notices his newest co-worker, Danny, fiddling with his own collection of drink glasses. Danny looks awfully shifty as he glances over his shoulder at a table and then takes a small sachet out of his pocket, tears a corner and pours it into one of the wine glasses.

Steve’s eyes narrow at the action. What the fuck?

Over the last week of Danny working at the restaurant, he has thought him to be unpleasant at best and suspicious at worst. The one time Steve tried to make conversation with him, just asking where he worked before there, he got a glare and a clipped comment about not getting personal. Now that he thinks about it, Steve doesn’t even know Danny’s last name.

He watches Danny pick up the tray, do a final glance around the restaurant (either not perceiving Steve as a threat or not seeing him stood five feet away), and walks toward the table area.

And he’s not saying Danny would poison a customer. He’s not saying that, because that is insane. But. What’s the alternative? That Danny got a request to put, like, powdered vitamins in someone’s drink? It’s just shifty that’s all!

And, like he said, he can’t afford to lose this job.

That includes if it gets shut down for becoming a murder scene. Or him accidentally abetting a murder by not doing anything!

What does he even do? He’s going to look genuinely insane, whether he's right or wrong.

Danny reaches a table (it’s the table Hot Guy is seated at) with his tray, and plasters on a customer service smile as he starts dishing out the drinks. Steve keeps an eye on the (possibly) tainted wine glass as Danny puts it down in front of- in front of Hot Guy. Shit.

Steve’s heart starts speeding up as he watches Hot Guy pick up the wine glass, inspecting it and giving it a little swirl before starting to lift it, and- fuck it.

Steve bolts over to the table, definitely knocking over another server’s tray as he goes, and has to shove the wine glass out of Hot Guy’s hand to stop whatever’s about to happen.

The liquid splashes onto Hot Guy’s chest (Steve hopes the poison isn’t, like, corrosive), then the glass shatters to the floor, and Steve’s left heaving as he catches his breath. Not from the exercise, but from the adrenaline rush. Because Steve is- oh god, he’s in Hot Guy’s lap.

He scrambles to stand up, cheeks bright red, and chances a glance at Danny. On the surface, Danny looks shocked and apologetic to the rest of the businessmen at the table, but Steve sees his right eye twitch and his ears start to tint red. Okay. So. Even if he looks crazy, maybe he made a good move.

He looks back toward Hot Guy only to find that he’s already being watched with an inquisitive gaze. The man still has his hand held up like he’s holding the wine glass still, and he has one (perfectly manicured) eyebrow raised at Steve. Steve feels his cheeks heat up even more under his attention.

“I am so sorry, sir.” Steve finds himself blurting out, but Hot Guy just shakes his head at him, oddly calm.

“I’ll get you another drink, Mr Munson.” Danny says, giving Steve a pointed glare before walking away.

Hot Guy- No. Mr Munson looks like he’s about to say something, but Steve needs to get him somewhere he can tell him what happened away from other people and before Danny tries it again, so he boldly puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. The possibility of looking crazy be damned.

“Let me help you get cleaned up, sir.”

Mr Munson considers him for a moment more, and then nods. Maybe he sees the frantic, anxious look in Steve’s expression, or maybe he just wants to yell at Steve outside of the view of his assumed co-workers.

"I'll be right back. Don't talk business without me." Mr Munson addressed his table before following him off.

Steve leads him to the customer toilets, and then takes him to the staff hallway just behind them. Mr Munson’s eyebrows raise at that, and at the serious expression on Steve’s face.

“Sir, I’m so sorry for that, but I… This is going to sound insane, but I think my co-worker poisoned your drink.”

He levels Mr Munson with a serious expression as he speaks, trying to negate the craziness of what he’s saying by showing he’s not joking. Through doing so, of course, Steve also gets the chance to get a better look at Mr Munson’s face, which is just… like he said earlier, gorgeous. And that’s not even talking about the deep brown of his eyes.

Mr Munson doesn’t even flinch at Steve’s words, just looks down at the wine on his shirt with a vague look of disgust.

“I see.”

He doesn’t sound surprised. What the fuck? Who is this man?

“You don’t seem shocked.” Steve finds himself saying, and then his eyes widen and he smacks a hand over his mouth, “Ignore me! I don’t want to get involved in any, um. Not crimes. I’m going to stop talking now.”

As he keeps talking, Mr Munson’s face contorts into an amused smile, and his gaze wanders over Steve’s form, then back up to his eyes. When Steve’s done rambling, the man laughs.

“No. I’m not shocked.” Is all Mr Munson says, “But unfortunately, you are involved now, sweetheart.”

Steve feels the colour drain from his face at the words and the serious tone Mr Munson speaks them in, but before he can even squeak (or scream) in response, the Staff Only door slams open, and Steve is greeted with two pistols pointed at him.

Then he squeaks. And puts his hands up in a surrender position, even though the two men glaring at him don’t look like police officers. They’re wearing suits, like they’re customers of the restaurant. And they completely ignore Steve in favour of scanning over Mr Munson.

Holy shit. What the fuck is his life? Robin will never believe him when he gets home. If he gets home.

“Put the guns down, boys.” Mr Munson says from beside Steve, and then (gently) puts his hands on Steve’s arms to push them back down to his sides, “No need for all that, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Eddie. We thought- you just disappeared, and we heard glass shattering, so-” One of the gunmen says, stumbling through his words slightly.

“We thought you’d been kidnapped. Again.” The other says, looking unimpressed.

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Steve notes how he hasn’t removed his hands from him yet.

“I’ve been told that- sorry, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Eddie starts, maintaining eye contact with Steve only.

Sweetheart. Kill him now. How is his dick still working in these conditions, and why is 'sweetheart' doing it for him? Maybe it's more to do with Eddie himself than the word...

“Steve.” He squeaks out.

“Right. Steve, here, thinks my drink was poisoned by his co-worker. He’s the culprit for the glass, and this,” Eddie gestures to his wet shirt, “and then he took me here to clean me up.”

“What’s the name of this co-worker?” One of the gunmen ask Steve, voice intense, and when Steve just blinks at him he takes a step forward like he’s about to put a hand on him. Steve can’t help his flinch in response.

Which Eddie apparently feels, given the way he tsks at his men and takes a step back, pulling Steve with him.

“No threatening my possible saviour, Jeffy. This isn’t an interrogation.”

“His- His name’s Danny. I don’t know a last name.” Steve says finally, and gulps when Eddie rubs his thumbs back and forth where his hands are still on him.

“Good boy.” Eddie says softly, and Steve can’t help the shudder that runs through him.

Okay. It's confirmed. Apparently being mildly traumatised by guns doesn’t stop him from getting horny. Good to know. Hopefully Eddie doesn't notice how red he's gotten again.

Eddie finally lets go of him to step toward his men.

“You heard the man. Gareth, go get a sample of the wine that spilled on the floor and figure out if Stevie here is right, and Jeff, go tell everyone else who we’re looking for and find Danny.”

The two gunmen leave with their orders, and Eddie turns back to Steve. He’s looking at Steve with that intense gaze once again, eyes dragging down to his beat-up Reeboks and back up to his dishevelled face.

“Now, how can I reward you for probably saving my life, sweetheart?”

[slut4hee]

Slut4Hee 2025 WIPS

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Nevertheless Series

{Paring: Toxic Lee Heeseung x Fem! Reader

{Genre: smut, fluff, angst, toxic relationships. This fic is inspired, by one of my favorite kdramas, called nevertheless. It’s about heartbreak, love, lust, and companionship. 18+ so (mdni).

{Synopsis: Lee Heeseung was like breath of fresh poisonous air to your healthy lungs. He was the fire that ignited your flame, the missing piece to your unfinished puzzle. Lee Heeseung, was also the one who destroyed you, the one who clipped your beautiful wings off your body, and shattered your whole innocent being. But still you remained attached to him, drawn in by his dark aura, and blinded by his charming and enchanting presence. You got it bad, but nevertheless…

{Warnings: explicit themes, alcohol consumption, smoking, rough sex, unprotected sex, big dick heeseung soft dom heeseung, sub reader, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), spanking, corruption, manipulation, love bombing jealousy, cheating (but not really cheating?), Heeseung is hella toxic and a jerk in the beginning, reader is very emotional and down bad for this man, Heeseung has a butterfly tattoo on the back of his neck, lmk if I missed anything!!!

꩜ .ᐟ Teaser

You held onto your chest, feeling your heart beating rapidly. You feel like the air has been stolen from out of your lungs, and you physically can’t breathe, the pain is so unbearable and excruciating.

You should have known sooner or later that you weren’t the only one, but still, your fucked up head told you otherwise. You watched as their lips moved sensually, his hands gripping her waist, and squeezing the fatty flesh.

Tears slowly start to steam down your face, and you can feel yourself going into a panic attack, as the girl lets out a quiet moan, as he sucks on the flesh of her neck. You start to hyperventilate, feeling yourself drifting into the void of darkness, your chest feels tight, your head is pounding and your legs feel weak.

Your body is frozen as you watch, his hands explore her body sinfully, and he whispers to her “you’re a beautiful butterfly” you feel sick to your stomach, as your heart pleads with you to tear it out. That’s what he always called you, his little butterfly, his muse. You can’t take it anymore, you need to get out of here, before you die of a broken heart.

A part of you wonders, if he was to find your lifeless body laying here, with a tear drop running down your cheek before it dries up, would he even care. Would he laugh at your pathetic self, or would he cry and beg for you to wake back up.

And that’s when it happens, your eyes locked with his, his facial expression is unreadable, but you know exactly what’s hidden behind those stone cold eyes of his. He smirks at you, before pulling away from the girl, telling her he’s had enough for tonight.

The girl tries everything in her power, to keep the session going, throwing herself shamelessly at him to spend the night with her. He declines her offer politely, kissing her forehead before he stepped away from her. Almost like the girl was hypnotized or in a trance, she nodded, before kissing him one last time goodbye and taking her leave.

Gaining control over your body, you hurried and hid yourself further into the staircase, watching as the smiling girl walked passed you. There’s a hickey clear as day on the right side of her neck, you can hear your heart shattering into pieces.

You peaked from the side of staircase, immediately making eye contact with Heeseung. It was almost like he spoke to you, without actually exchanging words, as you managed to pull yourself away from hiding and made your way over to him. You looked up at him with tears still in your eyes, your body trembling as you stare deep into his dark orbs.

He can see the hurt and pain radiating from your body, but it does nothing to affect him, instead he just smiles at you and wipe the tear that threatens to fall from your waterline. All you want to do is slap the fuck out of him, and tell how much of a fuckboy he is, but you don’t have it in you to even lay a finger on his beautiful face.

“She just wanted to see how it feels” he looked into your eyes, staring into your soul, as he ghosted his lips against yours. You held back a sob, as you turned away from him, stepping away and looking down at the ground. He slowly walked over to you, and hugged you from the back.

“I really wanted to try it with you, my muse” he hummed, turning your body back around to face him. You looked at him with an unreadable, expression falling into the trap of his alluring voice.

He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, before leaning down, and pulling you into a soft sensual kiss. You were so disgusted with yourself, for letting him kiss you, after his lips was just on another girl. Like a million butterflies erupting inside your stomach, you once again have given yourself willingly to Lee Heeseung.

“𝙉𝙤 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙧𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙡𝙮, 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡, 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤“....

—————————————————————————

Land Of The Riches

{Paring: Rich Top Student Kim Leehan x Scholarship Student Fem! Reader

{Genre: smut, college au, private school au, fluff, toxic relationship, fwb?? Rich kid things, 18+ so (mdni).

{Synopsis: Stepping into a world, you knew you didn’t belong to was something you really didn’t participate doing. The flashy earrings and watches accompanied by the students, and the all black luxury cars, pulling up in front of the school with chauffeurs present in the front seat of them. Truth is, you didn’t come from a rich background, in fact your parents could never afford to pay for you to go here out of pocket, but your high IQ and your excellent grades landed you a full on scholarship spot at New Winchester University. Fitting in was going to be a hell of a challenge, but it seems you are already making progress, since the star student Leehan has taken a liking to you.

{Warnings: explicit themes, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, squirting, face sitting, mutual masturbation, sexual acts in public (they fuck in the library, and Leehan fingers reader in class), dirty talk, pet names, bullying, manipulation, corruption kink, cheating, (no I don’t condone cheating so pls hush it’s all fictional love), Leehan is preppy cocky rich mf, alcohol consumption, smoking, lmk if I missed anything!!!

꩜ .ᐟ Teaser

“Fuuuck that’s it doll, suck that fucking cock like you mean it” Leehan grunted, his hand holding your head in place, while his other hand holds his phone up as he record you sucking him off. You don’t know how you managed to find yourself, in this situation with your head between Leehan’s legs, doing unholy things to him.

Wait in fact you do, it all started with him staring at you in class, studying you, and hypnotizing you with his enchanting and flirtatious aura. Not long after, the boy convinced you to skip class with him, asking you to have a smoke with him.

You made it clear to him you didn’t smoke, but he insisted you come with him, and that you could just accompany him. And that’s how you ended up here, with Leehan abusing your throat, with his long thick length.

“Holy shit princess, I knew you would be so good at this. Look at me baby” he groaned when your eyes locked with his and then the camera. Your eyes widened at the realization, that he was recording you. You pulled off his dick and covered your face quickly.

“W-why are you recording me, please turn it off” you stuttered out, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He chucked lowly, grabbing your chin, and wiping some of the drool and his pre cum that drips on the side of your mouth.

“Oh C’mon baby girl, I swear I won’t show anyone, matter of fact, I pinky promise” he pouted cutely at you, caressing your chin lovingly as he manipulates you into giving him what he wants. Of course you ended up giving in. Not being able to resist his puppy dog face and menacing attics.

“Fine, just p-please don’t show anyone, please don’t” you pleaded with him, his eyes lit up and a smirk appeared on his handsome face. You felt your heart skip a beat at his stupid beautiful smile, easily falling into his trap. You grabbed his throbbing cock, pumping it a couple of times, before taking back inside your wet mouth.

“Oooh my fucking goddd, damnit that feels so good slut” he whined, bucking his hips up, causing you to gag around his dick. He groaned deeply, pushing your head roughly as he fucked into your mouth desperately. He stuggled to keep ahold of his phone, his legs trembling and shaking as he chased his high.

“F-fuck Y/n, I’m so close, you gonna be a good little whore and let me cum in your mouth right?” He cooed as he caressed your cheek lovingly. You clenched around nothing, your thighs rubbing together, as your panties became sticky with your leaking arousal Leehan noticed that and chuckled lowly.

Suddenly his phone ringed, pausing the recording, he groaned in frustration and rolled his eyes as he went to answer it. You panicked, about to pull away but he glared at you, giving you stern look as he shock his head no at you. Your eyes widened at the realization that he wants you to keep sucking him while he talks on the phone.

“Hey baby what’s up” he answered, rolling his yes at the loud girl over the phone. Your felt a churn in your stomach, at the fact that he’s talking on the phone with who you believe to be Yu Karina, aka his 𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇𝙁𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙉𝘿!!!

You hear the girl on the other end, pouting and acting babyish, as she complains to Leehan for being late to their ice cream date. Some sick part of you, enjoys the fact that Karina is waiting for Leehan to show up to their date, meanwhile you’re sucking the life out of him. Truth is Karina has bullied you since day one, calling you an outsider, poor, and a pathetic nerd.

Your lips turned into a smirk, at the thought of Karina, finding out her so called perfect little boyfriend is currently getting mind blowing head from this so called nerd.

“I’m sorry baby girl, I had some important things to deal with, I’ll be there soon” he said in a sweet and apologetic tone, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his false claims, which didn’t go unnoticed by Leehan, him thrusting his length deeper inside your throat causing you to gag.

You heard Karina on the other line, asking him if he’s okay and what was that sound. He quickly comes up with a bullshit lie, saying that he drank something nasty and spat it out.

You decided to test the waters, sucking on his cock a little faster, and fondling his heavy balls. Leehan threw his head back, choking back a deep moan before harshly biting his bottom lip to conceal his sounds.

“S-sweetheart, I have to call you back, I’m in the middle of something” he stuttered, his composure dropping slowly, as he tried his hardest not to shoot his load deep inside your throat. He quickly hung up the phone, before grabbing your head roughly, and pushing it all the way down before fucking aggressively into your mouth.

“You fucking slut, you almost got me fucking caught. You’re that damn desperate for my cock that you have to show the fuck out” he spat angrily at you, but a shit eating grin was plastered across his face. You whimpered, and gagged around his dick, as tapped and scratched on his thighs for him to slow down.

“What’s wrong darling, can’t breathe because you have a mouth full of cock” he chuckled menacingly at you, before yanking your blouse open, some of the buttons flying across the bathroom stall.

“𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥”....

A/n: Yup that’s right, slut4hee is making her return back to tumblr world🤭 these are some projects yall can look forward starting next year. As I stated before I am a very slow writer and I’m a very busy person, I work full time and go to school🙂‍↕️ but teehee I’m so excited to release these works next year, especially the Leehan one bc wtff I’m so down bad for dom Leehan like pussy is soaked rn do you hear me?! But please please look forward to these some time next year pookies mwah luv u all🫶🏽🩷 not proofreading shit😭

—————————————————————————

Taglist:

@i03jae @ataver @ancnymcnzjy @jooniesbears-blog

[1425fivefive]

Ruined orgasm + norstappen

my favorite kink with my current favorite pairing 🥹 i love you darling anon (from this kink prompt ask)

“Please, Max,” Lando whines, thighs shaking next to Max’s ears, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch. “Need to come.”

Max wants to roll his eyes despite the cock in his mouth. He knows Lando’s desperate to come because Lando hasn’t been able to shut up about it. Lando always gets like this when Max doesn’t get him off, whiny and pouty, moping around the flat like he’s being tortured. Always grumbling about how sore his balls are, how he can’t sleep when he’s hard, how he hates waking up with his underwear all sticky.

Max thinks the problem is he spoils Lando too much. Makes Lando think that if he just begs enough, Max will give in. The thing is, Max does, usually. He likes watching Lando come too much—the way Lando’s mouth drops open in a perfect little o, how his eyes go all wide and wet, how he always comes so much, all over his taut stomach. Max loves licking it off him, dragging his tongue over Lando’s skin while Lando shakes under him, letting out breathy whines when Max gets too close to his cock.

The real problem, Max thinks, is that his desires are mutually opposed—he wants to watch Lando come but he doesn’t want to reward him for all his whining, which an orgasm, inherently, does.

But Max got an idea a few months ago while Lando was showing him some porn clip he liked, a man getting tied up and edged until, right at the last minute, the dom takes his hands away, forcing the sub to spill all over himself without anything touching him, awful and unsatisfying.

“You’d like that?” Max asked, eyes glued to the screen.

Lando shifted next to him tucking one socked foot over the other. “Dunno, if ‘like’ is the right word, mate.”

“But you’d let me do that to you?” Max asked, finally glancing over at Lando.

Lando’s cheeks were flushed and he was chewing on his lip but he nodded, once.

Max hasn’t really thought about it since, too distracted by the season, too busy to really think about all the ways he wanted to torture Lando. But it’s winter break and now they have nothing but time.

Max pulls off Lando’s cock, letting his hand take over. Lando shivers at the change of stimulation, twitching in Max’s hold, squirming against the sofa cushions. Max loves Lando like this, desperate and strung out, almost unbearably sensitive to every touch. If everything goes to plan, Max can keep him this way for a few days longer.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Max says.

Lando whimpers, blinking down at Max with wet eyes. He already looks close to tears. Good, Max thinks. He sort of wants to make him cry.

“You’ll let me come, yeah?” Lando asks, lip quivering like he expects Max to say no.

“Yeah, I’ll let you come,” Max says. It’s not a lie, technically.

“Fuck, thank you,” Lando whines, fucking up into Max’s fist, relief clear in his voice.

Max has to hide his smile by sinking back down on Lando’s cock, sucking Lando exactly the way Lando likes, the way that Max knows will have Lando on the edge in minutes.

Sure enough, after a minute, Lando’s eyes are squeezed tight and he grits out, “M’close.”

Max pulls off, still stroking Lando with his hand. “Then come.”

Lando’s mouth drops open in that perfect little o, eyes flying open. Max feels Lando’s cock kick in his hand and Max gives one more stroke before pulling his hand away, watching in awe as Lando starts to spill over his stomach, his neglected cock pulsing and twitching, spurting come all over his tan skin.

“Max,” Lando cries out, staring down at his cock with a devastated expression. “Fuck, Max, please, I don’t—” He breaks off on a sob, hands flying up to cover his face as his cock keeps spilling.

"M'not coming," Lando says, voice muffled by his hands as he lets out another shuddering sob. "M'not." But his cock pulses another wave of come even as he says it, and Max knows it must feel like nothing. Knows it must feel awful to want it so bad and have it not even feel good.

The thought has Max achingly hard, and he has to bring a hand down to touch himself as he watches Lando come.

As Lando’s orgasm starts to peter out, Max reaches his free hand up to tug Lando’s hands away from his face, revealing Lando's tear-stained cheeks, his eyes and face a splotchy red.

Lando gives him a miserable look and lets out a heartbroken little, “Max.”

“What do you say after you come?” Max asks. He knows he’s being a dick but, however much Lando complains about it, he knows Lando likes when he’s a dick. That Lando wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

“Fuck you,” Lando snivels, bringing a hand up to scrub away a tear.

Max barks out a laugh, hand speeding up on his cock. “If you want me to let you come anytime in the next month,” Max says, “you’ll be polite.”

“I didn’t even come,” Lando says, letting out another sob.

Max brings a hand to Lando’s stomach, dragging two fingers through the mess and holding it up to Lando’s lips. “You did, baby. Look how much you came.”

Lando whimpers but he lets Max push his fingers into his mouth, sucks his own come off them. When Max pulls his fingers free, Lando whispers, “Thank you.” 

“Fuck,” Max groans, pushing to his feet, planning to add to the mess on Lando’s stomach.

Lando makes an anguished noise at the sight. “Don’t you fucking dare, Max, don’t make me watch you fucking come.”

Max comes.

[actual-changeling]

this one is thanks to a post by @thegroovyfool because she is very much correct - we do not talk about aziraphale's "i need you" enough.

so once again, with a deep breath and a sigh, welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, where i tear apart the confession scene frame by frame. i'm gonna say, watching this particular clip over and over and focusing on aziraphale's face almost took me out.

let's get into it.

first, how about a little look at our starting point. (any blurry screencaps are due to a LOT of movement on michael's part rip)

crowley is very pointedly facing away from him, he turned after aziraphale said "we can be together - angels!", presumably because being offered exactly what he wants in the one way he cannot have it fried his brain, cause besties it surely fried mine.

aziraphale on the other hand looks openly desperate, which is why he says "i need you." more on that later. let's have a look at how he says it, because michael "microexpressions" sheen is putting in the work.

to me, he seems close to tears, his eyes are glistening in that specific "i'm about to cry my eyes out" way i know from looking in the mirror while crying

he is trying to get crowley to listen to him and to turn around. he wants crowley to face him, which is something most people tend to want during an argument. talking to someone who is not looking at you tends to make someone frustrated and like they're not hearing you/do not care about what you have to say.

aziraphale looks close to despair, his i need you is a plea to crowley to come with him. he is opening himself up not just emotionally but physically, too.

he slightly leans forward, his arms are raised and seem to both slightly grasp for crowley and point towards his chest/heart for emphasis. the pure pain visible on his face knocks the air out of me every single time i look at it.

aziraphale is admitting to needing him, something he has never done before, hell, he has told him the exact opposite on numerous occasions. i don't need you. and while they both knew it was a) a lie and b) a way for him to deal with his conflicting emotional standpoints and cognitive dissonance, it still hurt crowley every. single time.

crowley was there for him no matter what, he knows aziraphale needs him but he came back and remained at his side even when he was pushed away and more or less openly insulted. he endured it all.

aziraphale saying i need you now is pretty much a slap in the face but also what crowley needs to hear. as with everything that happens during the entire conversation, the timing is fucked up and they're talking past each other.

in my opinion, that is why crowley does not react.

only when aziraphale turns spiteful and starts questioning his understanding (aka calling him stupid without outright saying it) does he re-enter the conversation.

aziraphale, however, is upset. now, i will put on my tinhat for just a second and turn up the insanity because there are two more things i want to talk about.

first, the little stutter at the beginning.

"i ngk - i need you."

my question is - why? why does he stumble over these words in particular when it does not happen with any other sentence? the only other time is right after crowley walks away with his "good luck", he stumbles over crowley's name.

so, in short, it happens when he is either caught off-guard or saying something incredible emotional.

and this, everyone, is where i go unhinged in my interpretation.

what if he initially did not want to say "i need you?" what if he was so caught up in getting crowley to stay/come with him that he did not think and almost confessed another three word sentence?

what if he was about to say "i love you" but stopped himself because no, that's too direct, they don't do that, they can't do that. it goes against EVERYTHING they have silently build over the last six thousand years. so he chokes on it. he chokes on it and instead he says "i need you" because it means the same thing.

i need you. don't leave me. come with me. be an us. go off together.

i forgive you. i love you.

they say it over and over again because that's the only way they can say it.

that is why aziraphale is so angry and upset after saying it. he told crowley he loves him, he needs him, and all he got in return was silence.

the funny part is that this code may have worked before, but it no longer does. crowley is too hurt to listen to what aziraphale is trying to tell him, and aziraphale is equally as hurt and also not listening anymore.

the funny part is that it stopped being about love and started being about sides again. my side, your side, our side. choose a side, choose our side, choose me.

the funny part is that beelzebub and gabriel told them what they need to do, i found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

marvel men- stoner edition

this is how i think the marvel men would act while you (and them) are high:) please enjoy and get baked appropriately, whichever method you choose stay safe! <3

peter parker

- one word. munchies.

-this man prepares an entire feast before the two of you get high and he gets so hungry it’s not even funny. you pray to get a bite in… but he cooks such good food, so you can’t complain.

-you bring over a desert so it’s even, last time it was chocolate fudge brownies and he kissed the chocolate off your lips

- he’s very touchy, always wanting to cuddle!1!1 more than normal, like he literally sits you on his lap despite there being an empty chair next to him

-you guys watch starwars movies often, or compilations of brain rot that you both know all the references to- you laugh with him for hours to the point you’re silently dying, tears down your face and needing to call a time out

-often times you get high at his place, with lots of low, dim christmas lights, open windows for the nice breeze (and so you can sit on the fire escape) and he always makes sure your spot on the bed is made and has stuffies!

-essentials- fuzzy blankets. his camera (to take pictures of you), fuzzy peaches and baggy clothes

bucky barnes

- super good at rolling. you make him roll everything for you and he pretends to get annoyed but secretly he loves it

- he has a much higher tolerance then you so it’s super funny when you’re already on cloud nine and he’s barley high yet, he makes fun of you

- he’s super protective of you if you guys go out, normally you go to the gas station to grab snacks because it’s close by, but despite this he holds you close and always is slightly in front of you when people are around to shield you

- you guys typically smoke at the little creek by your house and watch the stars or in your room, from out the window

- he really likes your room (mainly your bed) and is constantly insisting on cuddling, which results in you freaking out because he threatens to wear his outside clothes under the sheets if you don’t hurry up

- super calm and relaxed, but still alert to protect you! even if you’re in your home, he’s still a guard dog

- you tend to play with his hair and put butterfly clips in it (he “does not” like this)

- usually if you’re at your house you watch lord of the rings

- essentials- his fancy lighter he likes to show off, chocolate covered pretzels, baggy clothes and a nerf gun (to protect you ofc)

steve rogers

- says “do a flip!” to anyone who is on a high surface, including you

- he always brings his notebook because he claims his ideas flow better when he’s had a few hits, so sometimes he’ll just randomly pull it out and write or draw

- he likes to draw you a lot whenever you guys get high together

- huge video game lover! you guys play Minecraft together at his house and build little villages (and then he brings you to the nether with no weapons so you’re running around freaking out)

- #1 fruit gummy and goldfish lover

- if he slid his hand on your upper thigh and gave you that look he knows drives you wild, you would have 216 nickles. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it happened 216 times (you fuck after)

- does spot on fuck boy impressions to make you piss your pants from laughing so hard

- essentials- a game, lunchbox snacks, thin blankets (so he doesn’t get hot, he’s picky), and his notebook

matt murdock

- he likes to eat “treats” that you bake, his favourite is the homemade rice kripsies with weed butter

- you guys always cheers them before you eat them after a nice homemade, candle lit dinner

- typically you guys lounge on the couch and like getting stoned when it’s storming so you can listen to the rain on the roof (his high, echoing loft makes it louder:) )

- he’s old fashioned, you guys make a charcuterie board and play board games like chutes and ladders and battleship

- matt like to run you a bath, light some candles and play with your hair while you watch a cheesy sitcom

- lazy make out sessions allll the time, and being perched up on his knee while he rubs your arms and back

- words of affirmation… always. he already tells you stuff all the time but when he’s stoned it’s every two sentences. “you’re so soft and sweet and so good” is a classic, where he rambles on

- just really romantic:) also SEXY! but sexy romantic. he takes care of you and touch is a must

essentials- red wine, sweet smelling candles, his dog eared box game of battleship and some good italian bread

loki laufeyson

- this man… yeah. sex!

- the two of you stretch out with a soft blanket and watch compilations of people acting like idiots and getting hurt, or super bad reality tv to laugh

- i feel like he’s artistic! whenever you guys smoke that side comes out even more, so you guys often paint together- recently you did that trend where you painted your partner in real time

- he’s a cat man so your black cat locks is always with you, curled up in a ball or slung across his shoulder

- he really likes frozen/ cold fruits. like frozen grapes. i feel he would have a deep connection to them and would feed them to you like some greek goddess

- sometimes you guys smoke before a night out in town, and you go see a play or something and eat sooo much popcorn up in those little balcony boxes

- late walks in the city too, to look at all the pretty lights and such! he often snags you a fresh baked good from a vendor to nibble one

- essentials- his cat, his grapes, and his lady!! also he has this really soft pair of sweatpants he likes to wear, black of course! you guys have matching ones

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, fade-to-black, nudity, suggestive descriptions, dirty jokes, etc.

A/N: Taglist is full.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Johnny watches you slap another news clipping to the board he’d bought you for thirty-two dollars and twenty-three cents, tired eyes blinking slowly. Standing in his apartment’s living room in his boxers and an oversized shirt, he’d woken up to the sound of muttering, and it had been just that for the last week. 

When he’d allowed you to live in his spare room until you could find a new apartment building to call your own, he didn’t expect you there to be so much grumbling. Like a little bug in his ear—not that he minded all that much. At least, if you were that bug.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “How did he find me? How did he know I already knew so much about the case?”

He, the arsonist.

Your entire building had been a total loss—and, sure enough, the lock had been busted off of your apartment door just like the scene of the fires that resulted in casualties. You had been targeted, and it wasn’t just an accident. There was intent there; a threat. 

Stay away from me, or else. 

Johnny had sighed long when he read that in the report he’d gotten his hands on—there was no way in hell anything was stopping you except…well, except yourself.

While he had envisioned one day potentially asking you to move in with him, he hadn’t expected that to happen so soon. Certainly not before the first fucking date. He hadn’t even gained the courage to ask you out yet, and here you were—pajama pants polling at your ankles and Johnny’s baggy sweatshirt loose around your shoulders. The Scot stands with the heat of sleep and attraction on his skin. 

He tried not to stare, really he did, but the way you looked in his clothes was too much of a distraction for his own good. 

The man clears his throat, face burning. 

“I’m beggin’ you to give it a rest, Dearie. At least five minutes.” Johnny sighs. “It’s not healthy.”

He doesn’t think he’s seen you shed a tear over your apartment—about your belongings. In reality, he was taken aback by it. Soap wouldn’t have blamed you at all…but you just seemed angry. It worried him, but the emotion was well within your right to hold. Just as it was within his right to try and keep you from rushing into danger.

“Not now,” you grumble. “Not until I know how he found out my room number.” 

“You aren’t exactly unknown.” The fireman walks closer to your standing form, hand moving up to scratch at his back as he gunts. “Mostly everyone who would care to look into your career knows about you. It wouldn’t be hard.” 

Johnny moves his vision over the board, pausing before he licks his lips.

“...They’ll be needing me in today, Hen,” he breathes. 

Your lips tighten, and you glance over quickly to find blue eyes already looking. Snapping your attention back to the board, you push back against the burn of your face.

“It’s your job, I’m not going to tell you not to go in.”

“If you need me here, then I can—”

“John,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a heavy frown and turning his way. “No way. Go in.”

Johnny’s serious face doesn’t lessen, and you’re struck with how often those lines on his face are becoming commonplace.

You wouldn’t say that you were taking this well. 

Forcing yourself to work; making your mind push back at the deep pit that seemed to be growing. Everything you’d worked for—everything you’d had. Gone. Up in smoke.

Two people had died in that inferno, and you can’t help but put that on yourself. 

Fingers going up to tap at your chin, your attention goes back to the board, the heavy weight of bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. You’d tried to re-write what you had in your notes as well as you were able, but there had been a reason for making a physical board in the first place. 

Johnny watches you, his brows tight and his fingers twitching. Sighing, he fixes his feet and lightly places a hand on the back of your spine, blinking quickly your eyes dart over before the tension begins to bleed from your muscles. 

Your gaze begins to soften, but your voice is still a light firmness. “Stop that.”

The man blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop being all…” You huff, sagging into his hand. “You.” 

Johnny pushes a chuckle, shifting to stare at you fully and letting the smirk move over his lips. His fingers move along your back, rubbing tiny circles as the room goes airy—how quick it was that you could fall into this sense of attachment. To anyone outside of the apartment, it would seem the two of you were in a strange relationship, and that would be true to some extent. 

Your face heats up, and Johnny’s large palm flattens. He moves and presses his nose into your hair.  

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, then?” He grunts, and you can feel his flickering smirk as clear as day. 

Leaning over into him, you sigh, glaring at the board as your heart patters. 

“It means you’re distracting me.”

Johnny hums, thumb moving up and down over the knob of your spine.  “Talk to me,” he mutters. “Let me help, aye?” He blinks slowly, face hot and his lungs palpitating in his chest. The man cared about you so much—his heart ached for what you’d been put through. Losing a home like that. 

Your lashes flutter, a near purr emitting from your throat at the hypnotic movements of Johnny’s grip. Like a damn harpy, he was digging his claws into you; it had been happening for months. Of course, you’d let him touch you—how could you not? Even his sense of courage and justice was something that let you know his character, his honor. 

This case was just as important to him as it was to you. 

“Go,” you mutter, shifting your head so that you can stare at him. Johnny’s visage pulls back, his stubble moving with the worried angle of his lips; his skull tilts, almost like a dog cocking its snout. “We can figure something out later—if I get you fired I’d finally gain a conscious.” 

Johnny sighs, looking you up and down. “...I’ll be making dinner tonight. Just,” he breathes, and as his hand leaves you, your body fights the instinct to shiver. “Wait for me, Bonnie.” 

You take in the closeness between the two of you—how your bodies melt into one another as if on instinct. Something was startling about how easy it was to live in the same apartment as Johnny. It had almost been too easy. Sharing food, blankets, and looks.

Your eyes follow after Soap as he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before turning and walking back to his room, bare feet padding over the floor. His legs move, small burns and scars all over before your vision travels up the broadness of his back; the stretch of his arms as he brings them up with a groan to itch at his head.

Licking your lips, the sight is enough to quiet your mind. Seeing how, like water, his clothes morph into the swell of his thighs and the…your face bursts into fire, and your head snaps away. 

Clearing your throat, you blink quickly and try to re-focus on your board of suspects.

—

Johnny tightens the belt over his waist, huffing softly as he walks into the fire department’s bay door—passing the red trucks and patting the dogs as they come up to mob him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, the clicking of little claws tapping over the concrete floors and the panting of hot breath. “Good to see you too, little rascals.” 

The fireman looks around the area, seeing some of the boys mulling about doing repairs or fixing up the slight mess. Johnny motions a hand when he’s greeted, and before long he’s entering the main hub of where he wants to go—the kitchen. 

Grabbing a cup, the Scot’s intention is to get some water before settling into his desk and diving into something that can take his mind off the woman living in his apartment. Licking his lips, Johnny gets momentarily lost in the remembrance of your skin—your determination. 

He’s angry. Angry that someone’s done this to you; had disrupted your life so violently. A question was stuck swirling in his head as he began hearing the murmuring from the walk-in pantry. 

What would have happened if you hadn’t been with him that morning? 

“What do you mean ‘that was you?’” Johnny’s fingers freeze around the rim of a glass, blinking into his own smaller reflection. Brows furrowing, the Scot’s head swivels to the kitchen pantry and the barely cracked open door and the voice that emanates from it.

For some reason, the stagnant air after that sentence makes Johnny’s spine straighten. Blue eyes stare blankly, and fingers twitch as the same voice starts again.

“I thought you said it was over?! That the last one was,” a strangled word, a fast inhale. “We had a fucking deal.” 

Heart slow in his chest, Soap stares the longer this seemingly one-sided conversation goes on. There was something off—the words seemed hurried; panicked, even. It wasn’t the usual emotions you had when having a talk with someone. 

Taking a steady step back, the Scot remembered how fast your pulse had run when he had you at his chest a week ago—the fast slam and the whites of your eyes on full display. Even if you didn’t confess it to him, Johnny knew you’d been afraid of the fire. Fearful. He knew you weren’t sleeping. 

Maybe the fireman was being paranoid, but anything that he didn’t understand made his hackles rise like a feral dog—certainly with you, technically, under his watch now. Everyone was a potential threat. Face stiff, Johnny begins walking over to the pantry with nearly silent feet, boots softly flattening to the tile floor.

Stopping outside of the door, his ears hone in. 

“This isn’t right! There’s a difference between what you do and what I do! We stuck together, but this is it. I’ve covered for you—I’ve tried to smooth everything out, but this isn’t something that I can look past anymore. She wasn’t even involved yet!”

Johnny’s lips tighten, his eyes burning through the barrier until he lifts his hand and settles it loosely on the doorknob, not pushing even as the thin material shifts minutely. The alarms in his head were going off, and he didn’t like that. 

Muscles tight, the Scot moves a bit closer, shoulder just beginning to touch the wood before—

Kurt Matthews, one of the rookie firefighters, shoves himself through. 

Johnny strangles a gasp as the two men nearly collide with one another, only shoving out, what he hopes to be, a casual call of, “Hell’s bells. Careful there, Kid.”

The man’s wild eyes lock on him, stumbling back before Soap’s hands move to grasp his arm, a dark phone held lightly in Kurt’s hand. Johnny looks at it silently before he forces a blank chuckle. “Sorry, then. Was going to get some bread—you know how it is, eh?” Kurt looks frazzled, a sheen of sweat over his face; eyes tiny. “The boys never fill up the bread box after they finish a loaf.”

“What?” Matthews quickly mutters, before shaking his head and waving a hand. “Yeah, right, whatever.”

He swiftly moves past the Scot, brushing shoulders. The mohawked man’s nose pulls in, and blue eyes watch the disappearing individual. 

Johnny’s throat swallows down saliva. 

Kurt Matthews smells like gasoline.

—

You hear the sound of the TV and sniffle, pushing the heels of your hands into your stinging eyes. 

It wasn’t a question as to why you had waited until Johnny left to let yourself feel the hopelessness that was sinking into your chest—you were surprised you lasted that long, though. Tiny tears dribble out over your cheeks, but you fight them with a growl. 

“Keep it together,” you sigh harshly. “C’mon, keep it together.” 

Your heart jerks when the front door of the apartment opens, and you’re quick to stand up from the couch where you had been sitting, clearing your throat as Johnny’s call echoes. 

“Just me!” 

You divulge immediately into your hurried sentences, waving a hand. The shake in your voice is obvious. “I have some of the names I remember writing down—it isn’t much but I—”

“What happened?” Johnny’s hands capture your face in a swift second; he isn’t even out of his work clothes before he’s over and touching you. It’s like he teleported over at the slightest hint of distress, not even a moment of hesitation. “Whoa, hey, hey,” he breathes a bit slower, softer. “What’s this then, Bonnie?” 

Delicate movements of his fingers scrape your flesh, thumb running as blue eyes come into focus. Your lungs tighten up again at the sight of tense worry—Johnny’s face all hard with the lines of his forehead and the narrowing of his eyelids.

“Let me see,” he utters, tilting your head up so the brightness of your eyes is visible to him; the wetness of your flesh. “Hey, now.” 

The man’s attention goes up and down on the off chance this is physical pain instead of the internal kind. But he knows better than that. So, Johnny stuffs down the hunch he had about the man in his own ranks and places all of his concern on you and your bitter tears. 

Even when you try to grumble his worry away.

“It’s just stupid tears, MacTavish,” your voice cracks as he drags you to him, curling his arm behind the stretch of your shoulder blades in an addictive display that leaves your nose sniffling again. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Quit it,” the Scot pleads. “Jesus, Pencils,” he sighs, arms trapping you in just like before. “Just let me hold you, yeah? I swear, you’ll make my heart burst ‘fore I get you to admit you’re feeling something.”

Your glossy eyes flinch into a weak glare. “I’m not that emotionally constipated, jackass.” 

Johnny’s breath moves over your scalp.

“You sure about that?” Your face goes to an annoyed sheen, and from the soft rest of Johnny’s chest, you look over at him. He’s trying a light smirk, but his eyes are still serious. 

Letting yourself melt into him, you take in his scent and the heat he offers you, surrounded by the remnants of his life and future—this apartment that offers you a reprieve. 

You close your eyes and let your hands shift up to grab at Johnny’s shirt slowly, your heart gradually easing. Unaware of the soft gaze watching every second; his own grip tightening.

“...You’re like a dog,” you whisper, tears drying. “Always running over.” Your pause lays out a beautiful scene. “I like it.”

Johnny’s cheeks flare to a bright red. He clears his throat, glancing away from your face. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Hm,” you hum, shrugging and nuzzling your nose into his pulse. You hear it racing. “Up to you, I suppose.” 

The man laughs, chest jerking. 

The silence that falls after is like a blanket—settling thickly over the space as the last of your sniffles finally halt. You didn’t like crying; not in front of others. It was easier to just push through it, but Johnny’s presence made you soft, at the same time you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. But it did make your fear lessen, and maybe that was something you couldn’t overlook. 

You tighten your hold on his waist, and he grunts, glancing down at you as his gut swirls. The man’s half-lidded eyes flutter, fingers flinching along your clothes. The room gets warmer, or maybe it’s just him. 

“I guess,” you begin under your breath, voice muffled by his skin. “I could use your help. Officially.”  

“Ooo,” the Scot whispers. “‘Officially’—look at that.”

You huff, lips pulling up. 

“Well,” the man mutters, chin resting on top of your head as the sun outside begins to dip lower. “‘Officially’ I have some information that my Bonnie little boss might like to hear.”

Your smirk grows wider, your heart hammering faster as your pulse moves with fire. 

“Oh?” Your nails drag his sides, and you feel Johnny’s breath hitch, a low purr emanating from his chest. 

“Oh, aye,” a hand grips your chin, dragging you back until you’re once more blinking into his gaze head-on. His finger pets your flesh, your breath puffing out as he stares down at you. He swallows down the nervousness in the back of his throat, the urgency that instinct pushes away in this moment of anticipation as he watches your face. “But I’m having a moment, it seems—can’t think straight.”

“Why’s that?” You lick your lips and see cobalt blue follow them.

“Because this Hen in front of me has been a damn tease since I’ve met ‘er.” 

Any snappy reply is cut short before it even can fully register in your head, and all thoughts halt the second his firm mouth is on your own. 

You gasp, but there isn’t an ounce of yourself that pulls back, not when Johnny’s fingers play at your shirt-hem, or even when your own slide under his clothes. You don’t pull back when they hit the floor—don’t pull back when your bodies follow suit. 

A dance of fire and ice moves with the writhing of flesh and the passing of heavy kisses; panting breath. Grunts and groans as if every pass of lips and teeth is a knife into supple skin. Tense legs and flexing arms—dragging fingertips digging into every latchable dip even as the dead of night grows longer. 

It’s only after every desire has been satiated that you finally utter about the finer details of this mess. 

Johnny’s hands move down your bare back, slipping to grip your waist and drag you into him as you sigh. Your thigh lifts to rest over his hip, leg hanging uselessly over as it brushes the ruffled sheets as lips find your neck, tiny nips and passes of skin mixing as your eyes flutter. 

The fireman makes a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, hand sliding to hook under your kneecap, caressing. 

“So attentive,” you murmur, and your fingers run through his hair, itching at his mohawk as the longer strands slip through. Johnny burrows closer, nose pushing your head upwards as he kisses the space where your neck connects to the underside of your chin. 

He chuckles smoothly, stubble scraping along as you shiver at the sensation. The hard press of his pecs shove into you, and you lightly breathe; fingers twitching.

“How are we feeling?” Johnny grunts in between his worship.

“Energized,” you grin, half-closed eyes shimmering. 

The man smiles widely, grip sliding downward slowly as he chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Not like that,” you groan, shoving his hand away as he laughs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm over his eyes. 

“Ah,” Johnny’s chest jumps with his amusement, itching at his bare abdomen for a moment. “Worth a try, then.”

“Dog,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve had enough of a fill.”

“That’s all up to opinion, Dearie.” He smirks, peeking at you as your face heats up.

Shoving at his shoulder, he laughs again and pushes up, hands melting into the mattress beside your head as he looms above you as a large wall. 

“I’ll never have enough of a fill when it comes to you and your wet c-”

You snap a hand to his mouth, covering it as you glare openly, sneering. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have me in this bed again.”

Johnny’s glinting eyes stare from above your hand, and you feel his smile as clear as day as his face stays stuck close to yours. 

A teasing kiss is leveled on your palm and you roll your eyes, pulling away to lightly push at his forehead. The Scot lets you shove at him, and you sit up fully as he grunts and rests his back on the headboard. 

Shifting your body, you straddle his lap and grasp his chin.

“A few hours ago,” Johnny’s eyes are blown, and you feel his touch on your hips. He hums in question, barely listening above the squeeze of your legs. “You were going to tell me something—a lead.”

“Was I?” The fireman breathes, licking at your finger as it goes to rest on his bottom lip. 

You cock your head with seriousness and a level of amusement in your gaze. “You were. Tell me.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk, Pencils.” Johnny sets a sloppy kiss on your collarbone and sighs. 

There’s a moment where you both stare into one another, and the gravity of this begins to set in once more. Carnal desire and feelings aside, there was always an edge to the both of you—this need to be seen through whether for some sense of justice or care. 

“Kurt Matthews—rookie fireman,” Johnny grunts, looking away for a quick moment. “Heard him speaking on the phone, got a bad feeling ‘bout it that I can’t place. Might be nothing, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell you.” 

“Kurt,” you breathe, brows pulling in. There’s a long pause. “Kurt Matthews…that sounds familiar.” 

Hopping off Johnny, the man groans softly, a slightly needy look following after as your bare body slips away. He knocks his skull against the headboard, side-eyeing your backside as you hurry off to your board. A light smirk makes itself known before your voice snaps him out of his memories. “Stop looking at my ass, MacTavish!”

His face goes beet red as he grunts, quickly snapping his eyes away. 

You wrap yourself into one of the blankets that was on the couch, letting it hang off of your shoulders as you snatch one of the papers on your mess of information. 

“A fireman,” you mutter to yourself, finger running down names and brief descriptions. “An inside job? No, that would be…” Your eyes spark to life as Soap shuffles in, running through his hair. “That would be one hell of a story.” 

Attention locked in, your eyes instantly stop on your own chicken scratch—the name at the bottom of the page. 

Kurt Matthews. Witness to fire on the fifth; one dead. 

“Off duty? Or not hired yet?” You ask, lips tightening. “Why was he at the scene? Johnny,” your curious voice calls to him, and he slips up behind you, flattening his front to your back. You lean into him, showing him the paper. “When did he get taken on into the department?”

“Month ago,” Johnny’s face pulls, frowning. A name catches his attention, and he tilts his head. “Why’s Duncan on there?”

Your attention moves to the scribbled title. Johnny continues as you read, your stomach sinking. 

Duncan Ballard. Employee of Warren Electrical. No involvement.

You wave a hand. “He has nothing to do with this case. That was back when I was looking into the money laundering—”

“They’re cousins.” 

Your body twists, face confused. “What…?”

Johnny blinks, glancing at you and then back to the paper, he vaguely gestures to the two names. “Duncan and Kurt—they’re cousins. Met him at one of the department cookouts. Strange bloke, but I never thought much about it. Just thought he liked the profession a bit because Kurt was getting involved.” 

You stare at him, a million thoughts dashing from behind your eyes. “Duncan was the man I interviewed about the Warren Electrical case. He was cleared by the police,” you stutter, looking to the side. “He was the only employee of the company that didn’t confess or implicate someone else. There was no evidence to…”

You trail off before your spine tightens. Your body pushes itself out of Johnny’s hold, rushing to his computer and opening it like a bat out of hell. 

“Give me the name of one of the fire victims.”

The Scot watches after, hurriedly forcing out, “Mike Lane.”

An article pops up—one that you hadn’t written but that another journalist had. Warren Electrical Employee Exposes All. 

“Another,” you breathe, eyes stuck on the screen.

“Kit Cannon.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

“Johnny, one more.”

“Hadden Taylor.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

Your throat closes for a moment before you force out in the middle of Soap easing out another name, still not sure where you’re going with this. “He’s trying to kill off anyone who snitched.”

Johnny pauses, coming over to look as he thinks—as he looks over the articles you show him with a grim face, he tilts his head.

“Even then, why were you a target? All you did was interview him. And why now?” 

“He knows I have all of the resources,” you begin. “If anyone can catch him, it would be me—I interviewed him when he was in temporary custody. It would have seemed like he didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to keep his appearance of innocence.” 

Your mind struggles through the potential answers. “But you’re right—why now? Is it because of the trial coming up? And how does this connect with Kurt?”

“He smelled like Gasoline when he walked past me,” Johnny adds, rubbing at his chin; itching at his scar. He spares you a look, mulling over the words that he’d heard in the pantry. “...I think he’s trying to cover his cousin’s crimes with his own. Make it seem like they’re all a part of one damn scheme.” 

“He’s the one going for the abandoned buildings,” you agree, nodding a few times, looking over into Johnny’s eyes. “Kurt Matthews and Duncan Ballard. Okay. We have our leads.”

Before the Scot can speak on it, you’re rushing past, grabbing clothes from the floor and shoving them on. His face moves in, confusion overtaking his building shock. 

“What are you doing?” You shove into your pants, not sparing a look before you button them. 

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Johnny’s left in the middle of the room, naked, watching after you with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief. 

“...What?”

—

You hang up your phone with one of the many people you know in the city, dropping it to your side as you and the fireman stand in front of your car. You have an address for Kurt’s home—not one for Duncan, but that can happen later. With what Johnny had said not moments before, Matthews was expressing hesitation. Go for the weaker link first. 

The streets are lit up. It’s still night out but the long hours are beginning to thin into morning; it can’t be later than three AM. Vehicles rush past, and, occasionally, people walk to wherever they are off to. The city never sleeps, just as you don’t. 

“Woah,” Johnny grabs onto you before your hand can latch onto the driver’s seat door. He waves his other hand and stares at you heavily. “We can’t just go into this with our dicks in our hands, Bonnie.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have one of those,” you huff. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“That isn’t,” Johnny sighs aggressively, shaking his head. “I’ll not have you in danger. We need to pass this along the chain.”

“The chain,” you grumble, “hates me. We’re the best bet right now.” Raising a brow you point a finger under his nose. “If I recall, you asked to be involved.”

Johnny frowns heavily, looking unimpressed until he takes a deep breath. He rasps out, “You’re lucky you’re damn near a goddess—”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and not a second later, he’s answering as you mess with your satchel. Taking out a piece of paper, you try not to show how much his little comment made you want to float into the air, giddy, nearly, as you write down Kurt’s address sloppily. 

“MacTavish,” Johnny grunts out, turning slightly away. 

You open your car door, but a hand moves out and keeps it closed enough to a point where you can’t slip inside, you pout and Johnny raises a brow as he listens. Your eyes notice how his jaw clenches, and he lets off an aggressive sigh like a boar when he registers the words being said from over the line. 

Your heart drops when you watch his shoulders sag, hips moving as they situate themselves.

“Right. I’ll be over.” Cobalt eyes snap to yours when the call ends, deathly serious. “One of the boys had to run out tonight during his twenty-four-hour—family emergency. I was on call for him.” 

You open your mouth to speak. 

“No,” Johnny points at you, digging out his own keys from his pants as he backs up. He shakes his head. “No—you’re not going alone. Don’t even ask it, Pencils.”

Your loud scoff echoes. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You fucking thought it,” he grunts, glaring. “Get your pretty arse back inside the apartment and we do this together tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” you wave a hand, stepping back onto the sidewalk as the Scot moves to his vehicle only two cars down, sarcastically monologuing. “All naked and waiting to be ravished by your brutish body. Whatever will I do without you, my brave firefighter?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Soap mutters to himself, and just as he unlocks his car and opens the door, you’re there at his side. A light kiss is pressed into his flesh, and he freezes. 

“Be safe,” you mutter, and he melts—tension loosening. He smirks and glances over, carefully grabbing your face before connecting his lips to yours with a low groan.

“Maybe you should be naked and waiting for me—”

“Go!”

Johnny chuckles against your lips. “Keep your head on for me, Pencils. I’ll be back soon, and we can find the fucker that did this, eh?”

As he gets into his car and drives away, you watch after him and bite at your lips. And then as he turns the street corner, you jog over to your car and slip inside.

—

The home was run down.

It wasn’t a place where you would want to raise a family, and neither was the neighborhood. In fact, barely anyone seemed to live on this street, and even if there were entire rows of houses, there weren’t even any lights on—nothing illuminated the streets except the lamps, and you were parked under one with your satchel in your lap. 

Experience didn’t mean you never get nervous.

You feel the clamminess of your palms as you flex them, replaying Johnny’s words in your head over and over. You knew the house was here, so, you could always just…come back later. There was no harm in it. 

Yet, your eyes narrow, and your rage builds. 

This fucker was related to the man that burned down your apartment building—was potentially covering for him so you wouldn’t break the case on Duncan killing off the snitches for Warren Electrical’s schemes. But all because of an interview with him? All you’d done was sit down with the guy; why did he feel the need to track you down? Breaking into someone's house and lighting it up with matches was personal—incredibly personal. 

Duncan had given you a warning to keep away, and you hated warnings with a fiery passion. If anything, it had just set you on his ass more. 

“Okay,” you huff, and reach inside of your satchel, flicking on the recorder you stuffed inside and stating your name, age, and important information. 

And then you open the car door and exit. 

Speed walking to the door, you look down the dark streets and hunch into yourself, the calls of crows and the wind moving the overgrown grass. Cracked concrete hits the ground as you kick pieces away, and at the two steps leading to the front door, you think that perhaps this might be a bad idea.

Bad ideas are what make good articles.

You hum, face innocent. “Johnny’s gonna fucking kill me.”

Knuckles raising, you send three firm knocks into the paint-speckled wood, and wait. And wait.

And wait. 

Your face tightens, your legs shifting minutely as the seconds draw long. A part of you is somewhat relieved until you hear a small creak just when you’re about to walk away. You freeze, and your eyes move slowly to the glass of the side window in a gradual glance. 

Your eyes lock onto a face staring back. 

Gasping, your foot takes a rapid step backward, but before you can rush away, Kurt rips open the door and pleads in a tiny voice as he grabs your arm. You flinch, raising up a heavy fist. But his words stop you from sending it forward.

“No! No, you can’t be here!” Your eyes blink rapidly, stuttering through your initial panic.

“What?”

“Leave!” Kurt snaps, eyes wild. “While he’s still asleep—he can’t see you here or he’ll—” There’s a splash of liquid and you shout. Kurt lets go of you quickly as he looks down at himself as his clothes get flooded from behind. 

The sharp smell hits you before your ears twitch to the sound of a lighting match. 

Kurt screams, snapping around as you fall backward off the steps, slamming into the ground with a panicked flinching in your lungs. A large shadow stands in the doorway. “I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—!”

Kurt Matthews goes up in flames, and in the fire and the rabid screams of sizzling flesh, you’re left shouting in pure fear. Duncan’s familiar face was illuminated by an orange and red inferno and he watches you blankly with a box of matches in his right hand.

You run off so fast, your heels get kicked off in a flurry of a chase.

TAGS:

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[elsecrytt]

Kinktober - Day 2

Aftercare | Blood Play | Harem

Pairing: Suguru Geto/Reader/Satoru Gojo

Warnings: noncon, captivity, torture/bad bdsm etiquette.

You didn’t ask for this. You don’t even want to be here. They’d drugged you and chained you up, gagged you when you talked back.

Both of them. Sure, Geto was the obvious one in charge; explaining the “rules of your new life” with his excuses of your protection and him and his lover’s well-being. But Gojo was absolutely complicit – he’d stood there the whole time, smiling and chiming in and nodding along with it, as if Geto weren’t speaking straight nonsense.

At least, you’d thought it was nonsense. Until the first displays of their powers. Gojo’s little light shows, his magic forcefield trick. It’s awe-inspiring, the way watching a movie would be. Even when he takes you out to some secluded countryside area and tears it up, it doesn’t feel real – not with his bright hair and dimpled smile shining at you alongside the devastation.

Geto, though, Geto does something you can feel. You don’t see it – apparently non-sorcerers can’t see them – but he lets them touch you.

“It won’t hurt you,” He coos as you flinch away form the weird sensation, “I have it under control. Just hold still.”

You’d realized, later, that the words were more for Gojo’s benefit than your own. Gojo’s fingers twitch as he watches, genuinely nervous, and that makes you more nervous than the strange pressure trailing over your arms, legs, chest. Something wet and slimy flicks over your throat and Geto has to hold Gojo back with a laugh.

Maybe being a non-sorcerer is a good thing. Maybe it would be, if Geto weren’t convinced it made you an invalid. Unable to make your own decisions. At the whims of people like him and Gojo, powerful people, who knew better.

They talk about Jujutsu Society, about the “Higher-ups”, about a cleansing and a revolution. None of it makes any sense to you.

And it doesn’t need to. No, all they want you to understand is that you’re the missing piece they never realized they needed. All you need to know is that you’re with them, now, and you’re free to do for them what you’ve done for Gojo so many times before.

That’s the only thing you need to do, actually. No more going out, no more job, no more clients (Geto says it like they’re doing you a favor). Just them.

You thought they’d get bored of you blatantly ignoring them. They seem surprised you’re not jumping to fuck them both after they assaulted you and now are keeping you captive.

“Come on, do it again,” Gojo whines, like you’re a vending machine he wants an extra treat out of, “Just like before! Suguru’s here, too, it’s just a different place. This is nicer, isn’t it?”

Your comment that it would be even nicer to not have your hands in chains was met with laughter, mostly from Geto.

“He doesn’t do it like you,” The complaint comes, but it’s clipped, interspersed with a glance at Geto, who’s stony-faced. “Do it with us.”

Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t convince you to fuck him.

So they go at it on their own. You get a firsthand seat to Geto’s repugnant BDSM etiquette. There’s no checks, no shows of affection, you’re pretty sure there’s not really a safe word, either.

All the while, Geto steals little smirks at you. Tiny glances. Gojo doesn’t so much steal them as seizes them in broad daylight, pouting at you with a half-bitten lip and those pretty eyes.

You think you know what he’s getting at. He’s not doing it right, blatantly ignoring all the advice you’d given him before – before they lost their fucking minds – no check-ins, no kisses or praise, nothing to make it feel more like sex and less like domestic violence.

He must figure that if you’re watching him mess up, you’ll be compelled to speak out. And he’s right.

Even as much as you despise Gojo for putting you in this situation… you took pride in being a dominant partner. It was an honor to have someone so thoroughly entrust their being to you, and you did everything you could to be worthy of that trust.

Gojo trusted you like that, once. You suppose he still does, and that’s why you’re here.

Watching Geto stomp all over it? Bend Gojo over, fuck him dry and raw, snarling into his ear how much he’s a whore who likes being watched, getting fucked, getting ruined as a whore like him deserves –

Geto draws blood.

You wouldn’t do that outside the most careful, pre-planned scenarios, only very lightly –

Geto slaps him, hard, you hear a crack that sounds like something desperately important.

He raises Gojo up by the hair, face bloodied and already bruising, lips pulled into a smile, “Yeah? That all you got?”

 This isn’t okay. This really isn’t okay. They’re both fucked up, they’re both insane, but you watch Geto’s hands grow bloodier and Gojo’s pretty white hair stain red and you can’t help yourself, just like Geto wanted –

“For fuck’s sake, you’re hurting him! Can’t you tell you need to stop? Just because he’s getting off doesn’t mean he can keep going!” You’d watched Gojo throw up when he came back from a session with Geto, oblivious to his own body’s reactions.

So many people don’t know their own limits. It’s the responsibility of the one in charge to set a hard stop when it’s needed.

Only Geto must not have wanted you to intervene at all. You watch his eyes darken with something terrible, his fist closing in Gojo’s hair as he slams that pretty face straight into the concrete floor, hard enough to make you shriek.

All that comes from Gojo is an ugly, heartrending crack.

Did he fucking kill him?

You’re shaking, even though you don’t realize it. Geto’s eyes don’t leave yours.

Gojo gets up. His face is covered in red, but otherwise unharmed. He’s smiling, the redness stark against the white of his teeth, his hair. Eyes blue and bright and far too wide.

“See, he’s fine,” Geto drones, low and vicious, “You think you know him? Better than I do? You’re not even willing to give him what he needs.”

That’s only the beginning of it.

They do get off, on some level, to fucking in front of you. That’s for sure. Geto likes to say you could join, have in on the fun whenever you wanted, like you were just a frustrated child refusing to play. Gojo dismisses any protests and goes on as normal – ready to be a brat, to beg or plead as appropriate.

It’s more unsettling how normal they act about it. How unaware they are. You can’t just beat a man and expect him to be okay because it makes him hard. You’ve told both of them that before, exasperated, and maybe you should have been a little more worried when they laughed it off.

But when Geto let you “show him” it seemed to be going so well. You guiding his hand against Gojo, tempering his strikes, petting Gojo’s hair as he took it, calling him your good boy after Geto told him he was a filthy slut.

It was hot. You’d liked it! Consented to it, even! Gojo would eat you out while Geto fucked him, and Geto didn’t hesitate to manhandle his lean body to get face-to-face to kiss you. He would cup your face, kiss your cheeks, look at you with those hooded eyes and that subtle smirk – and god, you were no masochist, but you knew why Gojo got on his knees for this man.

Back then, you thought he was normal. Just a man going a bit too far with a brat who usually had it coming. You’d seen the bruises, but you had no idea the violence that hid behind that gentle face. He’d been tender with you, careful, even, exuding a smug confidence that worked so well for a dom. You remember thinking he had potential.

Now, he just seems terrifying.

Geto’s so-called sorcery is invisible, at least to you, but you’re starting to think that makes it worse.

There’s something cold and slick that wraps around your body, your mouth, and you can’t see it but it’s holding fast to you anyways. You can’t even scream. Can’t even tell him to stop.

There’s so much of that noise. That sickening crack that has to be bone splintering.

Gojo will be okay. He’s always okay after this. He’s not okay no one here is okay nothing about this is fucking OKAY.

(Maybe it’s his own mind that Geto is stomping to bits, maybe his heart, his sanity. Maybe he was cracked to begin with, to let any of this happen.)

“Tell her how much you like it,” Geto snarls, “Tell her you want more!”

Gojo doesn’t want more, there’s no way he wants more. His body quivers, erratically, at random intervals. Legs barely holding him up – Geto’s hand in his hair does most of the work there – but he smiles at you as he says what Geto tells him to.

His cheeks are blushing, every bit the bashful maiden except for the dark purpling swell on his cheek.

HIs cock is red and painful looking at this point, splotchy with release and punishment alike. Geto reaches at it, tugs it, pulling broken whines from his raw throat – but his eyes never leave yours.

“I love it, I love it so much, r-really,” Gojo says, stuttering as Geto jerks him lazily, shoving him forward onto his hands and knees and spreading his beaten ass again, “F-fuck, Geto, fuck me – more – please, more please please Geto please – ”

All intelligible speech is lost as Geto drives into him, the hand on his head shoving his face down into the floor. Geto barely bends over, barely looks at him, eyes straight on you.

Like he’s daring you to contradict him. Gojo can barely hold himself up. Gojo, who cried when you hit him too many times without cooing praise in between. Gojo who flushed so pretty when you choked him and chased your lips as soon as you let him up for breath in thanks. Gojo who wanted you to kiss every bruise right after.

That Gojo is getting fucked within an inch of his life, now, mercilessly, ruthlessly. You’re forced to watch, unable to look away. He begs for it, begs to cum, and he does – but not before Geto.

Geto who fucks him while he looks at you, this is mine, he is mine, he loves me, can’t you see? can’t you see he belongs to me? he’ll love me no matter what, and a million emotions swirl in your chest.

Curdled arousal rotting to a sliver, because he’s beautiful, he is, Gojo is always beautiful, even more when he’s ruined. Geto is handsome in his own right and he spits just the sort of degrading stuff you’d be into, but – but you could never –

There’s no softness there, no safety, no warmth or affection or anchor to hold onto. Gojo and Geto are both lost in their own intensity, in the point they’re trying to prove I love you Geto, I love you so much, I love everything you do, I don’t love her more just because I want her, and Prove it prove it PROVE YOU LOVE ME prove you’ll never leave me no matter what –

Sick and sickening to each other, carving hollows in one another’s hearts. Geto gets his release and spills inside him with a groan – it’s the only time he looks away from you.

He stares, for a moment, at Gojo panting and sweating beneath him, before he pulls back.

Geto leaves him like that. On the cold hard floor, to think about what he’s done, the filthy slut, does he think anyone would treat him better, knew him better, trembling and bleeding in a pitiful heap. Whatever Geto had on you releases you, though it’s cold comfort with the door locked and Gojo here. Even in this condition, he’s stronger than you.

It’s a while before Gojo can pull himself up to his arms. Little noises of genuine discomfort escaping him as his aching limbs force themselves into action. He looks up at you with eyes glazed over. Face half-blank. You’d known he must have had a panic attack at some point, probably threw up in his own mouth.

Whatever he sees in your eyes, he stares for a few minutes, and then starts to blink away tears.

You fucking hate this. You hate Geto and you hate Gojo and you know that Gojo is a willing participant here, he’s keeping you prisoner right along with Geto, in fact he’s stronger than Geto is and he could make this stop at any time –

But something in your chest is split open and bleeding. There’s a terror that haunts your bones from all those awful cracking noises. Watching him crumble beneath Geto, so willing and blissful and terrified. Twitching on the ground like some dying creature while Geto leaves him to rot.

Silent tears slip down your cheeks. You try not to think about it.

You open your arms wide. You try, very hard, not to think about what expression is on your face, what Gojo sees in you. What he thinks of this person he’s loved and captured and won’t release. What he thinks of the person he loved who left him here.

He falls into your embrace, wordless and heavy.

[theloveinc]

any hobie and/or miguel icks? 😟

whoever sent this: thank you + i ADORE you. i hope you don't mind i'm switching up the formatting/style a it in comparison to my older icks... shorter list, more detailed <3

(warning: some fem terms used at the end, such as “mama!”)

-

Miguel O'Hara

- This guy... has some long ass toenails. Type of toenails that poke you at night in bed, and tear holes in his socks.

It's maybe somewhat related to the claw thing he's got going on? Has a lot stronger and faster-growing nails than the average person... but the real problem here is that he's TERRIBLE about clipping them. Claims it doesn't bother him even remotely and that you're the one overreacting when you ask him to... but hardly anything gets through to him about it. You probably even offer to do it for him one day, thinking the offer of a foot massage would sway his thinking and that it'd actually work... but he fought you on that just as easy...!!!

...which is how you came to the conclusion that you have a man who'll even argue w/ you over toenails. Petty boy.

- Miguel is also tired 24/7. AND yeah, it's pretty hard to be un-sympathetic towards that, but he's tired in the... I'm-gonna-prioritize-this-one-last-email-over-saying-goodnight-to-you way. Which gets real irritating when you're asking him to help you out w/ anything, like cleaning up or answering a question or JUST HAVING A DAMN CONVERSATION W/ YOU and he's using "I'm tired" as an excuse when his response is shitty or distracted.

Like one of those stupid guys whose always squinting at their damn iPad when you ask what he wants for dinner... which is ironic given that he'll get snippy at you for not giving him your full, entire attention whenever he wants it. Type of man to start picking imaginary lint off your head when you're simply trying to finish up a text before engaging him so that you aren't distracted.

- Odd about Lyla. Not that he loves her or anything, but she'll like pop up to give him updates about whatever even if you're MID-MAKEOUT session and he won't change that setting. Pulling away from your lips all pouty and squinty only to glare at his watch for thirty seconds before trying to go right back into kissing you.

No. No sir.

(Lyla will also always say something to or-but-usually-and about you, which... Okay, she's an AI and doesn't Get It... but it's still weird because it feels like someone you don't know just walked into the room.)

- Picks his nose when he's too busy to find a tissue, and forgets to sanitize his hands after. Denies this when you tell him.. but you've witnessed this multiple times (he's weirdly kind of whiney for a dude and lazy for a workaholic LOL).

Hobie Brown

- Lovely boyfriend because he doesn't give a crap about your appearance or the idea of needing to "look nice" for a man... but also stupid, nuisance boyfriend because this means he doesn't give one hoot if you try to get all gussied up for him. Nags you about wasting time getting ready because he doesn't need you to do all that instead of just saying "THANK YOU, YOU LOOK NICE." Even probably complains about you feeding into gender stereotypes or w/e when you do something like shave your legs or pluck your eyebrows😭

You try to talk to him about this, ask if he even cares that you tried to look nice, and he skirts around admitting it because he has an argument for everything. "'oughta know I think you're pretty either way"-ass when you just spent an hour trying to look all good for him.

- Tries to share the most obscure music with you... which is like, sweet in concept, but weird when it actually happens since it's never like a generic love song but an eleven minute underground jam session.

Which isn't to say he has bad taste in music, usually it's fine if not fantastic... but you try to tell him you don't want to listen to some dude's first draft of himself banging on a drum set for a full album and he's like: "tsk."

HOBIE. TSK??? FUCKING TSK????????? WHAT ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE????????

(He'll also use his to get out of listening to your music. Claiming his "inconsistency" is why he liked your playlist yesterday but not today. Stop!!!)

- And you know I gotta say it, he's a punk, after all: absolutely refuses to clean his favorite leather jacket, and it smells RANK. He's genuinely sentimental about it, though... and if you even try to bring up cleaning it somehow (even if very gently), he's acting like you betrayed him. Goes through the five stages of grief over you asking him not to wear it on one of your dates, and teases you by TALKING to it:

"Mumma didn't mean that, jackie. She just doesn't understand our lifestyle, does she?" while giving you a (lighthearted) stink eye.

[dokidokidraft]

RODY SOUL HCS

@kimyoudraft because I promised you smth for him and I’ve been lazy. So I’m thinking of making a FANFIC for you later…we both know that’ll take a while but take these snacks for now

!!(NSFW once warned)!!

smut is clearly labeled below where it starts, but fluff first!!Fem!Reader

FLUFF

He’s so flirty! Kinda sero vibes tbh, but he knows just how to make you blush >_<

Will try to be so smooth, but Pino always gives him away

You'll kiss his cheek and he’ll roll his eyes playfully and pretends nothing happened

Meanwhile Pino has almost fainted, she’s a blushing mess and is practically jumping for joy

Babysitting his little siblings is unavoidable, but he’ll always pay you with kisses and hugs after

Doesn’t mind cuddles, but his siblings will always find someway to ruin the moment. Cuddles with him are just the 2 of you laying on his bed with Roro and Lala watching a movie on your laptop

Definitely teases you tons, poking your cheek and making such suggestive comments on your outfit (all praise ofc)

Can cook boxed Mac n cheese…instant ramen….that’s about it (°▽°)

Expect a decent amount of PDA from him, hes just an affectionate person about it

Doesn’t really get jealous easily, but will always have his hand around you/holding yours.

Big family dude!! Have you seen him with his siblings??? He’s amazing w kids!

Will ask for your help with his unruly hair! You got a hair curler? It’s been stolen. Hair clips? Roro and Lala have decorated his head with them.

Probably rents out (or steals) planes, and will take you out for joyrides in them. Definitely shows off as well, doing barrel rolls. I hope he gets to be in an air show some day!!

Big Nick Wilde energy from him that’s all I’ll say

.

SMUT

He’s a switch, leaning dom.

A M A Z I N G with his fingers. They’re like magic ig, but he’ll have you cumming so quickly you won’t believe it yourself

I feel like he loves quickies, probably because he doesn’t have a lot of free time bc of his siblings, never leaves you unsatisfied tho

Usually quick thrusts, he wants to get you to the edge as fast as possible

Such a ladies man, and doesn’t do the “no, I got a gf” he just kinda lets them flirt. That usually turns into jealousy sex. If he’s honest, he loves when you dom him when you’re jealous, it makes everything better.

Lovesss when you ride him. Grabs your hips while helping you a bit by slightly thrusting up.

Up for mild degradation. Won’t slut/whore shame at all but will call you bitch, good girl.

The type of guy to whisper soft praises before absolutely RUINING you. “Gonna do good for me, yeah?”

“cmon baby, one more…”

Aftercare is pretty decent. Cleans you up with a wet rag (or his tongue, depends on if he has time) loves making out with you after your neck is littered w hickeys. Definitely will give you those lip bruising kisses.

Loves face fucking as well. Seeing your pretty lips wrapped around his cock while your eyes fill with tears <3

Guys don’t worry he’s trained Pino to leave the room when yall are doing it…no birdie interrupting y’all’s fucking

This was so late mg…sorry!!!

[yelenasdiary]

Angstmas, Kate x fem reader, Kate’s seasonal depression is especially bad this holiday season due to her mom being in jail. She’s already struggling but is trying to hold it together Christmas morning until she spills some hot coco and kinda just has a meltdown. Reader is a sweetheart.

Spilt Emotions

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Fem! Reader

Summary: Kate has a breakdown on Christmas morning & you’re there to assure her it’s all going to be okay.

Angst & Fluff

Warnings: None, if I missed any, please let me know! | 1.1K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I hope you enjoy! x

Holiday Special Masterlist

A modest tree with mismatched ornaments stood in the corner of the small apartment Kate shared with you. The apartment covered with festive spirit and cheerful decorations didn’t keep Kate’s mind from reminding her this Christmas was different. Kate had always loved Christmas, being with family, the food, the way New York City lit up in all different colors, the cozy moments she spent with Lucky and the laughter she shared with friends but this year the holiday brought a chill that was colder than the snow outside.

With her mother, Eleanor, in jail and her father sadly deceased, Kate felt a hollow ache in her chest and no matter how much she tried to hide it, you noticed how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the little things that you noticed, usually Kate would spend some time on the rooftop, admiring the city lights through the falling snowflakes, or how she couldn’t keep her excitement for Christmas traditions tucked away for much longer.

 You didn’t want to push her, you respected she might need some space and hoping that with time, the joy that was buried deep inside the archer would burst and allow her to enjoy the magic of Christmas once again. 

On Christmas morning when the sun beamed through the clouds and the city was peacefully quiet, you woke up early. Kate still sleeping beside you, almost hugging the covers to block out any cold, crisp air from touching her. You smiled softly at how adorable she looked, like a child clinging to their favorite plushie. You slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the kitchen, wanting to surprise her with some hot cocoa to wake her up too. 

Soon enough, the smell of hot coco filled the air and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you placed two tiny marshmallows on top of Kate’s drink. “Katie” you whispered softly, wanting to slowly wake her. Kate stirred, groaning when she felt the slightest bit of cold air touch her. 

“I made you a hot coca baby” you added, carefully getting back into bed, sitting with your legs crossed and the two festive mugs in your hands. Kate’s eyes still heavy with sleep, peeped open for a moment before she offered a weak smile, “thanks, babe” she murmured, trying to keep her eyes open as she slowly began to sit up. “You’re welcome darling” you replied as she wrapped her hands around the mug, feeling the heat on her bare skin. 

“Merry Christmas” you added, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. As Kate turned her head to face you, her mug clipped yours, making the two drinks splash together as the liquid seeped into the bedding. 

“Shit!” Kate exclaimed, her voice in a panic as she quickly placed her mug on the bedside table. 

“Babe, it’s okay, I’ll wash the sheets today” you replied, also placing your mug on your bedside table. The weight of the past few weeks came crashing down on the Archer without a warning, her eyes filled with tears, and she kicked the covers to the end of the bed. “I can’t do this!” She snapped, her voice breaking as her tears began to fall. 

“Everything is just….its…fucked!” She added. Her heart pounding as she stood up, her feet touching the cold floor. “This isn’t how things are supposed to be!” Kate continued, pacing back and forth. 

“Baby, it’s okay, let it out” you replied softly as you watched her endlessly try to make sense of her life now. 

“I’ve been trying so hard to keep it together, I mean, it’s Christmas! I thought I would be okay by now” she sobbed, wiping the tears from her cheeks, “but every time I think about mom and everything that happened…..I just –“ she paused, finally coming to a stop as she looked at you. Without a second thought, you stood up and wandered over to her, wrapping your arms around her as she crashed into you. 

“It’s okay Kate, you miss her and that’s more than okay” you said, rubbing your hand up and down her back. “You don’t have to keep anything built up darling, this is your first Christmas without her and it’s been a big year for you” you added. 

“I just…I miss her so much” she sobbed into your shoulder, “I just wanted to a normal Christmas like we always did but it feels like everything is falling apart instead” she added. You held her tighter as she cried, feeling your heart ache for her. “I know it’s not the same but why don’t we go visit her today?” You suggested. 

Kate pulled back, looking at you with her wet, red eyes, “you’d be okay with that?” She asked. 

“Of course, baby, she’s your mother. I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with any of this by yourself. I will always be here, forever” 

Kate leaned back into your arms, feeling the warmth of your body against her as she took a shaky breath, “I would like that” she replied. “I know what she did will never be okay…but I miss her” she added. 

“I know, love” you replied softly.

Gradually, Kate’s sobs became quiet, her heart still heavy from weeks of pushing her feelings down but she stayed hugging you tightly. The spilt coca now completely forgotten about while you continued to rub her back, “I love you” she whispered, her voice still shaky but stronger than moments before. 

“I love you too” you replied, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re so much stronger than you realize, you know?” You added as she pulled back once more. Gently, you cupped her face, wiping her fallen tears, “I want you to remember that you can always count on me, I don’t want you feel like you have to be strong and put together for my sake, okay?” 

Kate nodded lightly, “I’m sorry” she said in an almost whisper. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about Katherine” you assured her. Kate playfully rolled her eyes, “don’t call me that, it’s odd” she said with a light chuckle. 

“But it brought back that beautiful smile so I’m not sorry about it this time” you smiled softly before kissing her deeply. The holiday may not be the fairy tale Kate was hoping for but she knew that with you by her side, a different Christmas tradition wouldn’t be as hard as she thought. 

“Can I make us a fresh hot coca?” She asked as you kindly brushed a lock of her long dark hair behind her ear, “you make the coca and I’ll strip the bed” you smiled softly. 

With that Kate, with Lucky following close behind her, wandered into the kitchen feeling okay about the holidays as a soft smile tugged at her lips.

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[darkdemeter]

・issue/clipping #2・ SOLDAT'S REPRISE

⚤ Winter Soldier x Female Reader 18+ Psychological and sexual thriller — mention of previous supposed "dub-con" encounters, stalking, minor medication usage and trauma — paranoid reader — small SMUT scene, depicted as non/con sleep sex — unprotected sex — dark Winter Soldier — possible grammar/punctuation errors — I think that's it? ✎ 3.4k Things are getting out of hand. You feel like you're a ship slowly sinking into the dark depths below. You're being hunted, you just know it, but perhaps there is hope in the form of the friendly local deputy. Little do you know what the Winter Soldier is always watching your every move.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

Nobody believes ghost stories. That’s the advantage he carries, you have found. He’s a ghost and thus, any mention of his haunting presence is absolved to the grave of a dismissed and silenced voice. A cry for help. 

You feel so alone here. This home that you founded for yourself, made an attempt to lead a life of normalcy and peace. A life where you weren’t spending your tired hours looking over your shoulder and praying that rounding the next corner wouldn’t be your last. 

He had invaded the sanctity of the very place you were meant to feel safe in. He robbed you of the only comfort you had to cling to after everything else went so wrong. 

Every shadow that creeps and waves past the drawn curtains sends you into a frenzy, feet shifting and muscles locking up with the flight or fight response kicking in as electrical surges through your skin, your gut churning and your heart rapping tight against your chest. Every inkling of something dark moving in the hallway has tears prickling the corner of your vision, imagining those cold blue eyes locked on you. Every closet, every corner — every room is now under siege of being a possible hiding place for him. 

You’re forced to undertake that terrible fucking feeling that your soul has jumped out and is latched like tar to your spine. 

Your doctor didn’t believe you. Nobody ever did. It made you feel alone in this town, this heavily pitched, “We’re a tight-knit community that cares for all its residents!”. Putting the product to the board really begins to measure up this so-called community and their nosey personality to happily peek into your life. Did they all know and were too scared for their own lives to help?

You couldn’t blame them, though you probably should. You just can’t. 

He can be anywhere. Even now…

In the broadness of daylight you still suffer the tiresome weight of fear that steeps over you, drawing you out into a state of exhaustion that leaves you further vulnerable. You just… sense him. He’s around though you can’t pinpoint his exact location, you just know deep down in your gut that he’s watching you right now while you walk through the streets.

The leathery scuffle of your boots are trimmed by the cause of a car horn blurting out. “Hey, watch where you’re going!” the driver yells, face red and scrunched up like a swollen balloon ready to pop. 

He slams his fist down on the horn again in a frightful warning. A loud, treacherous horn that signals the arrival of something dangerous, someone that can kill you – but he doesn’t. He moves like he intends to, but he never commits to the final strike. It’s like he gets aroused by the painful implication that he inflicts upon you. 

It’s sunny but the air is smothered by a strange aura of fog, cloudy but not entirely that you can still see several blocks up ahead. You can see the local diner. 

Just a little more. 

You hear the clobber of footsteps behind you, by your guess without arousing suspicion and looking, you’d estimate… 5 feet in distance, give or take?

He really did turn you into a little paranoid freak. They’re heavy, keeping a steady pace that thins out a constant line of anxiety, each step you take he mimics it with one that echoes in the bounds of your mind. Your heart rate thumps with a bruising beat, it’s beginning to put a straining ache on your ribs. 

It’s someone else.

It’s… it’s someone else…

It’s— it’s him, it’s him!

The footsteps pick up to heave a faster pace, the sickening pound of heavy combat boots floods your train of thought. You remember a time of running through the dingy lit halls in Hydra’s underground base. Their brain-fried dog easily keeping track of you no matter what corner you turned, what darkened environment you broke into in your haste to escape. 

“It’s a training montage. It will ensure that he can keep track of his target.” That was what Rumlow had said to you. 

You’re caught in a half spin, almost stumbling over on the sidewalk to meet him face to face, only to falter back when he looks at you with a furrowed decline to his features, confused by your reaction. 

“U-uh, sorry,” you mumble and lower your gaze down. It’s someone else. Dark brown eyes, sandy brown hair cut short and tousled.

He passes you easily to meet with a girl. She’s quite pretty, you don’t believe you’ve seen her around before but maybe you have. It gets hard to finalise and familiarise faces, names and their personalities when you holster yourself up in the town’s wooded outskirts. 

You like the privacy it gives you, however much it’s now put you at risk. 

The joined couple talk with a cheerful ambiance of their romance, happily flourishing and unawares of the troubles you face and they turn into a nearby shop to browse its contents. 

Meanwhile, you continue on towards the diner. 

It’s hard to enjoy a moment of fresh air when you know you’re being hunted, being stalked by a lowly predator that hides in plain sight. 

But by some divine intervention, you finally reach the parking lot of the diner. Weaving through the parked cars and across the wetted tarmac from the morning’s earlier spittle of rain, you hurry along like the obedient rabbit of his chase, hopping quickly to the false security of a burrow. 

You stop just mere feet away from the inviting pavement to see the car at your side. A smile almost spreads on your lips and a sigh escapes you, your shoulders unbunched from the tension they held. You enter the diner far more eagerly, still tinged by the bleeding trail of your fear but you now hold to hope. 

You avoid the eyes of the other customers that stare at you, feeling like you’re committing a walk of shame as you move with quickly paced rumbles steps, the thickened hide of your heels much louder in the soft bustle of the diner. 

You see him sitting in one of the center booths that line the window panes. A fresh refill of coffee steaming from his mug, a finished palette of breakfast and now munching in a rewarding muffin as he reads over what you assume to be his latest report. 

His shining deputy badge being your saving grace in this nightmare. 

He only looks up to meet your eyes that smile equally as his lips do, beautiful dark honey orbs glistening with a vibrancy that’s warm and inviting. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he says smoothly over the rim of his next sip of coffee. 

You shoot back quickly and out of breath. “Hi, Riley.”

His detective instincts kick in immediately, sensing something amiss by the dishevelled state of yourself. Eyes sunken in by dark circles yet sorely irritated and puffy from crying. Your breath is practically rabid as you breathe in and out with attacking panic. 

“What’s up, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” you answer shortly. His hand gestures for you to take the booth seat before him and you do, sliding down into it. “Riley, I need your help. I’m in trouble and I have nobody to turn to.”

He nods, tousled lengths of his sandy blonde hair move over his temples and forehead. His large arms cross over themselves and rest on the table. 

“Of course. What’s going on?” 

Your eyes fog over with that familiar heat of tears. You want to cry, to let it all out, finally finding an anchor at port in the safety Riley made you feel. Honestly he was the only good thing about this town. He was everything you needed. Maybe everything you wanted. If only you weren’t so terrified after the repercussions of your prior intimacy with the very man who now won’t leave you in peace. 

Your throat starts to choke, tightening until it hurts as you try to suppress the tears and theatrics. Riley’s brows furrow and he reaches a hand forward, a strong hand that guides and protects, and he takes hold of your quivering arm. His thumb absently strokes the slivered reveal of your wrist between your sleeve and glove. 

“Hey,” he whispers, “It’s alright. Deep breaths for me, that’s it, nice and slow. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

How his eyes solemnly swear that everything will be alright and that he will protect you. So why is it so hard to tell him? Is it shame that you’ll scare him away, that he’ll think you’re batshit crazy if you tell him—

“I’m being stalked.”

Something in the corner of his brow twitches, arching. A shiny spark emits in the pools of his dark eyes, catching the light from outside and revealing a vulnerable trigger that you think you misconstrued as something more than a concerned friend or an officer taking his job seriously. 

“Do you know by who?” he questions with a firm press of his voice. 

Shakily, you nod. “Yes.”

His eyes shift, the dark onyx pivoting left and right with a contemplative gate. Then, Riley looks back to you, almost silently pressing for you to answer. And it’s then that you hesitate. You stutter over your response, the words too heavy to speak and he understands. 

“How long has this been going on? Does anyone else know?”

You want to laugh and you half-heartedly do, the sound dry and cynical in your throat. Your back presses straight into the booth seat. “I-saw saw him a few nights ago in my home!” your voice is a sharp whisper, “and I told my doctor and— and she told me that I was hallucinating, that it was just a mental relapse and I—” 

Your body jerks forward as your hands cup your face, tears sting the line of your vision. You just want to live life normally. All you want is to be left in peace. Why couldn't the past just let you go?

“I— I don’t know what to do, Riley… I really don’t.”

The muscles beneath your skin contract and pull tightly, almost painfully so, your body begins to tremble with vibrating distress. “I feel like nobody believes me, I thought I could ask for your help or the Sheriff’s— Riley, I— can’t do this. I can’t…”

Your breathing becomes terribly shaken, sniffling as you attempt to calm yourself. Your body falls forward more and the instinct to crawl into a ball is powerfully overwhelming. You can feel the condensating judgment of the other diner dwellers, eyes shifting uncomfortably between you and their own business. The way that someone clears their throat loudly, stool squeaking under their weight and the ruffle of a newspaper obscuring one of the lonely patrons in the back booth, your blurry vision unable to comprehend the printed bold title or the gloved hands that hold it. 

You press your head against your folded arms that lay on the table, barely making out the quickened hush of Riley’s voice coaxing you. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His hand reaches out for you and it touches you, you feel the warmth of his hand against you. 

“I believe you.”

Your tear ridden eyes raise up to meet Riley’s eyes, a gasp hitched in your throat. You choke out softly. “Y-you do?”

“Yes.” He leans forward that bit closer. “And I will protect you.”

His words are a relief, a form of assurance to cling to like a lifeline. That’s all you wanted to hear. You try to mirror his smile before the waitress comes over, coffee pot held in her grip. 

“Need anything else, Deputy?” she asks and Riley motions to you with a nod of his stubbled chin. Cheeks flushed with a rosy tinge and eyes puffy, you wipe away the stray rivers of drying tears and lower your eyes away from the waitress.

“Just a coffee to go, her usual. Put it on my tab and uh…” Your heart almost skips a beat the way he looks to you, dimpled cheeks as he smiles a bit wider and his dark eyes seemingly aglow with a honeyed tint. “Some apple pie or that new chocolate chip muffin cake they got?”

“Thanks again, Riley,” you say, hand rumbling the paper back in your palm a distant tune as you take a small sip from your coffee. Already, you were beginning to feel better as you walked with Riley out to his car. 

“No problem. Told you I’d look out for ya when you first moved here, didn’t I?”

The memory of your first meeting brings a small smile to your lips, eyes once sunken and gloomy lighting up through the thin stream from the coffee cup. “Yeah. Still, I’m grateful for all you’re doing. I had hope but… I didn’t want to count on anything, you know, just in case you didn’t believe me.”

“Just know that you’re not alone. Anything, and I mean it, anything else happens or you don’t wanna be alone up there,” he says and pulls out his notepad and pen. He scribbles something down and hands the torn out page to you, his touch mingling against yours as you take it from between his fingers. “Just call me and I’ll be right over. Don’t worry about the hour or anything, on duty or off, I’ll find a way to you.”

The coffee and muffin cake, the caring personality, giving his private phone number to you; what could it all mean? For a split second you forget that you’re in the midst of a stalker case, that you are being haunted by the very manifestation of your past. Something in your brain offers you a second’s respite that this is just an ordinary meeting between two people, a regular occurrence that feels like a date. It’s nice to feel this sense of normalcy. 

But in staring at the digits of his number a little longer, that facade falls away, leaving you to remember why he was helping you; giving you so much attention. 

“Again, thank you.”

“I’ll also pass it on to the Sheriff and get his say on it. Find out what we can do to catch this guy.” 

You nod as though to agree, that there is a chance that they will catch him. You wish it were possible but with what you’ve seen, what you have come to know about the Winter Soldier… all capture of him is impossible. Even if they somehow manage to track him down, he’ll be gone before they can dream of getting him. 

He’s a ghost among men. 

“Do you think the Sheriff will believe it?” you ask Riley, watching carefully as he clicks his tongue and the skin under his eye wrinkles. 

“He’s dealt with a few cases like this before when he worked in the city. There haven't been many stalker cases here.” He shrugs then, looking around. “But even if he doesn’t, then just know you have me. I’ll make sure that you never have to worry about him again. You’re going to be okay. I’m here for you.”

That’s all he needed to hear. So, this Riley would now be an obstacle of justice in his way. Newspaper hiding the device sat on the table, the wired bud linked to his ear to listen to the bug he’d placed in your bag. 

He had to listen to the way Riley was sweet talking you, how he made you feel safe. Protected. Something burns a hole in his chest and makes his blood run hot at the sight of another man making you smile. He had to sit back as he offered to drive you back home and further insist when you at first refused, only to then give in. He had to watch from the cover of his position as you dare get into another man’s car after he opens his door for you. 

Of course, how could he blame him? You were a pretty little doll. But you were his pretty little doll. His little rabbit that he took great delight in chasing after, watching you whimper and fall apart under him, around him during those late and intimate hours. 

His bright, icy blue eyes grow darker, colder with hate and seething possessiveness. He won’t let a badge stand in his way. Six long years it’s taken him. He lost you once and he will make sure that you never leave him again. 

After Riley had dropped you off, you had made the rounds of alternating the security system and changed the digital pins. You did it every day to ensure that nothing was left to chance. 

When nightfall broke over the valley and you were left in a dark, snowy solitude by yourself, you drew all curtains to close, gritting your teeth at the chattering of the rings on the pole. 

You ignored the rattling tap of the tree branch you still haven’t managed to deal with. You did what work you could, tried to relax after making yourself some dinner and a warm beverage, all the while caught in a silent and haunting conflict.

You knew that Riley was just a call away. Anytime, anything you needed and he was there. But you still can’t shake the feeling of being watched by a predator. 

Now you lay in bed, fast asleep around the 12:15am after you took some of that medication to help you sleep. It did wonders for nights that felt restless. They just still seem to not impact the side effect of waking up with a scream in your throat at the cost of your nightmares. 

But tonight, it seems you’re granted respite. Your hips roll against something that in turn mimics the action against you. A soft, crackly whimper parts your lips and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through your abdomen, twisting blissfully and you moan aloud.

He loves the sounds you make for him in your sleep. They way that even when your conscious mind isn’t awake, your body complies to the pleasure he gives you. He doesn’t want to think about Riley having you like this. It only speeds up the ruthlessness of his thrusts that ring your cunt walls around his length, your slick coating him as he sheathes in and out, in and out fast and unfashionably quick. 

A mix of flesh and metal hold you down on the bed by your hips, fingers leaving a painful reminder on the supple there; a small puzzle piece for you to discover in the grand scheme of plan for you. 

You moan again but it’s cut up, jostled with a bubbly whine as you struggle to breathe air into your lungs. Your thighs tremble and squeeze tight around whatever force that pistons between them. Your voice chokes on a whimpered sound of a name.

His heart sinks…

Your walls clench around him when he hits that spot and you cry out, stirred from your dreams and the creaking of your bed is heard in the otherwise deafening silence. That and muffled, masculine pants.

Your vision is blurred by the cover of sleep but your reaction doesn't take long to take place. 

Your eyes are shot wide open and your mouth falls agape with a scream, “Solda— mmm! Mmfmm!”

His gloved hand shoots out to cover your mouth and nose, muffling the sound of your terrified screams and he forces his thrusts to quicken. He doesn’t pay any sort of worried attention to the reflective glisten of tears in your eyes, highlighting the colour of them beautifully. You cried so much from the pleasure he brought you to in those late hours that he can no longer tell the difference. He grunts at the way your slick and hot walls surround him. How he’s missed this. 

Your stomach churns and twists, but your body visibly shakes and your skin goes between cold flushed and heated surges as your cunt swallows every single inch he gives you. His pace has only increased, the bevel between his dark brows shows and nothing else you can see — want to see — is hidden by that mask. With a final groan he cums, pulling out just as the first spurts paint over your outer folds and clit, smearing across your lower belly. You feel like your body has become numb with fear. 

“He stays away from what’s mine… or he dies.”

THANKS FOR READING!

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