#jean always knew he would be left behind but but but and yet he didn’t expect it

[ultravi0lence14]

Flower Crowns

dean winchester x bimbo!reader

1.5k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: dean had lived his life as self-reclusive and stoic as possible. who knew one girl in tiny skirts with glossed lips could make him completely whipped?

dean winchester grew up in an environment that most people would widen their eyes at. mouths agape in shock as dean and his brother recount all the times their dad treated them like soldiers instead of children.

that lifestyle is what made dean who he was today; and most people would find it encouraging that he and sam didn’t turn out like complete asshole’s.

unlike his younger brother, dean was always the troublemaker between the two. yeah, sam had a knack for defying john’s orders, but dean always found himself in forms of trouble that landed him in boy’s homes.

all he wanted was to appeal his father. be tough for sammy and protect the people who he cared about. all that squished together made him into the hard shell of a man he is today; and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

that’s what drew you into dean in the first place. he was so languid in his actions. already knowing the exact way to push people out of his life when they got too close. having the tough guy act down to the final line. but you saw beneath it. you saw the man who cared so deeply about the people he actually allowed himself to hold close, and that interested you even more.

dean first saw you when he was on a case down in your hometown. and instantly, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

bobby had directed sam and dean to one of his hunter friends who lived in town. telling the boys that if they ever needed help, this guy was the one to call.

that man ended up being your father, and dean was thoroughly surprised that someone like you grew up around a hunter.

you answered the door wearing a baby pink sundress, thigh high stockings pulled up as high as possible with black heels on your feet. when you turned around, dean noticed the delicate ribbon placed in your curled hair, and he suddenly had the urge to pull it loose and use it on you for something else completely.

the whole time dean was at your house, he found himself thinking those unsolicited thoughts. you reached into your purse to reapply your lip gloss, dean wondered how it would taste on his lips. you tossed your hair over your shoulder to get it out of your face, dean wondered what it would be like to grab it in his fist.

each time he found himself alone with you, he couldn’t help the easy flirtations that fell from his lips. you almost dragged him upstairs to your bedroom when he called you a ‘good girl’ for finding a key detail in the case.

when it was time for him and sam to leave, dean slipped his phone number in the back pocket of your jeans. he disguised the action in the hug he gave you. . . while also lightly grabbing your ass.

he was scared you would smack him across the face for that last part. but the light kiss on his cheek that left a glossy residue in it’s wake had him thinking differently.

after months of talking — and establishing some form of relationship after multiple phone calls, dean asked if you wanted to live with him and sam in their 1950’s bunker. normal people would be immediately turned off and say no, but you weren’t normal people. and by the next weekend, you had your room packed up and ready to move in with dean.

every day you lived with dean was bringing you two closer together. your aesthetics varied so greatly, yet that somehow made you two even more compatible.

dean found himself falling even more in love with you as time moved forward. the evening he knew he loved you was when he walked into the kitchen, watching you attempt to make an apple pie. you were dressed in the shortest skirt imaginable, and dean almost passed out when you bent over to put the pie in the oven and he got a nice view of your lace panties.

he had come up behind you, wrapping his arm around your middle and dragging you back into his chest. whispering a soft “what are you doing” in your ear, dean went on to carry you back to your shared room, eclipsing your body with his own as you laid underneath him on your bed. he had whispered a soft and sensual, “let me show you how much i love you, baby,” and the rest was a story that dean still smirked about when he thought of it.

today was different. the weather in kansas was gloomy, and dean found himself wanting to stay in bed all day and cuddle with his girl. though for some reason, he couldn’t find you anywhere in the bunker.

he looked everywhere. every room and any place that he could think of you being. dean started to worry when sam told him that he saw you go outside a couple of minutes ago. so with the clambering of his boots, synchronizing with the patter of rain falling behind the door, dean ventured out to find you.

to dean’s surprise, he found you rather quickly. though, it wasn’t the fact that you were scaling the side of the bunker that surprised him. it was the fact that you could incorporate pink into any outfit and any weather condition imaginable.

a soft pink rain coat was covering your white tank top and pleated black skirt. a pink and black striped umbrella was perched over your head, and dean noticed how it was meticulously covering the pink uggs you wore with your classic white, knee high socks.

dean wanted to coo at your hunched figure. you looked adorable as you grumbled in frustration at your umbrella, legs bent at the knees as you searched for something dean couldn’t quite see.

“what’cha doin’ sugar, it’s pouring out here.” his voice startled you, your head whipping around to notice dean standing by the railing at the entrance.

tightly clutched in your hand was different types of small flowers, seemingly growing around the bunkers edges. dean craned his head like a confused puppy as he noticed the assorted flowers in your palms.

huffing slightly, you stood to your full hight as dean stared on at you, a massive grin on his face as he watched you dust off your clothing. “i’m trying to collect flowers dean, what does it look like i’m doing?”

the man couldn’t help but laugh at your matter of fact attitude. you looked so adorable standing there, covered head to toe in pink as you clutched pretty flowers in one hand and a comically large umbrella in the other.

with a shake of his head, dean approached you and grabbed the umbrella out of your hand, holding it over the both of you as he placed his free palm on the small of your back, leading you inside. “yeah, i can see that sweets, but why?”

you held up the assortment of flowers to give dean a closer look, allowing him to notice all the pretty pink’s, white’s, and purple’s you had grabbed. “i want to make you and i matching flower crowns, that’s why.”

dean stopped in his tracks as the two of you made it to the railing over looking the war room. never in his life had someone catered something so sweet towards him. yes, flower crowns were something dean would definitely not gravitate towards, but it was going to be made by you, and there was nothing better than a gift from his sweet girl.

“you are one of a kind, you know that baby?” he had rested your umbrella by the door, moving so he could wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer to his body. with a soft smile on your face, you placed your arms around his shoulders, the flowers tickling the side of his neck as he rubbed your back up and down. “yeah, you’ve told me once or twice.”

the rest of your day was spent as dean had intended when he woke up; in his arms. you both laid on your bed, dean’s back against the head board as you rested in between his spread legs and against his back.

you concentrated on weaving the flowers stems together, not noticing dean’s eyes on you the entire time. his hands rested on the tops of your thighs, moving from there to your hips every once in a while as he silently watched you work.

he couldn’t help himself sometimes and he would lean down and place a kiss on either your cheek or the crown of your head. when you turned around, placing the finished product on his head; you rocking your own of the same colour’s, dean left a lingering kiss on your lips, mumbling who beautiful you looked in his relaxed state.

you were his flower. his beautiful peony that grew the love in his heart. as you rested against his back again, fingers fiddling with the the pretty pink ribbon you were attaching to the back of your crown, dean wondered if the flowers and ribbon were going to be how you decorated your wedding veil one day.

because dean knew one thing for certain; if he didn’t marry you, he would be the dumbest man alive.

[crazy-fangirl2524]

Right where you left me

As usual, the first thing Jean felt when he woke up was pain. The bruised ribs that made him gasped for breath as quietly as he could, a pounding headache from his concussion, throbbing pain in way too many areas of his body to even differentiate where it was from. Jean felt all of that before he even opened his eyes.

He didn’t even noticed that he was still on the floor, the same spot he was where Riko had left him.

This was one of the worst beatings Riko had ever given him. And what else had he expected?

Kevin Day had left the Riko, he had left the Nest, the Ravens.

Kevin Day had left Jean Moreau.

And it wasn’t really anyone’s fault now is it? Jean was the one that gave Kevin the opportunity to slip away. Because Kevin Day asked, he begged, “If you were ever friends with me, get him out of my room. I can’t see him right now.” After Riko had stomped the shit out of his hands.

Jean should have known that sentiments and feelings are what would get him killed in the Nest. He should have known better. But Kevin had always been a blurry hazardous warning that he should have known better about. Jean had known better than to befriend Kevin because there were no such things as friends in the Nest. Jean should have known better than to care for Kevin.

And now Kevin Day had left Jean behind. Jean should have seen it coming. He just never expected Kevin of all people to grow a spine. Jean’s had been broken by the Master and Riko a long time ago. Its splinters sometimes protruding and those were the rare moments where Jean taught Kevin French, sneaked a cake for Kevin’s birthday, and now this. The last time Jean would ever help anyone. He couldn’t afford anymore of this, physically and emotionally.

Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. Jean was still where he knew he would always be, behind and beneath Riko with no one to ever hand him a first aid kit or rough hands to pull him off the floor.

So Jean pulled himself up, arms shaking and sweat dripping down his face. With an agonisingly slow pace, Jean pulled himself up and onto his bed, wondering how he was supposed to go to practice later. He laid on his bed, every inch of his body aching and burning and screaming but none of it hurt as bad as his heart did. Jean thought it had been dead for years but Kevin Day had always been an exception. Jean never thought they could escaped. Jean never even dreamed of himself escaping except through death. Kevin Day was once again an exception.

[kbagraces]

Let it Happen - LN4

Lando Norris x singer!gf

summary: dating rumours always followed the pair but despite both of their status’ they liked to keep their private life private… until a certain someone’s private instagram gets hacked

a teensy eensy bit based on Let it Happen by Gracie Abrhams

not proof read as always!

Mornings like this were true bliss for you both. Both your lives were faced paced, loud and demanding, though you wouldn’t change it for the world, you craved the serenity of silence sometimes.

His face was pressed deeply into your crisp white pillows, soft snores leaving his slightly parted lips. The screams of fans and demanding nature of your job felt so far out of touch in these moments.

The covers stopped at the base of his torso his toned back on show, adorned with loving scratches from your antics the night before. You hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks due to him finishing his last race before the summer break began and you being chained to the studio finishing up your final touches to your second album.

Your fingers traced the loving marks upon his back, softly so he wouldn’t be disturbed, God knows he needed the rest. You noticed his face twitch to which you retracted your hand, hoping you hadn’t woken him.

Unfortunately you had.

He opened on of his eyes to look at you before mumbling, “why did you stop?” His voice deep and strained as he was still half asleep.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” You smiled at him, he turned over on his side his body now facing you, his arm reaching to your waist before pulling you into him your face slotting into his neck as he rested his chin atop of your head.

“I was waking up already, my love. It’s so freaking bright in here.”

You smiled at his comment, he always complained about the sheerness of your curtains, the sun almost always being the thing that caused the two of you to be drawn out of your slumber.

“The sun brings me good energy I’m not changing them.”

“We’ll have to compromise when we get our own place” his chest vibrated as he spoke. You were slightly taken aback. You were so head over heels in love with Lando but you hadn’t ever spoken about moving in together. Granted you assumed it would happen one day but you hadn’t spoken about such thing yet.

“Don’t freak out.” He said pulling away from you slightly, to look you in the eyes now. He knew you too well. He knew about your past and how you’d jumped into relationships before, moving too quick, getting caught up in fantasies that only left you hurt and alone.

You were closed off when Lando met you, God did he have to put the work in to prove he wasn’t going to mess you around like the boys before. But that was the difference between him and them, they were boys, he was a man.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You’re freaking out.” He chuckled, as the wideness of your eyes contradicted the calmness of your tone.

“It’s going to happen. We won’t rush but it’s you and me forever now. Whenever you’re ready of course but don’t fight it, let it happen.” His hands stroked your fallen piece of hair from your eyes to behind your ear, his hand cupped your faces pulling you in, a gentle comforting kiss upon your lips.

He almost felt your dismay leave your body as you became less tense as a result of his touch. Your body always betrayed you, he just had a way of making everything seem okay.

Your life was stressful but Lando made every noise and distraction quiet with the simplest of touches and the kindest words.

Your domestic bliss was interrupted by the shriek of your phone, your alarm blaring notifying you it was time to get back to reality.

“What are you going to do whilst I’m at the studio?” You queried as you stood at the foot of the bed, pulling on your favourite pair of jeans.

“Absolutely nothing.” He smirked as he finally sat up in your bed. It was his first full day off from work. His phone was finally allowed to be on Do Not Disturb, he had two weeks of silence before he had to get back to training.

You hummed in response, you wish with everything you could just lounge around with him all day, but unfortunately your life couldn’t stop just because he was back. You had an album to finish.

“Can I swing by later?” He was really testing the waters today. Your relationship was sacred and you did all you could to keep it out of the public eye.

There was whispers here and there, but they went as quickly as they came. Your biggest blip was when you attended the Miami Grand Prix this year.

You two were doing so well, to the outside world you just seemed like any other celebrity attending the race for sponsorship deals and relevancy as the rumours of your sophomore album were hitting the news as you were practically living in the studio.

All was fine until Lando crossed the finish line, winning his first ever race in F1. You let him celebrate with his team initially, knowing if you got too close you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from telling him how immensely proud of him you were.

But your composure went out the window the second you saw him on the top step. You were stood in the crowd below, tears pooling in your eyes, you were in awe of him and that’s when the picture was snapped.

It circulated for a while, lasting longer than the whispers of before. But like any thing in the modern age, it got overtaken but some bigger news about the latest affair in Hollywood.

“Please y/n. I just want to see you doing what you’re best at.” He begged, you appreciated his support, you were convinced he was your biggest fan.

“Maybe another day Lan. Not yet, I’m sorry.” You saw his face waver, he wouldn’t pressure you, but his disappointment was far from hidden, it was clear.

“I’m sorry.” You offered, “another day I promise.”

You kissed goodbye and set on your way leaving your boyfriend to ponder about your LA apartment.

———

You were sat on the studio floor, cross legged. Your notepad before you, lyrics written messily across the pages. Words written, erased and rewritten, you just couldn’t get the thoughts from your head to paper. You were getting increasingly frustrated with, this song. You had the initial idea and it had to be perfect, it was the final song of the album and it had to be perfect.

“Y/n go home, you’re going to drive yourself crazy.” Your producer sighed to you, he believed the album was perfect the way it was. It was so ready to be released he was unsure why this idea you had couldn’t wait for another project.

You raised your hand at him, mumbling some words, jotting them down and erasing them once again.

“Argh!” You were close to tears as you threw your pen across the room. Why couldn’t you just get the words out.

“Y/n! Home!” Your producer demanded, you were getting nowhere, you both know it. A broken pen he could deal with but at this point he feared you’d start going for his equipment.

You sulked the whole way home, the words in your head needed to be sung, they just couldn’t flow like the usually do.

Lando was perched on the couch as you skulked through the front door. He noticed the slouch in your shoulders and the frown etched on your face.

“What’s wrong?” He sat forward on the edge of the sofa, his legs apart. You sat on the floor beneath him, your head fell onto his lap as you sighed.

“I can’t get this done. I’m so close. I’m so desperate to get this final song perfect that it’s anything but perfect I can’t do it, I can’t do it.” You repeated, tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t want to cry this is so silly. But I need it to be perfect.”

He bent down kissing your forehead, before lifting your chin off his thigh to look up at him, your eyes glazed over, lips slightly wobbling.

“You don’t have to be strong here my love. Let it happen.”

——

Lando arose to the sound of your phone ringing. You still passed out on his chest your eyes still puffy from the outpour of emotion and stress you had been bottling up.

He picked up your phone, curious to see who was ringing at the crack of dawn.

Lillian (PR) 11 missed calls…

Oh.

The phone rang in his hand again, he slid from beneath you, you needed to rest. Perhaps it was a good thing Lillian was ringing about. He walked into the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind him before swiping to answer the phone.

“Y/N thank God!”

“Sorry it’s Lando, she’s still sleeping.” Your PR team was obviously aware of your relationship, they were the first people you told when you decided to keep the relationship under wraps.

“Actually you might be better to break the news to her,” her tone serious, concerned.

“Her instagram has been hacked,”

That’s not too bad Lando thought.

“Her private instagram, the photos of the two of you are plastered all over the internet. We’re attempting to do damage control but with the magnitude of both your fan bases it’s almost impossible. Ordinarily a relationship leak is not something to be too concerned about, but we know her views on it, we fear it’ll delay her progress.”

Lando wanted to bite back, their concern not being for your well-being as it should but for the delay of the album which will be the funding for their lives this year.

“Ok I’ll tell her, just do what you can.”

With that he hung up, unlocking your phone to check what had really been leaked.

There was photos of your first date, photos of you in the McLaren paddock, photos of the two of you at your sisters wedding almost everything you had every captured of your journey together was on the instagram, there was no escaping this. You couldn’t even deny it was Lando. It was there in colour for the world to see.

He checked the comments on some of the reposts,

username1: wait they are actually so cute together

username2: who is he though? not good enough for y/n

username3: she’s not as pretty without make up…

username4: omg new parents! mum & dad is that u?!?!

The responses mixed, the sound of your door opening pulled him from his scrolling.

You laughed blissfully ignorant at the sight, Lando stood randomly in your hallway, snooping through your phone.

“What are you doing out here? Having a snoop? Making sure I haven’t got 20 other boys on the go.” You laughed at yourself, one he didn’t reciprocate.

“Lan?”

“Don’t freak out.”

“Every time you say that I freak out, you’re already freaking me out!”

He turned the phone towards you, your private moments with him on display the world.

“No, no, no”

“It’s okay, my love it’s fine. The reaction is pretty good, Lillian called the team is working on it, but I’m afraid they’re out there now. But maybe it’s a good thing, we can be us without hiding?”

“It’s not about hiding Lan! It’s about protecting.” You shouted, you weren’t shouting at him, he knew that, you were shouting out of frustration.

“Come here.” He exclaimed reaching his hands out for you to take, when you didn’t move he grabbed them from the intense grip on your phone, sliding the device into his pocket and bringing your empty hands together between his.

He planted a loving kiss on your hands, “I promise you, this will all die down and we can be us again, we can still be private, it’ll still be ours.”

Your eyes filled of doubt, you wanted nothing more than to believe him, but as soon as your previous relationship became public they crashed an burned, each for different reasons but there was a theme to your previous break ups.

“Hey.” He snapped you out of your thoughts once more, a skill only he had. “It’s not going to happen again. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve told you, you’re my future. It’s us two forever whether it’s just between us or us and the whole world. You have to trust me, I love you. Sometimes you just have to let things happen.”

———

yourusername:

the ones you haven’t seen…

My brand new single “Let it Happen” will be releasing in two weeks. A little taster of my sophomore album, “The Secret of Us” !!

@landonorris just for you i let it happen ❤️

[tj-is-down]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (Tyler Owens x Reader)

Back again with another random fic for y'all. This is not proofread, so don't hate me!

Summary: Tyler and the reader have been on and off "together" for years now, keeping it secret. Until, suddenly, one of them decides they might want more.

Word count: ~2.1k

Warnings: None except some swearing, and reader is described femininely in this one.

Here’s the thing about Humble Creek: everybody knows everybody. A small town made up of just under five thousand, there was nothing that anybody could do in secret, because if one person knew, then it was just as if they’d taken a bullhorn and announced it to the entire town.

Which made Y/N’s life all the harder. See, she did have a secret, and although it hadn’t gotten out yet, its secrecy was held in the hands of a monster. A tyrant, a tool, a pain-in-the-ass douchebag with a cowboy hat and a Texas accent.

Tyler Owens.

Y/N had known he was trouble since they were kids. Growing up on rival ranches, they were destined to be enemies, and even more so, to blur the lines. Y/N had never trusted him. Not because their families were constantly fighting, as she believed everybody deserved their own chance to prove themself, but because he had fucked his up, royally. 

In elementary school, middle school, high school, Tyler was always the talk of the town. Always with a girl on his arm, Tyler was confident, and everybody else was just putty in his hands. Y/N told herself she didn’t understand what people saw in him. 

She lied.

It started in eighth grade, when Tyler showed up in a too-big tux and a bouquet of flowers he’d handpicked from his family’s garden.

“You wanna go to the dance?” He asked, grinning cockily. Even then he knew how to charm, before he even knew what charm was.

Y/N’s dad had said no, absolutely no way, but Y/N was in her rebellious phase and so this only pushed her to say yes. She went out right then, in her mud-stained t-shirt and jeans, and they’d walked to the school together at seven p.m. and walked home together at nine. He’d kissed her cheek goodnight and she’d wiped it off, embarrassed.

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“And you’re pretty, L/N.”

On the next Monday he came to school with Cherry Lee.

Y/N tried to be mad. She tried to hate Tyler, to swear that she’d never talk to him or think about him or even look at him ever again. But two months later, when Tyler and Cherry broke up, he’d knocked on her door when he knew her parents weren’t home and, against her better judgment, she’d let him inside.

They’d been on-and-off “together” ever since.

Now, Tyler wasn’t single for long intervals, usually just a couple of weeks here and there, and he would never cheat, nor would Y/N let herself become a homewrecker (no matter how fragile the relationship), but when Tyler showed up on her doorstep, bouquet in hands and that look in his eyes, she knew she couldn’t say no. 

She was an adult now, but still, she couldn’t resist those eyes. Tyler had been single since before leaving for college, and when he came back it was like he’d never left. Sure, now he had a truck, a big name, a crew, and a YouTube channel, but he still had those eyes, and his family still had a garden with a never-ending supply of flowers.

He showed up on her door one morning, after her parents had left for church.

“Can I help you?” She asked, opening the door. As always, a t-shirt and jeans, dirty from the morning’s work on the farm.

“You’re not at church?”

“You knew I wouldn’t be.”

“Well, maybe the two and I can practice praying on our own? I think the first step is kneeling down; you wanna start?”

Y/N went to close the door, but Tyler’s hand reached out to prop it open.

“Come on, Darlin’,” he said, laying the accent on thick. “You want to go for a drive? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Hold the coffee,” she said, walking past him. “I’d rather not have anyone see us together.”

He grabbed her waist and stood behind her, kissing her neck. “We’ve been doing this for years, babe. No one’s gonna find out, I promise.”

She leaned her head towards him, breathing in the scent of firewood mixed with his cologne. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You gettin’ sappy on me?” He asked. Though his voice was soft, she could feel his smirk.

“Nope.” She pulled out of his grasp and got into the passenger seat of his truck. “We going, or are you just gonna stand there looking all doe-eyed?”

“For you, I’d stand here all day, sweetheart.”

“Just get in the car, Romeo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

*** 

They drove for a while, to the outskirts of town, when Tyler stopped the truck and leaned over. He kissed her lips, hard and slow, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. She reciprocated, holding his bicep, moving her mouth in tandem with his and letting herself fall into him.

“Why are you being so love-y today?” She asked after they separated.

“I can’t show my girl some love?”

“Is that what I am? ‘Your girl’?”

He shrugged. “Is that so bad?”

“You’re annoying, Owens.” She pushed his shoulder.

He mock-pushed her back as he said, “You’re pretty, L/N.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seriously, though, there is something I wanted to talk to you about—”

Y/N scoffed. “Are you about to ask me out?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Okay, good.”

“Would that be so bad of me?”

“Kinda.” Y/N breathed a laugh, but when she saw Tyler’s face, serious and a little upset, she stopped. “I mean, it’s not like we have the best thing going on here anyways, and I just don’t want to be—” She paused, about to say heartbroken, or used, or a placeholder for when you find someone better, but Tyler cut her off.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He started the truck, engine roaring to life. “It was dumb, nevermind. I’ll take you home.”

“Tyler, you know what I meant—”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re just messing around, right? That’s all this is, just messing around.”

He didn’t say another word on the ride home. 

He dropped her off, barely waiting for her to shut the truck door before he drove away.

***

Tyler didn’t answer any of Y/N’s calls or texts for the next few days. Y/N was upset, barely leaving her room checking her phone obsessively for any sign of Tyler Owens. She even started watching his YouTube channel, but there hadn’t been any uploads for over a month. Nothing on Instagram or Facebook, either.

Her mother yelled up the stairs to her one night, calling her down.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Her mom said upon seeing Y/N.

“This is what I always wear. Why?” Y/N was suddenly self conscious, confused as to why her parents cared what she wore in the house.

“Tonight’s the fair,” her mother responded, attempting to jog her memory.

“You’re helping us run our booth?” Her father tried.

“Ah, shit,” Y/N mumbled, remembering. “Do I have to go? I totally forgot.”

“Of course you have to go!” Her father said. “We need the three of us there; it’s a family ranch, remember?”

“Besides,” her mother added. “The Owens’s will be there. We can’t let them get a leg up on us! If you’re not there, Tyler will be running the show for sure.”

“Well, maybe not,” her father said. “He’s doing the kissing booth, remember?”

“The what?” Y/N said. “Tyler’s doing a kissing booth?”

Her father nodded. “To raise funds for his family’s ranch. He and his whole ‘team’ will be there, whatever they’re called.”

Y/N paused for a moment, trying to wrap her head around it all. Was that what Tyler was trying to talk to her about the other day? The kissing booth? But why would it matter what Y/N thought about it?

Her mother ushered her up the stairs. “For Pete’s sake, change into something nice, and quickly!”

Oh, shit.

***

The Humble Creek Fair was bustling with energy. People from nearby towns came to see what it was all about, and it was always the most popular time of year.

Y/N sat at her family’s booth, eyes peeled for Tyler. She kept checking her phone to see if he’d answered, but when she didn’t get any notifications she decided to take matters into her own hands.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said to her parents.

They both nodded, and her father added, “Make sure to see how the Owens’ booth is doing. I want to make sure we’ll still be in business next year.”

Y/N looked around for the kissing booth, and when she saw a long line of women, she followed it to the front. She walked around to the back of the attraction, but didn’t see Tyler anywhere. It wasn’t until she’d nearly given up entirely when she heard a voice behind her.

“What are you wearing?”

She whisked around, coming face-to-face with Tyler, who was holding some sort of weird meat on a stick.

“What are you eating?”

“Pork leg, fried and marinated in pickle juice,” he said, shrugging. “I’m hoping it’ll make my breath smell bad so less people come up. Now, back to you.”

“What about me?”

“You’re wearing a dress. You never wear dresses. ‘Jeans and a t-shirt, that’s me,’” he says, doing a poor impression of her.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes you do, but that’s besides the point. What’s your deal?”

Y/N shrugged uncomfortably. “I wanted to, I guess.”

Tyler looked at her dead-on. “You look nice, Y/N.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been texting you for days. No response. But now that I’m here, all I get is, ‘I look nice’?” 

“What else do you want from me?”

“An answer, Tyler. What’s your deal? Why didn’t you tell me about the kissing booth?”

“I tried to, but then you came at me with all that ‘this is a bad idea’ crap, and I figured you didn’t want me to tell you. Or you didn’t care if I told you or not.”

“Okay, so—”

“Wait.” He stops her. “Do you care?”

Y/N kicks the ground. “If I did?”

“If you did,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I’d drop the pork leg and kiss you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’d eat the pork leg, and I’d kiss a bunch of people who aren’t you, and I’d feel like shit about it.” He took another step closer to her, nearly closing the gap between them. “Please say you care.”

“Ugh,” she scoffed. “You’re gonna make me say it? You can’t just, like, infer from the situation?”

“I’m really bad at inferring things,” he said, a cocky grin on his face. “So, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“You’re pretty, L/N. Like, so pretty. But I do need to hear you say it, and I’m also gonna need you to—”

“I care, Tyler. Now shut up and kiss me, or I’m gonna take it back.”

“Can’t take it back, babe. It’s set in stone.”

In one fluid motion, he dropped the pork leg, grabbed Y/N by the waist with his other hand, and pulled her into a kiss. It was deep and passionate, not like any of the other times they’ve kissed. They kept it going for as long as they can, holding their breath until they couldn’t anymore, and then they pulled apart, gasping for air with their foreheads touching.

“Will you go out with me?” He asked her, still struggling for air. “Like, on a real date, not just driving in the truck?”

“I guess,” Y/N said, teasingly. “If I have to.”

“I mean, you don’t have to. But if you do, I’m gonna need you to wear this again.” He grabbed her and pulled her closer to him, if that’s even possible. “Because, if I’m being honest, L/N, this is the hottest I’ve ever seen you. Like, I didn’t think you could get hotter, but here we are. Speaking of, can we go? I really want to go somewhere with you. Like, privately.” He winked at her, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes again.

“Don’t you need to raise money for your farm?” She asked him, gesturing to the booth behind them.

“Fuck the farm,” he said. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy, yeah?”

“Fuck off,” she said, pulling him into another kiss.

“Seriously though, can we go?”

[geekforhorror]

kiss it better

pairing: dbf!james kelly x fem reader

description: james kelly is one of your dads oldest friends who has a thing for you…especially in that short skirt of yours.

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), dom!james, sub!reader, established age gap (james is 40, reader is 21), skirt fucking, james has a thing for your ass, pussy slapping, slight objectification, praise, degradation, corruption kink, unprotected p in v sex, fluff, etc.

word count: 2.5k

James knew what you were doing.

Currently, your dad was out buying some propane fuel for the barbecue grill outside because he had forgotten to get some beforehand. However, he had left you alone with his best friend James.

You had developed quite a crush on the older man a few years back and you’ve wanted him ever since. You didn’t know what it was about him that you found yourself attracted to the most. Maybe it was the faint stubble on his face, his piercing blue eyes, or his tattoos. Perhaps it was all three. You thought you were being subtle all this time about your little crush on James. I mean for christ sakes, you had even picked out the skimpiest crop top and tight skirt you owned when your dad told you he would be joining the two of you for the mini backyard barbecue.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to James at all. He always saw how you would bat your doe eyes at him all innocently, the way you swayed your hips while walking past him, and how you tempted him. At first he thought he was looking into it too much, but then he saw it happen again…and again…and again. His need for you grew every passing day when you teased him and you were just adding more fire to his need for you.

That’s what was currently happening.

Your dad had texted you saying he would be back soon and told you to get the pack of beer out from the cooler in the kitchen.

“Can you come with me, Jamie?”

That was new. You had never called him Jamie.

“Sure, honey,” he says, trying to be nonchalant when all he wanted to do was smirk in your face. Plus, he wants to see the selection for himself. Classic James.

As you get up from the couch in the living room, he trails behind you, not missing a step before the two of you find the freezer where the blue cooler labeled ‘beer’ was located. Before you know it, you’re walking back to him and like always, you make sure to sway your hips for him. He was addicted to the way your pretty little body moved and couldn’t help but wonder how it would move while fucking you. His restraint was wavering.

Just when he thinks it couldn’t get any worse for him, you bend over. Doing this allows James to get a glance up your skirt and what he saw was enough for him to get hard in his faded blue jeans. Not only had you bent over for him on purpose, but had also worn the thinnest lace panties known to man. He swore he was going to blow his load right then and there.

Opening the box, you present it to James as if nothing had just happened. “Is this good for you Jamie?” you ask him sheepishly.

“I know what you’re doing, sweetheart,” he admits.

“What do you mean?” you ask with the fakest, most insincere tone you could possibly ever use.

“Don’t play dumb with me, doll. I see the way you act around me…acting all innocent after,” he says, calling you out with no hesitation.

“You did?” you ask.

“You make it hard not to notice when you’re parading your tits and ass around me every time I see you,” he says.

“What are you going to do about it?” you say with a smirk.

That was it.

Within seconds, he pounces himself onto you, his carnal desire for you getting the best of him. His lips latch onto yours, fueled with unwavering passion. He had waited for this moment and now it was happening. His tongue finally finds its way into your mouth and you don’t find yourself disgusted by it. All you felt was the desire for him to do unspeakable things to you.

“James…I need you,” you plead, whining into his mouth

“Already so desperate f’me and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he coos.

You could feel the arousal seeping through your panties at the sound of his silky smooth voice. The effect he had on you was profound. Melting over his voice? You were screwed.

His hands found purchase to your clothed ass, but that wasn’t enough for him. Taking initiative, he rolls the dainty fabric up to your hips, now allowing him to grope your ass with those fucking tattooed hands you loved so much. If he only knew the amount of times you had touched yourself while imagining that they were his hands on your body.

He hoists you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist before breaking the kiss. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment, sweet girl…how many times I’ve had to hold myself back out of respect your old man, but fuck it. I want you.”

With that being said, he holds you with his arms and takes you out of the room. Before he can lead you up the stairs that lead to your room, you stop him.

“Where are you taking us?” you ask.

“To your room, angel,” he says to you.

“What’s wrong with the couch in the living room?” you implore.

“Sweetie, I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’m gonna fuck you the way you deserve, not on some old couch,” he says before finally going up the stairs with haste, but also making sure he didn’t drop you in the process. You guys finally make it to your room and he wastes no time before placing you gently down on the bed, moving you backwards so there was enough room for him to successfully tower over your body. The sight gave you chills, but in the best way possible.

His lips latch onto your warm skin surrounding your collarbone before sucking away at the tender flesh of it. You let out a breathy whine at the newfound sensation. You could feel how soft his lips were…just like you imagined they would be.

“James…” you say.

“Yes, baby?” he asks back.

“Can’t take anymore teasing…need you inside me,” you beg of the older man.

“Shhh…patience, pretty girl…be patient for me, yeah?” he says in a soft voice at which you nod at. “Such a good girl.”

He can’t even stop himself before he starts stripping you of your clothes,..if you could even call them that with how short and dainty they are. “Raise your arms for me, angel…wanna see those pretty tits,” he coos. You do as he says and within seconds, he’s met with the bare flesh that had been hiding underneath your shirt. He was in heaven.

“Should’ve known you weren’t wearing a bra,” he smirks.

He had imagined your tits so many times while jacking himself off. He always imagined the way your tits would bounce when fucking you, the way he would suck them.

“These are fucking mine, got it?” he enunciates, now pinching one of your sensitive nipples with his slender fingers, then rolling it accordingly.

“Fuck Jamie…” you say, lost in the feeling.

“My baby’s already whining for me, hm? You haven’t seen anything yet,” he claims. You had no idea him saying that would lead him to now suck at your pebbled areolas to prove his point.

“Such pretty tits on such a pretty girl,” he praises. He decides to tease you even further by pulling down your expensive lace panties before throwing them aside like they were nothing. “And an even prettier pussy…so wet for me, baby.”

The anticipation for him to slide into you was truly killing you. It was always on your mind when you knew it shouldn’t be. “You’re fucking perfect…need to have you,” he says, almost sounding a tad bit desperate.

“I’m all yours, James,” you assure him.

“Glad to hear it, doll.” he smiles. Finally, after what seems like ages, he starts throwing articles of his clothing off his toned body before he’s only in his black boxers while on top of you. You couldn’t help your curiosity as to how hard he was and looked down at the sight below you…and god, he was huge. The outline of his hardened bulge was more than prominent, leading you to question whether you could take him or not. He notices your lingering stare and can’t help but grow a little cocky.

“Eyes are up here, baby,” he says before grabbing your chin with his veiny hand.

“I’m sorry…” you trail.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. I think it’s quite cute seeing you get all flustered,” he says with a chuckle.

“I want your cock…please,” you beg, not even caring how desperate and whiny he had made you in this moment.

“Gonna fuck you so good until the only thing you remember is me and my name,” James promises you. “Gonna ruin you for anybody who thinks they have a chance with you.”

He slowly slides the fabric covering his cock down to the floor, where the rest of your guys’ clothes laid sprawled out. It only took a mere second before you saw the way his cock sprung towards his defined stomach. Fuck…he was gonna split you raw.

“You ready f’me, baby?” he asks you.

“Yes please…need your cock so bad,”

“Such a good girl for begging,” he praises while caressing your messy locks.

Suddenly, you feel his cock intrude your warm cunt, causing a moan to escape your lips from the sensation of him stretching you out with his thick cock.

“Shit…squeezing me so well, pretty girl… just like I thought you would,” he admits.

“Please move, James…” you whine.

“Anything for my girl,” he says before complying with your ever so desperate command. He begins thrusting into your tight hole without showing any signs of mercy or slowing down anytime soon. He wish he could take his time with you, but he knew it was only a matter of time until your dad was set to return.

“Just like that!” you scream out, your well manicured nails digging into his shoulder dimples as he fucks you into oblivion. With every inch inserted into you, the more dumb you could feel yourself becoming. But guess what? You didn’t give a fuck.

“Poor girl…already becoming dumb just from her daddy’s friend fucking her like the slut she is,” he degrades.

“Fuck…” you moan in response.

“Such naughty words from a girl like you,” he tuts in response.

“Need it harder…” you say in between raggedy breaths.

“You’re going to take what I give you and you’re going to like it, princess. Now behave,” he orders. You follow his instructions as explained before continuing with his erratic movements inside you. Your guys’ hips collide with one another, providing much needed friction that had both of you moaning. Sounds of your slickness began to fill the room and James couldn’t help but savor them. You felt his cock scrape your sensitive nerves that had already begun twitching around him.

He took in the way your chest heaved with every single thrust he made while inside you, the way you were panting for air…everything. You looked absolutely beautiful all fucked out for him and he would remember that sight below him for as long as he lived.

“Such a little cock slut, hm? So desperate for my dick that you dressed like this for me instead of asking me for it. Thought your daddy raised you to know better…guess not,” he tuts in disapproval. You felt yourself getting closer to your inevitable climax just by listening to his degrading words. You felt ashamed for getting off to someone speaking to you as if you were nothing, but you couldn’t help yourself. “Don’t fret baby, that’s what your new daddy is here for.” he says before slapping your pussy, guaranteeing that there would be a fresh mark tomorrow. The impact left a stinging sensation afterwards, but instead of wanting him to stop, you found yourself wanting more of his harsh blows. This was made crystal clear to him when you let out a moan.

“Look what we have here…a filthy slut moaning over getting treated like a fuck doll. My fuck doll,” he teases.

“Please…want more of it,” you admit.

“Of course you do, baby. Because you’re a pathetic little thing,” James mocks while still sheathed inside your sopping cunt. His hand lands another harsh hit to the irritated flesh, making you grip your sheets so hard that they were turning white.

“Fuck Jamie…’m so close,” you whimper.

“Hold on for a bit longer if you wanna prove you can be a good slut for me. Can you do that for me, baby?” he asks, hoping you would provide him with the right answer. You frantically nod your head, which was a good enough answer for him to keep bullying you and your pussy. Before you know it, he sets a new pace, one that was nothing short of animalistic. He wanted to be so deep inside of you as physically possible and that was what he was doing right now.

You can feel his cock twitch inside your warm cunt, which only makes him rock harder into you. Your vision becomes painted with stars as he was doing so and it felt fucking fantastic. He was the only man ever to make you feel like this. Safe to say, he exceeded any of your wild expectations.

Suddenly, you feel yourself becoming unraveled to the point where you can feel the hot coil start to unwind deep inside your fluttering stomach. With each additional movement he made, you felt the sensation become even more undeniable to feel.

“Please let me cum James!” you scream out in ecstasy.

“That’s it pretty girl…cum for me” he praises.

That’s all it took for you to splash your warm release all over his cock. You felt like you were on cloud nine while he was fucking you through your orgasm. The feeling of you coming undone on his dick finally made him ropes of his hot, sticky seed into your sensitive entrance. He groaned while doing so, which you found to be the hottest thing ever.

After the two of you come down from your heaven sent orgasms, he pulls out of you and lays down next to you. He positions himself so that he’s now looking at your pretty face in awe.

“I love you sweet girl and I hope you know I didn’t mean anything bad I said” he admits.

“I love you too James,” you say to him with a chuckle.

James smiles at your confession of love before pulling you in for a slow and gentle kiss, unlike the one you guys had shared before. The two of you found peace and solace in the kiss and you guys wouldn’t stop until either of your lungs gave out…or in this case, when your father comes home, which was now.

“Let’s not tell your father about this,” he says with a laugh.

“Agreed,” you say with a laugh back.

This was one for the books.

tag list: @zapernz @mortalheartache @midnight-raine @camiemorgan8 @myheartwillgoon2022 @demieyesore

[dcangel]

^stiles would be SUCH a whore for tits

especially after an awful week, he’s just looking forward to hanging out with you. he wasn’t expecting anything from you, as usual, but when you laid down while he was kissing you, tugging his shirt for him to get on top of you, he got the hint.

he knew you probably had something more planned for him, but stiles was just happy to be here with you, let alone lined up for a good night. his jean-clad hips were situated between your spread thighs, his hands respectfully at your waist despite what you had told him about wanting him in a not so respectful way.

one hand slid up your torso and briefly rested at the base of your neck before finding home in your hair, tugging gently at the roots.

his other hand gets a little more adventurous; sliding up your torso with his thumb hooked under the hem of your shirt. the fabric is brought up, slowly revealing a gorgeous black and red lace patterned bra, a small bow in the middle where the underwire of each cup met, and neat roses lining the top. stiles was too invested in your lips to notice, but when he felt the foreign texture beneath his calloused fingertips, he took a quick peek down.

you felt his lips detach from yours. stiles was staring down as the pretty article of clothing that really did nothing to hide your hardened nipples. his jaw hung agape, yet his lips were barely parted.

he’d never seen you in such clothing. sure, you’d worn patterned bras before, but you’ve never worn lingerie for him.

stiles swore he’s never seen something prettier, someone more angelic. the ineffable beauty of his girl took every word—every thought that didn’t contain you right out of his brain.

you broke him and it was obvious. you could nearly see the gears malfunctioning behind his eyes as he tried to process the alluring sight in front of him.

you watched as stiles’ eyes skimmed over the neatly threaded fabric and the skin underneath, not a single thought of even looking up at you yet. his large hands immediately cupping the doughy mounds, thumb smoothing over your pebbled nipple.

“you like it? I just got it last week, ’nd I was saving it for—well, was gonna save it for your birthday but you were having a bad week, so…”

“you—it’s,” he blew an hefty breeze of air from his mouth as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, “I can’t believe you’d do this for me. I mean, you’re, like, so unbelievably gorgeous right now—no, I mean, you always are, but right now you’re…” brown eyes flickered up to yours briefly, but dropped back down like an invisible force was attracting them like a magnet.

smiling at his hyperactive mind that his mouth often struggled to keep up with, you brought his blushed face back down you yours, his swollen lips fervently meeting yours with esurience.

of course his hands never left your chest. long, slender fingers cupped and squished the soft, doughy mounds of flesh. he could not get over the way you looked in his favorite color. stiles’ appreciation for the color deepened along with the feeling of need.

and suddenly it was like stiles couldn’t scrape the image of fucking you, with nothing on your body except this little bra, out of his mind. it’s was as if he couldn’t imagine not having you like this whenever he wanted, and he knew you’d agree.

[thatsdemko]

something new - l.stroll

masterlist | pairing: Lance stroll x inexperienced!fem!reader

summary: exploration is key to a relationship, and Fernando is a helpful hand for lances significant other.

warnings: smut (18+) + mentions of Fernando + oral (m receiving) + fingering (f receiving)

a/n: idk what it is with inexperienced reader! x Lance it is just a pair I like to write. shoutout @monzabee for being the motivation to write and being the reason I retouched this draft after MONTHS of not writing.

you were sheltered well as a child. you went to bed at 9pm, you didn’t drink, you didn’t party, and your homework was always finished before midnight. you were a good girl in your parents eyes, but something changed when you went off to college abroad.

Monaco was the home of the infamous race track, it was also well known for its parties and its celebrities who occasionally visited.

you had all plans to stay the good girl you were and keep to yourself, but those brown eyes, and devilish smile screamed to you. how could you say no to that?

however, you didn’t take things far with Lance. he knew you were rather protected from the world, and it was obvious when the first time he made a move you were shocked at everything. so Lance knew, you were far from inexperienced. you’d never once touched yourself or even explored your body in the ways he, or many women, did.

which leads you here. to asking the bold questions you would be too shy to ask Lance to now asking Fernando.

“princesa, while I do enjoy your company,” he starts rather quickly, shoving you into his drivers room so the engineers would stop from overhearing you ask about cocks, precum, and much else, “I think you should ask Lance.”

“but he’ll just laugh and tell me I’m not ready.” you pout, a rather convincing argument for the elder gentleman to begin talking.

“what do you wish to know?”

—

permanently scarred, you make your way out of Fernando’s drivers room almost thirty minutes later. every question you’ve ever had was fulfilled and weirdly enough, you wished those questions were to have stayed in your brain.

but now you know everything— well mostly everything, Fernando left you with the task of buying a vibrator and finding ways to pleasure yourself before allowing Lance to do so.

“you look,” Lance pauses, his eyes dramatically scan your body, “pale? what happened?”

“oh nothing!” Fernando intrudes carefully slipping you a piece of paper written in a horrid scribbles, but it’s merely everything you’ve talked about with bullet points on how to pleasure Lance.

the color returns to your face rather quickly and brightly, and before you could shove the paper into your jean pockets, Lance is plucking it out of your hands.

“ay, cabrón!”Fernando gently slaps the side of his teammates head, “not for you… well not yet.” Fernando smirks handing the paper back into your hands and leaving quicker than he arrived into the discussion.

“not yet?” Lance quizzes, and he looks so adorable with his eyebrows knitted close together. you’re so lucky the engineers were calling him to get ready for testing before he could dare ask a question you immediately would fold to the pressures of answering.

you quickly steal a glance at the sheet, seeing what exactly was put on there

1. relax jaw

2. wrap mouth around tip

his scribbled handwriting was barely eligible to read, but the two bullets were all that you could get yourself to read before feeling like all eyes were on you. sweat was glistening across your forehead as you fold the paper into tiny squares and decide to divert your attention on lances pre-season testing and leave this topic behind.

—

“do I have to pry it out of you?” Lance crosses the room, a giddy smile on his face as he climbs across the mattress to where you sit reading. his lips connect with yours and they trail down your neck. you feel the comfort of the paperback book swiftly removed against your thighs, his palm racking up your side, “come on tell me, what’s nando telling you?”

“Lance,” you attempt to whine, but it turns into a giggle when his facial hair tickles a sensitive spot against your neck. you end up folding, attempting to push him off your body, but you can’t help but love his lips lingering against your skin, or the warmth of his hands on your hips.

you definitely weren’t ready for sex, but you were certainly ready to dive into that list Fernando had given you. you’d wanted to see how all of it would play out based off the first two points.

“well?” he pulls away, collapsing his body beside yours, his head rests against your shoulder, “you were gone for thirty minutes and when you came back, it was like you’d seen a ghost.”

he hadn’t worried about you and Fernando being alone. if the age gap wasn’t the thing to not worry him, it was you coming back shell shocked that did.

biting your bottom lip you move to close the gap between you and Lance, delicately placing a kiss against his lips, “can I try something?” you whisper, carefully pulling away, “you can say no.” you quickly add nervously knowing Lance would turn you down anyway.

he cautiously nodded his head allowing whatever desires or wants you had take over. your acrylic nails ghost his skin as you work his shirt up off of his body revealing an area you so dreamed about.

“why’d you ever hide this from me?” you gasp practically pushing yourself off of him to stare at the beauty of his glowing golden skin and how his body curved perfectly like an hour glass.

rather than replying with words, he forces his lips against yours to get you back on track. thinking straight once again, your trail down to his pants and swiftly remove his shorts around his thighs, “can you stand up for me?”

nodding he gets up off the mattress allowing his shorts and boxers to fall into a pile beside his other dirty clothes. alas, there he is. all of him, everything Fernando ever described was right in front of you.

from his shaft to the tip, Lance was hard. you’d expected this, and climbing off the bed to your knees was the last thing he expected.

“woah,” he backs up carefully, you tilt your head upward, brows knitted in confusion, “are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“yes.”

Lance steps forward again and watches you ready yourself. you’d only read the first two points, but by relaxing your jaw and wrapping your lips around his tip, you did what you’ve only ever read in books.

“f-fuck that’s good.” Lance’s hands quickly fly into your hair, his hands are like a guide for what he wants and it’s easy to follow based on the tugging and the moans that escape his lips.

you take the chance to explore what your tongue feels like against him. it’s smooth and slick, but he tastes just as you had imagined.

you explored all sorts of things down there in the two minutes you had before Lance prepared you for his cum. you racked your teeth gently across the skin, you slurped his pre-cum, and you even had a small taste of cum before Lance drew back from you.

“where did you learn to do that?” he asks walking off to the bathroom to find a towel to clean himself.

it’d be awfully embarassing and weird to admit his name, so you simply shrug and tell him about the books you’ve been reading and how they guided you through this process.

“awfully naughty books.” he chuckles to himself throwing his boxers back on.

“how do I do that to myself?” you quickly ask halting lance in the process of re-dressing himself.

“how do you do what?” he asks playing dumb even though he knows damn well what you’re asking.

“how do I get myself to cum?”

red flushes his whole face, words fail to form at his lips as he watches you, doe-eyed and innocent. absolutely painful for his cock.

“well? tell me or I’ll ask Fernando myself—“

“this is how you do it.” he cuts you off watching a smirk lift to your lips, “when you’re alone and no one is watching, you can touch yourself in all sorts of ways you’ve desired.” he finds his answer pretty satisfying, though looking across at you, says otherwise.

your mind still races. alone? why’d you have to be alone?

“but what if I want you watching?”

you watch him bite his bottom lip, running his hand across his face, “cause then you’re just torturing me.”

“and you didn’t think that wasn’t just torture?” you ask moving across the mattress and into his lip, your legs straddling him, “you think it wasn’t pleasurable to listen to you moan, yet I couldn’t do a single thing about it?”

you can feel his heartbeat, your hand rummages across his chest, “let me,” you move off of his aching cock and swiftly remove your shirt, “show you how you make me feel.”

a soft groan escapes his lips as he takes the chance to look up at the ceiling hoping maybe god could interfere, but there’s no use. no praying could stop the twitch in his dick when he saw you were already pantyless when he turned back.

“fuck.”

a smirk seems to be your response of the day. you gracefully move your fingers down your chest that’s covered in lace and travel them all the way down to your pussy. Lance parts your thighs for him to see, “now take your finger,” he instructs, placing his cold hands against yours, and guides your index finger into your entrance, “and feel yourself.”

a soft moan escapes your lips, feeling your slick folds. he guides your finger until you can’t reach anymore and it’s his turn to take control. he slips two fingers inside you and you feel your body clench around him. he begins to pump his fingers slowly, the feeling aches, but pleasure arrives at a certain point.

“that’s your clit, baby.” he mutters and his finger does it again. he watches your back arch up, your eyes fall towards the back of your head and you can’t hold back the gasp that just keeps escaping each time he touches it.

“atta girl, let it out. come on, don’t be shy.” he encourages you, your legs visibly shake until you can’t hold it any longer and warmth exhales onto his fingers. you’re unsure if it’s normal to watch him, but he takes them into his mouth and licks them clean, “not so innocent are you now?” he smirks.

“Fernando’s a good teacher.” you sigh content with the nights work and couldn’t wait to ask more from his elder teammate.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi, I was wondering if ypu could do a bucky barnes x fem reader fic, where reader is insecure because she has a bigger chest and because past relationships have complained about her chest, so when her and bucky start to see each other she tells him this and that's the reason why she wears bigger shirts/hoodie all the time, and so bucky boosts up her confidence and it allows her to wear tighter shirts and tops she always wanted to wear, and bucky could be joking about beating up her ex, but more than likely it's true

.⋆｡Absolutely Perfect｡⋆.

Bucky Barnes x busty!plus size reader

You find an old shirt in your closet and Bucky discovers why you refuse to wear it

Warnings: self-deprecation, past bad relationships, past verbal abuse, fluff, implied smut, insecurity, reader has large boobs, mention of stretch marks

WC: 1.7k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Since the moment Bucky met you, he knew you had a particular style that you never strayed from. You liked big shirts- big shirts with shorts or skirts in the summer, big shirts and sweaters with jeans in winter, you even slept in a rotating collection of his shirts that you continuously stole from him.

Now Bucky didn’t mind this, he loved that you were comfortable and knew what you liked to wear. But he had seen the way you longingly looked at the more form-fitting outfits when you went shopping with him. He had even caught you perusing clothes in a style more similar to Natasha’s. He thought you would look great in those clothes (he thought you would look great in no clothes either but you two hadn’t gotten to the sex part yet) so he was left wondering why you didn’t.

The apartment was a mess- clothes and trinkets strewn everywhere, boxes scattered around on every available flat surface, and tape, so much fucking tape. Sam warned him that helping someone move was a shit ton of work, but Bucky figured they could get it done in 12 hours, tops. Obviously he was very very wrong.

You were two days into it and you had only just reached the point where you could go through your seemingly endless stash of clothes. Bucky had ducked out for just a second to call back the electrician that was currently working on your new house but when he came back, the mood in your small apartment had shifted considerably.

He found you lost in thought, sitting in the middle of several piles of clothes, holding a shirt. “I’ve never seen you wear that one, it’s cute.” You jumped at the sound of his voice and quickly shoved the shirt into your ‘donate’ pile.

“It’s not my style.” You brushed off but he caught the way you hesitated as you pulled your hand away.

“What if I wanted to see you in it?” With two strides, he had crossed the room and was now in front of you. Before you could stop him, Bucky had ducked down and fished the shirt out. It was about 3 times smaller than all your other shirts and looked like it would fit the contours of your body like a second skin. The cut-out that sliced through the members of AC-DC would allow for a huge amount of cleavage to be shown while the cut along the bottom of the shirt gave it that cropped look that was so popular now.

“Cause I think you’d look drop dead gorgeous in this, doll.” He purred, holding the shirt up to the sunlight as if he could already see you wearing it in his mind. Your face burned with embarrassment.

“Well I don’t so can you please put it back?” You dismissed it like your stomach wasn’t in your throat and tears weren’t building behind your eyes. You reached for the offending piece of clothing but he tucked it to his chest like a toddler would do with a toy.

His gaze seared into you, making you squirm from your place on the floor. “Just once, please!” He begged.

“No.” 

“I’ll do laundry for a month.” He shot back, inching closer to you with the shirt still held against his chest.

“You’re already doing laundry for the next 3 months because of the Jam Incident.” You raised an eyebrow at him. Bucky actually had the decency to blush at this, recalling the event that occurred a month ago which landed him doing extra chores.

“But you would look so pretty.” He actually whined, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. “Pleeeeeeease.” It was getting pathetic now but your own determination was beginning to waver as his only ramped up in intensity. With a trembling hand, you snatched the shirt away from him as you stood.

“I’ll try it on once but when it doesn’t look good- you aren’t allowed to say anything.” As you stomped off to the bathroom, you missed the way his face fell, obviously regretting teasing you.

You kept your back to the mirror as you changed, even squeezing your eyes shut so you didn’t have to see the curve of your body from your peripheral. You hear his voice in your mind, reminding you exactly why you wanted to burn most of your clothes to ash.

The cotton was soft but it still felt like it was slicing into your skin. You held onto your large shirt like it was a lifeline and with a deep breath, you walked back into the bedroom.

Bucky sat on the bed, elbows on his knees as he waited for you. As soon as you crossed the threshold, his head snapped up and his eyes went wide. 

A breath caught in his throat and he slowly stood. “See I told you. Now can you let me throw it away like I wanted in the first place.” Self-consciously, you crossed your arms over your chest, pressing your heavy breasts down. He reached out for you, his chill metal hand grabbing your wide hip as his other gently pulled your arms away from your chest, making you drop the other shirt.

“Buck, let me go change.” He just shook his head. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears.

“Doll you look-“

“Disgusting, I know.” You snapped, trying to pull away from him. He held you tighter.

“No. You look beautiful. Why would you ever think otherwise?” His voice was strained but firm, leaving you no opportunity to backtrack. You looked away from your boyfriend, unable to meet his eyes.

“My boobs.” You murmured. The lump in your throat got bigger by the second as you waited for him to agree with you, to reinforce that voice in your head that told you how ugly you are, how your chest was unnatural and wrong.

But he didn’t. Instead, your wonderful, caring boyfriend let go of your hip and your arm in order to cup your face, guiding you back to him. The look in his eyes was devastating, only making you feel even worse. “Doll, you are perfect.” 

And you broke. 

Hot tears rolled down your full cheeks as you broke down in his arms. “But they’re too big and they’re covered in stretch marks and my nipples are a weird shape.” The words flowed from your lips just like your tears, a never-ending stream that had built up behind the dam of your mind since the first time your ex had told you exactly what he thought off your body. Bucky listened to each and every syllable, taking in everything you were saying.

You didn’t notice the way his blue eyes darkened with rage until he finally interrupted you. “Who the fuck told you that?” His snarl finally broke you from your spiralling thoughts and then it was your turn to lose your breath.

A darkness had grown over his face, the same one he got when he came home from particularly rough missions. Rage rolled off of him in waves, drowning you in it. “M-my ex.” A growl rumbled through his strong chest.

“Well he’s wrong. You’re fucking beautiful, you’re perfect. And I mean all of you, including these.” You gasped as he suddenly let go of your face to cup the massive heft of your tits. Heat shamefully exploded through your body as he held up their weight. “These are just as sexy, just as fucking stunning as you. And would you look at that, they fit perfectly in my hands, like they were made for your tits.” 

“Bucky.” You tried to stop him but he had enough apparently. He squeezed your tits gently as he groaned.

“Fuck doll, you don’t know what you do to me do you? Even when you’re wearing a big shirt and your baggiest jeans you get me so hard it hurts. But now-“ He stepped closer to you, pushing his hips into your soft stomach. A moan slipped from your lips as you felt the hard bulge of his cock against you for the first time. “-Now, when you’re wearing this tiny fucking shirt, letting me see these gorgeous tits and your perfect stomach, I feel like I’m losing my mind, doll.” 

He groaned as he ground his hips into you. “Really?” You timidly asked, hooking your fingers into his belt loops to keep your hands from trembling. Bucky raised a dark eyebrow at you.

“Doll, if it were up to me, I would be inside you 24/7 from the moment we met.” Heat crawled up your cheeks and you giggled.

“That’s a long time Bucky.” He finally smiled, quickly pecking your nose. The sadness was draining from your expression, though the flakes of insecurity still remained. He forced down his own fury, tamping it down as far as he could. He wasn’t mad at you, he could never be mad at you for this. You were beaten down by a pathetic excuse for a man and you believed him. 

Bucky would help you, he would worship you, and then he would hunt the fucker down for ever making you think that you were anything less than divine. “Exactly 5 months, 2 weeks and 1 day.” 

You beamed at him. “Maybe I’ll keep the shirt, if you like it so much.” You looked away bashfully, making your boyfriend groan and his cock twitch within his stiff jeans.

“Oh doll you are spoiling me.” He dipped down to nip at your neck, forcing a whimper from your lips. Your nipples stiffened against his palms as wetness pooled in your already ruined panties. “And now I think I need to spoil you in return.”

You yelped as you were suddenly thrown onto your bed, Bucky quickly joining you as he crawled between your plush thighs. He hovered over you with a smile. “Absolutely perfect.” He murmured before kissing you tenderly, pressing as much of his body against yours as he could. You melted into him, tangling your fingers in his short hair.

Bucky would make sure you knew how beautiful you are and maybe, once all the bad thoughts were gone from your mind, he would leave the apartment under the premise of picking up some dinner. And if he came home with bruised knuckles and a self-satisfied smile on his face, you wouldn’t ask any questions.

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[m4y4wasnthere]

soc!reader x dallas winston hcs

cw: minor smoking mention, suggestive ones at the end

you were friends with Pony and Johnny because of Cherry

Pony and Johnny always would talk abt how tuff you were, Dallas once overheard them

He didn’t like you, he wasnt fond of the fact you were a soc, regardless of what pony and johnny said abt you. the only reason he didn’t hate you was because of how Cherry proved herself to be a good person

they had to beg darry to let you come over

you were wearing a white sweetheart top with some simple jeans. you loved pearl necklaces and was wearing a pink bow in your hair

when he first saw you, his first thought was how pretty you were. he liked the fact you were slightly dolled up just to meet your friend’s crew

“whats your name dollface?” dallas completely set aside his soc hatred for you

his reaction left pony and johnny shocked lmao “dal i thought you didnt lik-“ dallas shoved pony before he could finish his sentence.

you didnt hear alot about dallas, but you knew he was a hood who got into jail every other week.

you couldnt help but giggle to the nickname, “my name is y/n, nice to meet you, um dal is it?”

his heart fluttered at you calling him that. “uh- the name is dallas winston but yea, you can call me dal.” he tried and lean on the doorway behind him but he missed and slipped before quickly catching himself

he mentally facepalmed , he knew the gang was gonna make fun of him for this later

he loves seeing all your outfits and all the different accessories you have

you have a white/pink mustang and he engraved D.W + (ur initals) on it

you were a bit angry when you found it but it was small and hidden enough to the point where u decided u werent gonna get it fixed (you secretly thought it was cute the whole time)

hes snuck into your room plenty of times, and you love putting a bow in his hair

“cmon doll, y’know i dont wear this girl stuff” he sat on your bed, slightly sinking on the mattress.

“baby if you want to keep sneaking in here then yes, you do wear this girl stuff.” After the bow was clipped on, you kissed his cheek and he seemed to not mind anymore.

Tries his best not to get into jail as much anymore because you hate it. not only do you hate being separated from him, you want him to have an okayyy rep when he meets your parents

hes not completely sober (yet? lets hope 🤞) but he starts to limit how much he smokes since he doesn’t want to be a bad influence on you. If you guys are around each other, then he won’t smoke. Even if that means no smoking for a whole day or 2

you get super scared whenever he surprises you by walking to your house because you dont want him to get jumped by other soc’s

you were chilling on your couch when you heard someone knock on the door, you were in pretty floral silk-like pajamas and had your hair up.

you peeked before seeing your boyfriend. “Dal what’re you doing here? Did you walk here?”

“…yes, but im fine doll s-“

“Dallas Winston, I told you to not walk here by yourself, especially in broad daylight! What if you got jumped!” He walked in, and you locked the door. You crossed your arms, not stepping towards him.

he hates it when you use his full name, his head was down and he fake pouted. “ ‘m sorry doll, forgive me please. I’ll make it up to you.” He held his arms out for a hug.

As much as you wanted to stand your ground, you gave into his hug.

lets just say you guys were kissing.. alot, he promised to make it up to you 🤷‍♀️

He secretly loves saving up whatever money he has to buy you nice things, makes him feel like he actually deserves you. Probably would play it off by saying stuff like “saw this lying around and…” “i picked this up on the way…do you like it?”

His insecurity about if you actually want him and if hes good enough for you is pretty apparent. He doesn’t think you see it but you’ve caught on and make sure to tell him you love him a lot.

• suggestive ones •

Loves praising you, especially if your giving him a blowjob or right when the round finishes

“Your eyes are so pretty looking up at me doll”

“You’re taking me so well”

“You were so good doll, I love seeing you feel good because of me”

You once wore a pretty white lingerie set, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you for hours

Teases you a lot about your matching bra/panty sets

“You matched for me doll?”

“The white sets’ my favorite”

Can’t get enough of your beautiful face, he once gave you a facial and ever since then, he always hopes you allow him to do it everytime

[betweenstorms]

Alright, hear me out, Simon Riley working for Sleep Token as their head of security.

Let me explain.

His life had always been defined by precision and control, by the kind of discipline that didn’t falter in the face of chaos. But retirement had come swiftly and unceremoniously, a necessity more than a choice. The regimented life of the SAS had ended, leaving him adrift in the civilian world, and that felt far more alien than any hostile territory he’d ever set foot in.

Somehow he found himself in the chaotic underbelly of the entertainment industry, a space filled with the metallic clatter of stagehands, the distant roar of soundchecks, and the pulse of a metal band steadily climbing the ladder to global fucking acclaim. And hell, the stage lights, the screaming crowds, the thrum of bass reverberating through his chest, none of it had ever factored into the life he’d imagined for himself.

But life had a funny way of taking plans and shredding them into something unrecognisable.

Simon still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here.

When he left the military he thought he’d bury himself in some quiet corner of anonymity, far from the public eye. Civvy life was cruel to men like him, and for months, he drifted between meaningless gigs, his skill set too sharp for ordinary work, too lethal for the mundane.

Then came the call.

Sleep Token’s manager had been a contact of a contact, someone who knew someone who’d served with him, someone who’d heard about him through the strange network of ex-military types finding unconventional second careers. The irony hadn’t been lost on Simon when he was first approached. A band draped in anonymity, each member masked and named only by cryptic titles, needed security. And who better to protect them than a man who’d spent his life hiding behind his own mask?

Fucking unbelievable.

Somehow Simon had ticked every box without realising it, and before he knew it, he was standing in a smoky room, hands tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans as he sized up the bloody Muppet Show who would earn his salary.

He’d scoffed at the absurdity of it back then.

It wasn’t his scene. Far from it.

And yet, something in him, a combination of pragmatism and the faint flicker of intrigue, told him to give it a shot. He was financially screwed anyway. And the pay was good, much better than what he earned as a high-ranking officer, the anonymity suited him just fine, and the job, strangely enough, kind of aligned with his skill set. Therefore, after a few days of mulling it over, he said yes.

Simon had learned to adapt quickly. This job—head of security, an overqualified bodyguard as he liked to call it—had its own rhythm, distinct but no less intense than the one he’d lived before.

Venues became his battlefields, and he mapped them with a soldier’s precision. Potential threats were assessed the way he’d once scoped out enemy positions. His vigilance rarely wavered, whether he was walking the perimeter of a festival or standing stoic in a dim corridor as Vessel rehearsed another one of his verses. To Simon, these kinds of threats were laughable compared to the ones he’d faced during his service, however, it wasn’t without its challenges. Crowds could be unpredictable, and fame had a way of drawing out the unhinged.

He took to his duties with the same precision and discipline he’d honed in the SAS. The members trusted him implicitly, and that trust was something Simon didn’t take lightly. They called him Riley and treated him like a constant, the way you’d treat the sun rising or the tide coming in.

Reliable, steady, unshakable.

At first, the job was simple enough. The usual security gig, albeit with a touch of bloody theatricality. However, fame has a way of turning everything upside down, even for someone like Simon.

It started subtly.

Fans started to notice him too. At first, it was just a handful of comments on social media, like “Who’s the guy in the black balaclava?”, but it grew from there. They were fascinated by him, by the idea of a masked man guarding a masked band. He was an enigma within an enigma, and the internet just loved enigmas. It wasn’t until Lynsey Ward, one of the backup vocalists, shoved her phone in his face one day that he realised how far it had gone.

The backstage in Paris hummed with a peculiar kind of energy and anticipation that Simon had grown accustomed to since taking the job. It was a strange but one of a kind lifestyle, this one, filled with hurried footsteps, clinking equipment, and the muffled roar of soundchecks vibrating through walls. Simon lingered near the members as they cycled through their usual pre-show rituals.

IV sat in a corner, his mask tilted upward as if in contemplation, while Vessel sprawled on a battered sofa, his makeup halfway done, face a patchwork of metallic hues. II drummed his fingers idly on his thighs, the rhythmic taps almost lost beneath the din, while III sat near the makeup station, enjoying the rare moment of downtime between soundcheck, preparations and the main show, reading something on his phone.

Simon leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his black balaclava masking his expression but not the faint lines of tension in his shoulders.

His sharp eyes swept over the room, mentally running through his usual checklist again that concerned necessary security measures. Entry points, exits, personnel movements, everything was accounted for, everything secure. The monotony of the job had become second nature to him, though he still approached each night like it might unravel at any moment.

Lynsey sat nearby, waiting for her turn in the makeup chair. She was scrolling on her phone, just like almost everyone in the room, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed but her smile mischievous. Simon didn’t notice her at first, he had his priorities, but her voice cut through the quiet hum of activity like a knife.

“Riley,” she called out, her tone playful. “You’ve got to see this.”

Simon didn’t move.

“Busy,” he muttered, his voice low and even.

Lynsey ignored him entirely, already rising from her seat and crossing the room with her phone in hand. “Come on, just watch,” she insisted, shoving the screen toward him. The glow of the phone illuminated her face, her grin widening as she anticipated his reaction.

Simon sighed, an irritated, tired sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest.

“What now?”

Reluctantly, Simon uncrossed his toned arms and stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. The screen showed a video, a quick montage of him, no less. Snippets of him walking through crowds, standing by the stage, his balaclava catching the light just so as if he were a character in some fucking noir film. The background music swelled dramatically, and captions popped up over the footage, saying “If I ever get kicked out of a venue, it better be by HIM. Imagine getting manhandled by those arms.”

Simon blinked, his frown deepening beneath the mask.

“The hell’s this?” he asked, his tone flat but tinged with suspicion.

“It’s a thirst trap,” Lynsey said, as if that explained everything, her laughter barely contained.

Simon stared at her blankly. “The fuck's a thirst trap?”

Lynsey cackled, delighted. “Oh, you’re a relic, aren’t you? It’s a thing on TikTok. People post these little edits when they fancy someone. And let me tell you, mate, there are loads of these floating about. Like, ‘look at this mysterious bloke, isn’t he fit?’ That sort of thing.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “TikTok?”

From across the room, III chimed in, his grin wicked as he leaned back in his seat. “Nowhere to hide, Riley,” he said, his tone teasing. “You’re a proper celebrity now.”

Simon huffed through his nose, a sound that carried more weight than words. He glanced at the phone again, now firmly lodged in Lynsey’s outstretched hand, the screen flashing more of his edited movements cut and spliced into dramatic slow-motion. He stepped back slightly, folding his arms across his broad chest once more, muttering something about “kids and their bollocks” under his breath as he did.

Lynsey quipped, her grin only widening. “Face it, the internet’s gone mad for you. They’ve even got a hashtag—‘#SecurityDaddy.’”

Simon flinched, his head snapping back toward her like she’d just admitted to committing a war crime.

This made IV join the fray, a water bottle in hand as he ambled over. “Oi, show us the goods. I wanna see what’s got good ol’ Riley in a strop.”

Lynsey eagerly turned her phone to IV, who leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the screen with a wide grin already forming on his painted face. The video played again, the dramatic slow-motion edits of Simon walking through a crowd, his balaclava catching the stage lights as though he’d been directed by a Hollywood cinematographer.

IV let out a sharp laugh, nearly choking on his water.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a trail of black paint on them. “‘Security Daddy,’ they’re callin’ you? That’s golden.”

Lynsey snorted and held up another video. “Oh, you’ve got no idea. Look at this one, ‘If he told me to leave the venue, I’d say thank you.’ And here’s another, ‘Is it weird to want to be tackled by him?’ You’ve got your own bloody fanbase, Riley.”

Simon’s gloved hand scrubbed down his masked face as if he could physically push away the madness unfolding around him. “You lot are takin’ the piss.”

“This one’s my favourite,” Lynsey said, clicking on yet another video. The screen lit up with a heavily edited montage of Simon in action—his eyes scanning a crowd, his broad shoulders cutting through a sea of fans, the flash of his gloved hand directing someone to stand back. The video was captioned with “I don’t know his name, but he can ruin my life anytime.”

Vessel, who’d been silent for most of the exchange, finally sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded their head of security with an amused expression. “It’s the mask, mate,” he stated. “It's like catnip. People project onto what they can’t see. You could lean into it, y’know. Like us. Give the people what they want. Maybe throw in a wink next time you’re standin’ by the stage.”

Simon sent Vessel a look so sharp it could have peeled paint off the walls.

II, who had been leaning casually against the wall next to them, joined in with a huge grin. “Yeah, might as well embrace it. You’re part of the act now.”

Simon’s glare intensified. “You wanna end up wearin’ your fuckin’ drumsticks where the sun don’t shine?”

II raised his hands in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face. “Don’t tempt me.” 

The banter escalated quickly after that.

The room practically buzzed with the gleeful chaos that Simon’s presence had unwittingly unleashed. IV was now scrolling through the comments on one of the fan edits, reading them aloud to the room with unbridled glee, each of them taking the piss out of him in the way only people comfortable with each other could.

Strangely enough, it reminded him of Johnny, a familiar mix of camaraderie and mischief that tugged at a memory he hadn’t expected to surface. It stirred an unexpected pang of nostalgia in Simon, a faint echo of Johnny’s effortless knack for turning every moment into a laugh at someone else’s expense—usually his.

“He could snap me like a glow stick and I’d thank him for the privilege,’” II read out loud, barely containing his laughter. “Oh, this one’s pure gold—‘Not to be dramatic, but I would sell my soul just to hear him say ‘move along’ in person.’”

That did it.

Simon unfolded from the wall with a deliberate grace, his imposing presence rippling through the room like a cold wind sweeping across still water. The breadth of his shoulders, the unyielding lines of his form clad in black, cast him less as a mere bodyguard and more as some silent, vengeful sentinel. His shadow stretched across the room, swallowing the laughter as it reached II and IV, Lynsey’s phone still clutched between them.

“You’ve had your fun,” he rumbled, his voice steeped in the kind of authority honed through years of barking orders in the SAS. “Now knock it off, before I confiscate that phone.”

“Go on, Riley,” IV shot back with a grin, entirely unafraid. “Confiscate me next.”

Simon didn’t dignify that with a response.

He turned away from them, a quiet dismissal, and walked toward the door. His hand reached for the handle, his gloved fingers brushing against the cool metal. But just as he was about to leave, a voice cut through the air again, the familiar, teasing tone of III echoing in the now-muted chaos of the room.

“Don’t forget to give us a little twirl on your way out, Security Daddy.”

Bloody hell.

If this gig didn’t kill him, these muppets just might.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[inkofthebrain]

GLUTTONY

[Lee (Bones and All) x Reader]

Warnings: Typical Bones and All things

Tags: No Maren (sorry bae ily) Mentions of religion/religious trauma, drugs & alcohol, no use of y/n, blue truck lives, future series, more tags will be added, briefly proofread

It was always nauseating, but you were thrown in such a frenzy that it was impossible to stop. A carving never to be quenched. You always believed you could change, maybe one day you will forgive yourself.

Hope has always been a sticky game. You, especially, used it to lure your victims. A guy at a bar grabbing your ass a few times before slipping something into your drink “hoping” to get lucky? You are observant. You always had to be. You knew his intentions before he could even begin to initiate the sick action.

You just so happened to have been dumped in a small town In the middle of nowhere northwest by a ride you managed to pick up in North Cali. There was talk of some animal killing a few of the locals and their pets. A perfect cover.

You let him take you home, pretending to be drunk off your ass, and then you pounced on him. Not even 10 feet into the house. You had struck him down with a lamp and started eating.

His flesh was warm and blood entered your mouth in a rush as you ripped it from his body, at this point the blood loss and pain had rendered him unconscious. It felt heavenly, it felt blasphemous.

As you stand above the man, half eaten and mauled, you turn your gaze to the cross above the door. There was no god. You learnt this early on.

No matter how often your mother tried to bash it into your head it would not click. You were an odd child born out of wedlock in a small religious town. You had always kept to yourself. Whether that was of your own doing or your mothers was something you had yet to figure out.

Your mother knew what you were, you had a sister. Your father had gotten to her and your mother had gotten to him.

The rest of your adolescence was spent in rebellion, but the night before your 18th birthday your mother quickly packed up a few things, took you up north for a “trip” and before you even woke up in the mildew smelling motel; she was gone.

Months later, here you were, walking along the interstate until you passed an abandoned barn and a familiar smell filled your nostrils. What you had thought was just your fathers cologne was here, in the middle of nowhere, emanating from a barn.

Your curiosity and better judgment bashed against one another as your legs gained a mind of their own and you crept closer, taking deep breaths and trying to pinpoint the source. Every nerve in your body was on fire when a figure emerged from behind the rickety wood.

“He's a few yards back if you wanna…” He looked to be at least a head taller than you and scrawny. With what was illuminated in the moonlight you were able to see the dirty ripped jeans he had on, or at least what was left of them, and a slight tinge of red in his hair that matched the red staining his skin.

“Were you..” you trailed off.

“I smelt you a few yards before you walked up” He says bluntly before beginning to walk away.

“I didn’t know I could do that” you said quietly, eyes following the strange man.

“Yeah well, ya can. He’s back there if you want a bite. I’m heading out of here” He says while walking, his strides were long but staggered due to his slight stumbling in the dark brush.

Before you could stop yourself you were jogging to catch up to him, staying a few feet back. You began to look around at your surroundings, the trees, the light from the moon shining through the overcast. Soon your body collided with a warm figure.

“Sorry” you said before taking a step back, he turned to face you, “it’s just, I ran out of money a few days ago and I’ve been walking trying to catch a ride since”

“So you want to ride with me?” He asks mockingly and you nod your head.

“I just need to get to the next town” You say, kicking some of the dirt below your feet, “Please?”

“What do I get out of it, huh?” He asks. You look up to meet his eyes before turning on your heels and walking away.

“Forget it, I knew it was a stupid idea” you grumbled as the sound of dried leaves crunched below your feet. It’s early fall and you need to find a town soon. Before the nights started getting too cold. Maybe you could wait for him to leave and hole up in the barn.

“I’m lee.” It was then you really noticed his voice. He sounded to be about your age but he had a sultry rasp that poked out when he spoke in a low tone. You stop in your tracks for a beat and say your name before walking on.

“I’m not an asshole you know,” he shouts out, “I just don’t meet many others”

You turned around and narrowed your eyes at him. The entire conversation seems redundant yet he keeps dragging it on.

“Ok”

“Ok.” He responded before clapping his hands together and taking a breath, he had taken a few strides closer. “I’ll give you a ride into town, I’ll get you a bite to eat—actual food. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“I haven't,” you retorted. His demeanor was odd, he had an awkward posture and it was difficult to read his tone, much less his facial expressions in the dark.

“My car is this way.” He said before spitting a glob of blood onto the floor and turning away.

After watching him walk a few feet ahead you followed behind, keeping your eyes on his figure. Soon enough a truck entered your field of vision and as the two of you approached closer you could make out its tattered blue paint job.

Lee opened the door before grabbing a bag that was sitting in the cab and threw it in the truck bed before climbing in. He motioned for you to hurry up, and you did.

Once you made your way around and into the car you noted the smell of cigarettes and the tattered leather seats. The smell must be sticking to the leather.

“You’re a quiet one, aren't ya” he said as he started the car.

“I just don’t have anything to say” you shrugged your shoulders, looking ahead at the dark road.

“I don’t believe that” And with that we were on our way.

———

Next chapter (coming soon…)

Wanna join the Tag-list? Just ask!

[enalovesharry]

Out of a dream

summary : you and THE harry styles had a one night stand.. the night was a blur so the morning you wake up you’re quite surprised.

warnings : mentions of sex, swearing, fluff?? pls let me know if there was anything else!!

*HEY GUYS!!! first of all I want to thank you for everything on my first ever writing post, i know it’s not the best thing you’ve ever read, it’s definitely not the best thing I’ve written but I didn’t expect that much love. I’m so sorry for just disappearing, life has been very busy but I will get back to things soon! p.s this is how y/n will be in most of my writings, not shy, very outgoing and sarcastic!!!*

Last night was very much a blur.

The only thing you remember was drinking at a random club in the Hollywood Hills, then stumbling into a SUV before everything else was just a blackout.

Waking up to the sun beaming onto your face, your eyes flutter open, hand coming up to block the bright light from your eyes. Although everything seems quite normal, you feel a heavy thing over your torso and a soft aroma of a Tom Ford cologne, pushing yourself up quickly you scan the room, confused on how you might of ended up here.

Well, you already know because the most logical reason would be that you wanted to get someone’s dick wet. You look down to see if the man you pleasured was good looking at-least and-

“Holy fuck.” Your eyes widen, your heart beating out of your chest as you freeze. Harry fucking Styles is sleeping right beside you, curls sticking up left and right, you realise his face was buried into your stomach because of the red mark on it.

You also realise you both were naked, quickly scrambling out of the bed- or wait, his bed. You grab your panties from the floor pulling them up, panic mode absolutely activated.

You hear him moving on the bed, sheets rustling as he sits up, glancing to him he’s stretching his arms above his head, turning his head to you and you notice the panic now evident on his face.

“Hey.. uhh, are you okay? Did I scare you or something, I promise I didn’t kidnap you.” He watches you as you put on your bra, grabbing your shirt and jeans to put on.

“I didn’t realise I literally just fucked Harry Styles, sorry.” Looking into the full-size mirror he has next to the bed you fix your hair up, not noticing how he’s got out of his bed and put his boxers back on, you also didn’t notice how he winced from what you said, he didn’t like when he was labeled as just a famous celebrity a random girl had fucked after having the best sex he’s ever had.

“Hey, chill out. Calm down I’m not gonna like bite you or anything. Unless..” he walks up behind you, looking at you through the mirror.

“Harry, this isn’t funny. 15 year old me would be absolute screaming right now that I actually finally fucked Harry Styles.” Your face blooms in redness at the confession, you see him raise his eyebrows in the mirror, smiling.

“‘S really cute y’know, your dream coming true. You don’t have to go right now.” His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you back into his chest as you keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror, clipping your earrings back into your ears.

You practically lose your breath as his hands caress your hips, all you want to do is pounce onto him and fuck him yet again. But you can’t, you always tended to have attachment issues and having them with Harry Styles was not the way to go.

You had to continue on with life and hide the fact that you hooked up with Harry in the back of your head.

“I have to go, Harry. I have a home and a life, maybe we can hook up some other time in like 3005 or something!” You muster up a smile for him, turning to look up at him, his eyes shine a beautiful emerald green, a dimple pokes out of his cheek, his lips a beautiful shade of pink.

Oh you wanted him so bad again, you knew Harry, from his music of course but you didn’t know or let’s say like him enough to be a fan, that’s for sure. He tugs on your hips again, your hands coming to his waist to brace yourself.

You did wonder if this is what the routine was with all his hookups, fuck them till he was satisfied? Part of you also didn’t think so as he was such a gentleman.

“Come on, darling. Jus’ a little bit longer? I promise, this is not what happens wit’ all the girls I have seen.” The pet name makes you all giddy, your hand coming up to comb through his chocolate curls.

“Are you just trying to make me feel bad for you so then I can follow your music and promote it and whatever?” You ask, eyebrow raising. You see he’s taken aback by that, his eyebrows creasing.

“No, no! Y/N im so sorry if it looks that way, oh my god. I promise that’s not- that’s definitely not what I’m trying to do.” You giggle at his panic, a little surprised that he remembered your name.

“I’m just kidding.” You smile as he pushes his bottom lip out in a soft pout, without thinking you push up onto your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his soft ones, he kisses you back almost instantly, innocently pecking your lips a few times before he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Harry then lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he moves back to the bed, mumbling something softly against your lips.

“Maybe you could give me your number or something if I prove to you that the night was really worth it.” He pulls away, a smirk on his lips, you laugh, biting your bottom lip softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Dream on Watermelon Sugar singer.”

You see a spark in his eyes and as he leans back in to kiss you again your vision goes black.

You feel heat on your body and your eyes snap open, the sun beaming on you, yet again. You look around the room, sitting up, you’re in your own room. You look beside you, a messy empty spot beside you.

Your head then whips to someone walking into the bedroom, it was your fiancée, a bright smile planted on his face seeing you’re finally awake.

“You were having a good dream so I didn’t want to wake you, sounded like you were having fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows, coming to move onto the bed, pulling you into his chest.

“Yeah, it was about the first time i met you.” You plant a kiss onto his bare chest, arms wrapping around his waist.

“Ohh, s’right when I was Watermelon Sugar boy.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head. “Lucky you finally gave into giving me your number and accepted me into your life, hey? Now m’getting married to my one night stand in two weeks.”

“You’re still a loser, Harry. And no I’m still not following your Spotify even when we’re married.” You mumble against him.

“Dang it.”

hehe lol this has no plot xx

dividers by @firefly-graphics 🤍

[lundenloves]

You’re proficient in angst and I love angst, so maybe:

Ghost and his wife working through a miscarriage after or before their first child is born?

ALWAYS READ THE WARNINGS!

you anon, you are a brave one. *finger wag* knowing fine fucking well i’d pick this one out above others, and no, it wasn’t the compliment that did it. i’m sorry for the therapy bills. what’s that? i said i’d pay? i said that? me? never.

disclaimer before i get my head bitten off: this is a reader insert, though without the use of ‘you’ and rather mentioned as his wife. i didn’t want to put people directly into it. a third narrative? is that wrong? idfk.

masterlist | taglist | request info | therapy

↳ warnings: loss of baby, angst | 1k

Simon knew. He knew before the five words had been spoken, before the doctor had taken a breath and before she had made eye contact with his wife who hadn’t quite caught on. He didn’t mean to distance himself, but that he did, pushing even further back from the bed and scratching at the back of his neck. Head hung low and his nose scrunching briefly when she had reached for his arm. An arm he pulled away. Right as the words were delivered like a punch to the gut.

“I can’t find a pulse.” 

He looked to the floor, completely denying his wife of her reaction and his leg had begun bouncing erratically. Untouched by her warmth when she had gripped his knee, silently begging for his eyes that remained on the door. “What.” She shook her head, blinking once, hard, as if she had heard incorrectly. 

But she hadn’t.

Simon teethed at the skin around his nails, dropping an elbow to his knee and rubbing his neck. The doctor quietly spoke her apologies and thousands of thoughts rushed his mind at once, guilty relief yet also swirling darkness. “There’s nothing you can do?” She cleared her throat, keen in maintaining composure that Simon knew was a front. Her hand began to fidget with the seams of his jeans, the threads picked out over years from his own anxieties.

The doctor repeated her apologies, handing over a few documents on next steps. Coloured cards at best, she spoke through the overwhelming information with a quietness to her voice, an accompanied hand placed on her patients’ shoulder. One with the intent of comfort though it felt bitter and Simon stood from the chair, picking up her bag and watching as she gathered her jacket after handing him the car keys. 

He held every door open for her, walking a few strides behind as she sped walk to the car that was on the far end of the car park. She would’ve ran if she could, knees weak upon reaching the drive that felt like another obstacle. Ten minutes of silence. 

“Is that it?” She had mumbled once the door was shut behind her, bottom lip sucked inward and hands dropping to her thighs. “You’re just—“ She paused, her gaze absent in forward staring. “You’re not going to say anything?” Her voice was toneless.

Simon adjusted the rearview mirror purely to occupy himself. His elbow rests on the window edge, fingers rubbing at his upper lip. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” It came off as a mumble.

She nodded vacantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a self pacifying hug. The news had struck her energy, killing off any ounce she had left to decipher Simon’s feelings, any words from here would surely manifest into an argument of sorts. 

And her tears were slow, a singular one turned to two, to three and four — each one falling longer than the other and Simon’s eyes fixed onto the dash. His answer was avoidance, turning the car on and fidgeting with radio dials to simultaneously ignore her tears and distract himself. 

Otherwise, the silence was loud. 

Her nostrils flared, sleeves gently rubbing at her cheeks and pressing her head back against the seat. Shoes discarded and knees pulled up to her chest, body facing away from her husband and toward the window where rain had begun its predictable downpour. The whine that left her mouth wasn’t anything other than devastating, one that ironically cried for help upon holding heavier tears back, though it was ineffective.

Her chest dipped in and out of exasperated breaths, short and quick in their successions with fingers balled into a fist that hit at her knees for any alleviation. “She’s gone, she’s fuck—“

Simon then felt the weight on his chest. The weight of his lacking. He bit down on his bottom lip and put the car into gear, his hand sinking from his hair and across his cheek, down the back of his neck as he pulled out of the car park. 

The rest of the car ride was silent. The only noises filling the space being her occasional deep breaths and whines, the indicator and Simon’s nervous habit of clearing his throat. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his spine was hiked downward and his shoulders collapsed in on themselves. “Are we just not going to talk about it?” 

Her words landed right as he had shut the door behind him, back pressed against it to hear the click of the lock. She dropped her arms to her sides, taking a step backward and into the main space of their shared flat. “Because I can’t deal with your silence. Not now.” 

He nodded slowly, his back remaining against the door as if he couldn’t move. His fight or flight triggered by her forcing of the topic, “I don’t know what to say.” It was honest. The crack in his voice said that much, his eyes fixed to hers as if to scope her as a threat or not. 

And christ, she looked anything but a threat. Her blotchy face and tear stained cheeks made her look so much smaller than she was, reduced to a mourning mess that Simon wasn’t equipped to put back together. “Anything.” She shook her head, voice stripped to a whisper for him to tilt his head at, inner brows risen in defeat as words point blank refused to leave him. 

“I can’t.” He stuttered on his emotion, holding his fist in the opposite hand before dropping it. 

Being unable to cry was so much more upsetting than the act of crying itself, a point that Simon existed to prove. His silence around sensitive matters, the way he stared with dead eyes and his minimal expressions that seemed to be so much more devastating than those who could properly communicate their feelings. 

“Anything Simon.” 

Words were still stuck in his throat and only allowed for a mere shrug with an extended palm to take her to his chest. “C’mere.” Was all he could say, one hand on her back with the other pushing hair from her face as she slowly but surely collapsed to a blubbering mess in his arms. “I’m sorry.” 

no, i’m sorry.

the anon did, it not me. it’s unedited but i’m too scunnered to look over this again so take it with a grain of salt. please let this flop. my followers are unwell enough.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine

i’m going to my mind palace.

[piratefishmama]

Fake It Till You Make It | Part 8

"Oh Steven..."

The view of Eddie was obstructed pretty quickly when Steve manoeuvred him behind him, turning fully to face his dad using his broader body to shield Eddie from view. “He’s—”

“Panicking. He’s panicking. I have eyes Steven. Lynda get this poor boy a glass of water would you?” A chair creaking from inside the room told them all his mother had gotten up to do as she was asked, and while that might have caused most to relax, Steve still stood his ground. A human blockade. “It’s okay son, you’re going to have to move eventually it might as well be now, he’s safe.”

“Is he?” Eddie rested his forehead against the centre of Steve’s shoulders, right at the base of his neck, just… rested there, Steve wouldn’t let anyone hurt him, it’d be okay.

“Well I’m not about to invite my son to send me to hospital, am I?” A wise choice, it seemed like Steve was fully prepared to do just that if necessary. “This house is safe for you both, and it always will be.” John stepped to the side a little, just enough to be able to see around Steve’s shoulder, although Steve was tempted to move into his way again, he’d put himself in the way of a train if it meant protecting someone else, Eddie was certain of it at that point “Eddie… was it?”

He’d overheard while Steve was talking to him. He knew his name. Eddie looked up, basically peeking over Steve’s shoulder. It was awkward, given they were almost the same height, but… he still felt safer there.

“Oh heavens, John step aside, you’re frightening the poor thing to death” And there was Lynda, nudging John aside with a tall glass of water in hand “Eddie, come on out from behind there,” as if ‘there’ wasn’t her damn close to six foot son “it’s okay” he was a grown man, yet he felt like he was seven all over again, hiding behind a couch away from the police who’d come to get his dad.

He’d only hidden because his dad used to tell him that if he was naughty the police would take him away, and he may have… coincidentally… drawn on his bedroom wall, he’d hidden it pretty well but… there were suddenly police bashing down the door!

Just so happened they were there for his father, who’d been doing much naughtier things.

Steve didn’t move, so that left the choice up to him. A choice he had to make, no matter how scary it was. He was there, there was no getting out of the plan now. They’d seen him, he couldn’t make a run for it… or he could but he’d never able to look Steve or Dustin in the face ever again, which left only one real option.

He took a deep breath, placed a hand on Steve’s bicep, and stepped out from behind him. Steve’s hand was very quick to find his, holding him, grounding him, a tether to keep him stable and god it felt nice to have it there, warm, and secure, fingers perfectly slotted between his own. He could only imagine what a pair they looked though.

The King and the Court Jester.

The Jock and the Freak.

Perfect and Completely Imperfect.

He knew what he looked like, how people looked at him, even in clean clothes, even having brushed his hair, he still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed sometimes, and Steve… god… There weren’t words for how perfect Steve looked.

It seemed effortless but Eddie knew Steve must have put in genuine effort. It was attractive how much effort he must have been putting in.

They all looked that perfect though. He truly looked so very out of place. Lynda in her pristine white shirtdress, a belt around her waist giving it shape and John in his expensive pale blue polo and pressed chinos.

There he was, in a hand-me-down red and black flannel, the only pair of jeans he owned that weren’t ripped at the knee (although they were getting there), hands full of silver rings, an old handed down Casio watch, scuffed Reeboks, and the one band Tee he had that wasn’t dirty.

The pickings had been slim he really should have done some laundry. He should have accepted Steve’s offer to help him clean up. They’d have been still doing it!

“Hi… I’m—I’m Eddie… Eddie Munson.” They didn’t know the family name, and it didn’t surprise him either, Wayne wasn’t raised in Hawkins, he’d just settled there after he learned Eddie would be handed to him. Traded his truck for a trailer in a random pick of a town and swapped his long haul journeys for night shifts at the plant and that was that.

They couldn’t have known his family name.

“Oh my…” it wasn’t a disgusted oh my, although her eyes did widen, he felt… seen as she looked him up and down, seemingly sizing him up, and then… she turned to Steve and all his worries seemed to vanish when she, with genuine mischief in her voice, said “he’s a bit out of your league isn’t he, Steven? I know we encourage you to be ambitious but—”

“W-what?!” And that was Steve, flustered in his response “No, I’m—he’s—”

“Sweetheart” oh she sounded so cheeky “he has tattoos” Eddie quickly glanced down at his bare forearms where he’d rolled his sleeves up earlier, bats on display, his tattoos usually a source of judgement, she wasn’t judging him though. “You’re afraid of needles.”

“I am NOT!”

“That’s not what I remember from your last round of shots.”

“I was five.” At least he was the last time they’d gone with him to get his shots done. "I've had plenty of shots since then."

“These fears don’t just vanish, Steven, how do you expect to hold onto this handsome young man if you can’t even handle a little pri—”

“Lynda please.” John interrupted what would have been a stellar takedown with a comical amount of exasperation, the man pinching the bridge of his nose as if staving off an incoming headache. Eddie, against all odds, was smiling, fighting back genuine giggles, the free hand not wrapped within Steve’s lifted to cover his mouth as if to hold them in.

“What? It’s not like it didn’t work.” She handed John the glass she’d been holding, since Eddie no longer seemed to need the water, then took a step closer to Eddie “Eddie, dear… how about you and Steven come into the living room, and we can get to know you a little, how does that sound?” There was no anger in her tone, no disgust hidden in the layers of it, she just… she smiled at him.

Where were these ‘rich assholes’ people kept claiming the Harringtons to be? Because he didn’t see them. He could understand the hesitation to trust, he was still nervous, the fear still licked at his very soul that maybe, just maybe they were biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike when he couldn’t get out, but… was there any reason to be distrustful?

Had the Harringtons ever been outspoken against his people? Ever? Save for maybe one or two occasions where Steve had called someone queer as an insult back in high school, before he’d obviously grown.

People just assumed.

Those at the bottom just assumed the worst of all of those at the top. Same as most assumed the worst of him, that he was mean, that he was scary. They were just at opposite ends of the social ladder. There had to be some good among the rich, why not the Harringtons?

Why couldn’t they be good? Why not at least give them the opportunity to be good?

“Y-yeah… yeah, that’d uh—that’d be okay I think.” Steve squeezed his hand so gently, another attempt to ground him, to keep him tethered. To keep him calm, and it worked. It helped. Steve was there, Steve would keep him safe. No matter who came at them, Steve would keep him safe, not a King at all.

A loyal Knight, a Paladin, a Defender. He’d probably be safe walking through the fiery pits of hell itself, as long as Steve was there beside him. “You sure you’re okay, Eddie? We can go back to yours, we can just… try another day.” And Steve checked in with him too as his parents returned to the Living room, Lynda pausing at the door to wait for them while her husband continued on.

Steve’s hand warm around his, looking at him with a level of concern nobody had bothered to bestow upon him before.

Not even Wayne, but Wayne was kinda gruff, he showed his love in other ways. Steve barely knew him… he was just, that kind of person apparently.

“Nah, we’re here now and with you here? My very own big, strong knight in shining armour? I’m pretty sure I could brave anything.”

And that bashful little smile of Steve’s whenever someone praised him?

Beautiful.

Beautiful enough to chase any bad feelings away with their tails between their legs. Beautiful enough to give him the boost he needed to pull Steve along by his hand and into that living room with Lynda, beautiful enough to give him the strength to take on the goddamn world.

Or at least the scariest thing he could think of in it at the time, that being… being himself in front of two complete strangers who could ruin his life with zero repercussions aside from their son being angry at them.

So it was a pretty big deal, that smile of his.

The first thing Eddie registered as he entered the main living room though, was that off to the right, there was a magnificent mahogany table, complete with three chairs on either side and one at each end.

Last time he’d seen it, it’d been covered in pizza boxes and alcohol options, its majesty concealed beneath a layer of filth. “Stevie can I—” couldn’t help himself

“Later” Steve was quicker than him though, Dustin had already brought up the table before, it wasn’t hard to guess where Eddie’s mind would go.

Of course he’d shot Dustin down, but Eddie? Maybe… just maybe he’d let Eddie use it. Only once his parents left again though, something told him they’d draw a line at a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, one of the main highlights of the ongoing Satanic Panic, being held in their dining room, whether they used it or not.

“So!" John began as he found his seat once more, waiting only for Steve and Eddie to sit down on the sofa close by, side by side, hand in hand, looking like the least likeliest pair in existence, to begin. "Eddie, tell us a little about yourself, how’d you both meet?”

Straight into the deep end then. "Well..."

Part 10

[waywardxwords]

I've Got You

Summary: After a year of being in Purgatory, Dean has returned and is trying to make sense of what happened while he was away.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (more of a friendship; they deeply care about each other but nothing wildly romantic happens in this story)

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Light cursing, angst, Dean/Sam contention (this takes place after Dean gets back from Purgatory and Sam is on/off with Amelia), light fluff, light blood/silver testing (non-descriptive)

A/N: Happy October, friends! This is my first entry for the #flufftober2023 @flufftober prompt challenge. The prompt is: "I've got you." I hope you enjoy!

“Dean,” you breathed as you walked through the door of the cabin. Even after you heard his voice on the phone, you couldn’t be sure it was really him–not until you saw him. 

“Test me,” his words were firm and clear–much firmer than you remembered. You processed that the man had been in Purgatory for the last year, and his experience had most likely hardened his already tough demeanor. 

“Dean, I–” you tried to stop him.

“Test me, dammit,” he grumbled as he grabbed what looked like a jug of holy water and took a swig of it. Next was the silver; he didn’t hesitate to run it along his forearm before he wrapped the cut it left behind with a bandana. He wiped the blade on his denim jeans. 

“Dean,” you said, for the third time now. Your eyes burned with tears. You knew it was him from the get go, but now it was confirmed. He handed you the holy water and the blade. You moved slower than he did, but you took a sip of the water and winced at the bitterness; it was laced with salt. Then, you took the blade and matched his movements with a small slice on the underside of your forearm. 

Without allowing another moment to pass, he pulled you in tightly to his chest for a hug–so tight, you thought you might not be able to breathe as your body was crushed against his. 

“God, it’s good to see you,” he breathed in your hair before he finally released you. “Where’s Sammy?” His eyes moved over your face inquisitively.

“I, uh, I don’t know, Dean,” you were careful with your words. You were a little bit angry with Sam, but you didn’t want to have to explain why to Dean.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The sharpness made you blink, but you knew he wasn’t trying to hurt you with his tone. The man had been in Purgatory for a year, for Christ’s sake. 

There was no way around it, though. You were going to have to try to explain and hope he could understand.

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Sam mumbled. It had been three days since you all had killed the Leviathans, but somehow Dean and Castiel had been killed in the process. You had spent three days researching and looking for how to find them, but you had come up empty. Sam had tossed around the idea of Purgatory , for Cas, at least, because he was an angel; but neither of you knew how that worked–the death of an angel? Where would they go? Could an angel go to Hell? 

“Sam, we’re going to find them,” your eyes were heavy, you hadn’t slept. The pain of running in circles reading and re-reading and searching was making you feel crazy.

“Are we? Even if we do find them, how are we going to get them out?” Sam was angry, and you understood that. But anger wasn’t helping the situation, and you wished he could realize that.

“I don’t know yet,” you sighed as you placed your elbows on the wooden table in front of you and dropped your head into your hands. “We will find a way. We always do.”

“I have no one now. My family is dead, I just…I gotta get out of here,” he repeated. His words stung, but you knew you weren’t family. You weren’t even a hunter, initially. You had stumbled into this world when the Winchesters had saved you on a hunt a while back. Now that you knew what went bump in the night, there was no turning back. “I’m sorry, but I have to go…” Sam seemed reckless, but you also knew that you couldn’t stop him. Not really, anyway.

You stayed silent, but as the door closed behind him, tears pooled in your tired eyes.

After you had explained carefully what had transpired, you tried to ease the blow. “You always wanted Sam to get out of the hunting life, Dean.” Your words were soft.

Dean sat on the sofa leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the wall opposite him. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

“I gotta get some air,” he cleared his throat and stood quickly. He reached for his jacket. “I’ll be back later.” Before you could say a word, he was already out the door and pulling it behind him with a slam. You couldn’t help but feel defeated, yet again.

This was the third dive bar you had checked in an hour. You had lost hope and wondered if you really knew the oldest Winchester at all as you looked for him. But there he sat on a barstool at the end of the dimly lit bar. 

You heaved a sigh before you walked towards him. “I’m gettin’ real tired of looking for your ass,” you grumbled playfully as you carefully moved onto the stool next to him. 

His eyes didn’t move from the back of the bar as he took a pull from his beer. 

“Yeah, well, at least somebody’s lookin’,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear.

You weren’t sure what to say to that immediately, so instead you leaned against the bar and flagged down the bartender. “Could I get a Stella, please?” The bartender nodded and went to retrieve your bottled beer.

A few moments of silence passed. “I just thought he’d look for me,” Dean's voice cut through the quiet noise in the bar as he stared at the label on his bottle. His fingernails picked at the edges in a way to distract himself. 

“I know,” you tried to form the words in your head before they tumbled out of your mouth incorrectly. “Sam loves you, Dean. He’s just…he’s tired. Does that make it right? Not necessarily. You’re his brother, but this life…it’s not the life he wanted.”

“And you think I wanted it?!” His voice raised as he looked at you incredulously. 

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that you and Sam are different people,” you tried to explain carefully, reminding yourself again that it’s not you, it’s Purgatory. 

He seemed to relax as he remembered this was you that he was talking to. “I’m sorry,” he groaned inwardly as he turned back in his stool to face the bar. “I would do absolutely anything for Sammy. I was lost when he was gone. I just thought he might do the same.” After a quick pull from his beer, he changed the subject. “So, what’d you do this past year?” Dean asked acrimoniously, as he glanced at you briefly and toyed with the paper label on his beer bottle.

You waited for a moment, just as the bartender placed your own beer in front of you. You moved it around in your hands for a few seconds. Like Dean, your fingers found the sticker on the bottle and began to pick at it so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “I looked for you,” you answered slowly before you pulled the beer to your mouth and took a sip. You felt his gaze now, his head turned to watch you as if he was surprised to hear what you said. “I hunted a little, here and there. Mostly just when I stumbled upon a job, though.”

“...you looked for me?”

You were surprised that he was surprised. It was your turn to turn your head back to him to meet his gaze. “Of course I did,” you said hesitantly. “I tried everything, Dean. I interrogated demons, I tried to make a deal, I tried to summon Crowley–”

He cut you off very quickly. “Woah, woah, woah,” his eyes were narrowed in on you now and you watched his entire body tense. “You tried to make a deal? And summoning Crowley?” He was pissed. You didn’t care.

“None of it worked, Dean. The crossroad demons said they didn’t know where you were, but I didn’t believe them…though I’m wondering if they really didn’t, since you were in Purgatory,” you were mostly just reading your own internal dialogue at this point. “I’m not sure how that works, exactly.” You nibbled gently on your bottom lip as you processed your thoughts.

“Are you insane?” He was still pissed. His voice rose a bit in volume and you glanced around to see the handful of other bar patrons glance in your direction. 

“Oh, calm down,” you said in a hushed tone while you rolled your eyes. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing.” Dean knew it was true, but he still wasn’t happy. “Again, none of it worked anyway.”

“You know better than that,” he shook his head, the disappointment bled through his words. But somewhere mixed in with the frustration, you heard gratitude.

“And you know better, too. I wasn’t just going to sit on my ass or ride off into the sunset like everything was fine,” you still couldn’t find his gaze. It was easier to stare at the glass bottle between your hands.

He didn’t respond right away. The sound of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” was playing on the jukebox now, and it was the only noise you could hear just over the chatter of the other people in the bar. “Thanks,” you weren’t sure you heard him right away, but you felt his fingers graze the top of one of your hands that was clasped around the bottle. “I’m really glad I’ve got you. So if some shit ever goes down again, no goin' off and making deals to save me. If I came back and somethin' had happened to you..." his voice trailed off. You would spend a lot of time wondering what he had wanted to say, but chose not to. Instead, you moved your head to look straight into those green eyes, and that’s when you noticed it. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and while his eyes were still sad, you saw a glimmer of hope.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, I am always open to any feedback you may have :)

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @hallecarey1 @zepskies @lyarr24

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 30

Brahms Heelshire + Breeding

Finally, almost done with kinktober. No proof reading on this one, because I could not be bothered lmao.

 Shoutout to Egg Anon for being so excited for this one, sorry for making you wait so long for it.

Kinktober list

Getting Brahms to shower was always a chore, the man living in the walls having grown comfortable in his own filth in every sense of the word. The first time you had tired to make him shower he had whined and cried obnoxiously. He only ended up agreeing because you wouldn’t even kiss him goodnight because you said he smelled so bad. It ended with you having to change the water in the bathtub at least three times before it was clean, not to mention the war that was scrubbing his hair.

It hadn’t become any less difficult as time passed on, though you did figure out it was easier if you gave him a reward afterwards. Be it a cuddle, extra kisses or cooking his favorite meals. After your relationship had developed even more you knew he wanted a different reward, from the way his hands strayed to your chest, or his eyes seemed locked between your legs when he thought you weren’t looking.

Once when it had been yet another struggle to get him to bathe, he head left his mask on the sink after undressing to your confusion. Brahms wasn’t the type to not wear the thing, and it was almost uncanny to see him without it because you had gotten so used to it.

Your question as to why he took it off was answered when you had gotten up from your crouched position by the tub, only for Brahms to lean forward and press his face into your crotch, mouthing hungrily at the gift underneath your layers. Grabbing him by the hair and forcing his head back made the man whimper, his tongue half stuck out of his mouth from his licking and wetting of your jeans.

Brahms had whimpered and whined, looking up at you with blown pupils and a quivering bottom lip, his puppy eyes used to their strongest. But you had quickly grown immune to his eyes and begs over your time with him, so you had just pushed him back with a tsk and told him he didn’t deserve that type of reward because he had acted up so much when you wanted to get him clean. Maybe if he behaved, you’d let him taste, or even give him something even better.

After that Brahms seemed almost excited to bathe, going from bathing once every few weeks to wanting you to wash him every night before bed. And of course, you had followed your promise and after scrubbing him clean, you would always get to your feet, open up your jeans and let Brahms choke himself on your length, hand in his damp but still clean hair as he got drool and spittle all over you.

One night during Brahms shower, he told you to leave for a while because he could do it himself. You were very confused, because though he could do it himself Brahms was not the type to turn down your pampering and scrubbing him all over. He pouted at your quirked brow, his hands underneath the warm soapy water as he huffed at your reluctance.

Knowing he would call for you soon you just shrugged and left the bathroom, shutting the door carefully behind you. Deciding to stay nearby you sat down in one of the many fancy chairs that littered the hallways of the large mansion, pulling your phone out of your pocket to start scrolling through social media, keeping an ear out for Brahms noises as you heard water splashing.

Time passed and Brahms didn’t call out to you, though you did hear his noises behind the door. Brahms wasn’t one to keep quiet, so when you heard his keen from the bathroom you got to your feet and made your way over. Deciding to keep listening you stopped outside the door and listened, an interested tingle spreading through your abdomen as you heard Brahms moans and whimpers.

When you heard him moan your name you grabbed the doorhandle and pushed open the door, biting your lip as you saw Brahms on all fours and sideways in the tub. He was supporting his weight on the side of the tub with one arm, the other reached behind him so he could press his fingers inside himself.

His eyes were clenched shut, the burn scar on the side of his face scrunched up at the grimace he made, a slightly louder voice leaving him as he brushed against his prostate. You couldn’t keep the curse that left your lips to yourself, and Brahms eyes quickly snapped open and met your own, the man letting out an almost pornographic moan as he pushed his fingers deeper into himself.

He whimpered and whined, begs falling from his lips as you slowly stepped closer. Your socks became soaked as you stepped in the water that was pooling on the floor, most likely spilled there from Brahms moving around too much in the water and it spilling over the sides. When you reached down and caressed his face Brahms was quick to catch your thumb between his lips, sucking at the finger and rolling his tongue over its underside as if trying to tempt you to touch him more.

“Please, please” Brahms whimpered around your thumb, his eyes watery as he looked up at you, the hand working himself open growing sloppy and uneven as his arm grew tired. “What is it you want, Brahms?” you muttered, the crotch of your pants feeling tight from how hard you had gotten at the sight in front of you. “please…I want…” he whimpers as his fingers brush his prostate, “I want you to fuck me please” he chokes out as a tear runs down his scarred cheek, spit dribbling down his chin and down your wrist as he tries to take your thumb even deeper into his mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale and pulled your thumb from his mouth, quickly reaching down to pull Brahms to his feet before he could start whining. By moving him he had to remove his fingers from himself and grab at your front, your clothes growing soaked as he stumbled into your arms. You groaned as he quickly wrapped himself around you, his harm cock pressed tightly into your clothed stomach and leaving a spot of precum on the shirt.

“Come on” you mutter as you lean down to kiss him, slipping your tongue between his lips and stepping back, pulling the man out of the bathtub, and leaving even more water on the floor. Wet kisses were swapped between your lips as you moved the two of you closer to the sink, Brahms hands shoving up your shirt and making you shiver as his cold fingers met your skin.

Dislodging your kiss, you grabbed Brahms hands and pushed him backwards and away from you, causing the man to whimper loudly. Flipping him around you pushed Brahms against the large bathroom counter, the kind you only really find in rich people houses, with too much counter space and an obnoxiously big sink. Though for this it was perfect you thought as you put a hand between Brahms shoulder blades and pushed him down against the marble, Brahms letting out a yelp as his still wet chest was pushed against the cold stone.

Brahms stuck out his hips as far as he could, almost arching his back as he grasped at the counter with fumbly fingers, trying to find anywhere to grasp on. Using your free hand, you reached down and shoved down the front of your pants, grabbing the top of your boxers to pull them down under your balls to let your cock bounce free.

The scarred man against the counter moaned audibly as he heard the movement of fabric, knowing what it meant, and it made him spread his stance just a little. “Lift your leg please” you mutter, reaching down to grab under one of his thighs to get his knee up onto the counter and truly spread him open.

He seemed to have done a pretty good job at stretching himself open in the bath, but you could never be too sure. Opening one of the many drawers you grabbed a travel sized bottle of lube, popped the cap and quickly covered your fingers. Patting him between the shoulder blades you told him to keep still and be good.

Brahms did his best but couldn’t help but wriggle his hips as you pressed the lubed up fingers inside him, the man shivering at the cold but his cock throbbing where it was twitching between his legs, a bead of precum gathering at the tip and dripping onto the floor. When you were satisfied with how stretched and lubed up he was, you used the last of the lube to slick up your length.

Grabbing onto his hips you stepped in close behind him, using a hand to lead your length until you pressed the head against his wet quivering hole. “You ready?” you husk, Brahms choking on a moan as he begged you to get inside him already. Chuckling you press inside, groaning as his warmth wraps around you, his walls clenching and unclenching as the man whines and moans, his hips wriggling trying to make you move immediately.

Pressed inside fully, you let the both of you adjust as your hips are pressed against his ass. You run a hand over the thigh that’s up against the counter as if to calm him like one would a wild animal, the muscles in Brahms back flexing as if trying his hardest to control himself. “Please… please fuck me… breed me” Brahms whines, voice wobbly as if he was about to cry.

Suppressing a groan, you grab onto his hips tighter and give him what he wants, moving your hips slowly back and forth, quickly growing faster in your movements until Brahms is gripping onto the edges of the marble counter, loud moans and cries leaving him as your length abuses his insides.

Brahms begging grows louder and higher in pitch as you strike his prostate, drool running down his chin and leaving a puddle on the counter as you keep hammering your hips against his, the loud noise of skin on skin and the wet noise of lube filling the bathroom, as you both moan and pant. Losing his grip of the counter Brahms reaches behind him and grabs onto your hips as if you pull you even deeper, his naturally deep voice croaking as he begs you to fill him.

He is the first to finish, the muscles of his back tensing and stretching as he throws his head back to the best of his ability, his cock throbbing as it shoots streaks of white against the doors of the counter, painting the dark wood.

Your thrusts grow faster as you approach your peak, the grip on his hip becoming even rougher as you feel the familiar warmth gather in your abdomen. As you reach your orgasm you shove in as deep as you can, your hips flush against his cheeks as you spill inside him. Brahms lets out a pathetic sounding moan as he feels your warmth fill him, his body slumping against the counter as his muscles all seem to finally give out.

The two of you stay pressed together, trying to catch your breaths until you’ve both come back down from your orgasms. You slowly pull your length out of Brahms, moaning softly as you watch his hole clench and cum dribble from his hole. Helping him get his leg down from the counter, you make sure to praise him and press kisses against his skin as you pull him to his feet and against your chest.

When you mention Brahms probably needs another bath he whines, turning his head to bury it in your shoulder. You chuckle at his behavior and tell him it can wait, that you both should go get changed and cuddle up, which your lover agrees too with a sleepy hum.