#he watches tv and its in one ear and out the other. the man is the antithesis of fandom

[hillerska-official]

I'm fully obsessed with how willing some people are to take things at face value. I did some reading to find out the best star trek TOS novels and on so many of them (interestingly enough it's usually for the ones written by women, but I digress), people leave bad reviews specifically with the same complaint, time and again. "Spock is too emotional in this. Spock is purely logical you can't write him with emotions like this." And every time i read that complaint i am fully fucking flummoxed, because of COURSE Spock is emotional, what the hell are these people talking about. Spock is shown over and over again in the show to be a deeply emotional person. This is something he vehemently denies, granted, but it is obviously intended to be clear to the viewer that he is LYING when he denies having emotions. Jim and Bones have very specific Looks reserved for when he tells this lie.

There is a very specific reason Spock tells that particular lie, of course. A pretty emotion-based one at that. Spock has a very complicated relationship with his parents and with his human versus his Vulcan culture. Growing up on Vulcan of course Spock wanted to be less human, and be more like his peers. But the fact is that even Vulcans are not naturally emotionless/logical, and they actually have very specific historical reasons for so deeply valuing logic over emotion. So it is absolutely baffling to me to see people just take what Spock tells us about himself entirely as truth. Spock is a bitch and a liar (affectionate) and he is so deeply human in so many ways. That's why people enjoy his character in the first place, imo.

[sukunasweetheart]

Getting into petty arguments and fights with sukuna 😭 ik that man would eat everything in the fridge not knowing that those leftover wings were YOURSS 🤬🤬🤬👹👹

Something that annoys him though is how you often misplace things in the kitchen. Sukunas very meticulous about what goes where and is annoyed when he has to look for things when hes cooking bc you've put things elsewhere!!

There are short periods of time where yall are in a non serious but funnily committed "fight" where you guys bicker for no reason and give each other the cold shoulder/silent treatment bc both of u are stubborn as fuck

Its a "fight" but you'll still sit in the same room as him at home, and he'll still cook you nice meals, and you guys still eat together, sleep together, and watch tv together, its just, you know, a little less lovingly, you know??

And then one of you eventually caves in a little bit, which leads the other to also soften up in return.

This morning, Sukuna's putting his shoes on, about to head out for work.

"Hey."

He turns around.

You're holding a muffler, with a disgruntled look on your face.

"It's going to be cold today. Wear this to work," you tell him, as you're wrapping it around his neck on your tippy toes.

"And take your umbrella! I'm always telling you to pay attention to the morning weather forecasts. It's raining this afternoon."

"What’s this? I thought you were still mad at me. Giving in so easily?" sukuna taunts.

"I still am. But this and that are different things. You're still not getting a morning kiss, by the way. Goodbye."

You turn on your heel and walk off, but he pulls you into a backhug and laughs against your ear. He kisses your cheek and then bites the same area.

"Oww! What the fuck!" You're holding your cheek and turning around to smack him on the chest.

"I'll be off, since i got my morning kiss now. I'll see you later."

"I hope you step on dogshit on your way."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too."

Maybe he'll stop by the flower shop after work, and also grab some wings on his way home.

[jymwahuwu]

Inspired by @hunnieknight art 🐾💖 quickly wrote something

cw: hybirds AU, puppy hybrid! reader and puppy hybrid! Capitano, mating mentioned but no detailed description

Morning is the moment you wake up smelling the sunny-side-up egg. You lie on the comfortable bed, your hands gently clenched into fists, your consciousness is blurry, but…it's the fragrance. You climbed out of bed and rushed to Mavuika's position with excitement. While she was frying eggs, she rubbed your ears and patted your head. "You can sleep a little longer," you responded by rubbing your cheek against her leg, giggling.

Hmm… there's an unusual smell in the air… what's that?

You searched the carpet and looked toward the window. There was one of its kind covered in a black mask - it was a large dog. His black ears and tail are imposing, and his chest and arms are muscular. Just by looking at it, you can tell that he is much stronger than you. Oops! He noticed you.

Mavuika glanced there casually. Isn't he much bigger than her favorite puppy? The next door neighbor is Tsaritsa from Snezhnaya. She turned down Venti’s poetry sharing party, declined Ei’s meditation course, and had no interest in Focalors’ aquarium. Among the six neighbors in the community, she lived a solitary and unique life. Oh, now she knew she had a loyal companion. She inevitably became wary, like a mother guarding against her daughter being asked out by a man.

"I don't trust that dog, don't go the fence." she ordered. "Be a good puppy."

Capitano stares at you more intently.

You tilt your head to look at her innocently. What is she talking about?

Mavuika doesn't stay at home all the time! She needs to work in the gym during the day. You whimpered and bit the edge of her dress, "Don't go out…" She sighed, coaxing you and promising to bring you snacks when she got home. You cheered and nodded, promising to look after the house and be a good puppy. You run and play with a ball in the living room and chat with your puppy friends on the Internet.

Uh, someone knocked on the window! You arched your back in fear, alert. Hey, he was the neighbor that day…you asked him what happened. Capitano asks if he can play with you. He has his family at home but they are all weird, especially the little fox named Dottore. You agreed, opened the window, and invited him into your home. You chase each other, run in circles, play with tails and ears, and watch TV shows. The two of you also swam and walked around the neighborhood together when Mavuika wasn't home.

One day, Capitano solemnly asks you if he can mate with you. You shyly waggled your tail and agreed. He gets close to you, bites your back gently, and rides on you…

And then…your belly swells. Mavuika took you to the hospital and the doctor said you were pregnant. You watched nervously from behind the door as Mavuika "interrogated" Capitano. You said you'd be fine. Capitano sent more gifts. He is there for you, even though sometimes it is necessary to watch you from the window.

The babies are born. You know what Capitano originally looked like now. Most of them are not like you, but like papa. He is still affectionate, holding your cheek and kissing you 🐾💌

[pupkashi]

satoru loves you & he’s tired of being your friend

a/n: loosely inspired by taehyungs song fri(end)s i hope u guys like pls lmk what yall think plsplsplspls

word count - 1,764

masterlist

the only light illuminating your living room was from your tv as it played your favorite comfort movie, one you’d seen countless times before. the familiarity of it had you dozing off on your couch, in and out of sleep as you lost the battle with your heavy eyelids.

there’s a soft knock on your door that has you jumping out of your skin, heart racing loudly in your ears. you pause the movie, wondering if maybe you’d hallucinated it and it truly was time for you to go to bed.

knock, knock, knock

your palms are sweaty, checking your phone before standing up. there’d been no missed texts or calls from anyone you knew, who the fuck knocks on a door at 3:24 in the morning?

you grab the baseball bat by the door, peeking through the peephole and being met with tousled white locks. a color of hair you’d be able to spot a mile away, one you’d grown to care for.

“what are you doing at my door at four in the fucking morning?” you whisper-yelled, setting the bat down and opening the door wider to let the man in. he gives you a small smile, one hand pushing his hair back and out of his face and the other holding his side.

“sorry sweet cheeks, didn’t wanna go home just yet” he mumbles, stepping in and standing by the doorway, waiting for your instruction.

“d’you get hurt? are you bleeding?” the annoyance in your voice is gone, and it makes satoru relax. he gives you a small nod, shrugging his shoulders and trying to play it off.

“nothing that won’t be healed by mornin’” you roll your eyes at him, muttering a small ‘come on’ and walking to the bathroom down the hall. “i miss you y’know” satoru says softly, watching as you searched for the first aid kit under the sink, grabbing the box and making him sit on the toilet lid.

“did you really?” you scoff, not meeting his gaze as you grab a soft rag, running it under warm water. satoru furrows his brows, confused as to why you think he wouldn’t have missed you.

“‘course i did,” he replies, opening his mouth to continue but closing it quickly when you turn to face him.

“can i take your blindfold off” you ask, your hands fiddling with the damp rag before setting it down when he nods ‘yes.’ you find the small knot hiding in his hair, gently undoing it.

the black blindfold loosen instantly, and you’re quick to gently take it off his head, setting it on the counter. his hair flops onto his forehead, falling almost perfectly to frame his face. despite the countless times you’d seen his eyes, your breath still hitched in your throat when you looked into them.

you try not to stare too long, brushing his hair out of his face and cleaning the dried blood on his face. satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, eyes tracing your every feature. his gaze is one you always faltered under, growing nervous when he’d stare at you for too long.

“what” you ask, a small nervous smile forming on your face. satoru shakes his head, a small upside down smile on his face as you wipe the cut on his cheeks with an alcohol wipe.

“you’re just real pretty” he says, watching as you bite your bottom lip, surely trying to stop the smile fighting its way into your face.

“is you side hurt too?” you motion to where his hand is covering, trying to brush past the compliment he’d given you.

“healed it up a good amount while you were cleaning me up” he shrugs, lifting his shirt and showing you the brand new scar, “I’m not completely helpless.”

“no you’re the strongest” you tease, throwing away the used items and washing your hands. “did you wanna shower? you look like you could use it” satoru pouts at your words.

“don’t have to be so mean about it” you laugh softly, drying your hands before you’re standing in front of him again. you let your hands brush through his hair, exposing his forehead before you press a kiss to the skin.

“sorry angel, you’re the one who woke me up” satoru lets his eyes close softly, heart sinking a bit when you pull away from him.

“I’ve got some clothes you’ve left over so I’ll leave ‘em on the counter” you smile, closing the door behind you and sighing softly.

how’d you get to this point? how’re you stuck between friends and something more?

friends don’t feel the way you do about satoru. friends don’t place feathery kisses on their friends scars. friends don’t act the way you two act.

satoru steps out of the shower, smiling when he realizes his clothes smell like you. his heart leaps when he exits the restroom, finding you still awake and waiting for him on the couch.

“waiting for someone?” his voice makes you jump a bit, shaking you head and watching as he sits next to you. “did you have plans for tomorrow?” he questions, watching as you send a text.

“told them something came up,” you shrug, “figured you need me more.”

the words tugged on satoru’s heartstrings. there was a never night you hadn’t been there when he needed you. you’d been there for him since the day you’d met him, there to comfort him and ease his racing mind. you were there to calm him from panic attacks and frustrations, help him through grief and stress. everything.

you were a great friend.

he hated that word. you weren’t his friend, you were something more. he knew how he felt about you, he had an inkling feeling you felt the same. so what’s stopping him?

satoru shakes the question out of his head, focusing instead on the tv. the end credits are rolling but you’re not looking away, eyes unfocused and your mind elsewhere.

“should we go to sleep?” satoru whispers, a feathery touch to snap you back to reality. you nod with a small smile, the two of you making the familiar walk to your bedroom, satoru turning off any lights and closing the bedroom door behind him before slipping in next to you.

you’d always liked having your head on his chest, you were able to hear his heartbeat this way. the rhythmic pitter-patter never failed to make you smile or help you relax. it also gave away anytime he was nervous.

“your hearts beating real fast” you state, not looking up, instead continuing to draw circles in the palm of his hand. “what are you thinking about?”

there’s too many thoughts in satoru’s head, so many that he can’t begin to process a single one of them. so instead he blurts out what had been on his mind all night.

“i love you.”

you never thought people were telling the truth about time stopping when something like this happened. you’d always figured they romanticized their life a little too much.

but you felt time stop.

your fingers faltered and you felt your breathing hitch in your throat. your stomach erupted in butterflies, face hot and your eyes wide as the three words landed on your ears.

there was a million thoughts in your head, memories flooding in. spring nights around a fire pit, hot summer days at the beach, cool autumn afternoons carving pumpkins and cold winter mornings drinking hot chocolate. and in every one of them you bit back three words while staring at the white haired man.

“you don’t have to say it back” satoru begins, his heart beating even faster than before, “i just- I’ve been think-” you sit up quickly and cut him off, shaking your head and finally looking him in the eyes.

“I love you too,” you smile, letting yourself enjoy the the moment of euphoria the two of you felt upon hearing the other say the three words you’d dreamt of.

there’s only a second of silence before satoru’s blue eyes are looking at your lips, flickering up to meet your eyes momentarily. all it takes is you leaning in ever so slightly.

his hands are cupping your cheeks, crashing his lips against yours, a sense of urgency as his lips move against yours. he tastes like his vanilla lip balm and toothpaste, smiling as the words replay in your head.

“what’s funny?” he mumbles against your lips, laughing softly, not bothering to pull away from your lips. satoru’s cerulean eyes are fluttering open, completely focused on you.

you pull away a couple inches, staring into his eyes, you can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, love and excitement written over his face as he takes in your beauty.

“just happy” you reply, “never thought you’d put the end in friends” satoru pouts comically at your words, shoving his face in your lap and groaning softly.

“‘m sorry” he grumbles, “new to all the relationship stuff” there’s genuine frustration and remorse in his voice, it makes you smile as your run your fingers through his hair, tugging softy.

“‘s okay” you say, “thought technically I’m not yours since you haven’t asked me” he knows you’re poking fun at him, not rushing him into anything.

“don’t worry,” he says, sitting up and adjusting himself to lay down next to you, smiling when you lay your head on his chest, “gonna make you mine as soon as i can.”

the words make your heart flutter again, a sheepish smile on your face as your cheeks and ears burn.

“alright smooth talker let’s get some sleep.”

funny enough satoru feels the weight on his shoulders grow lighter with your body weight pressed against him. he feels a sense of serenity running his fingers up and down your exposed skin.

you can see goosebumps rise where your fingertips touch, smiling softly and holding back a giggle as your fingers ghost over his abs, causing him to shiver.

it’s different from before, more intimate.

satoru wonders why he was so afraid of baring his heart to you in the first place. he can’t find an excuse as he watches the golden ray of sunshine hit your face softly, causing you to stir. he’s still as he watches you immediately nuzzle your face into his side, falling back into a deep sleep in his arms.

it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep too, a smile on his face when he feels your grip tighten.

lovers, he thinks, it has a nice ring to it.

taglist (send an ask to be added): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[bucks-babe]

Plastic

Summary: Bucky using a fleshlight for the first time

Warnings: Smut, toys(fleshlight, vibrator), dirty talk, watching porn, overuse of the word fucking, anal?, cum eating, degradation, use of the word bitch, slut and whore, surprise guest at the end

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I wrote this in like an hour so be warned. I’m kind of in the same headspace I was in when I wrote Be Mean to Me so this is quite dirty and a little mean. Anyway, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Any and all mistakes are my own. Huge thanks to the amazing @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however any and all mistakes are again, my own. Bucky’s a loud, horny, little boy but he is so hot. THIS IS SOOOO HOT!🤭🤭

Bucky knows that he looks insane, standing by the door of his apartment with his ear pressed against it, listening for the footsteps of his delivery driver. He knows it’s coming soon, having his phone in his hand, obsessively checking the progress of his order. His cock, already hard and throbbing, twitches when he hears the elevator ding and he knows that it's his package. Bucky knows the sound of everyone’s steps on his floor.

As soon as the coast is clear, Bucky whips his door open and grabs his box, barely remembering to lock the door before sprinting up to his room, tearing the packaging open on the way. Flinging himself down on the bed, he moans at the sight of the fleshlight in his hand. “Oh, sweetheart, pussy’s so fucking pretty. Look at that pretty clit. Want me to rub it, huh? Make you cum around my cock?”

He tosses the toy to the side, quickly getting rid of all his clothes and grabbing the lube from his bedside stand along with the TV remote. Bucky silently thanks Sam for showing him how to use a smart TV. One of his favorite things about the 21st century had to be porn. He never had this type of porn back in his day. It would only be magazines of naked women, not that he was complaining, but watching people having sex was much hotter to him.

With the TV in his room and no one living with him, Bucky was able to watch porn in HD as loud as he wanted to, and fuck if he didn’t have the strongest orgasm of his life the first time. 

“That’s gonna be too bad, baby, because I’m fucking your ass today. Don’t give a shit if it hurts, you’re gonna take what I give you and let me fill that tight little hole up as much as I want.” He grabs the fleshlight again and pulls the silicon out, only to flip it to the other side where the fake asshole was before putting it back in its casing. 

Without thought he sticks his tongue in as far as he could, ignoring the plastic taste, and groaning at the tightness of it. “Fuck, you’re gonna choke my cock aren’t ya? Yeah, you are, bitch.” He grabs the remote and quickly gets to a porn website and logs in. “What should I watch, slut while I ruin your little ass?” He already knows exactly what video he was going to watch, there was no doubt about it. It’s the same video he’s been playing on repeat for weeks, never able to last the whole time.

The sight of the woman’s ass swallowing that huge cock sends him over the edge. Maybe it was because the man’s cock looked just like his, making it that much easier to imagine he was fucking her, making her hole gape. Her ass bouncing has him hypnotized, not able to comprehend how it was so perfect.

“Can’t wait to fuck that little hole. Leave you open and sore. Makes my dick so fucking hard.” Clicking the video and grabbing the lube, Bucky puts the tip of the bottle in the hole, squeezing until the slick was dripping out. He doesn’t wait for the intro to finish, quickly skipping past it and to his favorite part, moaning immediately when he clicks play and they’re fucking full force, both moaning, skin slapping, and ass jiggling. 

Bucky has to rewind the video to just before the man slides his cock in, wanting to imagine that he was the one fucking her. He spreads his legs out, feeling his sack hit the bed and another idea enters his brain. Rolling over he grabs the vibrator from the drawer before settling back into his spot, this time with the wand nestled under his balls. Turning it to high, Bucky grinds his sack down further, staring at the way they vibrate over the toy.

If he didn’t have as much control as he did, Bucky could have came just from that. He wants so bad to have her lay down on his bed while he straddles her face, smothering her with his sack, grinding and sliding his balls around face, listening to her choke on them, all while fucking into his toy, pounding, pouring load after load into it.

With that thought in his mind, Bucky lines the fake hole with his cock, the cold lube leaking onto his dick causes him to jerk, his tip grazing her hole. “Fuck, bitch, can’t even get the tip in. Don’t worry, I won’t stop. Don’t cry, you’ll get used to me fucking you whenever. Your little holes are gonna stretch and swallow my cock without problem eventually.”

He has to press to get his thick tip to pop it, and when it does Bucky loses his mind. “Ohhhh, fuccckkk. So fucking tight, shit, gonna make me nut already. So fucking wet, fucking made for me. Shitshitshit.” He has to use every bit of self control in his body to not shove the rest of his length inside, not wanting to blow just yet, not when he hasn’t even seen his girl swallow his dick in her ass while bouncing on his lap.

For just a moment, Bucky regrets placing the vibrator on his sack, but it feels too good to take off, now adding wiggles to his grind, moving the vibe all over his huge sack. “Ready for the rest of it, whore?  No? Well too fucking bad because I want it and I’ll fucking take it, bitch.” It takes him a minute to find the remote, pressing play and turning the volume up, fuck the neighbors. 

He groans in frustration when the people decide to take their good ol’ time getting to the fucking, but when he sees her squat over his lap Bucky feels his cock pulse in anticipation. Her perfect ass swallows his cock without hesitation, and Bucky follows. As soon as he gets past the tip, he slams the rest of his length in, frantically bucking his hips to meet the toy, head falling back and eyes shut.. The sound of his cries, the lube squelching and leaking down to his balls where they bounce between the base of the toy and the vibrator, all drown out the video playing.

“Ohfuckohfuck, so fucking good. Oh shit, ass so tight, cock fucking choking. Can’t. Shit, I, oh fuck.” Bucky’s mind becomes mush, only the carnal urge to fuck and fuck hard drive him. “Love this, love th, fuck! Bet it fucking hurts. Can’t do anything but get fucked. Does my big fat cock hurt? ‘S it tearing you open? Just meant to take this fat fucking dick. Don’t care, bitch. Don’t give a fuck that it hurts. Better get fucking used to it because I’m gonna keep you on my cock all the time.”

When he opens up his eyes, that’s when he truly starts to fuck. He’s almost positive that the bed is going to break any second, creaking and shaking with every thrust. He puts all of his strength into fucking up into the toy while both of his hands come down to help his brutal pounding. “Look at that fucking ass, oh my fuck. Take it, fucking take it. See, slut, told you. You fucking like that shit, fucking like being my cocksleave.”

His moans get higher in pitch, balls still slapping against the vibe with every thrust, practically being thrown around with the speed of his fucking. “‘M’gonna fucking nut. Gonna pour every fucking drop in you ass. Fuuuccckkk, wanna cum on it, watch it bounce while I keep fucking you. Gonna bust so fucking hard. When I’m fucking done you’re gonna be gaping so fucking much I’ll shove my sack inside. Uh, huh, you’ll fucking like that.”

He takes one hand off, searching for the remote that’s been bouncing all over the bed, and turns the volume up all the way, not able to hear over the cacophony of sound he was making. “Ohhhhh, shit, ready? Ready for this fucking nut? There’s so much fucking cum, oh fuck. So much, gonna blow. C’mon, keep bouncing that big ass on me. Don’t you fucking dare stop when I nut, you fucking hear me, bitch? You’re gonna milk every fucking drop from my sack. Gonna be more than one tonight. Have me so fucking horny.”

His thrusts become sloppy before he decides to just stop bucking and let his sack rest on the vibe and his hands take over the work. “Ohhhhh, fucking gonna blow, gonna nut. Ready, fucking ready? Bouncebouncebounce, just like that, just like that. FUCK, YES. GIVE ME IT. GIVE ME THAT FUCKING HOLE. TAKE THIS FUCKING NUT.”

The string of curses doesn’t slow down for minutes, his orgasm not abiding at all. “Fuck me! Leaking everywhere. All over the fucking bed. Cum’s filling you up so much can’t even handle it.” He keeps going until he’s almost too sensitive, pulling the fleshlight off wasting no time bringing it up to his mouth, swallowing mouthfulls of cum until it’s all gone. “So fucking good, but I’m not fucking done. Get over here, baby.”

Still laying on the bed, Bucky looks over to you, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m surprised you heard me over all that noise you were making.” Bucky just chuckles and lazily reaches an arm out for you, beckoning you over, which you happily do.

You take off all your clothes before joining him in bed, grabbing the fleshlight and licking the drops of cum he missed off, humming at the taste. “You know, you could have just called me over instead of watching our videos? I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get another noise complaint. The whole building probably heard you.”

Bucky rolls to his side. “Can’t help it, baby. You’re so fucking sexy and the way you take my cock. Can’t get off to anyone else, only my favorite pornstar.” He cuts himself off with a groan.

“I don’t know if it counts as being a pornstar if we only have sex with each other, Buck.”

“Of course it counts. Last time I checked, thousands of people come to watch us fuck each other dumb. Speaking of, we haven’t made a video in a while and I bet they would love to see you squirt on my dick, don’t you think?”

At your giggle, Bucky goes and sets the camera up, making sure not to show anything in the room that would give away who you both are, knowing that you would blur your faces when you go to edit. As much as he loved to hear how crazy men and women go over the two of you, Bucky didn’t want them to know your identities. 

“Sweetheart, you are so fucking beautiful, can’t even put it into words.”

“Don’t have to, show me, big guy because I’m dripping and I need a big cock to fill me up and my boyfriend's right here.” And Bucky’s going to do just that.

[reignpage]

Basketball captain!Toji

Chicago Bulls: the virtue of training

warning: 18+ mdni, masturbation, teasing, grinding, edging, drawn out foreplay

basketball captain!toji has been really busy the past two weeks and it’s driving you wild. you’ve barely seen him, playoffs are coming up and his team’s busy training, running themselves ragged to prepare for the brutality of the season. you miss your boyfriend — he wakes up early and goes to sleep late, he’s in the gym once classes finish, and when he is taking a break, he doesn’t have the time to hang out with you, opting instead to watch recordings of previous games. 

you’ve only seen glimpses of your stupid boyfriend, and whilst you’re proud of him for being such a dedicated athlete and setting a good example for his team, you also hate him because no toji means no orgasms.

basketball captain!toji trained his girlfriend well. now you can only cum with his fingers, mouth or cock. he’s ruined you for anyone else, even your own fingers, not even your trusty vibrator is doing it for you. without him fucking you to sleep, you twist and turn, kicking your covers off and pulling at your hair cursing your stupid boyfriend. 

it’s a saturday, and you know he’s not training for the evening, a rare break for the team. so you let yourself in the apartment he shares with sukuna, knowing the pink-haired man’s out with gojo and geto. basketball captain!toji’s stare is fixed on the tv, eyes darting across the screen like a hawk, searching for flaws, for missteps to shout at his teammates for. 

the man never rests.

when you say hi, he barely grunts, and that makes you frown. 

basketball captain!toji has been torturing you with his absence and he doesn’t seem to be feeling the same, and despite your love for him, that hurts. so you decide to get him back for it. with a sly grin, you slide up beside him on the sofa, hand rubbing at his back. he’s still tense but he does soften ever so slightly.

it’s innocent at first, but then you’re pressing your tits to his bicep, revelling in the sudden flex of the muscles in his huge arm. basketball captain!toji throws a glance at you but ultimately chooses to ignore your obvious scheme. 

you amp it up, your other hand grips his thigh as you lean your head against his shoulder, pretending to watch the game but that hand is inching up his meaty thigh squeezing here and there until your fingers worm its way under his shorts. he’s so warm and you miss the feeling of his body pressed against yours. you sigh in his ears. 

basketball captain!toji is still ignoring you but he’s aware of every movement you make. he knows he’s been neglecting you and part of him feels bad, but the other part, the dominant part, has been waiting for you to crack. neither of you had cum in two weeks and he knew starting out that when you do admit defeat the sex was gonna be mind-numbing. he’s just been biding his time, clutching the base of his throbbing cock at night —when the need for your body, for your smile and moans overcame him — to stop himself from cumming. 

basketball captain!toji is saving his load for your pussy, so be sure to say thank you when he finally fucks you.

when your finger tips reach his inner thigh you gasp. he’s not wearing boxers. the fucking tease. you whine in his ears, nails digging into his skin, and his lip twitches. you remove your hand from his shorts and palm him over the thin material, he’s already so hard you don’t know why he’s still playing this game. 

your panties are soaked and your thighs are pressed together so painfully you think you might just combust. his big hand encloses your wrist and presses your palm harder against his bulge, rubbing the length with a grunt, and you think he’s going to cave, force your head to his crotch and tell you to suck. 

but instead basketball captain!toji is pushing you away and tells you off for distracting him. he gives you a pointed glare and says one word that makes your jaw drop in shock at his audacity. 

“behave.”

[evilslushy]

would you be open to doing bf headcanons for hamzah? they could be sfw and nsfw or just sfw. love ur writing :). <3

BF Headcanons _♡

SFW

i’m a very opinionated person, so asking me about my hamzah headcanons is a FIELD DAY for me

I’ve always said this but I feel like hamzah (in the beginning of the relationship) is very shy? Not in the way of “ignore any possible interaction between you and him” but more of a “ignores eye contact after a kiss” or “blushes when you call him a nickname for the first time”

He acts like he hates when you baby him but behind closed doors… BIGGEST BABY EVERRRR

It took him a while to hold your hand in public, not because he's embarrassed but again because he gets too flustered when you run your thumb up and down against the back of his hand,,, or when you play with his hands in general.

I MENTIONED THIS BEFORE IN A FIC BUT HAMZAH IS AN EAR BLUSHER AND HE'S SO CUTE WAA

If you get on his lap and play with his hair while talking about random stuff, and you kiss him out of nowhere HE’LL SMILE THIS BIG SMILE AND COVER HIS EARS IM CRYINGGGGG HES SO CUTE

Speaking of kissing lololol

Hamzah’s kisses are SENSUAL, he takes his time and really makes sure you feel his love

Contrary to popular belief i feel like if you’re with hamzah for long enough his love language becomes physical touch

And i dont say that and mean ONLY kisses but hes such a cuddly person. HE NEEDS THAT TLC HES A BIG BOY

BUT. Big but! He is not the type of person to show affection publicly IM SORRYYY

Holding hands and hugging is fine but i think more intimate things he’d rather do in private…

Not because hes embarrassed as i said, he gets shy at other people perceiving that version of him especially since he isn’t ‘acting’ or ‘joking’

Also he feels like only you deserve to see him like this hehehe

His love language is quality time. Like actually.

His head on your chest, playing stardew valley on his ipad. You watching TV or reading while playing with his curls.

Another form of this is that he’ll ask you to be him and martins cameraman just to have you there with him

Or he’ll ask if you want to try a new coffee shop that opened down the street

He’s a man that likes to be around you 24/7

ALSO ALSO ALSO OMG OMG

HE WOULD SO FORCE YOU TO DO BACKGROUND VOCALS FOR SOME OF HIS MUSIC LIKE THE RAPPERS HE LIKES LMFAO

I dont wanna go on too long with this but one thing is for sure

You’re his princess for REAL treats you like ROYALTY lol

If you guys get into an argument. Even if you’re wrong, he ends up apologizing

“I shouldn’t have let it boil over to this anyway.”

10/10 boyfriend. Totally recommend.

NSFW

SISTA. I HAVE NEVER EVER THOUGHT I’D HAVE THE PLATFORM TO SHARE THESE THOUGHTS BUT I HAVE TO MAKE SURE YALL UNDERSTAND ONE THING!!!!

Hamzah is NAWT a boob or ass guy. HE LIKES BOTH EQUALLY. (He is secretly is ass-leaning tho LMFAO)

This is so funny but he totally is the type to smack your ass randomly when he walks by.

Do you get mad? Yes. Do you tell him to stop it? Yes. Does he stop? No. Do you secretly think it's kinda…? WELL YESSS

TWO WORDS. Boob squeezer.

I think from what we can understand so far. is that Hamzah is the handsy man. HIS HANDS ALWAYS SOMEWHERE LOL

sex drive is for sure high. and when i say high… ITS HIGHHH

Contrary to popular belief AGAIN.

Hamzah doesn’t partake in dirty talk much… not that he doesn't like it—he just wouldn’t in my opinion? It's not that he wouldn’t talk at all, but he is more of a heavy breathing, whimpering, moaning guy—pretty much more noises than actual words

Though as i said, he would talk sometimes, especially if he’s feeling really good, or his stamina is lasting him longer than he thought… he starts getting a little cocky

On the topic of dirty talk, if he does talk, 99.9% of it would be praising, i don't see him enjoying degrading unless you ask him to.. but he’ll be a little awkward about it LMFAOOO

Something like: “fuck, baby you’re taking me so good.”

(Unironically starts actually using good girl after a while of making it a joke btw)

Someone sent a request a few days ago and said “i feel like hamzah has a breeding kink” and why was i gagged?! NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT BUT YES, i feel like hes more into the thought filling u with *** then the thought of impregnating you if that makes any sense

Im talking too much… digital footprint go hard.

(A/N): this isnt proofread, i kinda braindumped but i had fun doing this!! Thank u anon for the request I HOPE U LOVE THIS CUTIE MWAAAAHH

[hyunebunx]

💓 with felix omg can you imagine how adorable

˖˙ ᰋ ── 💓- 'a trail of kisses along the partner's jawline or collarbone'

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff!!

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. pairing: felix x gn!reader

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: teriii this took me forever i'm sorry 😔 i just realised the reason i'm so slow with requests is bc i'm unable to write anything if i don't make the characters head over heels in love with each other. anywayss, i hope you like it 🩷🫶🏻

“Love.” He calls out lowly, nuzzling your neck affectionately while your fingers comb through blond locks, massaging his scalp. Felix has pretty much melted into your arms, eyes barely open and not focused on the movie he insisted on watching together for the past week, missing the whole plot. “Look at me.”

“Lix, baby, my darling sunshine.” You giggle, eyes still trained on the tv screen, which has him groaning in protest. “I’m watching the movie. The one you’ve been babbling about for weeks. Why aren’t you?”

He mumbles something against your skin, too quiet for you to hear. “What was that?”

“I said, I’m bored.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, raising his head to look you in the eyes, everything in you softening once those plump lips jut out in a slight pout.

Movie all forgotten, you reach to push the hair out of his face, tenderly tucking the loose strands behind his ears to which Felix leans into your touch like a man starved of affection for weeks on end. Your thumb then moves to wipe off a small food stain near his lips, some chocolate that didn’t reach its destination and decide to hang onto your boyfriend’s gorgeous face for a while longer, also mesmerised by his beauty.

“Should we watch something else, then?” You inquire, spreading your arms to welcome him back into your embrace. Felix doesn’t even bother to answer before diving in, taking his rightful place into the crock of your neck with a soft, relieved sigh.

A moment later, he shakes his head, strong hands kneading your waist and pushing you further into the couch, all of his body needing to be touching yours in some capacity. “It’s almost over anyway.”

His lips then find their way to your jawline, peppering feather like kisses along the surface in a true, cuddlebug fashion. Your smile widens, the hand that’s not in his hair coming to lay on his back and caress the covered skin in a comforting manner as Felix lets most of his weight rest on you.

“What do you want to want to do after?” His kisses barely let you finish, pillowy lips trailing down to your neck which causes you to giggle, their gentleness tickling. Asking might prove redundant because Felix only gets this affectionate when he’s tired, your shared bed calling his name in the sweetest voice only he can hear.

You reach for the remote to turn the tv down, losing all interest in the movie as Felix ponders the question, placing a sweet kiss behind your ear that has a shiver running down your spine. Sitting up, he releases your waist to hold both of your hands, interlacing your fingers to bring them up to his lips more easily.

His answer is surprising. “Talk.”

“About?” You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to sit up as exhaustion seems to rest right on your bones.

As expected, it doesn’t take Felix long to return to your side, hovering over you and delicately pinning one of your hands right next to your head on a comfy cushion. “You.” He nods, smiling widely when you move just a tad bit to rub your nose against his, chuckling.

“What else do you want to know?” Your free hand moves to his nape, caressing the skin there which always gives Felix goosebumps. “My life isn’t as exciting as yours, I don’t have that many interesting stories to tell.”

Felix disagrees, dropping down to leave another trail of delicate kisses along your collarbones, cheekily hooking a finger under your shirt’s collar to expose even more skin. “Everything. I want to know everything about you.”

Your heart skips several beats, all possible responses dying on your tongue as they witness how much this man loves and cares about you. To be known is to be loved, and Felix wanted to make sure he knew everything before attempting to love you properly, exactly how you deserved to be loved for the rest of your life. A life he hoped and prayed you’d share with him.

His voice is low, barely above a whisper as he confesses his profound feelings. “I want every single detail about you to be engraved on my mind, and heart for as long as I live, to make sure I never forget a minute out of all the time we’ve spent together.”

“I want to recognize you from people’s stories, to work out exactly why you chose one thing over the other. I already recognize your footsteps as you walk down the hall to visit me at work – and the sound has me grinning like a fucking idiot.” He exhales, resting his forehead just above your frantically beating heart. “Can you imagine how happy knowing everything else about you would make me feel? I think I might burst.”

No, you couldn’t, because you could never wrap your head around being loved so genuinely and openly. Being loved for the real you, with the good, the bad and the ugly parts you have never shown anyone.

But Felix, as persistent as he was, will only stop once he can prove you wrong and make it a reality.

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

CHAPTER TWO

AO3LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base. 

Utter filth. And Joel knew it. 

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball. 

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?” 

“Not really, Susan.” 

Then Pete interjecting. 

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure. 

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open. 

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.” 

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots. 

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place. 

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut. 

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips. 

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance. 

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways. 

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again. 

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert. 

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat. 

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat. 

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer. 

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain. 

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you. 

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things. 

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving. 

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.” 

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly. 

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection. 

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day. 

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.” 

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes. 

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime. 

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.” 

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you. 

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you. 

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain. 

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat. 

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime. 

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen. 

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills. 

She’d left him with it and he would die with it. 

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again. 

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating. 

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that. 

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next? 

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again. 

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle. 

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home. 

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost. 

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along. 

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open. 

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out. 

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago. 

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy. 

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp. 

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal? 

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse. 

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots. 

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not. 

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel. 

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare. 

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance. 

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have. 

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely. 

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there. 

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour. 

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better. 

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.” 

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked. 

“You sure?” 

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours. 

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls. 

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth. 

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers. 

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you. 

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.” 

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted. 

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did. 

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand. 

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.” 

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else. 

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage. 

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest. 

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure. 

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then. 

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment. 

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call. 

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.” 

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones. 

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer. 

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.” 

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find. 

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever. 

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.” 

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth. 

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction. 

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words. 

They stung. More than you cared to admit. 

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have. 

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on. 

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out. 

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.” 

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions. 

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.” 

“You are crossing a line, little girl.” 

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet. 

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-” 

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered. 

“You don’t know a thing about me.” 

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away. 

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.” 

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.” 

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?” 

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand. 

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment. 

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire. 

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.” 

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you. 

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.” 

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim. 

“You understand me, little girl?” 

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare. 

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.” 

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality. 

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you. 

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean. 

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether  had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.” 

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you. 

You and Joel. 

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer. 

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation. 

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull. 

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.” 

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.” 

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer. 

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair. 

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep. 

© virginreprise

thanks for reading !

[squinch-depraved]

staying in ted's apartment for chuckle week with schlatt and getting caught being a lil slut on his couch <3 not super proofread and i'm not sure how i feel about this one but i hope u enjoy :3

"i don't understand how it can be this hot," you sighed, stretching your legs and giving them a little wiggle. "i know i'm not, like, from L.A. or whatever but this can't be normal."

schlatt snorts, eyes not leaving the movie playing on the tv screen. "nothing's normal in this hellhole. this place is fucked." he stops talking, but it seems like he has more to say.

"that's it? usually you talk about how much you hate it here for at least five minutes," you ask, fiddling with the hem of your tank top.

"no point. ted's not here to piss off." his eyes sneak down to glance at you, small and sweaty and weak compared to him, and he thinks about how easy it would be to take you right here before he catches himself and looks away.

but you caught him first. "j?" you ask sweetly.

schlatt won't look at you. "what?" he replies hesitantly.

"ted's not here," spills from your lips.

"i know, i just said-"

"and he won't be back for a little bit."

the tall man nods his head after a second, finally able to look at you again. "what're you getting at?" he tilts his head slightly, admittedly curious to see if you would actually ask him what he thought you were about to ask.

"i'm bored, j," you mumble, tiptoeing around the question you really wanted to ask. his lips curl into a smile when he realizes you're too shy to ask.

"watch the movie, y/n," he responds in the same tone of voice.

"don't wanna." your eyes trace over his grey shorts, and you lose yourself in daydreams of your best friend. when you zone back into reality, you're fiddling with one of the strings that tie the shorts. mortified, you whimper and look up at him, dropping the string and scuttling backwards in an attempt to hide your embarrassment. his face is incredulous. he grabs your arms before you can scoot too far away from him.

"jesus, toots, what're you doin'? on ted's couch?" he tsks and pulls you onto his lap. "all you gotta do is ask, i'd be more than happy to help you out if you need me."

his last two words ring in your ears. need him. head nodding eagerly, you scoot closer to him on his lap, grinding down on his clothed crotch and forcing a groan from his lips. "need you, j," slips out before you can stop yourself. "please, please."

"jesus, fuck," he grumbles. "you're such a little whore, i always forget that about you."

"aww, schlatty, how could you forget about me?" you giggle, still grinding on him. "you're always on my mind, am i not on yours?" pressing your lips to his neck and kissing all over, he gasps and digs his fingers into your hips.

"nono, you are, i just- god, y/n, i can't think," he chuckles breathlessly.

"then stop thinking, j. fuck me." you whisper it into his ear and he grunts, flipping you over and pinning you down while he kisses you roughly.

"taste so good, doll, fuck," he moans, hands slipping up your tank top and eventually ripping it off. the second your tits are visible his brain sort of short circuits, and after a brief pause, a deep groan escapes his lips, and he buries his face in your chest, licking and kissing and sucking until they're spotted with deep purple marks. you're a moaning mess at this point, a wet spot becoming visible even through your shorts. once he's done marking his territory, he pulls back enough to see your pathetic sopping shorts and grins. "goddamn, y/n, i did this to you?"

"shut up!" you huff, grabbing him and pulling him down for another kiss. your other hand snakes its way to his clothed cock and fiddles with it, earning moans from him while his tongue explores your mouth. once neither of you can breathe properly, you separate and look at each other. "i need you so bad, j."

"i know," he smirks. you smack at him while he laughs and when he comes back down to kiss you, you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him as close against you as you can.

"please, i'm so serious, i can't wait any longer, schlatt, please touch me," you mewl, bringing his face to look at you and your big, wide eyes. he chuckles and nods slightly, pulling off your shorts and panties. even though it's sweltering in los angeles, the air that hits your cunt feels cold and shocks you. he moves back so he can get a good look at you and spreads your legs. you whimper in protest but he shushes you and stares between your legs, eyes hungry as if they were trying to take everything in.

"look at this gorgeous, pretty pussy," he mumbles. "all for me." his voice is deep and gravelly. eyes flicking up to your watchful ones, he makes sure to ask permission before going in and pressing a warm kiss to your clit. you gasp and flinch at how good his mouth feels, now working on sucking and exploring your folds. eventually, he slips a finger in, and you cry out in pleasure. he begins going faster, and eating you more vigorously, and neither of you hear the door open and shut.

"what the fuck are you guys doing?!" ted asks, causing schlatt to disconnect from your pussy, although still connected by strings of your wet essence hanging from his chops and mustache.

"oh, fuck, dude i'm sorry, we should've gone to one of our rooms-"

"you couldn't have waited 'til i got back?"

neither of you know what to say to the man who's kind enough to let you stay in his apartment. he does that for you and you repay him by getting nasty on his couch. rude, if he does say so himself.

"w-what?" you manage to choke out, propped up with your arms behind you.

"you couldn't have waited for me to be here so i could join?" ted says again, shifting his weight onto his other foot. "why does he get to fuck you and i don't?"

you and schlatt look at each other, not knowing what to say.

and that's how you wound up on your hands and knees, getting slammed into from behind by schlatt with ted ramming his cock down your throat. various praises echo through the room, both men making sure to tell you how good you're making them feel. and when they're done, they trade places. they use you until they're done and you just have to sit there and take it, because you're the one who started this whole thing. and when it's all done, you lay down on ted's chest with schlatt petting your hair until they exchange unspoken words and decide to trade off cuddle time with you. expect this to happen all the time now.

[emepe]

— Pairing: Yuuta x Reader, established relationship

— General info: 18+, one-shot, smut

— Summary: When it comes to Yuuta, “just the tip” is the start of a dangerous game.

— Content warnings: nsfw, unprotected vaginal sex, virginity loss, implied religious guilt, mild god complex if you squint, coercion, slight breeding kink.

— Notes: Honestly, I wrote this just to see if I could still write decent smut (and Yuuta fits the trope perfectly ugh, I can't lie). Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Happy reading! 

Links: Read on AO3 |  Masterlist

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You promised each other you would wait. But an innocent kiss on the cheek while watching TV led to a sloppy makeout session on the sofa, with your legs on either side of Yuuta's lap and your clothed cunt grinding needily onto his crotch as his fingers crept under your shirt and dug into your waist. 

A whine escapes your lips when he involuntarily thrusts his hips upwards, meeting you halfway, desperate for further friction.

“My God, Yuu,” you moan into his mouth, as your combined drool trickles down your chin.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, yet makes no effort to hold back. Because little by little, with every movement of your hips, his erection has become downright painful. It's practically throbbing in the confines of his jeans, swollen and red, aching to be let out, begging for relief.

But he promised.

It's a mental game to come down to his senses and draw an end when things get too heated between you. God knows you haven't one ounce of willpower when you're spiraling down a lustful haze. But he'd rather be the stronger one than risk the loss of your virtue ending in remorse. 

He loves you too much to force you to carry such an immense guilt. You vowed to wait until you were married and instead settled for a few steamy moments here and there — always sure you never made it too far.

You could hump and whine and he'd swallow every sweet sigh you pour into his mouth — as long as you never fully undressed and as long as he didn't ruin you by pushing himself between your legs. Then he'll wrap his arms around you, assuring you that whatever you did was still innocent, that you have no reason to feel guilty because you're both still pure. 

The vicious cycle never ends. 

You're incredibly precious to him — you're everything — but man, it really pisses him off sometimes that he has to be the one to protect a promise you were the first to suggest.

He brings a hand to collect your hair and nip at your neck, kissing it, tracing its slope with his tongue and sucking fervently at the supple skin. As if that's enough, as if it could compare to the glowing promise that being buried inside you represents. His cock twitches at the thought, the movement causing you to expel another string of holy affirmations.

His eyes land on the hand that grips at the fabric of his shirt as you whimper into his ear and the air thickens with the scent of spit, sweat, and desire.

The engagement ring on your finger has become a symbol of dread. So close to having you bound to him forever, and yet the time couldn't come fast enough.

His chest rises and falls dramatically with every shallow breath. It's all too much — the blood rushing south, the precum he can feel leaking from his tip and soiling his underwear, the line of sweat that transfers from your forehead to his as you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe against his mouth — it's all too good. 

But it's not enough.

He's tired of it, and you're not making things easier with your pathetic whimpers and your feverish body clinging to him. He can feel your pussy clenching around nothing through the layers of clothing dividing you. If he didn't know any better, he might’ve thought you wore a skirt on purpose to further drive him mad. He might be a patient man —loving, understanding, doting— but he's still a man.

“Just the tip,” he groans.

Your hips slow down as you struggle to comprehend what he just said, earning him a chance to will the cum threatening to spurt inside his jeans back.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head as you observe his blown pupils and his eyebrows upturned in desperate pleading.

“Just the tip, please.” 

Your lips part to draw a sharp breath as it dawns on you what he's asking for.

“But we promised,” you softly pronounce.

“It won't change anything if it's just the tip,” he promises. “It's barely anything. It'll be like the time you used your hand.”

He hopes your mind is too dizzy to comprehend that the two situations don't compare at all. 

Uncertainty casts over your features, but he can see a hint of consideration gleaming in your eyes at the idea. 

You'd be lying if you said you never considered loosening up on your convictions every now and then when you got so close to the act. But you didn't think you could handle disappointing Yuuta by breaking the promise you brought up in the first place. After all, he's so devoted to you and he promised to abide by your wishes no matter how long it took because the gratification when you finally joined in carnal pleasure would only make your commitment to each other all the more special. 

“As long as I get to be with you, the rest doesn't matter,” was what he said.

But now that he's looking up at you with such helpless eyes, like you're some sort of god he prays to, your morals take a toll.

His blue eyes stare adoringly into yours. 

“Please?” he asks again.

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Please,” he insists, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, biting down just hard enough to cause a whisper of pain before alleviating the feeling with his tongue.

“Please, please, please, it hurts,” he whines, tears lining his lashes and threatening to spill as he reaches between you to palm himself over his jeans. “I can't take it anymore. I'm begging you, I need you, I love you.”

How could you possibly say no when he asks so nicely? 

You'd have to be made of stone to deny him the pleasure. You'd have to be a monster to not relieve him of his throbbing pain. You'd have to be the cruelest god to impose him with such inhumane punishment.

“Yuu,” you whisper, his pain reflecting on your face upon witnessing his desperation. 

“Please,” he sniffles.

“Okay.”

The word falls over him like a fresh breeze.

“Really? You mean it?” 

His lips curve into an eager smile, with butterflies fluttering in his stomach in anticipation.

You nod, happy to see his teary eyes light up.

“Just the tip.”

“Just the tip, I promise.”

He brushes away at his tears with the heel of his palm.

“You're an angel,” he murmurs as he cradles your face with one hand and starts guiding your hips over his erection again with the other. 

Soon enough, you're back to panting into each other's mouths, feverish and dizzy at your new promise to fulfill. 

Your hands fumble to undo his jeans, clumsily pulling down the zipper in fragments.

“Just the tip,” you huff, as he moans upon feeling your clammy hands palm him through his underwear.

You pull on his briefs just enough for his erection to spring free.

“Oh, god,” you exhale, in awe of the intense red that consumes the head of his cock. Precum oozes from the tip, balls heavy as if he's seconds away from bursting. It's no wonder he looked so pained. 

“Just the tip,” he reminds you kindly as he pets your hair, heart rate spiking when he watches your thumb trace over his leaking tip.

He flips you over so that you're pressed onto the sofa while he hovers over you and hooks his fingers around your pink cotton panties, tugging them down your hips with ease and tossing them onto the floor, leaving you in your skirt.

The sight of your bare cunt — already a sopping wet mess from everything that now counts as foreplay — makes his cock twitch.

With his weight balanced on one forearm, he carefully drags himself between your folds, the most sinful sound reaching your ears as he coats his length in your juices. His free hand cradles your face as he bends down to capture your mouth in a heated kiss. His tongue pushes against yours, swallowing each of your moans as your hands lose themselves in his raven hair. 

With fingers trembling in excitement, he lets you go and starts lining himself to penetrate your insides.

“Yuu,” you gasp.

He watches in fascination as his reddened tip squeezes in and slowly disappears inside you, your cunt glistening with enough arousal that you barely feel any pain in the sudden stretch. In fact, Yuuta swears he can feel you suck him in the tiniest bit further as you flutter around the foreign member in your body. He can feel himself grow weaker as he's hit with the warmth and wetness of your insides. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, face dropping into the crook of your neck.

The overwhelming ecstasy of knowing he's connected to you burns at every inch of his skin as he scrambles to gather enough strength to pull out and push his tip back in again. 

You writhe under him, hands frantically pulling him in for a kiss. He complies. After all, you've gifted him with this — not that he wouldn't give in to your wishes otherwise. 

His brows furrow in concentration, eyes squeezed shut with the image of his tip swallowed by your insides flashing behind his eyelids. He pumps his head inside you — in and out, in and out — mesmerized by how good it feels even if it's barely a taste. 

It alleviates him… just a little.

He grips your hips with bruising force, rolling his hips further into you all at once, leaving a mildly burning sensation in its wake. 

A whine escapes your lips and your eyes close as you feel a tickle of his pubic hair brushing against your lower tummy. Your arms hook under his, bringing him close, scratching his back over his shirt.

An animalistic power washes over him, pushing him to penetrate the deepest part of you,  over and over again. His hand squeezes your face, demanding your attention and forcing you to meet his crazed gaze. His pupils are blown with lust, the gentle blue of his irises nearly gone. With the help of his thumb, he pries your mouth open, aggressively pushing his tongue against yours, relishing in the muffled cries of pleasure you release. 

The kiss is so needy, so aggressive, it's borderline painful and your jaw hurts from the tight grip of his hand. But it's still so fucking good.

When he pulls back, your eyes are lined with tears, much like his when he was begging to let you use just his tip minutes ago.

The sound of slapping skin echoes around you. Sloppy, wet, sinful.

“Yuuta, this doesn’t feel like just the tip,” you heave, feeling an unfamiliar knot tangling in your lower stomach. 

“It is, baby. I swear.”

You both know he's lying but you're too caught up in each other to care.

Your legs wrap around him, barely granting him enough space to move, but he doesn't care. This is better, this is what he needs to relieve the mild guilt that stems from lying to you, because this means you're just as thrilled by him ruining you as he is. And if you're so unwilling to ease your hold on him, he might as well kill two birds with one stone tonight and fill you to the brim with his cum.

The possibility of knocking you up has him reeling. A breathless laugh pushes past his lips as he looks down at you.

You're such a pretty mess and he's so in love. Your pussy does such a good job at sucking him in and he's so fucking drunk on it. 

The image of you sprawled below him, sweating and whining out his name will be burned into his memory forever. And you do have forever promised, he remembers. That ring on your finger — the very finger on the very hand that's creeping between your bodies to toy with your clit — stands as proof.

You perverted little thing, he thinks, as he feels you bucking your hips upward to meet his thrusts halfway.

“Yuuta, my god, oh my god!” you whimper as his strokes grow even sloppier and he grows even heavier on your body.

“Feel good, angel?” he taunts, using the nickname he imposed on you back before you became such a needy disaster.

An airy chuckle bubbles up his throat when you fervently nod and caress his cheek. He hooks an arm under your leg, pressing it further into your chest in a semi-mating press position. 

He carelessly thrusts his hips a few more times before he's washed over with a glorious relief that he pours inside you, marveling at the way your insides flutter around him, milking him dry with every wanton squeeze.

It's like you want to get knocked up, he thinks.

His hold on your leg loosens and his weight tumbles down on top of you as you work your way to clarity. 

He moves around on the limited space of the sofa so that you can snuggle into his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses soft kisses onto the crown of your head.

You can feel his cum leaking from your insides and seeping into the couch cushions, but it'll be a while before either of you care to clean up your mess.

His warm embrace coaxes you to sleep. As you're teetering the line of peaceful slumber, a familiar thought pops into your head.

“Yuuta,” you murmur.

“Hm?”

“What we just did wasn't wrong, was it?”

He looks down at you, fingers lifting your chin so he can see your face. Your eyes are wide with worry. The duality with which you're able to confront these matters will forever be a mystery to him. 

His gaze softens and a smile graces his lips.

“Don't worry, angel. This was innocent.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It's pure love.”

Back to masterlist

[steddiehasmywholeheart]

Just thinking about an no-Upside Down au. Teacher!Steve, escort!eddie, SFW, both mid-twenties. Never met Eddie.

Steve has trauma from the way his parents treated him, and nightmares from the mall fire he was in. He usually manages this by hanging out with Robin and having sleepovers once or twice every week as long as she's single, or her coming over for evenings and keeping him safe for a few hours while he naps. It's not the best sleep in the world, but it gets him by.

But then one day, he realises she's going on holiday. For 2 weeks. And he has no idea how he's going to sleep. He can't won't take any medication because of a bad experience, and nothing but someone he trusts being there ever helps him get a good night's sleep. Even if he tried to get a casual fuck over the weekend, the chances are he'll have a nightmare and scare the shit out of them. That's happened one too many times and he refuses to do that again.

He's watching TV one night when the characters on screen start talking about escorts, and suddenly, the idea doesn't seem too crazy. Fast forward a few days, and after a lot of research, he finds himself making the call. He knows it's a lot of money, especially on his salary, but if it helps, it helps, and he knows he hates going a week without some decent sleep, let alone 2. He's bound to get a migraine, and he can't afford to miss work for that.

So, he books in with a male escort, voice shaking and hands sweating, but determined all the same. It's his only hope of surviving.

The week Robin leaves is exactly as hard as he expects it to be, and by Friday he's almost too tired to be nervous. But when he gets home from work and showers, some jitters return, getting much stronger when there's a knock at his door, 7pm sharp.

The guy standing on the other side of the door is utterly gorgeous. Tattoos, leather jacket, messy long black hair, and just a hint of a self-confident swagger that Steve is sure he's muting in an attempt to be professional. Steve just stands there, trying not to let his jaw hit the floor or his eyes pop out of his head. The guy's - Eddie's - smile, isn't helping.

Initially, Eddie flirts a little, trying to put Steve at ease. And it should work. But for some reason, it doesn't. Maybe it's because this is a guy that Steve would fuck, but tonight, he just needs to sleep, and somehow that feels even more vulnerable. But Eddie quickly picks up on it and backs off, talking to him in a soothing tone, and Steve quickly feels himself unspooling, settling into having Eddie in his space.

The rest of the night passes easily. They eat takeout, chill on the sofa, chat, and before Steve knows it, it's 10pm and Steve's eyes are burning. Eddie just lets the conversation settle, smiling gently and letting Steve make the first move. Letting Steve know he's still in control.

Its nerve wracking to go through his evening routine with a stranger he's paying to be there (though for what he still hasn't decided. He'd told the agency cuddling, but that seemed such a big ask right now), waiting in his bedroom for him, but Eddie makes that easier once again. When Steve emerges from the bathroom, he's met with his metal attire neatly folded on a chair, wild hair now tied up in a messy bun, and the man himself in sausage dog covered pjs. He can't help but laugh, Eddie's triumphant grin sending flutters through him.

They settle into bed, and Eddie does ask what Steve wants, but the words don't come. So, Eddie just holds his arms out, and with Steve's consent, gently guides him into his chest. His large, warm, safe chest.

For the briefest moment, Steve remains tense, breath not coming as easily as he'd like. But then he's melting, fingers curling into Eddie's soft pj top, a sound dangerously close to a whimper threatening to crawl up his throat. And Eddie just holds him tighter (though not too tight), murmuring softly in his ear, his voice low and ever so slightly raspy, sending shivers down his spine.

Steve doesn't want it to end. It's perfect. With Robin gone, he hasn't been touched intentionally in a week, and even before that, it's more likely that they're sitting on each other's laps or something. He can't remember the last time he was just held.

"Easy, big boy, I've got you," Eddie murmurs as Steve clutches onto Eddie's shirt even more tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

He knows he's delusional from the lack of sleep, because right before he drifts off, he thinks he can hear real concern and care in Eddie's voice.

[secretlyazombi3]

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Do I Wanna Know?

leon kennedy x gn! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count: 1k words ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SFW, 2nd person, gender neutral reader, didn’t specify age for leon or reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: leon’s desperate, he gets drunk and can’t stop thinking about you, which leads to drunken calls and pleas for you to love him back. 

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: loosely based off the arctic monkeys song ofc >_<

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You sat in the luminescent glow of your TV, listening to the rain outside trickling down from the sky like tears. The rain hitting your window created a rhythmic and perfect background noise. 

It was nearly 2 in the morning and you had been staying up late again. Your eyelids felt heavy but you couldn’t manage to fall asleep. You curled up in your blanket, watching the TV drowsily.  Most of the words were simply going in one ear, out the other, not being processed.

Just as your eyes began to feel heavy and begin to flutter open and shut, you felt your phone vibrate against the couch. You sighed as you were dragged away from your chance of finally drifting off to sleep. It was two in the morning, who could even be texting you at this hour? Everyone you knew would be sound asleep by now. Well, except maybe one person…

Grudgingly, you moved your hand out of the warmth of your blanket and reached for your phone. Reading the message, you immediately knew who was messaging you. Leon. 

"baby, i miss you so much right now."

Only he would text you in the dead of night, and you could probably guess why. You knew him, you knew how he liked to drink until twilight. 

And then he'd text you things that you both knew he'd regret once he was hungover in the morning.

Another notification flashed on your screen. Same number.

"i know its late, sorry"

"if youre awake, please reply. i want to talk to you. i want you."

You sighed as your sleepy eyes scanned over the text. As much as you wanted to shut your phone off and curl back up under the blankets, the thought of actually leaving Leon like this gave you heartache. 

You could feel the desperation bleeding out with each word, each new message. You could almost perfectly imagine Leon on the floor of his bedroom, inebriated after a long night of knocking back bottles, looking as pathetic as his messages made him sound. Looking like a wet kitten in the rain. Missing you.

The thought made you feel guilty for initially wanting to leave him on delivered. Deep down, you knew you had feelings towards him. And whenever you got tipsy or even just on late nights, you craved him.

Although, you never acted this level of desperate; never this despairingly. 

You were quickly snapped out of your thoughts when you felt your phone vibrate in your hand. Leon's name was in big letters on your screen as he called you. 

After taking in some deep breaths, you picked up the phone.

You heard Leon let out a shaky breath when you answered, he sounded relieved. He murmured your name quietly, then repeated it at a moderately louder volume.

"Sorry, did I wake you..? I know it's late." Leon asked, his words slightly slurring together, your suspicions of him being intoxicated nearly instantly confirmed.

"No, it's okay. I was already awake." you answered, although your voice was caked with drowsiness. You attempted to rub the lethargy out of your eyes. 

"I just.. I've been thinking about you a lot." Leon said, swallowing before continuing. "You know, I've been dreaming about you most nights. I think every night, actually." he added.

"Yeah?" You replied simply, not wanting to sound as interested as you really were on the inside. 

“Yeah, I…” Leon said shakily, taking a pause to take another swig of his drink. “I’ve been missing you so bad, I..I can’t get you out of my head. And I swear, you get more irresistible every time I see you.” 

You hated how easily this man could make you fold with his desperate, drunk words. 

“Seeing you in person doesn’t help, it’s like… it’s like it just makes me want you more. I always just.. Want to kiss you…” Leon mumbled, letting the words slip from his mouth without thinking. Sober Leon would never say this, maybe you liked drunk Leon. 

“I just… god, you drive me crazy. I-I have really strong feelings for you. I need to know if you feel the same.” Leon finished with his mini monologue on how bad he had it for you. 

You paused for a moment. Leon really had a way with words. He was really never this verbally affectionate in person or when fully sober, he’d always been one to show affection through actions instead. So hearing him talk like this was certainly making you feel a certain way. 

You pondered on what your response would be. Would it even matter how you’d reply? He’d probably forget in the morning… right? “Yeah, I think I do. Actually, no, I know I do. I know it. I… I want you.” You replied, stumbling on your words and speaking in a tone that was completely unconfident. 

“You do?” Leon returned quickly, his voice still gruff from having alcohol run down his throat all night. You felt like you could almost hear Leon smile. “I do.” you replied. “I’m not joking, I really do have feelings for you. So, you never have to question how much I care about you again.” Leon stayed silent for a second. “Really?” He asked again. “I need to see you. I-I’m gonna come over..” Leon blurted, words slurring. 

“Woah, no, not when you’re drunk.” You responded quickly. “I’ll drive over to your apartment, okay? I’ll see you in about 15 minutes. Please don’t drive, Lee… you’ll crash.” you pleaded. Leon was already a shitty driver when clear headed, so you weren’t even going to consider letting him get behind the wheel of a car when he’s this sloshed.

“Okay… please don’t be playing with me.” Leon replied, voice shaky, sounding like he was scared you were messing with him. Like he was scared you’d hurt him too. 

“Alright, well… I won’t keep you waiting.” you hung up and rushed to your closet to throw on something better, not wanting to show up in messy pajamas. You grabbed your car keys and shut the door to your apartment behind you.

[spicyyy-muffin]

Times being Soap's sister was not the most ideal while being Ghost's girlfriend AND being in 141.

Warnings: FLUFF, suggestive, smut,

Ghost (Simon Riley) x f!reader

-

"Ghost-"

"One minute baby."

Ghost pressed his lips against mine in a rushed manner, both hands covering my cheeks, sliding into my hair and pulling.

A starved man who couldn't get enough, it was difficult enough to find a good time to sneak around.

His lips slid down my neck pressing warm wet kisses in his wake.

"Soaps gonna be here any minute!" I whisper shouted at the man holding me hostage against the door of his shared bunk.

He groaned, "Please don't mention your brother's name when my third leg is pressed against your stomach."

I laughed softly until his soft lips slid back up to mine his tongue sliding.

Being apart of 141 as a woman had its own... interesting battles. Being Soap's sister? AND being in a secret relationship with Ghost? I had a major death wish.

The pounding vibration of a fist hit the door my head rested on.

"Ghost! I needa piss!"

"Fuck's sake-"

Pulling me away with a vice grip, his other hand the only thing keeping the door shut.

"One second mate! Getting dressed-"

I stumbled over my feet trying to find a place to hide. Bathroom too small. Closet didn't even have a door.

I slid under the bunk moments before my brother blasted through the door.

I could see Ghost awkwardly rearranging his pants while I stiffed a laugh.

Soap seemed to notice the same as he snorted, "Sorry mate give me a second and I'll leave ya t'a nice old wank."

Ghost groaned falling back on the bed.

--

Group dinner was even worse.

The bars were loud, everyone was fucking loud. Everyone was moving, their favorite teams on the tvs above us.

Soap was the loudest one, spilling his drink with animated gestures, everytime his team scored. Laughing so hard his eyes watered, and continuously nudging the poor bloke next to him.

Ghost, unfortunately, decided it would be a good idea to sit next to me. And if the distance between us wasn't hard enough to ignore his abnormally large hand sliding up my thigh was even worse. I took a glance over to him to see the third pint he was sporting tonight. Three pints didn't do much for a big guy like him, but he definitely wouldn't be doing something like this with a clear mind.

But I did have a few drinks, my body's normal temperature was a couple degrees hotter. And glancing down at the veins running through his fingers did not help the heat I felt rushing down to my undies.

The same hands that brought me so much pleasure every night, the same hands that murdered men without thinking twice, and the same ones that were gentle wiping my tears when I came to him upset.

I looked around the table to see everyone throughly distracted I'm not sure Johnny would even remember this tomorrow. Ghost certainly would based on the glazed over amused look I could see even with his mask on.

But his body heat was oh so delicious, his height was so much bigger than mine and I was struggling to keep my thoughts tame.

But the second he bent down, mouth covering my ear, my mind seemed to forget my brother was right across from us.

"Sum botherin u pet?"

But knowing he was getting off on sexually frustrating me was enough to quip back.

"Mmm feelin good, how about you baby?"

Ghosts hand tightened slightly because he was a lot of things and being possessive was at the top of that list. He prayed for the day other men could watch while he slipped his hand over the curve of your ass. Sending death looks to anyone who thought it was smart to stare a little too long.

"Oi LT! Get ur grimy paws off my sister yeah?" Johnny's deep furrow in his brow seemed serious, but the stupid smirk he was spitting was nothing but that, stupid.

"Whatever Soap."

--

And I'm not sure when Soap found out, but the way he let you know might have been the most HUMILIATING thing ever.

I feel like it would happen where Soap happens to burst into your bunk one day and found you perched on Ghost's thigh's in the middle of a makeout sesh and in the moment hes so fucking pissed he leaves in a rush slamming the door behind him.

And your all panicked for the rest of the day when you can't find him, but when Ghost finally goes to train with him Soap punches him square in the jaw. "Take of her LT, will ya?"

[hoe-for-hopper]

So Good For Us

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis

WARNINGS: SMUT. SMUT. SMUT. Unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), rough sex, I guess?

Word Count: 1125

Summary: Idk okay, this is just pure Stuilly filth. No plot, just vibes.

A/N: ending is a little rough, whatever, still hot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SMUT BELOW THE CUT~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A gory movie is playing on TV as you rest your head on Stu’s lap and slowly circle the bulge under his sweats. He’s rubbing one hand on your shoulder and the other making its way in between your cleavage. Billy is paying no attention to the both of you as he sits in the chair opposite you, his eyes fixated on the large screen.

Billy is transfixed by the movie and doesn’t notice when Stu pulls you onto his lap. Back pressed against the large man’s chest, he drags his fingers down to your folds, you’re already dripping. “No underwear? Dirty girl.” He whispers into your ear. 

The other man still hasn’t noticed when you let out a low breath as Stu caresses your sensitive bud while pulling your top down with his other hand. Reaching behind you and turning your head, you grab his neck and pull him down to your lips. He nips at your bottom lip before moving to suck a mark onto your neck eliciting a loud moan.

Billy turns his head, as if finally noticing what you and Stu are up to. He arches an eyebrow before leaning back in his chair and folding his arms to watch you. He watches Stu’s long fingers slowly dip into you as his other hand tweaks your nipple. He stares silently as you lean your head back against Stu’s shoulder, pulling his mouth back to your neck.

Stu inserts another finger and pumps faster, curling them to reach your most sensitive spot. He says over your moans, “She’s so wet, Billy. Come feel.”

The other man shakes his head, “I was trying to watch a movie.” But he’s still watching his best friend's fingers move in and out of you. Your eyes shut and mouth open in a moan.

“You sure you don’t want a taste?” Stu is licking a stripe up to your ear as you grip the back of his neck tighter. You open your eyes just in time to see Billy give a nod before motioning for Stu to bring you to him. 

Stu removes his fingers from your hole and you’re left feeling empty. He slides his arms below your legs, gripping your thighs and lifting you up, back still pressed against his chest. He walks you over to where the other man is still sitting and Billy lifts your skirt and leans forward to attach his mouth to your core. 

Throwing your head back on Stu’s shoulder, you let out a long moan. Billy is dragging it out, licking slowly up and down your folds. You’re desperate for more friction, more roughness, but he’s teasing you with just the tip of his tongue. “More, Billy.” You’re pleading and he glances up at you before inserting two fingers while he sucks at your clit. His fingers pumping in and out of you, you feel yourself clenching trying to hold off your orgasm. 

Stu can feel your body tensing, “Let go, baby. Cum on his fingers.” He’s gripping your thighs so tightly, you can practically feel the bruises already forming. “That’s it, good girl.” He kisses the top of your head as Billy removes his fingers and leans back into the chair.

Stu sits back down on the couch, still holding you to his chest before leaning you forward so he can pull his sweats and underwear down to his knees. He pulls you back before lining himself up and pushing you to slide down on him. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust to him before bucking up into you, gripping your hips tightly. 

You grip his knees as you moan out his name. He looks around your shoulder to Billy and pulls your head up by your hair making you face the other man. Your eyes are locked with Billy’s as you watch him pull down his own sweats and stroke his cock, a bead of liquid on the tip. He doesn’t glance away from your eyes as you continue to utter Stu’s name. “Feel good? You like the way Stu is fucking you?” You nod and he gets up to stand before you, lightly patting your face, “Words.”

You look up at him, his gaze penetrating you. “Yes.” You choke out, out of breath from Stu relentlessly pounding into you. Billy kneels down to lick your peaked nipple, still stroking himself, Stu’s hand reaching up to pinch the other one.

Stu is panting beneath you, out of breath from the intensity with which he thrusts in and out of you. You know he’s probably not going to last much longer with the way his movements grow faster, more erratic, his hands gripping you harder.

Without breaking eye contact, Billy moves back to the chair, still moving his hand up and down his length. Watching you as you come undone on Stu once more. “You’re taking him so well, baby. Always so eager for us.” 

Stu follows close behind you, painting your walls with thick ropes of cum. His mouth nipping at your neck, hands moving to wrap under your thighs once more, he walks you over to Billy, setting you on the other man’s lap. Billy moves his hands to grip your ass, lifting you up to thrust himself into you. Rougher than Stu, he fucks into you at a faster pace. Moving his hands to your chest.

Now Stu is the one watching, sitting on the couch watching you bounce up and down as he redresses himself. 

Billy moves to yank your skirt up to your stomach, giving him access to rub your clit. You’re overstimulated in every sense. Stu’s liquid mixed with your own, seeps onto Billy’s length. Not letting up, he fucks into you almost forcing you to cum again. 

You try to lean into his chest as you feel another orgasm wash over you, but Billy moves the hand circling your clit and pushes your chest back up. “No. Take it.” Billy is the rougher of the two, always needing to feel control over you. 

His hand finds your hair to pull your head back and he leans forward giving you a rough bite to your neck. You feel his cock twitch as he fills you. 

Pulling your skirt back down, he picks you up and places you back on Stu’s lap. The other man pulling you in to cradle you against his chest. 

Pulling his clothing back up, Billy sits back down in the chair, “I’m finishing the movie.”

You’re out of breath and exhausted from being passed between the two of them. You curl into Stu, head resting in the crook of his neck, he traces circles on your back as you fall asleep. 

“Always so good for us.”

[immortalmrwavell]

Wavell’s Vacation 1

(Original story posted August 23rd 2022) This story has received mild edits and corrections

Read the Origin of Mr Wavell here!

It’d been quite some time since I first took this body as my own and adopted the name Mr Wavell. I’ve gotta say though, with my full power finally within my grasp along with a hot dilf body to go with it, it’s easily been the best years of my life. Swapping men left and right. Transforming their bodies. Giving them the means to possess each over. I’ve made hunky dads trade bodies with their jock sons. I’ve forced skinny twinks to grow into thick hairy bears. I’ve enabled lowly workers the chance to possess or swap bodies with their powerful bosses. Even allowing women to transform themselves into hot beefy studs. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

As much as I love my ‘job’ however, I thought it’d be good to take a short break. A holiday of sorts. You see as much as I mess around with the bodies of other men, I don’t really change my own that much. Part of that is due to the fact that I can’t transform myself without risking my health. I took this form and absorbed its mind into my own because it was compatible with my power but if I mess around with it then I fear that may no longer be the case. That said I can still possess others…

Once again however possession is a bit tricky. Not so much for me but more for the person I’m inhabiting. Most people’s bodies aren’t built to contain the insane amount of raw magical power I possess. All this means really is that I can’t be inside one body for longer than about a week. Any more and it will start to have some heavy adverse effects on my host. Because of this I don’t often bother possessing people. I liked my body after all so I don’t really feel much of a need. But I suppose if I’m going on a vacation I might as well go the full mile right?

With that in mind I’d decided to take on three different incredibly hot men for a week each.

Week 1

For my first target I wanted to go big. A man who was not only hot but also well known and beloved by many. There were a bunch of different industries that contained men like this. A big one being the TV and Film industry with all its sexy actors and another being the sports industry with its wide array of hunky athletes. After some thought I decided to go with the latter. And what better sport to cherry pick a hunky body from than good ol’ American Football. I might’ve been English myself, or at least my host was, but I could never deny myself the delight of American athletes.

Initially I considered going for someone more current who was still very active in the sport today. That is until I was hanging around and observing some football fans. They mentioned the name of a certain retired player that caught my ear immediately. Tim Tebow. Yes I’d heard of him. He was a handsome fucker if I remembered correctly. And once his name was in my head I just couldn’t get it out. That’s when I knew what body I’d be taking first.

It didn’t take long for me to find the Ex-player’s house and luckily for me he was completely home alone. I found him just outside his house talking to some neighbours. Fuck did he look delicious right now wearing that tight navy shirt and those fitted jeans. Oh I just couldn’t wait to jump inside!

I waited around for awhile until he finished talking to those neighbours. I didn’t want to make a scene after all. Not that I wasn’t tempted. Thankfully though it wasn’t long until he was waving goodbye and heading back into his own garden. Practically the second that Tim was out of sight from anyone else, I made my move.

Watching as he stretched his arms and yawned, I couldn’t help but smirk. If that wasn’t an invitation then I don’t know what was. I wasted no time diving my ghostly body head first into his open mouth. Tim’s eyes went wide as suddenly he couldn’t close his mouth while my invisible form forced itself down his throat. There was nothing he could do as my being slipped inside with ease despite his attempts to somehow stop me and pull me out. Before long the last of my form pushed its way down his throat and settled inside.

I didn’t take immediate control. Instead i left him to freak out for a moment in wonder of what the fuck had just happened. Only then did I start to flow some of my energy into his limbs starting with his legs and feet. Suddenly Tim found himself walking against his will towards his house with me as his puppet master. Due to his upper body freaking out we almost fell a few times leading to me taking control of his back as well to keep us upright.

Before long I’d managed to walk us up to his door where I took control of his right arm to let us inside. Tim began to panic more as he lost further control of his body. Soon enough we made it to his bathroom where we looked into the reflection. I took control of the rest of his torso along with his left arm and neck so I could begin flexing a little show off.

“AGHH Stop! Stop please!” Tim begged without even knowing who he was pleading to. “What’s happening to me?!” He wailed.

Just then Tim’s expression switched from worry and panic to calm and devious. “I’m taking your body for spin, that’s what’s happening.” I said using his own voice.

His face returns to its prior worried expression. “W-what! No! Why did I?… Oooooahhhh…” Tim began to groan out as I finally took control of his cock and balls, flooding them with my raw sexual energy as the bulge in our jeans grew substantially. “Noooooo… Get out of my… body!” Tim grunted as his cock began to pulse rapidly until…

“Ooh… FUUUUuuuuuuuucckkk!” I moaned out as I forced us to blow a massive load, soaking the inside of these well fitted jeans. After a short cool down, I groped my wet, sticky bulge a little before announcing “Sorry my man, no can do. For the next week I’m gonna be the new Tim Tebow..” A grin broke out across my stolen face as I claimed it. I could feel Tim panicking from within but there was nothing he could do now. I was in the driver's seat.

After that I jumped in the shower to get a proper look at the ex football player body I now owned. Tim had clearly made sure to himself in marvellous shape with these juicy pecs and sizeable arms. Can’t say I wasn’t happy to be groping it all from the inside. And all the strength it contained was exhilarating. Sure I had immense magical power but the physical power this form held was a whole different ball game.

Once I was done I stepped out, got dried and began raiding Tim’s closet. After all, as fun as it would be, I couldn't be seen wearing those cum-stained jeans. I didn’t want to completely tarnish his image after all. What would be the point in that?

After that I tried live the week to it’s fullest. I must’ve tried on almost every outfit Tim owned (which was many) and loved seeing how each item was perfectly tailored to his body. I would’ve had to use magic to resize most of this to my regular body but now it stretched over my new muscle in all the right places to show off. Of course I had fun in many other ways too though. One of which was tapping into Tim’s memories and personality to trick his family, friends and fans into believing that I really was him! Such a rush I gotta tell ya. I mean I’ve done this very thing to so many other men, allowing them to possess or switch bodies with the man they desire but doing it myself is just a different kind of pleasure.

I’ve gotta say though one of my favourite parts was sneaking out during the evening and hooking up with some hot dudes. Needless to say they were more than surprised to see the straight christian man Tim Tebow cheating on his wife for some hot gay sex but they certainly weren’t going to decline the opportunity. Had so many dudes pretty much salivating over the chance to wrap their lips around my celebrity cock or to press their faces into my jock ass. Each encounter went like a dream. For them and for me.

Unfortunately Tim’s wife did get suspicious eventually. She wondered why I wasn’t being as affectionate and why I was leaving the house so often. I was hoping I could get through the week without this but I didn’t want anyone to think something was up. And so what I ended up doing was digging into Tim’s subconscious and begrudgingly connecting myself to his heterosexuality. The second I did, I saw his wife in a whole new light.

Before long we were on the bed together, kissing and pulling off each overs clothes. Suddenly I can see why straight dudes are so fascinated with breasts, I couldn’t keep my hands off her jiggling tits. And before I knew it I’d plunged Tim’s cock into her pussy and started plowing away. I’m not gonna say it felt better than fucking a hot hairy ass but it still felt pretty damn good. I continued to fuck her like animal, making it as passionate as possible for *her sake*. What do I mean by her sake? Well during this I had a very fun idea that I was going to put into action later.

Soon enough I found myself unloading Tim’s balls inside her, filling her up in a horny haze. She looked satisfied and so was I. Once that was done I let out a sigh of relief and detached myself from Tim’s heterosexuality. Being a straight man was weird. I mean I didn’t hate it I suppose but it definitely wasn’t me. I was gay through and through and I wanted it to stay that way.

By this point I had two more days inside Tim’s flesh before I had to vacate so I was sure to make it count. Getting in as much delicious gay sex as I could inside this formerly straight christian body. I even had one guy with a fantasy of fucking me while wearing Tim’s old football gear. Thankfully he still had it stored away and it fit like a glove. Let’s just say by the end of that night there was a cock sized hole in the back of those football pants where my aching asshole had been fucked relentlessly and filled to the brim with cum.

Eventually however, my time came to an end and I had to leave this beautiful body. It was a fun ride while it lasted. I got to meet a bunch of Tim’s fans, loving how they reacted with such excitement upon seeing me. I got to live out the life of a well known celebrity. And most of all I got to pop this body’s homosexual cherry. Speaking off…

After I launched my soul back out through Tim’s mouth, I watched as he fell the ground unconscious. Of course I could’ve just left things like that but I just couldn’t help myself. I reached inside his mind and found his heterosexuality. After which I linked Tim’s mind up to a gay dude not far from here who had a bunch of Tim Tebow posters around his room. Then all I had to do was close my eyes and focus. Tim and this other miscellaneous gay man, who’s name was Nathan, had a surge of energy run through their bodies. And just like that, they had switched. Not bodies but rather they’d switched sexualities. When Tim awakens he’ll start to notice an absence of attraction to his wife and will soon start popping boners for hot dudes he sees either online or in real life. It’s certainly gonna be interesting to see if he remains faithful and tries to make it work with his wife or if he splits from her and embraces his new orientation.

On the other hand, I might have to check up on that Nathan dude at some point as well. Suddenly no longer being interested in dick and dude ass, instead finding himself with a craving for pussy and a fascination with tits. Oh I can only imagine how he’ll cope.

But for now I’m off to find my next body…

Read the Second Part and Third Part here!