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moonsgemini · 2 months ago

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kinda sorry - firefighter!rafe

summary: After months of a cat & mouse game Rafe finally gets his favorite waitress alone. He doesn’t even care if it’s at his place of work.

warning: 18+, firefighter!rafe x waitress!reader, fem reader, SMUT! these people are freaks!! dirty talk, oral, cum play & eating (I’m so sorry?), praise kink, fingering, cursing, p in v

an: hiiiii this is so smutty I actually need to repent my sins. I promise I’m working on the next part of cherry wine I just cannot figure out how to end it so in the mean time enjoy another firefighter rafe fic. Does it kinda suck ? yeah.

You wiped the same spot on the counter for the fifth time as you looked at the clock on the wall behind you. It was already fifteen past seven and they weren’t here yet. You were starting to get antsy. They always showed up at seven like clock work and you hadn’t seen them leave for a call. No flashing lights and loud sirens had been heard or seen.

God you felt pathetic. When did your life come this?

Pining over a hot firefighter who worked across the street and probably only acknowledges your existence for free slices of pie and haphazard flirting. He was so handsome you’d let him flirt with you for free pie any time. You really did feel pathetic, but it had been a long time since a very attractive man made your palms sweat and stomach flutter. Even if there was a chance it was all just out of boredom on his end.

When that hope in your chest that they’d come began to diminish you looked up one more time, just in case. That’s when you spotted the group men walking out of the fire station across the street. A smile involuntarily appeared on your lips. Your favorite part of the week finally arrived.

You’ve been working at Penny’s since high school so you were familiar with the little routine the men across the street carried on. You had grown up with most of the guys having known them since you were a teenager. A couple of them now even being your old classmates. Except for him.

Rafe had started a few months ago and you hadn’t stopped thinking about him since his first visit to Penny’s. It was rare to see a handsome face like his in this small town. It was rare to see a new face period.

You spotted him right away. He could surprisingly pull off the buzzcut and mustaches always did something for you. He was tall with big arms, how could anyone not like him.

From behind the register you watch through the windows as he laughed at something one of the other guys said rubbing his hand over his mustache. A habit you noticed he had. God did he look as handsome as ever. You wanted to know what his mustache felt like against the skin of your neck and against your inner thighs.

The bell above the door rang as the group of men walked into the small diner. You pretended to be busy by wiping the spot next to the one that you had spent the last fifteen minutes on. Doing your best to seem nonchalant like you hadn’t been anticipating their arrival all day by staring out the windows. You would never do something like that.

You looked up and smiled at the familiar faces welcoming them in. They greeted you as they walked to their usual booth in the corner.

Rafe was the last to walk in giving you a smirk and a small nod as he passed. His navy blue tee shirt fit tightly over his chest and biceps. Always a sight for sore eyes. You were practically drooling, you wanted to bite him. Wanted to feel his big hands all over your skin.

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath feeling your cheeks get hot. You needed to push those thoughts away or you’d do something embarrassing. Brushing your hands on your apron you approached them, pulling out your favorite pen and sticker covered order book.

You may or may not have put a little more effort into your appearance today. For no particular reason of course, but if he was going to flirt with you then you might as well play into it. At least that’s what you told yourself when you applied lashes and added some blush to your cheeks.

“Hey guys, what can I get you all to drink?” You asked once standing in front of the table as if they didn’t order the same thing every time.

“I’ll take a coffee my dear,” Captain Morales said smiling. He’s known you for years now and looked out for you as if you were his own daughter.

Rafe was last to order. That smirk making it’s way to his lips again, “I’ll take a coffee y/n,” His eyes lingered on your glossy lips. Little did you know that he was thinking about how he could just eat you up.

As his eyes raked over you face he didn’t miss the red tinge in your cheeks. He’d do anything to make it an even deeper red. Specifically have you blushing profusely under him or even on top of him. Then he started to think about you bent over and ready for him.

“Coming right up!” You said sweetly before heading off to get the coffees breaking whatever trance he was in.

Wednesday’s had become Rafe’s favorite day of the week. Not only was it technically his friday but he got to see his favorite girl. He always thinks about the first time he saw you. You were arguing with a customer who thought their expired coupon should still be valid. He watched as the guy threw his soda at you and before him or any one else could step in you punched the guy in the nose and dragged him out by his collar. The idiot cradling his nose bleeding nose.

That has been the hottest thing Rafe had ever witnessed.

“Now it’s free! Never come back dick head!” You yelled at him as you stomped back into the diner. After spending a few minutes in the back changing into a tee shirt you had in your locker you went to their table. Your tough demeanor had vanished and you held a soft smile on your face. That’s when he knew he was fucked.

Y/n walked back behind the counter to grab mugs and the coffee pot. You knew you’d probably have to make another fresh pot after serving them. Your best friend, Grace, had returned from her break and was wiping menus staring at the table of men.

“Matt looks so good. If we don’t get laid by these hot men we need to quit and become nuns,” Grace said quietly as she eyed the firefighter she’s had her eye on since he moved to town a few years ago.

Y/n snorted, “I’ve given up on mine. It’s been months and it’s just flirting and checking me out,” she shrugged, “Our hook ups and incredibly romantic dates will remain in my fantasies.”

“Don’t say that when I’ve been waiting a year now for mr brown eyes,” Grace huffed, “Why doesn’t he do anything. He acts like I’d say no to him.”

“You could ask him out,” You said handing her three mugs to help you take everything. Mostly so she could get closer to Matt.

She laughed dramatically, “You’re so funny Y/n! And after that I’ll call my dad since we’re saying things that are never going to happen.”

“Oh come on he could never say no to you,” You encouraged.

“Then you ask blondie out.”

You stared blankly at her.

She snorted, “That’s what I thought. Lets just continue to admire from afar so the hottest men we’ve ever seen don’t reject us.”

You followed behind her with a sigh. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about asking Rafe to hang out. It’s just that you had that nagging feeling in your chest that maybe he didn’t want to see you anywhere outside the diner. You cleared your throat to rid the anxiety that began to bubble in your stomach. You didn’t have time to over think that right now.

Grace placed one of the cups in front of Matt and he looked up at her with a shy smile, thanking her softly. They were two idiots in love.

“Are we ready to order?” You asked after filling the last mug.

“Yes ma’am,” Stanford said. One of the other older fire fighters.

It was always hard paying attention to their orders when Rafe’s ocean eyes were boring into you. He always had that affect of turning you into complete mush.

“For you Rafe?” You asked tilting your head to the side slightly.

A teasing smile pulled at his mouth, “Bacon cheeseburger with fries please.”

“No onions?”

He nodded. His pants getting a bit tight at the thought of you remembering something about him.

“You got it, I’ll put this is for you boys.” You smiled an walked away. A little extra sway to your hips hoping Rafe was watching but hoping you weren’t making a fool of yourself.

A slap to the back of his head got Rafe out of his trance. He ducked rubbing his head turning towards the culprit. His wonderful view of your ass ruined.

“Ow?” He muttered looking over at Miguel next to him.

“Are you just going to check her out every fucking week or are you going to do something?” He asked with a teasing tone.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t have time for a girl right now.”

“You’re such a fuckin liar,” Morales laughed as he sipped his black coffee.

Rafe rubbed his face, “I’m working on it okay.”

Morales smirked knowing he was getting under his skin, “You and baby face over here need to grow a pair or someone else is gonna realize how wonderful those women are and beat you to it.”

“Hey what do I have to do with this,” Matt muttered rubbing his mustache.

Miguel laughed, “Dude Grace has been pining for you for forever and don’t act like you don’t feel the same.”

His began blushing at the thought of her, “Whatever. She’s too good for me anyways.”

“Spare me the pity party Anderson and ask the woman out,” Morales said and then pointed at Rafe, “And you. Do something or don’t. Don’t string her along with whatever flirting shit you do.”

Rafe huffed, “Yeah Yeah.”

He turned to look for you tuning out whatever new conversation started between the men. He found you laughing with Grace as you both rolled napkins with silverware. He loved your laugh and your smile. It was so infectious and warm. Rafe had no idea he could feel this way towards someone.

At first it was all lust. Your attractiveness captivated him, especially knowing you didn’t put up with anyone’s shit but also still a complete sweetheart. He moved to this town because he needed a fresh start. He didn’t expect to pine after a woman who was way too good for him.

Rafe continued to watch as you walked around helping other customers. The sway of your hips made him want to grab onto them. Pull you against him as he kissed down your neck from behind. He’d love to hear your laugh as his mustache tickled your ear. He could already see how pink your cheeks would get at the dirty words he’d whisper in your ear if you let him.

You had no idea that you could have him on his hands and knees for you.

Captain Morales had paid for their dinner and they had gone back to the station. Of course the meal was filled with Rafe’s longing glances towards you. Some not so subtle flirting on his end, you of course didn’t do it back in front of the other guys. But when they’d al go outside to wait for the captain to pay he would linger as you wiped down their table.

That nights conversation had firmly planted that seed of hope. Hope that he’d finally pull a move on you since there was a fundraiser barbecue at the station this weekend. Obviously you would be there because you would never miss an opportunity to support your community. It had nothing to do with the fact that Rafe was going to be there.

“You’re coming this weekend right? Or do they have you working?” He had asked with a smirk.

You shook your head with a teasing smile, “Not working, don’t worry I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“Good?” You teased tilting your head a little in a questioning manor.

He nodded, “I’d be bored without my favorite girl.”

You huffed a flustered laugh, “You mean server?”

He shook his head, “I meant what I said.”

Rafe watched as you laughed with Mrs.Garcia about something as you helped pass out desserts. It had been almost three hours since the fundraiser started and he had gotten to talk to you only a handful of times.

He was put on grill duty and you had been pulled in all directions by people. Rafe liked the small town atmosphere of the place and it was one of the reasons why he was glad he got hired at that station, but now he was starting to hate it. Why did everyone have to know you and take you away from him.

You were just as disappointed as him. Every time you would try and make your way to the grill someone would pull you to help with something or the kids would want you to watch their dance routine they made up. You could feel his eyes on you and when you looked back at him he’d smirk. That stupid devilish handsome smirk.

The sun had begun to set and people were starting to clear out. You looked around and found Rafe helping take down all of the tables and put away chairs. Being ordered around by Captain Morales. You sighed, maybe you and Rafe were always meant to just have flirty banter. Nothing more.

You didn’t want to wait around until he was free again and you didn’t want to bother him so you accepted your fate. Before you left you wanted to use the restroom so you made your way into the firehouse.

Once Rafe was done helping clean up he looked around for you. He didn’t see you anywhere. His chest filled with disappointment as to how the night went. He thought this would be his chance to talk to you outside your job and maybe even take you home. His disappointment was clear on his face as he continued to look around as if you’d come out of thin air any moment.

Beside him someone cleared their throat, “She went inside a couple minutes ago,” Captain Morales said.

Rafe looked over at him with furrowed brows, “huh?”

“Your girl. She’s inside. Now hurry before you miss your chance,” He nodded towards the open door.

Rafe laughed, “How do you even-“

“Son you two look at each other like you both hung the moon I’d be an idiot to not know. Now please go get her I don’t want to have to deal with your attitude later if you miss your chance.”

Rafe nodded his head with a wide smile, “Yes sir.”

He made his way into the firehouse to look for you. Hopefully you hadn’t slipped by him. As he turned the corner to where the restrooms were he found you standing looking at some pictures hanging on the wall.

He stood there for a minute just admiring you. Your soft cheeks and long lashes. Your long smooth legs in that sundress that looked a bit too short and tight on you. It made something in his stomach stir. He cleared his throat to gain your attention.

Your head snapped towards him. Eyes widening in surprise, you weren’t expecting him. Rafe walked over to stand by you and see what you were staring at. It was a picture of the whole station. Then a picture of him and a couple other guys.

“Staring at me huh?” He asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “You wish Cameron.”

“I do.” He turned to look at you. That dreamy look in his eyes, “You almost got away from me today.”

You laughed softly, “Sorry. I was trying to come up to you but you know how it is.”

He nodded, “That’s the unfortunate thing about liking a girl everyone loves. You couldn’t help the hear that creeped up your neck at his confession.

He didn’t let you say anything as he continued, “Guess that just means I’ll need to take you out on a date to get you alone.”

You let out a surprised huff, “Oh yeah? Well we’re alone right now.” You looked around making a show of it.

He smirked, “So you don’t want to go on a date with me baby?”

This man was going to be the death of you, “Of course I do. Been waiting for you to ask.”

He laughed and took a step closer to you, “Sorry it’s taken me so long. I liked that little dance we were doing, but let me make it up to you.”

Your body was on fire at everything he was saying. This man had to have been created in a lab with the way he was speaking to you. He was walking closer to you now and you took a few steps back until your back hit the wall of the hallway.

“How are you gonna do that hm?” You tried to play cool as if your pulse wasn’t racing in anticipation. Now you weren’t usually a girl that hooked up with a guy before going on a date but that was going all out the window today if Rafe wanted to have his way with you.

He reached forward and stroked your cheek with his thumb. His eyes going down to your lips. His tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip as your parted, “By fucking you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Thighs clenching at his non filtered confession, he really was done playing the cat and mouse game. You didn’t even care. Your brain became complete mush and you would let him fuck you in this hallway right now if he wanted to.

“You gonna let me do that hm?” He asked as if he didn’t already know the answer by the way your thighs clenched and your nipples hardened underneath your dress.

You nodded slowly as if you were under a spell. Your heart was erratic as you pictured this tall handsome man fucking you in his big arms. You could cum just thinking about it.

His thumb tugged gently as your bottom lip, “Words baby come on.”

“Yes please,” You said softly.

That’s all he needed to hear before he took your hand and dragged you into the room next to you. It was one of the rooms where they came to sleep during over night shifts. It had a desk, bunk beds, and one single bed. He locked the door behind him before pushing you up against the desk. Rafe and you were panting and you hadn’t even touched each other yet.

He cupped your face in his hands and groaned, “You’re so beautiful I can’t keep my hands to myself anymore.”

“Then don’t,” You murmured in a haze as he dove in to capture your lips in his.

He groaned and moved his hands down to your waist and then to your hips. Pulling you even closer to him as you parted your mouth to let him have more access. He was everywhere and it felt so good. His tongue explored your mouth as his hands grabbed and squeezed at your body. The light whimpers and moans leaving your mouth sending him into a frenzy.

He pulled away with hazy eyes and swollen lips, “Fuck I’ve been thinking about this for long.”

You nodded your head rapidly, “Me too.” You said breathlessly. You felt like you were in a Rafe enduced trance. He moaned at the sight of your swollen lips and the strap of your dress had fallen in the haste.

He pushed you back so you were sitting on the desk now with him between your parted legs. He leaned forward and began pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck. You tilted your head back giving him more room. Your fingers tangled in his hair. Tugging when he kissed that one particular spot below your ear. He bit at your neck and you gasped as his tongue soothed the sting. You had never been so turned on in your life, and he hadn’t even touched you really.

That changed when his hands slid down your hips to your thighs. He squeezed them loving the feel of them. Rafe couldn’t wait to have them wrapped around his head, he wanted you to suffocate him. He needed you to suffocate him with your pussy.

He played with the hem of your dress as he kissed your collarbone. He was being a tease, “I thought the teasing was over.” You mumbled with hooded eyes. You wanted him to just shove the dress up and fuck you.

He chuckled against the swell of your breast that he had been peppering with kisses, “Patience sweetheart. I’ll fill you up with my cock, tongue, and fingers in no time.”

You moaned at his words as he slipped the straps of your dress down and tugged the top part down to reveal your tits. He groaned at the sight of your perked nipples and leaned down taking one in his mouth. His other hand reaching for the other and brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud.

The moans that left your mouth were pornographic. It was like you had been touched in years which was only partly true.

“Mmm you’re so sweet,” He groaned as he moved to the other one.

You sighed with pleasure, “I need you.”

He laughed softly going back to kiss you, “Don’t worry baby I’ll give you what you need.”

His big hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the desk in a swift motion. You thought he was going to take you to the bed and finally have his way. You should have known better with him, you’re starting to get that Rafe loves the anticipation. The chase of it all because he turned you around so his chest was on your back.

You could feel him aching agains your lower back. He felt so big and your mouth watered at the thought. You barely had any time to question what he was doing when you felt him press kisses from in between your shoulders and down your back. As he did he gently pushed you down to be basically bent over the desk. Then he was kneeling behind you.

His hands stroking your thighs as they shook in anticipation. He playfully bit your butt with a small groan. Rafe pushed your dress up to rest around your waist. Almost on instinct you arched your back and pushed your hips towards him. Needing for him to do something.

“Please Rafe,” You murmured desperately.

He grinned sweetly, “You sound so pretty asking nicely baby.” He reached his hand down to lightly stroke you over your underwear.

You gasped at the minimal contact. Then he was fully rubbing circles onto your clit. The wet patch at your center growing. He pulled your cheeks apart as he dove in and pressed wet kisses to your clothes pussy.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “Let me have a taste yeah?”

You whined. Literally whined, “Please Rafey please please.” You never thought you could be this desperate for a man. You could feel his smirk against your cunt.

He slid your panties to the side and dove in like a starved man. You gasped in surprised not expecting him to go all in since he had been teasing so much, but you’d thank God every day for it. You already knew you’d be thinking about his mouth for the rest of your life.

Rafe’s tongue massaged your clit in the best way and with the position his nose nudged at your entrance. His hands reached up to grab a handful of your ass and squeeze making you moan louder.

The room was filled with the sounds of his sucking and lapping as well as your whines. His hand then came down to slap one cheek. A motion that made you push yourself against his mouth even more.

Rafe would be a happy man if this is the way he went out. Drowning in your pussy. Your juices dripping down his chin as he mercilessly worked his tongue over you. The groans he let out adding to the pleasure.

Pressure built up in your lower stomach as that knot of pleasure tightened. You had never gotten so close so fast besides with your own hand. The way this man was lapping you up had your legs shaking.

“Yes Rafe!” You exclaimed, “Gonna cum!”

Your head flew back as your eyes shut in pleasure. The white hot euphoric feeling of your orgasm taking over.

“Mhmmm,” He groaned as he continued to lick and suck, “Fuck baby so good.” He mumbled as he continued his ministrations prolonging the intense feeling.

He pulled away once he had cleaned you up of everything you gave him, “Such a messy girl huh,” He mumbled as he pulled your hair so your back was against his chest again. Your head tilted back onto his shoulder. Rafe had a way with words, it had your mind in a haze.

He moved his hand to cup your face and tilt it towards him even more so he could capture your lips in his. The kiss was sloppy and so hot.

You pulled away slightly and mumbled against his lips, “Please please fuck me Rafey.”

He but his lip and groaned, “Of course baby anything you want.”

You expected him to shove his pants down and stuff his cock in you but you should have known him better. He spun you around so your back was pressed to the desk again. He tapped on the back of your thighs to get you to sit on it again and as you did he mumbled, “So obedient.”

The scene in front of him looked so vulgar. You were sat at the desk with your dress bunched around your stomach. All the delicious parts Rafe wanted to dive into exposed. He took a mental picture to remember it even though this definitely wouldn’t be the last time he’d have his way with you.

You reach out for him and tugged at his shirt wanting it off. He smirked as he took the hint and pulled it off. The sight of his toned chest and broad arms had you gushing all over again.

“We should be quick now before they come looking,” He muttered as he began to undo his belt. He pulled his pants and boxers down to rest around his ankles. His cock on full display for you and you bit your lip as you took in the sight. Glassy eyes widening at the size, you had never seen one like that.

He tugged at it a few times to relieve the tension. The way you were looking at him was making his ego grow, and Rafe didn’t really need that.

Grabbing where your knees crease he pushed your legs up so your feet were almost flat on the desk. Your core glistening and on display for him.

“Fuck I can’t wait to be in that nice wet pussy,” He couldn’t away. He let you hold yourself up now as he grabbed himself and began sliding his tip through your folds. You let out small whimpers at the feeling. Then rubbed it over your clit, making you even wetter.

Rafe was having the time of his life. You felt so good against him he never wanted to stop. The way your nipples perked and your eyes practically watered in pleasure.

“You’re so wet baby,” He slipped the tip into your entrance, “mmmph feel s’good huh.” He smirked cockily as he pushed himself in deeper and deeper.

Your brows furrowed in pleasure as he stretched you deliciously. His thumb finding your clit and rubbing soft circles. Your head fell back with a sigh as he bottomed out.

He leaned forwards and kissed you softly as he started moving. You both moaned as he pushed back in hitting that sweet spot. He pulled away and leaned down to take a nipple in his mouth. Sucking and gently tugging.

Your hands were tangled un his short locks. As his movements grew faster and harder your hands moved all over. His shoulders, chest, back anywhere you could touch. Your nails leaving crescents in his skin as he continued to mumble obscenities into your ear.

‘so good baby’ ‘the most perfect pussy’ ‘my good girl letting me fuck her so well’

The feeling of euphoria increasing as he continued. Rafe groaned as he felt you tighten around him. He was regretting one thing right now and that was waiting this long to fuck you.

“M’close Rafe,” You whined as that familiar feeling spread throughout your body.

“I know,” He panted and started working faster, “Cum for me baby come on. I know you can do it.”

His encouragement helped your release. As he felt you orgasm and tighten around him he neared the edge of his own orgasm.

“Need you to cum in me,” You mumbled as he milked you for all you had.

His eyes rolled back at your statement, “Fuuuck.” Then his hips snapped into you a few more times before he released inside you coating your walls in his cum. It felt so good to have him stuffed inside you. His head resting on your chest as he groaned. After a few minutes of your labored breaths Rafe slowly pulled out. The loss of him causing you to whimper and he just smirked.

You thought you guys were done but then Rafe looked down and slipped two fingers inside you.

“Oh Rafe,” You gasped, “W-what are you doing?”

He bit his lip as he continued to watch his fingers pump in and out slowly, “Feeling how well you took all my cum baby.”

Then as if he couldn’t be hotter and dirtier he removed his fingers and his cum was all over them. He took them and began rubbing it over your clit. The overstimulation made your toes curl and your mouth fall open.

The scene in front of him was so filthy and will be on constant reply for the rest of his life. The entire last hour he would be thinking about that forever.

He removed his fingers and you reached out grabbing his wrist to tug the fingers into your mouth. Licking and sucking his fingers clean.

“Dirty girl,” He mumbled as you pulled them out with a pop.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, no more lust behind it. It was something else now. Rafe helped you fix your dress and pull your underwear back on after he pulled his pants back up.

“I’m kind of sorry I didn’t take you out first but I also don’t regret it because I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you for months,” Rafe said as you fixed your ruffled hair.

You smiled at him, “I’m not at all. You can still take me out and we can do that all over again.”

A loud banging on the door made you jump and rafe whip his head around.

“You guys done yet? I need a nap,” one of the other guys yelled through the door.

Your face paled at the realization that you might now have been very quiet. Rafe just laughed, “One minute!”

“Oh god. I need to quit my job and move towns now,” You put your hands on your face in embarrassment.

Rafe laughed and kissed the back of your hands that covered your face, “Nuh uh. Not running from me now.”

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jsprnt · 6 months ago

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you and your boyfriend fight about how much less time he’s been spending with you

jude bellingham x reader

A/N: first jude one-shot after writing a 16 part series of him, let’s go!! based on this request!!

W/C: 1.936

"where are you going? you told me you were off today..”

you say, brows furrowed as you look up from your laptop. you're greeted by an obviously frustrated-looking Jude, dressed up and ready to go out.

"I am off today. I'm about to head out with the guys.." he says, opening the fridge, sticking his hand out, and grabbing a cold bottle of kombucha.

"oh.." you trail off, eyes gliding back to your laptop screen, words dancing on your word document.

you'd been fully focused on writing your essay for your university class. school had kept you incredibly busy lately, and you had only a matter of a couple months left before you could finally graduate.

jude had also been very busy with his career. long hours of training, his matches out of the country, keeping him from spending time with you.

you had found it difficult to even sit and talk together for more than an hour, because either you had to work on something for university, or jude needed to go out for his work.

you had not told him yet, but it drove you absolutely insane. before you both had moved to madrid for his career, you had a fair amount of time to spend with each other , but now that he'd transferred to real madrid- even a moment together felt impossible...

unbeknownst to you, you clench the pen in your hand tightly, trying hold yourself back from spitting out absolute nonsense.

your eyes flicker back to the kitchen when you hear jude rummage through the kitchen cabinet.

"what're you doing?" you ask, sucking in a breath, and getting off the chair you’re sitting on. walking over to him, and leaving your laptop behind on the dinner table.

"looking for a bottle opener.." he mumbles, opening a few drawers halfway, before closing them haphazardly.

"it's in the third one.." you mumble, mood noticeably down, as you open the drawer and hand him the silver bottle opener.

"here.." you say, snarky tone slipping, even though you try your best to suppress it.

"what's up with you?" jude asks, opening his drink with a 'pop', before pouring the contents of the bottle into a glass.

"nothing.." you mumble, not daring to look him in the eye, knowing you'll explode in frustration if you do.

"you're definitely hiding something.." he says, chugging his drink down, before slipping his phone into his back pocket, indicating he's about to leave.

the action triggers you instantly, and you look up, your eyes burning holes into his face.

"can you just go already? you're so eager to leave, just like every off day you've had for the past month.." you spit, fingers gripping the kitchen counter, as a scowl is plastered across your face.

jude pauses for a second, eyes widening for a moment, before he looks at you with furrowed brows.

"what are you on about? can I not enjoy my day off with my mates or something?" he asks, voice clearly upset. his brum accent is thick, annoyance showing as wrinkles etch into his forehead.

“no, it’s not like you’ve spent every single fucking day off with them or anything…” you raise your voice slightly, frustration rising up and making your face hot.

you knew that you’d messed up by raising your voice, but the amount of both sadness and aggravation that had been building up in your heart for the past month needed an outlet.

channeling your emotions into a proper conversation was definitely better, but jude wasn’t a clueless teenage boy anymore.

there’s absolutely no excuse for him to not realize how much time he’d been spending out of the house. neglecting his relationship- partially to both work obligations, and his own decisions to go out on his off days.

“really? you’re actually going to tell me how I should spend my days off? like I haven’t busting my arse to train, to be in top shape for the euros?”

the frown on jude’s face deepens, and his hands fall to his side. annoyance written all over his handsome face.

“oh, please. go ahead and think of why I’m saying this. use your brain for a second and think for me, yeah?” your voice is full of venom, and you turn around, slippers hitting the floor as you make your way up the stairs. leaving your boyfriend in the kitchen.

a scoff falls from his lips, absolutely astonished by the harsh words you’d spat. in the three years of your relationship- you’d never exchanged any harsh words like this before..

yes, you fought and had disagreements with each other, like many healthy couples. but, it had never gotten to the point of any of you using condescending tones and sharp words.

from the beginning of your relationship, communication and understanding were always important values for you both. though with how busy the both of you had been lately, you barely had any proper conversations, let alone upkeep the values, that kept you so connected to each other.

“y/n!” jude calls out, placing his half-full glass next to the sink, before dashing up the stairs, behind you.

“where do you think you’re going? hey, finish the conversation!” he says, grabbing onto your hand, before you can enter your shared bedroom, and can slam the door in his face.

“you don’t even care about what I say- so what’s the point? we’ve practically been ignoring each other for the past few- whatever weeks! and now you decide, ‘let me spend the day off with mates, and not my girlfriend- who I’ve been neglecting for so long’.”

you take a deep breath, trying to control your breathing as you spill all your thoughts and emotions.

jude’s body goes rigid, the grip on your hand slipping away. making your hand fall back against your side. his thoughts and rationality swirl through his brain, and he can only let out a sigh.

“you know, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just trying to have some fun, am I not allowed to have fun?” the words spill from his mouth before he can register them fully, and he almost clasps a hand to his mouth.

the words raise your blood pressure, and you feel the urge to scream at him becoming bigger.

“of course, being with your girlfriend of three years is so boring.. you need a new bitch to entertain you, so can have your ‘fun’. you don’t need a girlfriend who’s moved her entire life for her boyfriend. moved universities, left family behind- okay, jude.”

your breath hitches, tears of both anger and sadness threatening to fall. wet eyes staring up at your boyfriend’s chocolate brown ones.

“y/n-”

he begins, but you don’t spare him a single extra look, before stepping into your shared bedroom, and slamming the door in his face.

“leave..” you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

you jump into your bed, bringing the covers up to your chest and place your head on your pillow. jude’s side empty, just like it had been often lately.

you rub your eyes, allowing the tsunami of tears to overtake your emotions. crying for minutes on end.

you feel both relieved and horrible. glad you could finally let the emotions eating up at you, for the past few weeks out. horrified, because you had just both yelled at your boyfriend and accused him of doing the most trust-breaking thing ever..

you sob until your eyes are red, and swollen. eventually falling asleep from exhaustion and energy loss.

you only wake up a couple hours later, feeling something cold and wet on your skin, mainly your forehead. opening your eyes, you’re immediately greeted by jude, sat next to you on the bed.

his eyes are mirroring yours, swollen and dark circles more pronounced than ever.

it’s obvious he’d been crying, and his attire had changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt.

he hadn’t gone out..

you shift your head away from his touch, only to realize he’s holding a wet cloth to your forehead.

“baby..” he breathes out, concern etched into his face, he leans down. other hand placed on your cheek. you don’t respond, waiting for your boyfriend to speak first.

“you’re burning up..” he finally says, lifting up the cloth before dipping it into a bowl on your nightstand. he squeezes the water out, wiping down the rest of your face, before placing the white cloth back onto your forehead.

“and- I’m sorry, I just need you to know that, while I try to keep your fever down. I’m sorry, darling. we’ll talk about it in a minute, I promise. you just let me take care of you..” he trails off, thumb caressing the soft of your cheek, before wiping down your face again.

“I’m- I have a fever?” you finally say, shifting and trying to sit up.

“yeah, must be from all the stress or something..”

the words are said quietly, laced with guilt and an apologetic tone.

it doesn’t take much longer, and you’re almost feeling suffocated due to the tense and awkward atmosphere. having enough, you bring your hand up to grab onto jude’s hand, stopping him mid-wipe.

“jude..” you begin, sitting up quickly, before he makes you lay back down. you grab the cloth out of his hand, throwing it into the bowl next to you.

“I’m sorry as well..” you can already feel the tears prickle in your eyes, and you clench your jaw, making your temples hurt.

“I yelled at you instead of talking normally, and- accused you of-”

you choke on your sobs, not being able to finish your sentence, before you feel jude’s strong arms wrap around your back.

he brings you closer, slightly cold hands touching your burning skin.

“no, I’m sorry, baby- don’t you apologize, hm..” he presses multiple kisses on your temple, fingers running up and down your back.

he allows you sob into his broad chest, touch and words comforting.

“I know you and I were super busy. but- I should’ve put in more effort to make plans, or even just make sure I gave you the attention and love you deserve, I’m sorry darling,.” his brum accent whispers into your ears, and you slowly calm down, hearing his words- made your feelings, feel valid.

“I unconsciously thought you’d be busy, so I made plans immediately without thinking of anything else..” he explains, hands running up and down your arms, finally rubbing circles on your elbows.

“I will never, ever in my life- for any other breath I take, hurt or ignore you like this..”

“I don’t ever want to make you feel unwanted or unloved. I love you baby, I’ve loved you since the moment you caught my eye..”

he leans back, wiping the remaining tears on your face, coming closer to place a kiss on your lips. not caring about the fact that you are sick..

“you got that, darling?” his voice sounds like honey, and you can feel your tears drying up slowly.

you nod, looking up and grabbing onto his hands.

“good, let’s lay back down, okay? you’re still burning up..” he helps you, chuckling when you grasp at his shirt, and bury your face into his chest again.

“you comfortable?” jude asks, running his hands down your side, and kissing your forehead.

you nod again, humming in response.

“okay, why don’t we lay down a little, and then we’ll have dinner, ‘kay?”

“deal..” you agree, soft touches lulling you back into a slumber, sweet words being whispered into your ear, helping you relax..

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham #football imagines #football fanfic #football #footballer x reader #real madrid #jude x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude #bellingham x reader #bellingham #real madrid fc #football blurb #football imagine

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avis-writeshq · 4 months ago

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pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, roommate au, childhood friends warnings: general criminal minds violence, not beta-read oops a/n: I renounce the MoReid shippers; they’re SIBLINGS !!!! also, apologies for lack of posts !! have been very busy with uni :( wc: 1.06k part 1 | part 2

Spencer was shot. It all happened so quickly– the sound of the gun firing, the grunt that he let out and the apprehension of the UnSub. Too quickly, but such is the fickleness of life. This was one of the rare occasions where the ballistic vest did not do its job, the bullet jamming into his side. Hotch was on the UnSub in seconds, the cuffs on his wrists before anyone could blink.

“Shit, Reid,” Derek gasps out, watching the way blood seeps through his once pristine white shirt, and he presses his hand against the wound. “Shit, Hotch! Hotch! We need a medic!”

***

“It’s going to be okay,” Aaron assures as best he can. His face is grim and Derek is shaking his head in frustration, hands trembling and cold from washing his hands over and over again. “It’s not your fault.”

“We missed him,” Gideon mutters, “he was right there and we missed him.”

“And Spencer got hurt because of it.” Elle’s gaze is set on the hospital’s sign in counter.

Aaron understands their guilt. They caught the UnSub in the end, so nothing was ever in vain, but it doesn’t change the fact that they didn’t anticipate that he was at the end of the hallway waiting for the perfect moment to strike– and Spencer paid the price of their mistakes. The bullet hit him in the side where the vest didn’t cover, the damage reaching his liver and kidneys. Aaron doesn’t think he’s ever seen that much blood before.

“Excuse me–” a voice loud enough to cut through their brooding chimes from the reception desk. “Hi. Hello, I’m here for, um, Doctor Spencer Reid?”

The clerk glances at her for a brief moment before turning back to his computers. “We don’t have a Doctor by that name on staff.”

“Um, no–” a nervous laugh splits the air. “No, he’s– he’s not a doctor here. He’s a patient? I got a call.”

He looks at her up and down before raising an eyebrow, mumbling something. “Is that you?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s me, is he okay? I came as soon as I could.”

“He’s in surgery. He’ll be out in a few. Take a seat over there–” He gestures over to where Aaron and the others are sitting– “and the doctor will call you over.”

“Right. Right, okay, thank you.”

Elle doesn’t try hiding her confusion, looking up at you from her seat with raised brows. “You’re here for Reid?”

You jolt in surprise, the heavy grip you have on your bag loosening in an attempt to calm down. “Hi? Um, yeah. He’s– well, we’re on each other’s emergency contact list.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Aaron says with a tight grimace. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Derek’s jaw unhinges. “You knew?”

“Emergency contact list.” Aaron offers you a glance. “Are you okay?”

“I just–” your voice wobbles, a choked whimper leaving your lips. “I just want him to be okay.”

The team shares your sentiments. It’s not often when there’s an injury as serious as this on the field, but the risk is there. The room is tense with worry, the sound of doctors and nurses rushing around through the halls does nothing to ease their anxieties. You’re already fearing the worst.

What feels like hours is only minutes as a nurse arrives in front of your little group.

“Doctor Spencer Reid?” She confirms, looking sympathetic as ever. “The surgery was a success. The bullet grazed against his liver so he does need to stay for a couple of days for monitoring, but he should make a full recovery.”

“Is he allowed guests?” You blurt out hurriedly, the receipt in your hands crumbled in torn from incessant worrying.

“He’s should be waking up now, but you’re welcome to see him. I’ll take you there.” The nurse offers a gentle smile. “Girlfriend?”

Heat roars against your cheeks and you shake your head adamantly. “No, no, he’s– we’re not– he’s my roommate.”

The nurse hums, a knowing smile on her face. “I see.”

After a few quick goodbyes towards Aaron and the rest of the team, you hurry after the nurse whilst clutching your bag of goods. She opens the door wide, letting you inside before closing it behind you while you pull up a chair.

“I am– I am so mad at you, Spencer Walter Reid,” you whisper, gaze fixed on his resting face and the hair that mats his forehead. You brush a few strands away from his eyes, your lips trembling briefly. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“So you’re not that mad?” Spencer croaks out, his voice dry and his head pounding as he manages to lift his eyes towards you.

“Spencer.” Your arms are around his neck in an instant, careful as not to disrupt the wires and tubes that surround him. “I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s counter intuitive.” He laughs quietly, wincing a little at the suddenness before allowing his free arm to wrap loosely around your waist. He finds it uneasy, the way your lips fall into a wobbly frown and how your eyes look red and puffy from crying. He’s only ever seen you look like this once before but that’s nothing compared to this. This time you look like that because of him– a silly little accident has lead to your pretty smile vanishing off your pretty face.

“You suck. I’m telling your mother.” He knows you won’t and he’s grateful that you’ve found it in yourself to make a joke. When you pull away, he immediately misses your warmth, watching as you rummage through your bag before handing him a sealed cup of red jell-o. “It was the last one they had.”

“You’re an angel, really, but I don’t think I’m allowed to eat for a couple hours,” he murmurs, his fingers grasping gingerly at the cup.

With a wordless nod in acknowledgement, you press a thick leather bound book into his hands, your eyes meeting his gaze. “Your favourite.”

He breathes out his thanks, glancing up at you through the dim lights of the hospital room. “Are you going to stay?”

“As long as you want, Walter.”

***

From the other side of the door, Derek glances through the window at you and Spencer before looking back at Hotch. “They’re roommates?”

“Apparently.”

“No, but– they’re just roommates?”

“Unfortunately.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

part 1 | part 2 | you are on part 3!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader angst #matthe gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fluff #matthew gray gubler x reader fluff #matthew gray gubler angst #matthew gray gubler x reader angst

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ribbonprincess · 10 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"my eyes burn,rafey..." you whine,tugging at his shirt while he sits on the couch,selling drugs you don't even wanna know about.

"I told you to not wear contacts tonight and you still went and did that,so I don't wanna hear anything." Looking down at the bands of cash as he counts them before putting them in his pocket. "but my head really hurts and the music Is loud-" "and what do you want me to do? tell them to lower it down cause the princess over here is sick?"

You hated when he got like this,way too mean after snorting coke all day long. "you're being mean...stop it." Searching through your bag for the tiny container of the contacts you pull it out, carefully wiping your hand with a wet wipe before removing the contacts from your eyes as you sigh in relief,closing the lids before throwing the container back in the bag; this time searching for your glasses.

"rafe,do I look stupid?" You ask,gazing at him with your glasses now sitting on top of your face and a small pout on your lips. "you don't look stupid,but you are for asking such a dumb question- you're the prettiest girl,yeah?" Tugging you closer with an arm wrapped around your shoulders,before pressing a kiss to your head.

"I'll finish selling and then we can leave if you really want to,okay? "okay..." Nodding at his words as you look around the party.

꒦꒷︶°꒷︶°︶₊˚ʚɞ˚₊︶°︶꒦˚︶꒷꒦

A couple of hours later you find yourself in the bathroom of his room,wiping away your makeup off before proceeding with your skincare routine as Rafe stands at the doorway,only a pair of sweatpants on his body.

"feeling better,kid?" He asks,moving over you as he wraps his arms around your waist. "not really,Advil is not working." Turning around after you finish your rituals, you smile a bit. "hi daddy" "hi angel..." Pulling you closer as his chest flush against yours,grabbing your chin as he smirks "too tired tonight?" "a bit...don't feel really like doing anything crazy-"

"you're gonna let me eat it?" Gasping out loud you hide into his chest,giggling quietly. "yeah...fine,but nothing else-"

Making an instant move as he hoists you up in his arms,sitting you on the counter of the bathroom,pressing your lips together hungrily. "fuck,yeah yeah- just let me taste you" Running a hand over your cami top as he squeeze at your left tit,moving his mouth lower as he sucks on the skin of your neck. "you smell so good" "it's the perfume you bought me for valentine's day" Smiling as he pulls down your top,latching his mouth on your nipple as his other hand move slowly on your shorts,pressing on your clothed clit. "no panties right? you know I don't like those on when we're at home"

Shaking your head with a yelp,you grab his hair pulling a bit "rafe-" "I know I know...I got you darling" Pulling down your shorts he smiles,sitting on his knees on the cold floor of the bathroom as he grabs at your ass cheeks,bringing you closer to his face. "Bon appétit" He mumbles before diving in.

Pressing his mouth on you as he basically makes out with your heat, sneaking a finger into your needy hole as his mouth sucks on your clit. "fuck- rafe.." "yeah,I know I know baby,I got you." Adding a second finger as his tongue licks everything he possibly can,savoring your juices as he loudly slurps making you almost embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact he was giving you the best head ever. "you're gonna cum for me baby and you're gonna do it loud and hard" Nodding as you grind your heat on him,his nose bumping deliciously on your clit making you moan out loud,pulling at his scalp "daddy- fuck, right there"

Keeping his rhythm steady his fingers curls into your spongy spot, making your head tilt backwards as your hand blindly searches for your glasses "rayray...my glasses,wanna see you.." Looking up at you,he uses his free hand to take your glasses from the counter,not stopping any motion as he puts them on your face. "thank you" Fixing them a bit, you look back down at him as his hand moves back down your throat,squeezing a bit before stopping back on your boob,pinching at your nipple.

With the final stimulation you scream "m cumming,fuck fuck!" Pushing his face more into you,you cum loudly closing your eyes in pure bliss as he slows the movement of his fingers, pressing a final kiss to your clit before coming back up. Wiping the juice off his face with a hand before sticking the same fingers into your mouth,making you gag as you lick them clean. "how's that sweetie? your headache gone?" "what headache?"

#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #🎀princess

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stellamarielu · 1 month ago

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we shouldn't

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: you probably shouldn't be stealing glances at your best friend's dad. but you DEFINITELY shouldn't be sitting on a kitchen table with him between your legs.

content: nsfw, 18+, smutty smut smut smut, age gap, best friend's dad just hits different i'm sorry

author's note: i saw a comment that said declan definitely talks you through it and i couldn't agree more. so here we are!

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

You sit stirring the cup of tea in front of you in an effort to keep your hands busy. You had found yourself in your best friend’s kitchen on a Saturday night only she wasn’t home. So instead of spending your evening with her, you were now having a cup of tea with her incredibly dreamy father. Although this was a scenario you had dreamt about, you hadn’t come over here expecting to see Declan.

You were here because Taggie had once marveled over the local produce available at the farmer’s market held in town so you grabbed some earlier that morning with the intention of dropping it at the Priory for her. You knew going into town was a bit of a drive for the O’hara’s and you lived a block away from the market, so it was an easy task for you. You showed up at her front door expecting to hand her a bag full of veggies and were instead met by her brutally handsome father.

You hadn’t lived in town long but from the second you and Taggie met there was an unspoken friendship solidified between the two of you. The bond was most likely due to the fact that you were both twenty-something year old girls in a town full of middle-aged married couples. Nonetheless you enjoyed each other’s company. She taught you how to bake blueberry muffins from scratch and you helped her take a step back from her responsibilities and let loose from time to time. It was a win-win.

What Taggie didn’t know was that you and her father had been shamelessly flirting with each other for weeks.

It started with stolen glances at Declan when he would walk around the house shirtless. His broad shoulders and hair covered chest had you in a trance, so much so that it took you a minute to notice when he caught you staring. Wearing a smug expression he threw you a quick wink before walking out of the room, his small chuckle echoed in his absence and you knew you were fucked.

Ever since that day the two of you shared many coy smirks, crude jokes and light brushes of the hands but nothing beyond that. You couldn’t deny how badly you wanted him. You knew it was wrong to think that way about your best friend’s dad. You knew it but you kept thinking about what he would be like in bed. God- you were such a bad friend.

So now you were sitting in the kitchen of the Priory without Taggie. She had failed to mention that she had a job catering one of Valerie Jones’ parties tonight. Of course, when you realized she wasn’t home you offered to leave the groceries and head back home but Declan insisted on you staying for a cup of tea. You joined him in the kitchen watching his large hands fumble with mugs and tea bags and thinking about other places his rough hands would work well. Jesus you couldn’t even let the man perform a simple task without drooling over him. It would have been ridiculous if it weren’t for the way his lips turned up into a cheeky smile knowing you were watching his every move. The smug bastard knew the ways you thought about him and he relished in it.

“Taggie normally tells me when she has a gig.” You state still stirring your tea.

“This came up last minute” Declan stood at the kitchen counter sipping whiskey, he wasn’t much of a tea guy.

“Even I was surprised. She hasn’t been workin’ weekends as much since you’ve come into the picture” He finishes speaking taking another swig of his drink.

“You’ve somehow done the impossible task of gettin’ that girl out of the house and enjoyin’ her life on Saturday nights. I’ll forever be grateful to you for that.” He raises his drink to you causing a small laugh to leave your lips.

“Yeah well, Taggie’s a good time. I don’t think you give her enough credit” You finally stop messing with the spoon in your hand and take a small sip of the tea in front of you.

“While that may be true, I think you help her come out of her shell. You’re just so-“ he stops and just stares at you for a moment like he’s trying to think of the word he wants to say.

“lively.” He finally says.

you smile at the adjective.

“And vibrant and captivating” He abruptly sets his glass on the countertop and begins slowly walking in your direction.

“You’re absolutely stunnin’, you know that?”

You feel your heart begin to race as he comes to stand in front of you.

“I keep tryin’ to push away the way you make me feel.”

“But it’s impossible to ignore when I walk into a room and immediately feel your presence. So bright and mesmerizing.”

You feel frozen by his words. You’ve played out this exact moment in your head every single night but never imagined it would come to fruition. Now Declan is standing just inches away, the tension palpable.

“Not to mention you’re always fuckin' here.” He waves his hands gesturing to the massive home you’ve both found yourself alone in tonight. “Always around remindin’ me of what I can’t have”

The words barely come out of his mouth before you’re on your feet slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. His lips crash onto yours and he wastes no time savoring the taste of your lips. His kiss is hungry and methodical, and you think you might melt.

He breaks away for a split second,

“We shouldn’t” he says breathless but then his lips are back on yours in an instant, showing no signs of stopping.

“Declan. Please” You practically beg him to keep kissing you.

It must be the way you say his name because he throws any restraint he previously had out the window. Picking you up and sitting you on the kitchen table in one swift movement.

His hands find their way up your skirt lightly gripping your thighs, his fingertips drawing lazy circles on your skin just inches away from where you really wanted him to touch you.

He leans in close whispering coarsely in your ear

“I’ve dreamt about this.”

The attention of his lips shifts from a soft whisper to a gentle kiss right below your ear.

“Me too” you admit.

Your voice is breathless as he continues placing kisses down your neck every now and again nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw.

“Tell me love, what is it you think about?” He says sending sweet vibrations into the crook of your neck.

“Do you think about me touchin’ ya?”

He runs his hands roughly up and down your thighs pushing your skirt up so that it’s bunched at your hips.

“Do you think about how good I could make you feel hmm?”

The words coming out of his mouth have you all but dripping between your thighs. His hands find the hem of your underwear, playing with the material between his fingertips he tugs them down your legs at a painfully slow pace.

He pulls away so his gaze is on yours. Your foreheads meet as his hands find their way back to your thighs, carefully spreading them open just a bit more.

“I think about it constantly”

He takes his time trailing his fingertips up your inner thighs, so gently that the featherlight touch makes you shiver. The corner of his mouth curls into a smile knowing the effect he has on you.

You almost squeal when you feel his pointer finger circling your entrance. He keeps it there, taunting you with anticipation.

“How your cunt would feel wrapped around my fingers”

He lets his digit sink inside you with the slightest pressure. The gentleness of his touch contradicting his dirty words.

Your eyes fall shut and you let out a soft moan of relief.

The sound of pleasure causes him to add another finger. He curls them in just the right way making you grab at his forearm and whimper his name. He keeps playing at the spot that elicited such a strong response from you causing you to squirm in pleasure.

“God you feel s’good. Your pretty little cunt squeezin’ my fingers like that. Can’t imagine how you’d feel on my cock”

You bite back a groan at his words. If he kept talking to you like this, you might cum in record time.

He picks up the pace of his fingers, moving them at a deliciously perfect rhythm. You squeeze your eyes shut focusing on the pressure building in your abdomen.

“Look at me love, I wanna see ya.” His voice is low and rough.

You open your eyes and it takes everything in you not to come undone at the sight. His curls falling in his face, his jaw slack, and his eyes clouded with lust.

“That’s it, s’pretty for me”

You’re putty in his hands at this point, sitting on his kitchen table, legs spread wide, One of his hands on the back of your neck holding you steady the other inside of you.

As if the carefully arched thrusts of his fingers weren’t enough to push you over the edge, he begins gliding his thumb over your clit. The added sensation makes your body jolt and you fight to keep your eyes open.

His movements work together like a perfectly timed symphony and you find yourself reeling closer to the edge of ecstasy. You moan Declan’s name again, an indulgent praise, and he groans in response. You’re so close, the tension in your body is looking for release causing your thighs to clench around Declan.

The fullness of his fingers inside of you and the constant attention on the bundle of nerves between your legs has you seeing stars. But it’s the filthy words he speaks to you that finally finish the job.

“Atta girl.”

“You’re doing s’good”

“Let go for me”

With those words you feel the tightness in your core come undone and let out one final drawn out sound of pleasure. You’re clenching and dripping and heaving and Declan is just staring. Forehead still resting on yours, breathing heavy, he softly smiles and places a gentle kiss on your lips.

It takes a few moments for you to regain some sort of composure and then you finally speak,

“We’re fucked”

“We are so so so fucked, I can’t believe how fucked we are.” You allow your internal dialogue to spill out.

Declan just chuckles darkly.

“Perhaps we are.” He toys with your skirt still gathered at your hips.

“But if we’re goin’ down we might as well have a little more fun.” Chuckling through his words he picks you up off the table so your legs are wrapped around him and begins carrying you upstairs.

“If you thought I was done with ya love, you are sorely mistaken”

my masterlist

#declan o’hara smut #declan o'hara x reader #declan o’hara imagine #declan o'hara #rivals #rivals x reader #rivals fanfiction #rivals smut #aidan turner #rupert campbell black #best friends dad #pining #dilf x reader #dilf smut #declan o’hara fanfiction

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chelseeebe · 7 months ago

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you win, i lose

we’re back with these two pathetic little weirdos, who cheered!! another follow up to gimme a hand, bump n’ grind and truth or dare or can be read as a standalone! i think i’m gonna give these two a break for now and work on some other things including some lovely requests i have<3

18+. mdni! smut with a little bit of plot this time! female!reader x eddie munson. no use of y/n. modern au i guess but it is so not mentioned or relevant

eddie sighs, a long, guttural sigh that on reflection, made him sound like a sad little dog.

“what the hell was that for?” barely looking up from your phone to talk to him.

he debates even saying it, terrified that you’d have his balls chopped off for uttering the words.

“don’t you think we’re boring now?” voice wavering as the words come out.

after six months of officially dating, your relationship had started to slow a little. no more making him cum in his pants or sneaky blowjobs in the bathroom at parties. it was sex or it was sleep.

the transition from best friends who shouldn’t be doing this to same old couple had been jarring, especially over the past week when eddie’s felt his dick was on overdrive.

“boring? huh? i don’t think we’re boring? we literally went to a gig tonight,” baffled by his insulting suggestion.

“not like that,” leering up at you from his side of the bed, “i mean.. when we have sex, it’s kinda boring,” shrugging, as if to lessen the blow of what he’d said.

your face crumples, both offence and perhaps a little hurt flash through your features. “wow, thanks eds. no, i actually didn’t think that at all.”

it’s in that moment that he realises, he’s fucked up. majorly.

“w- i’m- shit, no,” shoulders slumping, “you’re taking it the wrong way,” as if there were any other way for you to take it.

“i don’t think so, you couldn’t have been clearer actually,” sending daggers through his skull, “alright,” you place your hands on your hips, “you don’t get to touch me for a week, no kissing, no cuddling.. definitely no sex,” pouting slightly, “since that’s how you wanna be.”

“what?” eddie sits up, at full attention now, “you know i didn’t mean it like that,” fumbling to turn this around.

“i don’t care, you said it,” standing strong, “now you have to live with the consequences.”

his head rolls back against the headboard, immediate regret for anything he had just said.

god only knows if he’d live to survive the week.

that night in bed, eddie turns, huffing his frustrations into the pillow. it hadn’t even been twenty four hours yet and he already felt like he was going crazy.

his hand sprawls out over the mattress, edging to touch you, though he stops just before.

“you wanna give up already?” you taunt, staring though the darkness to throw another jab at him.

“no, i don’t. i just wanna cuddle my girlfriend in bed, is that too much to ask?”

“i told you the rules, no.”

“fuuck,” grumbling to himself, “this is stupid,” pouting to himself, in his self-inflicted drought.

“maybe don’t say stupid shit and this won’t have to happen again,” smug and self-righteous as you turn away, leaving him to yearn for just a brush of skin.

the party had been a bad idea from the start. eddie had never been so pent up in his life and it had only been three, long, miserable days.

you’d made sure to wear that tiny black dress, the one he really liked. struggling to even keep his eyes on the road on the drive over.

a few beers and a no-contact order could only mean one thing and he was dreading it.

you were adamant on making eyes at him across the kitchen counter all night, driving him literally insane. any other time, you’d have snuck off to the bathroom or gone home early but he knows there is a slim chance of that happening tonight.

you sidle up to him, mischievous glint in your eye as you slide something into his pocket before slinking off again, faster than he can compute.

he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the lacy fabric just enough to realise what it was. quickly spinning on his heel so as to not let anyone else see.

your fucking panties. wrapped around his fingers for everyone to see.

there’s no hesitation about it, excusing himself to the bathroom before anyone could ask what he was doing.

holy shit. you’re fucking crazy. on another playing field completely. eddie almost wishes that he’d asked for your panties earlier, far before you’d decided to play these brutal games with him.

he slides them from his pocket, not before making sure the door was locked for the second time, holding them to his nose, like the freak he truly was.

oh god.

he misses you so bad. he’d take the most boring, uneventful missionary for the rest of his life if it meant you’d never deprive him of this ever again.

it takes a moment for him to regain enough consciousness to rejoin the party, keeping his fingers wrapped tight around the lacy material as argyle prattles on about some crazy new strain he’d discovered.

your eyes sparkle, waiting for him to meet your gaze. but he’s not giving you that. not allowing you the satisfaction of ruining him so badly.

the second the van is far enough away from the house, eddie wails loudly in despair.

“that wasn’t fair!” he whines, throwing his head back against the seat of his van, gripping onto the steering wheel for dear life.

“it’s totally fair,” you refute, smiling away to yourself.

“no it’s not,” huffing like a petulant child, “i can’t give you my boxers to sniff.. it’s not equal.”

“i’m sorry- you sniffed them?” flabbergasted, “you’re a pervert,” collapsing into a fit of giggles.

“yeah i fucking did,” proud of his perversions, he was the most sexually frustrated he had ever been, sniffing your panties was nothing compared to what he felt like doing.

“weirdo.”

eddie wants so badly to reach over, slide his hand underneath your dress and really take advantage of the no-panties situation. he was getting hard just thinking about it.

it’s crazy how much you insulting him was actually turning him on more.

“please just let me touch you,” he pleads, “i’m sorry for what i said, i need you,” there had been a time where eddie had to make do with getting to feel your touch every couple months, he’s not sure how he ever survived.

three days and he felt like he was about to implode.

not only had he dreamed of your pussy, it had been haunting him in his mundane life too.

stuck under some dusty old car at work, only thinking about how good you felt, ignoring any of the actually important things he had to do.

“nuh-uh, you made your bed, now lie in it,” propping your feet up on the dash, causing your skirt to slide even higher.

eddie couldn’t believe you’d be so evil and cruel, even in his darkest hour you were depriving him of you.

at some point in the night, eddie’s brain must have decided that enough was enough. his half-asleep, dream filled mind doesn’t really comprehend what he’s doing, hand snaking around your waist, using your body as leverage to pull himself closer, pressed against your ass.

“eddie.. eddie,” you hush, shaking his arm. “you’re cheating,” voice still hoarse and sleepy.

“i give up,” he grumbles, slowly grinding his hips against your ass, “you win, i lose,” admitting defeat at long last. if only he had sucked up his pride enough to do this four days ago.

“four days.. four fucking days,” you scold, though make no effort to move away from him, “you can’t even last a full week, you loser,” chastising him was music to his ears.

“mhm,” he grumbles into the back of your neck, “keep being mean to me, i love it,” spare hand creeping down to shift your shorts to the side.

you laugh into the pillow, moving your hips backwards against his crotch, “you’re so pathetic,” you goad, only firing him up more.

“oh god,” he groans, still rutting against the soft fabric, “i’m gonna cum right now,” whining into your ear.

“if you cum without fucking touching me, i’m gonna be so pissed off,” your grip tightening on his forearm, almost pinching him.

he huffs into your hair, slowing his rhythm to a complete stop, hastily tugging on your pajama shorts, eager to get them off and his dick wet.

this can’t have been any better on you, really, not only were you punishing him, but yourself too.

your shorts rest somewhere around your ankles as eddie struggles to get his own boxers down, grunting in sheer desperation as his cock aches for you.

his hand slides underneath your tee, pulling it up with his arm, gripping onto your boob for leverage. eddie’s never been one to take control but if he hadn’t, he’s not sure you’d have ever touched him again.

wasting no time in hoisting your leg higher, his already leaking tip nudging your sopping entrance. confirmation that you’d been just as eager for it as he was.

“‘m so hard for you,” pushing himself between your folds, shuddering at the overwhelming feelings jolting through his limbs.

“shit,” you breathe, placing your palm above his as it gropes your fleshy skin.

“need you-oh god.. so bad,” senselessly thrusting his hips, slamming against your ass while the bed begins to rock, thanking his lucky stars that wayne was still at work.

“yeah? tell me, tell me how bad you need it,” gasping for air, your soft, angelic pants fill his tiny bedroom.

eddie groans, aching to please you but also unable to fathom the correct words needed to truly convey his feelings.

“y-you’re all i think about,” tightening his grip on your skin, “at work..” panting his words out between rhythmless thrusts, “at home- fuck oh fuck,” squeezing his eyes shut, hoping to make this last at least a few minutes longer.

nothing had ever felt so euphoric, frying his nerve endings, sending his brain into a hazy state that he just may never recover from.

“fuck,” you grit, clawing at his hand, “missed you so bad,” rolling your head back to rest on his shoulder, showing no mercy to his neighbours with your echoing moans. guaranteed to receive disgusting looks from david across the way for the rest of his life.

at this point, eddie becomes an incoherent babbling mess, eyes pressed shut as his stomach flips and turns in all directions. is now the time to start thinking about having kids?

“let me.. let me cum in you,” driven wild by the thought of filling you up over and over. a rare treat that really only lead to a week of stress for you both, but so incredibly worthwhile.

chanting his name right into his ear, other hand stuck between your thighs, circling your clit with an animalistic ferocity. you’d wanted this just as bad as he did, only you were clearly more strong-willed than he’d ever be.

not a second of this had been boring or anything he ever wanted to miss again. swearing to himself that he’d never be so to open his mouth foolish again.

“y-yeah,” nodding encouragingly, “please,” nearing your own, overdue orgasm.

eddie had been clued on to all the little signs for months now, tightening around him while your moans turned more into whimpers, jaw slack and your eyes rolled back.

“shitshitshit,” he rushes, certain he’d left indentations in your skin, “gonna cum- gonna cum in you,” making sure that you know what you’d signed up for, not that he had much choice.

his orgasm rocks his body, juddering as he paints your walls, howling as the overwhelming feeling washes over again and again. four days of built up energy all coming out in one.

you shriek, “oh god,” your body turning to putty between his arms, trembling as you cum, “mine.. all mine,” cradling his arm in yours, placing half-assed kisses to his neck.

he was, unashamedly so. no one had nor could ever come close to the way you make him feel. dragging him to the lowest levels of his pride just to boost him right back up when you said shit like that.

eddie doesn’t let go, scared that you’ll come out of your haze and get mad about his failed temporary abstinence.

you shuffle round under his grip anyway, face burning and your hair resembling a birds nest, though completely content as his release drips down your leg.

your palm slaps his cheek playfully, “don’t you ever call me boring again,” squishing his flaming hot skin between your fingers, “because you’ll never touch me again,” unsure of whether you were joking or not.

“yes ma’am,” running his fingers down your side, until they reach the curve of your ass, “that’s a promise.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x y/n

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livecrow · 9 days ago

Text

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting.

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic. Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though. When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you admitted you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals.

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening the damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm.

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better aff jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een oot.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist.

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava.

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze. He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice.

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway. You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy.

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating.

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting his knuckles. He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?”

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit. You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any embarrassment from building in your gut. Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later.

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance.

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?"

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally.

You set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ an adult grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!"

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging.

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip.

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s. Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests.

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice."

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped."

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you.

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed. It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.”

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time.

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer. You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand. The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind. You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.”

John just inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?”

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were.

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.” John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly the weather was tonight and hadn’t practically jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.” Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?”

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb. You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle. It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—.

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”.

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered.

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh. “Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision.

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which.

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much. Your sole scuffs against debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second.

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same.

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before. As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting.

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now. You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you.

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.”

He was smiling at you again. It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness.

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward. You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?”

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles. They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.”

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle. It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh? That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble.

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over. You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it.

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle.

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape.

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits. At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated.

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.”

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right? But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently.

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream.

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time you sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together.

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms.

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes.

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face.

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it. Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers.

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake.

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step.

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve.

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.”

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek“—almost made us lose out.” he grumbled “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”. You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce.

Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit.

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed.

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired.

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

#mine #i tried to leave it kind of ambiguous if Price was gonna share you #egregious use of italics and emm dashes #i am continuing my sacred tradition of writing the reader as a fat dumbass #cod #call of duty #fat reader #plus size reader #chubby reader #captain john price #dark john price #dark john price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #dark john price x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #author is fat

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quarterlifekitty · 18 days ago

Text

Promethean

fuckboy!Soap x Shy!Reader x Ghost (college!au) p.2 here’s part 1

Uhh warning soap isn’t in this chapter and reader isn’t acting very shy rn lol

Simon managed to drag you, shocked and still on shaky legs, into his surprisingly clean car and across town to a little cafe. The guy with eye bags behind the counter starts making his order as soon as he comes in the door— must be a regular.

At the counter he points to a couple of items in the display case, before prompting you— you stutter out your go-to, and Simon whips out a beat-up debit card before you can think to pull out your wallet.

The largest size of earl grey almost looks normal in his large hand, a plate of pastries in his other mitt. You grab your own drink and follow where he tilts his head in gesture.

When you sit, he pushes the plate towards you. Like he’s dropping a fresh kill at your doorstep—a courting gift. Eat. Be provided for, sensitive doe. You pick up a danish, if only to ease the clench of his fist on the table. He pulls the black surgical mask down to sip his tea in a way that’s almost hilariously delicate given his permanent scowl.

You couldn’t have sat in silence for more than 10 minutes. But it feels like a lot longer.

“Simon. What are we doing here?” You probe quietly. Saying his name when you’ve never actually been introduced to each other feels wrong. Like you’ve stolen a piece of him that he hasn’t given freely.

“He never takes you out,” he grunts. As if that explains anything.

“It’s not… what we have isn’t like that.”

——

Simon chews on your overly diplomatic response for a minute. That’s what it must be, chewing— why else would he grind his teeth together when his tongue is still wet with his favorite soothing beverage?

You’re kind. Kinder than the mutt deserves.

“But you want it to be.” He says it with an almost biblical level of finality. Your pastry making the plate clink against the table as you drop it back down.

“What would you know about what I want?”

“You’re an easy read. S’how y’got yourself in this situation. Soap’s not exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to chattin’ up birds, you’re jus’ an open book.”

Simon shamelessly stares at your lips as they quirk in anger— so unused to vitriol. It’s gorgeous.

“So he’s using me. I know. Is that what this was about? Taking me on a pity date to let me down gently? Or did you just wanna see if you could have a go as well?”

Seeing you like this. It’s something else. He’s seen you mope around so many times, silently begging for crumbs that will never be tossed your way. It’s even harder to pull his gaze from you, now that you’re hissing. He wants to dig his teeth into your heart shoulder and rip out the bruise Johnny left you with.

Soap is his best friend.

“He’s a dickhead. You don’t need him. You’ll find something better.”

Simon has never been what he would call “something better”. Not in any sense. But this might be the first time he’s wanted to be.

“I won’t,” you say with the lower half of your face hidden by the sipping of your drink. As if it’s quenched your fire, and all that leaves you is vapor. “I’m not… the type.”

He gets it. Really, he does. He’s not the type either— or so he’s thought. You’re making him wonder if he’s imagined that about himself— the same way you’ve clearly imagined it about yourself.

“What’s the rest of your day look like?”

“…Nothing set in stone.” The not that it’s any of your fucking business goes unspoken, but is plain to see in the air between you.

“Lemme take you around. On a date. Be mine for today. If y’hate it, I’ll drop you back at yours and the next time you come round, I’ll mind my business and keep the door closed.” Well, that’s the most you’ve ever heard him say in one go. And it begs a question.

“What happens if I like it? You’ll fuck me in a different room of the same frat house?” Your unimpressed look makes him feel ravenous. She-wolf is threatening to turn her eyes from the display. Rejection. Not an option. “Or maybe you’ll ask me to go steady,” you huff under your breath like it’s a bad joke.

“If y’like it, then you’ll stay mine, and y’won’t fuckin’ want for anything. You’re supposed to be worshipped, not begging for scraps at a mutt’s door.”

He really didn’t mean to say it like that. He meant to bite his tongue. He’s trying not to think of how hot it would be if his intensity scared you into pissing yourself. He’s trying not to let himself show through the lines. It’s not working. Any of it.

The venomous bile that spills from behind his teeth reminds him that his eloquence is just one of many reasons why he’s single. Why he should be muzzled instead of kept. He doesn’t know why he’s taking it upon himself to do this. Selfishness, maybe. There’s plenty of better men he could’ve put up to the task, easy. The man who wants to feel blood on the back of his throat makes a terrible savior.

He feels like he can see your pupils dilate. You pick up your danish again and take a bite. You hold it out for him to try. It’s a test. You don’t think someone with eyes like his can handle doing cutesy, saccharine things. Like what couples do. That must be it.

He tries not to think of his teeth going past the flakey flesh of the pastry and sinking into your fingers. When his tongue meets the butter between the layers, he tries not to think of the salt sweet flavor of your sweat and tears. A seed from the blackberry jam gets thoughtlessly crushed between his molars— he hopes the bitterness will suddenly wake him up and he won’t be a beast crying for love at the heart of the world anymore.

It doesn’t.

#uhhhhhhhhh something happened to me at the end there sorry #I went a little crazy style #writing #cod fanfic #cod #college au #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #Promethean

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iholdwhatican · 8 months ago

Text

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

read part 2 here!

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross.

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore.

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin.

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all.

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work.

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it.

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right?

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband.

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him.

God, what the hell was wrong with you?

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five.

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted.

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage?

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.”

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.”

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same.

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.”

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?”

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door.

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning.

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated.

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed?

God, you needed a cigarette.

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot.

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into.

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.”

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him.

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart.

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air.

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you?

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter.

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment.

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.”

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you?

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.”

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area.

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why.

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually.

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.”

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend?

You needed another drink. Or ten.

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to.

“More than anything else in this world.”

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed.

It made something flip in your stomach.

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.”

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.”

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men.

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like.

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone.

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation.

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.”

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive.

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?”

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.”

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.”

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.”

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it.

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it.

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands.

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was.

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-”

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.”

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-”

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that.

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?”

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look.

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait.

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire.

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.”

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind.

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.”

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.”

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?”

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-”

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his.

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it.

You really, really fucking liked this.

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff.

It was unbelievably hot.

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you.

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband.

#challengers #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #challengers fic #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers x you #art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig #tashi duncan #charly writes!!#reunions series

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bunnyyyuu · 5 months ago

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includes: f! reader, aged up! yuuta + maki, lesbian fetishizing, jerking it, car sex, spanking, strap on, cunnilingus, 69 (mentioned), pervy yuuta kinda

yuuta is really happy for you and maki! he really is.

he’s a huge sweetheart, extremely supportive. anytime you two post one another on your instagram stories with whatever romance song is currently trending, he’s the first to like and reply to it. he’s always saying something about how cute you two are. on your anniversaries—whether it be three months or your two years—he’s texting both of you at midnight a loving “happy anniversary! i'm so happy for u two :) the cutest couple ever”. and he really does mean all that stuff, really.

but yuuta would be lying to himself he said that he wasn't using his unrelenting support for your relationship as a way to soothe his guilt. because he does feel bad about it.

jerking off to his two best friends? how could shame not eat away at him, chomping at the very essence of his soul. he’s always prided himself on how much love and care he has for his friends, how could he do this?

unfortunately for him, though, the thought is just too addicting. so, he’s making up for it by being your number one fan.

his head is thrown back uncomfortably against the wood of his headboard, which would normally bother him if he wasn't so occupied with his leaking dick. he’s rubbing circles with his thumb over the slit, an impossible amount of pre just oozing out of the pretty pink tip.

yuuta’s always had such a vivid imagination and an almost photographic memory, tools that aided him greatly in these desperate nights.

he thinks about the goodbye kisses—though just fleeting pecks, really—you press against maki’s lips in his backseat when he’s dropping you off after a trio hang out. he insists that he’s not third wheeling, and he also insists that you and maki need to sit together in the back. he really doesn't mind sitting in the front alone, really. especially not when he can imagine you and maki in his backseat.

he thinks about you two making out: lewd moans slipping into each other's mouths, the gloss coating your puffy lips smearing across maki’s face, the way her hands crawl under your shirt and fondle your tits.

he thinks about maki’s mean hand slamming into your cunt as you soak the leather of his seats; not that he cares about those seats anyway. he thinks about the downright nasty sounds of your sopping pussy squelching around her fingers as she cruelly plunges them in and out and in and out.

he thinks about your squirt tainting his car, leaving a mess of the liquid all over. the smell of sex, of pussy, lingering in his vehicle for days.

he thinks about how maki hugs you from behind a lot. the way her calloused hands snake up from your ass to grab your hips with unnecessary force for a simple hug before wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling your back against her chest. though, even when you two think you're being sneaky, he notices—of course yuuta would notice that.

he thinks about her bending you over a counter or the edge of your bed. your skirt flipped up, panties no where to be found, as she leaves bright red hand prints all across your ass. she’d have some wicked grin on her face as you let out little ah! ah!’s everytime her palm made harsh contact with your butt, your legs behind you flailing. her free hand would be gripping your hip the same way she does in those hugs.

he thinks about that gleam in your eyes when you're watching maki train. it's not innocent, it's not admiration, it’s something much worse. the way you chew on ur bottom lip and cross your legs over one another, resting your elbow on your knee and chin on your fist. you're watching her like a hawk, pulling her into a hug once she’s all done and sweaty with a little “you did so good! you're so strong!” he sees you feel up her arms or her thighs after.

he thinks about how that strength translates into the bedroom. how she’d pin you down completely with no effort at all as she rams the strap in and out of your aching pussy. she’d have you crying out, begging for something, you’re not even sure what. she’d make you cum over and over until your cunt was sore, slapping you around and using you. he tightens his grip on his dick just a little, precum stickying his hand.

he thinks maybe it's the opposite. maybe all of maki’s brashness, the chip on her shoulder disappears once you're between her legs. lapping at her sex like it's your very last meal, spewing praises against her clit. she's moaning so softly, scarred legs shaking. she's on the verge of tears as you bring her to her upteenth orgasm. you pull away after far too long to mumble sweet nothings at her, your beautiful face absolutely soaked in her. god, yuuta would kill to see that.

he thinks about you two sixty-nining—

“shit,” he hisses out when his phone, placed carelessly in his mess of blankets dings. he scrambles with his free hand, the other still holding a vice grip on the base of his impossibly hard cock.

a text. from you.

“wanna come over? me and maki miss u”

pump! pump! pump! he stares at the text with bleary eyes before finally spilling his hot cum all over his hand, nodding frantically at your words on the screen.

he types back swiftly with his non cum soaked hand.

“ofc :)”

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robo-writing · 26 days ago

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Could I request headcanons or a fic with Logan x reader who loves to nap? Like takes a daily nap? How would he react? Would he get annoyed? Would he snuggle up and nap too? Would he just lay there and snuggle you while he reads or does something? Thanks! ♥️

Logan with a sleepy reader, coming right up!

As usual, he returns to find you buried deep into the couch, blanket draped over your body as you count sheep. At one point he’d be concerned, but nowadays he’s more or less used to the sight of you fast asleep in the middle of the day.

Quietly, he steps around you, making his way to the kitchen where he tries his best to keep silent, even if he knows you sleep like the dead anyway. You don’t so much as stir when he drops a spoon on the counter, but he jumps anyway, guilt written on his face before uttering a silent apology. A few minutes later and he’s finished, walking back to your sleeping form.

Your eyes firmly shut, messy-haired and puffy faced—you look like you’re having an excellent dream, based on the way the corners of your lips curl as you wiggle about. Some might call him creepy, but he really can’t bring himself to care, not when you look so adorable.

This next part is what always trips him up though, gently tapping you on the shoulder. As usual, you grumble in your sleep, but he’s got this down to a science, coaxing you awake with the sound of his voice.

“Darling, it’s me,” he whispers, pulling your hair from your eyes. “Y’don’t gotta wake up, but you’re gonna get a crook in your neck if you keep sleeping there.”

A mumble of something under your breath, one eye barely opening before closing once again. You hum your approval, and within seconds he’s got you gathered in his arms, blanket and all.

“Sorry honey,” he apologizes, and your half-hearted it’s fine has his conscious just that bit lighter.

A couple steps later and he’s got you nice and situated on the bed. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ve got some snacks for you on the nightstand when you wake up.”

“Mhm…”

“Need anything else?”

He can practically see your ears perk up, already aware of what you’re gonna ask next. Without a word, you open up the blankets to him, grabbing hands tugging at his flannel as he chuckles to himself.

“Yeah, okay doll,” he smiles. “Just lemme get comfortable.”

You nod, half-asleep. “Hurry up.”

True to his word, he rids himself of his shoes, his pants, leaving him in nothing but boxer and a t-shirt—he knows to keep the shirt on, because you’ve mentioned multiple times that you like the smell of him, helps you fall asleep—then he pulls himself under, right next to you.

Arms wrapped around your torso, you instinctively crawl to his side, face pressed into his chest, legs tangled in his. Your face is that of pure content, one that makes his heart swell every time he sees it.

“Good night doll,” he mutters, and you do the same.

#robo writes #robo speaks #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett fluff #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fluff

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writingsbychlo · 1 year ago

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HIDE AND SEEK | mattheo riddle

summary; you and mattheo play a little game on hallowe’en.

word count; 9058

notes; don’t forget to check out the sister fic to this one by @azrielscrown, we did a lil joint thing, and you can see me making some cameos if you wanna hang out 😉 we’ve been keeping this lil secret for WEEKS and I’m so happy we can finally share it with you all <3

“Sit still, will you?” Your giggle echoed off of the stone walls in Mattheo’s bathroom. He scoffed, shuffling between his feet once again.

“S’not my fault it tickles! I don’t know how you girls do this every day, don’t the brushes make you want to sneeze?” His nose scrunched up as he spoke, but he let you continue to set the wet paint around his face with powder. His eyes focused on you, you could feel the stare as you observed the photograph he was holding up, a cut-out piece of a magazine. “You’re pretty when you’re focused.”

“And you’re distracting me,” You switched brushes, slapping at his hand as his fingers began to tease at your thigh. Returning it to its place on the counter beside your thigh, he shuffled between your legs impatiently once again, and pouted. “I can’t do your makeup like that. Smooth your face out.”

“Kiss.”

“Mattheo—”

“Kiss!” He repeated, and the smile you wore was against your control as you leaned in, pecking his lips softly, doing your best not to smudge the makeup you’d already applied around the centre of his face. It was too short and chaste for his liking, that much was clear when you pulled away as he licked at your lower lip, a whine coming from him as he chased you forward, only to be foiled by a chuckle, and a hand on his chest.

“I’m not redoing this for you if you make a mess of it! I don’t have time, I still have to get ready myself. Party starts in less than an hour, you know.”

“I know.” Mattheo grouched, smoothing his features out as you ran a thumb over his lips, refocusing on painting the skeletal features onto his face. “Y’know, you still haven’t told me what your costume is going to be.”

“You’d know if you’d gone for a couples costume with me. Stop moving your mouth.”

“That’s not fair!” He cringed and the brush slipped right into his mouth, leaving a streak of wet paint across his tongue, and you raised your brows. “I had to go with the boys, I couldn't be the only one who didn’t join in!”

“I’m messing with you, honey. Now, stop talking.” He merely grumbled behind closed lips, but his eyes were sparkling. He remained still and quiet, letting you paint the final pieces of his makeup around his mouth, stretching the creepy, toothy grin across his cheeks. Plucking the picture from his fingers and holding it up, you glanced a few times between it and your boyfriend, shrugging with a sigh. “That’s as good as it’s gonna’ get.”

Standing straight and moving to the mirror, his jaw dropped a little, hand rising but fingers never quite touching his face, tipping his head side to side to observe it. “Damn, baby, this is better than just ‘good’, it’s great!”

“Yeah? Good enough for your little boy’s night scare fest?”

“Don’t call it that, but yes.” Reaching for his hand, you tugged him back toward you, standing him before you and shaking the bottle in your hand. “What’s that?”

“Special setting spray. Close your eyes.” He did as told, eyes closing as you unpopped the lid. “I warn you, it may take some serious scrubbing after this to get the paint off, might leave some stains.”

“Wait, what—” You sprayed it across his face, and a choked sound between a gag and a cough left him as you covered his skin in a thick layer of the spray. Flapping your hand over his face to help his glistening skin dry, his frown deepened, hands reaching for you blindly, and gripping your hips. “I feel like my eyelids just got glued shut.”

“You’re so dramatic.” He cracked his eyes back open, several blinks and a few funny faces to adjust the stiffness, before he was tapping lightly at his skin, fingers pulling away clean. “You should still be careful with it, but it should hold. Just don’t… rub your face, or get any drinks thrown at it by scared party-goers.”

“Always ruining my fun.” Mattheo’s wistful sigh had you laughing once again, slipping down from the counter and slipping your hands under the edge of his baggy shirt. Lifting it up carefully and guarding his face, he raised his arms up, helping to slip off the shirt without disturbing the makeup on his face, leaving it heaped next to the paints and brushes on the counter. “Always helping me out.”

“Yes, well, someone’s got to keep your hopeless arse out of bother.” You leaned in, placing a kiss on his chest. “What does the rest of this group costume consist of?”

“Suits. Not sure whose choice that was, probably Dray’s one condition on joining in.” Pretty brown eyes rolled at his friend, even if his lips were raised in a wide smile. “I’ll get ready, and then we can go to your dorm and get you all ready before meeting the rest?”

“I’ll go start getting ready now, while you do. Save some time.” He only hummed, your heart skipping a single beat as the first deception of the night passed seamlessly through your lips.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

You only nodded, pecking his lips delicately one more time, before slipping from his arms, out of his dorm and into the corridors. Your feet were moving fast, like a sprint through the halls towards your own dorm. Fifteen minutes was barely enough time to grab the things you need and escape from the Slytherin dorms without your boyfriend seeing you. You dragged out the bag you’d already packed from under your bed, and the pre-written note you’d hidden in your bedside drawer.

His name was written neatly across the front, and you flipped it open, double-checking the message inside. In perfect, neat cursive;

‘Find me before midnight xo’

Folding it back up and propping it on the bed where you knew he’d see it, you eyed it for a second. Putting down your bag and rooting through, you gave your lips a half-hearted swipe of red lipstick, blotting them for a second before pressing a kiss to the note over his name, a single clue to start the game, before returning it to its spot.

With that, you were off, leaving your dorm unlocked and enchanted, for his entry and his entry alone.

The common room was packed with groups gathered, ready to leave for the Weasley twins’ party, making it easy for you to blend in and disappear. The halls were just as busy, decorated and overflowing with chatter, the castle ghosts crowding and gathering happily to add to the atmosphere.

Everyone else seemed to be heading down and out, leaving you as one of the few people heading up, to the prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor. It was empty as you arrived, the sound of your bag hitting the floor creating an echo to bounce off of the walls.

Tugging on your costume only took minutes, stashing your clothes back in the bag and leaving it open as you fished through for your makeup kit. It was as you were leaning across the sink, one eye closed as you swept eyeliner into a sharp point in one corner that the door crashed open once again. Jess stumbled through it, arms full of whatever costume the Weasley boys had forced upon her, and you stood straight up, trying not to blink and smear the wet liner before it dried.

“Pushing it late, huh? Party starts in fifteen minutes!”

“Don't remind me…” Jess shucked off her robes, dumping the cloak on top of your empty bag, and beginning to undo the buttons of her shirt as you turned back to the mirror once again.

When you were satisfied with your makeup, two sharp wings on either side and red lips to match your dress, you gave a happy nod to your reflection. With a few minutes to spare and a bottle of nail polish waiting to be used, you hopped up onto the sink. Costume now donned, Jess was lacing up heeled boots that reached all the way to her thighs.

“Are you trying to scare the masses, or seduce them?” With only a sly smirk of her own in return, Jess made her way to the mirror beside yours, plucking the red lipstick from your makeup bag.

“I’m supposed to be a bloodthirsty sorceress,” Popping the cap, she applied a coat. “Know any men who wouldn't mind having their hearts ripped out?”

“A few. The boys will be in skull makeup tonight, so aim for them first.” Your legs swung as you chuckled at her statement, focused on the brush moving across your nails. You wondered just how many of the boys were ready, and what Mattheo was doing right now. Surely, he’d already be on the hunt. “Save the curly one for me, though.”

Jess only beamed in response. “You’ve sent Riddle out on that wild goose chase yours, then?”

You shrugged, ever the picture of easiness as you blew on your wet nails to dry them. “He’s got until midnight to find me.”

Excited knots twisted at your stomach with the mere thought, the thrill of the cat-and-mouse chase. It would likely drive Mattheo insane, knowing you were toying with him as he searched. “What happens when the clock strikes twelve?”

“Let's just say, that I’m fully prepared to live up to my house name, and let him slither in.”

Zipping your makeup bag up with the nail polish inside, you packed all of the clothes into your bag, stashing it behind one of the sinks. “At least one of us is having fun tonight.”

Oh, that was no doubt. You weren’t sure ‘fun’ was even a fair word to use, knowing that the way you were riling your boyfriend up was more like a first-class ticket to seeing Heaven. “Who says you can’t? You may owe Fred a favour, but that doesn’t mean you can’t cause a little trouble.”

Jess shared a devious smile, sliding a gold mask into place as you slipped your own red one on to match, “I like the way you think.”

Placing the final part of your costume onto your head, the small horns on the headband complete your ‘devil’ look, and you hopped down to join her.

With your arm linked through your friend’s, the two of you set off. At the pathway marked as the beginning of the no-doubt terrifying journey ahead, Jess split off, a wink in your direction as you blew a kiss in hers, wishing her luck on the night of haunting ahead, mind set on your own task.

Mattheo had told you where the boys all planned to meet, leaving you plenty of time to slip into the throng of people and disappear into the masses. Your plan: to remain hidden in plain sight.

Weaving through the crowds, eyes scanning over every person there, it wasn’t long until you spotted your boyfriend. Leaning against the trunk of a tree, flanked by only Enzo and Draco so far, he was already searching for you amongst the hordes. You followed closely behind a group, slipping into their ranks seamlessly, as Mattheo’s focus moved across you, flickering over the group and dismissing them quickly as strangers. A spark of excitement shot along your spine.

Just like that, you were walking straight past him. Your cover merely being that of standing among people you didn’t even know meant letting him look right through you like fog in the early morning.

Slipping inside one of the hidden walkways, darkness encased you, hiding you from view as all the horrors and thrills Fred and George had managed to create took place.

Actors in costumes, enchantments to create realistic scenes, and laughter poured from your lips as much as screams did, your heart was pounding as you cleared the tunnel minutes later.

Surrounding the clearing on all sides were various attractions. How they’d managed to pull all this together, you had no idea, but the twins never failed to impress you. Several hexed bonfires filled the clearing, a hazy setting washing over your skin from that very first sniff of woody smoke pulled into your lungs.

A haunted hayride, pulled along no doubt by the thestrals that Luna seemed so fond of took off on your right, a speakeasy-style building to the left, a haunted house with screams filling the chill night air right before you. Bobbing for apples, a spooky corn maze with moving scarecrows, everything that would send chills down your spine.

Mattheo and the boys would likely catch up any moment, more visitors pouring in around where you’d paused at the end of the tunnel to admire, so you spurred yourself into action. The night couldn't end just yet, you still had hours of fun ahead of you.

Angling yourself towards the speakeasy first, you stepped through the door, the subtle smell of gin and perfumed musk washing over your senses as you stepped up to the twisted staircase, flickering lights disappearing into darkness before your very eyes.

Down, down, down, you moved. Swallowed whole by the shadows, your shaky laughter would doubtless have clouded your breath with the sudden chill that took you over, so dark for a moment you couldn't even see your hand before your face. Then, just as your hand skimmed towards your wand for a Lumos spell, a curtain swept aside, a couple stumbling out between fits of tipsy giggles, guiding you with flashes of coloured lights and the beat of unconfined music.

The moment you were inside, all silencing spells wore off, blinding lights flashed across the dance floor, with the music that was pounding through the room so deep the base travelled up your legs. The floor was packed, everybody dancing to their heart’s content, and those who weren’t were gathered around small tables for card games, or crowding the bar.

It wasn’t long until you located a group of your friends, some with their dates, some solo, and you were quickly immersed under the cover of the group. The beat had your eyes slipping closed, rhythm flowing through you as your body swayed. A drink was pressed into your hand by a friend, the fruity taste coating your tongue and leaving your body in a numb haze.

You had to say, you were impressed by the effort the twins had gone to. Despite the student-body having only found out about this party a few weeks ago, you knew for them to have pulled this off, they’d have to have been planning since Valentine’s Day. Songs passed by in a blur of dancing and more drinks, a shot came soon, so spicy your eyes watered and throat stung, only soothed by the lime you were handed to follow.

Wiping a stray droplet of juice from under your lip as you pulled the slice away, you almost missed the flash of skull makeup and blond hair in your peripheral. Draco was on the dance floor, making his way across, a smirk on his lips as a hand with manicured nails reached out to clasp his tie, trying to tug him into a dance.

You didn’t have to search for long to find the face you knew so well, the one you’d painted yourself only a couple of hours prior, also on the dance floor. Hands reached for him too, trying to pull him this way and that, but he wasn’t stopped. No, he was searching. Looking at every face with your hair colour, checking under masks and turning dancers around despite their protests, just to rule them out from the game.

And he was heading right for you.

Spinning away from him, you ducked across towards a friend, her arms looping around your body as you neared, none the wiser to the game you were playing, and the distraction she provided. Swaying your body with her own, you pushed your lips close to her ear, watching Mattheo over her shoulder. “I need another drink, you want one?”

She only shook her head, released you near the back of the group and let herself get swept back up, as you were hidden away behind the crowd, sneaking towards the bar.

Padma and her sister were serving quickly, wands in hand as they floated several cups through the air all at once. Slices of fruit and cubes of ice drop, tinkling into plastic cups ready for them to fill.

Flagging down one of the twins, a shaky breath of pure excitement leaves you, as you turn your focus back to your boyfriend. He looks like he’d been having fun. A little dishevelled, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his tie loosened, smudges of dirt and glitter on his clothes from wherever he and his boys had been playing, scaring unsuspecting patrons and gathering screams.

His hair was no longer the neat style he’d doubtless have gelled it into, the stands messy from running his fingers through it, and curls beginning to form in the heat of the bar. A single curl fell across his forehead, brushing through the paint, and your fingers itched to brush it out of his eyes, like always.

He’d reached the group now, searching idly in the area you’d been occupying, not finding you where you’d once been, chasing only steps behind and having no idea.

The visible frustration he wore gave you a cocky smile, a rush of pride filing you up, watching as he made to move on, to more fruitless endeavours.

Then, a hand shot out.

A hand in a black lace glove, attached to a girl in a full-body leather jumpsuit, hugging every inch of her body, the little cat ears you knew well. A member of your former dance group, poking up into the air. Pulling him to a stop, he bowed his head, lips moving and a conversation you couldn't hear taking place, and his head snapped up in your direction.

For a second, your breath caught, swearing he almost looked right at you as he scanned his gaze over the bar. Someone had told him you’d been there, that you’d headed for the bar, and he filled with renewed vigour, eyes twinkling with mischief even from this distance.

Motioning to Draco— who now had the rest of the owner of that manicured hand wrapped around him— to head to the bar, he moved like a man whom wild horses wouldn't be able to stop. The crowd parted around him as he moved, leaving nobody in his wake, not until he was right up to the bar at the other end. He motioned for one of the twins to take his order.

Padma finally arrives to take your drink request, your order only adding to the floating display over their heads, and the display is utterly mesmerising. Much like the floating candles in the Grand Hall, light shimmers and reflects through every drink and piece of glass, light bursting out across the room.

Following one trail of light, you spot Jess entering the bar, followed quickly in tow by someone in matching skull makeup, this one with shaggy blonde hair, his eyes locked on her like she’s the only girl in the room. You quirk a brow, sealing that little piece of information away for later.

You’re so caught up with your people-watching that you almost forget the game afoot, that Mattheo is so close, until the rough grate of his voice only a few seats down breaks you from your reverie. Snapping your eyes to him, he’s leaning on one arm, back to you as his focus scans out across the crowd. Somewhere on the dance floor is Enzo, you’re sure, and Draco has his lips on the neck of his mystery girl, completely ignoring Mattheo’s summons to the bar. You know where Theo’s interests lay, and you’re not sure where Pansy and Blaise will have snuck off too, likely some dark corner where they won’t be seen.

Your boyfriend was the only one in the group not dancing tonight, something that had you smirking. Swiping up your drink and bringing the straw to your lips, you admired his jawline as he stretched his head, once again searching. That was until a girl in a tight black dress and black feathered angel wings made her way over to him, clearing her throat lightly to bring back his attention as he continued the hunt.

“Hi, Mattheo. Over here all alone, why aren’t you out there—”

“I have a girlfriend.” His curt response was flat and bored, and you almost snorted some of your drink trying not to laugh. Her expression wavered, a pout forming on her lips as she tried again, undeterred, reaching out to take the end of his tie between two fingers.

“I don’t see her.”

Smoothing his hand down his front to remove his tie from her hold, he scoffed, shaking his head; “Neither do I, that’s the damn problem.”

This time, you were too slow in holding back your laughter, the sound bursting from you against your control. You hoped the music would cover it, but Mattheo heard it, whipping his head around in your direction, as he began to analyse every person at your end of the bar.

Taking your drink and quickly ducking behind a man dressed as the Phantom at the Opera, you ducked and dove between people, daring a look back at the bar to see Mattheo stood where you had once been, looking amongst the people, but thankfully, not in your current direction.

Glancing around for some quick cover, you spotted Jess, making your way over to her and watching as the boy she was with parted with a lingering kiss to her cheek. She clocked your approach, a wide smile bursting free on her lips, and her hands reached for you, tugging you into a dance with her as soon as you were near enough.

“I take it Riddle hasn’t found you yet?”

“No, but he’s close.” You have to shout over the music, tipping your head in the direction you last saw him. She glances over your shoulder toward the bar, where her dance partner seems to have found himself too, along with the others.

“Gettin’ colder, he and Draco are heading toward the exit.” Spinning you around smoothly, a smirk pulled on your lips. A determined-looking Mattheo began to chase a cold lead, the unsuspecting girl who did look rather like you from behind leading him off-course.

Twisting back to face her, your brow hitched up as the mystery man began to make his return, two new drinks in hand. “Is that Theodore Nott you’re flirting with?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” It was her turn to smirk, shrugging and brushing her hair from her shoulders. “He doesn't know it’s me, though, so if he asks you, you have no idea who I am tonight.”

“My lips are sealed.”

With a final wink, you slipped away, knowing she’d only be alone for a second before your boyfriend’s best friend was all over her once again. Following in the direction Mattheo had just left, you reentered the dark halls. The glow of his and Draco’s wands ahead, that and their murmured chatter bouncing from the walls, was your pin-point to follow through the new maze of tunnels.

Too busy looking ahead, he had no idea you were right behind him.

Hands reached out, faces flashing before your eyes as actors and other fear-mongers stalked the dark tunnels, and if it wasn’t for your boyfriend’s light ahead, you’d have screamed and given yourself away a long time ago. When you reached the central clearing once again, it was even busier than it had been before, you emerged not long after the boys, from a hidden alcove between the cornfield maze and a stand selling hot cider.

Mattheo and Draco were gone, disappearing faster into the masses than you could comprehend, likely to find more of their little group, and you grabbed a cider, digging a galleon out of your pocket and tossing it into the collection jar, before taking a stroll around the maze. It was in there that you found Pansy and Blaise, hidden away in a darkened corner, just as you suspected.

Both had swollen lips and glossy eyes when you cleared your throat at them, grinning at the blush spreading across your friend’s pale cheeks, as Blaise only smirked.

“Ah, well, look who it is.” He mused, covering Pansy as she attempted to adjust her costume once again, and your laughter wasn’t lost on her, only getting flipped off as she tried to pull the corset top back up over her bra. “By your absence of lover boy, I take it Mattheo hasn’t found you yet?”

“So, he’s told you about the little game I’ve laid out, has he?”

“Oh, absolutely. We have a little bet going. By all means, keep this up, you have me winning. I bet he wouldn't find you at all.” Your head tipped to the side, a little sip of your hot cider as you considered his words, before Pansy was snatching it from your hand, sniffling it, and taking a gulp.

“You bet against him?”

“Of course, look at you. Over halfway through the night and he still hasn’t found you. Pansy, on the other hand…” He teased, and she smacked at his arm. You gasped.

“Pans, you bet against me? And to think, I was sharing my drink with you.” Snatching it back, she pouted, but shrugged.

“Hey, nothing against you. He just had better odds, he’s recruited everyone to help him find you!”

“And a marvellous job you’re all doing of that. Tell me, did you find me hiding behind Blaise’s tonsils?” Her cheeks went red again, along with a burst of deep laughter from the other culprit that had him clutching his stomach. She shushed him quickly, despite the silencing spells cast over the maze for an added air of creepiness.

“Well, here you are, are you not?”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes fondly, stepping away from the pair. “I’ll let you get back to your intense searching. Don’t tell Matty you saw me!”

And with that, you slipped back into the darkness, the bushes around you rustling and creaking as they changed with every step you took. It wasn’t until you’d successfully given up, growing bored as the chill of mist rose goosebumps on your skin that the hexed forestry finally freed you, a pathway clearing and opening up ahead of you to release you back to the party.

Seeking the moon in the sky, you found it not long until midnight, Blaise had told no lie, your game coming closer and closer to the end, where you would be crowned the winner. Taking a seat before the fireplace, you settle in to watch the flames, and peer around to spot your hunter.

There. It only took a second to find him but there he was, a little clearing across the way, leaning against some haybales with a blunt balanced between two fingers. Bringing it back to his lips, he took a drag, smoke filtering out into the cold air and obscuring his face, before passing the roll to Draco.

When the smoke cleared, his eyes locked on your own.

Just a second. A moment across the field, so far away, but he knew. Your breath hitched, his back straightened. Then he was moving, without even warning the rest of the group, he was taking long strides across the field, closing the distance between you both, and adrenaline surged through your system as you shot to your feet.

Your closest building was the haunted house, his eyes narrowing, a silent warning when a smile curved on your lips, already knowing your next move.

You bolted, a giggle breaking free as the true chase began, and he called your name, the sound lost amongst the chatter and amusement of everyone else gathered around. Slipping through the hoards of people, you stumbled through the front door, watching as Mattheo rounded the porch, trying to snake his way through to catch up.

A kaleidoscope of colours, screams and shouts and music, different rooms with every theme as you were ushered through in a rush, the whole attraction feeling like a fever dream as you searched for the exit. The game was reaching its peak, midnight neared, the moon called it into the sky, and being so close to the last moments, you were determined to win.

Stumbling out into the cold night air once again, you headed for the tree-line, secluded enough that you could lean on the thick trunk of an old oak. You watched the entrance to the haunted house, a red-painted lip caught between your teeth, eager for him to emerge in your wake.

You waited.

Waited.

Seconds ticking by, and the thunderous race of your heart in the moment finally began to slow. Gasping breaths became softer pants, calling to you the silence of the world around you when blood was no longer pumping in your ears.

A twig snapped behind you, and before you could turn to acknowledge the sound, a hand was sealing over your mouth, an arm banded around your waist, dragging you back into the darkness.

Spun around in their arms, your panic lasted barely a second, before soft lips were pressing firmly to your own, the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and woodsy cologne filling your senses. Your arms came up, gripping him just as tightly as he walked you backwards, pressing you to a tree as he left a dozen kisses on your lips, longing and loving after hours apart.

“You’re a little minx, do you know that?”

“Actually, I’m a little devil.” You snickered, hands on his chest to push him back enough to look down at your outfit, motioning to the horns still on your head. “See?”

“I see it, baby. I have to say, I love this costume.” His hand fell to your thigh, callouses scraping across soft skin until he found the short hem, tugging and twisting the flowing skirt around his fingers. “I’ve been searching every girl for red lipstick all night, thanks to your little clue. Should have known you’d be decked out in all red, too. Standing out, right there, the whole time.”

His mouth descended upon your own once again, a happy sound rumbling in the back of his throat as you kissed back just as eagerly, one hand sliding up into his hair. His hand squeezed at your thigh, slipping back down as far as your knee, only to hike your leg up around his hip, shocking you into a gasp.

“I’ve been running around all night trying to find you, and you were right under my nose the whole time, weren’t you?”

His kisses descended to your neck, a shaky sound slipping free as his teeth teased a spot on your jaw that made you tremble, gripping tighter to his suit for stability. Your breath was shaky as you spoke, desperate to reclaim some power, despite the way he was undoing you already, “What, you didn’t like my little game?”

“Oh, I loved your little game, baby. But, I think I just won. It’s a few minutes to midnight.” Licking a stripe across the underside of your jaw, you mewled, head tipping back against the tree, hips bucking up to meet his own, and he grunted. “What’s my prize?”

His gaze came back up, dark and challenging and sultry as he stared down at you, smirking. Licking across one red lip, his attention focused there, his own lips parting, getting closer, needy for another taste. “The second part of the costume, of course.”

Gripping his wrist and sliding it up and under your skirt, his fingertips smoothed over the lace of your panties. He didn’t hold back his groan, gripping your ass tightly in his hand and tugging you forward to rub against him once again. “Red, I assume?”

“Smart boy.”

“My dorm?” He whispered, forehead falling to your own, a needy sound your only form of reply as your hips rolled together, friction dragging and sparking heat across your body.

“What, you want to leave the party already?”

Your teasing words weren’t appreciated if the squeeze to your rear was any indication. “Game is over, don’t play with me anymore, my love. I need you, now.”

“Then let's go.”

The two of you stumbled along, barely keeping your hand to yourself as you hurried back through the woods, avoiding the crowds and teasing whistles of your friends by taking a more covert route instead. You certainly weren’t the only ones with the same thoughts, various couples were dotted through the woods, wandering hands and desperate kisses exchanged behind the trees and throughout the branches.

His hand was tight around yours, tugging you along with his pace, but when he stopped short, you almost crashed straight into his back. Following his line of sight, you huffed, pushing him with a hand on his back to get his feet moving again.

“Is that Theo over there, zipping his pants back up? Who’s he out here with?”

“You want gossip, or you want sex, Matt?” His body jolted at the insinuation, feet stumbling over one another as he picked the pace again. Guiding the two of you through one of the tunnels he had likely discovered during his night of scaring, the two of you paced back through the speakeasy.

Up the haunted stairs.

Through the woods.

Along the halls.

Past the common room.

And then, he was backing you up against his dorm door, fingers fumbling with the lock, pressing frenzied kisses to your lips as he slid the mask off of your face and threw it to the floor.

"You taste like cinnamon and wine." Mattheo moaned, practically sucking the taste of mulled cider from your tongue as you ground against his clothes cock.

"You taste like cigarettes and whiskey." Your words are bitten off as he nips on your lower lip, a whine spilling from you as his hand snakes back up your skirt, toying with the lace of your panties again. Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he snapped them against your hip. The sting of the elastic on your flesh made you gasp, and he only chuckled into your mouth in response.

“Godric knows, you’ve been driving me crazy tonight, baby, thinking about these red lips, lookin’ for them everywhere. Now I want to see what that red looks like around the base of my cock.”

Your fingers trailed across the front of his body, shaky fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, tugging it more and more until it hung open, only his tie in the way as you peppered his chest with open-mouthed kisses. A moan spilled from his throat, his head tipping back, and he yanked at the tie, throwing it to the floor, quickly joined by his shirt and blazer until his torso was bare and exposed to your ministrations.

Your hands gripped his hips, spinning his body with your own until his back was to the wood instead. Mattheo only smirked, eyes half-lidded as he watched you, your red lipstick already smeared across his mouth, printed on his chest, his own makeup smudged to match.

One heavy hand found your shoulder, pressing you down, until you were on your knees before him, tugging at his belt as he lifted his hips from the door. His arrogance only grew, lifting one hand to comb through your tangled hair as you struggled with his trousers, pulling at them until they were halfway down his thighs. His cock sprung free, a hiss on his lips as the cold air of the dorm met his flushed skin.

Gathering your hair up and out of your face, he gripped it in a bunch behind your head, not pushing or pulling, just waiting as you peered up at him, licking over one kiss-bitten lip. His other hand fell to your cheek, smudging streaks of black and white facepaint as he went, tracing his thumb across your lower lip.

“You’re so beautiful, my love,”

Your smile made his thumb fall to your chin, a single squeeze, before he was retracting his hand, and manoeuvring your head towards his cock. Slipping the tip past your lips, a shudder passed over his body, his thighs clenching under your hands as your nails dug into his flesh, and his head ‘thumped’ on the wood of the door as it fell back.

“Salazar fuckin’ save me,” He panted, slipping further and further, his grip in your hair tightening with every inch, until he was tapping the back of your throat, your gag buzzing along his flesh in a way that made his hips buck. “Love your pretty little mouth. Make it so good for me, baby.”

Smiling as best you could with every inch of his cock slipping into your mouth, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling back just enough to let you take a breath before his hips were bucking again. This time, as he sank back into your mouth, your lips tightened around him, sucking suddenly, and his broken moan bounced off the walls of his dorm.

Again, and again, he was pushing you further, until you were comfortably taking him deep into your throat, tears lining your eyes, threatening to spill over your cheeks in a way you knew he loved to see. “Fuck, you’re so good down for me,”

Tracing your tongue around the head of his cock, you took control, sinking down against him and dragging your tongue along his cock, feeling the throb of that prominent vein. You moaned against him, and his body tensed at the feeling, making you pull back, just enough to have him gasping as the pleasure was ripped away.

You kissed at his hip, nipping his hip bones where they pressed to his skin, and a babbling mess of your name was all you got as he panted, flushed skin rising and falling.

Your hand took over, pumping his spit-slick shaft slowly, dragging up until his hips were following your hand with a pathetic groan. He finally had enough, enough of your teasing as you caught your breath, his head tipping back forward against his shoulders and blissed-out eyes narrowing on you.

“Tongue out for me, pretty girl.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, at the gravel in his tone, the way he yanked your hair back to control you as you opened your mouth, tongue falling out as he’d asked.

His cocky smile grew as you grinned back at him. Guiding his cock back to your mouth, he let the weight of it sit on your tongue, rubbing softly, pre-cum leaking and the taste of him made your thighs clench together.

He didn’t miss the action, not at all, his hips thrusting lazily in and out of your mouth as he gave you a nod. Sealing your lips back around him, you moved enthusiastically once again, bobbing up and down along his cock, wringing every bit of pleasure from him that you possibly could.

“So fucking good, baby, just like that. You like sucking my cock, huh? Always so eager for my cum in your mouth.” Pulling back, his cock fell free of your lips, spit tainted with red lipstick and pre-cum connected his tip to your lips, and he gathered it on his fingers. That same hand cupped your cheek, smearing it across your skin, “Not today though. Today, all my cum is going in that pretty pussy of yours.”

Kissing across his abs as you rose to your feet, his mouth was slamming onto your own. Tongue plunging in, your moan was lost to his lips as he worked at your clothes too, tugging at your dress, horned headband falling to the floor as he yanked the garment over your head.

Kicking off his trousers and stripping himself the rest of the way, he panted, eyes wide, admiring the lace set you’d donned for his eyes only tonight. “You’ve been wearing this all night, and you let me chase you ‘round for hours?”

His hands skimmed over your body, almost reverent with the lightness of his touch, tracing the corset top that hugged your chest, pushing your tits up to the perfect fullness. The panties with their tiny straps, sitting perfectly on your hips, across your cheeks to make your arse look round and shapely, the strings and ribbons that had his mouth watering as he stared in awe. “You like it?”

He only growled, a flash of cold travelling across his eyes as you fuelled the carnal desire boiling within him. He was moving in a flash, sitting on the edge of the bed and bending you sideways across his lap, his wet cock prodding your stomach as you gasped at his manhandling. His hand smoothed over your flesh, across the seam of your panties, chuckling at the wetness he found on the material, and swirling at your clit. “How many times, huh? How many times did I almost get to you, but you escaped me?”

“Th-Three.” Your mind was foggy, hazy as pleasure began to take over. Your eyes fluttered shut as you hung limply across his thighs, core clenching around nothing. He hadn't even touched you properly yet, and you were already falling apart for him. Your gut was tightening, hips rocking and pressing back onto his fingers as you neared that peak, the excitement and electricity of the night had had you worked up for hours now, all moving toward this.

“Three times. Three times you ruined my victory, so I think three times, I’ll ruin yours.”

His words had barely even registered in your mind when his touch left you, a cry of protest being cut shut by a sharp slap across your ass, your body jerking forward at the force, and pleasure zipped through you, despite your denied orgasm. “Damn it, Matty…”

“That’s what you get, baby.”

You pushed yourself up, shaky hands, putting on your best pout as you turned to face him. He only mimicked the expression, mocking you. Tugging you in instead, he licked his way into your mouth, filthy, panting kisses taking over as he made sure to ruin whatever was left of your makeup. You adjusted yourself across his body, settling down to sit against one thigh, nipping on his bottom lip and rocking your hips.

Slow, so slow, you moved over him, feeling the muscle of his thigh tense up underneath you, his hands roaming your body, distracted and oblivious of the pleasure you were taking for yourself as that fiery pleasure rekindled once again. He reached for the back of the corset, tugging at the hoops, undoing them roughly until it was falling to the floor and he was catching one nipple between his lips.

“Oh, fuck, Mattheo…” You whispered, arching closer to him, pushing your chest further into his face as he teased his teeth across the taut bud. A sob left your lips, fingers carding through his hair, tugging at the roots to convey words that were melting to nothing on the top of your tongue.

His arm caught around your waist, tugging you closer into his body, making it harder for you to move as you tried to squirm in his lap. His breathy laugh spread over the skin of your chest as he littered it with hickies, switching to the other side and leaving one wet, perky nipple cool in the air of the room.

“Matt, please!”

“Please, what? What do you want, my love?” When he was satisfied with the havoc he was wreaking on your body, his attention moved to your neck. Your arms around his shoulders, head tossed back, panting and whining as you ground against his thigh. “You wanna’ come, baby?”

“Y-Yeah.” The feeling was burning through your veins, taking you over, your eyes rolling back as your pussy throbbed.

He pulled you in, a finger and thumb on your chin to guide your face back to his own, lips brushing. “Too bad.”

He gripped you once again, both arms holding you steady, unable to chase any kind of pleasure, as he kissed your neck, his smirk on your skin showing he knew just what he was doing.

“Thought you’d get away with that, didn’t you? I’m not even going to count that one.” Tugging your panties to the side, two fingers sank into you, and your back arched into his body as he touched you at last. “You can’t win at my game. My little loser, huh? What a shame.”

You were shaking atop him, the feeling of his fingers, the curl and the pump he knew so well. Mattheo could read your body like a map, he knew just what you needed, just how to touch you, and he was using that to his advantage. Two fingers became three, stretching you out deliciously and yet it still wasn’t enough. You collapsed against his body, desperate to come, moaning like a whore and forever on the edge as he toyed with you.

Your forehead was pressed to his, crying his name, begging against his mouth as he licked at your lip, tipping his head up to catch you for a kiss. When he pulled away this time, you could feel the tears in your eyes, nails digging into his skin, pleading with sounds that no longer resembled words.

You could feel his frustration; every time he’d almost found you, every dead-end, every narrow escape.

A sick, twisted part of you was loving every second of this delicious torture, and you found yourself face down in the sheets, panties around your thighs and his cock slamming into you, so hard that a scream ripped through you.

“Shh, you can take it, my little demon. I know you can.”

“I can, Matty. I can take it. I can take more.” You wanted it, you wanted it bad, spurring him on. Your hands scratched in the covers, legs spreading even further, body rocking with every deep thrust he gave you. His kisses travelled over your spine as your tears smeared mascara and eyeliner into the sheets. His body smothered you, one hand coming around to clasp your own, love shining through in his actions even as he ruined you, took you apart until your mind was shattered.

You’d be wrecked in the morning, you’d surely be unable to walk, sore legs and trembling limbs, you’d have to spend half the morning just recovering from the way he was fucking you now. Brutal, fast, slamming in and out and making you sure your eyes would never come back from how far they were rolled into your head.

Nerves were lighting up, electricity shooting along every cell of your body as his slick skin slid against yours, one hand in your hair, tugging your head back as his lips brushed your ears.

“Wish you could see yourself, pretty girl. Wish you could see what I see. Shaking, dripping, my cock sliding in and out of this pussy like you were made for me.” He slowed his pace, for just a second, and you keened back into him, chasing the pleasure that was already building once again, even if you knew it would be fruitless.

You may have lost the ability for sentient thought, but his count was ringing in your head, only two of three failed orgasms served. Your body tensed with a shudder, the anticipation lingering in the air like a sword over your head.

“You really do belong in the pits of hell, don’t you? Look what you do to me.” His teeth grazed over your shoulder, biting down on your skin enough to make you cry out his name, bucking against his touch as he soothed the bite with gentle licks. “There’s nothin’ angelic about you, you’re nothin’ but a sinner.”

His name spilled from your lips, again and again, like you were begging for redemption.

“You’re on your knees, but you’re praying to me.”

His hand snaked around your body, finding your swollen clit and brushing his fingertips across it, pitching the bud harshly between his fingers. “Matt—”

“You want to come?”

“Yes!”

“What a shame.” He slipped himself out of your cunt, spewed curses in anger leaving your wobbling lips, more tears spilling over as he took away the last part of your dignity.

Twisting your entangled bodies, he guided you until your back met the bed sheets, pushing you up as he crawled over you. Hooking his fingers into the edges of those panties and pulling them away, he spread himself over you.

He barely gave you time to recover, the stimulation all too much, as he lifted your legs to hook them over his shoulders plunge his cock back into the sopping heat of your cunt.

This may have been his game, but when his forehead came to rest on your own, hands frantically bunching in the sheets beside your body, you knew the last round had begun. The ball was in your court, his own need displayed clearly on his face as he rutted into you desperately. His rhythm was lost, sloppy and out of control, and you squeezed yourself around his cock.

You pressed sweet kisses to his lips, tempting him over the edge with a drag of your teeth across his lip, a lap of your tongue, and he was done for.

Finally, your peak crashed over you. Waves and waves, blinding pleasure that left you with silent, open-mouthed screams. Twitching underneath him, your fingers tore down his back, your legs snapped against his hips, holding him to your body as white-hot bliss drowned you.

He only needed a few more thrusts, your back arching and his name a chant, enough profanities to scar anybody passing by as the lewd sounds of your movements covered your moans. He came with a groan, thrusting through until the sound tapered off into a whimper, his own unsteady body collapsed down on top of you. Dragging breaths into his lungs to recover as his sweaty body covered you, you hooked your arms around him, hugging him close, unwilling for him to move even a fraction.

You felt numb, the aftershocks of pleasure racing through your body, still twitching and shaking despite his weight on top of you. Freeing one hand, he smoothed it up your body, dragging from your thigh to your ribs, stroking softly in soothing motions, as his lips gave delicate pecks, shushing every lingering whimper that escaped.

You reciprocated the action, raising one hand to land in his hair, fingers brushing through sweaty curls, as his cheek found your shoulder.

“That… was some of the best sex we’ve ever had.” Your words were still breathless, and he laughed lightly, nodding against you where he lay.

His skin was littered with lipstick, smudges of his facepaint on every part of your body, painted with love and lust everywhere you’d touched one another. The night was still heavy on your skin, the festivities outside still raging even if your night had come to an end.

Maybe minutes had passed, maybe hours, but eventually, Mattheo dragged himself up, pulling himself free from your body, and smirking down at every mark he’d left on your skin. With unbalanced steps, he wandered away to the bathroom of his dorm, the squeak of the taps and the splash of water in the basin signalling the running of a bath.

He offered you a hand as he returned, pulling you to your feet, the two of you wobbling your way through to the bathroom and taking stock of your mess as the water ran. Elixirs and salts, the fresh smell of jasmine and honey filled the air, and then you were sinking in, leaning back against Mattheo’s body as the two of you revelled in the hot water.

His hand looped around your body, fingers lacing with yours and resting on your stomach, as his chin hooked over your shoulder. For a while, the two of you remained just like that, chasing the cold of the night from your bones and merely enjoying one another’s company.

“Tell me, was that your little friend— the one who was ripping out hearts for the Weasel-twins— that I saw running from Nott in the woods, this evening?”

“Oh, Matty,” You chuckled, turning to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You have no idea the games she’s been playing tonight.”

He only grinned, head resting on the edge of the tub. “I fear those two together, they’ll rip each other’s hearts out.”

“Maybe so,” You mused, his fingers dragging along your ribs, and you shuddered happily. “Or maybe, they just found their perfect match together.”

“Just like I found you.” He whispered, lips brushing along your cheekbone, and you scoffed.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“It was your game!”

Your hum echoed off of the walls. “Don’t tell Theo. I want to see how it plays out.”

“What, and ruin the surprise? I would never.” He smirked, “Besides, Theo didn’t help me find you, let him search for a while.”

Holding onto his forearm banded around your waist, your fingers traced up and down, before his hand caught yours, holding tight and weaving fingers your together.

“I love you, but don’t you ever run from me again. There is not a place on this earth you could hide that I wouldn't find you. I’d search forever.”

“You know,” You whispered, turning in his arms to sit across his lap, and he made a happy sound, face tipping up to brush his lips on your own. “That sounds vaguely threatening. You’re a little bit fucked up.”

“That’s because it is a threat, and a promise. Besides, you’re a little bit fucked up too, because I know you love it.”

You couldn't deny it, only able to snicker in response instead, and press a firm kiss to his lips, which he was happy to return. “I love you too, Matty. Now, let’s try and scrub off all this makeup, hm?”

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