#getting on a goddamn plane so i can go home

[cheese-anon-real]

i dont like 3 am

or 4 am

i should be sleeping

[sevsbunny]

the warmer weather right now makes want sevika to act a damn fool when she sees you coming out in a thin sundress, barely going past your knees.

and you love wearing nothing underneath to give her a little surprise when you’re sitting on a park bench and her hand is on your thigh, rubbing circles into your skin with her thumb

and she has to do everything she can to not take you out in public and bend you over the wooden bench.

i can imagine her bunching your dress up at the hips while he has you pressed against a brick wall concealed in an alleyway as you both are walking home

her thigh pressed snug in between your own, the plane of her own skin from her shorts she was wearing makes you shiver as you can feel how wet you are the second she settles

and fuck you can feel the heat of her warmth from her cunt as she grips your hips and moves them forcefully over her own skin.

“fucking tease, no goddamn underwear on.” you groan as she speaks, taking her metal hand to cup your ass and push you firmly against the wall to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

not that you would anyways.

“always wearing shit like this…” she doesn’t really know what she’s saying, her mind too focused on how soft your skin feels against her palm, how your cunt is sliding all over the place easily on her exposed thigh — and those fucking whines

she grunts softly as you let out a soft whine, your clit pushing against her skin and she can’t help but bury her face into your neck to hide her own moans. “shhh, doll,” she nips your skin on your neck making you whine in response. “can’t let people hear you when they walk by.”

you let out a soft groan as she takes her flesh fingers and push them gently on your swollen clit, feeling the way it throbs against the pads of her fingers and her slick dribbling down the sides of her thigh

“you’re fucking soaking me baby.” she can’t wrap her mind around it, her cunt throbbing incessantly with each stroke of your hips and ew h time you swallow a whine in your throat.

“please, vika…” your head rested gently against the brick wall, your eyes hooded as you look at her like she was your life saver. she saw the fire in your eyes as she added a bit more pressure to your clit at your plea.

you let out a breathless sigh as you moved against her fingers and thigh at your own accord, not needing her help much. she leaned back to watch you closely, seeing your chest heave, throat bobbing in anticipation as your stomach clenched

“tell me what you want, love.” you let out a frustrated whine as she grins softly, rubbing your clit harder as you feel your cunt clench around nothing.

“wanna cum, please,” she grunts a soft ‘good girl’ before angling her thigh a bit higher, enough to make your move hips towards her giving her enough access to slip her two fingers into your wet hole

“there we go, fuck,” she pushes them deeper watching your body go slack as you relaxed, moving your hips to fuck yourself in her fingers with her help as her thumb presses and rubs your swollen clit. “cum on my fingers, baby.”

you let out a whine as you felt your cunt clench her fingers as your orgasm washed over your body, slick leaking down sevika’s wrist and a mess all over her shorts. “dirty girl,” she murmurs as you ride your high on her fingers and thigh, leaning into her body as she kisses all over your face.

she slips her fingers from your cunt, before bringing them up to her lips to clean them off. she moans softly at the taste of your cum on her fingers, your cunt quivering on her thigh as more slick leaks from your hole

“so needy. let’s get you home so i can fuck you properly.” she says as she puts your dress back down, and letting your feet fall to the floor, a soft gentle hand pushing your hair back and a quick peck on your forehead

[captain-hawks]

hiiiii dee !! omg i was so excited to see you have a drabble event. oliver w wake him up, if you please?

— ave

oliver aiku x reader — 18+, morning after

Can a pro footballer not afford fucking blinds?

It’s the first thought that stretches awake in the shallow sea of your sleep-addled brain as you find yourself bathed in what’s quite frankly an obnoxious amount of early morning sunlight. 

And this is what naturally leads into your second thought, one that clicks into place with unnerving clarity mere moments before your gaze falls on the sight of a football jersey hanging over the back of a chair. 

You let out a quiet, resigned exhale before carefully turning your head just enough to see the culmination of last night’s collective assortment of bad decisions: a shirtless Oliver Aiku, fast asleep and snoring softly on the pillow beside your own.

He’s facing away from you, dark grey sheets pooled at his waist, and you have to mentally slap yourself for the way you find yourself suddenly distracted by the smooth, wide, muscled planes of his back.

You’re only wasting time letting your traitorous eyes sweep over his sleeping form, tracing a map along the source of each tender, pliant, well-fucked ache that lingers across your body. 

You really need to leave—

But the sheets shift with you as you go to extricate yourself from the tangle of them, and the mattress groans in protest as Oliver rolls over and slings a heavy arm over your hip. And it’s infuriating, the magnetic pull of his body heat as he curls around you. 

“Are you sneaking out?” he murmurs in a sleep-rough voice against the nape of your neck.

You try not to shiver at the sensation.

“Oliver,” you sigh. The exasperated way you say his name is answer enough. 

His hand slips up beneath the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, and he slowly strokes your hip, thumb catching against your underwear.

“I drove you here,” he reminds you, and each word feels like a kiss.

“I can get a Lyft home,” you reply mildly. 

Oliver huffs in amusement before he rolls you over onto your back, and you resolutely stare at the ceiling as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone. The scruff of his beard is scratchy against your skin, and you’re unreasonably annoyed by how much you don’t hate the feeling of it. 

You swear you feel him smiling, even if you’re pointedly not looking at him. 

“Let me make you breakfast, and then I’ll drive you back to your apartment. And we can both pretend you snuck out and left me high and dry without saying anything, if that’s what you really want.”

You sigh, turning to look at him and hating the way your heart fumbles around within the tight confines of your chest cavity when your eyes meet his. 

He grins.

Twenty minutes later, you come hard seated atop the cool marble countertop in his kitchen with Oliver's face buried between your spread thighs, your fingers tangled in his messy hair, and the scent of nearly-burnt bacon wafting out of the frying pan.

He cajoles you into a shower after, and it’s a lost cause trying to muffle the desperate, needy moans that echo off of the bathroom walls when he fucks you deep and slow up against the tiles under a hot spray of water.

And even if he keeps his promise not to walk you to your door, he still hooks a finger in the back pocket of your jeans and tugs you back down into the passenger seat when you go to get out of his car, his mouth catching yours in a soft, tender kiss.

–

Later, with a clipboard in your hands and an ID tag hanging from the bottom of your track jacket that reads ‘ASSISTANT MANAGER - UBERS’, it’s all you can do not to deck Oliver in the head with the former when he has the gall to blow you a goddamn kiss as he jogs out onto the pitch.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Just a little something something for you guys...as a treat😈

When Simon's away for a while on deployment, it can get lonely. He's knows by the way your texting, when he gets the chance and can text, that you are missing him like crazy. You tell him how you can hardly wait till he returns, how your body is just aching for him something fierce.

And fuck his aching for yours too.

If he could hop on a plane, he would in an instant just to get back to you. Unfortunately, that's not something available to him at the moment.

But that doesn't mean there's nothing for him to do.

Simon knows his baby needs something to take the edge off, something to tide over that insatiable appetite for him until he can come home and fuck her proper the first chance he can get. You never asked for it, but he knew you wouldn't mind.

Ding

Your phone goes off. It's late, but youre no stranger to staying up well past dark; sometimes that was the only way you'd get a minute to talk to Simon when he was away across the world.

You check your phone. It's a text... a picture...

At first glance at the small icon on the lock screen, the image is kind of dark so you have to click on it to bring it up and when you do you nearly faint.

The caption reads: “Gotta be stealthy so they don't fuckin' catch me, but this one's for you sweetheart."

Simon is clearly propped up in his cot, his legs splayed open, shirt off. All that you can see is his thick torso with it's small speckling of light colored hair across his abs. The belt and zipper of his pants are completely undone and the waistband flung open. In one of his meaty hands he has a hold of his cock, already swollen with a little glistening at the top caught in the low light - most definitely a product from thinking of you.

You have to swallow to keep the spit from dribbling down out of the corner your mouth. Instantly you feel the heat rise in your cheeks, burning through your face as the blood pools there. It feels like you are going to pass out.

He's done it, he's taken your breath away in an instant.

Not even recovered from that glorious image your phone dings again, this time downloading something for a few seconds. Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath caught in your lungs, as you wait to see what he's done now.

Ding

It's downloaded. This time it's a video...about a minute long. Your shaky, excited finger instantly clicks play.

"Mmmm..." his breath groan hits your ears as the vision of him stroking his length plays across the screen. His voice in hushed, clearly trying to be as quiet as he can while still making sure you can hear his words. "Fuck darlin', I wish you were here... rather have that sweet little pussy 'round me than my hand."

You've stopped breathing, literally; you could hear a pin drop in the room. The video of his abdominal muscles contracting and releasing as he continues to stroke his cock is all you can focus on now. Looks like he's in the middle of things.

He groans again, his breathing getting faster. "Fuck, I miss ya luv. It's been hell not having ya near for this fuckin' long. Nearly rippin' a hole in my goddamn pants from being so fuckin hard. I swear... gonna absolutely wreck ya when I get back. Don't even bother wearing any panties cause they're gonna get shredded off ya. Nothin', and I mean fuckin' nothin' is gonna keep me from buryin' all this in ya the fuckin' second we're alone. I wanna make you cum so fuckin bad baby."

The video fades out amongst the sound of another low, gravely moan and your sanity is gone. Dear God you were a lucky one tonight. You have to take several minutes just to relearn how to function properly again so you can text him back.

Before you can do that your phone goes off once more.

Ding

One final message pops up on screen: "Think of me later when you cum, sweetheart..."

Oh, you would, you would. And maybe just to be nice...you'd send him something back too.

Part 2:

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

If He Wanted To, He Would

July Prompt: Any Song Lyrics | Word Count: 2000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Eddie POV, Modern Setting, Sports AU, Rockstar Eddie, Baseball Player Steve, Very Public Love Affair, Corroded Coffin, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

I've used lyrics from Take Me Out to the Ball Game & Blank Space.

Even the news is covering it. 

That's fucking ridiculous. There's an animated graphic, a live tracker of where his plane is, a moving dot over the Atlantic, like it's Christmas Eve and he's Santa Claus.

Eddie's gonna make it. He was always gonna make it, even as the press ran the numbers, the miles, and milked every ounce of drama out of it.

He made game one, and game four, and now he's racing back from playing Wembley in London to make it for game seven. The media has tried to sell the idea that Steve wanted the World Series to go to seven, just so Eddie would be able to attend.

Eddie's glad he's getting to see it, of course he is, but if they could have swept it in four, or locked it down in five or six, that would have been fucking awesome. Even if that meant Eddie missed seeing it live, and had to watch on television, in the middle of the night, across the world.

There are a shitton of tiktoks every week, dissecting their every move, looking for easter eggs. Eddie is just living his life, even if a million people are always watching him like a fucking hawk.

Goodie is walking back from the beer garden in the stadium, carrying his plastic cup in his mouth as he fiddles with something in his hands. Not spilling a goddamn drop. Eddie can only see this because he's being broadcast onto the stadium jumbotron.

When he climbs the stairs into the suite, Eddie asks, "Where's Gareth?"

"Got spotted. Now he's taking pictures. I just slipped away unnoticed. Sucker," Goodie says, putting his cup down on the table.

"Unnoticed, huh?" Eddie teases. He won't tell him. He'll just wait until Goodie sees it online for himself. "There's free beer back there you know?" Eddie asks. Neither one of them needed to venture out into the crowd.

Goodie shrugs, "I wanted this kind."

He could have had that kind, could have had any kind, if he'd just asked for it. But no, he wanted to be out among the people. 

None of them are particularly fond of baseball, but they are fond of Steve, so here they are. The whole band doesn't always come, but it's the championship game, so they did.

And the score has been 1-0 forever. 

Wayne is pacing. Unlike them, he loves baseball, even if he's been a little turncoat, switching teams like a lifetime of dedication meant nothing at all. He's gotten a little shit from his friends back home, but Eddie thinks it's honestly very sweet. Eddie loves that Wayne likes Steve enough to put him and his team as his number one with a bullet, now.

It helps that Steve's part of a fucking dynasty. It's fun to win, even Eddie gets that.

Wayne doesn't always hang out in suites. More often than not, he'd rather sit in the stands. Focus on the baseball, not the celebrity that's now surrounding it. But Wayne's been dragged into their highly publicized love affair, and now he's starting to get recognized all on his own, so Eddie worries. 

Plus, he'd rather have him right here, where they can spend time together.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. 

"3-2," Wayne answers.

Eddie's distracted, filling his plate with the various appetizers that came with the steep price of the private suite. Sliders, pigs in a blanket, and all kinds of other fancified versions of comfort food. He's just scooping some mac & cheese on his plate when he hears his main guitar riff from Buckwild. He puts down his plate, making his way to the big windows just in time to see Steve step towards the batter's box. 

Steve only changes his walk-up music to Corroded Coffin when Eddie's in attendance. He currently walks-up to Milkshake, which is fucking hilarious. He's one of the first openly out players, and he really leans into it, changing up his walk-up music, usually to something a little queer. Eddie knows it's partially to poke fun at himself first, before anyone else can. 

But tonight, it's his song. Eddie's sure he's being broadcast on the jumbotron from some camera he can't even see, and may even be on live television. Eddie watches as Steve briefly points his bat, and at first Eddie thinks Steve's calling his shot, but no. Not unless he's intending to hit a foul ball.

No, he gestured at Eddie. At least where he assumed Eddie would be.

Eddie fiddles with the rings on his hand, moving from finger to finger, twisting them around and around as Steve swings and misses for the second time. Eddie can hardly watch, it makes him so nervous.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. It's the only question he knows to ask.

"2-2," Wayne says from somewhere behind him. Wayne doesn't stand at the front when it's likely the camera is on them. Eddie gets it, he does, but he'd like him at his side. The windows are open tonight, and the fans in the seats in front of the suite have leaned up to talk to them, to get things signed, and Eddie has done it. They all have. Waving off security.

Nobody is being shitty, just excited, and Eddie's grateful he's been accepted by most of Steve's fans. There was always the fear that he'd be seen as a distraction, and sure, that's been a bit of the narrative, but Steve's in the goddamn World Series. His head is obviously still in the game.

Eddie signed a custom Corroded Coffin jersey with Steve's number on the back earlier, and if that wasn't fucking weird and delightful. And Harrington jerseys have been increasingly spotted at their gigs, from one in the crowd, to a dozen or more.

Steve takes the next ball, and Eddie was terrible at baseball as a kid. He swung at everything. He never had the self-control to wait for something good. 

He's glad he grew out of that, at least a little, because he waited, and now he has Steve. A goddamn home run in human form. 

Eddie's relieved when he hears the crack of the bat finally making contact with the ball, and he watches intently until Steve's safely on first, Eddie leaning out of the open box window, hanging onto the frame, screaming.

He rights himself, clapping hard as he spins in a circle, screaming some more.

Then, Eddie watches as Steve steals second on a wild pitch, and the stadium sound system blares to life with Gimme Three Steps.

Steve dusts himself off from his slide in, and Eddie is so fucking smitten. 

And his ass looks damn good in those pants. His milkshake did bring Eddie to the yard.

It's the seventh-inning stretch, and Eddie hears the familiar, "for it's one, two, three strikes, you're out," being sung by the entire stadium.

He's nervous now. More nervous than he ever is going on stage anymore.

They've made it this far, and he wants Steve to win the whole thing. 

They do win. Steve fielded a grounder, whipped it to first base, and with one last out, it was finally over. Gloves being thrown in the air, lots of hugs and jumping up and down.

Steve did it.

And Eddie smiles.

Steve isn't released, not yet. There'll be interviews, and a parade that Eddie unfortunately can't attend, so Eddie only gets a few minutes in the tunnel with him. Some stolen kisses and a silly groped handful, just giving Steve's cup a squeeze, to make him laugh. 

It's all too brief, but he'll see him soon. 

They go from the game straight back to the airport, Goodie and Gareth both pretty drunk after too many celebratory shots, leaving Jeff and him to babysit as they get wheels up, to head back across the pond. Their world tour, waiting.

They'll make it. 

Steve swears jet-lag is a choice, and Eddie's choosing to believe him.

Another city, and his turn on the big stage, as Eddie looks out towards the VIP tent. Steve waves with both hands over his head, making himself larger, more easily seen.

Steve attended a few Monday shows with Robin, when their schedules lined up enough to allow it. But now his season is over. He's a fucking world champion, and it's the offseason, which is Eddie's new favorite word.

If he'd known he'd fall in love with a sportsball guy, he would have made sure their tour had a lengthy break during this magical offseason.

Next year.

And Eddie is confident that next year is a given. That's how in he is with their relationship, with Steve. They both have their own lives, their own fame, their own increasingly busy schedules. But they make it work, because they want it to work.

The fans have dubbed all their crisscrossing travel as "if he wanted to, he would" and have been straight up swooning. 

Eddie likes that thought, because he does want to, and he knows Steve wants to, too.

He's committed to this thing, and so is Steve. And if that means flying for hours to be there for the important shit, even if you have to turn around and fly right back, well fuck, you do it. And you don't even think about it.

Eddie slips in a pop cover, mid-set, just being silly, because he wants to shout out Steve a little bit extra tonight. He sings and when he gets to "'cause you know I love the players, and you love the game" and the crowd gets behind it. Steve, too, if his hands in the air are any indication. 

He's a pop girlie at heart, and Eddie loves him for it.

Steve is comfortable in his own skin, and he likes what he likes. He's supportive of Eddie, of Corroded Coffin, and very demonstrative with his affection and admiration. The love is always free-flowing. But, heavy metal isn't his thing. Not really. And that's okay.

So, a little pop is injected for his benefit, Eddie saying 'I love you for who you are' right back.

Buckwild is last, is always last, and Steve's here, so that means a subtle lyric change. He only does it when Steve's in attendance, and it makes the crowd go wild. Changing one word is enough to send them into a frenzy, like they're part of something special and sacred.

They are.

When he approaches the lyric, Steve has moved closer, right at the stage, in front of the barricade, and puts his hand up to his ear, hyping the crowd, getting ready for it, and Eddie can hardly sing through his fucking smile.

When they exit the stage, the first face he sees is Steve's, and Steve opens his arms and Eddie hugs him, pulling back and kissing him, over and over.

He's the one. 

The one he loves.

The one he'll marry.

The one. Period.

Steve waves to the crowd that's gathered to watch, and then he puts his arm around Eddie's waist, ushering him away, one more show over.

In bed, Eddie rests his head against Steve's bare chest. These last few weeks have been different, brand new, and exciting. It's the first time they've really gotten to feel like they're coming home to each other. Getting to be in the same place for an extended period of time, Steve following the tour.

Steve brushes Eddie's bangs off his face, and kisses his forehead.

"You were amazing tonight," Steve whispers, and Eddie grins. 

"So were you, working the crowd," Eddie says.

Steve laughs, and Eddie loves it. Steve's not shy. He's had all the media training, probably more than Eddie, because he's got a brand, a team, to protect. Eddie just runs his mouth at-will, always has.

Steve doesn't hide backstage where Eddie can't see him, no, he always makes sure he's supporting Eddie out loud and with his whole goddamn chest.

So, because he wants to, he does.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: Obviously inspired by the very public relationship of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. Goodie carrying the beer in his teeth is straight up a shoutout to Jason Kelce doing that at the Eras tour. 🍺

This one was so hard to stop writing for at the 2k max word count, lol.

[fettuccin-e]

Fires In Those Eyes

Kinktober Day 11: Seduction

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, afab!fem!reader, oral (m!recieving), fingering, unprotected piv (pls wrap it irl omg please), joel is whipped, but also so is reader, degradation, possessive sex, joel's filthy mouth again my bad (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: Second Joel fic of the month! Hooray! This time they actually get naked and get down and dirty so double hooray. I tend to just write Jackson!era Joel just because I want him to be happy okay. Also day 10 will be up eventually so sorry about that lol (I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

Most of the time, Joel doesn’t think you’re even trying to seduce him like you do. You’re just you. Perfect, soft you, the woman he fell in love with when he didn’t think he was even capable of it anymore. And God, it’s embarrassing with how much he wants you all the fucking time. When you’re on patrol with him, when you’re making dinner for him, you, and Ellie, in the house that you managed to make a home. He feels deranged with the way he wants to tear your clothes off and fuck you until you scream for him at only the drop of a hat. And you’re not even trying.

You’re trying now, though.

He can tell, from the moment you step inside the house, peeling off your gloves and looking at him with a glint in your eyes that has his breath hitching and cock bulging in his jeans.

“Ellie’s sleeping over at Dina’s tonight,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over the planes of his chest. There are flames in your eyes, and Joel feels like he’s burning. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice rougher than he means it, but you only lick your lips and look up at him through your lashes. You look like pure fuckin’ sin. 

You perch up on your tip-toes, leaning close enough that your lips brush the skin of his ear. “What are you going to do about it?” you whisper, and Joel can’t help how he growls.

He’s got you slammed up against the wall before he even knows what he’s done, tearing your coat off your shoulders and letting it fall carelessly to the floor. You pull your shirt off, throwing it somewhere behind him, before you lick into his mouth in the messiest, dirtiest kiss he’s ever had. You claw at his back, rubbing against him like a damn cat in heat, and Joel feels lightheaded with how fast blood rushes to his cock. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he rasps against your lips, and you whine so sweetly for him.

“Need you to fuck me, God, I need it so bad, Joel.” Your hand comes down to squeeze the bulge of his cock through his jeans, and fuck, you’ve never been this bold, never taken him like you are right now. 

“C’mon, baby,” he groans, “let’s go to bed.” But you’re shaking your head, your deft hand unzipping him and freeing him from the confines of his clothes.

“No, no,” you whine, “‘S too far, Joel, need you now.” 

You look up into his eyes as you sink to your knees before him, and Joel’s vision blurs at the edges when you lick a long, slow stripe up the underside of his length. He has to brace his hands on the wall as you take him into your mouth, hot wet heat engulfing him as you sink deep. The tight clutch of your throat has him groaning, his hips pitching forward.

You grab onto his hips like you love it, sucking hard enough to make the breath punch out of his lungs. Your head bobs obscenely, your hair brushing his thighs every time to take him to the root. His knees tremble, struggling to hold himself up as you suck his cock like you’ll never get the chance again.

“Baby,” he groans, and you pop off of him, grinning with that same fire in your eyes that makes him want to rip you apart on him. Fuck, he thinks you want him to do just that. 

The way he gets to the floor, gets you on your hands and knees for him, is a goddamn mystery. It can stay a mystery, a blur in his memory for all he cares, because when he gets your pants off, peeling your panties halfway down your thighs, baring your beautiful, glistening pussy to his gaze, none of it fucking matters anymore. All that matters is the way his fingers drive into you, reckless, insistent, hammering into you so hard you see stars.

“Fuck, honey, you’re drippin’,” Joel mutters, and your face burns, even as your hips hump back into his hand on pure instinct. “She’s just gonna suck me right in,” he says, twisting his hand as his fingers spread you apart in a way that makes you sob.

And he’s right, he’s so right. Sinking into you is a goddamn revelation, hot and tight around him as you scrabble at the floor for purchase, moaning and pushing your hips back against him. Your pussy lets him in so easy, so perfect, and he shudders as your body clutches at him like a vice, hot and wet and at his fucking mercy.

“God damn it, baby,” he groans, thrusting into you to the fucking hilt and relishing in the way it makes you scream. “You’re so fuckin’ wet f’me.”

“Oh God,” you gasp, even as it feels like your pussy is being stretched to its fucking limit. “All day, fuck- I’ve been wet for you all fucking day.” His hips slap against your ass so hard, pressing in so deep that all you can do is gasp for air and fucking take it.

“Yeah, honey? Needed this cock all fuckin’ day? Comin’ home just to fuck me like a goddamn slut,” he rasps, and God, it’s true. His cock in your cunt is all you need, all you ever need. Even with the wooden floor digging into your achy knees, your panties tangled around your thighs, fuck, this is all you’ve needed since you woke up this morning. He’s right, you’re a whore for the way he fucks you.

“Yes, yes, oh my fucking- Joel,” you cry out as he hammers into that sweet spot buried deep inside, not letting you breathe for a second.

“This what you needed, sweetheart? Needed me to fuck you on the goddamn floor like we’re fuckin’ animals?” He presses a hand to the small of your back, shaping you into an obscene arch that has you getting tighter around him, practically choking his cock with your pretty pussy. “Such a fuckin’ whore,” he snarls. “Who can fuck you like this?”

“You, Joel,” you cry, tears dripping from your eyes onto the floor. He pulls your hair into his hand, yanking your head back and pulling your body onto his cock with every thrust. The sounds of your cunt smack, smack, smacking against his body are sticky and wet and fucking debauched.

“That’s fuckin right,” he says, sounding about as wrecked as you feel. “Only me. I own this fuckin’ pussy, right baby?”

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes,” you’re gasping, clawing at the wooden floor, and Joel fucking chuckles behind you, deep and dark and primal.

“C’mon, girl,” he rasps, and he snakes a thick hand under your heaving body to rub a calloused finger along your throbbing clit, and you scream. “Squeeze this cock with this slutty little cunt. Show me who owns you.”

And you can’t refuse him, you can’t, not when your body is already locking up with your orgasm. Your pussy strangles his cock, practically forcing his orgasm out of him, and he snarls as he fills you up with his cum. He takes his hand from your hair to wrap it around your chest, pulling you up to press your back against his chest. You tremble in his hold as spasms rock through you.

When you finally settle, he presses kisses to your neck, and you let out soft giggles in reply, running your fingers through his hair.

“Mm, I need a nap,” you sigh, sinking against him. You gasp as Joel nips harshly at your skin.

“Nuh uh, baby. You started this,” he rasps, dark with promise. “And I’m the one that’s gonna fuckin' finish it.”

[cccakessslicemeee]

Not me immediately thinking about Fig and Riz's relationship and assuming that Fig is the friend who would have to ask "hey are you mad at me?" When she feels like she's done something wrong

In my head I'm thinking after the events of season 2 Fig starts to pull back a little bit from Riz because she feels like she's an asshole for having three cool dads and sisters and then a step brother and more family on the way...but Riz just has his mom. She's amazing and awesome but maybe fig feels like she's usurped Sklonda a little bit? Like damn she's got this big ass family and of course Riz is apart of it but is he mad at her? Is he jealous? She can't even blame him..his dad sounds cool as hell but they can't even see one another because they exist on different planes. Is she a bad friend? Is she ruining another family?

Riz notices the pull back and he's like fuck what did I do? And spirals as he do wondering wtf did he do wrong?

They avoid one another for a little bit but it's still civil until Fig is the first to break. She seeks him out because she has to know are you mad at me?

Fig is on her knees in tears because obviously he must hate her guts for being a piece of shit and sticking her horns in his family and smashing everything to bits. She can't help it, whoops she's really a demon after all. Just like Gilear said she was

Riz is baffled and immediately relieved Fig what the fuck? No I'm not mad at you? Why do you think that? Are you mad at me?

YOU SHOULD BE! IM THE WORST! I stole your mom right out from under you and she's like your whole goddamn world. Your only support. And I already have three dads but I'm greedy I guess and your mom is my mom too now and I don't want you to think that I'm trying to steal your family because I want you in my family too because you're a brother to me and I love you so much. You have to hate me. I'd hate me if I stole my dad's. Like I know it's different but if you dad stuff advice or whatever you can burrow one of mine ? Or all of them for awhile for whatever Gilear loves you almost as much as I do- fig is a blubbering snotty mess as she spills her guts to Riz about how horrible she thinks-no truly believes she's been. She nearly inconsolable leaving Riz speechless.

He's never felt like she's tried to take anything away from him. In fact she's added so much to his life and truly appreciates her friendship. She's so cool and fun and cares so much for their group it's staggering. He isn't so good with talking about his own feelings so he just hugs her and she melts into his chest probably getting snot and whatever all over his fancy clothing and then she has anxiety about that and he's like it's fine my entire wardrobe is the exact same outfit I really don't mind. (Even if it's kinda gross but he can shower it's cool.)

Fig probably says some weird shit about "I could pretend to be your dad and we can throw stones in the river" trying to be sentimental but it's so out of pocket and Riz politely declines. He assures her he's not mad and he's sorry she felt like that..he's not mad and their cool. About everything from day one and the possessed bit. They're all cool.

He knows in her own way she's just showing how much she truly, and deeply cares for him.

Maybe they get ice cream and for once Riz opens up a little bit.

The fucked up thing about beating Kalvaxus is, we won, we did what we were supposed to. Mom and I killed that bastard but my Dad still didn't come back home and there was never going to be a time where he could just... Come back and be here. I know he's okay in heaven doing what he does but...I don't know if saying this makes me selfish or not so I guess I'll just shut up...

Stop being so damn good all the Riz. It's your dad right? You should be selfish about wanting him here. That's so normal.

....I mean... Yeah I guess but he's doing stuff in heaven or hell? Or rather was? And now I'm doing stuff for him since I kinda fucked that up for him... I can talk to him when I find out anything useful for the mission-

That's kinda fucked up... He's your dad. Shouldn't you be able to talk to him whenever you want? Outside of some mission or whatever? Doesn't he want to talk to you?

Well yeah...of course. But I don't want to bother him when he's busy. He's doing important work

You don't think he thinks you're important?

Hard fucking silence

I know he loves me, you weren't there but when I saw him in heaven he opened up a door to the mortal plain for me and I could have just...jumped in at anytime but he asked me to stay and wanted to talk to me about everything. All the stuff I thought didn't matter because I already told him all the big important things at his grave. If he didn't want me there he would have thrown me out or no... He would have just let the devils do whatever...he. I blew his cover...I can't do that to him again he's doing important work.

You ARE important though.

I...yeah okay...thanks

I mean it

I know that

Do you? Do you really?

I have no reason to believe you'd lie to me. At least in this particular instance. So thank you Fig...for that.

Hey anytime. Also have you considered moving into the manor?

Fig. No. Im already there enough.

You should just move in!

And then they enjoy the rest of their day doing xyz

[nyxtickled]

non-kink hella depressing personal update feel free to skip

my 3 year old corgi (whom i literally gave birth to) has been confirmed to have a mediastinal lymphoma. they gave her 3-4 weeks to live worst case scenario, 6-9 months at best if she responds well to chemo. these are obviously still estimates and sure she could still ✨defy the odds✨ but i’m not about to start thinking like that cuz my hopes cannot handle the potential whiplash lol.

they gave her an injection to help her feel better physically for now & kept her another night. hoping she gets to come home tomorrow. spent the evening convulsing and sobbing so hard i almost passed out in exene’s arms until she was basically crying just as hard as i was. so goddamn grateful i have the best most loving woman in the universe if nothing else in times like these.

anyway i wanted to share for those who have been keeping up with everything. i’m going to fight to give her every med, every chance, every good thing i possibly can in her little life for as long as she has left. she’s my fuckin baby, man. i flew on 4 planes in one day to take her home from my friend on the east coast. i’d do anything for her.

love you all.

[lamardeuse]

Friday fanfic fragments

tagged by @eddiestightywhities <3

This is one I've posted before, a start on a 911 AU where Buck is an LFB firefighter and Eddie is the new pro on Strictly Come Dancing, which seems like something fun to throw out there in the current moment. I'm tempted to pick it up again - I dropped it because reckoning with Grenfell made it hard to find the right tone.

The first thing Eddie thinks is: goddamn, he is huge.

Not just ripped as hell, but tall, topping Eddie by half a head, which means he’s probably going to have to be the lead. And doesn’t that throw a monkey wrench into all of Eddie’s plans.

Plastering on a TV (sorry, telly) ready smile, he puts his best foot forward and extends a hand. “I’m Eddie,” he says. “And you must be Evan.”

“Buck, actually,” the guy says, returning the smile and making a small tingling feeling two-step along Eddie's nerve endings. “Everyone calls me Buck.”

“Your name is Buck Buckley?” Eddie asks, just as the guy’s warm, strong hand wraps around his and that tiny little tingle Eddie was feeling spikes to twenty thousand volts.

“Yeah, erm,” Buck begins, “it’s sort of a crap play on Evan Evans, because for a while there I was always traveling, and – you’ve never heard of them, have you?”

“Nope,” Eddie says. Evan’s – Buck’s eyes are a stunning, clear blue and his mouth has a sensual fullness to it that makes Eddie want to bite it.

Down, boy. Eddie has heard all about the Strictly curse from Karen, who has so many salacious stories about Blackpool after-parties and heated assignations outside of London clubs. She loves dishing the gossip while never being the subject of it herself; Eddie can only imagine what she’d have to say if he fucked a smoking hot firefighter who danced in a same-sex pairing on the show. He’d be on a plane back to LA before he could say Daily Mail.

Not that Buck Buckley – dios mio – is necessarily available, or interested in a fling that will doubtless get him paparazzi parked outside his door. But then, neither is Eddie. At the end of the day, he has a kid at home who comes first, and he’s not going to risk disrupting Christopher’s life for an affair.

Not that he'd be up for a relationship, either. That's not what he's here for; he can't afford to get too attached to anyone when he's not planning to be here any longer than he has to be.

Eddie belatedly realizes their hands are still entwined and pulls away, his fingertips gliding over Buck’s palm as they let go.

“I’m afraid you’ve got your work cut out,” Buck says, clearing his throat. “My mates say I have all the grace of a day-old giraffe on ice.”

“Any of your ‘mates’ professional dancers?” Eddie asks.

Buck shakes his head. “Not a one.”

“Then they don’t know shit,” Eddie tells him. He looks Buck up and down. “How much do you deadlift?”

“Erm,” Buck thinks about it. “Last week it was eighty.”

“Pounds?”

Buck snorts. “Kilos, bruv.”

“Uh,” Eddie says, “holy shit.”

They can do lifts. Buck could lift him.

And then Buck ducks his head and smiles, and Eddie thinks, this is going to be fun.

tagging anyone who wants to play!

[ronearoundblindly]

No Promises (3)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

I Left You Something On The Body (see previous or LH Masterlist)

Summary: You and Lloyd take to leaving consolation prizes for whichever one of you 'loses.' It...escalates delightfully.

Warnings for DARKFIC. Language; descriptions of sexual situations, toys, various paraphernalia. Smut-adjacent (masturbation). MINORS DNI. I have plenty else for you on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 982

And you do; you let Lloyd have several open contracts after the keycard incident.

Sometimes you wonder about the man providing the most fun you’ve had in years, but mostly, you relax in a noisy city high-rise with a spectacular view. A small vacation between assassinations. You drop off the network for a month or so, picking up a straight-forward job nearby, and then show up at the target’s house to find him already dead.

Pinched onto the body, overtop a blood-soaked button-down, are golden nipple clamps.

You snort in disbelief.

The sick bastard, he’s really wooing you now.

A thin chain between the clamps sports a tied tag.

To: The Cobalt Cunt

You let out a dreamy sigh, the little tingle in your mind of possibly fucking (with) him again vibrating to life. You even miss him in a weird way.

On the reverse of the tag, it reads, “not safe for lace.”

It’s on obviously and more fun than you ever imagined. At some point, you can’t tell if you two are letting each other get places first on not. The money is, oddly, totally irrelevant, and your career takes on a renewed joy.

Lloyd claims a target. You show up, kill them, and drop off an intricately-packaged Gucci jock strap with “Eat Me” embroidered at the back of the waistband, right above his asshole.

For good measure—and to remind him what he’s missing—you add a spritz of your perfume to the cup.

That’s where you want to be nestled, it implies. That’s where you belong, right against his dick.

Sadly, the next ‘surprise’ takes a while as you two are not after the same jobs. There’s plenty of work to go around till you find an oblong box wrapped in brown paper on the armchair ten feet from an enormous bloodstain.

 With an empty scotch glass and a crumb-covered plate beside it, you know Lloyd’s been trolling for your attention. His snacky, sweet-tooth is somewhat notorious.

Your inconspicuous, purposefully plain gift waits patiently, the soft whipped cream of a strawberry shortcake dripping down its serving stand.

There’s no rush though, and you make a little ritual of opening it to reveal a beautiful dildo with golden speckles throughout the silicone molding. It is absolutely from a cast of Lloyd; you’d know that curve anywhere.

If that’s as close as you can get? Fine by you…

The rest of him barely participated before anyway.

Geneva.

Lloyd’s pissed and tired after the flight. Suzanne is the fucking worst and made him repeat the plan three times because her pea-brain is as sharp as a limp dick.

He dances down the plane steps, noticing a welcome party that is not his people. One sunglasses-clad, black-suited fellow walks up to Lloyd with an enormous gift basket.

It’s so goddamn pink Lloyd recoils and squints his eyes.

Good christ, it’s hideous. He loves it in a sick way.

Pink cellophane, fuzzy pink handcuffs, a sparkling fuchsia cock ring, rose gold anal beads with pesto-colored rope connecting them, and strawberry flavored lube.

Mood restored, Lloyd chuckles, turning on his heel to get back on the plane.

He’s going home. He has toys to play with.

He doesn’t bother to explain shit to Suzanne. One of these days, he’s just going to pop her for free.

This one doesn’t coincide with a job at all, but that’s what makes it all the sweeter to you.

Delivered to the place you’re staying for the week is an adorable, yellow stuffed rabbit with a pull-cord. Across its tummy is 'sunshine' in cursive letters.

You honest-to-god squeal in delight as you listen to each of the five custom recordings programed in.

Lloyd tuts then says “should have sized up my ring, you cock-drunk whore,” a deep gasp and a squelch punctuates the end.

Oh boy. It’s Christmas in July. Happy you!

You fake your own shocked gasp at the second soundbite.

“Know you don’t taste like fucking strawberries,“ he grunts before bitterly adding, “but I’ll take one for the team and eat that pussy any day.”

Third: “Bet I was the best you ever had, even when I wasn’t awake, you poor thing. So needy…”

Fourth: “How hard did you come, Sunshine? Be honest.” He laughs like the cat who got the cream to end that one.

Finally, the last of the pulls is just the slapping noise of him jerking off and finishing with a deep moan.

Now, at least, you know what Lloyd sounds like when he comes.

Utterly self-satisfied, Lloyd goes about his life of luxury.

He’ll be damned if he’s going to break and go to you. Fuck that. The thrill of this taco-and-hotdog game is worth it anyway.

He still works, and not every job revolves around you.

For one such fulfilled contract, he’s being paid in artwork and has the delivery men bring in the large framed canvas to uncover in his current villa’s sitting room.

The expectation is a well-known portrait.

It’s a painting alright, but it’s…very modern.

Lloyd crosses his arms over his chest and smothers a proud grin.

The torso and open legs of you stretch out facing the viewer, gold leaf embossed nipple clamps and their chains dangle over your stomach, and the blunt end of a golden dildo sits nestled in your cunt. There are brush strokes and paint visibly raised from the surface.

He wonders whether it was done from a photo or whether you sat there, bare, for some artist to reference for hours, maybe even days.

Lloyd had a spot in mind for his real payment, but this will do nicely. He’s quite pleased with the view. It shall go over the mantle in the bedroom, and he shall fuck whoever he wants—his fist included—while staring right at it.

The half dozen or so other people in the villa’s great room who can all see the painting don’t say a fucking word.

How the hell is he supposed to top this?

A/N: Full disclosure, I'm pretty sure this is the funniest thing I'll ever write, and I'm okay with that. I can't stop laughing 🤣🤣🤣

[Next Part: A Blazer Full of Bullet Holes]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

blue art deco divider by @/saradika-graphics--thank you for your beautiful work!

[livwritesstuff]

i’ve been very quiet so srry - my week started with my annual performance review (which went well) and ended with an emergency surgery (also went well) so…a lot going on to say the least

this is a deleted scene from the first chapter of plant a seed

When Robin called, Steve and Eddie were in the phase of newborn parenthood where they froze every single time the phone rang (because said newborn was napping more often than not and when she was, there was a 50% chance minimum the phone would wake her up).

So when Robin called and the ringing of the phone broke the otherwise peaceful silence, Steve froze and he waited. When the baby didn't wake up, Steve exhaled a sigh of relief and answered the call.

"This is Steve."

"Hey Steve-o!"

Steve immediately recognized the voice as Robin's – of course he did, even if he hadn't heard it since she and Nancy left for a work trip in Japan a little over a month ago.

“Oh shit,” Steve said, because this means that Robin and Nancy are finally home, finally back in their Boston apartment fifteen minutes away from his and Eddie's in Cambridge instead of the opposite side of the entire world, “You’re home!”

“Yep,” Robin replied, popping the P, “That plane was a million degrees, I’m pretty sure. No more August flights if I have any say in it. Anyways – wanted to let you know we made it back unscathed. What’s new with you guys?”

“Uh…” Steve began, not totally sure where to start, because Robin didn't know about the baby he and Eddie had been placed with two weeks ago and she certainly didn't know that they're going to adopt her (because they'd landed on that decision that very day – about two hours ago, to be specific), “Well–”

“Hey, do you still have those placements?" Robin interrupted, "The kids who like to read the Goosebumps books?”

“Oh,” Steve blinked, “No. They went back with their mom a couple days after you left.”

“Damn. Been a while. Forgot this trip was longer than usual – wait, so are you between placements now, then? Hey, we should finally make that trip to P-Town!”

"Might need a raincheck on that," Steve said with a laugh, because at the moment a trip to the goddamn grocery store required at least a day's worth of planning, "We've got another placement right now – a newborn. We've had her for, uh, for just under two weeks, pretty sure."

“Shit, a newborn?" Robin repeated.

Steve faintly heard Nancy's voice, though he couldn't make out exactly what she was saying. He listened as Robin recounted to her what he'd just said, then started to laugh.

"Nancy just said that if she misses out on a chance to hold a new baby, she'll kill you," Robin told him, "Any idea when she might move on?”

Steve paused for a second. He and Eddie had decided earlier that they wouldn’t be telling anyone about the baby until the adoption was finalized, but…it’s Robin. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever kept a secret from Robin before, certainly not something this big and certainly not for very long.

He has to tell her.

“We’re, uh, we’re actually adopting her.”

Robin was silent.

Then –

“Holy shit – Steve.”

And then –

“I’m coming over right now. Immediately. Wait–” Robin stopped, “Damn, I can’t be a dick and come over unannounced anymore, can I? Because you guys have a baby. A baby. And she’s gonna be yours? What the fuck? Wait, let me start over.”

Robin paused long enough to take a deep breath.

“Steve Harrington – my best friend who’s finally fulfilling a lifelong dream of becoming a dad – when will you allow us to come and be formally introduced to our niece?”

Truth be told, Steve wouldn’t say no to a visit from Robin and Nancy that day (especially after the our niece comment), but their case worker had just started faxing over all the paperwork to get the ball rolling on the adoption process and Steve has a feeling that he might catch Eddie trying to fill that shit out as it came out of the machine so tonight they might be a little occupied.

"Tomorrow?" he suggested.

"Morning?" Robin added.

Steve laughed, "Sure. Tomorrow morning."

"Bright and early, dad. Holy fuck, I can't believe you're a dad."

"You can't?"

"No, I totally can."

[deeranger]

Sam letting Dean suck on his breasts to calm him down when he is mad or angry is so real… It also makes perfect sense because in canon Dean misses Mary a lot and Sam is so much like their mother (save me Sam/Mary parallels save me). Dean definitely has memories of her, he probably sees her in Sam sometimes.

Oooh..... Oh. Mommy kink, anyone? 😏

"Yeah, that's it, just let me—" Dean babbles, cutting himself off with a moan when his lips close around Sam's nipple. His little brother has barely had the time to properly open his shirt, but Dean's already shoving his face in there, eager and so damn riled up that he's hyperventilating. It doesn't take many seconds before teeth graze the tender flesh either, any restraint and finesse forgotten long ago.

"Oww, s-slow down," Sam gasps, but there's a small smile tugging on his lip despite the pain. Dean whines in response, a high-pitched noise stuck in his throat as he suckles, tongue lapping greedily at the hardened nub.

"M'right here, De.... Not going anywhere," Sam adds, voice shaky, as Dean eagerly palms his other tit, strong fingers squeezing it like he'll never let go.

"Hmmm," Dean just mumbles, his hot mouth leaving smears of saliva to cool everywhere on the tanned skin. By now, he's so hard in his jeans that it looks downright painful, and Sam's no better off. There's no way either of them is going to last long. Every few seconds their hips involuntarily twitch, small stutters that they don't quite manage to conceal, but right now there's really no need to hide it. Not now, not anymore. They're too far gone for that.

"Oh, God...." Sam grunts when his big brother nips at him, only to let go of his nipple with a loud and vulgar pop. It's nothing short of pornographic, and as Dean stares up at him through dark lashes, the younger Winchester can't help a moan falling from his lips, raw and blatantly wanton. As he sits there on the edge of the motel bed, Dean looks so small between his legs, so.... Devoted. And the way he's leaning into Sam, just clinging to him like his life depends on it, it's making every fiber of him want to relieve the pressure building in his groin. But he can't. Oh, he can't.

"Please, can I just....?" Dean asks, and he sounds wrecked. Both his hands are now on Sam's tits, squeezing them together like they're actually big enough for it. Like Dean has done a million times with the bar skanks he'll pick up at night. Only, Sam's chest is firm and muscular, not at all as supple as the various C cups he usually gets his hands on. It's not the same. Oh, but it's Sam. And he's so warm and beautiful, endless planes of golden skin, smooth under his calloused fingertips. It's like he can even feel the heartbeat underneath it, just thrumming away in a strong jackrabbiting rhythm that perfectly matches his own. It's intoxicating. It's safe, it's home. And it's so much like her.

"Fuck..." Dean says, the word punching out of him in a breathless moan. As his fingers pinch and caress and squeeze, his eyes never leave Sam's face. God, he's beautiful. And he has Mary's eyes. Shit, he even has her smile.

By now there's a wet patch forming on the denim fabric of his jeans, and Dean can't help but grind himself against the side of the mattress. Sparks zap up his spine as he does, and a loud moan tumbles out of him.

"Oh, God, I n-need... I need to..." he whimpers, dark green eyes laser-focused on Sam's lips while he humps the edge of the bed.

"You can have whatever you want, De- just- take whatever you want," Sam babbles in return, hips twitching and mouth open as his brother squeezes his chest. The coil in Dean's groin tightens, the heat there flaring up in an instant by Sam's words. It's like a goddamn flip of a switch. And without hesitation, he's suddenly hauling himself off the floor and into Sam's lap knees digging into the bed on either side of him with a protesting squeal of the metal springs in the cheap mattress.

There's no more hesitation. No more second thoughts. There's simply no room for it anymore, and Dean's mouth crashes against Sam's in a wild frenzy of clacking teeth and prodding tongues. It's primal, and there's something so unique in the way Sam tastes, something that sets Dean's groin alight. He tastes like cinnamon and raspberries and coffee, like something long forgotten, like everything Dean ever missed... He tastes like friggin mother's milk.

A pitiful mewling sound spills from Dean's mouth, desperate and so, so hungry. He almost sounds like he's hurt, and he's pawing at Sam now, big hands roaming everywhere to squeeze and tug and pinch like he can't get close enough. He's almost there. Shit. He's almost there, he's so, so close but still just too far away to slip over the edge, that fire blazing in his groin and in his mind and everywhere, like he's going mad with it, like he's friggin dying from it, and his dick fucking hurts and—

"M-Mommy..." he whimpers into Sam's mouth, mind a whirl and body ablaze. He can feel Sam tense, feel the way he stiffens ever so slightly, insecure surprise making his large body go extra taut under him. But it's only for a second. Just a second, as scary and fleeting as a ghost. And then, Sam relaxes once more, delves deeper into the messy kiss with a throaty groan of his own. There's even a stuttering roll of his hips, eager and clumsy, and then they're suddenly grinding together, denim against denim. It's rough and the angle is weird, but it's everything Dean ever wanted. It's electrifying. And while they breathe each other's breath, tongues lapping and swirling and tangling, Sam whispers into his brother's mouth:

"It's okay, baby boy... I've got you."

The reaction is instant. Dean groans against Sam's lips, hips thrusting and grinding against his little brother's crotch, seeking release, touch, anything, just more, more more. The fire in his groin feels searing, like it's lapping at his spine, scalding tendrils shooting through his abdomen and spreading like wildfire. He's right at the edge, the point of no return rushing past him so fast that he's forgetting how to breathe.

"Please—" he manages to choke out, but it bleeds into a helpless moan before he can finish it. It seems that Sam knows exactly what he wants though, because suddenly a big hand drops to the bulge in Dean's pants, long fingers rubbing at him through the denim:

"Come on, baby... Let mommy take care of you," Sam whispers, low and throaty into Dean's mouth.

And that's all it takes.

With a whimper, Dean shoots hot and messy inside his jeans, hips jerking in cramp-like thrusts against Sam's hand. It's as clumsy as it is mindless, both of them writhing against each other. It's animalistic. The sounds they make easily rival the dirtiest porn flick, and Dean's mind is reeling with want and more and Mary and Sam, Sam, Sam. It's everything Dean ever wanted and everything he should never have. Oh, but it's beautiful. It's perfect. And he's finally home.

[notmorbid]

yellowjackets, season 1 [pt. 1].

dialogue prompts from the first season of showtime's yellowjackets.

i still get chills just thinking about it.

i'm going to talk to you like an adult. is that okay with you?

i don't talk to reporters. but i'm guessing you already know that.

shouldn't we say a prayer first?

remember, anger can be good.

this already does not feel like a meaningful conversation.

just admit you did it on purpose.

you're the best friend i've ever had.

it's a good luck charm. now nothing can touch you.

i took the red cross babysitter training class. twice.

does that usually work for you?

you are so mad and yet so wrong.

i take it you know why i'm here.

i have a lot of theories, but do you want to go first?

talk about someone who didn't want to be found.

i come bearing gifts. you're welcome.

are you making fun of me?

for the record, i was trying to save you.

look at me and tell me what you mean.

i guess i didn't make much of an impression.

you're not out of the woods yet.

what about you? any secrets big enough to crash a goddamn plane?

dying is nothing to be afraid of.

we think we know what we're doing, but really, we have no clue.

if you want me busting kneecaps, it's gonna cost extra.

you should've brought your rifle.

are you sure this is a good idea? what if the neighbors see?

you can learn so much about a person by going through their personal refuse.

you're not that much of a bitch.

i didn't come here to fight crime.

home? yeah, what's that?

you two are the worst for each other.

it's so easy for you to judge others with your perfect life, right?

what's the point in having connections if you can't use them?

you're beautiful when you're honest.

do you know how weird you are?

uncomfortable silences make me uncomfortable.

i don't know about you, but i'm really scared.

i just need my best friend right now.

the worst is behind us, okay?

i know you're not asleep.

i'm different from what people expect, and it scares them.

the police are coming. we have to go. do you understand?

i think bad things happened here.

you said you wanted to make up for your misspent youth.

i know when you look at me, you don't see someone you should be afraid of.

if i win, you have to tell me something personal about yourself.

r.i.p., sorry. it was worth it.

i'm like a well you whisper your secrets into.

i've heard the official story.

you had to know i was like, totally in love with you. right?

it doesn't matter how shitty they are. it still fucks you up when they're gone.

i think the ghost decided it was time to get some sleep.

you've never been good at being anything other than yourself. it's your superpower.

i don't know how much longer i can keep doing this.

you taught me how to be like this, you know.

you make people feel like things are gonna be okay just by showing up.

if we can laugh at all this, maybe it'll help us feel better.

you know, you never get the time back. none of us will.

are you seriously doing magic right now?

when did you fall out of love with ____?

you're so not fine. do you think i can't see that?

you poisoned me. why?

have you ever heard of mutually ensured destruction?

i was just going to keep you company, if that's okay.

you won't tell anyone, will you?

[breelandwalker]

So a small moment of joy from this weekend -

Friend of ours calls up, asks us if Husband and I can look in on her dogs while she's away overnight with her girlfriend. (This is a semi-regular occurrence, we live close and have swapped keys for pet care purposes.) Sure no problem, Husband drives us over Friday night to meet and greet, since we haven't met the new girlfriend yet and her doggo will also be there.

What Husband DOESN'T tell me is that Friend's Girlfriend's doggo....is a corgi.

Now, at this juncture, it's important for you, dear reader, to understand something about me.

I FUCKING LOVE CORGIS.

You know that gif of Kristin Bell sobbing on television because she's going to meet a sloth? That's my dumb ass with every corgi ever.

So I walk in the door and see my precious pittie-mix goddogs....AND A FUCKING CORGI.

I make a Noise and promptly forget that I have any goddamn knees.

Husband and Friend proceed to cackle while I fuss over this precious baby, this fluffy angel, this darling creature of all time, too pure and precious for this world, twerking her fuzzy little hamhocks with glee at being petted, your honor her name is REPTAR and i would die for her.

Eventually I come to my senses enough to carry on a conversation. Friend's New Girlfriend is an absolute darling, we have a lovely chat, and at some point as I'm sitting on the couch, Sweet Corgi Babydog jumps up and lays her head in my lap.

I ascend to a higher plane and begin to weep with divine ecstasy.

(And then turn to Husband to tell him to shut up bc he's laughing again and calling me a dork in the most loving way possible.)

At some point, he suggests we go home and have dinner. I tell him to shut his filthy blaspheming mouth, I live here now, I am the servant of the fat furry kielbasa on my lap. Doggo is eventually bribed to get down and we leave.

And then we have the Best Weekend Ever romping around with these three doggos and I am once more rewarded with corgi cuddles. (And also a working-dog lapflop from my goddog The Bonafide Boneless Chicken Wing bc apparently my anxiety was high and my blood sugar was low. He is a Very Good Boy.)

I don't know what we as a species did to deserve domestic creatures but it must've been massive.

[curlsincriminology]

Crush on You - Steve Harrington x Reader

A/N: Hi yeah, can you tell this was written by someone with ADHD on a plane in 30 minutes? Sure! But it's the first thing I think I've published in 5 years so you're gonna have to just deal with it! Not beta'd because again, first piece in 5 years. Also if you are lactose-intolerant be careful, this shit is CHEESY!!

@boyfriendstevie

Steve was going to maim Robin. 

He swore to God right then and there, looking at you with that cute little teasing twinkle in your eye as you said, "so you've got a crush on me, huh?" that he was going to find a way to permanently silence her. 

Robin had to be behind this. It had taken all of 12 hours - from him spilling his guts about his debilitating infatuation as he drove her home from work, to you sauntering through the Family Video doors - to get to this moment. 

His face felt hot... was he dying? Could he actually be dying? The sound of his heart pounding in his ears made him think he might still have a few more minutes of agony to go before his body mercifully took pity on him and just... y'know. Ended it. 

You, on the other hand, were thriving. You were positively giddy, unsure when the last time you had felt solid ground under your feet; you had floated on a cloud (you were sure of it) over to Family Video. 

Honestly, it wasn't Robin's fault. 

No one in their right mind would tell her something that they didn't want you to find out. Robin had been spilling Hawkins' secrets to you since your family had moved to town. 

At first, it was protective - a welcoming to the neighbourhood that helped you to know what cliques to avoid and who was sort of cool. Then it was friendly, to make you feel more at ease that you actually weren't coming off like the idiot you thought you might be. 

Now? Now it was downright… messy? Fun? No, definitely mischievous. 

Why else would she have rolled up on her bike to your part-time spot, parked behind the desk at the Hawkins Public Library, with that shit-eating grin on her face claiming she had some positively delightful news to tell you?

Either way you didn't care. Because it had brought you here, still in your work getup, absolutely vibrating with the sheer force it was taking you to not be the biggest tease in the world about something that was okay, maybe a little sensitive. 

Steve could see the restraint on your face anyway. He knew you wanted to tease him - you were loving this. 

He was still contemplating just faking an emergency and leaving. It would have been hard with the way you were leaning over the counter, gripping the side closest to him to keep you supported as you blocked him from passing you. But maybe he could manage it if he put on a good enough show.

You were biting your lip in an attempt to not freak him out with the intensity of your grin. You really just wanted him to admit it.

Standing there, with your body basically draped over the counter, your lip worried between your teeth and your eyebrow raised, Steve thought maybe it wouldn’t be the embarrassment that killed him. Maybe it would just be from how goddamn pretty you were.  He had never seen anyone more enchanting than you - he thought there were probably damn hearts in his eyes as he stared at you. 

And if he thought about it, maybe you hadn't heard it from Robin... he wasn't exactly subtle when it came to you. He'd definitely tripped over himself, literally, to be the one to grab you a tape you'd requested be put on hold. More than once. 

There had also been the time when you had caught him watching you as you perused the shelves, completely ignoring the increasingly frustrated attempts of Mrs Jones to try and get him to check out "Trading Places" for her. 

"Steeeeeeeve." The melodic singsong of your voice was enough to bring him back to the present. And to cause him to realize he had just been staring at you, gape-mouthed, for at LEAST 15 uninterrupted seconds. 

Yeah, it would be the embarrassment that killed him. 

"I- I uh." You watched a muscle bob in Steve's throat as he swallowed hard, nervously running his hand through his hair. "I-"

"Are you always this articulate?" You said with a bat of your eyelashes and he groaned. You were gorgeous and funny and he used to be so much better at this. There's no way he would have fumbled this conversation back in high school. 

Then again, you hadn't been at his high school. 

Eyes closed he shook his head trying to clear his thoughts and quickly realised that could be interpreted as "no, I am NOT always this articulate which is to say, quite accurately,  sometimes I literally can't speak when you talk to me". Steve quickly opened his eyes to stammer out... something. Jesus. He was really killing it. 

You remain in your position, leaning on the counter as you wait for him to formulate a coherent thought. And no, you would not give him a reprieve. Not yet. 

Because you had been hiding your crush behind teasing comments and little jokes and playful nudges since the second you laid eyes on the man in front of you. Ever the charmer, he would flirt and tease and joke back with you, tit for tat. But sometimes… you could push it, and throw him off his game. You could reduce him to a blushing sputtering mess, and you loved nothing more than to watch him try to process if you were talking a big game or would really walk the walk. You wanted to see if you could get him to finally end this game of chicken.

Steve huffed and let out a tentative laugh. His hand had found its way back to the disheveled strands on his head. "I, uh, I feel like there's no way for me to get out of this."

If Steve hadn't spent the last few months studying your every goddamn facial expression, he would have missed the little narrow you did of your eyes. Almost imperceptible, but he knew you did it when you were processing something and not quite sure where that thought process was taking you. Or what you were going to do. 

It seemed like only a fraction of a second before you decided. 

"What if," you began, a small almost devilish smile starting to spread across your lips, "I made it easier for you?"

You leaned closer towards Steve, and watched his eyes widen ever so slightly as he looked down at your lips. He licked his own without realising it, following your movements as you leaned closer, closer... and grabbed the sticky pad and pen he'd been doodling on before you had flounced in. 

His cheeks warmed and it didn't escape your notice that there was a small flush spreading across Steve's face. Or that he absolutely wanted to kiss you. 

You grinned to yourself, pulling the used sticky off and pressing it onto Steve's chest. He glanced down in confusion at the piece of paper stuck in the gap of his vest, his eyes flying back up to meet yours as you beamed.  If you left your fingers splayed across his chest a second or two longer than necessary, he didn’t voice any complaints. 

Pulling your hand away from Steve’s chest, you curled it over the pad in your other hand, scribbling furiously, while keeping the note’s contents hidden from Steve's curious gaze. 

Pleased with yourself, you flipped the pad back towards him on the counter and slid the pen along with it, bumping his hand so that he would take over their possession. His fingers curled over yours briefly, and while you would’ve liked to have kept your hand under his a little longer, you were playing a special game and you weren’t ready for it to be over just yet.

Steve was so focused on your little smirk, and the way your eyes had crinkled when he looked down at your bottom lip, he didn't even register the note when he glanced down at it. 

"You can send it along with the town crier if you want." You teasingly gestured out the window to Robin who had just pulled up in front of the store. He struggled to process it all; everything that was you and the note you had slipped across the counter, and he finally looked up again at you, you were partially to the door. A wink thrown back at him as you passed Robin. 

"Hey Robs. Bye Steve." He heard a muffled “hello” and “bye” from Robin’s direction in response, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would have been to capture your lips against his with you as close as you had been. If not that, Christ, he could have at least admitted he couldn’t get you out of his head with you, there, giving him the perfect opportunity. 

The chime of the door wasn't enough for him to stop staring after you. In fact, he watched you walk away until he couldn't see you anymore. He was vaguely aware of Robin speaking to him as she buzzed around him, moving things he had left “in the wrong place” and “should have put away already”. He felt her push into her personal space, boundaries long forgotten if they had ever been present at all, as she tapped at his hand.

"Uuuuh Steve? What's that?" Robin asked, her large blue eyes studying him and the object partially hidden by his large palm. He blinked slowly, eyes focusing back on the room in front of him instead of the spot where he had last seen you, turning out of the parking lot.

He could be angry with Robin later he thought, flipping the pad in his hand to read what you had written. He felt the tips of his ears go red as he finally processed the words in your slightly messy scrawl, Robin yammering about something in the background. 

It was cute and it was cheesy and he was almost grateful you had left so you didn’t see the big stupid grin that spread across his face. Yeah, he had a crush on you. But you had a crush on him too.

He grabbed the pen and checked “yes”, pulling the note off the pad and shoving it deep in his pocket to get it away from Robin. He could deliver it himself.

[gldrushh]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

TITLE Sugar and Sin.

PAIRING Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

BLURB Maybe the gun wielding stranger with a penchant for dramatic entrances can be her chance of survival other than her worst nightmare.

GENRE Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

WARNINGS This chapter contains intense scenes with threatening behavior, discussions of violence and murder, and emotional distress.

W.C 1.7k

TAGS oc is SILENCED, jk is a jerk and likes to break in

A/N ty ty ty for the amazing support you guys have been showing this!! It means more to me than you know. Also, I kinda don't wanna post the new chapter on wattpad until I have posted all the already published ones here so it can be in sync. Let me know what you guys think about that?

TAG LIST @scuzmunkie (let me know if you wanna be added in the tag list)

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CHAPTER 3: AURORA

He was here.

In her goddamn living room, sitting on her couch like he owned the place.

The realization hit her slowly, like the creeping cold of winter sneaking under the door. She hadn't heard him come in. She hadn't seen him approach. But there he was, every inch of him radiating danger.

He was here to fulfill the promise of something dangerous.

He was here for her.

She didn't need to look through her memories of last night to recognize him. The inky voids that were placed where eyes normally are were proof enough, and so was the horrifying calmness he carried with himself surrounding the small space of her apartment.

Her lips parted, her breath shortened and her unblinking eyes went all over him, his gloved hands that were skilled for taking lives-she was sure of it- resting flatly on his broad, muscled thigh clothed with the black of his pants, his shirt of a softer fabric soft yet unyielding, strained against the hard planes of his chest. The tailored suit jacket stretched over biceps that seemed too solid, too real, for this moment to be anything but a nightmare and there was the face she hadn't properly grasped in the chaos of last night, now all sharp lines, cool beauty, and unsettling stillness.

Maybe the devil wasn't a short red man with thorns and tail at all. Maybe he wore tailored suits and silver piercings.

"Breathe. And sit down."

His voice- a calm authority, snapped her out of her jumbled thoughts. She wasn't sure how much she could take of being the sole recipient of his attention.

"What.. H-How did you-you get in?" She managed, not bothering to cringe at how small and powerless she sounded in her own home.

"Sit down." It was an order this time considering how his bored face hardened and his tone shifted. "We have lots to talk about." His gloved finger flexed briefly over the gun holstered at his side.

That gesture alone was enough for her to obey before her mind could catch up and reluctantly sit across him while trying her best not to display how wobbly her knees were getting. Even as she sat across from him, every fiber of her being told her to flee. But something in his stillness kept her rooted to the spot.

"Answer me now. How-how did you get in?" she asked again, though as much as she tried to hide it, there was a tremor in her voice.

"I don’t respond well to questions phrased like that," he said lazily. "Try again."

Her frustration bubbled up, cutting through the haze of fear.

Was he being serious?

A murderer had just broken into her apartment, and he was acting like they were discussing table manners.

"Are you kidding me-" his fingers flexed against the barrel of his gun again in response, making her narrow her eyes at him.

Silence stretched between them.

He didn’t speak. Just watched. Like he was waiting for something.

She could barely think, barely breathe. The bakery. The blood. The gunshot that shattered the air. It all rushed back in a dizzying blur.

Her stomach twisted. She was going to throw up.

She swallowed hard, fighting it down. And then, before she could stop herself—

"You're here to kill me too, aren't you? Because I saw what you did. I saw you murder that innocent man." She was surprised at how collected she sounded.

He leaned back, slow and deliberate, his gaze heavy on her as he scoffed under his breath. "If I wanted you dead, it would have happened there. Just another body for my men to dispose of." And there went that collected front of her down the drain. But his expression remained unchanged, bored almost, as if this entire exchange was nothing more than a chore to him. Like her existence—her life—was a casual thought that had crossed his mind and been dismissed.

"But I didn't. And if it helps, the innocent man was not as innocent as you naively assume." His voice was colder, with a mocking tilt to it.

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the wave of unease rising inside her, trying to grasp onto anything that made sense in this situation. "So? What are you, the law?"

"My word is. And he went against it." He said simply.

Her lips parted again in an act of disbelief. There was something so twisted about this man. And she had a feeling that didn't stop only at him being a murderer.

"T-That is not going to stop me from reporting you to the police and neither will you." She said with a determined look even though her actions were hesistant when she slowly and carefully rose up from her spot.

And he clearly saw right through it. "Oh, are you?" He leaned forward, his presence suddenly much heavier as he spoke out with an amused tilt of his head.

This was the face of a man who knew he won't be punished for his crime. This was the face of a man who knew that, that was all beneath him. Just who the hell was this man?

"What is wrong with you?" She conferred the answer was: Everything.

"Why are you doing this? Why did you do any-any of that?" There was a frustration in her voice now that caused him to rise up from the couch as well. And she could swear he was tenfold more intimidating now that he was displaying the giant of a height he had, almost causing her to flinch.

The air changed.

"I don't owe you an explanation for my actions while you do owe me for meddling in my business." He replied, the shadows deepening on his face

"Meddling in your business? You're the one who broke into my bakery.." and now in my apartment. "And made it your place of crime."

It was bizarre. His audacity.

"Your little bakery will be nothing but ashes on the ground if you don't stop fighting me on it." He eyes flashed with irration as he spoke out with a firm tone full of promise, taking a step closer to her but still maintaining a distance he looked distasteful to cross.

While all she could do was stay frozen in her spot with her hands curling in ball of fists by her side as his eyes told her to even though the audacity of this man to threaten the place she made a living from raged her to no end.

He released a quiet breath.

"You'll not speak about anything you saw with anyone. Save yourself from the embarrassment."

She swallowed a hard lump down her throat, not liking how he stared at her, how his words spit out like venom. Of course, she felt a surge of anger at how he was ordering her around, but it was tempered by fear at last. "I-I can't just forget what I saw.."

He cocked an eyebrow at her words. "But you will." 

She fumed at the underlined threat in his words. She couldn't digest how this man had her so pathetic at his non-existent mercy. It was a pill she had to swallow, of course, but that didn't mean she was gonna do it without an attempt to choke it out.

Her mind raced. The face of an familiar old man with a nasty grin flashed in front of her. Mr. Choi had been tightening the noose around her neck for months. The bills have been piling up, and if she didn't speak up now, maybe she would have to return back home. This could be her only chance. Yet the rational part of still considered the insanity of bargaining with a man who just threatened her life.

She swallowed hard. It's a terrible idea. A dangerous gamble.

But when has she ever listened to the annoying rational part of her head?

"I- I want something in return for my silence." She said with a newfound determination, her chin tipped up. "My bakery's landlord... Mr. Choi... he's been extorting me for months. If you want my silence, I need your help." Even with the clarity in her demand, she couldn't help but feel like it was as if she was begging. The pulse racing with fear convinced her that she was begging.

Gods, what is wrong with me?

That seemed to twist something in him as he stepped closer with a sinister calmness. "You think you're in a position to make demands to me?" His voice was laced with a malicious intent, making her do everything in her power to not squirm in her spot as he towered above her.

Yet she stood her ground even if the fear threatened to overwhelm her. "It's only fair that I get something in return." She said with a surprisingly steady voice, trying her best to hide the desperation that was eager to be out.

Please, let this work. Please don't let this end with my body laying in my own blood.

A muscle of his jaw ticked. "Being bold now, are we?" he said. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

Aurora swallowed. Oh, she knew.

But she also knew that her options were running out.

He paused, his eyes glinting with intensity and some sort of interest. "However I'll consider your request. Maybe you'll prove useful enough to warrant a little leeway."

The breath rushed from her lungs.

She didn’t believe it at first.

But before she could say anything, he was already standing, already turning toward the door.

Then, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Until next time, baker girl."

Leaving behind a living room that felt smaller, colder, emptier—but her heart still pounded like he was right there.

And she had no idea what the hell she had just done.