#on the one hand the bar feels like it's on the goddamn floor

[ranger-kellyn]

look. i don't care what anyone says, if you're someone who wants a partner, you deserve one that doesn't yell at you. you deserve a partner that doesn't make you walk on eggshells. you deserve a partner who you can have civil discussions with when disagreements come up. you deserve a partner who doesn't try to intimidate you in any way when they're mad. you deserve a partner who doesn't "keep score".

[gibbearish]

oh psa but if you're in an industry that checks IDs and the person in front of you is clearly trans, don't make comments about anything on that ID. for instance saying "OMG your middle name's Danielle? that's my name too!!!" to someone 5 feet tall with a full beard is perhaps not the best choice one could make if one didn't want to put a neon glowing sign above that person's head saying "THIS IS A TRANSGENDER" to everyone they're with

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[writersdrug]

Bartender Simon when a customer yells at reader for a mistake?

I love the way you guys think LOVE keep em comin!!

It starts when he's restocking his bar, carrying crates with fruit, bitters, coasters, and straws. He comes down from the pantry upstairs to a decently relaxed lunch crowd, when he hears the second half of the customer's tantrum.

"You expect me to eat this?! It's bloody raw!"

"I'm so sorry, I can take it back aga-"

"You already did that - went to the kitchen and stuck it under the warmer for a few seconds and thought I wouldn't notice, huh?"

"No sir, I gave it to the che-"

"I don't want to hear fucking excuses, just go fix my damn burger. I'm paying for this shit, aren't I? And you're working for my tip. So fucking work, cunt."

Humiliation isn't enough to describe what you feel - there isn't a strong enough word for it. Claiming you're a liar, saying you grovel for tips, yelling at you in front of your other tables, calling you a cunt - it makes your eyes sting with oncoming tears, staring at him and using every muscle in your jaw to keep from spitting insults back at him. You want to throw the food in his face, but instead, you grab his plate and storm off to the kitchen before he can see you cry.

The man scoffs, looking at his watch. "Fuckin' great..."

Simon's still standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his crates and staring daggers at the man. He knows what it's like, being berated by customers. He says "that's customer service for ya" and moves on. But for this wanker to berate you - he sees red. He sees his next target.

He swiftly crosses the restaurant floor, boots thudding against the old wood as he drops his crate behind the bar. Soap's already yelling about the asshole when he pushes his way into the kitchen.

"Order it fuckin' rare and ye get fuckin' rare, bloody clipe- talkin' mince, bawface bastard-" he slams the burger back onto the grill with a tense arm, continuing to grumble as it sizzles. "Cookin' ye a nice strip o' shoe leather-"

You're sitting on an overturned crate, sobbing into your hands, pen and notepad on the ground beside you. Price is on one knee, one arm around your shoulder and the other on your leg - you'd never officially met the owner of the pub, but now was as good a time as any, you suppose.

"Wot happened?" Is all that Ghost could say without going off on a rampage. He's saving that for later.

"He fucking embarrassed me, that's what happened!!" You snap, looking up at Simon. Your eyes are red and puffy after only crying for a minute or two, cheeks wet from your tears. You hug your arms around your middle and choke on a sob. "Told me his fucking burger wasn't cooked, so I sent it back- then he tries to say I never even gave it to Soap?! Calls m-me a cunt in front of my tables?! Make me fucking work for his money - I don't want his goddamn money!!"

Price shushes you, worrying your anger might be leaking through the kitchen door - he doesn't want the same customer to hear you bad-mouthing him, although it's rightfully deserved. He rubs your back gently as you drop your head into your hands again, shoulders shaking as you cry.

Simon's seething - he's already moving before his brain can catch up, still stuck on the picture of your teary face. He marches behind the line and reaches across Soap, picking the burger right off the grill.

Soap makes a shocked sound. "Ye gone mad, LT?!"

"Table six?" Ghost asks, holding the sizzling burger patty in his hand, grease dripping onto his forearm.

You stare between his face and the patty - your crying stopped, your face now replaced with a stupefied expression. "Uh- yeah."

And like that, he's off; he shoves himself back out onto the floor and makes his way towards the customer who yelled at you. The burger burns his hand, but he doesn't even notice the pain. He drops it onto the table in front of the man, who yelps in disgust. "What the fuck-"

"Better?" Ghost says, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he looked down at the man, now stuttering and blubbering in shock. Specks of grease are freckling his white dress shirt.

"Are you- is this a fucking joke?"

"It's your fuckin' burger."

"I can't believe this-"

"Then get the fuck out my pub." Ghost growls; he grabs the man by his arm, ripping his blazer off the back of his chair, and drags him to the front door. The other customers look with wide eyes as he busts the door open with his shoulder and throws the man onto the sidewalk. He wheezes as he hits the ground, and Ghost throws his blazer at him next.

"If I ever see your face in 'ere after this, 'm throwin' you out again and keepin' your bullocks as a fuckin' souvenir."

The man stares at him, flabbergasted, as Ghost walks back inside. People are focused on their meals now, heads down and pretending they didn't see Simon body a man to the ground - the guy deserved it, after all.

Simon huffs, picking up the burger from the now-empty table. His hand stings a bit, but he has years of callouses built up to keep any real burns from settling in. He gently kicks the chair back into place and starts heading back to the kitchen, when he sees you.

You're staring at him with wide, wet eyes, standing in the entryway to the kitchen and mouth slightly ajar in awe. You've fully stopped crying, but there are still tears on your face from before. Eyeliner and mascara are smudged a bit, but it only makes Simon's fondness for you blossom.

He gently nudges your shoulder with his elbow as he pushes past you. "Take a fifteen. I'll watch your tables."

You stare after him as he throws the burger into the trash, grabbing a fresh towel and wrapping his hand. Wide back facing you as he looks at Soap, who stares at him with a frustrated sigh.

You're horny now. Horny for Simon - and you're definitely relaying this entire shebang to your friends tonight.

[annwrites]

⸻ being oz cobb’s sugar baby would include:

The first time he sees you, he’s taken with you.

Hell, he’s a man from the East Side. of course he likes pretty lil’ things. 

That’s not saying he likes only ‘lil’. Curvy women? Sign him the fuck up. Curves & softness & love-handles to hold onto? Goddamn, a man can only get so erect, sweetheart.

He’s watching you from an upper floor while you sit at the bar, sipping at your drink, shyly tucking hair behind your ears, laughing quietly at the way your friend flirts with the men around her.

You don’t know your beauty—your feminine power. But he fuckin’ does.

You sure as hell deserve some male attention of your own. 

So he pulls aside one of his girls.

❝You see that sweetheart right there? The one in the purple sequin dress? Yeah, you get her another of whatever she’s drinkin’. She asks? You tell ‘er it’s from me.❞

You glance around once you’ve been given your drink, searching for your mysterious suitor—sure the young woman must be wrong about it being the Penguin himself.

You’re not sure whether to be flattered or afraid. The powerful man he is…will he expect something in return?

And then your eyes meet his—he stands balconies above where you sit, watching you with a small smile upon his scarred lips.

And he merely gives you a small nod while you shyly raise your glass in a silent thanks.

And then the young woman asks if you’d like to meet him.

You’re sure she’s part of some ploy to get you into his bed, but with a heady amount of alcohol running through your veins, you go against your better judgement…& tell her yes out of simple curiosity.

A few girls are mingling around when you’re taken up, so you stand aside awkwardly until you see movement from the corner of your eye & watch as he steps out of his office, with an unexpected limp to his gait.

You flush, watching him take step after step toward you.

A limp, heavy-set, scarred, well-dressed, older…he’s so handsome.

But you can’t let on that you think that, because you don’t do one-night stands. Don’t do casual flings of any sort.

You’re very much the committed, romantic relationship type. And, well, look at the women he surrounds himself with. He most certainly is not, you’re sure.

❝Would you like to sit, sweetheart?❞ He asks, gesturing to the dark, plush couch situated before a row of polished glass windows that overlook the Iceberg Lounge below.  You nod nervously, smoothing your skirt beneath you before seating yourself—hyper-aware of your every move as you cross your legs at the ankles and delicately rest your hands in your lap.

God, you’re a real sweet young fuckin’ lady is what he thinks of you. What—with those innocent, wide eyes, soft smile, & flushed cheeks, how can he not?

❝You mind?❞ He asks, pointing to the seat next to you.  You shake your head, smiling invitingly. He seats himself heavily next to you and you bite back a grin at the way the cushion dips under his weight. You have no control over the way your cheeks have remained warm since the moment you set eyes on him, however. He rests an arm behind you, and with your head lightly swimming, you have half-a-mind to cuddle into his side—sure that he feels soft, yet firm. Steady. Safe. And then you get a whiff of his cologne. You don’t know the scent by-heart, or anything, but it’s intoxicating.  You want to bury your face in his chest, you think, admiring the dark hairs that peek out from the top of his shirt where it’s slightly unbuttoned, wanting to run your fingers through them. ❝So,❞ he says, leaning back. ❝You been here before?❞ God, his accent… It causes a pleasant feeling of warmth to bloom between your thighs. You want him to shove his large hand between them and ease his fingers inside of you—rings and all. Your eyes flit to his and you shake your head.  ❝First time,❞ he says, nodding. ❝You come with a date?❞ You giggle from the alcohol, shaking your head, and he grins at the beautiful fuckin’ sound. ❝You like it, then, doll?❞ He asks, glancing to the glittering, thumping club below, then back to you.  You shrug slightly, leaning back. ❝It’s very…noisy. Busy.❞ He smirks. ❝Yeah, you’ll have that at the biggest nightclub in town, huh?❞ ❝It’s the first one I’ve been to. My friend wanted me to come. She said I have to come out of my shell.❞ You lean your head against the soft cushion, pulling your legs onto the sofa while you turn toward him, tossing your heels onto the floor. Makin’ yourself comfortable? He likes that. ❝You shy, baby?❞ He asks, wanting to desperately to reach out and fuckin’ touch you—to run his fingers through your soft, curled hair, or along your young, supple body.  But he knows the minute he makes a move, you’ll do like all the rest and scram—disgusted and scared. He can look—but even then, only in measured glances—but never touch. Not unless he’s payin’ for it. And you ain’t no prostitute. You nod quietly, smiling slightly, as if you’re sharing a private joke with yourself. Maybe he’s the punchline, he thinks. Wouldn’t be the first time. ❝Somethin’ funny, sweetheart?❞ You grin, glancing down and you giggle quietly. ❝You’re very handsome.❞ He’s immediately dumbstruck. Did you just call him fuckin’ handsome? Ain’t no broad ever called him that ‘cept his ma. Never. He raises a brow. ❝Had a bit much to drink, then.❞ You shrug slightly. ❝Not so much to have beer goggles, if that’s what you mean. I just get giggly is all. And it makes conversation easier.❞

He stays silent for a moment, watching as your eyes trail along his body, and he fights against shifting nervously under your…it ain’t a lustful gaze, is it? Maybe ya ain’t all there. Done some time in Arkham, for all he knows. God, he’s fuckin’ pathetic. To think the only way a woman could ever want him is if she’s batshit. ❝I like heavy-set men,❞ you state quietly. ❝And I don’t mind older. They…they know what they want, at least. How to treat women, I think. Well, some of them. A lot of men are the same…❞ He rests his head against his fist. ❝Sounds like y’know from experience.❞ You shake your head. ❝I just know young men aren’t what I want. Things aren’t like they used to be.❞ Your eyes meet his.   ❝I’m a romantic,❞ you say with a soft smile. ❝And men my age only want—❞ He chuckles, cutting you short. ❝If you’re gonna say sex, doll, ‘fraid to tell ya they’re all after that.❞ You waver for a moment. ❝Are you?❞ He immediately clocks the tinge of doubt to your voice; knows you’re probably worried that that’s why he bought you a drink and invited you up here. ❝Nah,❞ he says with a shake of his head. ❝Just wanted to have a conversation with a pretty girl.❞ You smile broadly at that and his heart fuckin’ skips a beat when you do. Already you’re doin’ a goddamn number on ‘im. ❝You think I’m pretty?❞ You whisper, glancing around to the tall, slender women around—who look like they just walked off the pages of a magazine—then back to him. ❝Got eyes, don’t I?❞ He asks, gesturing with his hand. You tug nervously at the hem of your dress, trying to conceal as much of your legs as you can, lest he look too close and see you’re not nearly as attractive as what this dim lighting must make you instead seem.  ❝Don’t do that,❞ he says, reaching out, taking your hand in his, and you quickly look at him.  ❝You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby. Every inch. Caught my attention from all the way up here. And my eyes ain’t what they used to be, but I couldn’t take ‘em off of ya.❞ He leans in slightly toward you, sliding a hand up your thigh. ❝Any man who doesn’t treat you like the goddess you are ain’t worth a second of your time. Ya understand?❞ You nod, nervously biting your lower lip, and he nearly groans at the sight. And then he lets you go and you fill with disappointment.  ❝So, you ain’t got a man is what I’m hearin’. Find that hard to believe. They must chase you down the street, I’d say, if I didn’t know any better.❞ You shake your head, running your fingertips through the sequins on your dress. ❝I stopped trying a long time ago.❞ His scarred mouth tugs into a frown. 

Somethin’ young & sweet & beautiful like you given’ up on love already? You’re breakin’ his fuckin’ heart.

❝Can’t tell me you don’t ever get lonely,❞ he states. You pull at a loose sequin. ❝I always am. But I don’t see anyone coming along to change that anytime soon.❞ You shrug, fighting back the tears that sting your eyes, not wanting to sour the evening.  That makes two of you, then, he thinks.  He glances around—only a couple girls still left upstairs then, talking amongst themselves—then back to you. He can’t believe he’s about to fuckin’ say this—offer it—and he can’t even blame it on bein’ drunk. He’s only had one martini tonight. But you all on your own—just your voice and the look of you and the brief touches he’s already been granted have already intoxicated him in another way. ❝What if you was wrong?❞ He asks, his voice quiet and evenly leveled. You glance to him with furrowed brows. ❝Hm?❞ He shrugs slightly, reaching up and smoothing the hair at the back of his head. ❝You ain’t the only one who’s lonely, doll. Maybe we, uh, come to an arrangement?❞ Your stomach drops and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end. You should’ve never come up here. Should’ve never accepted that drink. ❝I… I appreciate the offer, but—❞ He raises both of his hands, palms facing toward you. ❝Just let me finish, hon.❞ You grow silent again. ❝I’m not askin’ you to go down on me, or nothin’. I ain’t that kinda gent. Just…❞ He sighs. ❝I know we only just met. And I’m just suggestin’ a trial run for the time bein’ ‘til we’re both sure we know what the hell we want and what we’re doin’.❞ He takes your hand in his once more. ❝I got more dough than I know what to do with most days. And livin’ in Gotham ain’t always cheap. Who knows, maybe you come from money. Either way, we keep each other company. Just…spend time together. Let me take you to dinner a couple of times, and we talk—keep gettin’ to know one another. That sort of thing.❞ You glance down to where your hand rests in his and he continues.  ❝If you decide you’re not interested—that it ain't what you’re lookin’ for—we part ways on good terms. No hard feelings. But maybe you like what you see—like what I got to offer—and we see where things go.❞ He rests his hand back in his lap then, in disbelief at himself. Is he that fuckin’ desperate for female companionship that he’s willing to offer himself up to some girl he’s only just met to be her personal piggy bank? But he knows that’ll only ever be his real value to a woman. What else does he have to give one? ❝Are…you suggesting you be my…❞ You waver for a moment before saying it, your eyes staring to his own of warm brown. ❝Sugar daddy?❞ He grins slightly, chuckling. ❝I guess so.❞ You chew your lip nervously for a moment, unsure how to respond. You're supposed to say no. That's what decent good girls do when propositioned like this. But like he said, the two of you can start things out with a trial run. And you're feeling more bold than usual with being somewhat under the influence. And he seems nice. Well, nice enough so far, that is. ❝Okay,❞ you say with a smile. He returns it. ❝Might want to start out by tellin' me your name, doll.❞ ❝Y/N,❞ you say shyly, scooting the least bit more toward him in interest. He chuckles, pulling out his cellphone. ❝Thinkin' maybe we should exchange numbers.❞

Oz sends you home in a cab that he paid for.

And come the morning, you’ve got a slight hangover, along with a text from your new benefactor.

It doesn’t take long for you & Oz to begin getting along with utter ease, simply via text alone. 

He’s very easy to talk to; kind, easygoing, sweet.  

And then the day finally comes where he invites you to dinner. 

And, while nervous, you agree to go.

He of course, the gentleman he is, asks if he can be the one to pick you up, & you consent.

When he pulls up outside your apartment, he shoots you a text & you come right down.

And god, if you ain’t fuckin’ beautiful.

Oz stands at the passenger side of the car, holding the door open for you, utterly fuckin’ speechless at the sight of you. From your curls, to your glossy smile, to that sweet little dress you got on. How lucky a man is he that you’re the woman he gets to have on his arm tonight? You shyly step over to him and smile, then laugh quietly—nervously. You can’t believe you’re going on a dinner date with one of the most notorious mobsters in Gotham. Even in your most ridiculous daydreams you never could’ve plotted such a story. Oz rests a hand on your hip and presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you flush at the gesture.  ❝You look beautiful, doll. Absolutely breathtakin’,❞ he says, tucking a curl behind your ear. You slip your fingers down his black satin tie. ❝Thank you.❞ Your eyes flit to his. ❝You look very handsome. But we don’t… You didn’t have to make reservations at some fancy restaurant. Burgers and fries are perfectly fine with me.❞ He grins at that. ❝Gotta make a good impression on our first date, don’t I?❞ You climb into his car then.

Dinner goes really well.

The two of you laugh & eat & you quickly come to learn that Oz's drink of choice are martinis.

He orders a ridiculously expensive bottle of red wine & you down a glass, but pace yourself after, not wanting to seem a lush.

And you let him order for you, in regards to your dinner, & he gets you an extravagant lobster & pasta.

He orders for himself a steak.

You like how he cleans his plate.

And by the end of the evening, you decide that you’re his. 

You like spending time with him.

He’s not as intimidating as you’d imagined he’d be. 

Or maybe it’s just because it’s you that he’s complimentary & kind & gentle.

Either way, you really like the way he treats you, & touches you, & looks at & speaks to you...

And it honestly kind of turns you on the way some people look at him in fear, or avert their eyes when they speak to him in timid tones.

It makes him seem so…powerful.

❝You really mean that, sweetheart?❞ You smile widely, nodding. ❝Even if all we do is talk, I’m happy. It’s nice…having your attentions.❞ You take his hand in yours, sliding your thumb along the cool metal of his ring. He cups your cheek in his hand then. ❝You don’t know what the fuck you’re doin’ to me, baby.❞

You quickly manage to wrap Oz tightly around your finger without so much as trying.

You go to visit him at the loft on days off from work, simply so you don’t have to sit around lonely all day.

He tells you to make yourself at home—that what’s his is yours.

He likes to ‘joke’ about movin’ you in with him, lettin’ him take care of you—makin’ you a kept woman.

In truth, you don’t mind the sound of that, but you can’t just up & change your life that drastically.

What if things go sideways & you’re out of a job & left hurting for money.

And then Oz starts giving you an allowance—begins to regularly wire money to you every week.

More than you’d have ever expected.

More than you make at your job in a month.

❝Just want to make sure you’re taken care of ‘s all.❞ ❝I don’t… Oz, I don’t care about the money. I’m just happy not to be lonely anymore.❞ He presses his lips to yours. ❝I know. It’s what makes you all the more deservin’ of it.❞

You begin to occasionally spend the night. 

Your long days together sometimes tend to run over into the evening, because you’re reluctant to leave you’re having such a good time.

And then the later it gets, the more tired you are. And, well, he has no issue with sharin’ his bed with you.

Likes it when you use his shower.

Likes it even more on the nights when you use his soaps instead of the expensive designer ones he purchased for you. Likes it when you smell like him.

And then, when you pad into his bedroom & drop your towel & slip on one of his shirts to sleep in... Fuck, do you want to give this old man a heart attack?

The two of you haven’t been intimate yet, & he’s not holdin’ his breath on that, but just havin’ you sleepin’ next to him? It’s enough to give him a hard-on.

Especially when you cuddle into his side & rest your hand atop his broad chest & the two of you talk quietly in the dark about everything & nothing.

Like you’ve been doin’ it for years.

And when he wakes up in the morning to you cookin’ him breakfast? Swayin’ your hips in his kitchen to music while you fix him pancakes, or bacon & eggs?

He can imagine havin’ his days start like this every day.

So he gives you a key to the place & tells you to come & go as you please. 

Hell, you’re already there more than you are at your own place now. Might as well start callin’ it your second home.

And while you can be a homebody, he still likes to take you out shopping when he gets a break from business.

❝Ozzy, I don’t… This necklace is five hundred dollars. It’s just a piece of jewelry. Do you know what I could get for this same amount at a thrift shop, or—❞ ❝It’s chump change for me, sweetheart. You know how I love spoilin’ you. So let me. C’mon, let’s take it up. Unless you wanna keep browsin’?❞ You shake your head, not even wanting to have him buy this. And while it’s done with his money, he always likes watching you be the one to pay with his black card.

You quickly come to learn why when the two of you get back in his car & you glance between his legs & see his erection.

Your eyes flit to his & instead of shying away from it, he shrugs.

❝You see what you do to me?❞ He turns the Maserati over. ❝Guess you finally get why I like blowin' money on you now, doll.❞ You flush, biting your lower lip while you slip your necklace on, leaning your head back against the seat while you give him a sultry look. ❝Can I show you how grateful I am back at the loft?❞ He raises a brow in utter fuckin’ shock. ❝Baby, you don’t gotta—❞ You run your hand over his erection, feeling a pleasant pulse settling firmly between your slick thighs. ❝I want to,❞ you whisper. And then you do something most unexpected. You reach under your dress and slip off your soaked panties, and reach over, stuffing them in his pocket. ❝Now you see what you do to me, too,❞ you say, brushing a kiss over his lips.

He stands there silently as you unbutton his shirt with slightly shaking hands.

He tries to talk you out of it more than once, until you finally tell him something to calm him.

❝I’m insecure, too. I…I can find something wrong with myself literally from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. Why do you think I like to wear such…conservative clothing? Why I don’t like to show much skin? I hate…my body.❞ Tears sting your eyes and you drop your hands, slowly changing your mind. But for his sake. To not have to see what lies under your clothes. Not the stretch marks or cellulite or your pudgy thighs or stomach, or— He takes your face between his hands, brushing his thumb over your lips. ❝There ain’t nothin’ you could show me that could drive me away, angel. I want what I want, doll. And what I want is you.❞ He slides his hands down your waist. ❝All of you.❞

You blush madly once he’d undressed.

But he insists on keeping on the sock on his right foot. That it’s not something he’s ready for yet. He needs you to be patient with that.

So you are. Thankful he’s willing to even try.

You climb into his lap, & run your hands down his large chest before wrapping your arms around his neck, sinking down the length of him, rocking your hips against his own. 

And Oz fucking worships your body.

Your calves, & your thighs that you think are too big—have too many stretch marks.

He tells you he’ll get to it once he looks over every inch of you, but he fully intends to shove his face between ‘em to taste you.

He kisses your stomach & grips your round, squishy hips in his hands, squeezing tightly. 

He tells you they’re fuckin’ perfect for holdin’ onto.

He grabs your ass, smacking it gently, liking how it spills out of his palms.

And your breasts? 

Christ have mercy.

They’re fuckin’ perfect no matter what size—what your nipples look like. Whether they’re perky, or they sag. They’re breasts. That’s all he needs to know.

What any man does, really.

He just incessantly praises you. He tells you how beautiful you are. How unbelievably fuckin' perfect.

More than he deserves. Thought he'd ever have.

Your heart is near to bursting when you repay the sentiments.

Relay to him how his heavy weight makes you feel so safe & secure.

How sexy you think his limp is.

And his scars—good lord you just want to run your tongue over them.

His voice, though? It's all that's needed to make you wet.

When you come on his cock & in his arms, he holds you close while you cry softly from happiness.

He follows along right after.

He already knew you were a keeper before, but now that he gets to have you in bed? I mean really have you?

Forget about it.

He buys you a fucking car.

When you come over, it's always to gifts waiting for you—clothes, jewelry, shoes, purses.

He doesn't listen a bit when you insist it's all too much.

He feels like it's not near enough.

Not for the gift you're given 'im.

❝I wanna make sure you're looked after, baby. Have everythin' you want. I wanna spoil you fuckin' rotten. Gets me so hard seein' you wearin' the things I picked out for you.❞ You crawl into his lap, pressing your body and lips to his own. ❝I love you.❞ His heart actually skips. ❝Hon—❞ ❝I do, Ozzy.❞ You run your fingers through his thinning hair. ❝I really do.❞ His eyes flit between your own before a satisfied grin spreads across his lips while he slides a hand up your thigh and beneath his button-up that you have on which dwarfs you. ❝I love you too, baby. Every part of me.❞

Oz takes you to meet his mother one day.

And while you're shy & very nervous about making a good impression, you give her your best.

You can't lie. She's a tough & intimidating woman.

But Oz clearly loves her & it warms your heart to see that he still looks after her.

How many others would do the same for their parents at his age?

So the three of you have dinner together & you remain fairly shy & quiet throughout the evening.

You worry it will make her think less of you. Or give her the impression that you don't like her, you're stuck-up, etc.

After dinner, Oz tells you to go make yourself comfortable in the living room.

So you do, until you get thirsty & go to retrieve yourself a glass of water & overhear what is supposed to clearly be a private conversation.

Once the two of you are back to the loft, it's when you let him know you heard every word.

❝She seems real quiet, Oswald.❞ ❝She's always like that, Ma. She still gets shy around me sometimes. Just her nature. I don't mind.❞ ❝Well, she loves ya, I can tell. And you love her?❞ A beat of silence. ❝With my whole fuckin' heart.❞ You fight back a teary smile. You hear dishes clanging. ❝You going to give her a ring, then, or—❞ ❝Ma—❞ ❝I'm not gonna be around forever, Oswald. I want to see you settled. Married. Maybe with a kid runnin' around. She's a good girl. Sweet. She'll do you good. Already has from the looks of things. You ain't gonna find another one like her.❞

He sighs in exasperation. ❝She deserves better than spendin' her life next to a broken down old man. I'll die before her, leavin' her all alone. I ain't gonna subject her to that.❞

And that maybe instead of just deciding for you, he should ask you what you want so you can give him your own answer.

❝Doll, I'm not—❞ You climb into his lap—your favorite position when it comes to not only getting your way, but forcing him to listen to you. ❝You're the man that I love. I'm not... Forcing you to ask me that if you truly don't want to. I'm just saying that... If you do, to do so: ask. When you're ready.❞

And the time comes when he does.

His Ma had given him her old wedding ring the same night she met you.

He seems the picture of composure the night he asks.

He does it over dinner in the loft which he had made—salad and bread and one of your favorite pasta dishes.

You stand, put yourself in his lap and tell him, with tears running down your cheeks, yes, yes, yes.

You have a small wedding at a Catholic church he & his Ma used to attend services at in his younger years.

You wear a designer dress that he had flown in all the way from Paris.

He finds himself in constant disbelief that you're all his & want to be. Much more since you know the things he does.

You've washed the damn blood out of his clothes before, for Christ's sake.

He knows you're too good for him. That you'll have always deserved better.

Even if you tell him... That he's the best there is.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡muscle memory - changbin

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: personal trainer! Changbin x afab reader

summary: New Year, New You. You signed up for a gym membership and it even includes a personal trainer! But this personal trainer is so sexy and so good with his tongue...

warnings: sex, sex, sex, shower sex, size difference!!, praise and motivation

Just a few more. You're almost there, come on…

Changbin held your ankles as you finished your last rep. Your last set of ten. Sweat dripped from every inch of your skin. Every muscle was screaming at you. Angry. Your body was angry. You let out one final huff and sat up, slinging your arms over your knees. Changbin patted your back.

“Great job, champ.”

“Fuck off, beefcake.” You spat back, an exhausted smirking lingering on your lips. You had paid for a full year membership at your local gym. The sexy, muscular, absolutely gorgeous personal trainer was just a bonus. But something unexpected had happened while you were working out together, you actually enjoyed it. Changbin motivated you in a way that made you feel powerful and in control. He never faltered with the compliments or telling you how proud he was of you.

You had never really spent this much time with a man, especially a “gym bro” that was so positive and sensitive. He pushed you but never too much. The way he touched your body, his hand running down the length of your back, made your head spin.

You knew it was inappropriate to flirt. So you never did. You were strictly there to exercise. But every once and a while, your mind would wander while you did your morning stretches with him. You'd imagine him coming up behind you while you held the downward dog pose, his hands gripping your hips and pressing you into his clothes cock. The bulge rubbing and pushing into the thin material of your spandex shorts.

You okay?

You snapped your mind out of your current daydream and locked eyes with Changbin who was standing in front of you, confusion painted across his soft features.

“Yeah, sorry. I'm good.” You give him a quick smile and a thumbs up before moving to the next workout in your routine.

Changbin watched as you moved over to the chest press machine. You positioned yourself just like he taught you and placed your arms on either side of the padded bars before pulling in towards your chest. Changbin sighed heavily. This workout was always the most difficult for him to watch. The way it spread your arms open, the way you breathed and whimpered softly at each counted rep. The noises. God the noises you would make were enough to send him into an animalistic grunting mess. He clenched his fists tight as he watched you strain and pull your arms together and then back out.

“Good. That's good. Just a few more. You're doing great.”

You breathed heavily at Changbin's words. His praise shooting straight to your tightly wound core. You hoped that your panting would be disguised as just an intense workout and not from you picturing Changbin praising you like that while you rode him like a goddamn elliptical machine.

You let your arms fall limp as you finished your last set. Changbin smiled at you softly and told you to hit the showers as he did every time. You returned his sweet smile and the two of you made your way to your respective locker rooms. You paused for a moment as you saw a cellphone on the floor mat. You recognized the phone right away and knew it was Changbin's. He was terrible at keeping track of his phone, so you swiftly picked it up off of the floor and walked towards the men's locker room.

Whether it was the high from working out or possible dehydration, you walked carefree into the men's locker room without thinking, and came face to face with your personal trainer. Changbin locked eyes with you, only a dark blue pair of briefs covering him now. He stood frozen, his thumbs hooked in the waistband. You registered his entire form. His chiseled body was glistening with a sweat that matched your own. The muscles in his abdomen twitched and flexed as your eyes roamed over his perfect frame.

Everything in your brain was telling you to leave. To apologize for intruding. To politely bow and walk away. But your body; your aching, desperate, needy body was screaming at you again. Screaming and clawing and begging. You knew you couldn't ignore that screaming for one more second. You started slow, walking towards him with caution. You waited for any sign of hesitation or resistance, but there was none. Changbin's eyes moved down to your feet and watched you walk towards him. An intense heat started to pool in the pit of his stomach.

“You left your pho-” but your words were cut short as he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into his hard body. The rush of endorphins was making it impossible for him to resist you any longer.

Your tongue tangled with his in a sloppy, messy dance as you pressed your body harder into his. His mouth swallowed up your every moan, his hands moving up your back and traveling into your hair. Your hips moved instinctively into his, desperate for more friction. He made quick work of your clothes and pulled them off in one fast motion. He lifted you up and wrapped your legs around him. He held you effortlessly with one arm and carried you over to the showers. You helped him turn on the faucet and shut the curtain, hoping that the sound of rushing water would drown out some of the noise. But the moment Changbin pulled his cock out of his briefs, you knew that no amount of noise could drown out the sounds he was going to pull out of you. He saw the look on your face as you watched with wide eyes, his cock twitching and bouncing to be inside of you. He smiles proudly at your expression before trailing his gaze down to your entrance. He slid in slow, taking his time to fill you properly. You winced and held your breath at the initial shock of pressure. He was huge. And your body needed a minute to adjust to the size of him. You flung your arms around his neck and buried your face into his chest as he continued to slide inch by inch. Opening you up like a flower, he gripped your thighs and took his time.

“That's it, just a little more. You're doing great.” His voice was low and gruff.

That familiar praise rang through you like a bell and you felt your entire body tense up in the most delicious way.

Changbin could feel you opening up for him. The unspoken invitation to quicken his speed a bit. He didn't hesitate at all, his hips rutting into you faster than before. You moaned out loudly and let your head fall back against the cool wall of the shower tile. He continued this pace, pushing you further into the wall, the sound of water echoing around you. This was the only workout you ever wanted to do. You silently wondered how many reps he would make you do.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore

[madaqueue]

18+, MDNI - f!reader

sukuna wasn’t a jealous man per se, but he absolutely was possessive - what’s his was his alone - especially when it comes to you. but that just made it all the more fun to taunt him, seeing how much you could get away with. sometimes, sure, maybe you get a little too touchy with random guys at bars just to get a rise out of him, to see what he’ll do to put you back in your place, remind you that you’re his.

“sukuna, what’s the big deal?” you whine as the bathroom door slams shut behind you.

finally releasing his grip on your wrist, he looks at you with nothing short of rage flowing behind his crimson eyes. “the ‘big deal’ is you practically begging that wanna-be frat boy piece of shit to fuck you right in front of me,” he spits.

rolling your eyes, you rest your back against the wooden doorframe. “he’s just a friend.”

“oh, so you get touchy with all your friends like that, hm? put your arms around ‘em, tell ‘em how nice they look in their ugly ass knock-off gucci shirts?”

crossing your arms, you feel the heat of excitement building in your chest - now, it was all too easy to fan the flames. “he was just offering to buy me a drink.”

“oh!” he practically yells, voice echoing off the faux tiles of the bar’s restroom. “well then by all means, go back out there and get your free drink! while you’re at it, why don’t you see if his daddy’s money can get you a new car, or a yacht or something - maybe he can be the one to shell out the cash for you to get your nails done every week, and your hair, and your lashes ‘n shit, because clearly i’m not providing for you enough if you feel like you have to whore yourself out for a fucking $10 vodka cran!”

uh oh. whenever he starts monologuing like this, it’s never a good sign. maybe you pushed him a bit too far this time.

shifting uncomfortably, you soften your tone. “‘kuna,” you sigh, “you’re right, i’m sorry.”

“‘sorry?’” he mocks. “you didn’t look very sorry when your hands were all up in his hair or on his chest, hm?” they should only be on me, he thinks, but manages to hold himself back. “were you ‘sorry’ when you told him he’s the funniest person here for making some lame ass joke about how ‘working class’ i look?”

“look, that’s not-“

“no, no! why don’t you go fuck the trust fund baby and see if his three-inch house-in-the-hamptons dick can satisfy you! i bet they’ve got housekeepers and personal chefs and shit, maybe they can teach you some goddamn manners about how to treat people!”

oh, this is bad. yeah, you went too far.

slowly, you raise your hands to his chest, locking eyes with him as you steady your breathing. “‘kuna, you’re right. i fucked up. i shouldn’t have said that shit, i didn’t mean it and i’m sorry.”

the flames of anger crackle under his skin as he looks at you - god, he wishes you didn’t look so beautiful under the flickering lights in this shitty bathroom, maybe then it would be easier to stay mad at you. “yeah, yeah, alright. whatever.”

but you aren’t done - he’s clearly still mad, so your work isn’t finished just yet. “how can i prove that i’m sorry?” you murmur, batting your eyelashes up at him.

the corner of his lip twitches ever so slightly into a smirk. “‘prove it,’ eh?”

you nod, plastering as innocent of a look on your face as possible, wide doe eyes and glossed lips smiling softly.

“well, i have an idea of how you could make it up to me.”

“anything,” you hum. you just want him to forgive you.

almost instantly, the cool tile floor hits your knees as the sound of a zipper being undone fills the silence. looking up, you’re suddenly face to face with his fully erect cock, a small drop of precum beading at the tip.

“well?” he smirks, “better get to apologizing.���

this smug bastard.

rolling your eyes, you figure it's easier to just accept your fate and apologize in whatever way he happens to see fit - in this case, with his cock in your mouth. parting your lips, you slowly roll your tongue over his flushed tip as he lets out a low groan that echoes through the space. after a few moments of working him into your mouth, a calloused hand reaches behind your head, guiding you further down his length.

“juuuust like that, good fuckin' girl” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he tugs you up and down his cock.

the salty taste of his pre on your tongue has heat building in your core, your thighs beginning to rub together. trailing your fingers between your legs, you nearly make it to your cunt before he roughly kicks your hand away.

“acht - no touching. you're supposed to be makin' me forgive you, remember?” your lips attempt to curl into a frown around him as he chuckles above you. “aw, don’t pout,” he coos sarcastically. “if you wanted to get fucked, you should’ve just asked me instead of acting like some fuckin’ slut out there.”

fair point.

taking in a breath through your nose, you continue working him in and out of your mouth. sukuna was big, and you always struggled to take all of him. sometimes he would be nice and let you take your time opening your throat for him.

but not today.

with one harsh thrust, he pushes himself all the way past your lips until his tip knocks at the back of your throat. a menacing giggle overpowers the sound of your gags as he pulls you off him.

“c’mon baby, not doin’ a very good job saying sorry, now are ya? i thought i taught you to be more grateful.”

with that, his hips jut up again, all the way into you. tears begin spilling over your lashes as you struggle to breathe, but each time it threatens to become too much he pulls back, letting you desperately suck in air.

drool spills down your chin as he fucks your mouth, ravenous and greedy. the lack of oxygen has you lightheaded as thick tears cascade down your cheeks.

but if this is what it takes for him to forgive you, so be it.

the hand at the back of your head tightens in your hair as he drags you up and down, his chuckles becoming more and more breathy.

“fuck baby, m’close, y’gonna take it all for me, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically as you couldn’t answer with the way his cock fills your mouth. all you can let out is a weak whine in affirmation.

with one final thrust, thick ropes of cum shoot down your throat, the salty taste lingering as he pulls out. tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping his jeans, he takes in the sight of you on your knees, black trails of mascara streaming from your eyes, drool spilling down your chin. your chest rapidly rises and falls as you attempt to steady your breath.

reaching a hand down, he strokes your cheek, wiping away a trail of spit before helping you to your feet.

there’s a glimmer of mischief behind his ruby eyes as he leads you from the bathroom, purposely leaving you in this disheveled state. “c’mon baby, let’s go - wouldn’t want to keep your ‘friend’ waiting.”

[captain-hawks]

you want to blame it on the sheer amount of people packed into mattsun’s small, tenth floor apartment—the way it’s suddenly difficult to breathe.

at least that’s what you mutter to makki as you excuse yourself and head toward the balcony’s reprieve, your drink forgotten on the coffee table as you step out into the frigid winter air.

but fuck if the familiar, warm scent of iwaizumi’s cologne doesn’t invade your nostrils a moment later anyway, something you’re beyond embarrassed to recognize with your eyes closed.

you don’t turn around as the sliding door clicks shut, eyes trained on some unremarkable landmark in the distance that you can’t quite make out in the darkness. and as he comes to stand beside you, forearms leaning on the metal handrail inches away from your own, you’re not sure if the slight shiver that wracks its way down your spine is from the flakes of snow that have begun to settle on your bare arms or his maddening proximity.

you can’t fucking stand it—this unceremonious collapse of your lungs in his presence, the blistering heat that prickles down your neck and closes tightly around your throat.

something soft and warm settles around your shoulders, and your throat goes dry as the zipper of his jacket brushes against your neck.

“where’s your girlfriend?” you ask, hoping the question doesn’t sound as pathetic as you feel.

it’s funny how these things work—you spent years trying to get over your silly high school crush, only for all of it to come crashing back down in your lap gathered at the bar with friends celebrating his return to japan after uni.

it’s funny—the way you could hardly remember the name of the guy you were casually seeing in that moment as you watched iwaizumi walk in with a pretty girl clutching his elbow.

iwa laughs quietly, and it’s a little rough, a bit self-deprecating. “where’s your boyfriend?”

it’s funny—the odd curve of his tone on the last word.

“don’t have one,” you reply, casting him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable.

“she told me she wanted to move to japan with me,” he says carefully, exhaling a cloud of warm air as his gaze sweeps to the skyline.

your heart sinks.

“and?”

“and i told her i wanted to break up.”

you whip around to face him, convinced you heard him wrong. “you what?”

he reaches across the space between your bodies, hands grasping the bottom edges of the jacket and zipping it up to your chin (and it’s so goddamn reminiscent of the way he used to chide you for not dressing properly on the walk to school that you sway a little on your feet).

you can’t help the way you nudge his foot in return just like you always used to—it’s muscle memory, more than anything else.

and yet you’re not anticipating the way he still follows up in kind, hooking a foot around the back of your ankle, muttering about your shit choice of shoes in the dead of winter. while it’s hardly a tap, it’s enough to make you take a step forward in surprise as the lines between the past and present begin to blur, stumbling slightly.

two hands at your waist steady you, and despite the layers between his palms and your hips, your nerve endings ignite.

“coming home made me realize that even moving to the other side of the world wouldn’t stop me from wondering,” he says softly, snowflakes accumulating in his mussed brown hair.

“wondering what, iwaizumi?”

he doesn’t answer you for a moment, just stares at you with an intensity that makes you briefly question the physics of spontaneous combustion.

“what it’d be like to hear you call me by my name for once,” he murmurs. “what it’d be like to do this, if you’d let me.” carefully, he traces the curve of your bottom lip, his touch feather-light.

your legs wobble, just a little, and iwaizumi’s left hip and thigh press up against you. it’s a weather phenomenon, the way everything goes quiet during snow fall—but it’d all be drowned out either way right now against the erratic thrumming behind your ribcage.

“i missed you, hajime,” you whisper, the syllables heavy on your tongue—they’re at odds with this dizzy lightness in your chest.

his eyes fall shut for a beat, lips curving upward in a faint smile, his fingers twitching subtly at your waist.

you begin to lean forward, and there’s a quiet sigh of relief that falls from his lips before he cups your face in both of his hands, his mouth crashing into yours.

[cornerstoreclown]

So happy to see you’re back, we missed you!🫶

How about reader cleaning those nasty teeth for him? Given he’d allowed it-😉

Consider it done. Gender neutral reader x Art, trying to brush this man's teeth.

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

This is the third time he’s shoved you off his lap. For the past five minutes, you’ve been fighting the Miles County Clown with sheer determination, spite, and a toothbrush. Who was winning at this point, you weren’t sure. What started off as a simple ambush when he was sitting on the couch watching your TV became a failed plan within seconds the very instant he caught wind of what you were trying to accomplish. 

There were three truths that could coexist peacefully: 

The first one was that you loved this stupid clown. The second truth was that he was fucking disgusting and often smelled like he came out of the goddamn city sewers, and god have mercy on your soul if you caught a whiff of his breath after he finished eating something–or someone. And the third truth follows on the tails of the second one…

Which is that your standards are absolute dogshit. The bar is in hell! Literally in this case, considering WHO you’re dealing with.

Absolutely no way in hell that anyone else in the entire world would be able to get away with this. No one. They’d get a free lobotomy with how far that toothbrush would be jammed up their nose. You’re actually surprised that he’s not yet gotten up out of his seat, but you did catch him at a time where one of his favorite shows was on. That was all a part of your grand scheme. 

You’re back in his lap again, toothbrush with a little bit of toothpaste still somehow miraculously attached to the bristles.

He moves his head away from you again, like a defiant child, and he’s starting to wear down your patience and piss you off. 

“Art.” You firmly tell him, trying to get this brush near his face, and so far, the closest you’ve gotten is within a few inches of his mouth. You use your free hand to try and tilt his head back to keep him from moving, leaving him to respond in turn with a scowl, baring his teeth in the form of a threat. 

Which was fine for you. 

With enough dexterity, you manage to get a few brushes in on the top row of his teeth, feeling a bit of satisfaction until he elbows you in the face and then pushes your head away so you can’t see.

“Fucker!” You say through grit teeth. “Art, come ON! Let me HELP you!” 

You don’t feel the pain when he hits you in the face. Anger and frustration run deep in your veins now, guided by nothing but pure adrenaline as you’re both locked in battle with each other, pushing at the other. You both look like siblings at this point. That’s about how it fucking felt. 

You fight against him pushing your head away, and catch a glimpse of a horrid sight–

His gums are bleeding.

His teeth are coated in blood. 

You knew that his oral hygiene was bad, but you didn’t know how bad, and it becomes apparent to you that everything was way worse than you thought. 

Then he stuns you, zigging when you were expecting him to zag as he switches it up, grabbing your wrists and staring you right in the face, his snarl twisting into a smile. You don’t get a chance to react.

Well, you sort of did.

“Art–” 

You’re cut off as he presses his lips to yours, forcefully kissing you and sloppily giving you the nastiest fucking makeout ever. His tongue pushes past your mouth and goes in, shamelessly sharing whatever taste he had leftover from the mystery dinner he ate the night before, but not without the sharp taste of iron from his bleeding gums first. You gag, the pungent taste hitting your tongue, leaving you to immediately try to back up off of him, and he helps you further by once again shoving you off, this time flinging you to the floor at the foot of the couch.

The toothbrush, your so-called weapon of the day, has been dropped and rolled away from where you landed flat on your back. 

Art wasn’t having it. The show he had been hoping to watch tonight? Ruined, as he gets up off the couch and leaves you on the ground. He had half a mind to kick you in the side on the way out. 

You’ll just have to try again some other time. Maybe.

[spatialwave]

"all mine."

pairing: lee russell x fem!reader word count: 2.5k summary: as the youngest teacher on staff, you enjoy taking your peers out for a night of dancing, drinking and gossiping. lee russell was one of the few who joined, the married man you’d fallen hopelessly in love with. warnings/tags: mdni! smut, affair/cheating, dirty dancing, oral (m-receiving), verbal degradation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, i feel like i made lee a little ooc so forgive me!

“oh, come on, lee,” your voice was soft and gentle, humming sweetly like a songbird, “it’s friday night, and you’d rather go home? really?”

hazel eyes settled on you as you shared a table in the staff room. it was sixth period and you had a planning period. you may have been the youngest member of staff, but you were the most organized, meaning you could waste the hour away with your favourite person at north jackson high.

vice principal lee russell.

your bottom lip was jutted out in a pout as he stared at you with his chin in both hands. he kept a straight face for a few moments until he scoffed and waved you away, “don’t give me that fuckin’ look, you’re too good at guiltin’ people into doin’ shit. you’re a bad influence.”

you gasped, sitting up straight, “that’s rich coming from you. i recall you asking me to help you dig dirt on gamby when he was pissing you off last year, and i followed him around for an entire saturday like some serial-killer stalker. a saturday when i was supposed to hang with my girlfriends, mind you, so don’t get all grouchy with me about being a bad influence.”

he pursed his lips and his gaze flickered between your eyes, “fine, if you must know, i’m starting to feel old as shit, okay? everytime we go out i end up at home at four in the goddamn morning with a migraine and the luxury of a two-day fuckin’ hangover” lee admitted, “it’s a real pain in the ass, you know. if it isn’t for you pukin’ your guts out and needin’ help home every weekend, i’d be back home in the comfort of my own bed at a normal fuckin’ time.”

you lips curved into a small smile as you listened to the man whine and complain, “not my fault that someone buys me shots all night.”

“and that was the last time because i learned my fuckin’ lesson. you can’t handle your alcohol,” he pointed a finger at you, lips lifting at the corners to match your sweet, little smile.

lee russell was smitten with you, and it was a slippery slope that he’d been sliding down. he was a married man, after all, but the marriage came with its own complications.

“great talk. i’ll see you tonight, lee.” you winked at him, taking your coffee, and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as you walked past him. lee’s eyes stayed on your body, watching your hips sway with each movement.

you had him wrapped around your finger, and he fucking hated it.

loud music and flashing lights filled your senses as you sipped on your vodka soda, waiting for your peers to arrive as time ticked away. amanda, bill and jen were always ready to crush back shots and forget about the bullshit week of classes with you, but even they were late.

you checked your cellphone as you leaned up against the bar, seeing if you had any missed messages from your colleagues. nothing.

you downed the rest of your drink and made a stop in the washroom to touch up your makeup and adjust your outfit—something special you wore in hopes to impress lee. a short, black skirt that hugged your curves and a black halter top held with thin straps that did little to cover your skin.

staring at yourself in the mirror, you felt a mix of emotions, mostly disgust and embarrassment. lee was married, and here you were hurting your feet with four-inch heels and wearing an uncomfortable skirt in hopes that he’d see you and want to ravage you.

all for him to not even show up.

you swallowed your pride. maybe you would forget about the married man if you met someone nice on the dancefloor. someone single and your age.

your heels clicked against the tiled floor as you left the bathroom, eyes flickering around the busy club when your gaze settled on the man you’d fallen madly in love with. he was at the bar with two shots in front of him, hazel eyes eagerly searching for you. you stayed in the shadows a bit longer, your heart rate skyrocketing as you watched him standing there in his dark grey suit with red-patterned button down peeking from underneath.

he was such a dork—a nicely dressed dork.

those eyes you loved flickered in your direction, and your stomach filled with butterflies when his lips pulled into a toothy grin. he hadn’t even needed to beckon you, your legs working beyond your brain as you sauntered to his side.

“lee,” you beamed, wrapping your arms around your friend and giving him a quick hug, smelling the expensive, intoxicating cologne, “you’re the only one who showed,” your breath tickled his ear as you spoke, pulling back with a coy smile in your lips. you were quick to notice the way he looked you up and down, settling on your revealed skin until he met your eyes.

“really? no one else came?” he was shocked as he spoke, “well, those assholes are missing out,” he slid one of the tequila shots over to you, “because tonight is the fucking night we party our goddamn brains out. we’re not goin’ home until the sun is risin’, baby, i promise you that.”

the casual pet name sent a shiver up your spine, “what happened to being too old?” you asked with a smirk.

“a moment of weakness,” lee replied, “i’m lee fuckin’ russell, i’m fuckin’ invincible. i wanna’ get goddamn wasted!”

the tequila was warm down your throat, but you cringed at the taste. your work companion cheered, inhaling through his teeth sharply, “shit, that’s good,” he breathed, waving for the bartender to bring another round as he laid out cash on the counter to pay.

the second one went down smoother than the first, a lazy grin smeared along your lips as you focused your attention back on lee. he was already staring at you, smirking.

“why are you looking at me like a piece of meat?” you teased, licking your lips, and smoothing down the front of his suit with a delicate hand. your nails were painted a deep shade of red that matched his shirt.

“i’m allowed to admire a pretty woman,” he replied oh-so confidently, and you knew that he had showed up to the club with a few drinks already in his system, “did you dress up for me?”

this was the side of lee russell you always enjoyed seeing. the side that focused his attention solely on you, and made you feel wanted.

“you’re so full of yourself,” you laughed, cheeks warm, “i may have kept you in mind when i was getting ready.”

“i can tell,” he cocked his head to the side, unashamed in the way he reached forward and brushed your hair behind your ear. this was wrong on so many levels, but the thrill was a high that you chased, and you dared not to think about the consequences.

with the alcohol coursing through your body and the loud, bass-heavy music guiding your thoughts to the filthiest parts of your mind, you snagged lee’s hand in your own and laced your fingers together. lee russell was in a trance as he watched you lead him where the crowd of clubbers danced together—bodies grinding and arms strung around necks.

you glanced over your shoulder at him, the hunger in his eyes easy to spon even under the unpredictable lighting.

you were about to spin around and face the man, but you were surprised when his free hand landed on your hip, squeezing over the fabric of your skirt. his chest pushed flush against your back, lips tickling against your ear and causing a shudder to escape your lips.

it had been a long time since you danced like this with anyone, most nights you’d jump around the dancefloor with amanda and jen, sharing drunken laughs as lee watched you from afar. this was better.

his hips moved effortlessly with the music, yours moving in tandem as your ass bumped and swayed against the growing hard-on underneath his suit pants. your arms lifted above your head, his hands sliding up and down your sides, feeling over the bare skin revealed by your skimpy outfit.

you looked around the club, blinking and unable to focus on anything with the bright flashes of neon lights and tens of couples in the same situation as yourself. the alcohol had skewed your vision and all you could focus on was how wet you were between your legs, and the feeling of lee’s fingers caressing your exposed skin

“lee,” you breathed his name out as your head lolled back to rest against his shoulder, able to brush your lips against his jaw while hands tightened over your hips, “this is… wrong,” you could hardly speak.

your morals were showing, but you hadn’t the willpower to stop.

“it’s okay,” he hushed, head tilting enough that his lips barely brushed against yours, and it was then the alcohol seemed to hit you all at once.

you were quick to turn around in his arms, wrapping them around his neck and forcing your lips together in a kiss that had been dangling between you two for months. he licked into your mouth, parting your lips until he could slide his tongue against yours, fighting for dominance that wasn’t hard to win and leaving you wanting more.

everything happened fast.

one moment you two were tongue-fucking each other on the dancefloor, the next you were hidden away in the washroom on your knees with lee’s hands in your hair. his length was pushed deep in your throat as you sucked him off, addicted to the way his face twisted in pleasure as your tongue glided along the underside of his cock.

the music was muffled, but the washroom was loud with the sounds of girls chatting and laughing. doing coke together in the stalls, pouring alcohol out from the flasks they snuck in, and making so much noise that you weren’t worried when lee would choke out a moan or gasp your name.

your hands pressed against the front of his thighs as you bobbed your head, lips perfectly wrapped around him as his cock twitched in your mouth.

“get up,” he moaned shakily, taking your hair in his hands and yanking you from his cock. lips parted from it with a soft ‘pop’ and lee wanted so badly to keep going until your makeup was streaming down your cheeks, but he needed you, “i want to fuck you, baby,” he murmured, staring down at your eager, young face, “you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“mhm,” you whimpered as you stood, and he pinned you against the door of the stall, “it’s our secret, just ours. i promise—”

he shut you up with his lips, a hand reaching down, so his fingers could push past your panties and waste no time in making you squirm and moan. two fingers plunged inside your cunt, and he smiled against your lips, “you’re so easy, aren’t you?”

the degradation wasn’t surprising, and you welcomed it wholly.

“bet you’ll take my cock so fuckin’ easy too, won’t you, baby?” he breathed heavy against your jaw, leaving sloppy kisses against your skin as his fingers stretched you just right, “do you want it? tell me how bad you want my cock and i’ll think about giving it to you.”

“lee,” you squirmed, hips twitching as you tried to stay upright with your legs spread for him, “i want it bad, really fucking bad. please, i need it.”

that’s all it took for lee’s impatience to get the best of him. he hooked one of your legs around his hips and replaced his fingers with his cock, slow as he filled you and pulling back to watch your pretty mouth go slack as your cunt ached around him.

“i’m not on the pill,” you were quick to whisper in his ear, your hips shaking as he started rocking his. you buried your face against his neck, scared to scream his name and let everyone in the bathroom know what you were doing.

“fuck,” he groaned into your ear, one hand on your thigh wrapped around him, the other against the metal stall door next to your head while yours tugged on his hair for dear life, “it’s okay, we’ll be okay. just—fuck,” he couldn’t finish his scrambled thoughts, his mind going blank as he fucked you slow and steady, “just shut up and take it.”

you listened obediently like you always had with him, your head falling back against the door as he fucked you, surprisingly tender in his movements. his hips rocked against yours slowly, stretching deep into your heat and leaving you a pathetic mess that could hardly stand on one foot.

“you’re so tight,” lee grunted, biting underneath your ear hard enough to leave a mark, “and you’re all mine, all fucking mine.”

you pressed a hand to your lips, shutting yourself up as lee’s movements quickened. the stall door started squeaking with each forward kick of his hips, and neither of you cared at this point. all you could do was take it like he told you, legs parted and cunt squeezing around his cock until he came, filling you like he dreamed about doing every night.

the following monday had rolled by too quickly for your liking. you’d spent most of your sunday alone in your apartment, recovering from your night out and wallowing in the guilt that came with being lee’s mistress of the night. he’d gone home before sunrise, dropping you off at home in your shared taxi and sending you off with a kiss that had you feeling all kinds of confused.

your stomach twisted as you thought about seeing him today.

the morning bell hadn’t rung yet, and you were lounging in the staff room with a coffee in your hands and listening to the chatter of teachers having their last few moments of freedom.

“bummer that you had to cancel saturday night,” amanda’s voice caught your attention as she walked into the staff room, “but i hope you’re feeling better. there is nothing worse than wasting your weekends being sick.”

you perked up, confusion on your face as she poured her coffee.

“after lee let us all know you weren’t feeling good on friday he planned for us to go to this new bar on the other side of town. it was actually really fun, but can you believe this?” she peered over her shoulder to look at you, “he didn’t even show up.”

[inklessletter]

The first time Steve hears Eddie singing that song, it's nothing but a absent-minded humming while he's doing something else. Writing something down, he thinks, for the campaign, probably.

Steve knows that song, that's why he smiled when he heard the soft, muffled tone falling out of Eddie's throat. Steve's heard Will singing it, and it's so painfully Jonathan, that song wears his signature all over. Maybe it's because it's The Smiths, and The Smiths is Jonathan.

Steve holds a smile and keeps himself busy, away from Eddie's eyes, because of course, that's what he does. No need to cause a scene, he could go on with his day without Eddie asking him "why are you smiling like an airhead?" Nah, thank you very much.

It's not his music scene, but Steve admits that it has been a favourite since it came out. It was just so goddamn relatable. He first heard it when Nancy dumped him, and sometimes, when he was working at Scoops, he could hear that song coming from the rock station Robin liked, coming from the backroom. No surprise she likes that song too.

Those were dark times for him. Summer job at Scoops, that is. It was a disappointment after another; no university, no high school anymore, no girlfriend, no status to hide after, no friends but the kids he drove all around Hawkins (and yet, three weeks away from Dustin, who was the only one who actually went to see him without asking for anything in return), the most embarrassing dry spell and having absolutely zero idea of what to do next. And that song just randomly filled the air and he indulged himself for two minutes to sulk on his own misery and he felt surprisingly less depressed right after.

So, yeah, that song holds a special meaning for him, a soothing balm for his broken heart, a good nostalgia from his darkest period.

And it comes back to him, from Eddie's voice, and it comes to stay the rest of the day. The rest of the week.

It makes him sad. A good sad, Steve guesses.

He's not really better than a couple years ago, but he's less scared, which is undeniably a victory.

He lets out a sigh and walks away from Eddie, leaves him there, happy and focused and begging.

Steve comes to notice that Eddie sings that song a lot, and he's making it his business not to ask, not to sing along, not to say or do anything that may reveal that Eddie's version of that song is becoming so fast the best he's ever heard.

The day the older side of the group go to see him play with his band, and at some point, he just sits and grabs an acoustic guitar and sings it, that one song, the world turns around. It's hard to keep a straight face, and to breathe regularly. A prayer, a begging in form of ballad, the room is in respectful silence, or if there is any background noise his brain makes the greatest job ignoring it.

Feels Robin's hand slipping through his palm and lacing fingers, but he doesn't look at her.

He can't.

His lips, disloyal and treacherous bastards, shape the last sentence of the song.

Lord knows it would be the first time.

The last chord fills the negative space and the bar noises are there again out of the sudden, and some of his friends are shouting nice things, and Eddie is graciously discarding the acoustic guitar and grabbing his sweetheart again and Steve is hoping to go unnoticed when he wipes his face in a quick movement.

He knows Robin sees it, but she says nothing, merciful and elegant.

The gig goes on for a couple of more songs and it's far too soon when Eddie is there, letting himself fall on the stool next to him, all pleased and content and full of black smudged eyeliner and Steve knows he has to say something to him, so he opts to go with, "I really like that song."

It doesn't need any more saying, because Eddie grins and fucking bites his bottom lip, and looks at the floor like it's the most interesting thing in the world, leaning on the bar next to Steve, and Steve knows, he just knows Eddie knows which one he's talking about.

"Yeah. I bet you do."

He doesn't tease, doesn't go with the rancid bUt YoU lIsTeN tO tEaRs FoR fEaRs In YoUr CaR aLl tHe tImEeE shit like the kids like to whine. He doesn't pretend not to know which one he's talking about. Steve smiles at him, buys the guy a beer.

"So, Robin told you? About, uh, about the song."

He tries a bit too hard to look unaffected, but the label of his cold beer bottle has seen better days. Steve feels Eddie going still and turning his head to face him, wielding such soft, almost pitiful expression that makes Steve's inside go still, lungs not working, muscles tense, blood frozen in his veins, and somehow scalding in his cheeks. He dares to look at Eddie, who whispers, "She did not."

The time stops, or so Steve thinks, when he turns his head to look at Eddie, not really moving an inch.

The question goes unspoken.

The answer is one second too long of both their gazes taking residence in the other guy's lips.

And the song comes alive in Steve's mind, and his lips move again.

So for once in my life

let me get what I want

Lord knows, it would be the first time

[mrs-saturday]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Only Bought This Dress So You Can Take It Off 

♥ my masterlist!

♥ pairing: george russell x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: george needs it, and he needs it NOW.

♥ warnings: swearing, alcohol, oral (f! receiving) , p in v, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap guys!), sex in public,  breeding kink if you squint, smut with NO plot, public bathroom sex, club sex

♥ a/n: @chilling-seavey pookie this one is for you 🤭

♥ smut under the cut! ♥

If there is one thing you know how to do, it’s rile up George. And better still, rile him up at all the wrong times, like tonight, in that tight little dress that clings to your hips in all the right ways. The blue pearlescent straps of your heels, against the warm tan of your skin, running up your legs towards the matching dress,  are all he has his eyes on while stood with Lando and Alex by the bar of a club in Monte Carlo. 

“George, mate, anyone home?” Lando pushes a jagerbomb towards George, while Alex picks his up off the bar and chimes in “Earth to George, we’re trying to celebrate your win here” . He snaps back to reality, taking the shot off of Lando and smiling “Won’t be the only thing we’re celebrating tonight boys” he smirks, downing the shot alongside the other two Brits. “What do you mean Russell George?” Lando asks, leaning against the bar, ordering himself a vodka lemonade. “I’m making my move on y/n.” He states boldly, and Alex’s eyes roll a little “Really man? How many times have you said this now? Like 8000?”. George laughs a little, ordering himself 2 double rum and cokes, and nods “Tonight’s the night, I can’t keep staring at those legs, those hips, that ars-”, he gets cut off by the clack of your heels, and the soft bounce of your tits, as you come striding towards the three. Alex and Lando exchange glances, give George a pat on the back, and make their exit, as you lean against the bar, smiling innocently at the race winner, unaware of the strain in his dress pants.  

“So, Mr Monaco 25, how’s it feel to win again?” He tried his best to keep his eyes on your face, and ignore the Tiffany pendant resting on your chest. “Good- Good, I mean, always good to have another win under my belt, especially knowing you were there to see it” He smiled, his voice not sounding 100% convinced. “You sound strange, Georgie, too many drinks?” You giggled, looking at the two drinks in his hands, and he pushed a cup your way “One’s for you, actually, I was about to make my way over” He coughed, which sent the tight feeling in his crotch all throughout his body. “Oh really? Ever the gentleman, aren’t you?” Smiling, you took the drink from his hand, your fingers brushing, sending all the blood in your body to your cheeks. Perfect, he thought, this is his in.  “Care to come dance with me? Might sober up a bit with some exercise?” he glanced over at the dancefloor, then back at you. With a nod, you drag him over, the new Charlie XCX album pulsing through the floor as you start dancing, skirt riding, tits bouncing, and George feeling a primal burn in his stomach.

Something about the way your dress highlighted everything about you, your girlish little giggle, and those goddamn tits, sent Russell into overdrive, and his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you close unexpectedly, causing you to look up at the Mercedes driver. “This OK, princess?” he whispered in your ear, low and sultry. All you could do was nod, and deciding to take him by surprise back, pushed your hips into his crotch, feeling the tent that’s been straining there all night.

He groans, grip tightening on your hips, pulling your closer to allow the friction to ease some of his need. “Baby, I’m not gonna be able to hold off much long-” You cut his sentence short by grinding up against him, and pulling his hand closer to your left tit, with a massive smirk plastered across your face, unknowing of what you had just awakened. The taller man groaned a second time, and grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you off the dance floor and towards the bathrooms. “Georg-” you begin, “Keep it down, princess.” George growls, dragging you into the free disabled stall, and locking the door, before pushing you up against the door. His hands roamed all over you, causing you to sigh softly, as he moved up to your face, tilting your chin up with his thumb and index finger.

“You’ve got no clue how fucking hard that dress has been making me Y/N” he whispered, inches away from your lips, and you find yourself frozen, red in the face, and can feel yourself dripping for his tone. “G-George-” you mumbled, and a look of regret flashed across his face, before you grabbed him by the hair and crashed your lips against his. Despite you being the one to make that move, George quickly established his control, prying your mouth open and leaving no corner undiscovered before moving to attacking your neck. “Mine..” he mumbled amidst hickeys “My girl.” You moaned and grabbed his hair, sliding a thigh between his legs, grinding it against his throbbing erection, eliciting a low moan from the man. 

“Nuh-uh, my job to make you moan” he huffed, hands making deft work of your dress straps, revealing the most perfect set of tits George had ever seen. You could have sworn you saw him drool in the split second between him gawking, and his teeth rolling your nipple between them, his other hand, warm and soft, giving your other breast a firm knead. He delighted in watching you throw your head back, mumbling against your skin as he yanked your dress to your ankles, and kissed down your stomach.

“Pretty girl…” he sighs, hands moving to your hips “Been waiting to do this for so long…” his fingers make swift work of the lace panties, and with a chuckle he stuffs them in his jean pocket “Think of it as a trophy. You can just wear something of mine when I bring you home” 

You find yourself going red, about to object, but not before George pressed a warm tongue to your clit, looking straight up into your eyes with a devilish glint. “Taste so good m’ love” he licks again, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him in closer. George felt his eyes roll back as he tongued your entrance gently, not even pulling up for air. It was almost as though he felt no need for oxygen when his mouth was full with you. Rutting your hips against his tongue to chase down relief became your primary focus, but George held you still, moving his mouth to look up at you, face and chin glossy. A small string of your wetness kept George’s lower lip connected to you, and fell as he spoke. 

“Turn around, hands on the sink Y/N” He commanded. You did as he said without question, and feel the sharp sting of a spank as you hear his pants hit the floor. Turning to look at him, your breath hitched as you saw his aching cock against his stomach, dripping with pre-cum, and George with a condom packet between his teeth. “No need” you mustered, smirking at him as he raised a brow “On the pill, and I’m clean.”. It seems he needed no more than that to line up at your entrance, tip teasing your hole. “M’ God- You’re dirty aren’t you princess? Want to take me raw, yeah?” 

“Please, Georgie”you whined, to which he slowly pushed himself into you. You winced, the stretch of the Brit’s cock feeling unfamiliar and he stops with a worried expression plastered all over his face. “Too much princess? We can stop-” you shush him, and push yourself onto him until he’s in to the hilt “Just that you’re fucking massive Georgie.”

The moaning, the nickname, the praise. It all sent George over the edge, and you felt the man thrust in and out of you at immeasurable pace. Your wetness dripped down your thighs, and you cried out for the way he established a steady but quick rhythm. To silence your screams, a veiny hand wrapped it’s way around your throat, squeezing gently as the older brit growled into your ear. “Pussy’s mine, right darling?” he sounded rough, and dark, and the possessiveness elicited another whine as he kept talking “Need to fill you up princess, need you full of me” He kept thrusting, hips snapping back and forth to the sweet sound of your strained cries of pleasure. “Need everyone to know you’re mine. My girl. My princess. My cock-drunk baby” He hissed, finally finding your sweet spot, indicated by the scream of his name, which only served to turn him on more. “There? You like that, huh Y/N?” he tightened his grip, cock twitching at the sight of your undoing in front of him. “Gettin’ close, princess” He grunted, and you nod to signify that the feeling is mutual. 

“Together?” He pants, the knot of an orgasm building in your stomach. “Please, fuck, Georgie, together-” you cried, cut off only by the warm gush of your orgasm and the feeling of George spilling into you, warm and sticky. George stayed put inside you well after he finished, face nuzzled into your neck. “So good for me Y/N…” he sighs, kissing all the purple blooming across your neck “Gonna have to talk about this when we’re sober” You pause, body tensing, and as if George read your mind, he added “T-this wasn't a drunk mistake Y/N, I have serious feelings, feelings that deserve us being sober” You relax back into him, knowing the crush is mutual, and hummed as he pulled out, and you pulled your dress back up.

“So, fancy coming home with me?” He smirks, your panties in his hand, and a twinkle in his eye.

“Thought you’d never ask, Georgie”

[anni-writes]

teamwork

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader | very suggestive fluff

word count: 1.8k

Warnings: post timeskip Kuroo x coworker! reader, fluff nsfw-ish language

@ anni says: I'm Kuroo Tetsurou's whore. but I also adore him. this was just another innocent self indulgent drabble that was lost in my drafts, so there you go, enjoy!

the lingering stares, the coffee excuses, the light subtle touches while exchanging papers, the gossipy chatting every lunch break,

the way you look so goddamn hot when you're focused in your work and how that sometimes distracts him from his own work…

and also the inhumanly strenght he need to gather to divert his stare from your plump thighs when you cross your legs under the desk… the privileged view from his desk across from yours can be also a burden sometimes

and then there's that damn high heels you use… not often, though. only when there's important meetings. makes you feel more confident, you said once. but god, when you use it he just want to lay on the floor for you to step on him

there's more and more and so much more about the office bond he has with you that irks him both in the right and wrong ways.

working in the JVA marketing implied that your most strong stakeholder was the promotion division, once the areas needed each other to thrive

therefore, makes total sense that you and Kuroo were so close to each other, right?

it's normal when you're training a new intern and he tags along with the excuse to help you, but spends the whole time glaring menacingly at the guy when he stares at your cleavage a little to much, isn't it?

or when he passes by your desk, leaving a chocolate once every other week, with his handwriting in a note thay says “that presentation was sick, congratulations” or “you deserve a raise, but take this chocolate in the meantime” or some other silly thing that makes you smile

your eyes always dart to him, smiling softly,

but you also can't help but think to yourself that he wanna fuck you so bad— and the thought itself is so entertaining that you shake your head, snorting, as he eyes you puzzled

the tension is clear for you as much as it is for him… he, too, checked all your boxes. a handsome smoking hot smart and competent man that has his eyes set on you? you'd be crazy not to enjoy

so, eventually, you would throw paper balls at him while he's focused, making him roll his eyes and smirk

but also never ceased to bring him coffee when you go get for you. you know how he likes, he works so close to you, why wouldn't you bring him one too?

and the glint in his eyes make it worth it every damn time

neither of you were making the first move so soon, but everyone in the office knows about the unspoken bond you share, gaining some attention in gossip groups around the floor

but then, one day, you were working until very late, apparently alone at the office.

and suddenly, he popped up back, with a can of beer, a loosened tie, two buttons opened, walking torwards your desk, placing the beer beside your papers

you looked at him tilting your head puzzled

“Where did you get that?”

“At the bar across the street”

i tilted my head even more

“You were at the bar across the street and came back to the office to hand me a beer?”

“Exactly”

he said matter-of-factly, making you snort. his words were subtly slured, indicating he drank enough to get at least tipsy

“Why?”

“Why not?”

he answered shrugging, and you read through his attempt to divert the topic. but you also know he's very stubborn, so you just brush it off

“How did you even know I was still in the office? It's late…”

you say, while opening the can while looking at the hour on your computer

“It's the first Monday of the month, you always stay late finishing the monthly report… Besides, I saw the light on from across the street, just put two and two together”

“Damn, you're good—”

you say, amazed at how he memorized your routine by now, while sipping your beer, sighing as the cold liquid soothes your tense muscles, feeling the last motivation to end the report today getting obliterated

he watches your every move like a hawk, walking sneakly behind your back to rub your shoulders

you sigh, feeling a chill down your spine with his touches, humming softly with the massage

“You're done with the report?"

he asked, his fingers rubbing circles in your back muscles, sliding to your shoulders. you lean in his touch

“No… But I think I can finish it tomorrow morning," you reply, trying to suppress the pleasure in your voice from his magical touch.

he chuckles lightly, lowering his torso to lean closer, his breath hitting your neck, making you shiver embarrassingly

"That's what I thought," he says softly, his hands never ceasing their movements, the tension that's been building between the two of you for months feels like it's finally reaching a boiling point

before things get awkward, you start to stand up from your chair, closing your laptop on the desk, sipping your beer casually,

when he took advantage of the moment to pull your chair away and leaning closer, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth on your ear

"Don't I deserve a… reward… for the beer and the massage?”

he whispered, the warmth of his breath making your heart race, his arms encircling youe waist in a new way… despite your supposed closeness, it's the first time you feel him this close.

his voice is like velvet, seductive and irresistible, making you question if this was a good idea.

you pathetically place your free hand on the desk to anchor yourself, feeling the weight of the intensity that has been building between us

"Is that what you've been thinking about all along? Pinning me on the desk when there's no one around?"

you whisper back, your voice dropping to a sensual tone as you lean in his chest, looking at him through your shoulders

the tension is palpable, your mutual attraction finally coming to a head. you put your beer down on the desk, meeting his gaze with a daring look, ready to cross the line you've been flirting with for so long.

"And what if I have?" — he whispers back, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. —"What are you going to do about it?"

his challenge hangs in the air between us, a gauntlet thrown down, waiting for you to pick it up. and that's exactly what you do.

you turn around to face him, raising your chin to line your mouth with his, as his arms hook around my waist

“I might just finally kiss you… would that be bad?”

his eyes darken with desire, his hands pulling you closer.

"That might be the best idea you've ever had,"

and just like that, we give up, succumbingto the tension building for months,

he leans in, or you lean in… its indistinguishable who kissed who first, but you capture each other lips in a heated intense kiss, your tongues already seeking each other’s and you taste the faint malt of the beers he had earlier, sighing with the deliciousness of it all

he gives one step further, boxing you on the desk behind, making you lean back, his hand traveling down my hips

you retaliate, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting softly, making him groan

he pushes his tongue inside your mouth again, and you gladly take it, sucking on it, kissing him back with the same passion

it feels almost relieving having him like this after so much tension building. it feels right.

he parts the kiss, but kept his mouth on your jaw, leaving a trace of wet kisses down, reaching your neck

you lean your head back, giving him free reign on your neck, which he gladly take it, switching from kisses to bites, making you moan softly

your moan unlock something primal in his brain, and one of his hand on your hips travel down your thigh, reaching the back of your knee, pushing up his waist, and the other slides to cup your ass

all that while assaulting your neck with languig nibbles, and you can't help but let out a chuckled moan

“Fuckk… eagerrr, are we?”

you say, low and purring, and the way you draw the words from your mouth goes straight to his pants, making his cock twitch, unconsciously grinding his hips on you, his hand giving a light squeeze in your ass

he grins, groaning a little in your neck, the tone vibrating against your chest

it takes you the damn last bit of strenght to knock some sense into him

“Mmhmm… Kuroo… you know… there's cameras in the office… ”

you say slightly breathless, threading your fingers in his hair, gripping, trying to pull him away from your neck

“Call me Tetsurou”

he say lowly and i can't help but chuckle

“Tetsurou…” — i say, rolling his name from my tongue, liking the sound— “there's cameras—”

“They're not gonna check the cameras unless something gets stolen…”

“We're not gonna fuck in the office, Tetsuro”

he parts from your neck, looking straight at me with a glint in his eyes, his famous lazy smirk

“Oh? So we are gonna fuck?”

you narrow your eyes, he got you now.

you snort, grabbing his tie and pulling him for another kiss, mumbling a quick

“Shut up”

he kiss you chuckling in your mouth, his hand on your thigh progressing further, sliding your skirt up, feeling the soft skin he drooled so many times before—

“Not here, Tetsuro—”

he grumbles, releasing your thigh and raising his hands in mocking surrender

“Okay, okay. I get it.” — then he takes your hand, pulling you closer to him — “but you're coming to my place now, and I'm not taking no for an answer”

as you two leave the workplace giggling and holding hands, your coworkers on the bar across the street watch the scene, all ready to let the gossip spread, but also knowing it was bound to happen eventually

[fraugwinska]

THIS JUST POPPED IN MY HEAD AND I NEEDED TO SHARE!!!! Alastor in a established relationship with reader who has hair like Rapunzel (maybe not EXACTLY but it definitely touches the floor) it’s always getting stepped on by busy feet or chewed on by a particular piggy to the point where she practically carrying it everywhere she goes. One day Al asks why wont she just cut it she tells him it signifies the days they were apart/days she waited for his return as human (I think his death was something she could never cope with :(( ) but now they are together again he cuts it for her and helps her let go of that pain! He anit going nowhere now. He promises. <333

Hello my lovely! I finally came around to write this - and I think it was good to wait to be in the right headspace. It's not a fullblown oneshot, but I think this SlutSnack (Or... FluffSnack?) will be just as good! No warnings this time - just wonderful, sweet fluff for y'all! (@minkdelovely I'm looking at you!)

Let down your Hair

"No, please, come on, Nuggie, that doesn't taste good, let go now, come on..."

You tried and tried, but Angel's pet pig wasn't budging, a thick strand of your hair in its mouth, jaw locked and squeal angry. You pulled on the hair, while Husk, having pity with you, held onto the ferocious piglet as you shouted for Angel once more.

"Oh darling, again?" A familiar cane with a microphone sitting on top of it bonked the piggy on its head, and in a shocked squeak it let you finally free. You tried not to feel too bad for the thing as you scrambled your masses of hair together in your arms and Alastor, your savior, tutted at the little pink ball in Husks hands, his eyes glowing dangerously.

"That's the third time this week. Maybe your owner should keep a better eye on you, or I might be in the mood for pork chops."

"Don't 'ya dare, Creepy McCreeperston!" Angel came running, pulling Fat Nuggets out of Husk’s grip and cradled it softly. The cat demon, relieved of being released from the burden of caring, returned quickly to the bar, determined to get out of whatever the hell kind of fight would certainly follow.

"Oh, I do dare if this thing keeps on guzzling her hair, you frivolous..."

"He's a baby, he doesn't know better 'ya cocky..."

"Stop it.", you said decidedly, getting nervous when Alastors antlers began to crack and grow. "It's okay, he didn't... chew it off, Alastor. But Angel, I'd really appreciate it if you would keep a closer eye on him, okay?"

Alastor took a deep breath, returning to his normal form with a sigh and joined your side, gathering the rest of your long hair with an annoyed frown.

Angel huffed, shrugging his shoulders. "Fine." He turned around, tickling the pigs belly as he took the stairs to his room and mumbled loudly "...Don't know why she has to have fucking hair like goddamn Rapunzel and make this shit my problem."

"Because," Alastor said loudly after him, his hair dangerously spiking and static crackling, "It should be her own decision whether to cut her hair or not, not this... pest’s eating habit, mhh?"

"Alastor...", you said softly, touched by his fierce protective gesture, "Would you come to my room and help me sort this mess out? I think I have some pretty nasty knots in there now." You put a hand on his arm, and his eyes snapped to you. He smirked, not really calming, and offered his arm, holding your masses of locks safely on the other one.

"Of course... anything for you, dear!"

The first twenty minutes were filled with nothing but Alastors soothing, soft jazz he loved to play when you were alone and the quiet scraping of your hairbrush, detangling your overly long locks. He slowly calmed down from his agitated state, not wanting to show it too obviously but fondly twirling your smoothed down hair through his fingers. You enjoyed these quiet times together with him - normally he'd talk a lot, that came with the job of being the radio demon, and you'd listen attentively, not having the heart to miss a single word that came out of his mouth.

But sometimes silence was even more lovely, because it showed you that he didn't feel the need to entertain, to pretend and to put on a show, but just... be. With you. And maybe he could sense that it made you happy. Or he knew exactly how relaxing these moments could be. Whatever the case, your mind started to wander, reveling in the soft tugs of the brush and the shivers running down your spine when his claws finally reached your scalp.

"Why don't you cut it?" Alastor asked quietly and you jolted from your musing, humming and turning your head slightly. "Hm?" Alastor scratched carefully behind your ears, waiting for the tension to disappear from your muscles before he continued brushing. "Why haven't you cut your hair yet? It must be quite a bother to maintain."

You turned your head and blinked at him. The dreaded question... you knew it had to come one day. If you were honest, you'd even suspected him to ask it sooner. The answer was easy... but you hesitated to let him know. Alastor loved details, craved them in fact - but it was sentimental, silly even, and you couldn't bear the thought of him thinking less of you. Now the time had come - he had asked you directly, and you resented lying to him even more than looking foolish to him.

"Do you remember the day at the fair? The one where you took me on that boat ride?"

Alastor hummed happily, braiding the front of your hair, his claws delicately folding section over section. "Yes, of course. What a fine evening that was! You looked gorgeous as ever, I think you wore the red summer dress I gifted you for your birthday that year. You normally wore your hair straight, but it was beautifully laid in those finger waves that were all the rage then - right until here." His hand trailed down to caress the nape of your neck, making you bite your tongue on a sigh, and continued. "And I promised to you then on that boat that I'd return to you in a heartbeat, wherever you may wait or roam, no matter what, because..."

"...a lifetime with you could never be enough to satisfy me." you ended the sentence for him, a sad smile on your face."And yet it was the last day I saw you alive."

He stopped suddenly, the feeling of his claws being gone and your back growing cold made you flinch and turn, wondering whether you had ruined everything. Alastors eyes looked stormy and you swallowed, your hands absent-mindedly stroking a strand of hair that fell over your shoulder. 

"I've kept my hair like this for every time I imagined your return ever since you died. To signify those days I spent longing for you, mourning after I've seen the papers and..." You closed your eyes, refusing to fall back into those dark memories. The screams the nightmares brought into your nights, fueled by the horrific stories the papers wrote about him. The hollow words of family and friends and people who were merely interested by the gossip of his life and death. The morbid curiosity and the grins and giggles at his unceremonial end while you cursed them all for tainting his image. The undying anger and hurt, your stubborn love for a man who died so young and left you to grow old alone. "...Every inch of it is a testament that I've never stopped loving you. And that I've never stopped believing in those words you said to me that day." You opened your eyes again, looking at Alastors stricken face.

"I know it's foolish..." you said gently, watching how the realization struck Alastors eyes and softened them. He visibly forced his expression to stay in the signature smile of his, but you could sense the emotion in his voice.

"Don't belittle it. Your sentiments for me have always been... most precious to me. Even now. Perhaps especially now." You shuddered when his fingertips trailed up your arms and brushed away the tick of your hair, his mouth reaching for the delicate skin of your neck. "Heaven truly lost a perfect angel the moment you fell into hell, darling."

The tears you shed were softly kissed away by him. After you both calmed down enough from the overtake of emotions, something that had become so foreign for the radio demon, he gently sat you back down in front of your vanity mirror.

"My love... as much as it honors both you and me... keeping the weight of those past memories locked in your hair isn't necessary anymore. You have me now, and I have no intention to leave, not unless you wish me to. Let me relieve you from the burden of carrying it."

Alastor cut your hair, strand by strand while you told him about the decades of life lived without him. It felt like a liberation, to finally tell him how painful the years had been and how empty and incomplete you had felt. When you ended with telling him how relieved you were that the body you spawned in your afterlife wasn't the frail and withered one you left behind, but one that resembled your happier days, young and in love and optimistic, he had cut the masses of hair to the same length you had on that fateful day at the fair. Your head felt light and you stroked the short strands, a surprised and disbelieving laugh bursting out of you when you saw that girl again in the mirror.

Alastor smiled with deep satisfaction, carefully putting the scissors away before he pulled you into a close embrace from behind, meeting your gaze in the mirror and pressing a chaste, possessive kiss to the top of your head."Who needs a mere lifetime, darling, when you can have eternity?"

[emryses]

TIMESTAMP: April 10, 1989

written for @steddiemicrofic july prompt: one | 1,111 words | rated: M

One thousand, one hundred, eleven and one days; but it only took Eddie the one to fall in love.

It might have happened on the first day, with Eddie broken and eaten, Dustin crying over him, all tears and snot; and if it hadn't been for all of the internal and external bleeding Eddie might have told him to cut the crap. But then, there was Steve, like a real life G.I. Joe dropping in to save the day, sweeping Eddie up into his arms and carrying him out of literal, goddamn, freaking monster hell. 

Eddie blinked up lazily at him, going in and out of consciousness, and though the world around him was blurry Steve was in hyper focus. The slope of his jaw as it met the soft curve of his ear. Then followed it up to his temple, where his hair was somehow still perfectly sculpted, if not the tiniest bit messy and filled with monster shit. That was still hot, though. Yeah, Steve still looked good. It was as if he was an actual ready-made example of every wet dream Eddie ever had and probably would ever have, and now he was being cradled by said man like it didn't even phase him. Eddie knew he was scrawny, but damn, did Steve even break a sweat? Fuck, dude.

"What the fuck?" Eddie said, before he passed out for real.

It might have been a few days later, when he woke up in the hospital, machines beeping and way too many things sticking out of his arms for his liking. Wayne was there, because of course Wayne was there. But then coming into focus in the background, just as Eddie was starting to remember all the crazy bullshit that had gone on for the past week, there was Steve Harrington. Fresh and clean, wearing a polo which stretched deliciously across his chest and sporting a bruised ring around his neck. He sat, magazine in hand and knee crossed over the other. He looked up at Eddie, and smiled. It really might have been then, it might have been that smile that did Eddie in. Something private, something just for him.

“What the fuck?” Eddie whispered, before the nurse was called in.

It could have been any one of the days he spent with Steve after that. Like when they moved with Robin up to Chicago and lived in that shit-hole two bedroom apartment. He and Steve had shared a room, what a great idea that had been—a statement which was laden with sarcasm, until it wasn’t. Because Eddie started getting his shit rocked by one Steve Harrington on the reg, and then it seriously had been a good idea that they shared a bedroom, thank fucking Christ. 

It definitely could have been the good dicking that did it for Eddie, the bruises on his hips in the shape of Steve’s thumbs that never quite faded, the taste of him on Eddie’s tongue. With Steve over top of him, under him, his hair sweaty and plastered against his forehead, looking down at Eddie like he was the only one.

“What the fuck?” Eddie breathed out, as Steve plopped down on the bed beside him, a shit eating grin on his face.

Or the day Steve stuck close to him, hands awkwardly wrung together and he asked Eddie, “Dude, is this like, for real? You and me?”

“We share a sock drawer,” Eddie replied, as if that answered Steve’s question, because in a way, it did. You know?

Or maybe it was one of those nights where they went out. The music blaring, lights dancing around them, and Steve was wearing a teeny tiny shirt. Every man, woman and person in the club making eyes at him, and Eddie couldn’t even be jealous, because, like, yeah, fucking look at him. But even if he was, even if he could have gotten himself to feel the bite of that little green monster, he wouldn’t have, because Steve only looked at him. Steve only danced with him, it was his hand that was low on Eddie’s back, slipping their palms together, pulling him along, to and fro, between the bar and the bathroom and the dance floor. It was Steve’s tongue on Eddie’s neck, licking sweat and salt from his skin. It was Steve, who looked at him, smiled at him, shared a motherfucking sock drawer with him, hell yeah, dude. It was Steve bringing him home, to that shitty apartment. Sure, it could have been that night, or any night after that, with Eddie so sure and so confident that Steve was his man, and Eddie was his.

Or the time he got chicken pox when he was twenty-one and Steve made him homemade chicken noodle soup. Or when he set up a new campaign, and they needed someone to step in for Mike and Steve said, oh, he’d do it. No problem about it. Or when they went home to Wayne's for Thanksgiving, and Steve made that pie. Or when Eddie threw Steve that birthday party and invited all their friends. Steve pulled him aside, that smile on his face, kissed him and said, “Thank you.” It could have been any of those days, or any of the days after that.

Or maybe, it was one thousand, one hundred, eleven and one days later. They had finally moved out of that apartment and into something they could make their own. A one bedroom, one bathroom. Small, but they were used to the cramped space. They had one sock drawer between them, still, and sometimes it felt like they were one heart beating. 

They were laid out on their brand new mattress, half-haphazardly covered in their blankets, and plopped in the middle of the living room floor. They were surrounded by all their unpacked boxes, and to Eddie it felt akin to a castle, their own personal fortress and boy had they just christened it. They laid, tangled up in each other, Eddie had his cheek pressed against Steve's chest, a hand playing gently with the smattering of Steve's chest hair. He moved, and pressed a kiss there, next to his nipple, and Steve hummed, content, king of his fucking castle.

"So," Eddie breathed. "What do you think? Is this the one?"

Steve looked at him like he was insane, and said, bitchy as ever, “Uh. Yeah, it better be, Eddie. We got the keys. And, like, fucked already."

“Nah,” Eddie said. “I'm not just talking about the place, I'm talking about—you. Me. Us. Is this the one?"

Steve smiled, something just for Eddie. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “You’re the one.”

[darylssunshine]

Late Night Impulse

summary: you and sonny fucking in a public bathroom

word count: 1.1k

a/n: he's all I can think about rn I couldn't resist

~~~

The LED “Budlight” sign flickered in your peripheral, but your eyes were fixed on a man in the corner of the bar. It was a little past two in the morning, and no one was in the grimey, down-town bar except for you and the man across the room. You’re pretty sure that even the bartender had fucked off at some point. Normally you would feel uncomfortable in a situation like this, but something about the man was intriguing to you.

His hair was long and tangled looking, but still somehow looked soft to the touch. He had a beard that was as out of control as his brunette hair and was wearing orange tinted sunglasses. He was wearing a leather jacket adorned with dozens of patches that fit him just right, and he was currently casually sitting in the corner of his booth, taking a long drag of his cigarette. Smoke emitted from his nose and mouth as he exhaled, now looking back at you, feeling your gaze on him. You looked away out of embarrassment, and you could hear the man huff in amusement.

After several minutes of contemplation, you proceeded with your plan, now that you were lucky enough that he even acknowledged you. As you slid off your bar stool and stood, he took a long look at you, the sunglasses now propped on the top of his head. He eyed you up and down, taking note of your delicious looking figure, eyebrows raised.

With a jerk of your head, you gestured to the communal bathroom, all while staring at his striking blue eyes.

Without a word, you turned to the bathroom and pushed the door open. Leaning against the far wall, you worried that the man wouldn’t accept the offer and think that you’re a creep looking for a quick fuck. I mean, you did want to get fucked, but not just by anybody. The way his heavy-lidded eyes drank you in just moments ago made you feel something you haven’t felt in a while.

You waited in that exact position for several minutes, and nothing. A feeling of guilt and embarrassment gradually rose inside of your gut, feeling stupid for thinking that a stranger would just blindly take that offer. But as you pushed yourself off the wall to leave, your eyes flicked up to the door, finally opening, revealing the scruffy mess that you were just ogling at. He crossed his arms, leaned against the wall near the door, and smirked. “Hey, doll face.”

You were stunned, eyes now widened.

“Like what ya see? That why ya were starin’?”

You didn’t even realize that your feet were moving you closer to him. “Mhm.”

He watches you, unmoving, when you unbutton your pants and slide them down to the floor, removing them along with your shoes and kicking both to the side. He licked his lips, eyeing your bare thighs.

“Ya want me that bad, huh?”

You nodded shakily, your doe eyes pleading.

He took one last look at your lips before suddenly latching onto them, hungrily adding tongue and biting your lip in the process. The sudden contact had you moaning into the stranger's mouth, Your hands roamed his body, rubbing over his biceps and settling on his firm waist.

You yelped when you felt his rough hands roughly grab your ass and lift you onto the sink counter. Your breathing quickened when you heard the familiar jingling sound of a belt buckle being removed and tossed onto the floor haphazardly. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, desperate to deepen the touch of the beautiful stranger. Your soft moans echoed throughout the bathroom.

“Where’s that boldness ya had out there, huh?” He grumbled deeply in your ear, thoroughly amused by your reaction to your wants not being immediately fulfilled.

“Yer so goddamn needy.” His voice got impossibly lower and harshly bit your ear lobe.

A whine bubbled up in your throat. He knew exactly what got you going, and he had just met you.

“Name’s Sonny. Beg for it.”

Your eyes could’ve rolled into the back of your head just from that comment alone, or from the way he was slowly lowering your panties just enough to gain access to your aching cunt.

“Sonny, please… please fuck me…” The words died on your tongue, mind fogging up with lust.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

The waistband of his pants and underwear were then harshly pulled down to his ankles, freeing his hard length. Your eyes were locked in place, shamelessly staring. Especially when he spit on his large, calloused hand and proceeded to stroke himself.

Your chest heaved when he teased your overly-sensitive folds.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin ya.”

A cross between a scream and a moan ripped through you when he relentlessly entered you, taking no time to stretch you out.

White knuckle gripping the marble counter below, you threw your head back in overwhelming pleasure, bordering on pain. His hands gripped the counter right beside yours, his thick cock pounding into you at a dizzying rhythm, using you. Unholy wailing was bouncing off the ceramic tiles.

You were his own personal fuck toy.

“Look at ya, fuckin’ takin’ it. Dirty little whore.”

No thoughts were entering your light-headed brain. Incoherent babbling was the only thing coming out of your cock-drunk mouth.

“Sonny… fuck!” You eventually breathed out.

You gasped when you suddenly felt his lips to your neck, moaning even more at the suction and the eventual teeth. You clenched around him, feeling yourself getting close.

“Sonny… I’m… ah!” You stammered. The only response you got was heavy grunting, signaling that he was also on the precipice. He gripped the wall beside you to brace himself with a harsh smack, startling you in the process.

Your moans of rising decibels sounded throughout the bathroom as he shot hot ropes of cum into your womb. He rode you through your high, his pace slowing.

Once you were done seeing stars, you instinctually rested your head on his chest, body feeling incredibly limp at the moment. Nothing was heard for a long moment except your shared heavy breathing, then you lifted your head with great effort to look him in the eyes. You moved a stray hair out of his eyes and said “Name’s (Y/N), by the way.”

He huffed in amusement and rolled his eyes, carefully pulling out of you and putting his jeans and belt back on.

He then ripped off a singular paper towel and started writing something on it with the pen he had in his jean pocket holding the cap in his mouth while he was doing so. Once he was finished scribbling, he folded the towel, handed it to you with his pointer and middle finger, and strolled out the door.

Brows furrowing, you unfolded the paper towel.

“XXX-XXX-XXXX Call me, sweetheart. Dinner? And, I want to hear you scream my name again. ;)”