#jesus the block button really is holy

[starry-eyer]

what the heck

have i gone worldwide? how do people even recognize my behaviors on other websites?

i’d never recognize any of you btw

[broodybuck]

Shameful Dreams | Series Part 5

Series Summary: Steve and Bucky are each respectfully married to their wives, as any man should be in 1941. And yet, that doesn't stop Steve from having very shameful dreams about his married friend. Unexpectedly, things begin to happen outside of Steve's fantasies.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, no powers au, pre-serum Steve, top Bucky, bottom Steve, secret relationship, internalized homophobia, consensual infidelity, closeted characters

[Masterpost] // [ao3 link]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

Author's Note // To be honest, I don't have this story mapped out. I'm just updating as I feel like it, mainly thanks to the people who asked for more!

Monday night feels like every other. They're meeting back at the outhouse since Peggy is home. They spent the whole weekend apart. It's crazy how fast Steve walks to the docks now.

When he gets to the dip in the grass he sees Bucky standing there and at first, he doesn't notice anything different. In fact, he smiles wickedly and speeds up even more. But when he reaches him, Bucky doesn't move. His expression is knitted tightly.

"Wha—" Steve begins when his brain finally catches up. The outhouse is gone. There's nothing but tall grass surrounding a rectangular patch pressed into the ground from where the structure used to be.

"Holy shit, where'd it go?" Steve questions.

Bucky laughs darkly. He shakes his head, throws his hands up and it's then Steve realizes how mad he looks.

"Who would do this?" Bucky grits.

"Hey," Steve tries but Bucky cuts him off.

"I can't fucking believe this. No one was even using the damn thing. What good is it gone? Christ, this city always gotta be cleaning shit up! Whoever did this—"

"Hey, hey!" Steve grabs his forearms, stilling him.

A second later, they split apart even though they hadn't seen a single soul around.

"Look, we're just horny. Let's just figure out somewhere else to go," Steve stresses under his breath.

"There's nowhere else, Steve!"

Steve shushes him frantically then runs a nervous hand through his hair.

"There's gotta be," Steve says. "Lemme think."

Their great new hiding place is behind a deserted gas station five blocks away. It hasn't been used in years, but the run-down convenience store and gas pumps are still standing. It seems like enough to conceal their car if they park in the narrow alley behind the store.

Bucky turns the car off and doesn't waste any time. He leans across the seat and grabs Steve's face, pulling it to his. Steve can't move toward him as easily as he'd like to. The car is cramped, but at least it smells alright.

Steve's very game to get on Bucky's lap and ride him, but he doesn't get the chance tonight. Bucky rushes to kiss him, his hands frantically clawing at Steve's shirt. Steve grabs for Bucky's clothes too and they rip each other's shirts off so fast they both lose a few buttons. In the moment, they don't care. Their wives will sew them later.

Bucky moves to Steve's pants and when Steve tries to crawl over him, he can't when Bucky's hand wraps around him while shifting forward. With a hand on his cock and Bucky towering over him, Steve tumbles back knocking his head against the window. But he doesn't care, Bucky's pumping him hard and fast now.

He blindly reaches for Bucky's fly, undoes the zipper and sloppily gets his hand in there. He grabs his cock and jerks him off inside his pants. Bucky kisses him messily. It's so needy and urgent this time like they've never done this before.

Steve can't hold back. A few more seconds like this and he's coming, Bucky following right after.

Steve sits panting against the window and looks down at the mess on his stomach. He needs to remember to store a towel away in here, he thinks. After that thought, he looks up and sees Bucky smiling at him.

"Jesus, I got so mad," he says, sitting back.

"I've never seen you so pissed," Steve smirks.

"I really needed... you," Bucky breathes too genuinely.

Steve reaches across the seat for his hand. Bucky takes it and rubs a thumb across Steve's knuckles.

"It's all I look forward to now and when I saw the damn thing gone — I can't believe I got so upset over a fucking outhouse," Bucky huffs out a laugh.

"It was just a shitty toilet," Steve laughs too even though he knows it was more than that.

"You think we could get away with doing this here?" Bucky asks, trying to peer out through the front windshield.

"Might as well give it a shot."

Bucky sits pensively for a moment.

"We need a plan."

"Plan for what?"

"To get away for a weekend."

"How're we gonna do that?"

"I dunno but we gotta figure something out. I don't wanna be crammed in tight spaces with you anymore. I want you laid out on a bed again," Bucky says. Then he leans forward, still holding Steve's hand. "I wanna wake up next to you and fuck you again in the morning."

Steve shivers at the thought. Of getting all night and morning with him. That's a dream Steve can't even let himself imagine. It feels too impossible right now.

"I don't know how we'd..." Steve trails off, staring into Bucky's eyes since he leaned so close.

Bucky closes the space and kisses him.

"There's gotta be something. I could lie about work... some weekend trip."

"It'd have to be foolproof, in case the girls talk to anyone."

Bucky nods, "We'll figure it out."

The next night, they're just as rushed getting each other off behind the gas station.

Maybe it's intentional since the moment they're done, Bucky suggests they start working on their plan.

"Now that we're done with the dirty, it's down to business," Steve quips.

Bucky lets out a kind laugh. He doesn't seem to mind Steve's corny jokes. Peggy never did either. It's strange, Steve has seemed to find the two people in the world who don't mind them. Everyone else seems to.

They list off some ideas but keep getting stuck on the logistics. They need every excuse to be believable for every person involved. There's also the hotel and money for that hotel to worry about. They don't get very far on a plan when they decide they need to get home.

Bucky drives Steve back to his car. When he parks, he stops Steve before he gets out.

"I almost forgot, I can't meet on Wednesdays anymore."

"Why not?"

Bucky sighs dramatically and shakes his head.

"Gail, she wants to schedule our..."

"Sex?"

"Yeah, apparently I'm turning her down too often."

"Oh," Steve tries to sound normal, "Why Wednesdays?"

"I don't know, she just told me that's the right day," Bucky rolls his eyes. "Middle of the week. Would be a good stress reliever. I tried for the weekend but Saturday she goes out dancing and is too tired and Sunday's the lord's day."

"Okay," Steve accepts. He has to accept it.

Steve can't be mad. He's got no right. They both have wives, they're both in the wrong. But thinking about Bucky at home on Wednesday night, sleeping with his wife at their scheduled time makes Steve boil.

On Thursday, Steve straddles Bucky in the car once it's parked. Bucky leans forward to kiss him, but Steve pushes him back against the seat, not letting him. Bucky looks perplexed but turned on.

Steve's still thinking about Wednesday night. He doesn't want to imagine Bucky coming anywhere except with him. He knows it's greatly unfair, Steve sleeps with his wife too. But now Steve has a day, a specific night, he has to sit at home thinking about Bucky coming and not being there.

"Wish you never told me about Wednesdays," Steve gruffs.

"What?" Bucky blinks. "Then you'd be waiting for me in the parking lot."

"Maybe I'd rather think you stood me up than know about the night you and Gail get it on."

He's being ridiculous and Bucky looks at him incredulously for it.

"We don't get it on, Steve. We just do it."

"How is that any different?"

Bucky sighs, dropping his eyes. Steve sits back, on his lap, not able to make much room since he's straddling him.

"Look, once I met you it was all over. I could barely pretend anymore... unless I imagined I was with you."

"I imagined you too," Steve admits low.

"Yeah?"

"All the time."

"So, why're you angry with me?"

"I'm not. I mean, I know I shouldn't be. Just can't help it, sometimes," Steve shrugs.

"Yeah well, I don't even let myself think about you and Peggy. I'd lose it if I did."

"So, what do you do?" Steve smirks, amused.

"Peggy doesn't exist."

Steve chortles. "What about when we all have dinner together and she's sitting across from you?"

"I mean, yeah she exists as a person. But she's not your wife. She's just Peggy."

Steve's eyes widen.

"That's what I have to tell myself," Bucky explains. "Look, don't make fun of me, alright."

"I'm not."

"You're about to, but I really don't wanna keep talking about our wives. I'm hard as a rock here."

"Yeah, yeah. Me too," Steve grins and smashes their lips together in a breathless kiss.

Their plan is officially underway. They've figured out all the logistics.

Steve will ask his friend Mark for a favor, to lie if anyone asks and say they're going on a fishing trip for the weekend. The reason is, Steve's surprising Peggy with a visit from her niece who he's driving across state with. It's nearly foolproof since Mark is widowed, he'll almost never talk to Peggy or Gail and he could care less about lying. Besides, he's the only friend Steve has that regularly fishes.

Bucky is falsifying a business trip. This should work since Gail has never bothered to call his job before. Of course, it's a risk, but she shouldn't have a reason to doubt Bucky's word. He's going to D.C. for training is the story. He's hoping for a promotion is what he'll tell her which they believe will make her happy enough to not get suspicious.

Bucky's side of the plan will work for the hotel. He needs to pay for the room out of pocket since his job isn't willing to pay for the training. He has to do it on his own time and money.

Tomorrow night, they are both going home to talk to their wives. And if all goes well then the weekend is theirs.

[quills-of-freedom]

Short Story ~

No longer a mommy’s boy

Female bodied reader X Jean Kirstein

While in Trost, Jean visits his mom and you insist on tagging along, much to his dismay. But thankfully his mom isn’t home so he shows you around his childhood house…

Warnings: NSFW 18+ Smut. Slightly bratty reader.

Happy Birthday, Jean ~ !

“…And this is my room.”

Jean ends the reluctant tour, briefly opening his bedroom door before hurrying to close it before you could really get a good look.

“Hold on.” You tease, pushing past him and walking right in.

“y/n! Come on, it’s bad enough you’re in my house! …it’s embarrassing.��� His protests fall on deaf ears as you walk into the centre of the room and look around with eager interest.

You and Jean have kinda had a thing for a while now. You will both flirt like crazy but no one’s ever made a move. You’re always catching his eyes lingering on your form when he thinks you’re not looking. You’ve also noticed how he blushes when you brush across his skin or that one time you bent over in front of him and he hurried out of the room.

As your eyes scan his room - the citrus smell of his mom’s cleaning products stinging your nostrils - you can’t help but wonder how many frustration wanks he’d had in here on leave.

It was no secret he had the hots for Mikasa during cadets. And now, four years on, it seems to be you he’s had his eyes on.

He timidly walks by his desk, clearing his throat nervously, blocking any access to his drawings that were hidden in the small wooden box on the side. His body tenses when you sit on his bed, marvelling at your surroin. It was like he was regressing into that horny teenager back in Cadets.

Holy shit, she’s sitting on my bed…

“So I’m guessing you’ve never… You know, had anyone in here before?”

His face burns, his hand scratching the back of his neck. “No. Can we go now?”

“Aw… But I’m having fun.” You pout. You loved to tease him. Getting to your feet you walk towards him, your eyes flashing him a look he’d never seen before. But he loved it.

His jaw slackens as your fingers begin to pop the buttons of your shirt; the thought of him masturbating furiously over you in that very bed turning you onto another level. The look on his face is priceless, his skin now crimson as he averts his narrow eyes away from you and his voice begins to break. He’s definitely regressing.

“Y-y/n! Are you outta your mind?! What was in your lunch?!”

You press yourself against his now trembling body, your mouth so tantalisingly close to his.

“I want you, Jean Kirstein. It’s not very often we get alone time. So maybe we -”

He cuts you off by pushing his lips against yours, an instant groan vibrating him as the force of his kiss pushes you back. You both stumble across the room, kissing with haste and your hands roaming one another as he pushes his door closed and clicks the lock, his mouth now hurrying down your neck, his hair already a mess from your hands. Your back arches with a gasp as his starving mouth devours your flesh, making its way down to your breasts and ripping your shirt open with his paws, buttons flying across the room.

“I’ll buy you another one.” He groans into you with honesty; his teeth nipping your chest as his hand fumbles with your bra.

Your leg raises up to his waist, this tall man hunched over desperately to reach your chest, now your breasts were freed from their constrictions.

“Jesus, y/n…” He pants, not able to believe this was actually happening.

Wait. He wasn’t having some weird wet dream and you weren’t about to morph into his mom, was he? That was a horror be didn’t want to experience.

He paused, waiting.

“You okay?” You breathe.

Nah. This felt very real.

He hums in confirmation, continuing to ravish and devour you, now helping you remove his shirt - his muscular bare chest tensing as he then scooped you up with ease, still kissing you in quick succession. His breathing through his nose is heavy as he sits you down onto his desk, the wooden box he previously protected clunking to the floor in his haste.

He groans as you rub up against him like a cat in heat, your scent rolling off you as he trails kisses down your stomach before pulling your trousers and panties. He stands back, your pants still in his hands as he stares at your gorgeous, naked form. His head tilts slightly, eyes wide and lips parting as his chest heaves.

Shaking his head and snapping out of it, he throws your trousers down and with a smirk returns to you, his warm fingers massaging your slit, a loud moan of yearning leaving his throat.

The way his fingers felt, finally touching you in this way was beyond amazing, your head throwing back with your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip.

“That good, baby?” He asks in a breathy whisper, his finger then sliding inside your warm entrance.

“Yes…” You confirm with a whimper, your nails digging into his arms as he enjoys the squelching sounds you make from his movements. His warm mouth trails down, his teeth sinking into your inner thigh, your moan unintentional. He removes his finger and places it in his mouth, eyes rolling at how you taste.

“So sweet…” He gasps, returning his mouth to you but this time lapping his tongue up your entirety, making you shiver and quake on the desk, his attention now your clit.

You tug at his hair, your whines melodic to him, his warm tongue feels amazing his fingers re entering you and curling inside of your clenching pussy. The friction from his facial hair on your ass cheeks and the vibrations of his groans didn’t help in anchoring you to reality, you breathing becoming erratic and your thighs squeezing against his head.

Jeans fingers are deliciously long; strong too from all the ODM usage, his relentless pressing onto your magic internal areas almost unbearable - your coil tightening with great heat.

“Jean! Oh my god! You’re so good at that…” You sound surprised which he shrugs off. He’s got you now, so all he can do is show you what he’s got to offer. And boy, is it a lot as your cries get louder, your insides pulling his fingers in deeper as you unweave, your face flushed as you cum into Jean Kirstein"s mouth.

He can’t help but let his head swell (both of them really) knowing he’s just made a woman, you no less, orgasm. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, his throbbing dick needing some attention and friction. He removes his trousers, you eye up his long length that curves up at the top. This was going to feel so so good.

Lining up with your heat he shakes as he holds himself back.

“Are you ready…?” He mutters, stroking your now messed up hair.

You nod.

With one long push, he breaks through your walls and sheaths himself fully, your mouth falling open as you pull him forward and hang your chin over his muscular shoulder; the desk banging against the wall with his thrusts. He grunts loudly with each one, large hands on your thighs and squeezing tightly.

“Jesus…” His voice breaks. “Fuck… Y/n you feel amazing.”

You can’t reply.

Jean inside you feels too good. You just sorta squeak, his head bashing against your g spot.

“Ah~ Ah~~!” You squeal before he picks you up still inside of you and pushes you against his wardrobe, fucking you against it with ease as it clatters and bangs loudly.

“yes… Fuck!” He barks, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking, intending to leave a nice big territorial mark on your skin. He decides the closet is too loud so he moves you to the bed, his feet still on the floor as he pushes your legs up to your chest, your arousal soaking his balls and groin as he pounds deeper and faster.

Your toes curl, your tits bounce and your eyes roll as he works you, his abs moving under his skin with each thrust of his hips. He places one foot on the bed, dipping into you and grazing your cervix, his groaning becoming more urgent.

“I’m not gonna last much longer…” He warns.

You can’t reply. As soon as he mutters that last syllable you’re back inside your own heaven.

The feel of you cuming around him is too much, a high pitched whine leaves him as he busts his big fat fuckin nut, filling you up ever so full.

Jean’s mom comes through the front door with her arms full of shopping bags. She’s elated as she sees her beloved sons shoes at the door.

Wait… And is that a pair of women’s -?

Her train of thought can’t finish as she hears what sounds like a stampede marching through the upper floor. She recognised that as Jeans wardrobe from the way it would shake as she polished the wood. Her face turns pink as she drops the groceries.

“That was amazing…” Jean whispered as you lay on his chest, those amazing fingers now drawing circles on your shoulder as he plants a kiss on your head. “We… Get to do that again, right? Like we’re together now?”

“Absolutely.” You smile.

You both bolt up when there’s a meek tapping at the door.

“Jeany…? I know you’re home. I’m making dinner. Would your… uh, girlfriend like some?” Her voice muffles through the door.

You can’t help but laugh as your now boyfriend hides his face in his hands, his teeth gritting together.

“Guess it’s already time to meet your mom.” You grin.

[7habitsofhighlyeviceratedpeople]

I'm so sorry people are sending you death threats jesus christ. You're allowed to be horny about whatever fictional character you want. It's a time honored tradition both in the outlast fandom and on tumblr to sexualize terrible extremely problematic people. Like not once have you said anything about condoning his actions because holy shit surprise surprise you can be horny over fictional characters without supporting their view points. In fact you can be horny over a fictional character you would absolutely despise if they were real. Anyway I really hope people leave you alone and that you're smashing the block button. Stay safe bestie.

tysm for the kind message ! i’m so glad we as a fandom have an understanding that you’re allowed to be horny over problematic *fictional* characters without condoning a single thing they stand for or do. mostly bc their view points are fabricated (based on reality but still that’s not a real person thinking those things) but maaaaan a lot of new people are playing Outlast everyday bc of Trials. the rebirth counter in the sleep room area goes up by TEN THOUSAND everyday. it’s crazy. anyways i have been blocking ppl left and right lol thank you again for this !!

[daincrediblegg]

Ok so John is basically a clueless vampire grandpa when it comes to technology? Gimme ur thoughts

A/N: YES YES YES god. Gem I fucking love your asks. You must know this. And I have MANY thoughts about this. So decadent. I'm getting legit excited just thinking about it. Thank you for this opportunity to scream about them.

First thing's first: Clueless Vampire Grandpa? DEAD accurate.

The man literally came back from dementia and when I tell you it fucking shows I mean it. I mean for god's sake he still has a fucking ROTARY phone in the rectory- and a fucking ICE BOX rather than a proper fridge. Not to mention the fucking ANTENNA TV (It's... my man how did you live???). He's off the fucking grid as far as tech goes.

But like... ofc he sees Warren with his phone all the time like he knows what they are (oh my god side headcanon: altar boy era Riley showing the ol' Monsignor how to play snake on his fucking nokia I'm crying brb). And at some point after his de-aging (probably either while he's still in the holy land or like... in the ongoing "everyone lives" au I have in my head-in which case I'm the one buying the thing for him) he figures he ought to get one. To blend in, you know? And he's kinda curious. Like it looks really cool when you use it.

And he's vERY grandpa about it. "Ah. Will the wonders of modern technology ever cease?" Yeah ok you giant cheese ball.

Obviously the boomer energy is off the charts. Like. It's all fun and games until you have to spend the whole fucking day teaching him how to navigate on the fucking thing.

"Ok now hit the home button" "Which one is that again?" (try not to groan after you've told him which one it is like 30 times please be patient he's a very old man he's doing his best)

But after a little while he gets the hang of it. Rejuvinated neurons and all that make the process a little easier to remember. And of course you'll have installed some of the basics for him- but he doesn't really use much other than Facebook (boomer platform supreme).

OFC you offer to plug in all your handles for him but he says "NO! I want to do it. I want to make you my first friend." (bless his sweet sentimental heart he sees it as a courting gesture my man it's not that deep but my god it's so fucking cute 🥺🥺🥺)

Sets his relationship status to"Taken". Instant heart attack bc "jesus christ John you cANT OUST OUR SECRET RELATIONSHIP ON SOCIAL MEDIA."

AND HE GOES "... it's not with you. I'm taken by God."

(Yeah. I know. Breathe.)

Also texting this man when he gets the hang of it is so fucking cute. He knows nothing but heart emojis, pictograms also with said emojis, and the latest spicy hot christian memes he sends from the many faith group pages he follows (pictures below because I have been fucking saving them myself specifically for this occasion).

Oh also these are one’s he sends exclusively to you RIP I don’t make the rules.

At some point he'll probably start a page for St. Patricks. He has to block Bev because she's way too far gone in the right-wing brain wash rabbit hole on her timeline. She will make a big stink about “Monsignor Pruitt unfriended me uwu”

Oh and don't get me started on youtube. He loves youtube like you wouldn't believe. He can spend hours on there bc they have all old clips of stuff from his childhood (pluck your magic twanger froggie- look it up kids. Also he'll go on JUST TO WATCH LIKE OLD ADS FOR ALKA SELTZER HE GETS SO GIDDY ABOUT IT IT'S SO CUTE)

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#172

“Yeah, I’m Aaron. You ready to do this faggot? Hand me the bag. Now strip. Right here. I don’t give a shit that you can be seen naked. I’m more concerned that a piece of slave meat is wearing fucking clothes in front of me. Hand me your briefs. They are going into my collection. Throw the rest of your shit in that garbage bin. Take your time and don’t fucking hide the fact that you are a naked faggot throwing out his last remaining clothes....

"Damn you are a big fucking piece of slave meat. That’s one meaty ass. Gonna look forward to destroying it tonight. Now walk back. Let that dick of yours swing. That dick is fucking huge. It’s all mine now. Kneel in front of me right there on the asphalt. Knees spread. Put these ankle and wrist restraints on. Lock them. Normally you wouldn’t have them on, but you are a big mother fucker, and I need you secured pretty much all the time. Put this dog collar on, with the electrical leads in the front. Now lock it in place. OK. So here is the remote. Take it. I have another. Notice that it only has one setting, high. Now push the button. Hold it down for three seconds. Go on now. You wanted to be the automaton slave who needs to follow all orders. This is your first one. NOW! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hurts like a mother fuck hunh? And you didn’t even make it to one second. Don’t worry, no slave ever does. You’ll get punished though.

"While you are recovering, let me see the gifts you have brought me. Look at this! Jesus! There’s thousands of dollars here. How much?… Speak up, I can’t hear you with your gasping…. Twenty-six thousand? Holy hell! I don’t get some of you fags that will give up everything to a man they met on the internet just to drop off the grid. But then bonus, I was just handed twenty-six thousand dollars. And this is all from your bank accounts?… Oh, and the money from your pick up? OK. And these are the credit cards you jointly opened in my fictitious name? These letters aren’t even opened. Let’s see. Fucking hell! Jesus! What the hell was your credit score? Eight hundred? I have never seen credit card maximums that high. You can definitely kiss that credit score good-bye.

"I should just leave you here writhing on the ground and start spending. You are truly fucked. Get up on your feet, time to be inspected. You are one massive beast. You are what? 6′4″? About 300 pounds? 320?! Wow. I can see the muscles under all that chunk. You are also hairy as fuck. Show me your cunt. Jesus fuck! That is one giant gape. Looks like you get fisted regularly. Am I right?… Double fisted! No fucking surprise there. What do they do? Clap? That cunt is useless. Fucking it would be like throwing a hot dog into a swimming pool.

"Stand up and turn around. We need to talk about the elephant trunk in the room. Your dick. How big is it?… Ten and a half? Wow. Eight inches around? My dick is fucking huge but that’s unbelievable. Get it hard. Start jerking it. I want to see it fully hard. I know what we agreed to. I know you hate having a gigantic dick. But I can see why it always becomes the center of attention. Average sized balls though. Keep jerking. You really don’t like jacking off do you? I can see it in your face. You are a slave; you have that mindset. You want to be used for everything but your dick. This explains why you wanted this agreement where you only submit if I promise that your dick gets ignored.

"So let me go through what’s going to happen to you. Oh, and if you need to cum, you have my permission. But I know that there is nothing you would want to do less. First, I am not going to drive off with all my newly found money. No. I will be transforming you into a slave, but you won’t be one of my standards. First, my slaves are usually under 30, you are late 40s. My slaves are slight in frame, and you are a behemoth. My slaves are hairless, and your hair would take a year to permanently remove. My slaves are trained to tighten their cunts, and you? that won’t ever happen. So right off the bat, you won’t fetch much on the auction block.

"This is what is going to happen. I’m going to take you over to our training center. They will start you on some serious steroid regiment and work out routine. We are going to turn you into a beast. Your hair will grow out all over. The steroids will shrink your balls. So to prevent that, you are going to be castrated, and fake testicles will go in. You will also be circumcised, and we will do it so that you get shooting pain in your dick should you get fully hard. Yes, that dick is going nowhere. In fact we are going to inject it to keep it perpetually hard. It will never fully go down. You will be used to keep our slaves in line. You will be taught to rape many a fag slave, and we need that dick ready to go at any time.

"You had ignoring your dick as the one requirement of your agreement. You should know, you are a fucking slave, you have no agreement with me. This cock is mine to do with what I want, and when. Your needs are of no matter to me. Now empty those fucking balls. Now!... Fuuuuck! Jesus now that’s a load! Good slave! Climb into the back and let’s get you locked in. Then it’s off to the compound. We need to get those balls removed. I just haven’t decided if it will be under anesthesia or not.”

[minestracalda]

hateful anons (derogatory)

I have noticed a lot of my mutuals on this app getting a lot of hate from anons and i just wanted to adress something since i might be nice but only until some point. Do you have nothing better to do in your life besides sitting at your computer and telling people "kys" to feel stronger with yourself? do you need a therapist or something? like holy mother of jesus shut up no one wants to hear you, don't just go and tell that to a person living across the world to feel stronger. There is much better to do. You could go study, find a job, play some videogames, spend the upcoming christmas time with your family. Then why would you release frustration at people who never even did anything wrong to you? and if this is about anons not liking the topic of the blog (which in this case is Diabolik Lovers) this is not a justification. You can just click the block button and boom! problem ended! Honestly this behavior is just really childish so, whoever wrote these anons: grow up and do a favour not even to me, but to yourself.

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V1; report x

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: R-18 | genre: humor, romance, smut (voyeurism, masturbation), swearing

warnings: GET READY FOR SOME ACTIONNNNN 

word count: 1.8k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07​ @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle​ @btsmakesmehappy

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

Right after you put away your groceries, you take a quick shower and head to bed. Truly, there was nothing better than a refreshing shower after a long day - especially when you know you’re not going to be able to enjoy times like these anymore once you start working. Just then, you recall having to set your alarm early tomorrow because it was your first day, plus the other two wanted to meet up for breakfast before heading to work. 

As you lie on your bed, scrolling through your barely active social media accounts, you hear a soft thud coming from Ayoung’s apartment. Huh, she must be moving stuff - seems strange though that she’s doing it with a potential tenant present. You don’t pay much attention to it though until it happens again and suddenly a faint moan reaches your ears. Your eyes widen, thoughts of all sorts running through your head. You must be mistaken. You should be mistaken. 

You hear it again, and it gets repetitive until there’s a steady rhythm that has you certain about something that could be happening there. You’re really not one to meddle with people’s private businesses, especially ones of this particular kind. You push each incoming thought away, regardless if it is an innocent one or not. It proves otherwise though, with the sound coming in clear for a wall separating the two apartments. 

At the same time, you also wish the best for Ayoung and if this man is a moving-away gift in disguise as this one, well you’re incredibly happy for her. Who were you to take that happiness away from her? But as the man’s grunts become more audible and prominent, your immediate reaction to it is beyond you, and you’re almost involuntarily rubbing your thighs together at the sound. 

‘No’, you think to yourself, stopping your southward train of thoughts and its imminent course of action. Rubbing at your temple, you wonder how could you even allow such pompous thoughts cross your mind. 

Groaning, you lie on your stomach and mush your face against your pillow as if to block those indecent images threatening to corrupt your mind. It isn’t right to get off someone else’s steamy evening, more particularly, that of your friend’s, so you close your eyes and focus on trying to get some sleep. 

You can’t. 

Not when this man’s heavy breathing sounds just as hot as Ayoung finds him to be. 

Not when this man sounds just like a porn star. 

And especially not when this man’s vocals are so stimulating to the point that it feels like an invitation for you to join the fun. Or at least, take an imaginary part in it. 

Holy shit. 

Tapping your fingers furiously on the bed covers, you ask yourself if you have really reached this level of desperation? That your lack of human touch is causing you to question the very principle of civility? 

You shake your head as you reach for your earphones. Coincidentally, Spotify’s shuffle decides to land on a Jamie Foxx track. 

What is with the universe constantly trying to fuck you up? 

You tap on the next button quickly, turning the volume all the way up in the hopes of ridding yourself of unclean thoughts, that is, until you hear Satan himself let out a particularly loud grunt, one you can practically feel travel straight to your core. Jesus. 

The voice of your evil miniature self on your left shoulder whispers in your ear, “It isn’t often for you to get ahold of an opportunity like this. Go get some,” she says, holding your angelic self on a chokehold with her own halo. 

She had a point though, and you really could only imagine having more time for yourself starting tomorrow. Besides, it’s been a while since you truly ‘relaxed’. And to top all of that, with the apartment walls as thin as paper, you can literally feel your neighbor’s bed now moving in a steady rhythm. You’re even surprised you’ve managed to keep your self-control this long. Not long enough though, unfortunately. 

Now that you’ve come to think of it, this man must be on a different level entirely if Ayoung could let herself get...dicked down during a simple visit (and for the first time too!). Just imagining what he probably looks like is sending a light tingle down your spine. 

You sigh, ultimately giving into the temptation. There’s no turning back now. 

Slowly, you slide your shorts down your legs, giving yourself time to still contemplate...but, hesitation was never really your strong point (a trait of yours that had truly blossomed since your friendship with Chohee). So off go your underwear too. 

As quietly as possible, you scoot over to the wall, just enough to let your shoulder touch your old, boring, beige wallpaper. You feel your neighbor’s bed move with a little more intensity this time, and you trail your fingers downward to your cunt, which is surely wet by now with all your thinking. 

The man’s grunts are louder than Ayoung’s thankfully, leaving everything to your imagination. You start at a steady pace, wanting to test the waters. With the couple just a mere distance away from you, save the wall separating your apartments, you try to match your pace with the pair. 

Letting your digit circle your clit, you work yourself out to your orgasm - that is, until your climax won’t arrive and you figure just using your fingers won’t get the job done. Just as if you thought the sounds they were making weren’t enough to get you over the edge. It’s been a while since you had any ‘action’ and your rust ass won’t allow you to cum with just your fingers. 

Hurriedly, you draw out a small box from beneath your bed. In haste, you throw the cover across the small room, fishing for what used to be a very good friend of yours before: Lovecorner’s limited edition of Real Feel 7. Never too late to catch up with good ol’ friends. 

You turn on the device, hoping that there’s enough battery left to get you through the night. Closing your eyes, you circle the dildo around your nether lips, gathering all the slick there. A few more moments and you gradually insert the toy inside you, causing you to shiver in excitement. Gulping, you only push it halfway through at first, wanting to get used to the feeling again.. 

There’s a short pause from the other side of the wall, one you use to your advantage to keep up. When you feel them continue, you pick up your pace, both desperation and shame pumping you up so you could get this night over with as quickly as possible. 

Just as you had expected, you feel their breathing get heavier by the second, and your bed is practically shaking with...what you presume to be yours and their movements combined. 

For some reason beyond your understanding, you work yourself out on your trusty companion, taking in every whimper and grunt from the other side of the wall like it’s your own, like you’re the one fucking like there is no tomorrow. 

You’re getting closer to your high - a feeling almost foreign to you at this point, and with the last string of sheer  will, you push the toy further up to the hilt, stroking your g-spot so perfectly that your orgasm has got you quivering in bed for more than thirty seconds. 

Breathless as ever, you lie in bed, staring straight into the ceiling. 

What. Was. That. All. About. 

You press your thighs together, an unexpected reaction from the reality of tonight’s events suddenly dawning in on you. You did not just get yourself off from your neighbor's live porn. 

With no more movement coming from Ayoung’s apartment, you could only assume that their day has officially concluded as well. Sighing, you make your way to your bathroom, treading over your floor as lightly as you could with your sore legs. 

Ten minutes and a refreshing half bath later, you head back to bed, exhaustion causing you to fall asleep in seconds. 

The sound of your jarring iPhone alarm blares right in your ear, scaring the living hell out of you exactly 6:45 in the morning. You wake up in a fright, panting heavily as you scramble to turn off the horrible sound. 

Quickly, you get off of your bed, proceeding with your daily morning routine. You tick off breakfast at home today, having scheduled your morning meal with Jimin and Soomin as your first official day as employees of Woocheon Medical City. 

Making sure you’ve got everything in your duffel bag -  extra clothes, toiletries, and the rest of your essentials, you lock the door to your apartment, sealing it off with a slight jiggle to the knob to assure yourself. 

Ayoung’s door likewise creaks open, and you glance at it through your peripheral vision to see a man coming out. Your eyes widen - he stayed the night then. Hm. You’re unsure if you want to suspect him of something other than a one night stand, or it’s just this curious itch inside you that makes you want to check who’s responsible for last night’s...occurrences. 

Mustering all that courageous chi Chohee has hopefully transferred onto you, you linger a little bit by your doorway before facing the man. Thankfully, the stranger doesn’t make your job difficult for you and looks your way as well. 

No. 

This can’t be. 

Turns out, Mr. Stranger who was supposed to be your hot neighbor as Ayoung claims is no stranger at all. 

It had to be. 

You look away just as quickly as you looked at him. “________? Hey!  I didn’t know you lived next door!” Your lips form a thin line. Why does he make it sound like you’re already neighbors? 

“Jungkook,” you nod to answer his question.  “Good morning to you too.”

Your cheeks heat up with the range of emotions you’re feeling: anger - from him not even remembering Ayoung’s name; shame - for your actions last night; disappointment - there’s a possibility of you two becoming neighbors and you’d inevitably have to face him more often than not. 

“Where are you off to? Gym?” 

Why does he think you’re going to gym in a collared shirt, jeans, and flats? And more importantly, why are you two even having this conversation? 

The elevator doors open and your impromptu escape plan springs into action, and currently, just like your legs. “Work actually! And I’m going to be late, so bye for now!” You sprint towards the elevator, quickly pressing a button to close the doors. 

You let out a sigh of relief as the doors close, leaving Jungkook with a confused look on his face. 

© joontier 2021

[keilemlucent]

Is it just me or is everyone seeing so many antis lately. Like how the hell am I being called an evil and bad person for liking Endeavor a dead-ass fictional character!!! Like honey let me have daddy issues in peace. Seriously though I don't want to just say "why do you take it so seriously" cause I know fanfic and manga and anime is very serious for some people but Jesus I feel like some antis should lighten up a bit!?!?!

god anon, it's not just you!! there's so many antis rn, and i feel like since last fall their ideology has gotten more and more extreme. i've been watching it happen or twit, tumblr, and VERY badly over tiktok. it's one of the reasons i left the app and stopped cosplaying.

the logic behind anti ideology isn't sound. esp since most of it is claims about psychosocial harm without empirical evidence being telephoned from minor to minor over social media. it's regurgitated purity culture that has no backing with any amount of research.

specifically regarding endeavor antis... i cannot understand the logic. i love enji, he's become quite a dear character to me over the last few months. hori really put a lot into his story and his atonement arc, and seeing a well-written "i fucked up and now i will do better" story regarding a father-figure??? LOVE it!! look at this beautiful story-telling!! antis shitting on enji fans by saying they codone abuse doesn't make any damn sense. mha is abt,... .. . heroes and villains. the villains are literal te//rrorists who want to bring down the fabric of society, but damn wanting to fuck dabi doesn't mean u prescribe to the same view point, does it?

AND! even still!! even if enji didnt have this atonement arc, i'd still be... okay to like him. u can just like fictional stuff and it doesn't translate in your tastes to reality. like, reality to fiction to fiction to reality isn't a fucking 1:1 ratio. it just doesn't work like that. storytelling is sexc because it isn't real, and fucked-up, beautiful, and improbable things can happen and be enjoyed and FELT, yet never experienced. that's SO fucking cool!! holy shit!!!!

and like... i have so many thoughts on antis and purity culture and myth but my lil, drunk mind can only do so much. folks should lighten up, remind themselves these are strangers on the internet, utilize a block button and move on. oof

[concussed-to-pieces]

Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents. 

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?" 

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach. 

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple." 

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience." 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?" 

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level." 

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully. 

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all. 

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised. 

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious. 

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised. 

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted. 

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look. 

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled. 

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you." 

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…" 

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!" 

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No." 

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue. 

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck. 

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock. 

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit. 

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled. 

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment. 

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit. 

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second. 

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-" 

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner." 

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine." 

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow. 

"Is someone a little sensitive there?" 

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?" 

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight. 

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock. 

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful. 

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing. 

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go. 

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was. 

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down. 

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off. 

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious. 

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around. 

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards. 

Jack swallowed roughly, confused. 

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you." 

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth. 

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this-- 

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair. 

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that." 

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!" 

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning." 

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing. 

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again. 

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

[xoxo-bunnydumpling]

The room he picked is perfect, with an excellent view overlooking the pines, and the hot springs that were the purpose of this visit.

But he rushes me past all that to the bathroom...the bathroom that has a HUGE garden tub.

"What's this?" I ask him, thinking I already know the answer, maybe.

He leans against the sink and Darmok's me. "Amie and Cas in the garden tub."

Jesus Christ, this man.

"Oh. Me, my embarrassment apparent."

He laughs. "I don't have any magic blue stuff but I'm willing to have a go anyway."

"Is there wine under the sink?"

He plants himself to where he's blocking the cabinet doors.

"You'll just have to take a peek, I guess."

Well...if he's indulging me, I might as well play along, so I go for the buttons on his shirt. Hiding my face in his chest I'm trying so hard not to laugh.

"You do remember he got bit on the ass, right?"

He doesn't move. "Yes...you're a fantastic writer by the way. That was quite the interesting touch."

"I hate that you've read that."

"I don't. It's given me plenty to use to make you go pink and you know how much I like that."

Nothing left to do but turn on the tap and let the chips fall where they may. We are both so fucking weird, I'm so glad I found him.

Post-incident advice from your pal, me: smut writers, I cannot advocate for sharing your work with your partner enough. I have no doubt you don't really wanna hear about two old people boning but HOLY SHIT. Just do it.

[strapskinkstories]

Put your dick down, pick up the keyboard and FIGHT FOR OUR RIGHTS!

The nobleman does not fight his war with a gun.

The nobleman fights his war in an office.

The nobleman fights his war with a pen, a phone, and a keyboard.

Put your dick down, stop jerking off, and start fighting back.

It’s time to talk some sense into these senseless idiots and it’s time to tell them the real TRUTH OF GOD.

GOD said nothing about the LGBT.

GOD said nothing about abortion

Anyone who uses the Bible to make it sound like he did blasphemes GOD.

If you have a daytime Twitter account, use it. If you don’t then get one, or use your AD account if you can’t handle having two Twitters (You will need a second telephone number and email to handle two twitter accounts, it isn’t exactly the easiest, but it is pretty easy)

If you have ability to work with the LGBT and pro women rights activists on the Truth Social DEMFORCE INVASION then join up, hammer their servers, and show them what their website really means.

You can’t create a website and desire it to be free of political discrimination if you’re only going to support traitors.

Good news is they actually support everyone who attends. Trump founded it, DWAC took it over, DWAC could eventually get as sick as Twitter got of trump and kick him off. Especially if democrats become the driving force of the network. End of the day $ is what drives these companies, and shareholders. And their shares are worthless and they’re hemorrhagic loss of cash will be either their downfall or opportunity for us to steer the ship to a better place. A lot of people hate Twitter, especially around politics. Twitter has a right wing bias, they banned me for calling Lauren Boebert white trash. Ironically on Truth Social I called her White Trash a dozen times and not one thing happened aside from a few angry little trolls replying which I swiftly dropped my block hammer on.

I haven’t heard a word from their staff about being a democrat, and that’s because they don’t care. But at the end of the day if we flood the site and storm them with 50,000+ accounts the worst of the red men will leave just like they left Twitter.

It’s time that we pushed these tinfoil hat wearing thugs back where they belong, into their basements without a computer “preparing for the lizard people”

Get on, have fun, and remember to use the block button judiciously.

Our goal is to swing people hard enough that they realize what they are doing isnt Christian. 

Righteous Anger is RIGHT. Preserving human rights is RIGHT. Decimating womens rights, forcing them to become baby dispensers? DEAD WRONG!

Wake up you scumbags. The orange man has put you all in a spiritual coma, some of you have even called him god. If you worship a fleshly man who is not truly the lamb of God JESUS CHRIST then you have blasphemed Jesus’s spirit and the Holy Spirit. Nobody can save you except yourself. You must rebuke the false prophet, you must rebuke the nations that strip away at human freedom. For we were created sovereign over our bodies and minds by GOD. And GOD himself spoke “Love Everyone Always”

“I Don’t care if you’re loving another man, a woman, or you’re a pair of men or a pair of women, as long as there is love in your soul, it is good!” “black white asian, rich or poor, you are colorless to God. To God you are but a strand of code. For GOD is a scientist who wrote you into life.”

For every code out there is a code in for the DNA code is what we are.

Christ is within all but some have killed his spirit off or have placed it into a deep coma.

There is a time for entertainment and there is a time for righteous anger.

Now is not a time to entertain. Now is a time to rise up and be loud.

Remember Stonewall? 

LETS STONEWALL THESE MOTHERFUCKERS AGAIN!

GET LOUD AND GET PROUD! (I unfortunately cannot do a daytime Twitter account so I fight through Truth Social. My NSFW After Dark account predates my vanilla account, so they left it alone. I cannot talk much politics on it because I respect separation of sexuality & state.)

[yikesharringrove]

Oooh spin the usual narrative around and maybe Steve got some really cool tattoos on his back after high school and Billy is just being all sweet on him later and notices them and LOVES them and is all like "ride me and show me" and won't let Steve finish until he describes all his tatts on his back

Smut

-

Billy hadn’t been in Hawkins, Indiana for about three years.

He had fled pretty much as soon as he got that diploma, had packed up his car the night before, tossed his stupid cap and gown in the trunk, and just fucking left.

But here he was, ready to watch Max and the rest of her brats graduate.

He was standing, feeling weird in his best shirt, sweating under the Hawkins sun.

And there was Steve Harrington. Of course he would come for his kids, was probably gonna tear up as they made their way across the stage. He could see Steve’s big hair sitting close to the front, with Henderson’s mom, looking just the same.

He spent the entire ceremony glaring holes in the back of Steve’s head, only looked up when Maxine Elizabeth Mayfield stomped across the stage, rolling her eyes as Susan and Neil made a big to-do somewhere in the crowd.

Then went right back to staring at Harrington.

He looked good.

Like, still looked as hot as he did in high school, but he looked,

he looked like a man.

He had shot stubble along his jaw, and he looked a little more filled out.

He was waiting for Max, standing with her mother off to the side when Steve turned, and noticed Billy.

His eyes went wide, and he began making his way over.

“Jesus, Hargrove. Long time no see.” He pulled Billy into a hug, a tight, sweet good-smelling hug. “You look good, man.” He smiled brightly at Billy.

“Yeah, Harrington. You too.” And he did.

“Hey, uh, all the kids are having a little shindig at The Byers’, I’d love to catch up with you.” He rubbed down Billy’s arm, made him so much fucking hotter than the bright sun.

-

The kids’ party was a nice barbecue in the Byers’ backyard.

They were all running around, getting in food fights and being stupid idiots.

Billy can respect that, the last summer before leaving all your friends.

Billy didn’t really have friends to leave, though. Just kinda, left, one day.

He kept his eyes on Steve the whole time, watched the way he smiled and laughed with the kids, the way his eyes kept flicking back to Billy.

The sun was beginning to set when Steve came over to the stairs Billy was perched on, two beers in hand.

He gave Billy one, settling right next to him.

“So, what have you been up to? Been, what three years?” Billy had left the day he graduated, hopped in his car and didn’t stop ‘till he saw the ocean.

“Moved back home. I’m working at a garage, now.” Steve gave him another nice smile. “Saving up to maybe go to school, or get a house or something.” He shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “What about you? Got a girlfriend?”

“Ha! No. Not really, dating right now.” A slow grin spread over Billy’s face.

“Just fuckin’?” Steve’s cheeks went red, but he didn’t deny anything. “Yeah, me too, Harrington.”

Steve laughed, pushing at his rolled up shirt sleeve.

It was just under his elbow, and Billy zeroes in on dark black ink winding down to an elegant curl on the side of his elbow.

“Any good stories?” Billy licked over his teeth.

He had stopped pretending in California, didn’t really want to here either.

“Well, I mean, there was this one guy, just absolute maniac. He had this thing about getting caught, so we’d go out to shitty bars, see how long it took before we got kicked out. We got away with a lot at most of ‘em, though.”

He watched Steve carefully, didn’t even see a twitch.

And then,

“Oh, I was kinda seeing a guy like that.” Billy’s brain shorted out. “There’s a gay bar down the block from my place in Chicago, and he’d take me out on the dance floor, and this one night, we just about fucked before someone noticed what we were doin’. It was kinda fun.”

Billy’s mind was racing, pictured pulling Steve onto a crowded dance floor, pushing his hands down his pants, fingering him, letting him rut against his thigh until he cums in his pants.

“So you, you’re gay?”

“Bi, actually. Figured that one out right away after movin’.”

“Yeah? Let your queer little flag fly?”

“It’s been fun.” Steve shrugged. Billy licked his lips, had an idea.

“Y’know, you coulda been havin’ fun way before you moved.” He leaned into Steve’s space, looking at him through his lashes.

Steve’s cheeks went red.

“It’s not too late, is it?” Billy stood up, tugging his keys out of his jeans pocket.

“I got a shitty motel room bed with your name on it, Pretty Boy.” Steve scrambled behind him, tossing himself into the passenger seat of his car.

He grinned at Billy.

-

Billy drove like a bat outta Hell, getting Steve to his motel room as fast as possible.

He led him inside, slamming Steve against the door the minute they got in.

He kissed Steve roughly, licking inside his mouth.

Steve moaned into his mouth, fumbling with the buttons on Billy’s shirt.

Billy pulled him, shoving him onto the bed, taking Steve’s shirt off in turn.

And there was the ink.

It curled down both of Steve’s arms, leading from his back.

“Holy shit.” Billy traced on of the curling tendrils. “Never begged you for a tattoo type.” Steve shrugged, his eyes flicking down to trail over Billy’s body.

“I like it.”

“Can I see?” Steve pushed on him gently, but then he got an idea. “Wait,” he grinned at Steve. “Ride me and let me see them.” Steve smiled devilishly back up at him.

He pushed Billy, swapped their positions.

He was straddling his waist, could feel how hard Billy was underneath him.

“Only if you get me all ready.”

Billy undid Steve’s belt, tearing his khakis open.

Steve sat up, awkwardly wiggling out of them to sit back down, completely naked on Billy’s lap. He took Billy’s hand, kept direct eye contact as he sucked on Billy’s fingers.

He was like a fucking pornstar, his eyes going all dark and sultry as he licked over Billy’s fingers, sucked them into his mouth.

“Jesus, Stevie. You’re so fuckin’ hot.” Steve smirked at him, pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a pop, guiding Billy’s hand around his hips, leaning forward over Billy.

“Go ahead.” Billy jostled him a little closer, rubbing his spit slick fingers over his hole.

He pushed one inside.

Steve’s eyes fluttered closed, and he moaned, so loud and pretty.

“God, wished we had done this years ago.” Billy was now pumping his finger in and out of Steve.

“I was pretty repressed back then. Don’t know if I would’ve done this.” Billy eased in another finger. Steve took him so well.

“Then, glad I got here just in time.”

“Welcome to my slutty phase.” He grinned at Billy, grinding his hips back and forth on his fingers.

Billy spread his fingers, scissoring them open and closed, getting him open. Steve squirmed a little.

“Just like,” he took Billy’s wrist, shoving his fingers in deeper. Billy curled his fingers. “Oh, yeah.” He started tossing his ass back, fucking himself on Billy’s fingers. “Fuck.”

He collapsed forward, burying his face in Billy’s neck.

Billy tried to get a look at the dark ink covering him from neck to upper ass cheek.

“I’m I’m ready.” Steve bat Billy’s hand away, turning around.

He lined up Billy’s cock, sinking down on it.

Billy’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy groaned. Steve felt like Heaven.

He looked over his shoulder, tossing him a wry smile. Billy clung to his hips.

“Like what you see?”

The tattoo was beautiful.

It was an intricate monster, tall and skeletal, a face like a flower, opened up with rows and rows of horrible teeth. There appeared to be black smoke coming from behind the monster, delicate furls of something, maybe vines? They climber up Steve’s shoulders, wrapped around his arms.

It shouldn’t have been sexy, staring at this thing while Steve bounced on his cock, but it was Steve bouncing on his cock, tossing his head back and moaning.

“What do you think?”

“I think, you don’t get to cum until I tell you all my thoughts on this art.” Steve moaned loudly. “This fuckin’, fuckin’ monster. Black ink looks real pretty on you, Baby.”

Steve turned again to look over his shoulder.

“Tell me about it.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t be turned on, lookin’ at this thing. It’s like, it’s like it’s screaming at me.” Steve shuddered. Billy didn’t know if it was a good shudder or a bad one. “I can, I can see the saliva in it’s mouth.”

And then Steve stopped, panting heavily.

He pulled off of Billy, turning to face him again.

“Sorry, that’s just, you know, not the best dirty talk material.” Billy grinned at him.

In one swift motion he rolled on top of Steve, slamming his way back inside of him.

“You want good material? You want me to tell you about how often I jerked off to you in high school? Pictured how pretty your lips would look around my cock? Thought about how tight your little hole would be?”

That was apparently the stuff.

Steve’s eyes were wide, his hair wild on the pillow behind him. He was panting shallowly, just accepting what Billy was giving him.

“Thought about taking you all kindsa ways. Thought about bendin’ you over in the showers after P.E. and just fucking you right there, in front of everyone.”

Steve’s back arched beautifully, and his thighs trembled against Billy’s sides as he came, thick white spunk sticking their stomachs together.

“Yeah? That get you going? The idea of people watching, of being made my bitch?”

“Jesus, Billy, I already finished.” His cock gave a flimsy little kick as if proving his point.

“Yeah, now I’m getting myself off.” Steve laughed at him, shifting his hips to let Billy drive in deeper.

“That what get you there? Pining me down? Making me your bitch?” Billy moved a little faster, a little rougher. “Now’s your chance, Tiger. Gimme your cum, ruin me.”

Billy bit down on Steve’s neck, made him yelp as he bucked his hips, cumming inside of him.

He breathed for a minute, rolling off of Steve.

Steve stretched like a cat, wincing slightly.

“Lemme see your art again. Was a little distracted with the sight of my dick in your ass.” Steve laughed, rolling over onto his stomach.

Billy traced the monster’s mouth with light fingers.

“It’s cool.”

“Will Byers drew it. Kind of reminds me to, you know, put the past behind me. I know it’s cheesy but,” he shrugged, trailing off.

“Sometimes cheesy works.” Steve’s cheek was smushed against the pillow as he studied Billy.

“What’s it like being back in Hawkins? Must be weird coming back after being gone.”

“Nah. Nothing’s really changed. Weirder coming in blind that first time.” He traced one of the black vines. “I thought you were in Chicago?”

“I am. Only moved out there about six months ago. Didn’t get into college or anything, so I’ve been working shitty jobs, saving up some money. Thinking about running away some more. Get further away.”

“You’re always welcome in California. I got a pull out couch.” He licked over his teeth. “Or you could share my bed.”

“Are you asking me to give you sex in exchange for a place to stay?”

“You did say you’re in your slutty phase.” Steve laughed, burying his face in the pillow.

“We’ll see if I get desperate enough to get outta here to take you up on that offer.”

“You could drive back with me. Stay for awhile, fly back. See if you like it.”

High school Billy would be creaming in his pants right about now, asking Steve Harrington to run away to California with him.

Steve looked at him, his face unreadable.

“I could go for a little adventure.”

[passivenovember]

If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields.

Billy's job at Willowbrook Elementary is the only reason he puts up with this weather at all.

His hatred for winter, a season which hardly existed when he taught in the Valley, morphs and becomes something violent on the first Monday after Christmas break.

He wakes up feeling like his toes have gone missing, frozen black and blue with the cold, and after his phone tells him it's below zero outside, with wind-chill, his heart stops beating.

Hawkins is -10 degrees, to be precise.

And it leaves him feeling like that's gotta be illegal, or. He could for sure call all the scientists on Earth and have a law passed that clarifies: those born and raised in a Southern climate get a free pass on days when Hell is actively freezing over.

But it's not snowing today. And all the ice on the street has been scraped into terrible, disgusting drifts that block his driveway, and Hopper would immediately call bullshit. All, gonna have to suck it up if you wanna live here, buttercup.

So Billy decides to be an adult, or whatever. He spends another five minutes on his phone definitely not stalking his ex Instagram before rolling out of bed to get dressed.

And, like.

Even his underwear drawer is stiff from the cold so Billy decides to bundle the fuck up--a trick he learned from Max last fall, during the coldest year Indiana had ever seen. He manages to stack five layers in total; one pretty pink thermal set just brushing his his skin and a button down shirt to stave off the goosebumps. A sweater and jeans for professionalism. One Grateful Dead hoodie, because it makes him feel like he's not a total sell out, and a thick winter coat, sent special from the snow capped mountains of California this Christmas.

It still smells like his mom's pikake lei perfume.

Billy tries not to think about that, of home, on a day when he'd give his left nut for a ray of sunshine.

Instead, he spends ten minutes filling his thermos with coffee. Boiling the rice milk more than once so it'll stay warm on the ride across town. He sticks his pinky under the lip after his third go, and fuck that shit is so hot it will burn his mouth tomorrow, before checking the weather app again for closures.

Hoping against hope that something has changed in the last five minutes.

Of course, nothing has.

The superintendent believes that everyone in Hawkins is somehow used to temperatures that makes their eyelids freeze shut in the thirty second walk to the car in the morning. Billy jams a knit cap on his head and seriously considers calling in.

A last ditch effort to quell the rising fury in his veins, that like.

He's gonna have to scrape his windows, and freeze his dick off, and deal with the neighbor.

The one who looks like he doesn't mind the cold so much because he carries the sun with him, fucking asshole.

People shouldn't be wandering the streets when their eyelids could freeze shut, right?

Billy checks his phone one more time, frowning at a text from Joyce to pick up some coffee on your way in, and tosses his bag over his shoulder before he can change his mind.

--

It's so much worse than expected.

Billy's lungs seize up on his second intake of fresh air because no one should be huffing sulfur or gaseous ice or whatever the fuck this shit is first thing in the morning. On a Monday. The first one after Christmas break, and.

"God damn, holy shit, holy shit,"  Billy bounces the whole way to the Camaro, breath coming in short, comical bursts of steam that make his nose run. He swipes dramatically at his face, struggling to get his keys into the lock while balancing his thermos on one arm and his messenger bag on the other.

Billy's in the middle of forcing the door open, its hinges are frozen solid with ice goddammit, when Steve fucking Harrington appears like a cloud on the wind.

"Howdy neighbor," Steve says. Like they're cowboys in a shitty film from the 1970s. The wind kicks a lock of brown hair into Harrington's face and he shivers. "Wow, it's really blowing out here, huh?"

Midwesterner's love doing that.

Pointing out the obvious.

Billy grumbles a response, flinging his car door open and jamming the keys into the ignition.

Steve's saying something.

Talking like always, about his cat or maybe the beer they keep saying they'll have together, and generally Billy puts up with it but not today. He isn't going to freeze to death for a pair of legs.

The Camaro roars to life, clearly pissed at having to work on such a disgusting day, and. Alright. Letting your car "warm up," is something so Midwestern Billy can't even talk about it.

It takes him all of two minutes to scrape his windows, electing to carve holes in each wall of ice rather than clear the whole thing. The metal handle of the scraper Max got him feels like the ninth circle of hell against the peachy skin of his fingers.

He should've bought some mittens.

Joyce is always saying he needs mittens, he should've asked for some--

Billy tosses the scraper into his back seat and climbs in, slamming the door shut behind him and cranking the heat up to high. Steve's watching from next to the fence in a fucking pea coat, and a scarf with care bears on it and.

Nothing else.

Fucking asshole.

Steve waves at him, like; hey I'm talking to you. Frantically, like the mouse Mr. Bane caught last week is important.

But Billy's too busy trying to back out of the driveway with five layers of shit restricting his movement. He cranks the music up and cautiously pulls onto the street. Nice and smooth like he's seen Steve do effortlessly, even with three inches of ice on the ground. Fucking asshole.

Billy makes it halfway before he hits something.

The wind kicks hair into his face as he assesses the damage.

"You should've scraped your driveway last night." Steve says helpfully.

He's got a cigarette hanging from his lips, stark in contrast to the weird home made scarf he's got folded around his neck. Billy tries not to think about Steve's lips as he makes his way to the back of the Camaro to see that, yup.

Of course.

His baby is stuck in the snow. Billy kicks the tire. Like that'll fix anything.

"That's not gonna fix anything." Steve says, leaning against the fence.

"Jesus, fuck. I know, Steve." Billy scrubs a hand across his face, gesturing to the Care Bear scarf. "Why the hell are you wearing that thing, you look like a fruit."

"I am a fruit."

"Well you look like the whole goddamn bowl, pretty boy." Billy digs around for a cigarette. "My kindergarteners don't even fuck with the Care Bears enough to own scarves." Billy squints, assessing Steve from head to toe, delighting in the awkward squirm of his limbs. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. "Couldn't look any fruiter if you tried."

Steve shrugs his shoulders, like. Don't yell at me, this isn't my fault.

And okay.

He's cute.

Billy gets struck by that every time he sees the guy, all over again, like. His profile is perfect. Sharp nose, pretty eyes. Thick lips.

Steve holds out a cigarette.

Billy takes it.

"One of my residents made it for me. He's learning how to flat pattern." Harrington says shyly. "Well, he made it for his grand daughter, but. It turned out worse than he expected so I offered to take it."

Billy squints. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Just means I was trying to be nice--"

"No, the." Billy grins in spite of himself. "The flat patterning, what's that?"

Steve shrugs again. "I'm not sure, I think it's like. A sewing term. Or something." A pretty blush the color of Steve's scarf spreads across the bridge of his nose. It looks like strawberry ice cream and Billy.

Has to look away.

"My mom sews," Billy says gruffy. "I've never heard her say that."

"Well, maybe she drapes?"

Billy squints again. "What?"

"Draping. That's another thing people do--"

Billy stamps the cigarette out and kicks his tire again. Steve jolts, like. Billy tried to kick him or something, which just makes the situation worse.

"God, they should've cancelled classes." Billy states. Well, screams, to no one in particular. "Who wants to go to work in the snow, who fucking. Likes this white bullshit?"

Steve leans against the fence and looks thoughtful. "I love the snow."

"You're not helping."

"You asked."

"No, I didn't." Billy shoots back. He digs his cellphone out and shakes his head. "Why are you still here, Harrington? Don't you have old people to take care of?"

Steve chuckles again. Light, like Christmas bells. "Don't you have screaming brats to teach?"

"My car's kinda stuck in the snow, you fucking dick." Billy's so focused on trying to order a lyft that he doesn't waste time on pleasantries. He expects that to be the end of it, when the wind picks up and he swears again, but. Steve just moves closer.

"Let me drive you." Steve says.

And.

The moment sort of hangs there.

In the two years that Billy's lived next to the guy, they've never hung out. Never house sat for each other, never spoken outside the occasional could you make sure your idiot friends don't block my driveway, and empty promises to grab a beer sometime.

So the offer catches him off guard.

Billy glances up from his phone, confused, to find Steve looking everywhere but at him. Harrington's shifting his weight, like. He's fucking nervous, or something.

Or maybe hoping Billy will say no because he's just being polite.

Billy glares.

Of course he's just being neighborly. Charitable. That's what Midwestern assholes do.

Billy waves his phone in the air, like, "I'm ordering a lyft." And it comes out sharper. More aggressive than he means it too, but Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"Just ride with me, it's on the way."

Billy points at the screen. "Jason will be here in ten minutes."

"What's Jason got that I don't have?" Harington quips, and.

Billy just wants shit to go back to normal. He shakes his head again, "Nah, 's okay, pretty boy. Thanks anyway." Before turning back to his phone like he's got important shit to worry about.

Steve stands.

Stares.

Waits, for longer than is necessary, before clearing his throat. "Okay, well. Happy first day back." He says.

And if Billy didn’t know any better he'd say Steve sounds almost.

Disappointed.

--

When Billy gets off of work that night the snow is gone from his driveway.

--

Billy still has bad days.

They always start before dawn. With the claws of his nightmare leaving scratches down the lining of his throat. It's like Billy's carrying an anchor around his neck, or his veins are filled with playdough the color of the sun on those afternoons. He feels lazy and sluggish and like if someone looks at him for too long he'll break. Snap and crackle, like an open flame against fresh skin.

Billy still has bad days but they don't come unless he's been slipping for a while. Like forgetting to take his medication, or not writing his letter every night before bed.

The one to Neil, that his therapist says will help him work through the last of the road blocks that stand in the way of, "ultimate healing."

Billy used to think it was horseshit.

But Neil. Everything that happened, everything that still happens--when Billy goes home for Christmas, or when Susan calls and he can hear the slur of hate on the other end of the line--is standing in the way of something.

There are so many letters.

So much he wants to say.

Written on anything Billy can find, like. Napkins and the backs of take out menus--old drawings that the kids send home with him after Art class on Fridays.

The pages are kept in a binder.

His therapist says it's important to decorate the binder with, like. Stuff that makes him feel good. Words and phrases, stickers, pictures of the people he loves and drawings of all his favorite things. The folder is supposed to act as a visual reminder of the blanket of love that surrounds him, or something.

Melvalds only had brown folders when he went to pick his up, so.

The folder is brown. Disgusting.

And so far the only decorations he's been able to stomach are one of those fancy stickers from Redbubble that depicts his favorite episode of Daria, and a picture of him and Maxine with underwear on their heads.

Billy thinks it could be sad to some people.

That a poor, little abused boy only has two things in life that protect him from the shadow which falls with the setting sun, but it's the truth. Life is hard and fucked up. Billy has trouble letting people close, letting people in, so he sticks with the basics. The tried and true.

Maxine and his gravity bong.

Billy Hargrove is a simple man.

--

So it's two weeks after Steve shovels his driveway and Billy tells his therapist, like. "This fucking guy just. Did something nice for me."

And she clearly wonders what's wrong with him. "Did you say thank you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Billy tries not to get defensive about shit these days, because. It's only a hop-skip-and a jump from defensiveness to downright aggression and Megan, his well meaning shrink, doesn't deserve that even on her most annoying days.

His leg bounces under the table, thwacking against its mahogany edge loud enough that Megan can hear it over the fucking phone, so she says, "Billy. Stop."

Because they have a deal about nervous ticks.

Billy is supposed to say his safe word when he starts to feel anxious, but.

He fucking hates that shit. Hates being babied. Hates feeling like he's a goddamn basket case that needs to be rooted in reality when his trauma rears its ugly head. Billy smiles, the whole thing falling flat against his face. "I'm stopping."

Megan sighs. "Why haven't you thanked Steve for his act of kindness?"

"Because, like." Billy's shaking his leg again. Softer this time; it's a secret. "How do I know he isn't trying to, fucking. Get information out of me. Or out me to the community, or. Make fun of the way I'm a grown man who can't shovel his own driveway after a snowstorm--"

"I think you're internalizing your fears, Billy."

"Yeah, no shit." He snaps. Billy feels bad for half a second but then she's giggling, like she always does, which makes him feel less like the big bad wolf and more like one of the three little pigs. The guy with the straw, maybe?

Billy sighs, scrubbing at his face. "What does that even mean?"

Megan makes a noise on the other end of the line, like. In the six months that Billy's been in therapy he should've learned this by now.

Dude's got a short attention span, sue him.

And, sure enough. "Twice a week we meet over the phone and you don't know that internalizing your fears means you're trying to write the ending to a story you haven't even read yet?"

"Like, uh," Billy says intelligently. "What's that shit you're always saying? About seeing a book on the shelf and--"

"Guessing the ending. Yup, that's right." Megan sounds pleased. Billy ignores the bloom of happiness in his chest, because like. He doesn't really deserve it. She doesn't give him time to dwell, though. "Steve did something nice for you. Maybe he has suspicious intent--"

Billy sucks in a breath, like.

Dramatic. Loud enough that Megan snorts and says, "Hold on, you're jumping to conclusions again."

Billy really fucking.

Hates how perceptive she can be.

Megan keeps talking and Billy listens, because he pays her after all. "If you're really worried that his intentions are cloudy, do something nice for him in return."

"Something nice," Billy repeats. Like he's never heard of such a concept. "Something nice, like. Buy him flowers?"

Megan snorts. "Do you want to buy him flowers?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you--" His therapist sighs. Billy embraces the feeling it gives him, yanking her chain a little bit. "Listen. I don't know this Steve person, and I've never heard you talk about him beyond this beer you're supposed to have together, like. Never. But has he ever given you a reason to think he's out to hurt you?"

Billy thinks back over two years and a million one-dimensional interactions.

Steve never loses his temper.

Not when Billy calls to have the cars that block his driveway towed, not when Billy bitches about the daisy bushes shedding into his yard in the fall, and Steve always picks up Mr. Bane's cat shit from Billy's front porch when the Gremlin actually goes outside.

Always with a smile and a sweet little, I think Mr. B likes you.

And, like.

It was pretty nice of Steve to offer Billy a ride that morning.

And shovel his driveway after work, just because he knew Billy probably wouldn't do it.

The whole thing, it. Fills Billy with something he can't quite express, a warmth he only ever feels when Max calls a dozen times to remind him to eat dinner when he sends a few intense messages.

Megan takes his silence, as always, like a breakthrough.

"So," She says, clearly satisfied. "Same time next week?"

--

Billy spends three days waiting for Steve to make it easy for him.

Because Harrington's a home owner, and there's always something, right? A problem he needs help with, like. A leaky pipe that needs fixed, a cup of sugar for a recipe that he didn't account for, ghosts in the attic. Typical HOA bullshit.

Billy stares out his window at the lovely split level next door and decides he'll take anything, do anything, to get this fucking anchor of guilt off his back for the whole driveway situation. The opportunity never presents itself.

The ducks never fall in a row.

Steve just leaves the house every morning, same time as Billy, same as always, with a gentle Howdy neighbor. And a smile tugging at his pretty pink lips, hair perfect and windswept because he's a fucking asshole and it only takes two days.

Forty-eight hours before Billy's hatching a plan to pay Harrington back and inventing problems to solve, like some sort of demonic Bob the Builder.

He calls Max on Thursday and comes up with a list. Something tangible, like breaking Steve's garage window with a ski ball. Or trapping Mr. Bane in a sweater and pretending like he's gone missing so Steve will have to round up a search party, but.

Billy knows Megan would call that instigating, antagonizing, and causing trouble, which Billy's trying not to do anymore.

So he brings up flowers again, because.

Fuck it--maybe he's wanted to see Steve behind a bouquet of Lilies of the Valley for months now.

And Max goes all soft.

And quiet, too, before whispering, "I'm really proud of you, you know? For getting better."

Then suddenly Billy can't breathe because there's a lump in his throat.

Because he is trying to get better. To live honestly, to lead with love--whatever hippie-dippie bullshit Megan is always spoon feeding him, so.

With Max's blessing, Billy's about to, like. Knock on Steve's door with a plate of pot brownies and a shitty thanks for being a decent human card when Mr. Bane leaves a dead bird on Billy's porch, the third one in a month, and Billy hatches an idea.

--

Steve's front door is yellow.

Like. Sunshine yellow. Valley girl yellow.

Which Billy used to think was charming but now thinks is kind of annoying, when coupled with Steve's perpetually sunny disposition. And okay. Maybe it sort of pokes and prods at that piece of him that's always missing home.

Maybe it makes him a little bit sad, like. He'll never really feel at peace anywhere else.

But before Billy can dwell on it, or raise his fist to knock on the door, Steve's opening it and preparing to step through. He's using his foot to stop Mr. Bane from running out into the yard so he doesn't see Billy right away, which.

Also means he's going somewhere.

Which inherently means Billy's caught him at a bad time. Billy holds the paper bag closer to his chest and feels the words bubbling up before he can practice his breathing, or. Stop them. Because this is his third biggest fear after arguments and spiders.

"I've caught you at a bad time, I'm sorry, I'll just come back la--"

Steve breaks out into a grin so big. So bright, that it rivals anything Billy's ever seen before.

"Howdy, neighbor!" Steve says.

And Billy shifts nervously from one foot to the other, like. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's not a--"

"Because I can come back later." Billy nods, already turning on his heel to escape, and like. Fly into the sun. "Or not at all. I can just mail it to you, that's. Yeah, I'll just stick it in the post or something."

Steve grabs his elbow.

Billy looks at the hand on his elbow, and down at Steve’s feet. There aren’t any shoes or anything, so.

Billy's overreacting.

Fuck. He swallows, raising his eyes with caution to see Steve smiling again. Even wider than before, if that's possible.

Harrington licks his lips. "Whatcha got there?" He says, nodding to the bag, and Steve.

He's wearing glasses today.

Billy feels like someone hit him on the back of the head with a ski ball. Steve looks so soft, in white stripped overalls and a green sweater, that Billy doesn't know whether to fluff him like a pillow or fucking.

Punch him in the face.

Billy holds out the paper bag. "It's for you."

Steve looks at him strangely but he's still smiling, which.

Is good.

Billy thinks it's good but then he knows its good when Steve giggles. "I gathered that. What is it?"

"It's a, uh. You know." Billy tries. "You know one of those things? Where it's, like, a thing but you aren't supposed to know what it is?"

Steve blinks at him, cheeks turning pink like they always do. "A surprise?"

"That's the one." Billy snaps his fingers, like. Ah-ha. Except it isn't a surprise, it's just. "It's a way to say thanks. For the whole," Billy concludes, gesturing vaguely to their front lawns, to. "The driveway."

Steve blushes even harder. "You didn't have to get me a present--"

"It's not a present."

"That was just me trying to be nice." Steve leans against the door jam, eyes searching. "It doesn't call for a--"

"It's not a present." Billy says again. Steve doesn't look like he believes him, so Billy, like. Shoves the paper bag to his chest. "Look, open it now or don't. Fucking, throw it away for all I care, it's fine."

Billy turns on his heel because fuck this.

Fuck trying to pay back nice with nice and fuck Steve for starting this whole debacle to begin with. Billy makes it down one step and then Steve is laughing so hard he can't stand up straight.

Which just makes Billy feel worse, because.

"You're laughing." Billy gapes. "I bring you a present to say thanks for not being an asshole, and you're laughing."

Steve doesn't answer, he just.

Keeps on laughing, and okay.

This is Billy's third greatest fear. After abandonment and fighting. Fists covered in blood--his or someone else's, it doesn't matter. He frowns, turning to leave again when Steve straightens and coughs once into the palm of his hand.

"Thought it wasn't a present," Steve quips, and he's looking at Billy with, like. Sparkly eyes. He shrugs. "I'm not sure what it means."

Billy doesn't get it. "It doesn't have to mean anything--"

"No, like." Steve peers into the bag again, clearly holding back tears. "Why did you get me a bag of dead mice?"

"You can get them at the pet store." Billy says, because. You can, alright? He fiddles with the sleeves of his winter coat. "They're for Mr. Bane."

Steve just stares at him, eyes twinkling like two polished diamonds in his head.

And he's not saying anything, or. Laughing anymore, he's just. Watching Billy fall to pieces on his walkway as he tries to defend himself.

Billy focuses on the clouds that inch across the sky. "Mr. Bane, he's. He's always catching shit, like. Dead shit and leaving it on my porch. I just thought if he wants to eat dead things I can just. Buy him a pack or whatever. Like a normal person."

Steve grins. "You know they do that because they think you can't feed yourself."

Billy wrinkles his nose. "Well I fucking appreciate it, but I don't want to eat dead mice and birds and shit."

Steve chuckles once before staring again.

Like he's memorizing Billy's face, or like. They're having a competition that Billy doesn't know about.

Billy gestures to the bag again. "Would you just accept it, Steve? Please?"

Harrington looks down at the mice in his hands and nods slowly, like the decision is really requiring some thought.

Billy feels stupid.

This was so fucking stupid--

"Sure, Billy." Harrington says. Soft, and. Sweet. "No one's ever given me such a thoughtful gift before, so. Thank you."

And Billy feels like the tin man getting oil on his joints after a year of rusting in the forest, when Steve accepts his weird ass gesture. He nods, mouth lapsing into a thin, unamused line. "Okay, then. See ya 'round," Billy says.

And then he's turning, and.

Leaving.

Before Steve can say anything else.

The clouds inch like caterpillars across the bright winter sky and Steve's walkway seems so much longer on the journey home.

[rounove]

Shyan Fan fic Recommendation

Anon I want to kiss you right now. I have been waiting for this question for years

Batch 1

*All | orphan_account

Ryan's got an itch only Shane can scratch.

*"Come over here and make me." | aldhafera 

“Shane, stop that this instant!” “Come over here and make me.” In which Ryan fears something followed them home and Shane just wants to give the (definitely non-existent) ghosts a show. 

Por Favor, Sweetheart |  carrieonfighting

Two dorks raise a baby and don't even realise they're doing it together until it's too late Alternatively, Ryan Bergara is Trying His Best Thanks

(This one’s so domestic I think I melted)

the choices we make |  exul

Shane and Ryan find themselves in a world where much is the same, yet everything is different. An apartment that's theirs, but not theirs. Photos of them that were never taken. And most importantly a child, who's somehow theirs, yet they've never seen her before. or Shane and Ryan wake up in a world where they're married and have a baby. 

and then there were two (idiots) |  sessrumnir

Shane kisses Ryan by accident one day. A week later they are still trying to process what happened. 

*Body Farming |  shiphitsthefan

Failed suppressants and a surprise heat: the worst of cliches, and here Ryan stands, living the trope on location with the alpha he’s hopelessly in love with. Even worse, they’re spending the night in the famous Bell Witch Cave, completely alone and with no way to contact the outside world.

Ryan knows he can survive and keep his preheat a secret, as long as Shane will stop being so protective and concerned. After all, it’s not like Shane wants to bond with him.

Right?

*breathe out so i can breathe you in |  trxshmxuth

They've been tiptoeing around each other for months now, walking on ice so thin that Ryan can practically see the sexual tension swirling and raging underneath. Ryan's almost afraid that when the ice finally cracks, he's not going to be able to resurface again.On their next Unsolved investigation, the ice breaks.

eventually, the darkness stares back |  EAST (WESTAGE)

Shane realizes he likes Ryan exactly the way he is: alive. 

Four Down, One to Go |  sunshinewinchesters

Ryan is sick and Shane is having a really shitty week. 

*Hold Your Breath, It Gets Better |  beethechange

Ryan stops short in the doorway of his bedroom, banging his shoulder against the doorframe in his haste, because he’s too late. Shane’s kneeling in front of the bottom drawer of his bedside table, peering down at the contents, hand frozen in a hover like he’d been about to reach in. His face is a blank mask.

“Ah. I keep the batteries in the top drawer. Not. Not the bottom one.”

“Yes,” Shane says, cocking his head to the left in puzzlement, and then he pauses for a fraction of a second too long as he considers his words. “I can see that the batteries are not in the bottom drawer.”

*How Deep (Is Your Love) |  touchinghearts

The last thing Shane expects when he exits the bathroom is for his boyfriend to appear out of fucking nowhere, pin him against the wall, and swallow his cock down in the open hallway of a hotel. 

It's a love/hate kind of thing. |  heyghouls

Shane is an executive producer at BuzzFeed and Ryan is his intern. It's not love at first sight for the boys, but will they finally see eye to eye when they realize they have more in common than they thought? Shane is an introvert who finds it hard to let people in, and Ryan is a cute loving boy who just wants to figure the guy out. 

Just Out of Reach |  formosus_iniquis  

A variation on the "I asked for your help getting a book off the top shelf and and you laughed at my taste and called me a nerd so I shoved you into a table of nonfiction best-sellers and that’s how we both got banned from the quirky community bookstore" prompt 

keep you like an oath |  spoopyy

"I'm in love with you," Ryan says, desperate."No, you're in love with the views."

kiss me like you mean it |  rocketshiptospace

“Hi,” Tall man says, taking in the sight in front of him. “I’m sorry, I heard banging and yelling and I just, are you okay?”

“No. Yes. Maybe,” Ryan says, slowly standing back up on two legs again. “My door won’t open.” He eventually ads, when him and Tall man have just stared at each other for a few seconds.

“That’s unfortunate,” Tall man says, smiling at him. He has a really nice smile. “But it happens. It’s an old building, you know. Doors get stuck sometime. Here, let me try,” He steps past Ryan, and places his hand on the door handle. The door swings open like it’s nothing.

or, Ryan's apartment building plays matchmaker.

*Muscles Better and Nerves More |  beethechange

A certain meddling Voodoo Queen of New Orleans thinks Ryan and Shane need some new perspective on life. After an inadvisable ritual deposits Ryan in Shane’s body, and Shane in Ryan’s, the ghoulboys pursue some soul-searching and self-discovery to put things right. Sometimes in a sexy way. 

the calm before crescendo |  abovetheruins

Alternate title: 5 times Shane Madej was flustered by Ryan Bergara, and 1 time he finally did something about it. 

*The Desk Fic |  SincerelyLeah

Shane was having a shitty Monday morning and it was all because of one person, Ryan Bergara. But, by now he should know that endless teasing gets Shane more than riled up. 

Things That Go Bump in the Night (and 7 till 12 at weekends) |   HoopyFrood

Shane works at a Haunted House. Ryan is Ryan. Things go about as well as you'd imagine. 

Tranquility Base |  sessrumnir

After their successful Sims series, Kelsey has a different video proposal for the boys. This time, they're testing how fast gossip travels in the office. But Ryan doesn't expect their relationship to change so fast because of it. 

*wasted on you |  cursingcursive (queenradi)

there's a reason shane loves when ryan wears his clothes. 

Weird |  Helsabot

One night, the stack of pillows between them becomes one stack too many. “Let me— let me hit you with a thought. A theory.” “A postulation?” “Sure. Let me postulate at you.” “Postulate away, baby.”

You Make Me Glow |  sohapppily

Whenever they were on their ghoul excursions, Shane always had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue and a twisted smirk to shoot at Ryan’s terror. He was mostly the same way in their unrecorded life, but they played up the banter for the sake of The Boys. Although it was a welcome respite for Ryan, seeing Shane in these settings with nothing but sleep on his features never failed to be a bit jarring.

Ryan couldn’t look away.

lightning in a bottle |  LexTheMoose

Love is slow-dancing on the balcony of a house party at 11 PM. 

meet me halfway |  poetdameron

In a world where everything changed over the night, Ryan and Shane's minds connect miles away, making Shane the man of Ryan's dreams. Literally. 

Batch 2

*And they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) |  Squeakyshroom

All my notes said on this one was “this is pure sex jesus”

2:10 to Wellton |  quackers

and i'm puffing my chest, getting red in the face |  pissedofsandwich

Bed-warm Hands and the Ghost of Elvis |   MiraclesofPaul

*BFFS Get Married For A Week - Ryan and Shane |  aspookycryptidsock

distorted truths |  hwsinbs

*Everything's Weird and We're Always in Danger |   beethechange

hammer me to the cross of my despair |   heartchains

I Think the Ghost Likes You |   cactsu

*I’ve Kissed You Before, but I Didn’t Do It Right (Can I Try Again) |   beethechange

if i should fall |  abovetheruins

*Just The Facts |   millyvanilly (miloisnothere)

*Out of Control with Ryan |  beethechange

*Pushing All Your Buttons |  beethechange

satisfaction brought it back |  ElasticElla

Short Stack |  Anonymous

*Thank you, Satan |  Squeakyshroom

The Chain |  Lafayette1777

Rough water |  heyghouls

Batch 3

The Thrilling Gardner Museum Heist |  orphan_account

One in Five Billion |  punk_rock_yuppie

a short history of almost something |  cooliohoolio

*A Suspicion of Feelings |  beethechange

I Will Be the Sun, I Will Wake You Up |  sohapppily

*ready if it happens with you |  sarcasticfishes

*The Denial Twist |  beethechange

The Bizarre Road Trip Of A Missing Family |  icantwritegood

Beautiful Crime |  orphan_account

The Odd Death of Michelle Von Emster |  icantwritegood

won't you ride on my fast machine? |  ElasticElla 

Batch 4

*Breathe |  quackers

*The Hunger |  poetdameron

Black Sun |  quackers

contrapposto |  spoopyy

(Let me tell you that I never liked major character death but I accidentally read this one without reading the warning and YOO I am a fan of major character death now. This was beautifully written!)

darling it's a faded notion |  varnes

(This was the very first shyan fic I’ve read and still one of the best one’s)

*Full-Court Press |  beethechange

(I remember this one oh my god this has jersey kink in it and I didn’t even know what it means until I read this and it awaken something in me. This writer I swear to god. They could write Ryan and Shane fucking in a hot dog costume on top of the mountains and I’d still be into it.)

*Ryan Number One |  quackers

(THIS has everything I want and didn’t know I needed. This is hot this is sexy. Five star porn right here.)

theft by finding |  varnes 

*Wicked Game |  quackers

(This is my favorite. This ruined me in so many ways and I got so affected and shaken up that I can’t draw anything for months. I have been to so many fandoms and read hundreds of fics but nothing has fucked me up like this. I have to switch to a different fandom because I am having the longest art block ever because I keep thinking about this fic. I am not exaggerating I swear if you see my previous posts there’s quite a gap in my shyan art. And I am saying this in the highest of compliment, this fic changed my life.)

*Translucent |  poetdameron 

*Begin the Begin, Over and Over |  beethechange 

*Let the Sunshine Burn Your Eyes |  YogurtTime 

*Look How Long They Are |  drunkkenobi

*The Disturbing Mystery of the Jamison Family |  icantwritegood

(This one’s fun! I fucking love this one! Lot’s of angry sex. The banter! The banter holy shit hmm!! I don’t want to spoil anymore. It’s dark but it’s funny it’s also hot and sad. This writer loooves angst.)

*Collide |  needywitch 

* - has porn

This got way longer than I thought and I couldn’t even put the summary in some of them but all of these are worth the read. This fandom has so much talented writers that my small monkey brain went fucking bananas on the list. 

[langdxn]

Hi. Hello! Original Punk!Duncan anon here to say you absolutely killed me with that fic. So freaking good! I loved it!! I wouldn’t say no to a part 2 where he finally gets her back to his place and gives her the night of life. Who knows maybe they find out they actually really like each other and wanna make it a regular thing.... 👀

First of all, I’m so sorry this took so long! Secondly, I’m so sorry this part is so long! Thirdly, I’m sorry there’s zero character development here but… these two needed a few happy endings. This definitely isn’t the last we’ll be seeing of punk!Duncan x punk!reader so by all means send me what you want these two to get up to next 🖤🖤🖤

read part one here

“Whoa, easy tiger—“

Duncan popped up from between your glistening thighs, clear droplets forming on his lip ring and his front spikes glued to his forehead, bowing weakly beneath the sheer volume of liquid you’d assaulted him with.

“What’s the matter, gorgeous?” Duncan spluttered, completely oblivious to your feverishly shaking legs draped over his shoulders, your chest heaving uncontrollably and your eyes fluttering manically.

His firm palm had pinned you down and pounded you through two more overwhelming orgasms on the back seat of his Camaro, soaking the leather beneath your thighs and leaving the top of his shabby cut-off Black Flag shirt so sodden, it was clinging to every delicious curve of his chest.

“I—is overstimulation your thing?” You queried through an exhausted stutter, hips jerking as his soft breaths against your swollen folds sent shockwaves through your body. “Because you’re really—“

“Oh fuck,” his hands flew into a mid-air surrender, his cheeky smirk melting into a look of concern. “I’m so sorry baby, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, it’s just… I’ve never felt like this before.”

Something about this mysterious stranger allowed you to be completely honest with him. You’d never squirted before, least of all three times in a row. What’s more, you’d never hooked up with someone who selflessly dipped between your legs and prioritised making you feel good for what felt like hours.

So selflessly, he was practically bursting his tight black jeans. In fact, he looked like he was bursting them even when he wasn’t rock hard and desperately rutting against thin air.

“Then let’s get you home,” Duncan sighed, planting reassuring palms on your dripping thighs and smiling warmly through his lust-blown haze.

“What if I don’t want to go back home, Shepherd?” You shot a bemused glance at him beneath quirked eyebrows.

“Oh babe, I wasn’t talking about your home.”

You could’ve sworn everybody heard your sigh of relief and nervous laughter well over the cacophony of incoherent Fugazi-esque tones booming from the venue beside you.

“Then I’ll strike a deal with you. Get in the front seat and look through your keys,” you hummed contentedly as you reached out to cup his straining length through his jeans. “And I’ll keep you busy.”

Duncan cleared his throat and his hungry eyes nearly leapt from their sockets.

“Well—that’d be… yeah, I can roll with that.” The determination in his complacent tone spoke all the words he failed to weave together as he clambered back into the front seat. Your gaze fixed on his impossibly tight pants curving in front of you — how he looked this perfect after you squirted over him three times was beyond your comprehension.

Your legs may not have fully regained composure by the time you flung two fragile thighs over into the passenger seat. If your first attempt at this challenge was ungraceful, this time was even more embarrassing. Luckily, Duncan was too busy unbuckling his studded belt and yanking his zipper down to notice you staggering into the chair.

“You sure about this?” He politely checked as he fished the jangling car keys from his pocket.

“Shut it and get searching, Duncan,” you hummed, battling past his boxers and freeing his length with a groan escaping his lips.

“This girl really knows how to pussywhip me already,” Duncan moaned, his head throwing back into the headrest as your fingertips curled around his girth.

Teasing him for that remark, your lips parted gently as you tickled the tip of his cock with your tongue. His bucking hips and low growl suggested he got the message, swiftly followed by the jangling of his keys as he resumed the epic search for any way to get home.

“Good boy,” you muttered before licking a slow, flat stripe up from his base, agonisingly teasing his length as he twitched in your grasp.

“Fuck me,” Duncan yelped, metal clanking against metal in his hands. “I’m never gonna find this fucking key like this.”

“Try the big one, big guy,” you muttered with a chuckle, suddenly wrapping your lips over his tip and sliding down over his length in one swift motion. Duncan’s back arched intently in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him as he writhed.

“Ah, there you are, you motherfucker,” Duncan exclaimed, a celebratory jangle of his keys filling the car before he flicked the ignition and the engine purred loudly. “Fucking finally!”

Giggling in the back of your throat as your nose nudged his abdomen, you flattened your tongue and sucked lightly as you bobbed down on his cock. Duncan’s arm brushed over your back to reach the stick shift, returning to rest comfortably on your spine as he yanked the car into gear and pulled off.

“Right, two blocks and I’m—oh Jesus fuck,” Duncan cursed as his foot slammed the pedal to the floor. “Two blocks and I’m all yours, baby doll.”

The swaying motion as the car swung impatiently around a corner helped you take his length further down the back of your throat. Swirling your tongue as you withdrew until his tip held temptingly within your lips, Duncan’s hand wandered to the back of your choker, his unusually soft fingers gently curling beneath the leather. With his next broken gasp as you took him down again, his subtle grip suddenly tightened, pulling back against your throat just hard enough to wake up your gag reflex and hollow out your cheeks.

“That’s it, baby,” Duncan praised, turning another sharp corner at a furious pace. “We’re almost there—mother of fuck you take me so well.”

You hummed contentedly as you bumped your nose into his abdomen, the revving engine trying its hardest to drown out both you, the slick sliding of your lips over his flushed cock and Duncan’s gratuitous moans.

“Oh my god,” he whimpered weakly, spinning around one final corner before yanking the handbrake and clasping both hands behind your head. “I’m gonna cum—“

His last syllable crashed through the silence as a blissful cry, his cock twitching furiously against your tongue as he reached his climax, shooting straight down the back of your throat as his hips bucked into your lips. Retreating from his tip and making an audible gulp, Duncan moaned even louder.

“You swallow too?” He half-chuckled in disbelief. “You’re quickly becoming my dream girl, babe.”

———

By some miracle, Duncan’s apartment elevator arrived immediately and he ushered you in with a hand gently hovering just beside your ass. Firing him a seductive smirk as you spun around in the mirrored cubicle, the blinding white lights highlighted the dried tracks of your arousal streaking down his face. Failing to stifle a laugh and a slightly mocking point at his face, Duncan faux-scowled at you while automatically slicking back his now-drooping spikes.

“What’s so funny, punk?” He jibed before checking himself out in the mirror. “Holy shit, you ruined me!”

“You’re more than welcome, Mr Shepherd,” you taunted with a grin, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss as he pressed the button for his floor.

This time, his kiss was different. His lips held onto yours protectively, almost lovingly, like he couldn’t stand to part from your soft touch. His hands delicately cupped your face as he pulled you in closer, his nose ring streaking a cool metallic sensation against yours.

Duncan felt safe with you. Understood by you. The world he knew shunned him for who he was, pretended he was stuck in some immature cultural phase that would soon morph into refined three-piece suits and expensive boots. What they didn’t know was just how expensive Doc Martens are these days.

“Fuck this,” Duncan broke the silence as he slammed a palm against the elevator console, drawing the motion to an abrupt halt. You simply giggled against his lips and kissed him deeper — the punk in your arms really wasn’t in a patient mood tonight.

Slowly stepping you back against the mirror, one wide hand eagerly surged up your skirt and meandered through the shredded streaks of your tights, sweeping your soaking panties to one side. The other, less impatient hand withdrew his rock hard length from his boxers once again and wasted no time lining himself up with your entrance.

“I’ve wanted to do this all goddamn night,” Duncan husked as he dipped into the nape of your neck, peppering cool lip ring kisses as he hooked your thigh around his hip. “You ready, baby girl?”

A delirious nod was all the confirmation he needed to ease himself through your dampened folds, seating his length inside you with one swift curl of his hips as you both cried out in unison.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Duncan growled into the shell of your ear as he set a steady pace rocking into you, revelling in the way you melted into him. “At this rate—Jesus—I’m not gonna last long.”

“Dunc, I—“

Not half an hour ago, Duncan’s relentless onslaught on your core left you a shaking, stuttering mess and it seemed your body hadn’t quite recovered. As your trembling leg threatened to give way beneath you, Duncan jolted forward you press you closer to the wall and swept your thigh around his waist to mirror the other.

“I’ve got you baby,” Duncan cooed softly, striking a contrast with the increasing speed of his hips crashing against yours.

“You’ve got me so—you’ve got me so deep,” you whimpered as your eyes widened against the rising pressure within you, Duncan’s tip relentlessly grazing your most sensitive spot. Digging your nails into the smooth leather of his jacket, you let a pornographic moan pour from your tongue as your walls fluttered around his length.

“Jesus fuck you say the hottest things,” Duncan growled, burying himself deep inside you as his cock twitched vigorously, spilling against your walls with a gratuitous grunt accompanied each final thrust.

“There is,” you stuttered through laboured breaths, palms flat to his chest as his heart raced against you. “Nothing more punk than fucking in a broken down elevator.”

“Too fucking right,” Duncan bumped his dripping forehead against yours to laugh with you. “You still wanna come up?”

His piercing eyes met yours with a curious hope, smiling broadly against your lips.

“Of course, Dunc,” you sighed before kissing him deeply. “I’ve got an early start though, so I’ll have to sneak out before you’re up.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Duncan scoffed, tapping away at the console to start the elevator moving yet refusing to break his gaze into your eyes, into your soul. “Who do you work for? I’ll call them first thing, tell them there’s a lucrative collaboration with the Shepherd Foundation on the cards for their leniency with you for a little later start.”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” you laughed nervously, buckling your bondage belt behind you — a specific talent only a seasoned punk can complete all by herself.

“Why not, babe? Do you work for the CIA or some shit?” He cracked, reluctantly zipping his jeans knowing full well they’d be coming straight off once you made it to his floor. “Are you gonna arrest me for fucking you too hard?”

“Not quite.”

“Well where could you possibly work that would frown on a decent, upstanding gentleman such as myself, Duncan Shepherd, calling in for his girl?”

His girl. Was that the fucked out haze talking? As the elevator pinged to signal your arrival at his floor, you cleared your throat nervously and glanced down to your feet.

“The White House.”