#i was up grinding until four am just for his skin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingjourney · 2 years ago

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soft, sleepy sex with the papas

summary: Four short-ish scenarios, one for each Papa, in which you get to do some crossword-solving with Primo, come home after a night-out with Secondo, wake up with Terzo or watch a movie with Copia.

content: 4.8k words in total (each is 1k-1.4k words), f!readers, sort of established relationships, dom/sub undertones if you squint, obviously these contain smut, more detailed warnings in each part, 18+ MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo

content: p in v because peepaw can still get it

Half-asleep on Primo’s bare chest, you draw lazy patterns into the fuzzy hair on his left pec, your palm resting just above his steady heartbeat. He keeps one arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding a weathered little book that is open on a half-done crossword puzzle, while his other hand slowly fills in the empty squares. It’s Italian, so you gave up trying to help him a while ago, dozing to the sound of graphite scratching on paper.

But you know you won’t sleep yet. There is a gentle but very persistent simmer in the pit of your stomach. You’ve wanted your Papa all day but when he got home earlier, tired and irritable after an argument with Sister, you hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Now, after a light dinner and some restful time with you curled up against him, he seems a lot calmer.

Inhaling his slightly herbal scent, you decide to at least try – he’s going to let you know if he’s not up for it. A kiss to his wrinkly neck and your fingers start trailing from his chest down to his belly. Slow circles with your index and middle finger, caressing the saggy skin with as much affection as you can pour into such a delicate touch.

You feel him stir, so you move your hand further down, stroking his abdomen. A soft hum deep inside his chest. His hand sinks, the pencil slipping from his fingers. It’s your cue to keep going, so you toy with the hem of his pajama pants. When you let your hand slip beneath the elastic, you’re excited to find him half-hard, curved against the left side of his pelvis.

He’d been struggling with intimacy as of late – his age, all the hard work and general worries catching up with him, a sort of vicious cycle that led to some changes in your shared bedroom. He takes care of you in other ways, very generously, but tonight, for once, he seems truly relaxed, and you feel him slowly harden against your palm.

“Do you feel good?” you whisper. “Should I keep going?”

“Mhm.”

You stamp wet kisses down his neck, sucking on the spot that always makes him shudder. You continue to slowly stroke him, a leisurely pace, until he’s fully hard and leaking onto your fingers.

“I thought you are tired,” he murmurs.

You smile. “I am, but I just miss you so much.”

“I’m right here, la mia rosa. Every night.”

More kisses. You softly suck on the spot below his jaw, and his hips buck up into your touch. “You know what I mean, Papa.”

Primo draws a sharp breath, the arm he had wrapped around you slowly uncurling as he throws the book across the bed. His hand moves to your ass, a tight squeeze and he urges you to move closer. You crawl on top of him, hot, liquid excitement flowing through your veins at the prospect of finally having him inside of you again.

With one hand, you prop yourself up on his chest while you move your sleeping shorts out of the way with the other. You settle on his cock, rubbing your wet folds over his length and slicking it with your arousal. You grind on him a few times and you both gasp at the feeling. His hands fly to your hips, sharp fingernails digging deeper into your flesh when you finally place him at your entrance. He slips inside, the stretch immensely rewarding after going without it for so long, and despite the sleepiness still clinging to you, you try your best to move on him. Limited energy has you resting your upper body on his, chest against chest, only separated by your shirt. You lean in for a kiss as you slowly roll your hips. The pace you’re setting with your mouth as well as your body is slow, almost sluggish, but even so you can feel the ripples of pleasure all over your body.

“Amore?” Primo whispers against your lips and you hum into his mouth. “I missed you, too.”

And then he’s suddenly thrusting up into you. You moan against his tongue and he does it again, chuckling as you keen and cling to the headboard. A shudder tears through your whole body and your mouth slips from his, your face slotting against his neck instead when he gives another thrust.

Primo wraps his arms around you in a hug. “You’re tired, let me do the rest.”

You want to protest, remind him of his back issues and the pain he’d felt in his hip joint all week, but he’s already rolling you over. He knows you wouldn’t have been able to cum from your slow movements alone and he also knows you wouldn’t have minded, but he always tells you that making you cum is the highest form of worship for him. And Primo loves to worship.

As soon as he’s on top of you he shifts into position, propped up on his elbows on either side of you pushing back into your dripping entrance very slowly. You hold him steady, arms wrapped around his shoulder to try and keep him for overexerting himself. His rhythm isn’t much faster than yours, but his movements are more deliberate – precise thrusts hitting you exactly where you need him. Already you clench around him, moaning as more pleasure pools into your lower belly.

Primo is breathing heavily and the frequency of his pants tells you he’s close.

“Touch yourself for your Papa, amore,” he whispers.

You move your hands between your bodies and start to rub your clit. It doesn’t take much until you completely let go. You come almost simultaneously, moaning into each others skin as your bodies tremble with pleasure. You can feel his hot seed dripping out of you when he shifts, a sharp hiss as you eventually untangle your limbs.

Primo slowly, carefully, rolls off of you, sinking back into his pillow with a low, pained hmpf. You lean over and open your mouth to ask if he’s okay but he’s already waving his hand to stop you, a delighted sigh leaving his lips as his body relaxes. You snuggle back into him, kissing the hot, sweaty skin on his cheek. This has exhausted him but the blissful expression on his usually so grim face tells you he won’t regret it no matter how much his joints are going to hurt tomorrow.

“I love you, la mia rosa,” he mumbles into your hair. “Thank you for reminding your Papa that you still desire him so.”

“Hm, I love you, too,” you mumble, already drifting off.

The last thing you hear is his chuckle and the click of the switch as he turns off the light.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo

content: biting, praise, v fingering, p in v sex, dom/sub undertones if you squint

The smell of smoke, sweat and liquor still lingers in your nose, now accompanied by the sweet and woody scent of Secondo’s sandalwood shower gel. The club had been packed, despite it’s exclusivity, and after a night of dancing and being pushed around by other bodies, you’re ready to fall asleep with his heavy arms draped around you. After all of the noise and the heavy, blasting music, you welcome the soft quiet of his bedroom, the dull buzzing of his toothbrush and your own even breathing the only sounds in your ears.

When Secondo exits the bathroom, the open door casts a narrow ray of fluorescent light onto your half-sleeping form. He quickly flips the switch and closes the door as quietly as he can. In the near-dark, he observes the silhouette of your body, all the curves and lines and edges he’s grown to love so much. You haven’t been sleeping in this bed for very long – it’s only been a few weeks since he decided he won’t let you leave again. Now, as he sheds his bathrobe and crawls under the silky sheets to join you, he thinks that it was probably the best decision of his life.

You can feel his naked body settling against your back, the warmth of his soft skin drawing a sigh from your lips. His strong arm wraps around you, pushing under your armpit to press flat against your front, pulling you even closer. As his hand moves to gently cup your breast, you can feel a tired exhale against your neck.

“As much as I love going out with you,” he murmurs. “This is my favorite.”

His lips softly press to the velvet skin below your ear. A few slow but needy kisses leave a wet trail all over your neck, his hand squeezing your breast in tandem with each one.

“You looked so beautiful tonight, amore.” Another kiss, this time to the back of your neck, and a shiver rolls down your spine. “Everyone in the club envied me.”

You chuckle softly, tilting your head to the side to grant him more space. “I’m pretty sure they were staring at you, my love.”

“Ah, che sciocchezza!” His lips attach to your skin, sucking gently at first, then with more force. You indulge him, the stinging sensation barely registering with your exhaustion as he bites into your flesh. He keeps busy there until you whimper at the burning sensation.

But Secondo knows he is right and it’s the reason why you have this big purple bruise blossoming on your neck right now. He is nothing but attentive, observant, and it gives him great confidence to watch other people admire you, then flinch away when they notice that you’re with him. He loves to subtly show you off – until someone actually tries to chat you up like today. It’s always the same, a sudden surge of need to show everyone that you’re his and he’s all over you, the public setting quickly forgotten. Secondo almost fucked you right there on the dance floor, not unprecedented, but after someone repeatedly rammed their elbow into his side he decided that it was too busy tonight.

But it’s okay because by now the high wore off, leaving him only mildly horny and mostly sleepy just like you. He thinks he wants to be gentle now, slowly fuck you both to sleep.

His lips come off your neck with a wet pop. He pushes his other arm underneath you, fingers searching the heat between your legs, but when he lets his hand slide down your middle, he’s met with the fabric of your panties.

“Ah.” He tsks softly into your ear, pulling them down slightly. “Since when do we wear clothes to bed, eh?”

You groan tiredly but don’t object, lifting your leg to help him remove the piece of fabric. Soft fingers slide between your legs now, pressing against your mound. He’s tentative, sensual, wet lips running over your neck and up to your ear.

“Will you let me have you, amore?” he whispers. “You know your Papa wanted you all night.”

You wake up your voice with a soft hum. “Yes, Papa.”

“You’re so good for me, always so good.”

More kisses, this time to the shell of your ear, your earlobe, your cheek. You smell his minty toothpaste and turn your head for a proper kiss. His free hand moves to cradle your jaw, thumb pressing into your neck to adjust the angle. The kiss is languid just like his fingers working on your clit now. A soft whine escapes you and his tongue sweeps inside to meet yours in a gentle greeting. Your mind gets hazy with his taste, the soft ripples of pleasure in your core, his now hard cock pressing into your back. You want him, need him, and so you wriggle, pushing your ass into his groin. He accommodates you by sliding two fingers into your wet entrance, increasing the pressure.

“Secondo, please,” you whimper.

“Ah.” He stops altogether, pulling back to look at you with intense mismatched eyes. “Being tired is no excuse for misbehaving.”

“I’m sorry, Papa. Please.”

“Mhm.” His movements resume. “Brava ragazza. So tired and still you beg for your Papa’s cock.”

Your head falls back into the pillows as Secondo shifts, removing his hands to adjust your hips, slotting them together. His cock slips between your legs then and you moan softly when you feel it slide right against your folds. He slowly pushes in, using his free hand on your belly to keep you pressed tightly to his chest, the other one lifting your leg up just enough so he can move inside of you. The stretch is beautifully slow, his mouth back on your ear now, and you reach over to scratch the back of his neck.

He hums at your loving caress, a low rumble that gives you butterflies, and then he pulls back, pushing back in deeper. You close your eyes and revel in the gentle rhythm he sets. For a while, all you hear are your soft gasps, his low moans right by your ear and the sound of his skin meeting yours. Your orgasm builds slowly but you can both feel it approaching, Secondo spreading out his fingers on your abdomen until he can reach your clit again. He speeds up just slightly, squelching noises filling your ears whenever his cock slides in to hit that sensitive spot deep inside of you. His own breaths are ragged now but he’s holding back until he gets you there first, always.

“Come for your Papa,” he whispers against your ear with surprising softness. “Be good for me and come on Papa’s cock.”

You do, clenching around him as his words send you over the edge with a voiceless cry. He joins you, growling, hips stuttering into yours a few more times as he draws out both of your highs. Your exhausted body goes limp, only shuddering again when he eventually pulls out.

A soft exhale as he wraps you up in his arms, his sweaty chest warm against your back. You vaguely feel his thumb caressing your arm, the gentle pattern lulling you to sleep. Neither of you is going to move again before the sun rises and the birdsong inevitably wakes you.

“Sleep well, amore,” Secondo whispers, kissing the purple bruise on your neck one more time.

You sigh deeply, weaving your fingers through his, and slowly drift off.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Terzo

content: cunnilingus, v fingering, mentions of mental health issues

A tickle at your neck. You stir and scrunch up your face, shifting onto your side to get away. It’s adorable, Terzo thinks, so he does it again, a featherlight kiss just below your ear. You twitch slightly once more, the duvet slipping from your shoulder and revealing your bare upper body to him. Half-hovering above you, it’s easy to press yet another kiss to your neck and watch your irritated pout, eyebrows pulled tightly together. Your hand flexes then, and he’s almost sure you’re going to swat him away like a fly but your fingers uncurl after a second, smoothing out on the mattress.

Waking up with you in his bed makes him unnecessarily giddy, weightless in a way he hasn’t felt in years. And after looking at your peaceful form for a moment longer he decides that he needs your attention more than you need your sleep. So the next kiss is harder. He finds an almost faded hickey right below your jaw, licking over the skin he traps between his lips and sucking with more fervour.

You give a soft groan that vibrates against his mouth. “Terzo, ’m still sleeping.”

He breaks away with a loud smacking sound, then boops your shoulder with his nose. “No, you’re not.”

“But I’m still tired,” you whine, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

“Aww,” he cooes. “Too tired for your Papa?”

You hum sleepily, your brain not yet fully awake. Terzo won’t let you off the hook. He wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you into his warm body. Looking down with your blurry gaze, you notice a tendon in his arm twitching as he slots his pelvis against yours. You can feel him rock hard against your ass now, poking into the supple flesh of your butt cheek. So this is why he woke you up early on a Sunday morning and not to get you croissants and coffee.

“I am shocked,” he says. “Offended. Mortally wounded.”

“Mhm, Terzo…”

“You know, you’ve been wriggling against me in your sleep,” he interrupts your complaint. “I bet I’d find you already wet for me, dolce. Tell me, did you dream about your Papa?”

Shifting your legs, you realise that he’s right. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d really been dreaming about him just before he woke you. For the past month, he’s been occupying your every thought, every fading dream, every waking moment. What you thought would be a one time thing turned into a two and three and many more times thing, late night McDonald’s runs, hour-long phone conversations when he can’t sleep after his anxiety attacks, countless lunch dates just to have one extra daily hour in each other’s company… and now actually sleeping together, staying the night. This is uncharted territory but as your mind slowly regains its grasp on reality, you’re more than ready to explore what it means.

“I must have,” you admit. “I often do.”

“Oh, really?” His lips trail from your shoulder back to your neck, his voice a low whisper against your ear. “Well, I dream about you too, my little dormiglione, every night.”

You feel your circulation coming to live, heat rushing into your cheeks and between your legs. “Really?”

“Mhm. Do you want to know what my favorite dream is?”

You fight the urge to rub your crusty eyes. “Yes.”

His grasp on you loosens and he turns you onto your back, gently cradling your face. You don’t feel self-conscious about your sleepy, unkempt state for more than a second because there is nothing but pure affection in his mismatched gaze.

“I will show you, amore,” he promises. “A little demonstration is just what we need to wake you up, sì?”

His words register only after he’s kissing down your neck. With an insistent mouth, he latches onto your breast, sighing when he feels the soft flesh against his face. You bury your fingers in his raven hair, gently scratching his scalp, and he moans lowly against your skin. The vibration has you arching into his touch and his eyes snap up at you. They never leave yours as he scoots further down the bed, leaving a wet trail of kisses all over your belly.

Terzo settles between your legs, spreading them just enough to nuzzle one of your inner thighs. Unshaved, his cheeks feel scratchy against your skin and he rubs them against you a few more times with an almost boyish smile. He’s beautiful, even more so in his unkempt state, stubbly jaw, messy hair, eyes still a little puffy. For once he is not tense, not on guard, and you can’t help but reach out and brush a stray piece of hair out of his face. You look at each other in shared vulnerability and for a moment, he leans into your touch, a tender, loving expression softening his features. But then his eyes glint with mischief as he grins and stuffs his face right into your pussy.

You keen, arching your back. His nose is pressed against your clit, tongue pushing into your entrance, and your hips buck involuntarily. You can’t help but moan – loudly, desperately – and he pulls away with a chuckle.

“Ahhh, there you are. Good morning, sunshine. Not so tired anymore now, eh?” All you can do is whimper at the loss of his touch and his lips curl into a satisfied grin. “Per favore, will you let your Papa have his breakfast now? You know I have a sweet tooth.”

You nod, teeth digging into your bottom lip in anticipation. His face is glistening with your arousal and his eyes narrow just slightly.

“Words, dolce.”

“Yes,” you croak, throat still scratchy. “Please, Papa.”

He chuckles again, moving his hands up your thighs to open them wider before he brings one to your abdomen, the other slowly spreading your folds for him. “So wet, dolce. Your dreams must be even more exciting than mine.”

Words have long since escaped you. Just watching him so readily offer you pleasure is enough to make you light-headed. He licks a broad stripe up from your entrance to your clit where he stays, sucking gingerly at first before he hungrily starts to devour you.

Your eyes flutter close again but not from sleepiness this time.

“Eyes on me,” he demands immediately. “We don’t want you falling back asleep, yes?”

There is no danger of that, your body is burning, muscles clenching with the little energy you have, but you still follow his order. His eyes are on yours as he breaks away, creating space to push one and then two fingers into your waiting hole. You tighten around him with a moan, your whole lower body pulsating with need. A wicked grin and he rubs his fingers against your inner wall, looking for the spot that makes your toes curls. By now, he’s practiced, so in tune with your body that the firm, constant pressure brings you close very fast. When he sees your shudder, his mouth is back on your clit, sucking, licking, humming until you clench around his digits, hips bucking into his face as you ride out your climax.

You only notice how tightly you’ve been gripping the sheets when Terzo crawls back up to you, gently taking your hand in his. He kisses each of your aching knuckles before he uses your hand as an extension to his, cleaning up his messy face and sucking your fingers into his mouth with such tender care that it makes you smile, your heart almost bursting with love for him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

“Terzo, I haven’t brushed my–”

His mouth collides with yours, tongue dipping into your mouth hungrily. You taste yourself on him but there is barely any time to take it in, your brain still hazy and clouded from your high. When he breaks away, he gives you a pointed look. “Do I look like I care?”

You softly shake your head and wrap your arms around his back, keeping him close. Fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck, your breathing slowly evens.

“I love waking up with you,” you mumble with a smile. “Not just because of this. If you let me, I want you to be the first thing I see every day for the rest of my life.”

“If I let you?” His eyes soften and he gives an almost pained smile, struggling to accept the truth behind your words. But then he huffs out an exhale, pushing his hip back against you. “Amore, do you honestly think I will ever allow you to leave this bed again?”

With his painfully hard and leaking cock pressed against your thigh, the answer to his question is quite clear. You mentally say goodbye to breakfast. There are far more inviting things to sustain you than food.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Copia

content: soft!dom copia just bc I can, praise kink, thigh riding, v fingering, gloves

A murmur right by your ear. “I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.” A short pause. “Chianti.”

You’re about to fall asleep on Copia’s tiny bed, dim candlelight and his warmth surrounding you. The Silence of the Lambs is running in the background on a grainy VHS tape, Copia mumbling most of the dialogue to himself, practically lulling you to sleep. You’re half on top of him, legs intertwined, a mess of tangled red limbs in matching sweatpants. He knows you aren’t paying any attention to the movie with the way your nose evenly exhales against his windpipe, but after the long day you had that’s no surprise.

His arms automatically close around you, squeezing your tired body closer to his. The shift pushes his knee further between your legs and you feel a slight pressure against your clit. Copia continues to mumble but your focus shifts to the burning sensation in your core. His thigh is firm against your pussy and you tentatively move your hips a little. It’s innocent enough at first, a wriggle to get more comfortable. Copia presses a kiss to your hair, a searching hand finding your waist for a comforting squeeze.

It only serves to make you more restless. You roll your hips, desperate for more friction. He catches on by the third time you do it, the hand on your side sliding down, fingers spreading over your hip as he pulls you in closer. You continue to grind on his thigh, slow but steady, soft moans tumbling from your lips. After a few seconds he starts to massage you through the fabric of your sweatpants, pulling you forward so you slide over his leg even harder. You keen and grab at his t-shirt right above his chest, scrunching up the fabric. The pressure feels too good, shivers running down your spine and into your core.

“So needy,” Copia whispers on his next exhale, tickling the skin just below your ear. “Your Papa loves it when you use him to get off, tesoro. When you make a mess all over his thigh.”

You whimper again, louder, higher, too exhausted to move as fast as you’d need to find some actual relief. His hand slides under the elastic of your pants, warm black leather against soft, delicate skin, and he gives an encouraging squeeze.

“Do you want me to help you, topolina?” he asks, voice low and deep.

“Mhm.”

“You have to ask, my baby,” he reminds you. “I want to hear it.”

“Please, Papa, help me.”

“Tell me what you need from me.”

“I n-need your fingers, Papa. Please.”

Soft lips brush your temple. “Hm, so good for me. But you sound tired, amore, are you sure you can take it?”

Your voice comes out in a strangled whine. “Yes, Papa. Please.”

He stops your movements, and you wail in disappointment as he pulls his leg away from you, a dark red patch staining the red cotton. But his hands quickly find your hip again, rubbing soothing circles into your skin as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t worry, amore,” he says, pushing the hem down to your knees. “Your Papa is going to take care of you.”

His fingertips dance up your thigh and move straight between your legs, probing at your entrance. Rubbing along your folds, he spreads out your arousal all over the black leather. Copia hums when he feels how ready you are for him, pushing two fingers inside of you with ease. You moan at the stretch, clenching around his digits as he curls them inside of you.

“Hm, you like that, amore?”

You hum, pressing your hot forehead against his neck. He slowly starts to move, an almost languid pace but his thrusts are deliberate, hitting you right every time. Rippling waves of pleasure run all over your body and leave a trail of goosebumps. You’re getting close, shifting, wriggling. The wet noises of his hand moving against you drown out the sounds of the movie. With your last remaining effort, you move your hips, joining his rhythm.

Copia hums in approval. “Hmm, yes, use my hand, make yourself come, topolina.”

You cry out as you clench tightly around his fingers, the sound muffled by his sweaty skin against your lips. He can feel you shuddering against him, and you slowly turn into a panting, whimpering mess in his arms. With a few last curls of his fingers, he carries you through your orgasm, smiling at every little tremor he can coax out of you.

“Hmmm, so good for your Papa.” More wet kisses to your face. “You did so well, amore.”

You come to, smiling softly at his praise as the room around you becomes clearer. You notice the lights of the tv flickering off the walls. Buffalo Bill probably just murdered someone, but Copia must have turned down the sound because all you can hear is his slightly increased heartbeat when you settle on his chest. He pulls up your sweatpants and continues to hold you against him, kissing your hair so softly you can barely even feel it. Your body starts to feel heavier, drowsiness taking over now that you’re sated. You close your eyes and let the lingering feeling of bliss carry you into a peaceful slumber.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

if anyone skipped over primo I am going to find you and haunt you forever.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Any sort of interaction or feedback is as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

2K notes · View notes

honeyshiddendesire · 7 months ago

Text

Pet Name Headcanon List

Rob Lucci x female reader - kitten

Warnings: Vaginal penetration, pet play, reader in ears and a butt plug tail (no meowing tho lol respectfully ...fuck that), dick riding, dirty talk, slight daddy kink

@scaryinkdemon hoping this is too your liking lol 🫣🤭🧡

*banner*

Lucci was usually a very strict and serious man even when it came to you but you did find something that would always make him crack. That serious exterior turned to one very playful and teasing and that’s what you were hoping for as you seductively called his name.

“Oh Lucci~” Your voice had a singsong tone as you turned the corner into the living room where he sat on his chair reading the newspaper.

“What is it I’m trying to read?” He grunts without looking up and you pout as you take a step closer, “Lucci~ kitty wants to play~” Hearing those words made his eyes snap up with a sharp look, hands scrunching the sides of the paper as his voice remained stern. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm~” You pout as you slowly sink down to all fours keeping his intense stare as you crawl toward him. Your body adorned with a leopard print baby doll dress and thong, the ears and tail you have also with the same print making him purr in satisfaction as he carelessly tosses the paper to the floor. His legs spread as he gets more comfortable in the chair, his hands rubbing against his thighs as a smirk comes to his face. “Well~ who am I to deny such a pretty kitten?”

Leaning forward till his elbows rested on his knees he clasped his hands together watching with a sly smirk as you came crawling toward him. An amused chuckle as you came in front of him to rub your cheek and body all against his legs just like a pretty cat would when they wanted attention. Humming at the way you nuzzled against his hands until he opened them up to pet your head then down your body to rub at the soft tail plug you had in. “Very nice~” Lucci’s voice almost purring in satisfaction at the sight of the plug you had in.

“Does my sweet kitten need something more than a couple of pets?” Lucci’s question had your eyes sparkle with excitement and lust, your butt wiggling to move the tail side to side as he watched. “Yes~ I bet she does.” Lucci moved his hand to your chin to lift your gaze to meet him and he couldn’t help but lick his lips at the whiskers you even drew on. “Such a sexy little kitten.” Leaning back Lucci pat his lap making your smile all pretty at him waiting on his voiced command, “Come to daddy like a good kitten.”

Standing up you straddled his lap, his hands coming to feel all over your body, up your thighs and around to your ass where he pulled you close to grind against his cock. The bulge in his pants already pressing into your covered pussy making you whine, “Daddy please~”

“Is my little kitten impatient? Do you need my cock inside that slutty pussy that bad?” He asked as he leaned toward you kissing along your jaw, sharp teeth nipping and biting at your jaw down to your neck. “Mmm~ beg for it, kitten.”

Grinding your hips in a circle he smacked your ass with a hum that had you gasp, “Please daddy~ kitten needs some attention real bad. I don’t wanna get punished and touch myself so I need you to do it. Won’t you play with me?” You moan as you only get wetter feeling his cock pretty into your clit, the friction making your head spin. Chuckling into your neck Lucci sucks a mark into your skin as he grips the flesh of your ass and hip before he literally rips your thong apart. Raising your hips so he can toss the shreds to the ground with a groan. “Be a good kitten and undo my pants.”

You obey as he leans back allowing you space to get to work which you quickly do, your pussy soaked and easily accepting the stretch with a loud moan. His fingers digging into your thighs at the feel of your walls sucking in his cock, a hiss passing through his lips, “Fuck kitten. Pussy’s so tight for me.”

“Ugh, I needed this so bad!” You moan as you feel the sensation of both holes being filled, your moan turning to a whimper as Lucci’s hand grabs at your tail tugging a bit. “Since you wanna play so bad kitten you better get to work and be prepared to have my cock in you all night long.” Nodding your head you bounced on his cock your hands gripping his dress shirt tightly with a whine, “Ah~ you’re so big daddy! I love having your cock fill me up!”

Tugging at your tail a bit more to pull another whine out of you Lucci sat forward biting at your neck again, a purr leaving him as he thrust his hips up inside you further. Lucci’s cock plunging deeper into your juicy cunt that made him grunt and nibble at your neck leaving marks all over for him to admire later. “Slutty little kitten loves having my cock deep in her cunt doesn’t she?”

“Ahh! Yes! Yes it feels so good!” You moan with your head back, your ears almost falling off your head until Lucci’s other hand holds them still with his hand petting your head. “Careful kitten wouldn’t want to get punished would you?” His voice in your ear as he nips the lobe makes you whine. “S-sorry~”

Lucci pulls you into his chest with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, your head resting on his shoulder muffling your moans as he thrust roughly into your pussy from below. His cock buried in your cunt making you cry out as your cream started to coat the base of his veiny cock. “Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You warn and he only slaps your ass in response as his hips fuck you faster, “Go head kitten, cum all over my cock. Pretty kitten cumming so fast but don’t worry we’re just getting started.”

#one piece #one piece smut #honeys works 🍯#one piece headcanons #pet name headcannons #one piece x female reader #one piece smut headcannons #x female reader #send in a character pet name #pet name game #rob lucci #one piece rob lucci #rob lucci x female reader #rob lucci smut #one piece rob lucci smut #rob lucci x female reader smut #one piece lucci #one piece lucci smut

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 8 months ago

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Vil, Jack: a Strength that Shines

Ayyy, it’s the childhood friends (?) from the Shaftlands!! It feels like forever since we last got any significant interactions between Vil and Jack. Nice to see them chatting again~

bdjwvsjsGuabs THAT GROOVY THOUGH… Vil looks so judgmental and dismissive 😭 Channeling all his Mean Girl energy to diss Neige Snow White, lol

A Tale as Old as Time.

Four sides drew together to form a glittering box. A lovely maiden rested within the coffin-like casing of the photo frame. Her lips as red as blood, her hair as dark as ebony, and her skin as fair as snow.

She was circled by foliage, her sun-dappled face tilting up, disarmed by some distant call. The girl cupped her dainty hands together, housing a small baby blue bird in her palms. Kindness, goodness, grace—she exuded all of them.

Vil scoffed, tossing golden hair over his shoulder. Her smile was reminiscent of a rival celebrity, one pure as a dove's feathers.

So carefree, so cheery.

How irritating, he sighed.

"One ought to be more cautious in the woods. Who knows what dangers might lurk nearby, wishing to enact harm upon her.

"For a glamour shot though... Hmm, yes. This composition is acceptable. The sunlight is angled upon her face in a pleasing way—it casts a golden glow on her pale visage and highlights the highest points: cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. The impression is one of total innocence.”

A soft grunt sounded from beside him.

"She's... shining," Jack commented plainly. His critique, clipped. “Didn’t you do a photo shoot like this recently? Similar place and everything.”

Vil’s beauty was momentarily marred by a grimace. “Yes, as promotional material for an upcoming film. However, the feel of it was completely different than what you see here.”

Shadows instead of sunlight. Temptation in the place of innocence.

He, poised amid the creeping branches and dark leaves, a tatter cloak clinging to his curves. A single, crimson apple in his grasp, a sultry look directed at the camera.

He tried to picture himself like the girl in the frame countless times over. Kneeling among the woodland creatures, smiling so serenely. Any pro could pull it off—he included.

But the image never turned out right in his mind.

Not the right amount of sweetness, not natural enough.

Not quite the same.

Not at all.

Blood, sweat, tears. Sacrifices made at the altar. Yet still, the world yielded nothing but broken promises and shattered dreams. The splintered parts and shambles of them, he gathered, forming his own makeshift hope and determination.

He couldn’t give in here.

Vil’s perfectly groomed brows scrunched up.

“I shall have to endeavor to work even harder. I’m not satisfied with things as they are now.”

“Heh.” Jack cocked a small, lopsided grin. “Keeping on the grind… That’s just like you. You've got this."

“Obviously. Nothing will get accomplished otherwise.” Vil’s eyes passed over to the beastmen. “Presumably, you are doing the same."

"Yeah. Haven't skipped a day of my training regimen." Jack slapped a hand on his bicep, which fit snuggly in his glittering white sleeve. "We'll take out RSA next track and field meet!"

"I'd certainly hope so. If I am to taste sweet revenge, I'd prefer it be by my own hand... but I trust you to deliver in my place. I expect good news when next we speak. Do not disappoint me."

"Yessir!" Jack's tail wagged enthusiastically. He stood alert, saluting like a loyal knight. “I'll do my best!"

“Then it looks as though we both have our long-term goals set.” The dorm leader planted his hands on his waist—slim, cinched.

"Yours is...?"

"To surpass myself." Vil jerked his chin toward the girl in the painting. "To shine so brightly that my name not only goes down in history, but overshadows that which was written before."

"That's some big dream you have." Jack shook his head. "The scale's beyond what I can imagine. But knowing how stubborn you are, Vil-senpai... You seriously won't quit until you make that dream come true."

"My, my. Stubborn, am I?" He smirked, arms crossed. "I do believe it takes one to know one.

"You stand back and watch. I'll show you just how dazzling I can be."

His eyes held a steeliness to them. It was matched only by the same in Jack’s. Two strong men and their wills, meeting on equal grounds.

Jack simply nodded—an acknowledgment, an acceptance, of his upperclassman’s confidence. Overwhelming, like a powerful wave, a strong storm, a blazing inferno. He almost felt compelled to drop to one knee, to kneel before such a presence.

Vil turned away from the painting, his arms unraveling from one another. His movements were graceful, nearly ballet-like. And his expression—

Jack caught him mid-laugh. The snooty, airy kind, half-sincere, half-sarcastic. Brows upturned, mouth twisted in a faux sympathetic smile. Flaxen waves framing his lovely features.

His lips moved.

“I’ll topple you from your throne,” Vil vowed.

It was then that Jack noticed.

Vil-senpai's shining like the fair maiden.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Vil Schoenheit #Jack Howl #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #something no one asked for #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #Vil birthday takeover

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gallaghersgal · 10 months ago

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frat boy lip seeing someone else flirting with you and he gets MAD jealous—especially if it’s someone from his fraternity

god is real and my prayers have been answered. i love frat boys. it's an unhealthy addiction, really. anyway heres a blurb bc i love this so much!!

you were all dolled up. your showiest top in your favorite shade, a tiny black skirt on your hips. you paired that ensemble with platform sneakers and your staple jewelry. your hair was perfectly curled, half back in two braided pigtails, with stray curls framing your face. your lipstick complimented your skin perfectly, and your eyes were lined in the same shade as your top. you looked hot.

you looked hot, and lip was ignoring you.

you justify it to yourself, he's busy working the bar, dispensing out beers to the brothers in his frat, and pouring shots and cups of punch for every blonde bitch that was already far too gone.

you rolled your eyes, turning back to the pledge in front of you. he had some dumbass ballcap backward on his head and a tee unbuttoned down to his chest. what was his name? john? or, josh maybe? josh sounded right. he was flirting his ass off with you, and making the situation even more unbearable by telling you repeatedly how "nobody has to know baby," and "gallagher won't mind sharin' will he?"

you were disgusted. you would've slipped away from his slimy ass about four songs ago if it weren't for the fact you were boxed in by drunk girls to one side and a grinding couple on the other. you nod with a tight-lipped smile as josh tells you about his parents lake house, his slurred words going in one ear and right out the other. before you know what's happening there's a hand on his shoulder and lip is barking an order at him.

"hey pledge! your turn on bar, get ya ass over there. now."

"yeah yeah, whatever. asshole." josh replies with a roll of his eyes. he goes to leave but lip stands in his way.

"what did'ya just fuckin say to me?”

you see the color drain from josh's stupid, smug face and he forces down a gulp. "y-yes sir," he stammers out.

"that's what i thought." lip says. he lets a beat pass before he ticks his head towards the bar. "no drinkin' back there either!"

you cross your arms, glaring at him for a split second before lip's hands are on your hips and your back hits the wall. he kisses you stupid, all teeth and tongue and desire. he presses into you in an almost needy fashion, with one hand squeezing the meat of your ass.

"my girl," he growls in your ear as he pulls away.

you laugh breathlessly. "well, that pledge over there seems to be under a different impression. kept tellin' me you wouldn't mind sharin' me." you tell him, watching his face contort into an incredulous smirk.

"oh yeah?" he asks, twirling the two of you around until your back is to his chest and he's against the wall. he sways your hips to the beat of the music, lips caressing your ear so you can hear him over the bass. "well, don't you worry y'pretty head, okay? i am not fuckin' sharin' you. an' that asshole has no fuckin' chance of becoming a brother here. i saw the way he was bein' with you."

you smile to yourself, moving against him with more freedom. "y'were lookin' at me?" you ask.

you feel him nod, fingers digging possessively into your hips. "all fuckin' night. couldn't take my eyes off ya."

#lip gallagher x reader #frat!lip #🍃 posting #this is sooooooo #im so unwell ab this please send in more asks im begging #frat lip WILL be my entire personality #written by maggie [fics]

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bisexual-horror-fan · 10 months ago

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"The Best Gift He Can Give." Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader.

Okay, so the amazing and fantastic @mrsaltieri-real had a birthday a while ago, and I wrote this as a gift. I edited it to make it reader insert friendly and now I am sharing it with all of you! I hope you all enjoy it.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.4K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Your Boyfriend David Fucking Sucks. Your Boyfriend Cheats On You. Apologies To Dudes Named David Who Don't Suck. Stalking. Breaking And Entering. Murder. Blood. Gore. Violence. Making Out. Grinding. Vaginal Fingering. Eating Out. Eating Ass. Hair Pulling. Spanking. Praise. Degredation. Rimming. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Confessions Of Feelings.

---

There are people in this world who do not deserve anything. They don’t deserve kindness, or understanding, they don’t deserve friends, they don’t even deserve to breathe. One such asshole was your boyfriend, David. You don’t even know why he is your boyfriend, honestly you’ve had friends ask, and you are never sure much what to say. He treats you terribly, he is mean to you, rude, constantly picks fights, and it isn’t like you can say, “Well at least the sex is good-”

Because it is very much not. You’d been together for four years, and it had never been good.

Mickey didn’t know about that, though. All he knew to start is that you were cute, and he liked how you looked, the rest started to become revealed to him through watching you over time. He remembers the first afternoon he started to pick up on that very clearly. He was in the library, one table over, trying to do some actual work, sure he wasn’t paying for his degree, but he couldn’t exactly flunk out either, and he overheard an interaction, “Do you have to turn your pages so loud?”

Your head snaps up, looking over to him, Mickey’s own eyes flick up, but his head doesn’t raise, brows furrow in question mirroring yours as you ask, “Excuse me?”

“You are turning the pages of your book really loudly-” He drew out your name, focused on it, and that made your expression turn from somewhat annoyed confusion to outright disgust, a roll of your eyes. “Fuck off David.”

His tone made Mickey’s skin crawl, “Sooo mature, this is a library, can’t you keep it down and show some class?”

Mickey had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping, who the fuck was this guy, and why was he so comfortable talking to you like that? He thought boyfriends were supposed to be fucking nice to their girlfriends, and here he was treating you like he hated you, as if you were shit on the bottom of his shoe.

That was not the only time he saw you being treated so shamefully by David, either. Seems whenever he overheard, walked by, you were being talked down to by him or already mid-fight.

Worse still he would complain about what you wore deriding any skin you wanted to show, and what you were into, he’d overheard him belittling your love of movies too. “How the fuck can you do that shit?”

“Do what shit, David?” You sighed, and he asked, “What the same fucking movies over and over, don’t you ever get bored?”

Your reply comes out almost bored, edging on annoyed, “Those same movies over and over are definitely more interesting than talking to you so-”

“Woooow, is that any way to talk to me?” He’d ask, and Mickey would think to himself that you should treat him a Hell of a lot worse for how he acts.

You and Mickey had been friends in secret for a while, it had been a very quiet affair, mostly because David would be threatened and jealous, something that bugged Mickey, but he was just glad for the time spent with you and to get to know you. Small moments carved out whenever that prick wasn’t around became absurdly meaningful.

One day he found you alone on a park bench on campus and seemingly very upset, he couldn’t leave you like that, your boyfriend isn’t around and so he comes forward until he is close enough to ask, “Hey uh, you good?”

Head raises, and you sniff, hands rushing to wipe at your nose and mouth, you nod shakily, mouth dry as you say, “Yeah, totally, so, so good.”

He lets himself smile this kind of sad smile as he sits down beside you, humming out, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Leave it alone.” You sigh, and he presses, “No way, there has to be a reason you’re this upset and I wanna know.”

You slump back further into the bench, averting your gaze as you confess, “You caught me, M’ not good at all. I just found out that my boyfriend fucking cheated on me.”

Immediate anger flares as does genuine concern for you, both emotions taking hold makes his eyebrows raise and his hand reach out to touch your elbow, your attention snaps back to him. Your eyes meet, and he says, “You can talk to me.”

“What is there to talk about?” It’s said very quietly, and his grip on you tightens by a fraction as he encourages, “Plenty. It isn’t healthy to keep this shit bottled up, what he did was fucked, talk to me about it.”

You haven’t opened up in such a long time but right now, something in his eyes beckons you and the urge overtakes, you feel safe and think, maybe you should open up. Your stomach is churning, and you think, what harm could it do? You start to tell him, a verbal torrent that once it began it was impossible to stop, as you vent about David and the series of horrible things he had put you through in your relationship. He listens, and only when you stop for breath does he say, “You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you could do so much better than an asshole like him.”

A small shrug as you brush him off, “It’s easier to stay in this relationship because it’s all I’ve ever known. Even if I broke things off with him, he’d never really let me go.”

“What do you mean he wouldn’t let you go?” His question isn’t entirely unexpected, but you still struggle for a moment to respond, “I dunno, I just…I know he would put up a massive fight, and I couldn’t ever just make a clean break. He wouldn’t let that happen.”

He licks his lips tentatively, an almost nervous action, “He…He doesn’t own you. Hon, you know that, right?”

You looked over at Mickey and said quietly, unconvincingly, “I know that.”

He wasn’t sold. He hated the look in your eyes right now. Not only that, but he tried to break the tension and asked, “Is the sex that good or-?”

You laughed, head tipping back, genuine smile crossing your face, you shake your head as you catch your breath and tell him, “God no, it’s terrible! So vanilla, nothing but missionary, he never even eats me out.” You exhale and expound further, “He expects me to blow him too.”

“Fuck off no way.” His reaction pulled another laugh out of you, and he insists, “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” You sighed. He speaks with conviction, anger but not at you, never at you, more frustration at your situation and how you seemingly have just accepted it. “Why the fuck do you put up with this asshole? Seems like you are doing all the giving with no take.”

A shrug as you tell him, refusing to look at him any longer, “I’ve grown used to it, it’s been just so long of the same thing, you know?”

That was fucking bullshit. Sunk cost fallacy much? Clearly you were never going to get out from under this jerk’s thumb on your own, so he was going to do something about this. It would take some work, but you were more than worth it. He started to stalk him, determined to get real dirt on him, he learns his routine and becomes far too acquainted with even the most basic and mundane things about your boyfriend.

It doesn’t take him long, around a month in is when Mickey catches David in the act of cheating, he was fucking some girl from his film class.

It was infuriating! Here he has you, a total fucking catch, and he doesn’t appreciate you, mistreats you, and cheats on you on top of all that. What a complete piece of fucking trash.

He has every intention of telling you when he has the adequate proof-

Wait.

What if he tells you and you still stay? You seemed so downtrodden, what if not even this is enough to convince you to leave? Fuck, that would be terrible, but he couldn’t let that hold him back.

He just needed to stay on task, stay focused, and this could work out. He clung closer, tried to be around you more and provide more support, but that, as it turns out, only made it harder. Having to be confronted so frequently with the damage he was doing to you, how sad you were, it made him hurt in kind. He really fucking cared about you.

On top of all of this, his presence is apparently putting more pressure on your relationship. He comes across you and David having a loud and public altercation a few days later, as he gets closer he realizes it is about him.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” You insist, and David bites back, “Oh, can’t I?”

“No! You can’t! What is the problem anyway?” You try to implore, and he isn’t having it, “I don’t like him! No, scratch that, I fucking hate him. You shouldn’t be talking to any guy, I don’t want you to even look in his direction-”

“You are so ridiculous-”

He can’t stay. He can’t listen to this. Furthermore, he can’t stand idly by any longer. He is going to do something about this.

Breaking into David’s place was easy, taking his time is what was difficult. He eases into his bedroom, costume on, knife already in his hand, and comes up to the bed. You were back at your own place, far away and hopefully peacefully sleeping, blissfully unaware of just what he was about to do for you, of the devotion he has and was about to display.

He wanted to spit in the fucker’s face for what he did to you, more than that he wanted to main and mutilate him, wanted to inflict as much physical pain onto him as he inflicted mental pain onto you. He reached down, he ripped the blanket back, and with one smooth motion he stabbed the sharp blade into David’s stomach.

The reaction was immediate, his eyes snapping open, mouth open in a soundless scream as it seems all the air leaves him, hands flying to his stomach trying to clutch at the blade but stopping short, afraid to touch the intrusion. He ripped the knife out and then stabbed it back in, immediately. He twists, David inhaled as much as he could but then breathed out, hiccuping on the air, it becomes a complete bloodbath. Mickey cuts, he stabs, he hurts him as he can’t hold back, and David chokes out, “Why?”

Mickey laughs, this cold and calculating kind of laugh before he takes the mask off, and then he starts to talk, “You are a pathetic excuse for a man, a worthless piece of trash-”

The knife is ripped out and brought back down harder than before, the steel scrapes bone, and he sobs, “-you don’t deserve someone like her, you know that, right? You’ve been mistreating her for way too long.”

The metal wrenched free and then drove deeply inward again, the next sound of pain is a short gasp, Mickey tells him further, “That is why I am doing this, I am going to step in and take over.”

David looked so pitiful, tears down his cheek, bloodstained and movements slowing, weakening. Mickey leaned down and told him lowly,“I’m going to make her feel so, SO much better than you ever did.”

He is unrecognizable. Organs are laying all around him, cuts on his face making it, so his identity is basically gone, partially skinned in places. He wished he could have taken the time to skin him alive, fillet him like a fucking fish, but even that would be too good for him. He is sure that he has drained him of about half of his blood, the mattress is soaked, heavy and thick, there is a squelching sound when Mickey gets off the bed. The blood has soaked through the robe, it is staining his shirt and jeans he is positive of it, the handle of the knife is slick, he can feel coagulated blood that has gathered between his fingers, the clots are slippery and almost black.

There is one place he wants to be and it’s with you.

He goes to your place.

It is obscenely late when you open the door, you are in your pyjamas, you look fucking gorgeous to him.

“Mickey?” You rub over your eyes, suppressing a yawn, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

He pushes past you, comes inside as he starts to talk, “I had to come see you, I just did something amazing tonight-”

You close the door, he is talking quickly, a mile a minute, excited, manic. “I was thinking about what told me about David and I just got so fucking inspired, you know? So I decided I just had to do it, so I did but, darling, you need to tell me, what else didn’t he do for you?”

“What he didn’t do?” You repeat, softer, confused, and he nods, brows raised and eyes alight, mischievous, “Yes, tell me all the things he doesn’t do for you.”

It is then that you take him in awake enough to register, and notice what he is wearing. A black robe, almost plastered to his body, your eyes flit downwards, and you see that it’s shiny in a particular way that tattles on it being wet, but wet with what? Eyes catch red droplets on the ground coming off of the frayed edged of the black fabric, your gaze shoots back up. You smell the iron, and you see the small flecks of red on his face, and so the question tumbles out, “What is with the robe and is that fucking blood?”

This half smile on his face and a cock of his head as he tells you as if it couldn’t be more obvious, “I just killed David. For you sweetheart.”

You don’t feel angry or upset, to your complete surprise, you feel an insane and immense sense of relief that David is gone. You no longer have to put up with him.

A sharp inhale as the feeling sinks in, you let it wash over you, not fighting it, letting it soak into your bones. Another question spills out as you ask, “What did you do to him?”

His grin is so wide you worry it hurts his face.

“I snuck into his apartment, broke in with no issue, I crept into his bedroom and I stabbed a knife-” He brought one foot up, boot rested on the chair at your desk, hauling up the robe, careful not to get blood on more than he had already his hand grasps the hand of the knife. He unsheathes it from the holster that was strapped to his leg, his foot comes back down, he is holding the knife up, you can see the dried blood all over the blade and his hand, he continues to expound, “-this knife, into his stomach.”

He mimics the motion, smile still pulling his features tight, “He gasped and struggled, it was pathetic. I ran him through over and over, the sound was wet, the blood gushed.”

A sigh crosses his lips, he is looking down at the blade, turning it over in his hands. You, too, are fixated on the glinting metal as it moves from one hand to the next. He keeps talking. “You’d think sound would be a concern. That he’d be screaming his fucking head off, right?”

You look up, he is staring at your face, expectant, you respond to the question, a shaky nod. He continues on, a point of his knife, “Wrong. When you stab someone right, it sucks all the air out of their lungs.” The images his is giving fills your head, of David lying there, bleeding and as Mickey put it, pathetic. He is still expounding. “I was relentless, kept stabbing him, he had no chance to catch his breath. You can’t scream if you can’t breathe.”

You listen enthralled as he describes how he cut flesh from bone, how chunks fell away, digging fingers into open wounds, manually separating cartilage and skin and muscle apart just because he could. He speaks of how much blood he drained and by the end of it you were breathing much harder as was he. Almost no space between the pair of you.

He is looking in your eyes, and he speaks, “I ask again, what did he never do for you?”

You can’t help it, inquiring, “Why do you want to know so bad?”

“Because sweetheart-” He sets the knife down on your desk, his hand reaches out to take yours, tacky with partially dried crimson, and he says, “-baby, darling, I want to make you feel all the things you’ve missed out on the past few years.”

You are as explicit in describing what you’d been missing as he was when describing the violence he did to David.

“He never made me cum with his mouth, his dick, not even his fingers. I haven’t felt a hot tongue on my clit in fucking years.” You start, a deep inhale before you force it out, speak in hushed tones, “He only ever fucked me in missionary, he never put a hand on my throat and choked me, never pulled my hair, he never praised me, fuck, Mick, he never even degraded me.”

You sigh now, “Never spanked me, never ate my ass, God do I want someone to eat my ass and above all else, he never overstimulated me-”

He cut you off. His mouth crashing into yours after far too long, he kisses you deeply, and you fall into it, into him. A moan into his mouth, hands reach out, fingers tangle in the sleeves, they feel damp, you flex your fingers, you squeeze, beads of blood squeeze through your fingers. Your tongue runs over his bottom lip, and you revel in the taste of him. Christ it was never like this with David, a simple kiss with Mickey was serving to do you in, the graze of his lips against yours, of his tongue brushing yours was sending sparks throughout you.

Feet stumble back, you pull him with you, keep him near, unwilling to break the connection you’ve made and yet you do, a quiet mumbling of, “Get this fucking robe off-”, pulling on his sleeves for further emphasis. The contact is broken for him to listen and obey, he pulls the robe off and drops it onto the floor, the blood has soaked through to his t-shirt he was wearing, and again you are confronted with what he did. He killed David for you, the evidence of his care for you, of his total devotion is splattered all over him, plastering his shirt to him, soaked into thin fabric.

This time, you are pulling him back to you, greedy and needy as you do so. Mouths meet again as you are moving backward, the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress, and you let yourself fall, tugging him down with you.

His leg slots between yours as his lips descend on yours again, you sink further into the mattress as he, in turn, sinks into you, melting into the contact, his leg presses closer, knee is tighter to you and that makes you inhale sharply. That sets something off in him.

One of his hands moves, threads in your hair, and he tugs, it forcefully breaks the kiss and pulls a moan from you at the delicious rush of pain. His mouth moves, presses over your jaw, down your throat, and he makes your hips move on their own, grinding against him, desperate for more already. A squirm of your hips as you drag your clothed slit against his solid thigh, and the wash of pleasure makes you have to suppress a shudder, a whining moan held back as well as you bite your bottom lip.

He notices immediately, pulling back from your neck, another tug of your hair, and he makes you look at him, “None of that shit, I don’t fucking care how late it is, I don’t care if every son of a bitch on this entire floor files a noise complaint, I want to hear you, no holding back.”

You are stunned, speechless, your hips shift, and you are drenched, underwear plastered to you and one of his hands locks onto your throat, he squeezes and says, “I’m not hearing you say yes.”

You just cannot believe everything you’ve ever wanted has fallen into your lap, you choke out, “Yes, yes, please, fucking yes-”

He shuts you up with another kiss and that is how things seriously escalate, both of you rushing to undress each other. You hadn’t been wearing much to sleep, the tank top and shorts were removed, his shirt and shoes are off now, and he stops. You are looking up at him, admiring him the same way he is you, even with almost all his clothing removed there is still the mark of the crime he committed, blood left on his torso after leaking through his shirt, splatters on his arms, the small flecks on his face. He is looking at you like you are a full meal with nothing more in his way than damp lace, “Fucking Christ-”

He sighs, his fingers trace the curve of your breast before he fully takes it in his hand, he looks helpless in regard to what he wants to do, he follows the impulse, he leans down, and his mouth latches onto one of your nipples. His tongue circles and you sigh, arching up into him.

His teeth graze as one of his hands slips between your thighs, he only gets one pass of his fingers over the wet material before he decides that isn’t good enough. Fingers hook in the thin garment, and he pulls, he hopes you didn’t give a shit about them because he cannot be bothered to remove them properly, he pulls until it rips and throws it aside. No chance of you complaining because his fingers are on you, strong digits press to you bare for the first time.

Your eyes roll back with a soft, “Oh my fucking God-” which Mickey absolutely eats up as he starts to move, fingers trace slowly, dipping low, catching some mess and dragging it up, using it as lube to rub your clit.

The increase in pleasure was immediate, your body slowly starts to tense as the feeling digs into your bones, you fully give in to what he is doing to you.

“Do you know how much I’ve poured over this?” He asks, and you say quietly, “No.”

“So many nights.” He confesses, his fingers pick up the pace, tight circles rubbed, and he tells you more, “I’d think about this, about having you under me, about doing-” Two fingers ease inside of you, and he moans like it’s his pleasure, breathing out, “-this.”

“You feel better than I ever thought you could, so fucking wet, so soft.” He groans, and you arch closer, his palm presses nearer, he moves and works with you, fingers curling into that sweet spot and hand grinding over your clit. You listen, and you feel, minutes later, very quickly between his hushed words and expert touch you are shivering and telling him, “M’ close Mickey-”

“Fuck yes, do it.” The firm command makes it impossible to stop, you tip over and cum. It feels phenomenal, it’s been ages since anyone has done this, showed this level of care and investment in your enjoyment. He doesn’t relent, keeps his pace steady and consistent, and draws out every bit of feeling he can from your high.

He doesn’t let you rest, your body sinks back into the mattress, you are panting, and he slides his fingers out of you and right into his mouth. Not only that, but he tastes you for the first time and moans from the salt and tang of you coating his tongue.

“You taste better than anything I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He slips down your body, drags of his lips lighting further fire in you until he settles between your thighs, his mouth latches onto your still very sensitive clit and your thighs clamp around his head immediately. Your hand shoots down, fingers in his stupidly attractive hair, and you moan loudly, just as he wants you to.

He was ravenously hungry but still taking his time with this, he forces himself to slow down just a touch, he knows you haven’t had this in years thanks to that douchebag of an ex-boyfriend. He laps at your leaking slit, from hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, he swirls his tongue around the boarders once, twice, three times before passing over it again, making you gasp out his name.

Mickey luxuriates in the act and does his best to ensure that you do as well, sucks with purpose and is quickly rocketing you to another orgasm, you can barely string together a sentence to warn him of that, but he knows, fingers twist further in his hair, and you pull with a cry of his name, in another two short minutes you are cumming again, it’s stronger than the first, you are louder than you were last time, but he continues. He doesn’t stop on your come down, he just slows, goes lighter, his licks are running up the length of you, between your lips and on top of your twitching bud, over and over, methodical, and you can’t stop shaking.

Somehow through the haze of pleasure you manage to speak, calling out to him, “Mi-Mickey, oh my fucking God-”

He lifts his mouth, you expect him to give you a breather or to give some pithy response that will turn you on further and make you leak more, but instead his hands are on your hips, he tilts them up and his tongue dives lower. His tongue circles over your asshole, and you actually sob, shocked and broken from the sudden stab of ecstasy that hits your gut, your hand leaving his hair, instead gripping at the sheets. You can’t stop from squirming, which makes his job harder, you hear something that sounds akin to a mildly annoyed growl.

One of his hands lifts off your hip, and he lands a firm smack on your ass as he grits out, “Stop squirming so much babe, let me make you feel good.”

He gets back to it and your head is thrown back against the pillows, you try, you really do, but his tongue flicks just so and your body bucks. He instead flips you over onto your stomach roughly manhandling you, one hand pulling your hips up, and he dives back in tongue first. He eats your ass with passionate fervour, whenever you buck too much he reminds you to behave with another hit to your ass cheek. His hand that wasn’t on your hip slides under, and he circles your clit with fast and clever fingers.

The sharp slaps of pain and combined with him being tongue deep in your ass and rubbing your clit makes you cum embarrassingly fast yet again and harder still, legs trembling so much you almost fall on your face, with an ample gush onto his chin while sobbing his name into the pillow.

When you stopped shaking he came up, another smack to your ass, his chest to your back as he leans down and praises right in your ear, “Oh good fucking girl.”

You start to babble out into the damp pillowcase, “Mi-Mickey, ‘lease, fuck me, need you-”

He hums, and you hear his belt open, finally getting his pants open, he inhales sharply in relief, the pressure easing from him opening his pants. The rest of his clothes are discarded, and he pauses. His hand on your sore ass, right on the spot he kept hitting over and over, his thumb traces down, spreading your lips, over your hole, and he sighs, “I have been dying to get inside this cunt.”

He lines up, he pushes his hips forward and sinks deep inside you, in one swift and smooth motion. The moan you share is like music, beautiful, melodic, passionate collaboration. His hand goes into your hair, he fucks you like that, face down ass up, he starts a quick pace initially, rough, needy and you love it. His body is covering yours as he breathes into your ear, “You feel incredible, oh my God-” His head tips back with a loud moan, he drives into you over and over, “-fucking stunning too, you are so gorgeous.”

It has been entirely too long since you’ve been fucked in any position other than missionary. The sensation, his weight on your back, the sound of skin on skin, his breath in your ear, it’s fucking perfection. You rock back with him, meet him in the middle, you were giving back, showing just how desperately you want him in kind makes Mickey let out this sound, caught between a groan and something more possessive, not explicitly words, but it hits you low in your gut.

He starts to slow down, takes a little more time, and you are moaning louder and louder, you are so worked up, so sensitive, you feel alive and electric. On one level it feels like you can feel every ridge and vein of him and on another like you can’t determine up from down, completely drunk on feeling.

You completely lose track of how many times you get off that night, the pace will switch on a whim, from hard pounding and him calling you every name in the book to more easy and sensual, a writhing joint movement instead of an aggressive pounding.

You ride him, grind one out on top of him while he cradles your breasts, thumbs passing over your nipples as he calls you a beautiful fucked out angel.

He fucks you spooning, hand around you and between your thighs, strumming your clit with one hand, the other locked on your throat as he is fucking in and out.

The only thing that seems to make it stop is you literally sobbing for it to. Your cheeks are wet, you are babbling his name and the word stop, you have one leg over his shoulder and the other is pinned down near your knee by him. His stamina was impressive, he’d already cum once when you were riding him, had filled you up, but instead of that stopping it, he just flipped you over, still hard, and kept fucking going, his own cum providing even more lube.

That was a while ago, you could tell that he was near again, sweat down the side of his face, movements of his hips sloppy, panting your name over and over. You know you can’t again, you are too fried, too overstimulated and finally, just as the soreness is starting to teeter on the other side of being more unpleasant and painful than pleasurable he holds deep and cums again.

You feel totally boneless, your arms feel heavy as you wrap them around him loosely, his head dips down and rests on your shoulder, you are just trying to catch your breath.

He gets his back faster than you.

He is still inside of you when he comes back up, fingers push some of your hair aside as he looks down into your eyes. Your chest is still rising and falling rapidly as he confesses, for what must be the third time tonight, telling you, “I fucking care about you.”

A strong belief that is nothing but the truth hits, “You deserve way better than him, I wish I could have met you sooner so you could have had those years back of someone who actually gives a shit about you instead of that asshole.”

You want this, want him, damned what that says about you or your morals, you don’t care as you tell him, “Fuck that selfish cunt, forget about him, let’s just make up for lost time.”

He has every intention of doing just that.

#Mickey Altieri x reader #Ghostface x reader #Slasher x reader #BHF writing #HERE IT IS #ENJOY

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blixabargelds · 3 months ago

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for the prompt game “zipping or buttoning their jacket for them” for clegan!! if you want to! 🫶 love your stuff on ao3 and am pressing my face intensely against the glass of all the superstar stuff you post

@roycest too thank youuuu sm guys <33

i borrowed @swifty-fox’s little beasts boys for this one hehe thank u for letting me play with them :3 cw gore mention ~~

- zipping or buttoning their jacket for them

John holds the cigarette up to Gale’s mouth. He knew that he’d quit long before they met. John had offered one without mentioning that; Gale had taken it without a word. His fingertips brush Gale’s lips as he raises the smoke for him again, the usually plush skin turned chapped with anxiety, and sterile air.

He can’t hold the thing himself, because he’s got twin tears through his hands. On each hand: two fractured metacarpals, four torn tendons- palm, and back- one rough, bleeding hole. Disinfected, bandadged, and splinted still now. He’s slated for surgery on both of them in the next couple of days. John’s fingers shake as he helps Gale take another drag.

“Gale-”

“Don’t, John.”

John rubs at his eyes. They sting from being open so long, but each time he shuts them he can only picture Gale, face twisted in agony and two seven-inch iron nails through his palms. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Gale says again. He fixes John with a look. His eyes are red-rimmed, vaguely glassy from the shock, and the pain, and the good stuff they’ve given him, but it’s an effective look nonetheless. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

John laughs. A teasing, phantom itch passes through the crook of his elbow. “I’m the one who-”

“John, stop it, please.”

It’s only the fraying of Gale’s voice that shuts John up. He wants to touch him so bad but he can’t. Everyone knows him, everyone is doing double takes at the young priest, smoking Reds held up to his face by someone else, and sporting gauze-wrapped stigmata at 2am outside the ER.

John wonders if that’s the only reason they picked him. Like John’s got a pronounced connection to the church in some way less complex than the truth of that relationship. Maybe he’s just been going around wearing his twelve steps on his sleeve, giving off some vibe of reformed dedication to his higher power. He doubts that, though. Very fucking much.

The other explanation is that these people- these guys John owed money to, as they told him- knew about him and Gale. That they talk. John’s got no idea how they would. He’s got no idea who they were, because he can’t remember so many of his fuckups; so many people he’s pissed off or fucked over. Got your priest, said the anonymous text on the screen of his shattered phone. Yours. John wonders if they could tell, if they didn’t know already, that his connection to Gale went beyond Sunday Service in the way that he’d reacted; like a rabid dog as they twisted the nails in deeper. They’d thought it was hilarious. Live crucifixion, real original idea, grinding in the rusty iron fixing Gale to the tree behind until said priest had finally cried. John would’ve given over every cent if he hadn’t been scared for a second that they’d just kill Gale.

He’s not sure where his strength came from, in the end. He hadn’t even thought of his parole.

He wants to hold Gale’s fucking hand. But that’s not something they do anyways, and Gale doesn’t need him to. Couldn’t if he did.

John throws caution to the wind, hopes whoever walks past next might see nothing more than the expected level of comfort to be seen outside an emergency room. He wraps an arm around Gale’s shoulders and pulls him tight to his body. John can feel the way he’s shaking. Adrenaline and morphine slowly seeping out of him, and Gale gives in, too, pressing his face into John’s collar. His breaths come fast and uneven against his skin.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” John says.

He dips his face lower, shielded from view by the side of Gale’s head, and ghosts a kiss above his ear. It’s too tender for whatever they are. Which is currently undefined, a burning mess and hidden clashes of tongues, but John’s too tired to care. He can’t stop hearing the scream Gale clenched behind his teeth.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Gale says. John can’t stop hearing Gale’s quiet, fervent praying. He’d been kind of unconvinced by his devotion before. Still is, mostly- John’s pretty sure he was counting his own Hail Marys, too. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet. It’s freaking me out.”

John laughs. It sounds embarrassingly wet. He peels himself back from Gale, dragging out another smoke. He passes this one back and forth between them; watches Gale wince as his fingers automatically flex, as if John’s gonna let him take it himself. He hasn’t really got anything to say, except that he’s sorry.

“You’ll look hardcore.”

Gale blinks. Then laughs, a shaking and breathless thing, kind of heavenly to John; after the night from hell. “Right.”

“You’ll be the most Godly priest around. The gay rumours have got to stop now.”

“John,” Gale hisses.

John holds his hands up in surrender. “I said rumours. Unfounded, I’ve heard. No fucking idea where anyone would get that from, truly, sick thing to make up about a priest.”

“Fuck, John, what if my fingers don’t work anymore.”

John stops talking again at that. He looks down at Gale’s bandaged hands. There hadn’t been as much blood as John expected, the two long nails plugging the wounds where they speared him back to front. It was only when Gale had ripped one out in the car that it really started to bleed. John told him not to. Gale knew not to, only John guesses he hated the look of the things in his palms, because he’d just tugged one straight out in a daze, and sent blood spurting all over the dashboard, pooling down in his lap. John has seen a lot of shit, but he’s never seen right through someone’s body before. Right through his hands. Gale won’t even be able to turn the pages of his precious Bible alone for weeks, at least. John gets a horrible image of Gale’s loose fist working his cock, the slide of it visible through a gory opening in his tender flesh.

These guys in their masks had asked where Gale’s God was now. He looks like he’s still trying to figure it out.

John could kill someone for a drink. A joint, maybe. A line, or worse. He shakes a little with it.

Gale is still shaking, too. Gentle tremors running up and down his lithe body, useless hands coming around to hug himself. It’s cold, and late, but they’ve been surrounded by doctors and nurses and cops, disinfectant and bleating machines for hours. Gale, who doesn’t smoke anymore, had asked for a cigarette, and John wasn’t going to say no. He shrugs off his old Patriots hoodie and helps Gale’s hands through the sleeves.

“’S’alright,” he’s saying, even as he’s blinking slowly, grimacing with the brush of fabric on his fingers.

“Don’t be a martyr,” John says. “For once.”

John zips the sweater up for him. He pulls the hood up over his ears for good measure, and leans back to admire his work. It would be funny if it weren’t so pitiful; Gale dwarfed somewhat by the thing, mussed hair sticking out from under the hood, and that vaguely smug, pious air gone completely from his tired face. John wonders if his voice will tremble at the altar. If he’ll even get back up there for a while. John doesn’t think it’ll take long. Gale is infuriatingly stubborn.

“John, I can’t feel my fingers,” he says, exhaustion pulling down that defensive veil and making his voice thin. John realises he never answered his question

“Hey, it’s the painkillers. The doctor said you’ll get movement back, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t say how much,” Gale croaks.

“Well,” John grits his teeth. Swallows, then says, “Jesus’s hands worked fine.”

It’s meant to be light, but it comes off sort of desperate.

Gale shuts his eyes. “Ain’t Jesus, John. I’m just a fuckin’- some idiot.”

“Cut it out, Gale,” John says. It’s sharp enough that Gale opens his eyes and looks at him, owlish and shocked. John tugs at his curls and sighs. “Fuck, sorry. Just, bad shit happens when there’s scum involved. Trust me. Y’not actually a saint, some guys fucked you up. It should’ve been- it shouldn’t have been you. Alright? This sort of shit shouldn’t happen to you.”

Gale stares at him. John’s arms still itch uncomfortably, a familiar pull in his stomach making him feel off kilter. He thinks of his one year chip. Thinks of swallowing it whole, seeing if it does any damage to his insides.

“Want to listen to some records later?” he says instead.

“I’m gonna be here overnight, John.”

“Yeah,” John says. “Me too.”

Gale blinks. He looks fucking dreadful; tired and hurt, lost in John’s clothes and all messed up where he’s usually so put together. Sheet white and in pain. John wants to kiss him so bad his veins ache with it. It’s sort of funny, how John thinks he’s friends with a priest now.

“Sure,” Gale says after a while. “I’ll listen to some records with you.”

#frankiefic #masters of the air #mota fanfic #clegan #sorry for how long these inbox prompts are taking me i have been Unwell

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usedtobecooler · 2 years ago

Note

Here I am again,

Alternative reader x fuck boy Steve.

In which reader makes cocky jock Steve a whimpering subby mess, until he’s begging for her to let him cum.

smutty stocking stuffers day four - steve harrington x reader

Pairing | Steve Harrington x Fem!Alternative!Reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), riding, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, overstimulation.

Word Count | 1.2k

A/N | turns out i'm just super into writing for steve now guys i'm down bad ))):

"Please, please, m'begging here, fuck," Steve's wide eyes are glued to where his cock is sinking in and out of your sopping wet cunt, rings of creamy release pooling at the base of his shaft and matting down his dark thatch of pubes.

You're grinning down at him like a wild little thing, bright hair pulled back in a messy bun, sweat making the colour run down your forehead and neck, as you bounce up and down relentlessly, "What was it you said again, Harrington?" You muse, little moans escaping you as the fat head of his cock slides over your soft spot, "That you'd make me scream? Make me cry? I beg to differ."

Steve's at a loss for words, whimpering like a bitch in heat, and you swear this is the best the asshole had ever looked. Breaking down as he stuffs his cock in your tight cunt, pleading for release. His big hands encase your hips, digging into the rucked up material of your black skirt - he's a lot bigger than you, could overpower you and force you to stop if he wanted, but you're willing to bet he knows the repercussions of that.

You halt your bouncing to grind against him, your hips swinging back and forth so that his pubes catch and drag on your clit, setting your body alight, "Funny, how you can be such a cocky prick around all your friends but I get you like this in private," You laugh, it's dirty, and he fucks up into you from below, you feel his balls tightening up under the curve of your ass, "If you come, I'm gonna ride your soft dick until you cry."

Steve throws his head back, neck bared, veins bulging out as he strains, fights with himself not to come, because he wants to be good, "I'll be good, fuck, baby. I'll be so good, promise."

Your black talon nails rake up and down the expanse of Steve's hairy chest, digging in harsh enough to leave marks and he mewls under you in return. You rise up onto the balls of your feet, using the leverage to begin bouncing again, tight pussy clenching around him.

You'll never get over how full Steve makes you feel, like he's rearranging your guts with every harsh thrust. He's cocky, arrogant, and has every right to be, truly. He's mean to you in school, in front of his meat head friends, and you let him be. Because when you fuck him in the privacy of your home, away from prying eyes, he knows who's really in charge, and it sure as fuck isn't him.

The relentless abuse on your spongey spot has your cunt gushing with slick, unable to stop it, and your demeanor is faltering slightly, tummy coiling with a need to come. You throw your head back with a moan, crying out as Steve's big hands come up to cup and grope at your tits, thumbs flicking over your pierced, hardened nipples.

"God, I'm almost there, just hold off," You moan, the wet sounds of your pussy echoing in the room, the slap of your skin against his making you shiver. Steve is a mess, hands squeezing your skin everywhere he can, hips canting up off the bed to meet your riding, his eyes glazed over as he looks up at you in awe.

His face begins flushing a deep red, and you know that look, he's about to come and it's too late to stop it, "You're so wet, m'sorry, fuck, fuck!" He grips onto your waist, fingertips digging into your soft belly as he forces you down onto his cock, practically impaling you, and he comes, slicking your walls with his release.

You don't even give him time to come down, seething noticeably as you grab a tight hold of his hands on you, ripping them away, "What'd I fucking tell you? Can't just be a good boy, huh?"

"M'sorry, baby. So sorry," Steve's groaning, still reeling from his orgasm. You don't give him any time to recover, beginning your bouncing again before he can go fully soft, "Wha - what are you doing, fuck."

"Taking what I want from your spent dick," You shrug, clamping down your walls onto his milked cock until he's choking out a sob, burying his head in the pillow, "I told you if you came before I said so I'd ride you until you cried, so."

It doesn't take much for his abused cock to kick up in interest again, but you can tell he's struggling with the overstimulation on the sensitive head, you laugh in return - dirty and mean and his cock pulses inside of you at the sound, the look on your pretty face.

Your eyeliner is running now, dark lipstick smeared, and you're so pretty even when you're being fucking evil. Steve's eyes glance between your face and where his cock sinks in and out of you, his come spilling out with every slide off of his length.

"Who does this cock belong to?" You ask, snapping him from his trance, and he looks at you like he's stupid or something, like he can't understand a word coming from your mouth. Your eyes narrow, "Answer me, Steve."

Steve almost folds at his name escaping your pretty, plump lips, "You, honey. It belongs to you, shit."

"You can tell all your little bitches in the locker room that, then," You smirk, though you're choked off when a moan is pulled from you, nails digging into Steve's toned belly as your gut begins to wind tight, the constant abuse of his tip on your g-spot sending you spiraling, "I'm gonna come, Steve."

Steve takes the opportunity to knock your feet out from under you with his hands, having you falling back down onto your knees and going pliant. He grins up at you, snaking his arms behind your back, knees drawing up for leverage so he can fuck you from below.

His hips piston into yours, fast enough to have you moaning and crying out into the room, your soaked cunt leaking all down his balls and pooling in a mess beneath you. You give up the ghost then, falling into him so you're chest to chest, your face buried in his neck.

"Steve, Steve, ah-!" You wail, coil in your tummy snapping as you come, clenching sporadically around his thick cock. You're out of breath, feeling like you've been winded, and he just keeps going, fucking into you and hands crushing you, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

"Perfect little pussy, clenching me so tight, fuck, baby," Steve groans, his hips faltering as he nears the edge, "Gonna come in you again, so you've gotta go out of here leaking."

You whine, unable to say anything witty in return, just clenching down on him again, and his hips still, cock pulsing in you as he comes with a soft grunt.

This power play would never be over, you know that as well as he does. But, fuck, the sex and the way he wrapped you up in his arms like a fragile little thing afterwards really made up for it.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #my fanfic #mine #smut #x reader #candy’s smutty stocking stuffers

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puppy-steve · 2 months ago

Text

steddie | M | wc: 789 | cw: none

tags: steddie dads, farmers steddie, modern au, light dom/sub

Eddie stands on the front porch in his robe and takes a sip of his coffee as he watches Steve get the girls on the bus. It’s a cold morning, in the low 30’s, and he chuckles as his daughters blow out hot air like they’re dragons. The sun is barely even up yet but it casts a bright glow across the frosty grass of their yard and the field across the road.

Steve and the girls do their dorky handshake once the bus pulls up and Eddie waves at them and blows them each a kiss. When the bus is around the curve down the road, Steve puts his hands in the pockets of his Carhartt and starts the trek back up the long gravel driveway, their dog Daisy trotting at his side.

Eddie goes back inside to the warmth. He drains the last of his coffee and puts the mug in the sink before he starts clearing up the mess left from breakfast, made by the mini tornadoes he calls children. As he washes the plastic kiddie plates and cups and forks, he goes through the list of what he and Steve have planned for the day since it’s rare that their days off overlap.

Well. What Eddie has planned. He knows what Steve’s plans are and none of them involve doing anything on the list pinned to the fridge.

The hole in the chicken coop needs patched before the ladies and their gentleman caller get snatched up by a bobcat or coyote. Eddie’s been trying to find the time to go over to Wayne’s and help him with the boat so he can take the girls out on the river this summer. He and Steve need to make a trip to Rural King if their oldest is seriously considering showing rabbits for 4-H.

All are things that’ll take up a good chunk of their morning and afternoon. But of course, when Eddie feels arms wrap around his waist and lips press to the skin underneath his ear, he knows good and well all of it will be tossed out the window.

“Mornin’, handsome,” Eddie hums, leaning back into Steve’s hold, his hands still submerged in soapy dishwater.

“Mornin’, baby.” Steve kisses Eddie’s shoulder and starts to gently sway them. “The girls are gone.”

Eddie chuckles. He knows the game Steve is trying to play. “Oh really? I couldn’t tell, with how quiet it is.”

Steve’s lips trail from his shoulder to his neck. “We both have the day off.”

Eddie hums in agreement, his eyes sliding shut as he tilts his head back on Steve’s shoulder. “I know what you’re trying to do, baby,” he says. “It won’t work. We have stuff to do.”

Steve ignores him. “We could go back to bed right now,” he says against Eddie’s ear.

Eddie sighs quietly, making a valiant effort to not acknowledge the way Steve is starting to chub up.

“You could take your time.” He nibbles on Eddie’s earlobe and lets out the smallest moan when he starts to grind against Eddie’s ass. “Open me up nice and slow so you can fuck me deep.”

Eddie’s own quiet moan betrays him at the thought of laying Steve out on their bed and getting his tongue and four fingers in his ass until his husband is begging for his cock.

Steve pulls Eddie’s hips against him and Eddie lets him, the dishes now abandoned as he grinds back on the hefty bulge Steve’s now sporting in his sweatpants. They stand there for a few minutes, Steve whimpering hotly into Eddie’s shoulder as they hump like teenagers.

Eddie’s melting point is when Steve whines, “Wanna use my toys, too.”

He’ll blame it on the fact that they haven’t had the time for anything more than stolen moments while the girls are busy with homework or chores, and sleepy handjobs before bed.

Eddie drains the sink and rinses the soap off his hands before drying them on a nearby rag. He turns in Steve’s arms and preens at how flushed his face is just from a little grinding.

He gets a hand between them and massages Steve’s heavy cock over his pants, a dark spot already soaking the fabric. “You get five minutes to get yourself naked and on that bed,” he says. “No touching yourself. Am I clear?”

Steve gasps and bucks in his grip and whines out a “yes, sir,” before prying himself away from Eddie’s grasp and almost tripping up the stairs.

Eddie takes a deep breath looks at the clock on the stove.

8:24am

He mentally wipes away his previous list in favor of replacing it with how many times he can make Steve come before 9:30.

buy me a ☕?

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie dads #c.txt #c.doc

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love-toxin · 2 years ago

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waaaah i am perspiring just imagining the pornstar! fruity four slowly easing you into their videos and all the comments are like 👀 who dis

new phone who dis 👁

(cws: fruity four, modern spicy accountant au, f!angelface, voyeurism, filming, bruises, oral, overstimulation)

it starts off slow. little comments here and there in the captions on their videos, harmless references to "the smoking hot sweetheart" one of them had just hooked up with. none of their fans know for sure that the four of them are in a committed relationship even though there's speculation, so there's nothing there to say that they're not just referring to a one night stand or simply another adult actor they're filming with.

until Eddie slips up and posts a video. it's clearly not Nancy or Steve laying on their belly in his bed, only the lower half of your stomach to the top of your thighs is visible, but the shorts you've got on and your figure isn't masking the fact that it isn't them. Eddie starts off by massaging your legs and roams up higher, higher, higher, until he's chuckling low and raspy as he's making you squirm and whine softly at where he's rubbing his fingers--right at the seam between your thighs, the stretchy fabric of your shorts digging into your tender flesh and making it that much harder to keep your "oh"s and "baby"s and "please"s quiet. and he shushes them all, soothes you as his fingers work to ruck down the waist of your bottoms so they peel away from your supple skin, and sinks into you from above with kisses and a hand gripping your arm as he feeds himself inside you so slowly. his hips pin yours to the bed and he barely moves inside you, just sticks to short, soft thrusts that bring out that squeaky tone of your voice to compliment the straining squeal of his bedsprings as he humps you. it's gentle and slow and sweet, so sweet that everyone is suspicious of this new person cropping up--especially when he adds the caption to that video that reads "love a good cuddle session with my angel <3" but doesn't tag anyone.

in the aftermath, the other three are a little annoyed that he failed to be as subtle as he should be, but it's barely an annoyance at all when they get to filter through all those nice comments that you get about how cute you are. people say you have a pretty voice, a soft butt, they wanna see you cum close-up and want the four to fuck you all at the same time, they wanna see your cunt gaping after they've all had their turns with you. and they're all too happy to give the people what they want.

Robin posts a photo of you with your tits exposed, littered with marks from her teeth and bruises all with the context; "if I'm a good girl and suck harder, will milk come out?" that drives the girls in her replies wild. Nancy's bold enough to post a video of her riding your face, taking it from an angle that hides your identity still but doesn't miss out on any of that glorious movement, as she drives her hips back and grinds down on your tongue to feel it stroke all the way through her sticky folds. when she cums, she nearly loses it and moans your name, but she manages to stop herself just before she collapses over you and pants so hard as the high comes down. and Steve.....Steve doesn't want to share you with the rest of the world, but he also really wants to show off how gorgeous you are and how good he fucks you. so he films a video of himself eating you out from behind, his two fingers buried in your pussy while his other two tease your clit, and he makes quite the show of messily, sloppily licking you up from every angle until you're quite literally yanking at his hair to tug him off when you're cumming for the fifth time in a row. and as punishment for Eddie, he's gotta be the one to hold the camera while he watches everyone else have fun--but that doesn't mean he's not gonna stroke himself off in the meantime, waiting with a grin for an opportunity to slip in so he can have a go at that pretty pussy for some deliciously sloppy seconds <3

#fruity four #fruity four x reader #eddie's angelface #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #steve harrington x reader #spicy writing #spicy accountant au #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #phantom-ofthelibrary #anons

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writingjourney · 1 year ago

Text

starved | secondo x reader

summary: after a week away on clergy business, secondo wants to make up for lost time – and so do you.

content: 1.6k words, afab!reader, pronouns should be gender-neutral, this is all smut (18+, MDNI, face sitting, hair pulling, mild breeding kink, it’s softer than those tags make it sound lol, smut with feelings), established relationship

Masterlist – Ao3 link

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo’s strong nose presses right up against your clit. You’re struggling to hold still with his tongue inside of you, with the vibrations each of his moans sends through your whole body. He seems to have given up breathing for the time being. His grip on your hips is so tight that you can already feel the first bruises that will undoubtedly blossom on your skin over night. After a week of being away on clergy business, his continued disagreements with Sister and two delayed flights on the way home, Secondo came home, raging-hard and impatient, and you’d let him fuck his frustrations out on you right in the hallway. After a shower, exchanging all the gentle touches and words of affection you’ve been missing for the past week, you proposed to order in some dinner. Secondo didn’t even let you finish your sentence before he dragged you off to the bedroom, wet footprints running along the wooden floor.

“You know I’m so hungry after my flight, amore,” he’d said on the way over, “but nothing tastes as good as you and that is what your Papa truly craves.”

This is how you ended up sitting on his face, grasping the headboard so tightly that your knuckles turn white. Any doubt or hesitation flies out the window when he firmly pushes his tongue inside of you again and again. You can’t help but grind on his face. The bridge of his nose drags over your clit with every roll of your hips and that’s when he starts to really get going. Once Secondo has you exactly where he wants you, he’s relentless, not letting up until you’re screaming his name into the safe cocoon that is his four poster bed with the heavy drapes. Even after you come down from your high, he doesn’t let you go.

“Please,” you whine, your thighs trembling on either side of his flustered face. “Papa.”

Secondo’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of annoyance at the interruption, and you know he wants to keep this going for as long as you’re able to sit upright. But you want more of him after your long deprivation, you want to feel him until it hurts.

“What is it, amore?” he finally asks, voice muffled between your thighs.

“I want you inside of me,” you try again. “Please. I missed you so much, I want more.”

With a flicker of reluctance, his grip eases up, fingers uncurling as he drags his hands down your legs. You manage to slip away from his messy face, settling on the mattress beside him. As you run your fingernails down his torso, they leave red marks on his pale skin, stopping right where his hard cock is already leaking onto his abdomen.

“Hm, va bene. I allow it,” he says, sitting up slightly and giving your ass a gentle slap. “Show your Papa how much you missed him, my little dove. Come on, I am yours, use me how you wish.”

You hesitate for a second. It’s unusual for him to give up control so easily but the growing smirk on his face tells you that that’s not what this is. He entertains you, gives you what you want before he takes what he wants.

“What? I thought you were so desperate, amore,” he teases, his hand still on your ass, squeezing the supple flesh with his long fingers.

Excitement shoots through your veins now. You move to straddle him, facing away from him just how he likes with your hands gripping his thighs for more support. Immediately, you feel his hands all over your back, tracing every curve he can find, even wrapping around to fondle with your breasts for a moment. You roll your hips a few times, feeling his cock slide between your slick folds, back and forth, back and forth, gasping whenever his length presses into your clit. When you finally sink down on him, you moan, feeling him stretch you open far wider than his tongue ever could.

“Just like that, amore,” he coos. “So good for me.”

His words are like balm on your soul after going so long without his gentle praise. Once you’re used to his size, you start to move in a rhythm that feels sustainable. Secondo’s hands never stop exploring your back, even as you speed up, and you can hear his breathing getting faster as well. His fingers grasp your hair, wrapping what he can around his hand and yanking your head back until your body arches. His other hand explores the curve he just created, running up and down your spine like a sculptor feeling the flow of the marble.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “How I missed this view.”

Your reply is a low groan, the angle making it harder to move. Secondo sits up and pulls you back into his lap, his free hand tight on your hip while the other one searches for the spot where your bodies join. He drags his mouth over your neck, never settling at one spot as his hot breath wanders over your skin. With every roll of your hips, you can feel the tip of his cock dragging along your sensitive walls, and his fingers flick over your clit in sync with your movements. It’s almost enough to make you come again but even with your eyes squeezed shut, you can’t help but wish you would see his face.

You freeze all your movements and he immediately stops as well, ever so perceptive.

“Are you alright, my dove?” he asks, his voice hoarse and out of breath.

You get off of him and turn around, immediately helping him back inside of you once you’ve settled in his lap. He groans at the renewed contact and you wrap your arms around him, pressing yourself against his front until you can feel your breasts squeezed between your bodies.

“I wanted to see you,” you whisper against his lips. “My handsome Papa. I missed you so.”

Secondo smiles, the loving smile he only ever gives you, and then he leans back against the headboard, taking you with him. The smile gets strained as you push yourself onto his cock. You can tell he’s close and before you can even begin to move, he digs his heels into the mattress, steadying you by your hips, and thrusts up into you. You cry out, holding onto him, fingertips digging into firm, muscly shoulders. He doesn’t slow, carrying you closer towards your release with every snap of his narrow hips.

“Papa,” you whimper, slowly losing your grasp on reality.

“I know. I have you, my dove,” he says, panting between words. “Your Papa takes care of you. Always.”

He swallows your next moan, pushing his tongue against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. You fall over the edge with a sob, clenching around him almost painfully tight. Groaning into your mouth, Secondo gives two more harsh thrusts and then stills. You softly run your hand over his cheek when you feel him spilling inside of you, holding his gaze even as his eyelids flutter. You roll your hips in an attempt to carry him through and it earns you a low hum that vibrates against your palm. Smiling contently, you press a soft kiss to his lips, cradling his face for a moment before you sink against him in a tight, sweaty hug.

Secondo gently runs his fingers over your back as you both calm down. With his slowing breaths in your ear, your lips search for the soft skin below his jaw, kissing, sucking, nibbling, and he chuckles. “You are hungry, yes?”

“For you, my Papa. I am starved.”

Another deep rumble in his chest. “Did I not sate you yet, my love?”

You grimace, even though he can’t see it. “How could I ever be sated when they constantly take you away from me?”

Secondo hums. “Next time I refuse. All these useless trips, they just want me gone when they make decisions I do not like.”

“Or take me with you and we can just go somewhere nice.” You sigh, placing a trail of kisses from his neck over his jaw and to his cheek. “I love you, Secondo.”

“And I love you, my dove.”

He holds you for a moment longer, exploratory hands refamiliarising themselves with your body. You move to get off of him when you start to feel uncomfortable but his arms around you tighten until you’re trapped. You can feel his cock moving inside of you, sliding in deeper again through the stickiness of your joined bodies.

“Ah ah, amore,” Secondo chides softly. “You don’t want to waste the seed I just gave you?”

“Mhm, I’m sorry, Papa.”

“It’s okay.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “We’re honoring Satan tonight, my dove. You and I. We have to make up for a whole week, no?”

You hum and Secondo gives a lazy thrust in reply that has you moaning into the crook of his neck. He’s growing hard inside of you again and you can feel your arousal stirring as well. In one swift motion, he rolls you around so you’re underneath him, losing orientation when his mouth descends on yours in a heated kiss. When he breaks away, he starts to grind into you, his brow furrowed in concentration as his intense eyes focus on yours.

“He will be very pleased with you, taking me so well,” he whispers against your lips, his hand snaking up to wrap around your neck. “Are you ready for more, amore?”

You grasp his wrist, feeling his pulse against your fingertips. “Always, Papa.”

Thank you for reading! This was just a quick random thing I wanted to get off my mind. I hope you enjoyed nevertheless ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

#secondo #secondo x reader #secondo smut #secondo fanfiction #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii smut #papa emeritus ii fanfiction #papa emeritus ii x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus x reader #MDNI

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talesfromthesnogbox · 4 months ago

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The Midnight Kiss

Summary: Henry attends Alex's New Years Eve party and experiences his last first kiss ever. Henry's POV of Red, White & Royal Blue, Chapter Four, pages 99-108

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,905

AO3 Link

Alex was an absolute menace. He had no right looking as good as he did in a burgundy velvet jacket, his hair a tousled mess, skin shining and red from dancing. It was the first time they’d been face to face since their weekend at the palace, the first time actually together since becoming friends, and Henry was starting to get… ideas.

He wasn’t totally positive, but it sounded like Alex was flirting with him over the phone, and their text messages too had become increasingly flirtatious.

Henry was reluctant to accept the invitation to the White House’s New Years party from June when he’d first received it, but Pez insisted they go. He’d finally broken down and told him about the turkey situation in early December after resolutely deciding nobody could ever know about it, about how openly he flirted and how easy the banter came, but Pez knew everything… and it wasn’t hard for him to tell that Henry was smitten.

The party was in full swing, and Henry was not nearly as drunk as Alex was, but he was slowly catching up. Henry felt a bit like a fish out of water, Pez having left him for June and Nora’s company, Alex being the life of the party in the middle of the dance floor, it was him and his bottle of champagne against the world. Well it was, until Alex pulled him in with his inescapable force of gravity.

“You don’t dance?”

Alex was slurring slightly, swaying on the spot, definitely drunker than Henry would dare to get at a diplomatic event.

Henry was a fine dancer, just… not in this style. “No, I do, it’s just, the family-mandated ballroom dancing lessons didn’t exactly covers this?” He’d been forced to dance with many eligible bachelorettes with varying titles, and he didn’t mind it; truly he was a wonderful dancer, and the ladies he kept company with were remarkable young women. But there was no passion, no feelings, just a fond sense of camaraderie.

“C’mon, it’s, like, in the hips. You have to loosen up.” Henry had to fight to keep his grip on the neck of the bottle as Alex’s hands were suddenly on his hips. He sucked in a breath, heat crawling up his neck and his face going red. Luckily he could play it off as being the heat of the room getting to him, or the alcohol going to his head if anyone asked, but anyone who really knew him would see the red flashing lights of GAY PANIC take over. “That’s the opposite of what I said.”

“Alex, I don’t—” His voice cracks giving him away entirely. It had been far too long since he’d been touched by a man and Alex’s controlling nature in that moment was doing things to him.

“Here, watch me.” Alex’s hips moved sensually, doing little figure 8’s, and Henry tried not to make it obvious that he was watching for more than just the technique.

He took a gulp of champagne straight from the bottle and nodded a bit. “I am.”

His eyes dragged up Alex’s lithe body, loose and free, until they reached his face, just in time for the realization of a song change to dawn on Alex.

“Shut up, shut your dumb face this is my shit!”

Henry was clearly missing something. The song sounded vaguely familiar, but this wasn’t the type of music his social circle was known for playing.

“Did you seriously never go to an awkward middle school dance and watch a bunch of teenagers dry hump to this song?”

Henry shot him a look, holding onto his champagne for dear life. “You absolutely must know I did not.” As ridiculous as the moment was, it was refreshing for Henry to feel like, for even a second, he was seen as just a normal kid doing normal kid things like bumping and grinding to a popular song with his friends at a dance.

“Nora! Nora! Henry has never watched a bunch of teenagers dry hump to this song!”

“What?”

His face goes ashen. “Please tell me nobody is going to dry hump me…” A brief flash of a vision of Alex behind him, hands on hips, lips on his neck, or Alex in front of him, thigh pressed between his own, a large hand fisted in his hair, teeth at his earlobe… He shook the sudden horny thoughts from his head.

“Oh my god, Henry. You have to dance. You have to dance. You need to understand this formative American coming-of-age experience.”

And that’s how Henry found himself in the middle of the dance floor while Get Low blared from the speakers surrounding the venue.

He knows he must look a little shell shocked. Pez is totally into it, hands on the floor, ass in the air twerking against June, Nora behind Alex looking hilarious as she just reaches his shoulder. It’s a lot, but it’s fun. He giggles as Alex eggs him on, tries to replicate the figure 8 hip swivel with little success. Henry is sure he looks totally silly, but he doesn’t care. June whispers something in Alex’s ear, the siblings glance at Henry and each give him a once-over, and he goes somehow, even redder. And from there, then night goes on.

He’s sure his crush on Alex is entirely obvious by the way Henry follows him around the dance floor like David followed him around Kensington Palace as a little puppy. Henry stands around on the dance floor, almost not believing his luck at how close he’d become with the man he’d harboured a silly little crush on, until Alex catches him staring, in which case he starts dancing again.

Nora follows the two of them around as well, Henry hadn’t expected her to latch onto him the way she did, but she was actually quite fun, even if she could totally tell where Henry’s heart lay. She was Alex’s best friend, and Henry knew this, but the way she was around Alex… he was annoyed at how she’d tried to befriend Henry then dangle Alex in front of him.

Midnight was quickly approaching, the booze had been freely flowing, and Henry’s tolerance for Nora waning. He smiled politely as she pulled them both in close for the countdown, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes as hers drifted to him. Finally, the clock struck midnight, shouts of ‘Happy New Year!’ Rang out through the room, and as Henry looked over to Alex, he was met with the sight of Nora planting her lips on his.

Disappointment swelled through Henry, his heart dropping down to his stomach as he watched the smaller woman drag her fingers through the dark curls he longed to touch. He could feel tears prickling his eyes, and he pleaded with himself not to cry and entirely give himself away, but it was hard to resist it. Alex broke off the kiss with a satisfied smirk, and met Henry’s eyes. He hoped he couldn’t see the hurt in them, hoped his heart wasn’t sitting right on the outside of his body, but he knew that hope was futile. Henry took a deep swig of champagne straight from the bottle, settled it down on a nearby table, and dashed out of the crowd.

I wish you were here dad, Henry thought as he stood in the middle of the snow covered garden, completely losing track of what time it was and how long ago he’d left the party. I really need you right now, need you to tell me it’s okay, that I’ll get over him, that my person is out there.

The silence was welcoming, just him, and the stars, and the faint sound of music and fireworks in the distance, and… someone stubbing their toe?

He hastily wipes at his eyes, and turns to see Alex stumbling over, confusion written all over his face.

“What’re you doing out here?”

Henry focuses on Alex’s face. “Looking for Orion.”

He hears Alex snort, not quite registering how close he’s moved towards him. “You must be really bored with the commoners to come out here and stare at the clouds.”

“I’m not bored,” he says, trying his hardest not to sound as pathetic as he feels in the moment. “What are you doing out here? Doesn’t America’s golden boy have some swooning crowds to beguile?” Ouch. He winces at his own words, knowing he sounds a bit like an ass.

“Says Prince fucking Charming.”

“Hardly.”

Alex steps up beside Henry. A jolt runs through him as their hands brush by their sides, and Henry can feel his self control waning.

“You didn’t really answer my question, though.”

A groan rips through Henry, and he rubs a hand across his face. This was his worst nightmare, he could handle the heartbreak, but the questions that followed were hell to answer. “You can’t ever leave well enough alone, can you? Sometimes it gets a bit… much.” Henry can feel Alex’s eyes on him, but he continues looking forward. Alex moves beside him, leaning against the tree, brushing their shoulders together, and it’s almost too much for Henry. Oh no, he thinks, feeling his mouth start to move, floundering around a question he doesn’t think he wants the answer to. “D’you ever wonder what it’s like to be some anonymous person out in the world?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, you know, if your mum weren’t the president and you were just a normal bloke living a normal life, what things might be like? What you’d be doing instead?”

“Ah.” Henry turns his head to assess Alex. “Well, I mean, obviously I’d be a model. I’ve been on the cover of Teen Vogue twice. These genetics transcend all circumstance.” Henry rolls his eyes dramatically and turns his head back to facing forward. “What about you?”

What about me? He’s thought about this, a lot. The world was changing, it was a more accepting place for people like him, but not for people of his position. He had so many ideas, thoughts, dreams, wishes. Henry shook his head, answering as truthfully as he was able to. “I’d be a writer.”

“Can’t you do that?”

His eyebrows raised. Yes, technically he could write a memoir, or something of the sort, but that’s not where his passions lie. He could never publish what he’s written, the poetry too flowery, too obvious, too queer, the world would know right away, and his grandmother had already made it known what she thought of people like him. “Not exactly seen as a worthwhile pursuit for a man in line for the throne, scribbling verses about quarter-life angst.” He shook his head again. “Besides, the traditional family career track is military, so that’s about it, isn’t it?”

There was more he wanted to say, more bubbling to come out about his brother, but he held his tongue. The air between them was thick, the silence deafening, almost as if Alex knew he had more to say, and was waiting for him to say it. And before he could stop himself, the words were leaving his lips. “I’d date more, probably, as well.”

Henry winced as Alex’s sharp laugh broke the tension. “Right, because it’s so hard to get a date when you’re a prince.”

His head whipped around, facing Alex once more. “You’d be surprised.”

“How? You’re not exactly lacking for options.” Oh if only he knew.

I’m gay, Alex, the Prince of England’s Hearts can’t be gay. Why aren’t you seeing me, why aren’t you hearing me, please don’t make me say it out loud, please don’t make me show you you’re the only option I want.

“The options I’d like…” Henry’s eyes bored into Alex’s, hoping he’d understand, but his expression was just blank. “They don’t seem to be options at all.”

“What?”

You, holy shit Alex, it’s you. You’re straight, you have Nora, you have women all over you, and you’d never go for the likes of me because I’m a man. A gay man, Alex, a gay man who has a big gay crush on you, and…

“I’m saying that I have… people… who interest me.” He turns his body fully towards Alex, eyebrows raising pointedly. “But I shouldn’t pursue them. At least not in my position.”

Henry had only really, formally come out to two people in his life: Percy and Beatrice. Pez was his best friend since Eton, and well, he’s Pez. There’s no chance he didn’t know about Henry’s sexuality before he sat him down tearfully one day and told him about his awful first kiss, but Henry spelled it out for him anyways, and Pez being the best friend he was, pulled Henry into a hug. His grandmother was technically the second, although he never actually told her about his preferences, so he doesn’t even count it. Beatrice was another tearful confession in the midst of collecting her from a drug-addled night out. Alex could be the third; there’s no way Alex could be homophobic, tonight’s party had proven that with his guests being all different types of people, and the way he fluidly flirted with anyone in his path, but that doesn’t mean he’d want to stay friends with Henry if he knew the truth about him. Especially if he knew how Henry felt about him.

Henry stared him down, waiting for a response, but all he got was, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

He blinked. “You really don’t?”

“I really, really don’t.”

Well, this was going disastrously. His resolve was breaking entirely, and there was just enough alcohol in his system to make him want to do something stupid. But… would it really be that stupid after all? Henry thought back to all the conversations they’d had… the banter, the flirting, what if Alex truly didn’t care that Henry was gay, what if he wasn’t getting it because, well because he knew already. And if he already knew and still flirted, then…

Then maybe…

He took a deep breath, glancing towards the sky, looking for Orion again, and sent up a silent plea.

“Christ, you are as thick as it gets,” Henry breathes out hastily before rushing forward, taking Alex’s jaw between his hands, and kissing him.

His lips were warm, and Henry could taste faint remnants of the champagne they’d been drinking earlier on them. Just as he thought he would be, Alex was totally frozen in place as one of Henry’s hands slides from Alex’s jaw to his dark curls, the curls that were indeed as soft as they’d looked. The alcohol coursing in his veins kept him from overthinking about how awkward first kisses could be, especially when only one party is into it, but then…

Alex’s lips moved, but didn’t break the kiss. They slid against Henry’s as if testing the waters, opening him up to more, and in a shocking turn of events, Henry followed Alex’s lead.

His hands, though static before, moved around to Henry’s waist, drawing him in closer as their mouths moved in tandem. Henry couldn’t help the slip of tongue that his hazy mind convinced him was instinctual, but it didn’t matter because Alex followed suit, and soon enough, they were intertwined. It was natural, it was breathtaking, it was… big.

It was just a kiss, Henry had had plenty of those, but something about this kiss felt… life-altering.

Henry barely registers it, but Alex makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, it was as if someone had doused him in ice water. Reality kicked in, he’d just kissed Alex, he’d just kissed Alex, and it could never happen again. He pulled away, his eyes wide and stinging with unshed tears, and gazed into Alex’s. They were glazed over, he was drunk and probably wouldn’t even remember it, and… and for some reason it hurt Henry.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, putting more space between them, before dropping his gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, walking away.

Once Alex was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and texted Pez that he was leaving the party entirely, and they’d catch up in the morning. Lord only knows he’d found someone that would be better company for the night, and was hopefully having a better night than Henry was.

He didn’t sleep; he couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream, couldn’t be anything but mad at himself for doing something so stupid during a moment of weakness… Henry had no idea how he was going to ever face Alex again. He almost wished they were drunk enough to forget it ever happened, but he couldn’t even play it off as being drunk, their conversation was too coherent. Alex was a flirt, he saw it that night with everyone at the party, so the kiss couldn’t have meant the same thing to him as it did to Henry. The reality of it was harsh, but the more Henry thought about it, the more it made sense. Alex was straight, Alex was drunk, Alex had a momentary lapse of judgement, and Henry could never let him know how he really felt about him. And now that he’d had him, even if only for a fleeting moment, he knew the only way to get over him was to cut him out.

#firstprince #rwrb #rwrb fic #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #henry x alex #firstprince fic #my writing #red white and royal blue

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 1 year ago

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parenthood killed the rodeo star | famous!rhett x oc

Summary: Rhett's been riding bulls in Montana, Tessa's been curving barrels in Oklahoma, but now they're both in South Dakota with a rodeo on the horizon. So of course the first thing they do is get a hotel room with one, king-sized, bed to share. (wc: 2330)

Warnings: straight filth, 18+ only minors DNI (language, thigh riding, pleasure dom rhett, praise kink, pinv, size kink, no condom be smart unlike these two, rhett liking when it hurts a little, slight cock-warming), fwb situation, idiots in love

✎……listen, i am but a simple whore and sometimes ya just gotta let it out. based off this little post i made where rhett and tessa are both famous rodeo contestants.

✎……MASTERLIST || NEXT INSTALLMENT

Her skin felt burning hot beneath his hand as he trailed it down, down, down her side. Rough fingertips slipping over yellow lace until they came to a halt on her hip. Rhett gently guided her hips to rock against his thigh once more, barely needing to apply pressure as she succumbed to the dripping need between her legs. He could feel a wet patch already forming on his jeans.

Tessa broke away from his desperate, consuming kiss with a whimper, fingers tangling in his hair. She looked so damn pretty in the low hotel room light. Light brown hair like burnt honey tossed messily over one shoulder. Blue eyes hooded and pink lips swollen from too many kisses parted and wet. Rhett leaned back against the headboard and just watched her for a moment. Those muscles in her abdomen rolling and contracting as she moved her hips against his leg all on her own. Just like riding a raging bull. God, he wished he hadn’t thrown his hat off at the door. That too big stetson sitting on her pretty head would be a sight right then.

God, he missed her. A month was too long. But they had different commitments, different rodeos. And they always knew they would end up together again somewhere down the line.

Somehow they always did.

His other hand slid up her thigh to squeeze the forgiving but hardened flesh tightly. “That’s it, keep goin’, sunshine.”

She was getting shy on him now. Leaning into his chest with her face pressed into his collar. No matter how many times they hooked up, Tessa still liked to hide from him. Hold back those noises. Not let him see. But Rhett loved coaxing her out of that shell. Making her fall apart over and over until all her inhibitions were down and she could just be Tessa. Not the famous, million-dollar barrel racer. Just the girl from Wabang, Wyoming getting her world wrecked by the boy she went to high school with.

So, picking up on her rhythm, Rhett pressed his thigh up into her at just the right time to make her grind down just that bit more pleasurable. And he revelled in the heavy moan that she let slip into the crook of his neck.

“Sound so pretty, sunny, tha’s a good girl.”

Involuntarily, her back arched, pushing her chest into his as a breathless oh slipped past her lips. Sometimes she hated how Rhett could climb the walls of her and poke at her tender center. Her most vulnerable parts. But really, it was her own fault for letting him in in the first place. He was a piece of home, a comfort, a release…One that she had missed terribly for the past four weeks. Their unspoken agreement when they were in the same city was one she didn’t want to break. One she didn’t want to lose because it wouldn’t just be the piece of home, the comfort, or the release she lost. It would be Rhett.

Who, despite the growing hardness in his jeans she could feel against her leg, didn’t push it. Didn’t even move besides the hand on her hip and thigh and his leg pressed into her. Who, despite the mutual benefit of their agreement, always put her pleasure first. Always made sure she fell apart as many times as she could take. Until there was nothing left in her head besides him and him only.

So, heart racing in her chest, she reached between them and cupped him through his jeans. Feeling the hard outline of him beneath the rough denim, long and thick and overwhelming.

Rhett’s grunt quickly turned into a low moan right in her ear, his hips bucking up into her hand. Then he shook his head with a kiss to her hair. “Don’worry’bout me, lemme help you.”

She whined high in her throat, moved against his thigh faster, burrowed into his chest further. But she can’t bring herself to retract her hand. Mostly out of embarrassment that her tactic to get him to finally fuck her didn’t work. But also because the feeling of him was grounding. This physical thing that showed he wanted her too.

But, God, she was getting impatient. She wanted him. Had craved the feeling of him stretching her out and making her his for nearly a month. That feeling of her just being Tessa Abernathy, and him just being Rhett Abbott, two kids from Wabang trying to find some sense of home in one another. Maybe even some sense of love.

Tessa, of course, didn’t know how to articulate any of that. Let alone that she just wanted him to press her down into the mattress and make her forget her own name already. Instead, all that came out was insistent whining into his chest. Her hips working against him harder, her hands pawing at his bare, broad shoulders.

She felt those same shoulders rumble with a chuckle. “Whaddaya want, sunny? Come on now.”

Threading his fingers into her hair, he pulled lightly and she went without complain, letting him look into her blown pupils with raised brows. Her hips slow to the occasional cant against the large wet mark in his jeans. After a minute of looking at him, wetting her lips and trying to find the words she finally whispered out:

“Wan — Want you.”

As her fingers reflexively squeezed around his bulge, making him groan. Then he captured her lips in a searing kiss, tongue fighting to lick inside her mouth and teeth nipping at her bottom lip. For a moment, she thought she was going to get what she wanted. But then his hand left her hair and trailed back down to her hip, gently urging her with a push and a tug to get her going again.

“Soak my thigh like a good girl,” he grumbled against her parted lips. “‘N’ll give ya what ya want.”

A half-frustrated groan slipped past her lips.

Rhett grinned. “What? Don’wanna be my good girl anymore, sunshine?”

“Wanna be good,” she whispered back, fingers pushing back into his hair she cut in a hotel bathroom back in Texas.

He smirked again as he pecked her lips, moved her hip a little harder.

“Then show me how much ya missed me.”

It was like a flip got switched. With a moan and a tug of his hair, she was reclaiming his lips. Possessive and overwhelming but in the best way possible. Rhett whined softly as her tongue slipped past his lips to taste whiskey and chewing tobacco. Her body moved harder, faster. It really was like she was riding a bull. Moving and rolling with every buck. Taking it all in stride. Even when he surprised her by trailing kisses down her neck and sucking at her hardened nipples through the lace of her bralette.

“Rhett,” she breathed, just on the edge, just a little more.

“Come on, sunny baby, give it t’me,” he panted back, warm breath enveloping her breast.

The way she gasped his name as she came had him twitching in her hand still tight as a vice around him. Then, like she weighed almost nothing, he was lifting her from his lap and settling her onto her back on the soft sheets. Gone were the rough motel thread counts they rolled around in when they both first started out on the circuit. Now, they were in a five-star hotel with a view. Now, the sheets were silken and expensive and there wasn’t a slot for a quarter to make the mattress vibrate (a feature Rhett sometimes missed).

Rhett undid his belt buckle, a big one from his latest win in Montana, and pushed his jeans and boxers far enough down for his cock to spring free. Angry and red and dripping precum. He felt ready to burst as he leaned back over her still panting form, his seams on their last threads with his hands on either side of her head.

“Did so good, sunshine, my sweet baby girl,” he muttered as he pressed kisses all over her face. She only hummed in reply, a happy sort of sound that made him grin against her cheek. “Wanna keep goin’?”

“Uh-huh, please,” she whimpered back, already squirming.

“Well, whaddaya want?” he teased, notching himself against her clothed entrance. “Come on, use y’r words.”

He couldn’t help but love to tease her on occasion. It made her bashful. Made her cheeks pink to something like cotton-candy in the low light. Even as she wriggled her hips to get him to do what she wanted and her teeth came down hard against her bottom lip. He could see the gears turning behind those bright blue eyes. The words she so desperately wanted to say but couldn’t bring herself to. With his fingers curling into those ridiculous silk sheets, he rolled his hips against her. Watched as her mouth dropped open and her eyelids fell nearly closed.

A sight he thought about almost every night while she was away from him.

He barely even started the next flex forward of his hips before she squeaked out, “Want you inside me — please!”

He couldn't resist that, no matter how much he wanted to keep teasing her. As he moved her panties to the side, he dropped his forehead to hers, and pressed his lips wherever they could reach. Then he pressed in slowly, letting out a deep, guttural groan at the feeling of her walls fluttering in a desperate attempt to accommodate him.

“Fuck, y’re tight,” he huffed as he paused, trying not to blow his load right then and there with the way she was squeezing him.

Tessa arched her back, brow furrowed as she looked down to where they met then back up to his face. “It-It’s been a month, bubs.”

“What? Didn’have anybody t’tide ya over?”

They both knew the answer to that. They both didn’t want to think about the implications of it right then either.

Rhett stilled again once he was sheathed to the hilt. Just feeling her pulse around him, warm and tight and just what he had been wanting. Listening to her panting where he had her caged beneath him. Struggling to take him. Some whine got caught in her throat as she pawed at his chest.

“Big,” she gasped sharply.

It made him shudder, arms buckling with his lips breathing heavy against her temple. “I know, baby, s’okay. You c’n take it. Know you can.”

She whined again as he tilted his hips and ground them into her clit. Trying to help, trying to ease the ache. She knew that. But right then, all she could truly think about was just how big Rhett Abbott was. How did she forget that nearly every single time? How he filled every available inch of space inside her, pressed against all the proper places, until she could feel him in her guts. How those broad shoulders and chest filled her entire view with her below him. Everywhere. All the time. Everything was him. And that meant everything was good.

“M-Move,” she was finally able to whisper as she hooked her calves over his hips. “Please.”

The small whine that punched out of him on his first draw back and push in makes her head spin. He moved slow but firm, moving in inches that felt like so much more to her. The once cool metal of his belt buckle pressed against her thigh now felt burning hot — a brand of his own making.

“Doin’ so good, sunshine, takin’ me so deep,” he praised as he mouthed at her cheek and jaw.

“R-Rhett,” she whimpered, feeling tears prick at the backs of her eyes as he tilted his hips just right and hit that spot only he had ever been able to find. “Oh, f-fuck, right there. Don’stop.”

“Can you cum f’me again, sunny? Be my good girl?” he asked, panting and stuttering, pace no longer slow but hard and fast, unable to control himself.

Tessa barely managed to sob out a yes. Tears streaming down her cheeks that part of her doesn’t know why they have appeared. Was it because it just felt so good? Was it because it was finally them together again at last? Was it because she already knew he was going to be gone in two weeks time? What she did know, what she did understand, is that when he wrapped one big hand around both her wrists and pushed her arms up the bed, she was a goner. Sobbing and moaning and sloppily trying to meet him thrust for thrust. When she reached that high, she crashed into it hard with a cry and an arch of her back and Rhett’s sweaty hair sticking to her neck.

She barely registered the warmth flooding her as Rhett gave his last few thrusts. And then a few more just because he liked when it hurt. When he was edged towards that overstimulation that made his eyes water. She always wondered if he did that with everyone he slept with or just her. But when he tried to pull out and she tightened around him, he hissed and whined and let go of her wrists to pound his fist into the mattress.

“Uhn, Tess, t-too much,” he grumbled breathily.

“Wan’you t’stay,” she said, tongue feeling too big for her mouth.

Still breathing heavy, Rhett flashed her a small smile. “Wanna keep me warm?”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, pushing his hair back behind his ear from where it had fallen across his face. “Jus’for a minute. Please?”

They both knew the answer. They both didn’t want to think about the implications of it.

With some slight manuevering and a few more noises from Rhett, he was flat on his back and she was straddling his hips. Curled up on his chest, listening to the slowing beat of his heart. A piece of home. Comfort. Release…

Happiness. Wholeness. Love.

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates. but just because M asked nicely: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: parenthood killed the rodeo star #fd: outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #outer range #outer range imagine #outer range fic #ocapp #rhett abbott x tessa abernathy #lewis pullman

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queenburd · 4 months ago

Text

there's a hole where your heart lies (i can see it with my third eye) - 1

A/N: hello. hi. I have this teslaverse/Queenie fic that I've been working on for the better part of two years, possibly longer, and it's just been kind of stuck for a while. but I think about it often, and chapter 1 has been done for a solid minute. I've edited it and re-edited it and it's just. it's sitting here. I wanna show people. so I am posting chapter 1 for now. and if I get more done, then I get more done.

warnings for this fic as a whole...? there's a lot of child trauma, but to get into details would be massive spoilers and I'm going to keep them under wraps. for this chapter? well, there's rather dismissive language about horror victims, and there's an extended horror scene near the end. also, BUGS.

chapter 1

The world's in gray-scale.

The dirty white buildings are tightly clustered, in a courtyard that only barely meets the definition—it's a glorified parking lot, if anything. Dark gray concrete stretches out in all directions, cut through with lightning-bolt cracks that are unevenly colored in with rubbery black filler. A low fog hangs heavy above bare trees and benches with once-white paint that flakes off the dead wood.

There's no wind, but the stagnant air still manages to sting cold, sharp and biting. There's a deadly silence that rings, makes one uncomfortably aware of his own heartbeat and breathing. An abject misery hangs from the sky over the buildings like a thick, suffocating blanket.

In truth, the place seems more like a penitentiary than a children's school.

At the end of the empty lot, from a narrow gap between buildings, comes the grating gravely noise of an object being dragged across the concrete. It approaches steadily in the same way rain drums against the roof of a car; a consistent thrum of rolling, unending noise.

The child crosses the concrete at a steady pace; her wheeled backpack rolls through the silence in a deafening grind that thunders loud like a heartbeat, louder and louder and louder still, until the moment it stops. The silence races back in to fill the gaps, faster than the mind can conceive, leaving a sensation like ears popping under the release of pressure.

The girl and her cargo have stopped. Her eyebrows are furrowed, mouth set in a perplexed frown that turns into an abject, angry scowl.

“You're not supposed to be here.”

Kass snaps upright from the mattress, lungs burning for air. His hand clutches frantically at his chest where his heart pounds away under his skin, viciously trying to escape him. Dib hovers at his elbow, eyes wide and flicking between him and his bed-mate. She's still, chest rising and falling slowly; her breath softly rattles on every exhale. The pads of Kass's fingers press to his aching sternum, massaging at the space to little avail as he tries to catch his breath. His mouth is dry and cottony; he takes the time to swallow and find it in him to speak.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It's been four days since he pulled the van back up into the garage; four days since he gathered up her limp, light body from the cargo hold and carried it into the garage through the back doors. Four days since Dib paced back and forth, crushing a feather that's dangled off his wrist for the better part of two years in his fist, pleading, “I need help, I need help, come on, why isn't it working,” as Kass set her down onto his bed with a terrible gentleness, and set his body into autopilot so that he wouldn't retch.

Four days of fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her awake, while Dib frantically went through his own dark websites trying to figure out what went wrong.

Four days. Four days ago they were sitting next to each other in the van.

The streetlights are cutting stark patterns through the dirty windows of the van as it grumbles down the eerily quiet city street. The yellow-orange beams aren't enough for Dib to see his notes for more than a couple seconds before they are gone, then there again, then gone. He grimaces where he sits in the cabin, just behind the driver's seat.

“Do we know anything about the survivors?”

“Survivor, singular. Not much more beyond what I sent you,” comes the terse reply from the driver's seat where Kass white-knuckles the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead. “The little delinquent's comatose, and he's not getting better. Even with the feeding tube, doctors are saying it's getting worse.”

“Some kind of vampire maybe?”

“Definitely parasitic, but nobody's caught anything creeping in and out the place.”

May looks out the window from her place in the passenger seat silently, her shoulders hunched and curled inwards. Dib shifts uncomfortably, catching how the streetlights cut her profile in the window. He watches Kass turn his head towards her, like he's trying to catch her in his peripheral, before something in his jaw tightens and he focuses on the road.

This isn't what Dib was expecting when Kass texted him the previous night, suggesting he assist with a paranormal hunt. When they'd discussed it, there had been no mention of... this, this weird, palpable tension that's settled over the two people in the front seats. He doesn't really know what to do with the suspicion he's likely been invited along to break some of that tension.

He pushes through valiantly. “What about the other kids? I know their condition was, uh, pretty bad, but couldn't get much detail off the news articles.”

“Husks,” Kass says, his tone clipped. “Dried up like they'd been there decades. No bites, no scratches, basically mummies without the wrapping paper.”

“But the articles said they'd been missing--”

“Four days, I know, Einstein. You do realize I read the articles before I sent them to you, right? Why do you think the nasty particulars were kept out of them? The press would have a field day if they knew how the kids looked. It's why all their parents opted for torching. Can't imagine any of them would be interested in open-casket.”

It's crass, which isn't new. Beside Kass, May's fingers curl a little tighter into her sleeves. The van jostles as it pulls off the street into the empty parking lot in front of the deteriorated storefront. It comes to a rough stop that leaves Dib gripping the shoulder of the driver's seat, before the engine dies.

“Right,” Kass says. “Come on.”

They exit the vehicle in relative silence. As he climbs out the back, Dib examines May's face closely. Her eyes won't meet his, a fact he's becoming more and more alarmed by, but before he can try to reach out to her, she's trailing away from the van towards the boarded up storefront without a word. Huffing, he slams the door to the cabin shut and runs to catch up with Kass, who is two steps behind May, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

“I thought you said this place was closed up. It looks in bad shape. Why are the lights on?”

“Whole block is paid for by the city. Since the other storefronts are open, they don't bother trying to get this one shut down. Plus,” Kass says with a grimace, “wiring's at least two decades old. It's all knotted up with the other stores, so taking it out would mean rewiring the whole bloody building. Costs less to just let the bulbs burn out.”

True enough, past the dirty and broken panes at the top of the store windows, the lights inside flicker with irregularity. When they step onto the pavement, Dib can't help how his eyes are drawn to the bright yellow police tape that flutters slightly in the night breeze, stretched in front of the locked sliding doors. “You sure we're not going to have to worry about authorities?” he asks suddenly, uncertain. “Isn't this an active crime scene?”

Ahead of them, May has shifted without looking back and flown up to one of the broken windows to creep in. Kass's gaze follows her, his mouth a firm thin line. “Not anymore. Police can't find evidence of foul play, since they've gotten fuckall from the scene they're trying to retrace the victims' steps. Hell, they can't even pinpoint what day they died because of the condition of the bodies, so they're looking into other avenues.”

“But,” Dib starts, gritting his teeth when the front doors slide open slowly with a grinding noise, the padding bristles rotted and the mechanism complaining from lack of oil. May pushes them to fully widen with a grimace, and tears at the police tape with hardly a thought. “But,” he starts again, “you guys are pretty sure it's supernatural.”

“Like you said. Vampiric tendencies.” Kass steps into the store past May, and pauses there. Dib narrows his eyes, squints at the way Kass's arm lifts, as if to set a hand on one of her shoulders—before it moves up instead to scratch at the back of his head. “Hurry up now.”

Dib huffs again and follows, falling in step with May, who had stayed in the door frame. “Hey,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his to try to catch her eyes. “Thanks for getting the door.”

May finally meets his gaze, offering a crooked little half-smile that slips away far too quickly for his liking. Her brows are creased upward, and in the flickering LED lights he can't help seeing the deep dark shadows under her eyes. “S'what I'm here for.”

“Pfft, no, there's plenty of other ways we could've gotten in, you're here for way more important reasons.” Dib grins. “Somebody's gotta have some sense here. You are the one with the brain cell in the party.”

That prompts a quiet huff of laughter. “Truly, we are doomed.”

“When you two are finished playing out your sitcom,” the short tone snaps from ahead, “come look at this.”

Rolling his eyes, Dib focuses forward again, where Kass has stopped just past the customer service counter near the store entrance. He finds him looking down the expanse of the building with a grimace, and follows Kass's gaze.

“Jeez. This place is worse than the garage was when you were living in it.”

The store may have closed several years ago, but it still hosts plenty of racks and rows and shelves, numerous nooks and crannies covered in dust, grime, cobwebs, and who knows what else. It's big, too, and it only feels bigger from the broken mirrors that line the ends of the clothing racks and hover in every dark corner of the building. It's impossible to see the entirety of the store from the front, the view blocked by the shelving and the supporting pillars, save for the two main walkways down the length of it. Overhead, bugs drift lazily around the inconsistent lights.

“I thought it would be... emptier,” May says from Dib's other side. “I mean, I know the whole chain closed, so they'd have to try to sell the stands and so on, but... I guess they didn't manage.”

Kass taps his index finger against his thigh in irritation. “Bollocks. Right, strategy is going to have to change considering the mess we'll have to sort through. We'll have to be methodical about this.” He turns suddenly, his annoyed squint aimed at May. “You used to work retail. Any suggestions?”

She seems taken aback that he's looking to her, so she stumbles through her words for a few seconds. “Oh, I—um, when—When I worked retail they had us in sections for our shifts. You'd sort of weave through the aisles and shelves in that section to make sure everything was in place. And, you know, to keep an eye out for security devices.” May brings her hand up to her mouth, curling a light fist to press against her lower lip while she thinks. “Oh, and, when going to and coming back from breaks, we'd have to loop the perimeter and go through the aisles there in the same way.”

He nods, clearly thinking while he paces forward a few steps. “So starting at the corner and weaving through to make sure nothing's overlooked. I'll take the front left side and head towards the back. Astro-boy, head to the back right side and move towards the front. Duckie, take the middle racks.”

Dib frowns crookedly. He can see the logic in Kass's strategy, but it's definitely not the safest approach. Beside him, May seems to have similar thoughts.

“I don't know if it's such a good idea to split up, Kass,” she starts, before stepping back as Kass turns to stride towards her.

“What do you suggest, then? If you've any opinions on the subject, please feel free to share with the rest of us.”

Dib's missing something, if the way Kass's words make May's shoulders go right up to her ears is anything to go by. He watches uncomfortably as she visibly steels herself, words tripping through a false start. “I'm not—I'm just saying it's a lot more dangerous that way.”

Kass's voice becomes poisonous saccharine. “How about I go start in the corner, and you come back to me when you decide what you want to do instead, if what I want is clearly so unrealistic.” The humor drops and leaves chilly anger in its wake. “You make up your mind and tell me what you want. If you ever feel like bringing it up.”

“That's not—” she starts, but he has already stepped past her without giving her another glance. Dib watches her forcefully swallow, hands curled into little fists that she presses under her arms, shoulder curling inward. “That's not fair,” she finishes quietly, to nobody in particular.

There's a creeping awkward silence, where neither she nor Dib move. Then, with a small huff, May presses her fist to her mouth again and begins walking with purpose. “C'mon,” she says quietly. “We'll weave the right side together, see about getting things done more efficiently.”

Dib trails after her down the right main walkway towards the back of the store, heels of his boots feeling loud on the filthy concrete tile and broken glass. “Hey,” he says, mostly to her back, “May, slow down, c'mon.”

“What, Dib?” The question is short, terse, but she obliges, lets him alongside her. From here he can see her eyes are still on the floor, her arms still tight bands against her chest. They pass mirror after mirror, and May's profile is distorted in the cracked reflection. It makes him uneasy, how many mirrors there are.

“Are you okay? No, wait, that's a dumb question,” he admonishes himself quickly. “You're not okay, I can see that. But—what's going on between you and Kass? I mean I know it's not my business, we've been over that a million times, but I'm really... you look...”

“Like shit,” she finishes in a deadpan voice. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean I wasn't gonna say that.”

“Yeah, but we both know it's accurate.” May gives a hard sniffle, gritting her teeth like she's angry with herself. “It's—We're. We had a... disagreement. He's angry. He's...”

Dib scowls. “He shouldn't be taking it out on you, whatever the hell it is he did.”

“He didn't—Dib, you can't always...” They reach the back of the main building, and May stops and turns to face him, pinching the space between her brows hard enough to dent the skin with her nails. “He's frustrated, and it's my fault. He's allowed to feel frustrated with me.”

“That doesn't change the fact he's being needlessly mean.”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?” There's a desperation in her voice, and a threat of her voice cracking. She looks up to the ceiling, where the lights capture the passing silhouettes of winged insects, moths and gnats alike. Her eyes shine as she clearly and valiantly attempts to not cry in front of him. “Can we just do this and, and I'll sort it out myself? Please?”

Dib audibly lets the air out of his nose. “I'll stop bugging you. Here,” he says suddenly, “you take the right side starting from the back. I'll take the left side from the back, and meet up with Kass halfway. We'll start on the middle.”

May's eyes flick from the ceiling to him, the corners lined with resignation. She looks so deeply tired, and below the flickering light the bags under her eyes look stark, the sockets sunken and shadowed.

“You know that I know you just want to pick a fight with him, right.”

“I'm not gonna pick a fight!” he says, unconvincingly defensive.

She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut, clearly frustrated but too worn to pursue the subject. “Fine. Go on. Don't hound him though. I'll meet up with you in a bit.” She doesn't look at him when she turns the corner and walks away from him, her silhouette terribly small besides the tall stands before it disappears from view entirely.

Dib takes a deep breath, and then he goes to the corner. He turns, and he doesn't weave, but beelines for where Kass is about a third of the way through the aisles, crouched by an endcap that faces the wall.

“Thought I told you to go to the other side, Encyclopedia Brown,” the man states without looking up from where he's examining something on a low shelf.

“May's started there. I need to talk to you.”

“No, you don't,” Kass retorts. “You need to turn back round and trot off like a good loyal chihuahua and take your nose right out of my business where it doesn't belong. I know you have eyes, Dib, but according to everyone in your little yes-man group, you also have a brain, so do us the honor of using it for once, and keep your trap shut.”

“Okay but you realize you just brought it up yourself before I could even say anything.”

“I'm well aware we're about the furthest thing from subtle, Columbo, even someone as emotionally constipated as you would pick up on it.”

“Could you stop being an asshole for five minutes?” Dib says utterly exasperated. “I know you don't care about what I think, and I know it's not my business, but May's in bad shape and you have something to do with it. Big shocker, I know, but I have a problem with that!”

Kass finally looks away from the shelf to put his elbow on his knee and press his forehead to his fist with a grimace. “I know, chrissake. I know, Dib.”

His tone is startlingly pained, even fraying with a waver laced through his words. Dib hasn't heard anything akin to it in his life—well, no. That isn't true. It's remarkably reminiscent to an apology offered in a deserted mall to a younger Dib. The stark surprise is enough to render him silent.

Kass continues without acknowledging whatever might be on his face. The man looks almost agonized, teeth grit and brows drawn tightly together.

“You think I want this? D'you think I find it fun? That I enjoy being an absolute arse-shit to the one person who I—who actively enjoys my presence? I don't, believe it or not, I actually truly don't.” He stands, turns sharply to face Dib, expression hardened. “But this isn't on me, this whole clusterfuck. I can't fix it. It's broken but, if you can even comprehend it, I'm not the person who cocked it up and has to try to patch it.”

Dib swallows, body tensing when Kass approaches and bullies his way into his personal bubble. They're about matching in height these days, so Kass can't loom over him like he used to, but the man's whole posture is still actively aggressive, on the offensive--

No. That doesn't seem right.

There's this thing that some species in nature do to protect themselves—it's called deimatic behavior. The phrase is used to refer to animals that do things when under threat, like make themselves look bigger, or show off bright toxic colors, in the attempt to scare off the thing hunting them. Frill-necked lizards fan out the frills on either side of their faces and open their mouths wide while standing on their hind legs, to look as large and imposing as possible. Some species of snakes flatten the skin around their heads to look more like a cobra. It's a bluff tactic, only really a type of defense mechanism.

What Kass is doing is not much different, Dib thinks. He looks posed to strike, but he's only resorted to this after an intense negative reaction because of what Dib said. He's trying to look large because he's trying to protect himself.

Dib has seen Kass in a bad way before, but hindsight is 20-20 and he lacked the context at the time to recognize a large amount of the cruelty was means of lashing out to keep himself safe. It doesn't help that, as a baseline, Kass is sullen, unpleasant, sarcastic and all around nasty around most people.

But, when Dib was younger, Kass didn't need to posture as much, not until he was on the back foot. He only doubled down when he felt actively in danger.

So this...

Kass seems to realize his reaction in the same moment, because he steps back and pinches the brow of his nose, letting out a breath.

“I know she's not okay. I know I'm not helping. I get that you have it in your head that you can just thwack me over the head to the point of concussion until I apologize or some other children's show nonsense, but this is not something either of us can fix. We can't just put a plaster over it like a baby boo-boo. Do you realize how aggravating that is, to see something so fucked but not have any power over the situation?”

Dib swallows. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“She said you were frustrated with her. I thought she was just—trying to justify you being a shithead.”

Kass doesn't say anything to that, rubbing his hand against the side of his face.

“Did she... do something?”

“She didn't do anything,” he finally mutters. “She never--”

He's cut short by a noise Dib doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. May is screaming.

They're both moving before his brain even fully processes the sound; experience has ingrained instinct. Kass bolts ahead of him through the aisle, and they both see the stark, blazing light that reflects off the mirrors and leaves spots in Dib's retinas. It pulses and shines like a star, there by the right walkway where the aisles turn into racks.

They're still a few yards from it, their boots thudding and squeaking loudly on the dusty floors, when the screaming cuts out. Kass lurches forward, gun drawn and arm yanking at the wheeled rack, pushing himself forward. Those last few feet, Dib pushes himself desperately for a last burst of speed, so he's unprepared to run face-first into Kass's shoulder where he's stopped suddenly.

Before them, May screams around a massive bony hand that wraps around her face to hold her entire skull against the floor. The sound is muffled by the noise of swarming insects—moths of every size, in the air, on the floor, crawling out of the thing that has pinned May to the ground while her heels skid and squeak against the tiles in a futile bid for traction. They're in May's hair, on her clothes. They flutter through the exposed ribcage made of rotting wood--

The monster is a massive, skeletal thing. Wide empty sockets stare at its captured meal, out of a shattered skull where the winged insects crawl and alight on the branches of a dead tree. It's part bone, part wood, part flayed skin and exposed muscle, all pressed down on May's chest, its thin limbs caging her small body.

Kass shoots it straight in the skull, expanding the shattered hole into the eye sockets. The only reaction it provides is a tip of its head, bits of matted thin hair swaying as it tilts its face towards them.

The noise of the swarm rises, moths flying in thick clusters as Kass shoots again at a target Dib can now barely see. “Stop, stop, you'll hit May!” Dib shouts over the noise—but before the sentence is even fully out of his mouth the noise dies entirely.

The moths are gone. The creature is gone. The only sounds now is their panting, and the horrible wheeze that rattles out of May's throat as she convulses on the floor for only a moment more, before going entirely, deathly still.

Dib pushes forward past Kass, who still holds his gun as he scans the store rapidly. Dropping to his knees on the floor, Dib presses his hand to May's shoulder, then her face.

“May! May, wake up!”

By all accounts, she seems physically unharmed. She's still breathing, though it still sounds somewhat strained. But despite his shaking her shoulder, despite his hands pressing to her throat and her cheek, her eyes stay closed. She doesn't rouse. She doesn't move.

And there's something else.

“Kass, she's not waking up! She's not—I thought she was invulnerable!”

He glances over his shoulder where Kass has approached, and finds the man has gone still at the sight of them. The color has left his face entirely. He doesn't answer Dib, which is probably the most frightening thing.

“Isn't she?!”

Kass drops beside him. He touches May's hand, her cheek, and confirms what Dib has already discovered. Her skin is almost cold to the touch.

May is never cold. She's a goddess of light and life, a literal firebird, always barely warmer than the rest of them. Now, her cheek is cooler than even his own fingers.

“How was I supposed to know,” he breathes out. “I wouldn't—if I'd known this was necrotic based, I'd never have been so stupid as to have brought her.”

He looks up at Dib. The lights above are stark and harsh, which only adds to the ghastly pale shade of his face, drawn up in unfamiliar terror.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?!”

end chapter 1.

#may writes #may loves teslaverse #queenie #kass #there's a hole where your heart lies (i can see it with my third eye)#if you bother to read this: i love you.#i put a stupid amount of work trying to capture kass's stupid. gestures.

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