#that shit looked so expensive to make for television

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[randyvouz]

Guys…something LGBT happened

[realcube]

CONSEQUENCES

SIR NIGHTEYE SMUT. in which you're a villain who breaks into his house, and he punishes you for it.

tw/tags → nsfw, cursing, implied age gap, vaginal, bondage, fingering, oral (receiving), edging, pet names, impact play, breeding, riding, squirting, overstimulation, brief anal — MINORS DNI

note → oh he's too fine and underrated. smut is labelled if you want to skip to it.

the night was heavy with fog and frost, while the moon shone at the apex of the sky, casting only a soft glow over the big house that stood at the end of the street.

as a child, the house instilled a sense of reverence in you; aspirational and hopeful that one day — if you work hard enough — you may get to live in a house just like that one. but as you grew up, the respect you had slowly faded into seething jealousy and anger, as you realised that no matter how much effort you may put in to your academics or hobbies, you'll always come in second place to those who were gifted at birth with useful quirks, under this flawed system.

that was the beginning of your descent into villainy. and tonight was the night you were finally prove to your younger self that you made the right decision.

standing outside the big house, you stared up at it with a sober expression. you couldn't help but wonder who lived there. all this time you've lived nearby but you've never caught a glimpse of the owner. they were probably some big-headed hero; overpaid and worthless.

if they had enough money to buy such a massive house, they probably could afford all the additional secruity measures too. not that it was an issue for you; your quirk rendered the majority of security essentially useless.

your quirk allowed you to take an incorporeal form, in which you cannot touch or be touched, are invisible and can permeate through matter. however, the major drawback is that you are unable to breath in this form so you can typically only hold it for just over a minute consecutively.

still, a minute leaves you with enough time to rush through the front garden — passed all the cameras — and diffuse through the front door without having to break anything or do any lock-picking.

you don't have much time to scan your surroundings, instead you have to pick a room and study it to make sure there are no cameras or people, before you cease use of your quirk. not only so you can breathe again, but also so you can pick up objects that you want to steal.

you end up choosing the living room as that is where a lot of valubles are kept, and since there doesn't seem to be any cameras, you drop your incorporeal form and start picking up random shit and throwing it into your bag.

while you are doing this, you begin to get a general feel for the type of person that must live here. all their furniture is very modern and sleek and expensive-looking — you'd pick up the whole couch and take it, if you could. overall there is a very mature vibe to the decor, with the exception of a couple All-Might pieces of paraphernalia you find laying around. like a decorative silver silhouette laying on the side table. it was really ugly but you took it anyway because it might be worth something.

you continue going around the room and shovelling items into your bag, wary of your surroundings and who might be lurking. however, as you are sifting through the cabniets under the television, out of no where, you feel a blunt pain against the back of your head and everything went dark.

it stung real bad, and you woke up with a splitting headache. although the first thing you noticed was the pain, once your sight comes back to you and the world stops spinning violently, you become acutely aware of your current situation.

tied up vertically onto some contraption, in what looks to be a dingy basement, and opposite you, sitting at a table, there is a tall, slender man with green hair, sharp features and glasses, which he pushes up the bridge of his nose as he stands up.

"you're awake." he states plainly.

you open your mouth to spit a sly retort, and that is when you realise that you can't because he has taped over your mouth. so instead you furrow your brows and thrash against your contraints to express your displeasure. you hated being caught, but it wasn't a big deal, once you were less winded, you could quite easily slip into your incorporeal form and dart away.

"i see you tried to rob me. i have it recorded, and while you were out i took your fingerprints and a hair sample." the man motions to the contents atop the table, where you could see the tapes and plastic bag which presumably had your hair inside, and he held up the fingerprint samples.

"so i suggest instead of using your quirk to run away, you listen to my offer." he subtly quirks a brow, giving you a once-over to see if you were going to switch form, but instead he sees he has stunned you into complete silence, so he continues.

"perfect." he hums, holding his chin between his thumb and index finger in thought as he paces up and down the length of the table. "i don't think you are an evil villain who means to cause harm to innocents. i think you are a troubled young woman who is mad at hero society. would i be correct in assuming that?"

he looks over his shoulder, briefly awaiting a response and you simply shoot him an unimpressed look with your eyes, since he obviously knows you can't talk.

"right. can't speak." he recalls, then keeps walking, "with a quirk like yours, you could have such a bright and promising future ahead of you. but if i were to report you to the authorities, all that would be soiled because of one terrible decision."

even if you could talk, you didn't feel the need to correct him and say that this wasn't your first time commiting a crime.

"so, i am going to make you an offer. you could use your quirk and run away; i'll hand all of this evidence over to the police, they will catch you eventually and you'll spend the rest of your days rotting in prison. or you can let me handle you myself, and this whole incident will be our little secret."

he slinks up to you, and rips the tape swiftly off your face, causing you to hiss in pain. "what do you say?"

you couldn't lie: something about this man standing so close to you, his hot breath tickling your lips and his intimidating stare glaring right into your soul had your panites pooling with arousal. you shouldn't be so turned on by this situation but you can't stop it.

"what do you mean by 'handle me yourself'?" you cough, finally able to inhale a deep breath.

he tilts his head and explains, "i would put you on the straight and narrow path to rectitude."

"like, with a powerpoint?" you rasp.

he narrows his eyes at you through his glasses, and the intense glare causes you to shudder, "no. i have various methods that will instill cheer and bliss into you." he places his finger under your chin, to hold your face up so you maintain eye-contact with him, "they could be described as sexual in nature."

"some weird pervert fetish." your face contorts to reflect your disgust, though it's merely a guise for your bubbling lust and excitement.

"call it what you want." his piercing yellow eyes stare deeply into yours, "if you would rather not engage, then leave."

you press your lips into a thin line, and interally you relish in how well you got off; not only will you leave scot-free, but also this fine man is going to fuck you silly. a two-in-one! funnily enough, you loathe the alternate reality in which you didn't get caught.

although, despite the slight smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you don't want to come across as too eager. otherwise, he might not view it as a suitable punishment and the offer will be retracted, so you try to keep the overwhelming joy to yourself.

in an attempt to feign hesitancy, you ask, "how is 'cheer and bliss' going to stop me from being a criminal?"

"i'm glad you asked. shows that you're paying close attention." his intense expression softens for a microsecond as he straightens his back, so you can tell your question pleased him. "i believe laughter and cheer is the backbone of our society and essential in the creation of a brighter future. you've already shown good humour through your ridiculously amusing display of incompetence while trying to rob me. it was thoroughly entertaining to watch."

every word that came out of his mouth was more shocking that the last. never would you expect such a stoic man to be so passionate about comedy and humour. also, you didn't appreciate him calling you incompetent but you kept your mean replies to yourself somehow, thus allowing him to continue,

"when you experience the same joy, you'll understand what i'm referring to and will never return to villainy." he says in a very resounding manner, picking up a long metal rod laying on the table and examining it, "you won't be able to walk properly after our lesson, so at the very least you will not be able to commit any crimes for the next couple of days."

you have no idea where he is going to put that stick, but the possibilities rushing through your mind cause your knees to quiver.

"so, will you be staying for your punishment?" he glances at your figure out of the corner of his eye.

"yes.." you stutter out, still trying to give the impression of a coy, confused girl so he doesn't know how desperate for this you truly are. "but can i ask one more question?"

he takes a piece of fabric out from the pocket of his suit jacket and polishes the metal stick, "you may ask as many questions as you would like, darling."

you gulp slightly, "what should i call you?"

he noticably tenses up for a moment before he gently sets the rod down, then turns to you, while adjusting his glasses, "mirai sasaki. though, you may have heard of me under my hero name: sir nighteye."

"oh, you worked with all might, didn't you? is that why you have so much merchandise of him?"

he nods, "the merchandise you intended to steal, yes."

you frown, frustrated that he was still hung up on that — you thought it was time to move on, but apparently not. "well, i'm sorry about that, sir."

he saunters up where you are tied up, metal rod in hand, and uses it under your chin so you look up to meet his penetrating stare, "if you are good, i might forgive you." he drops the rod and roughly prods the side of your clothed thigh, "we must get rid of these first."

[NSFW]

the contraption that was restricting you held your ankles in such a way that your legs where slightly parted. close enough together to allow sir nighteye to yank your bottoms down in one swift motion, leaving you in your panties. however, your legs were still far enough apart to provide space for his slender fingers to rub your labia through the damp fabric.

you gasp at how sudden he was, though you should've expected only efficiency from such a esteemed man. and it was only now that you take a look down to see your bottoms hanging around your ankles that you notice the contraption was holding you a couple inches off the ground yet he still towered over you.

"so wet already, hm?" he whispers, hot breathe tingling against your neck, his lips only inches away from your tender skin.

"mhm.." you whined, partially embarrassed by him finding out how turned on you are, but mostly too enthralled by his expert fingers against your needy clit to care.

soon, he tugged your panties to the side, circling your labia with his finger to gather your slick before licking those same fingers, promptly sticking them up your soaking cunt, causing you to yelp a little.

however, the pain from the initial stretch to accommodate his two digits quickly faded into pure pleasure. even when he wasn't moving, your eyes were still screwed shut while you moaned endlessly, feebly bucking your hips as much as you could.

he swiftly put an end to your unwanted movements by a harsh wack to the thigh with the metal rod, "behave. the true experience hasn't begun yet."

"when'll it start? i need you.. s' bad, sir." you choke, panting heavily and biting your bottom lip to distract yourself from the unmet needs between your thighs.

"since you asked so nicely." his fingers pump in and out of your pussy, lewd squealing noises echoing through the room with each disgusting slap of his palm against your clit. at first he is slow and thorough, making sure the base of his fingers are right the way inside you before pulling out, even curling them a little which would send a lust-fuelled spark up your spine ever single time.

his pace gradually worked up to being more hasty, more severe. his hand was rapidly thrusting in and out of your hole at a speed you couldn't even begin to compute. and every time you tried, his palm would slam into your clit again and send another mind-numbing jolt of pleasure to your brain.

while you moaned, he watched with a fiery intensity. eyes locked to your face, observing every subtle movement and slight twitch. he was obsessed with the way you looked for him, so greedy yet so innocent. all for his gaze only.

because of how observant he was, as soon as you felt your orgasming coiling inside you, he instantly ceased, preventing you from reaching your climax. once you were able to pry your eyes open, you pouted at him and groan, "huh?"

"not yet." with the cloth kept in his pocket, he carefully wipes clean his slick-coated fingers and gets on his knees. "remember, this is a punishment as well as rehabilitation." his angular features partially hidden between your plush thighs was an interesting sight. but you weren't able to appreciate it for long as your eyes rolls back into your head at the euphoric feeling of his tongue plummeting into your hole.

it squirms around, getting a taste for your juices, resulting in a hungry moan from him against your pussy, the vibrations tickling your clit. his lips lap it all up, while his tongue works your aching insides, plunging into you repeatedly.

exploring within the confines of your tight walls, eventually the tip of his tongue finds the gummy spot in you that makes your toes curl every time he brushes up against it. his mouth fucks you out feverishly; such an austere man losing his restraint was such a turn on for you, and had your pussy clenching around his tongue.

"mph— i need you.." you mewl out into the emptiness of the room.

meanwhile sasaki's face heats up red between your thighs. although eating you out was admittedly hot as fuck and had him pitching a slight tent in his grey trousers, it didn't fluster him because he viewed it as a process towards your punishment, opposed to an activity to feed his own lust.

that was, until he heard you call for him in that way — so lecherous and dirty. it had all the blood in his body either rushing to his cheeks or dick. that was when he realised he might be doing this to serve his own sexual fantasies instead of preventing villainy and helping you see the beauty in joy.

but it's something he has commit to. so what ever the overarching reason may be, he can deconstruct it later. for now, he has to see through what he started.

'see through' in the board sense. that didn't apply when he was tongue-deep in your cunt, devouring your insides like a starved, depraved man until your whole body was shaking and you were on the very edge of a climax. which is when he decided to pull out.

your eyes shoot open at the missing warmth against your pussy, and you inhale sharply. deeply uncomfortable with how the sweet bubbling release within your core was swept away in an instant and you were left with a longing ache between your legs. to be fair, he did give you a warning so you can't say this was unexpected, but certainly dissatisfying.

"sir, c'mon.." you plead, pretty cheeks glistening with tears, "wanna cum for you."

"you will, my dear. trust me." he slowly gets up from the floor, cleaning his sticky cheeks and lips with the cloth again. "it pains me to do this but i hope you are learning a very valuble lesson about grief. it's not nice, is it?"

"no.." you mutter, gaze cast to the ground in shame.

but your swiftly met with a harsh sting on your thigh by the wrath of his metal rod, "look at me."

reluctantly, you lift your head up so your watery eyes meet his, and he stares down upon you with scorn. he asserts, "say that again."

"no."

"full sentence."

"no, it's not a nice feeling." you mumble to stop your voice from trembling. your eyes are locked to his, so you pick up on the very subtle change in his expression — he's contented with your response.

"excellent. i think you deserve to finish now." he turns his back to you and walks over to the table. from how far away you are, you can't properly see what is laid out on the surface besides the tapes and samples, but you can tell there are many things.

once he's collected everything he needs, he comes back over with a few items in his big hands. first, there is vibrator in the shape of a c, which he stuffs into your cunt and allows the tail to hang out, positioning it so it brushes perfectly against your swollen clit. you moan quietly the whole time while he is toying around, fixing it inside you. and though he acts unbothered, really you are feeding his lewd desires and worsening his throbbing erection.

then he has a metal plug which he coats in generously in lube, then slips his arm behind you and shoves it into your ass. when he does so, you yelp and jerk against your restraints at the harsh insertion. but your pussy only gets wetter at how full and conjested you are.

"we will get started when i come back." he states, heading towards the door on the other side of the room.

your mind is already a bit foggy , so he is a few paces away by the time you figure out what he's doing, but then you promptly call out, in a slurred salacious voice, "huh, where're you going?"

"to make myself a cup of coffee. i'll be right back."

"what?! don't leave me here al—" before you could even finish your thought, the door slams shut behind him and he is gone. you can only trust that he'll be back soon to please you.

you let out a deep sigh; the first in what felt like ages. but the relief didn't last long as the wind was almost immediately knocked out of you again at the toy stuffed into your pussy beginning to vibrate. and not lightly either, it was essentially thrashing around inside you and destroying your clit.

you assume this would only last a couple seconds and sir nighteye was only doing this to tease you but no. it went on for ages, the piece of plastic ravaging your walls and poor clit for minutes on end. to the point you were shaking and twisting in your restraints, trying to deal with the copious amount of pleasure surging through you.

you screamed and shouted but you don't think anyone heard you. or maybe he did and he just gets off on this shit. either way you couldn't keep it all inside; it was unbelievably good yet it was just so fucking much. to the point you were gasping for air.

with a vibrator on full shoved into your pussy and abusing your clit, and a buttplug that would send jolts of hot ecstasy rushing through you whenever you'd arch your back against the wall behind you, it wasn't long at all until your first orgasm.

then your second and third rolled out directly afterwards. your thighs being covered with more and more slick each time.

by the time sir nighteye came back with his coffee, you were probably on your fourth or fifth — you lost count — and your sore body was laying limp against the cuffs that held you upright, with your head hanging low as your neck no longer had the strength to carry it.

"look at this." he takes a sip of his drink, while sitting down in the chair adjacent to the table, "you're a mess."

"st— stop, sir. ngh, t' much." you somehow find the strength to coak out, despite the heavy vibrations battering your poor cunt.

"i will stop after you squirt." he declares, completely unwavered by your dishevelled state. he folds his legs and stares at you while holding his cup, waiting patiently.

"sir!" you squeal, body consulving in sheer pleasure, and you grit your teeth together to stop yourself from letting out and ungodly shriek and you feel another seering climax build in your core, blistering your insides. it was so horny and good at first but now it was growing overwhelming, "please, please, please!"

"fine." sir nighteye sighs in defeat.

with that, the contraption you were held to suddenly deactivates and the cuffs around your wrists and ankles retract. therefore, without the support of the metal, you immediately fall to the ground and land on your hands and knees. and the force from hitting the ground sends the toy straight out of your hole, aided by your cumulative wetness.

the plug in you ass stays put, not that you were awfully worried about that one anymore now that the main source of the stimulation was gone, leaving you with great relief. you take a moment to catch your breath.

"come here, my dear. sit with me."

your legs are still trembling so naturally when you try to stand up, you immediately fall back down. in fact that's when you realise your whole body feels like jelly, even your arms are so weak they can barely keep you from face-planting into the ground — your previous orgasms have truly wracked your whole nervous system.

despite clearly seeing you being a fumbling mess and struggling to even stand or kneel, sir nighteye just watches silently, not offering you a hand even when you look to him with a glossy gaze.

after a couple mintues of clumsily stumbling around, you are able to half-walk / half-crawl over to where he is sat, but you fall over again just as you reach him, leaving you kneeled on the ground with your forehead pressed against his leg.

that's when he finally extends a hand you, and slips his arms under yours and pulls you up onto his lap, so you are stradling his legs and facing him. you flop against his chest, his toned abs comforting your cheek from through his white shirt.

"you've learned your lesson now, haven't you?" he hums, your head wrapped up in his arms as he idly strokes your hair.

"mhm.." you say into his chest.

"you won't commit any other crimes?"

you don't respond. at first you didn't have any issue with lying to him but now that he's cradling you in his arms like a precious doll, you feel the need to be more transparent with him.

he takes your lack of response as an answer, "understood. i punished you for the crime you did, even so i have yet to give you any incentive to remain righteous."

as he explains himself, his hands work to unbuckle his belt, so he can pull his cock free. your eyes are glued to his monstrous length as it bounces out, slapping against your thigh. he hooks his arms under your ass and lifts you up while he aligns himself with your sopping hole.

regardless of your recent encounter with the vibrator, you were still eager to be filled up with his cock, and for him to fuck your wanton hole until your legs don't work again. "c'mon.." you whine, burying yourself into his neck while he held you over his cock. cuddling into him was similar to nuzzling a statue but it still brought you some semblence of comfort.

especially as his hold on you finally released and you were left to sink down on his massive length, your slick entrance inviting him inside you, and facilitating your hole to gobble him up, all the way to the base despite how you wriggled and writhed.

his teeth grit together. he wanted to blurt all sorts of profanities about how fucking tight you are and how you are an angel that takes him so well, but he choked it back. replaced by faint grunts and sighs.

his vicious stare didn't part from your body for even a second. he was utterly mesmerised by the way your cunt swallowed him whole. and upon noticing your twitching thighs, he was reminded that you weren't going to be able to ride him, so he utilised his hand on your ass to force you up and down on his length, at a pace he was in control of.

he basically used your body is a fucktoy for his own climax, groping your ass how he liked, using your sore hole as his own, and toying with your plug whenever it appealed it him — tugging and twisting it, he loved making you squirm.

it wasn't long before another sizzling pool of pleasure was accumulating in your stomach, but this time it felt different. not only hotter but deeper too. his cock had that effect on you; the way it slammed into your cervix over and over again ignited something carnal within you.

"sir, m' gu— gnh—" the sounds falling from your bruised lips were hardly words anymore and just syllables. you couldn't form a coherent sentence with how his cock was ploughing into you. " 'm gunna cum!"

"go on. go on." sasaki spoke it like a mantra through bared teeth, eyes screwed shut as he revels in your tight pussy clenching down on him.

as the fluid coil in your core finally snapped, you found yourself gushing around his cock, drenching his grey trousers in the process. though you were too consumed by the sensation to care; your back was arched into him and a scream-like moan departed from your throat.

"(y/n)." he rasps at how your walls spasm around his length, and it tips him right over the edge into his orgasm. as he releases his hot seed into you, he lands harsh slaps to your ass repeatedly, punctuating each with a "fuck" under his breath. he kept smacking it until there was a searing red handprint left on your skin.

not that you minded. it was actually quite sexy hearing such a strict man lose all control for you — submitting himself to your pussy.

his cum spreads all throughout your insides, coating your walls a sticky white. with your orgasms coinciding, your convulsing pussy fucks him through his high until you've milked him dry of every last drop.

that's when he relaxes in his chair, taking shallow breaths in sync with yours, with your face buried into the crook of his neck. your body melts lazily into his, and one of his hands slowly move from your ass to trace your spine. his cock is still fit snug inside you but you like it that way, and so did he.

"now, for every week you go without committing any crimes, i will take you in a new position. how does that sound, my dear?" he asks through huffs.

"i won't do anything bad ever again." you reply without an ounce of hesitancy.

sir nighteye chuckles lowly, and caresses your lower back, "perfect."

[weird-an]

Harrington left a mark on his chest and it aches sweetly. Billy's skin tingles.

He stretches himself, all worn out and so exhausted he stops thinking about what's happening at Cherry Lane and that home is so far away it's something people only ever seen on television and postcards.

"Billy," Harrington is next to him, skin pressed against his. "Let's get burgers."

Harrington is as lonely as Billy. Always wants him to spend the night, wants to share his pizza, offered with huge brown eyes Billy can't say no to. Has a stupid big dick Billy can't get enough of, knows how balance kisses and bites and makes it hard for Billy not so scream his name.

Billy hates him, because it gets harder to leave every day. He hates him, because Harrington is the only good thing about Hawkins. Because Harrington will get bored eventually, will throw him away, because at the end of the day he's just a rich kid getting all the toys he wants.

"Cheeseburger with bacon," Billy still says, because Harrington is the worst drug he's ever been addicted to. "You're buyin'."

He lights himself a cigarette to distract himself from the beam on Harrington's face.

They sit in the living room, Billy in a bathrobe that says "Harrington Senior", because Harrington gets a kick out of fucking him in it. Another thing Billy tries not to like - behind polo shirts and expensive cologne Harrington is just as fucked up as Billy.

Daddy issues can't get fixed with money, Billy knows that. He prefers alcohol and fights to tell everybody that's where he got the scars from.

He's chewing on his burger when Harrington goes for the kill.

"Do you wanna be my boyfriend?" he asks, like he has any idea what that means. Like he has thought about it for a while.

Billy swallows slowly. "You don't want that, Harrington."

He rubs the red bite mark on his pec, because it's like Harrington's teeth are still there.

"I do." Harrington is used to get what he wants. "I really like you."

It hurts more than it should have.

"You know I like to suck dick." Billy snorts. "You don't know me."

Nobody knows Billy, not here. Harrington likes to look him in the eyes during sex, but Billy always squeezes them shut.

Harrington tilts his head. "I know you like to swim, you like to read but you always hide it, you don't like locked doors, you love to eat burritos, you're always up so early and watch the sun rise. I know you pretend to hate Max, but you'd always protect her."

It's like Harrington is stripping him naked, like he knew it be like that and came prepared, like he puts a fucking thought into it.

"I don't read," Billy says weakly. The room is fucking blurred and all he can see is Harrington's face, tenderness written all over it.

"Liar," Harrington whispers.

"I don't like you, Harrington." Billy's heart is in his throat.

"Liar." Harrington’s hand is on his.

Billy blinks the tears away. Men don't cry is what his old man taught him with a belt and his fists.

Harrington always gets what he wants.

"I'm not your girlfriend or shit. No one can ever know - or we're fucking dead." Billy can't look at him.

"I know." Harrington presses a kiss on his cheek. "Boyfriends."

Something in Billy uncurls and he feels like he drank half a bottle of whiskey.

"Boyfriends," Billy mumbles. It's scary. It's the best thing about this god damn town.

[ssweetleaf]

cherry pie.

pairing— dilf!steve harrington x fem babysitter!reader

w/c— 4.5k

♡ summary— turns out your little crush on mr harrington isn’t so one-sided after all, and after many unsuccessful dates, he starts to realise that no one is as good to him as you are.

♡ includes— SMUT 18+, age gap (unspecified, but reader is early 20s, steve is early 40s), heavy on the daddy kink i’m sorry, hung!steve, oral (m receiving), praise, nipple play?, breeding kink, smut goes 0-100 real quick sorry, unprotected p in v (wear protection in real life please), steve’s hairy chest makes an appearance bc i’m feral for it, terrible TERRIBLE ending bc it’s me and you should expect it by now!!!

a/n— pleasepleaseplease let me know what you think!!

˖ ࣪⭑

You felt pathetic.

Sat on the couch, aimlessly staring at some black and white re-runs on the television while you waited for him. Mr Harrington— clad in his formal attire, he had mentioned before he left while fumbling to put on his watch that he had a date, one that he was already extremely late for— and shit, you couldn’t help the way your chest ached with jealousy, a lump forming in the back of your throat while you tried your best to keep up your sweetest smile.

“Help yourself to anything, honey- what’s mine is yours, you know that.” he spoke, and you held out his coat for him, helping him slip it up his arms and over those broad fucking shoulders, mulling over his choice of words and that stupid pet name.

Whats mine is yours. What’s mine is yours. What’s mine is yours.

“Thanks hon, I’ll be back a little late tonight- kids need to be in bed by 9 at the latest and remember to call me if you need anything.” You nodded, muttering a small okay, before he pressed a little kiss to your forehead, “alright, see you later.”

So hours later, with both kid’s tucked up into bed all tuckered out, you thought about him— the way he looked, so handsome in his shirt and tie, expensive cologne pressed into his wrists and behind his ears, filling your senses completely when he leaned to press his usual friendly kiss, one that never failed to have your knees buckling underneath you.

But that was all it was. Friendly. You were just the babysitter, too young for him, too inexperienced for him, and your face soured when you thought about what his date might look like. Pretty dress and manicured nails wrapping around the glass that held her too-expensive wine, fluttering her lashes and running her leg against his underneath the table— she was probably a lot closer to his age too.

You sighed, pout prominent on your lips, trying to snap yourself out of whatever you had going on, falling for an older man all while you babysat his kids.

Yeah, so pathetic.

12:3am— the clock ticked away upon the mantle piece, going by so slowly you had started to feel your eyes become heavy, though you were soon snapped out of your little stupor at the sound of the front door closing, footsteps clicking along the hall and keys being thrown on the counter.

You rushed to get up, inwardly scolding yourself for seeming so eager, before making your way out to greet him.

“Hey, honey-” his usual smile wasn’t there, instead a frown etched at the corners of his lips, brows furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening. “Everything go okay?”

You nodded, but quickly followed up with an answer at the quirk of his brow— he liked when you used your words.

“It went great- I think I really tired them out,” you smiled, pulling at the collar of his coat to take it off him, watching him fix himself some whiskey, the crystal tumbler clacking against the rings on his fingers all while he settled himself on the leather armchair.

You frowned at his lack of conversation— he was usually so chatty, cooing over you for being so sweet to take care of his kids for him, but there he was, silent and mulling over god knows what.

“Mr Harrington?” You inched closer, toeing at the carpet and fiddling with your fingers, not entirely sure how to approach him. “Is everything alright?”

His eyelids fluttered shut, huffing a breath through his nose and you took the time to take a good look at him. His shoulders tense, legs spread wide and the fist that held the whiskey was paling from his constant squeezes.

“I’m fine, doll, really-” he sighed, unoccupied hand scratching along the stubble that littered his pretty jaw. “S’just- m’so tired of these dates.”

Your lips jutted down in a frown, much similar to his, anything that masked the smile that wanted to form— you know it was terrible, but knowing his date went bad, it made a little bit of hope flutter around in the pit of your stomach.

So you sank to your knees, reaching for the laces to his polished shoes, pulling at the string to the bow to loosen it completely.

“Did you wanna talk about it?” You asked, pulling at the heel and putting it to the side to work on the other.

You saw him stutter, eyes glazing over a little bit at the way you knelt in front of him, all doe-eyed and doting on him, pretty lashes fluttering up at him whether you knew it or not.

“I-” he started, swallowing hard when your hands rested against his thighs, both shoes untied and discarded somewhere next to you. “They’re just- none of them are right for me.”

Your fingers kneaded at his tense thighs, trailing back and forth against the fabric of his pressed slacks.

“Shit—” he cupped your face in his big palm, stroking at the pudge of your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “No one is as good to me as you are, honey.”

You beamed up at his cooing, letting a giggle slip from your throat, giddy and inebriated from his little touches.

“I can make you feel good, too, Mr Harrington-” you were bashful when you said it, skin flushed and gaze flitting to the arm of his chair, fingertips still smoothing over the expanse of his thighs. “Let me make you feel good- please.”

Steve groaned, chest rumbling and he pushed his head back— you watched his adam’s apple bob while he swallowed, his neck on display and you pushed your thighs together when you thought about how pretty it would look covered in your lipstick stains.

“Honey— we can’t-” he stumbled over his words, gazing down at you with such a fondness in his eyes and there was something else, too, swirling around in his vision, all dark and honeyed, glistening in the low light of the lamps. “I’m too old for you— it isn’t right.”

“But, daddy—” you whined, his cock throbbed once you said it, rutting up from beneath his slacks and your fingers itched to press against the bulge there. “you said it yourself, no one is as good to you as I am.”

He felt like a teenager again, close to blowing his load already from the way you said that name. Your name for him and him only.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.

It swirled around in his thoughts over and over, round and round, and he had to press a palm against his cock to ease the throbbing just a little, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes widened, flitting towards his hand.

“Christ, honey— didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth on you.” He suckled his bottom lip between his teeth, gazing down at you, all warm and gooey, melting your insides into mush, butterflies fluttering around in your stomach and throat. “You really want an old man like me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, pout prominent on your puffy lips.

“You’re not old,” he chuckled at that, “want you so bad- want you to be my daddy.”

˖ ࣪⭑

It didn’t take long for you to get his pants off, he even helped you unbuckle his belt, lifting his hips up so you could bring them down to his thighs— along with his boxers of course, the sight that sprung from the material leaving you dumb and gawking.

He was huge, both in length and thickness. The rumours really were true, Steve Harrington was absolutely well-endowed, the tip a pretty pink, beaded with pre-cum that just started to trickle along his shaft and into the ridges that ran along the length.

Steve chuckled at your wide eyes, knuckles smoothing against your cheek and chin, eyeing at your parted lips and his cock twitched again when he thought about pressing his thumb between them.

“You’re so big.” You managed to choke out, fingers tentatively wrapping around his base— thumb and fingers barely meeting in the middle from the sheer thickness of it.

You squeezed, hard, watching the way his tummy muscles clenched and his tip leaked.

“I know, sweet girl, but you’re gonna take it so well—” he hissed through clenched teeth at the way your fingers felt, “promise.”

You nodded up at him, already cock-drunk and dumb from his coos, pouting prettily while you felt him up, smearing his pearly pre-cum around, lubing him up real good before you got to work.

“Fuckin’ Christ—” he moaned, your puffy lips wrapped snugly around him after pressing a spongy kiss to his tip, suckling him slightly and lathering your tongue against the thick vein that ran upwards, before pulling off with a lewd pop.

The corners of your lips curled, fluttering your lashes and running your tongue from base to tip, kissing up his shaft and pressing the imprint of your lipstick into his flushed skin.

“Doesn’t that feel good, daddy?” You took him down your throat before he could answer, already touching the back and it wasn’t even all of him, earning a groan that rumbled the span of his chest.

“Y-yeah, honey, feels so good—” he cradled your head, fingers tangling in the strands of your hair, “such a daddy’s girl, hm?”

You hummed around his cock in response, thighs squeezing impossibly close from how turned on you were, arousal practically dripping through your underwear and slicking up the fat of your thighs.

“Yeah you are—” he grinned, pushing you down further, choking you entirely and causing you to gag around his hefty length. “Atta girl.”

It was messy, spit trickling down your chin, pooling along your tits and ruining your makeup— your mascara running down your cheeks in long, black lines and clumping up your sticky lashes.

You were crying, too— tears slipping over your brimming waterline, eyes all glassy and cute, swirly little sparkles floating around your irises whenever you looked up at him.

He looked so pretty, skin glistening with perspiration, a few buttons on his shirt undone and showing off the expanse of his handsome chest, the sight of the course dark hair had you drooling on his cock even more.

“So good to me,” he cooed, “all mine.”

You felt your eyes rolling back, clit pulsing furiously at the idea of being his and his only— you just wanted to be filled by him and bounce on his cock like a little bunny, let him fuck you nice and deep so you’d feel him for days.

“Say it, honey—” he pulled at your hair, cock falling from your lips, “say you’re mine.”

“M’all yours, daddy.” You preened, clutching at his thighs, leaving crescent moons in your wake, “only want you.”

“Fuck— come ‘ere,” he helped you stand up, lips curling upwards slightly when you stumbled on your feet, patting at his lap. “On my lap, there we go.”

You settled yourself, knees digging into the sides of the chair either side of him, hands already drawn to his chest and your palms smoothed over it, tugging at the hair there and thumbs grazing slightly over his nipples.

Steve’s big arms enveloped you, wrapping you up in a sort of hug, bringing your cheek down to smoosh against his chest, letting you nuzzle into him.

It was a strange sort of calm— a few minutes wrapped up, somewhat sated though still needy and pining for each other’s affection. It was nice.

You realised it was nice to feel like you were his.

“What do you need, honey?” He muttered, chin pressed against your head, hands trailing along your back and sometimes slipping to the plush of your ass.

“Wanna be yours,” your whine was muffled by the press of his fuzzy chest, “wanna make you feel good— all the time.”

His cock throbbed at the way you spoke, so crude and sweet, honeyed words travelling straight between his legs and causing him to drip.

He was in too deep and it was not good.

“Come on then, doll-” he cooed, smacking a kiss to your flushed cheek and patting at your ass to get your attention. “Show daddy.”

You nodded, fumbling with the buttons on your blouse, huffing out a breath of frustration before letting him take over, watching with bated breaths as is hands pushed your shirt to the floor, smoothing his palms along your tits and kneading at the covered mounds.

“So pretty, baby,” he pulled at the cups of your bra, letting the weight of your breasts spill over the underwire and the cute little bow that sat in between, showing off your nipples and the way they hardened completely from under his gaze. “Can’t believe you’ve been hidin’ these pretty girls from me.”

Both of Steve’s thumbs grazed over your nipples, bringing his forefingers to squeeze and pull at them, tugging them just to make you mewl and feel the wet spot underneath your skirt grow even larger. And you were putty in his hands, melting into his touch, inebriated from the way he spoke to you, touched you, looked at you.

God, he was handsome.

“Daddy—” you whined, clutching at his wrists and grinding against his cock.

“What is it, honey?” His face was so close to yours, eyes fixated on your pretty tits and he made a quick mental note to pay more attention to them later on.

“Wan’ you to fuck me.” So abrupt, pouting over-exaggerated and lashes fluttering— your pussy way too slick and aroused to have anything other than his cock inside, stretching you out and filling you so lovely.

“Such a greedy thing already-” he pulled you in closer, “barely sucked my cock and you’re just so needy, honey.”

“Can’t help it,” you leaned forward, nose against his, tracing the tip over his cheek and along the edge of his gold-rimmed glasses. “So handsome.”

Steve’s head was in a tizzy, twirling around all dumbified at how pliant you were, how sweet and doting— small praises like that were so big for him, making that blotchy raspberry blush creep and wrap around his neck, fluttering down his chest and even speckling the tips of his ears (the colour much akin to the rouge tip of his cock).

“Gimme a kiss, sweet girl.” Voice so smooth despite the stern undertone, gliding from his teeth to the tip of his tongue and bringing you even closer with a hand cupped around the nape of your neck, fiddling with the little, sensitive hairs that adorned the space.

You obeyed of course, completely eager if anything, practically bouncing at the chance to press your mouth to his. You had been waiting for it, so had he, the soft, spongy kisses— one, two, three, in a quick peckpeckpeck, before it turned deeper, mouths locking, feeling yourself sigh and relax against the firmness of his chest, allowing his to work you open as much as he desired.

The crude, slippery feeling of your tongues finally clashing had you reeling— licking into each other’s mouths and suckling on bottom lips, breath hitching in your throat and you resulted to pressing your palms against his cheeks as a way to ground you before you started floating away from his inebriating kiss.

“Want-” kiss. “Want me to take care of you—” kiss. “Don’t you, honey?”

Oh yes. God you wanted it so bad, you had ever since you laid eyes on him the first time you had met him— nervous and picking at your cuticles, standing shy as he opened his front door with that smile of his, full of charm and warmth— a little cocky at your shyness, though still stuck out a hand for you to shake. You distinctly remembered getting a little light-headed at the mere feeling of his big hand enveloping yours.

He chuckled when you nodded, eyes all dizzy and hooded and he sucked your tongue between his kiss-bitten lips.

“Pretty cunt is fuckin’ droolin’ f’me, baby,” he cupped at the heat between your thighs, your skirt bunched up around the fat of your waist and he thumbed at the pearl of your clit over the sopping fabric that covered you. “Does she want daddy’s cock? Bet she does, huh?”

Your eyes were rolling again, and you were surprised any part of you still functioned. You felt so dumb, so cock-drunk, and you wondered how on earth you would act with his fat cock stuffed deep inside you, jamming at your insides and fucking you until you couldn’t think, just feel.

“Please.” It was a simple utterance, barely there, fluttering your lashes while you said it to sway him, to quicken the pace and have him fill you, though the tears that slipped weren’t for show, brimming down your cheeks constantly from how overwhelmed you were feeling.

“Please, what? What d’you want?”

You pouted at him, nosing at his cheek, not budging until he brought a palm down against your ass, spanking it sharply and swiftly, knocking the air from your already weakened lungs.

“Come on, don’t get shy on me now,” he tugged at the waistband of your panties, pulling upwards until the crotch of them slipped between your folds, snug against your clit and making you mewl. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it t’you.”

“W-want you to fill me up— wan’ your cock inside me, please-”

“Atta girl, wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You watched with widened eyes as he gripped at the base of his cock, and still, every time you stared at it, the size of him left you a little breathless, wondering whether he would even fit.

He tugged your underwear to the side, the pink cotton basically see-through and glistening, and he let out a breathy moan at his first glance at your bare pussy. So pretty, so ready for him— wet and slick, clit all engorged and peaking from the hood, begging for some stimulation and you made a similar sound when he tapped his tip against it, pushing it downwards against your hole, collecting your sweet arousal before repeating the action, over and over and over again.

“Don’t get all pouty, gotta make sure you’re ready f’me, honey.”

You wanted to scream at him, holler at the top of your lungs that you were ready— so fucking ready, but you couldn’t, not when his kids were upstairs asleep— you couldn’t afford for them to wake up, you didn’t want the attention to end.

And that was what it come to— selfishly, you wanted all the attention he had to give.

He looked at you, pressed a kiss to your forehead, the glasses that sat upon his bridge slightly askew and you leaned to fix them.

“You think you can take it, baby, or did you want my mouth for a bit?”

A good offer, but you shook your head still, you’d have that later if he was willing, and the mere idea of having him feast upon your pussy had you dripping on the velvety skin of his cock even more than before.

Steve made a humming noise in the back of his throat, before pulling at your thighs, tugging you closer to his chest and having you hover over the length of his cock, just waiting as patient as you could for him to sit you down onto him.

“Be a good girl now— gotta relax f’me.” His hand on your hip helped you sink, the other still wrapped around the base, feeding it slowly into your greedy pussy, watching with a heaving chest at the way your cunt sucked him in, but he could feel the stretch of your walls around him.

“Waitwaitwait—” you gasped out a breath you had been holding, “just need a minute.”

You felt so full, stretched completely, a little less than half of his cock sat inside you and it was still bigger than any you had taken before.

He coddled you, shushing you and pushing a hand up to smooth over your hair.

“Take your time, honey—” he hummed, smacking a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I know it’s a lot to take.”

“You’re huge.” He chuckled at that, though he couldn’t fight the little hitch in his breath when your walls clenched around him, trying hard to adjust.

“I know, I know, but you’re already takin’ it so well.”

The praise had you drip further, the see-through lines of arousal slipping over the rivets on his cock, creating an obscene squelching sound when you lowered yourself a little further.

Just over half now, splitting you open, practically in your guts, you thought at least, and you were sure if you pressed hard enough on the plush of your stomach you would probably feel him there.

“There you go-” he was still cooing at you and you gave him your biggest heart eyes, pout permanently etched onto your lips, and he hoped it wasn’t going anywhere soon. “shit, y’don’t even need any help, takin’ it like a fucking’ champ.”

Almost there, almost all of him was nestled snug inside your cunt, so in a swift movement, you sunk down entirely, a rather less-than-quiet moan simmering from your lips and if it was just the two of you in the house, he would’ve basked in your loudness and pretty whines, but it wasn’t— and the two of you really needed to be quiet.

He pressed a palm over your mouth to stifle your sounds, your lips kissing the divots on the front of his hand, so warm and large, big enough it covered your whole chin and your lashes fluttered at the feeling.

And you started to move, still worked up, and a little sore, but were you really to blame? His cock was massive, stretching and filling places where you didn’t know anyone could reach, and once you started easing yourself up, right to the tip, you sank back down again, a little harsher than the first, whining into his callused skin whilst your eyes rolled back.

With each slow downward thrust of your hips, you could feel the course, dark thatch of hair that trailed from his stomach all the way down to the base of his cock. It was tickling against your clit, much akin to the hair that littered the thickness of those strong thighs of his, rubbing against your ass so deliciously. And his balls, shit— so big, so fucking heavy, full of his cum, the Harrington prodigy stored up inside of them and you throbbed and twitched at the thought of carrying his babies.

Fuck, you were totally down bad.

“What’re you thinkin’ about, honey?” It was almost as if he knew, a smirk heavy and crooked on his lips, his flashy Rolex glistening upon his wrist in the dim light of the lamp while he guided you up and down, up and down, nice and steady, but so, so deep.

You shied away, gaze flitting to the ceiling, and you would’ve stayed like that, waiting for him to drop it, until his palm— once again— came down on your ass in a smack, much heavier than before, much more painful than before, but the sting of it bloomed in your core and had more blood rushing to your clit.

“Come on— when I ask you somethin’ I expect an answer.” He was stern and sharp, though the smirk never left, plucking at the corner of his mouth and mocking you so delectably.

“M’sorry, daddy—” you crooned, hands sliding from his shoulders to the thick muscle of his biceps, the designer fabric of his shirt smooth under your palms. “Was thinking about your cum—”

Your whine was breathy, but you made sure to quiet down, his hips now moving in time with yours, knowing you could take him fully now, though just barely.

“Yeah, you thinkin’ about getting filled? Having all of this cum inside your pretty tummy, huh?” You were glad he had said it for you, far too embarrassed, and way too fucked out to string that sentence together, and the words, when they came from his mouth, sounded much better, you thought. “Want my babies, don’t you, hon?”

You were babbling nonsensical nothings, a sweet concoction of ‘oh yes daddydaddy, please’ fluttering from your puffy lips— nodding at him and clutching at him, his arms, his chest, anywhere you could find, until you settled on his hands, resting your own over his, while they pressed into your hips, guiding you faster now.

It had taken you a little while, but once you were comfortable, you had started to bounce like a little bunny in season, fucking down onto his thick cock, feeling the cut tip of his nudge at your g-spot, the ridges and veins that ran along the shaft so present and eager against your walls— you felt everything, so full, so sated, actually, scratch that, you weren’t sated, not until his cum was deep inside you, not a drop wasted.

“Who would’a thought you’d be bouncin’ on my cock tonight, sweetheart- shit—” sweat was shimmering on his skin, his stomach muscles clenching, not wanting to cum too soon. “So glad it’s you, sweet girl— my girl.”

You nodded, breathless.

“M’your girl, daddy. All f’you.”

Steve was close, closer once you uttered those words, sucking breaths in and bringing you closer, forehead pressed against yours, the sound of the squelchy slapslapslap filling the stuffy room.

“That’s right, that’s right— Christ, m’so close, daddy’s so fuckin’ close.”

And you were too, embarrassingly so, and you made it apparent with your whines, pressing your kisses into his skin, the pace between you growing sloppy, though somehow harder.

“Am too,” you babbled, “can we cum together?”

So sweet, so fucking sweet you were, eyes all big and wet and glistening so prettily, and he thought he would bust at merely gazing at you, but he nodded, his own irises moulding into hearts, quite similar to yours, beating out of his skull like an old Tom and Jerry cartoon.

“Yeah, honey,” he said, “yeah, we can cum together, such a good girl.”

The rope was growing taut, deep in your belly, just begging to snap any time soon, all you were waiting for was one word, one single word to have you unraveling above him—

“Cum,” that was it. “Cum f’me— shit, so good—”

Stars and sparkles all flurried your vision, clouding around Steve and highlighting the way he looked when he came, mouth agape, wanting so badly to close his eyes, but he couldn’t, not when you looked the way you did.

You were a mess, convulsing against his chest, creaming his cock, clenching and twitching around him while you milked him of his sticky cum.

Steve’s lips were on yours in an instant, tongue and lips, sloppy and wet, spit trickling down your chins at the lazy kiss, but too fucked out to care.

And for a while you stayed there, on his lap, slowly kissing while he cradled your head and muttered pretty praises into your ear, though you couldn’t shake a certain thought that swam through the haze that was your brain.

What the fuck happens now?

✰

tagging <3—

@ghostlyfleur @hornyhornyhimbos @crowssixof @lavendermunson @esquivelbianca @ratzztar @justpeachy46 @jackchampionsbbg @hazzaismyreligion @harrington-lover @spikedhe4rt @gabessock

(some blogs i wasn’t able to tag, sorry about that <33)

[soul-controller]

Going All-American

When Arthur Harris first made his way out of his flat to go check his mailbox, the man had solely been expecting to come across unexciting yet expensive content like bills. Upon gripping onto the solid stack of envelopes and beginning to filter through them, the man’s assumptions were mostly proven to be correct. However, it was the very last envelope that Arthur saw that caught his eye. From just the envelope itself, Arthur’s attention was further pulled in by the fact that his name and address were handwritten onto it along with the several stamps running along the top left corner displaying an American flag. Clearly, this was a personal and international piece of postage that he received, but the fact that there was no return address listed immediately piqued the man’s interest even further.

Upon making his way back up to his flat and hastily tearing open the envelope, the man’s mind was running rampant in the possible content of the postage as he pulled open the letter to figure out its contents. To his surprise, Arthur found a piece of paper that was chock-full of text that he cautiously skimmed through. While reading through the first letter, a slight grin emerged on his face as he found himself coming across a professional-looking note that stated that he had won a trip to California. Although he had no real recollection about applying for a contest or sweepstakes, that didn’t matter once he discovered what he would be doing there.

Congratulations, You (Arthur Harris) are the grand prize winner of the sweepstakes to win an all-expense paid trip to Los Angeles! While you are here, you’ll be shuttled to the set of the hit television show All-American, where you will be able to explore the sets and meet all of your favorite actors. Please be ready on the date listed as a car will be waiting for you to take you to the airport for your departure to Los Angeles. We look forward to giving you an “All-American” experience in more ways than one! Sincerely, S-C Productions

“Holy shit!” Arthur said, the letter slipping from his hand as his entire body began to buzz with excitement. Although he wanted so badly to jump up and down in glee and loudly cry out for his excitement, his respect and care for his flatmates caused him to hold back and conceal his emotions as best as he could. Getting a free trip to LA was exciting enough, but the added bonus of getting to travel to the set of All-American was a dream come true. Certainly it would be interesting for the man to witness the entire process of filming given his own interest in film and cinematography, but even more so when one of his biggest crushes was in frame.

Ever since Arthur had first watched Cody Christian arrive on his television screen as Theo in the Teen Wolf TV show, the man was instantly smitten with him. Not only did Cody perfectly play the role of a cocky and self-assured asshole, but he was also incredibly hot while doing so! Every time Arthur watched an episode of the show, Cody was one of the main reasons behind his continued viewing despite the show’s consistent dip in quality. Unfortunately, Cody’s role as a side character that bumped heads with Tyler Posey’s Scott McCall wasn’t enough to keep Arthur engaged though as Arthur ultimately dropped the show before it even finished airing.

As such, Arthur’s thirst for the actor lessened for a bit as he only focused on seeing the hunky man via social media or Tumblr via gif-sets. Luckily though, a renewed interest emerged when Cody landed the role of Asher on the TV show All-American. Not only did the show catch Arthur’s interest because it caused him to fall back in love with Cody, but it also perfectly meshed with his own interests as it was a show about football players… especially since Cody was playing a cocky and materialistic football player named Asher.

Given how much this was a dream come true, Arthur still found himself quite unsure whether this was really happening or if he had somehow fallen asleep accidentally and was thus having the best possible dream. After a painful pinch informed him that this was truly reality, the man tilted his head back down towards the floor to look for the letter once more. Upon doing so though, he saw that the letter was flipped onto its backside after falling to the floor. While this wasn’t anything to write home about, glancing at the piece of paper revealed that there was more important information included onto the back.

Reading through, Arthur quickly skimmed through an itinerary that listed what Arthur would experience throughout his trip. The trip to the All-American set was seemingly meant to take up most of the day according to the list, but Arthur didn’t mind when he read about how the set would provide several meals throughout along with getting to watch several scenes get filmed along with a meet and greet with several of the actors.

As his hands continued to travel down the sheet as he read, his attention soon was caught by the firm slip of paper affixed to the bottom of the paper. Upon looking down, Arthur’s eyes widened as he saw that an airline ticket was already ready to go for him. While it was a relief that the studio had seemingly already worked ahead to get everything ready for the trip, the man was understandably confused about how they knew where he was located and concerned about when he was going to go on this trip. While seeing that the date was on November 22nd, Arthur was quite caught off-guard when he checked his work schedule and realized that he had somehow requested that day off. He had no idea why he would have done that, but he wasn’t going to fret about it too much when it benefited him.

Regardless of how the date aligned so well, Arthur was quite relieved to find that there would be no hassle in terms of getting in trouble at his job. It was a miracle that he had even received this surprise trip in the first place, so Arthur opted to not ask too many questions. In this quick acceptance of his surprise gift, Arthur failed to notice that the ticket was a one-way ticket rather than a round-trip, which would have given him a clue about the fact that his trip would end up becoming permanent. Instead, he quickly made his way back into his bedroom and began filling his suitcase with clothing that would work well with the humid LA weather he would soon be experiencing…

* * * * *

When the morning of the 22nd finally arrived and the alarm of his phone rang out, Arthur woke up with a smile on his face rather than his usual routine of groaning and hitting the snooze button. Excited for the impending trip, the man quickly got out of bed and dragged himself into the bathroom to shower. Upon getting done and tying a towel around his waist, Arthur made his way back into the bedroom. Just as he began to pull the towel off and change into clothes though, a loud pounding against his door caused Arthur to gasp and scream in shock. While trying to catch his breath from the real life jump-scare he had just experienced, Arthur slowly made his way towards the door of his room and took a look through the peephole.

While looking through, Arthur’s eyes caught sight of a burly yet well-dressed man who stood firm with his thick hands at his hips while looking at the door with an intimidating yet stoic expression.

“Uh hello, can I help you?” Arthur inquired, checking for a moment to confirm that the deadbolt and chain on his door were both fully locked. While this was certainly a realistic reaction to seeing the stranger outside his door, the British man let out a deep breath of relief and mentally scolded himself when the man stated that he was from S-C Productions and he was the driver to take him to the airport for his LA trip. Upon telling him that he was in the middle of getting dressed, the driver sternly told him that he had ten minutes before he was leaving - regardless of whether Arthur was in tow or not.

After apologizing and saying he’ll be done as soon as he can, Arthur rushed away from the door and began to change. Given the fact that he would be spending several hours in the cramped seating of a plane, he opted to dress in loose garments that would provide some much needed comfort throughout the hours-long trip. After quickly devouring a small bowl of cereal, Arthur grabbed onto his suitcases and made his way towards the door.

Before turning the knob and exiting though, Arthur stopped in front of the large full-body mirror on the backside of the room’s door to verify that he looked presentable given his haste. As he looked at himself and gave a slight smile to see how others would perceive him, the man was relieved to see that his biceps looked rather impressive given how much skin the tank top revealed. While the rest of his torso wasn’t nearly as buff as his biceps, the man still recognized the fact that he looked better than most people given his semi-regular gym routine. However, the continued staring at his mirror caused him to traverse down a dark mental rabbit hole of self-doubt considering that he would soon be in LA where it seemed like practically everyone would be a 10/10 with gorgeous physiques and perfect visages galore.

Shaking his head in hopes of pushing those intrusive thoughts away, the man finally took a deep breath and turned the handle to begin his journey to Los Angeles. Upon awkwardly introducing himself to the burly driver, Arthur followed the man as he led him down to the ground floor. Throughout the journey from exiting his flat and putting his luggage into the car, Arthur couldn’t help but stare at the impressively-built man. The man, who introduced himself as Wes, had a physique that was filling out the stylish black suit to the brink of having the fabric tear. Following behind Wes was a blessing in disguise for the British man as he got to watch the man’s perky yet firm ass fill out the seat of his pants and bounce with each footfall he took.

Throughout the drive to the airport, Arthur tried his best to make small talk with the intimidating man. Unfortunately, conversations quickly stalled when Wes told Arthur that he needed to focus on traffic to get him to the airport as quickly and safely as possible. Upon arriving at the airport, where Wes quickly told him to get out before speeding off to do another job, Arthur momentarily mourned for the missed connection he had with the man.

But as he grabbed his luggage and began to walk through security and towards his departure gate, Arthur’s mind shifted focus away from Wes and back onto his thirst for Cody. Due to just how excited yet exhausted he was from the early morning wake-up call, Arthur found himself soon falling asleep upon putting his luggage away and taking his seat. As he quickly fell into a state of slumber though, the continued thoughts of Cody Christian and his thirst for the man soon led to a rather erotic sex dream that involved Arthur worshipping the hunk’s muscular body and easily helped the hours-long flight fly by as he felt no desire to wake up no matter how much turbulence he felt.

Upon the plane landing and a young female attendant softly shaking him awake, Arthur moved in a dazed state as he exited the plane. Given his total discombobulation about the new area along with not knowing where to go to pick up the luggage, he opted to just follow the crowd through the terminal towards the correct area. Luckily, Arthur’s luggage was one of the first few pieces to arrive, so he was able to escape the large crowd and make his way towards the taxi area of the airport where the letter stated that someone from the studio would be there to pick him up.

After a bit of getting lost and having to ask for directions, Arthur finally made his way to the correct area where he looked through the long aisle of drivers holding signs with their intended client’s name. At first annoyed that it took two rounds of searching through the crowd of drivers to find the one holding his name, Arthur quickly began to recognize why when he walked up to the hand extended through the crowd and discovered that his driver was a rail-thin man cramped between two chubby drivers.

Upon asking for the men to move, Arthur pulled the mousy man through and revealed himself. “Hey there, I’m Arthur. Are you the driver from S-C Productions?” he inquired, trying to make sure he wasn’t taking the wrong Arthur’s ride.

While he awaited a response, the British man quickly took a look up and down to observe the man he’d seemingly be working with throughout the entire trip. The man was rather tiny, with a height that just barely reached 5’5” and a weight that refused to go past 95 pounds. The man’s face looked rather impressive with the angular jawline, high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes, but Peter’s thick black-rimmed glasses and low weight counteracted those features and instead made him look nerdy and rather malnourished.

“Hey there, I’m not a driver but I am here to pick you up and take you to the studio though. I’m Peter,” he began, stopping to extend a hand out, which Arthur quickly accepted as they did a quick handshake. “I’m an intern at the studio, they needed someone to pick you up and I volunteered. It certainly beats doing coffee runs and dealing with difficult actors, am I right?” he said, his high-pitched and whiny voice shifting into a deep and wheezy chuckle that understandably took Arthur off-guard.

“Oh ok, uh, it’s nice to meet you then Peter,” Arthur responded, returning the chuckle to help the dorky-looking man not feel self-conscious before pulling his lips into a light smile. Although Peter tried his best to appear official by offering to take Arthur’s luggage, the British man feared possibly injuring the man due to how hefty his bags were and thus declined the offer and said he’d carry them himself. At first, Peter seemed a bit caught off-guard by the kind behavior, but when his expression turned appreciative with a wide smile, it was clear that the young intern appreciated not being treated as the help for once.

So upon leading the way to the black Escalade that the studio had told Peter to use to pick him up, Arthur deposited his bags into the backseat before hopping into the passenger seat. As Peter finally put the car into motion and drove out of the airport, Arthur’s eyes widened as the intern surprised the retail cashier with a quick little tour of LA as they made their way towards the studio. It was incredibly exciting for a cinephile like Arthur to get a quick glimpse of famous locales like the Hollywood sign or the Griffith Observatory. Despite the slight intimidation those locales provided in terms of realizing the impact and level of celebrity he was going to be around as a result, Arthur found himself remaining calm as Peter finally made his way towards the studio entrance.

After making a moment of small talk with the security guards out front, Peter showed off an ID badge that allowed the gates to open and for the intern to continue driving. As he made his way through the busy backlot, Arthur’s eyes couldn’t help but wildly dart in hopes of seeing any famous celebrities in the midst of walking to set or coming out of any of the trailers that lined the outer edges of the road. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to see anyone of note beyond what appeared to be some stunt actors decked out in some recognizable costumes.

While he continued to search around, Arthur’s frantic attempts were suddenly interrupted as Peter put the car into park and caused you to violently lurch forward from the fast braking. Upon looking over towards the meek man, who apologized for the abrupt stop, Arthur decided to ignore the whiplash and unbuckle his seatbelt. Before exiting though, Peter quickly ran through the itinerary to remind him of the schedule for the day. First, Peter would give Arthur an in-depth tour of the All-American sets that weren’t currently in use. Then after getting some lunch, Arthur would be ushered to the current filming locations where he’d be able to watch some takes and meet the actors of the show. Upon finishing that, he’d be led to the writers room, where he could discuss screenwriting with them, before heading to get some dinner courtesy of the studio’s lavish buffet. After this was finished then, Peter would drive Arthur to the hotel that the contest had purchased for the night.

With the itinerary for the day repeated to him by Peter, Arthur eagerly smiled before getting out of the car so the tour could finally begin. Luckily, the tour was fairly impressive to Arthur, as evident by the wide smile on his face as he saw the sets of the show and began to recall countless scenes (and gifs from Tumblr) where Cody was involved. Although there were many interesting sets that Peter led him through, Arthur was by far the most captivated by the set of the college gym. The mental images of several workout gifs that he had seen (and even jerked off to) continued to play in his mind as his hands grazed along the freshly cleaned equipment.

In all honesty, it was a bit of a bummer that it was so freshly cleaned because Arthur would have wanted nothing more than to get remnants of Cody’s sweat onto his fingers and catch a whiff of the surely alluring scent. Was it a bit creepy to think about getting off to an unsuspecting actor’s sweat? Sure, but Arthur knew that it was the wholehearted truth and felt no shame as a result.

Upon finishing up with that standout set, Peter followed it up by announcing that it was time for lunch given how hungry the Brit must be after the flight and drive to the studio. Although Arthur didn’t originally think about his appetite due to his excitement about eventually meeting Cody, the sudden gurgle deep in his gut was so loud that it echoed through the empty set and caused him to agree with Peter’s assumption. After following him through the seemingly empty studio, Arthur soon picked up on the sound of several distant voices that grew increasingly more prominent with each step he took. Peter pulled back a black curtain and motioned for Arthur to enter first, which caused him to quickly find himself in the middle of a craft services room. As the intern returned to the front to lead Arthur through the crowd of confused and curious low-tier members of the cast and crew, Peter took a moment to introduce Arthur to everyone and explain the reason behind his inclusion on set.

After Peter led him to the table to get a plate of food, which ended up being a filling yet basic meal of a sub sandwich and some chips, Arthur took the time to walk around and network with the crew members in between bites of his food. Given his own interest in film and the lesson plans that he’s had to do in the past involving cinematography, the man had a decent time talking with the lighting and camera operators to learn directly from them about their job and how they work to create the best possible show.

Although Arthur could have spent much longer chatting with people, the alarm of a clock rang out to signal that the end of lunch had arrived. While several of the crew members had their expressions sour as they returned to their job, Arthur stood out as he grinned in joy due to the realization that it was finally time to move onto his most anticipated part of the set visit - it was time to watch filming commence and meet some of the cast of the show.

As Peter led him through a door, Arthur was caught off-guard when the dense California air hit him. Looking around, the man soon discovered that not only was the set they were filming on was outside but it was a scene being filmed on a replica football field. Although the football field wasn’t completely legit given the fact that size constraints meant that they were shooting on a small plot of land rather than a 100 yard long area, the illusion was certainly still realistic to Arthur while seeing all of these actors decked out in football gear. In fact, the cameras were currently rolling as they filmed an actor sprinting before turning behind him to catch a football. Stunned at just how realistic the play felt, Arthur was utterly transfixed as the director called cut and the football player dropped the ball before sauntering out of the frame and gruffly demanding for someone to get him water.

Given Arthur’s own thirst for cocky and dominant men, his eyes remained trained on the mystery actor while admiring the man’s physique. From just that single take that Arthur observed, he was able to immediately pick up on how buff the man was. While watching that take as it occurred, his attention was instantly caught by the moderately firm set of quad muscles and the sizable ass that tightly bounced against the athletic shorts that he was wearing. Although the man wasn’t a real football player, he certainly could have been one with such an impressive build!

While Arthur watched the still-helmeted actor move to the side and get crowded by a bunch of assistants (where one of them handed him a styrofoam cup full of water), he couldn’t force himself to direct his attention elsewhere. Even as Peter basically dragged Arthur closer towards some of the cast and crew, Arthur remained utterly transfixed by the man’s sweat-soaked skin that glimmered in the sunlight and only showcased an impressive set of biceps that caused the fabric around his arms to bunch up. As such, Arthur endured an incredible shock when the mystery man finally pulled off the helmet and revealed that the man was none other than Cody Christian himself.

“Ho- holy shit,” Arthur said under his breath, although his panic and shock caused it to be a bit louder than he intended as he saw several people turn to look at him confused. Now that’s one way to make an entrance, Arthur thought to himself, instantly replaying the scene he witnessed in his head over and over. Of course, the reveal that Cody was practically next to him elicited a physical response in the form of a sizable bulge that pressed out against his shorts. After moving his hands down to try and conceal the untimely boner that he had sprung, Arthur’s thirsting session was interrupted as Peter caught his attention and told him that it was time to meet some of the cast while they took a break from filming.

Although he meant no disrespect to the other cast members that Peter introduced him to, Arthur couldn’t help but make quick small talk with the people before using his peripheral vision to see what Cody was up to. Based on the few glances he had taken throughout, it seemed as though the man’s personality wasn’t too far from the characters that he often played. From what he could see and partially hear, it seemed as though Cody was having a tantrum and yelling at his assistants and other crew members due to how hot the conditions were outside and how they didn’t respect him enough to keep him hydrated by having water ready for him.

As previously mentioned, Arthur loved himself a bad boy, so while this would be a turn-off to some people, it only made the actor more desirable in his eyes. While the cashier certainly didn’t like how Cody was treated the staff, his mind twisted the man’s behavior and speech into a more sexual context as he envisioned himself intimate with the hunky actor. It wasn’t often that the asexual had vivid sex dreams, but something about Cody just unlocked something deep in him that left him yearning for any kind of physical intimacy imaginable.

This sexual daydream was quickly interrupted by Peter, who tapped Arthur on his shoulder and broke up out of that daze. “Hey Arthur, was there anyone here on set that you were specifically wanting to meet today? If so, I can try to see if I can get a meeting with them. If they’re not here on set today, I could always try to pull some strings by contacting their agent or manager and arranging a FaceTime session with them,” he inquired, giving a reassuring smile that caused Arthur to lean in and whisper Cody’s name. “Ah I see, well let’s see what I can do about that then huh,” Peter continued, smiling and patting Arthur on the back before using that arm to push him forward towards his celebrity crush.

Even though the journey was only a few feet, it felt like an eternity for Arthur as he watched his body traveling closer and closer to Cody. Once he was two feet away from the actor’s group surrounding him, Arthur couldn’t help but gasp as Peter loudly spoke to gain their attention. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he began, smiling as his voice was able to break through the small group and get everyone (including Cody) to turn and look at Peter and Arthur’s direction. “Hey there, this is Arthur Harris, he won a contest through the studio for a special set tour and meet and greet with the cast of All-American. According to Arthur, he’s a big fan of yours Mr. Christian, so I thought it would be nice to properly introduce you two,” he said, keeping a chipper smile on his face even though Cody’s expression remained cold and quite clearly rageful.

“Uh hi there, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Arthur stammered out, which caused a few people in Cody’s posse to pause upon hearing the British accent he was speaking with. “I’ve been a big fan for years, so it’s really awesome to get this-,” he continued, suddenly interrupted when Cody huffed loudly and began to speak.

“Hey dude, it’s great that you won this random contest or whatever, but I’m like really not in the mood for a meet and greet. Plus, I’m like, really in the zone with my acting right now. So even if I wanted to spend my precious time chatting with some obsessed British fan, I really don’t have the right mentality for this right now,” he coldly said, which immediately provided a soul-crushing blow to Arthur given how direct and biting his words were.

Even though the man had never met the British man before, his phrasing was so direct it seemed as though they had been enemies for years! Although he wasn’t the most vocal person around, the cruel words had struck a chord with Arthur and thus he felt a desire to make his opinion heard by the cocky actor. But just as he began to take a breath to speak, Arthur was interrupted as Cody angrily cursed and caused everyone on set to look at the interaction going on.

“Bro, I really don’t give a shit about what you have to say. Like, you’re a nobody and I’m Cody Christian. Everything about you pales in comparison to me. So how about this, why don’t you get the fuck off my set so we can finish our scenes and I can go home. The sooner I can forget about you and your dumbass fanboy behavior, the better!”

Throughout the entire experience, Arthur could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes as he looked around and found that everyone there bore witness to his humiliation at the hands of the actor. Although he wanted so badly to tell the actor off and give him a taste of his own medicine, the fear of further punishment and potentially causing the actor to snap and get violent towards him caused him to back down. Instead, he allowed Peter to lead the way as the intern led the embarrassed man away from set to somewhere more secluded.

This location ended up being a small crew trailer that was quite a bit away from the liveliness of the active film crews. Upon entering, Arthur finally allowed his emotions to show as he began to actively tear up and try to release the pent-up emotions that he was feeling. Throughout, Peter found himself trying his best to console the man and lift his spirits, but it seemed to be no use. Then a light bulb suddenly flicked on in Peter’s head and caused him to smile and look down towards Arthur.

“Hey, don’t get upset about that asshole. What would you say if I potentially had a way to get some revenge on Cody?” Peter inquired, which immediately caused Arthur to stop his sniffling and look up.

“Wha- what do you mean?” he said, taking a deep breath in between his words as he tried to calm himself back down.

“Let’s just say that I have… something special that could teach Cody a lesson and make him regret treating you like that. What would you say to that?”

“Say no more then, I’m interested. That asshole has no right to treat people like that just because he’s an actor. I want him to pay for what he’s done, I want him to feel the same intense sense of humiliation and shame that I feel right now…”

In response, Peter reached into the pocket of his pants and searched around for a moment. Upon pulling it out and extending his hand outwards, the nerdy intern dropped his clenched fist and allowed a necklace to unfurl out in front of Arthur’s face. “Well, I think I have something in mind that can do just that…”

Looking at it, Arthur saw that the necklace itself seemed rather simple and basic given the fact that it was a silver key with a small silver chain looped through it. But as he grabbed it with his hands to inspect it, a full body shiver coursed through Arthur’s body, which was seemingly enough to get him to go along with whatever plan Peter had in mind.

“Ok, tell me what’s going to happen then and what I need to do…”

* * * * *

At first, Arthur was quite worried that he wouldn’t be able to find Cody’s trailer despite Peter’s directions, but it seemed as though Cody’s ego made sure that that was impossible. While walking through the backlot, Arthur eventually stumbled in front of a trailer that proudly had Cody’s headshot taped to the front door along with a bold and unmissable text that displayed his full name. According to Peter, Cody often took breaks alone in the trailer around this time to “unwind” and “get in character”, so the duo figured that this would be the perfect opportunity for Arthur to enact his revenge against his tormentor. So after having a moment to take a deep breath and steady himself, Arthur gave himself an encouraging nod as he pulled open the trailer door and quickly walked into the premises.

Of course, as Arthur entered up the steps and made eye contact with the hunky actor as he sat back in a leather recliner, the man’s expression quickly changed from the lax and seemingly happy expression he was displaying. Bizarrely though, the expression it became wasn’t of rage but rather total confusion.

“Wha- who the fuck are you?” Cody inquired, which only furthered Arthur’s annoyance and dedication to his current plan. The asshole didn’t even recognize him even though the interaction just occurred less than an hour ago!

Feeling emboldened by the power that Peter had seemingly gifted him, Arthur found himself standing strong and angrily responding to the actor’s questions. “I’m the wrong guy to mess with, you fucking asshole,” he cried out, taking a few steps closer to Cody and crossing his arms.

“Wait, you’re that fucking obsessed fan from earlier,” Cody sneered, getting a bit uncomfortable being stuck with who he assumed to be a total creep. “How did you find my goddamn trailer? What, did you think you were going to just come in here and try to see me naked or something? Get the fuck out before I call security and get your pervy ass put in jail!”

“Yeah, that’s not happening Cody. You’ve been an asshole to the wrong people, it’s about time you pay for all of the bullshit you’ve put me and this crew through. Luckily, I have the perfect way to make sure that you learn your lesson,” he began, stopping before revealing the answer and thus causing Cody to get a rare shiver of panic to course through his body.

“What, are you going to try and hurt me because I wouldn’t say hi and take a fucking selfie with you? Grow the fuck up! I was working, I don’t have the time for such worthless bullshit!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, but I am going to make you regret the way you not only treated me but those poor assistants of yours. There’s no reason for you to be so stuck up and rude to people. I was a big fan of yours and I just wanted to get the ability to properly say hi and tell you how much I appreciated your work. Instead, you brushed me off and made me feel worthless like those poor assistants of yours.”

“Oh, so you’re making threats now huh?” Cody retorted, immediately pushing himself up from the recliner and sauntering his way over towards Arthur. With each step, the actor tried to make himself appear even more intimidating by clenching his fists and cracking his knuckles, allowing the noise of the popping to fill the empty trailer until he was face-to-face with the fan. “I don’t take threats lightly, so I don’t think you know who you’re messing with. I don’t think you thought this plan through bro…”

“You think so? Actually, you’re exactly where I need you to be,” Arthur responded, a wide grin emerging onto his face as a sudden tingle emerged from his chest.

Looking down at it caused Cody’s eyes to follow suit, which caused him to discover the gem on the necklace that Arthur was now wearing violently shaking against his firm chest. While this originally could have been explained by the jock actor as some cheap gimmick or gag gift, the sudden levitation of the necklace was unexplainable.

“Holy shit,” Cody exclaimed, watching as the key rose up until it was no longer hanging around Arthur’s neck but rather extended straight out towards Cody’s own neck. “Wha, what is that shit? Are you a goddamn witch?”

Before Arthur could offer up a response to the hilarious assumption though, the key suddenly jerked forward and caused Arthur to be dragged along for the ride. Given the fact that there wasn’t much free space for the man to move given Cody standing in front of him, Arthur instinctively closed his eyes and braced for impact as it tugged him directly towards the confused actor. Despite the lack of any physical impact of their two bodies, the tugging seemingly had an unintended side effect as Arthur found himself quickly drifting off into unconsciousness as his newly comatose body remained stuck in place. If he had been awake and looked down at the necklace though, Arthur would have seen that the key had somehow plunged itself deep into the center of Cody’s neck and caused his gasps of shock to become muted.

Although it was painless for Cody, it was still quite terrifying to endure finding himself no longer able to speak as his throat was stabbed by the key. So while his mind originally focused on the fear of no longer being able to speak or deliver lines, a new fear began to emerge as he opened his eyes and watched as the crazed fan was going through an indescribable sight. The longer it looked, it seemed as though pieces of Arthur’s body were seemingly being pulled off of Arthur’s body and turning into particles that were sucked into the thick silver key like a vacuum. It was quite a horrific sight to watch as the man lost limbs and several pieces of his body until only his head and neck remained levitating in front of him. But soon enough, this too dispersed into particles that were also transferred into the mysterious yet magical key in front of him.

Even without a neck wrapped around it, this key remained stuck in place lodged into Cody’s neck. Cody could only gasp in shock and allow tears to fall down his face as he could feel motion emerging with the key. Looking down, he watched as the key somehow turned itself sideways into his flesh and made it appear as though it was unlocking a doorway.

In reality though, the necklace itself was a magical item that promised the ability to transfer souls. Upon getting in close contact of an intended target, the necklace would go into action by inserting itself into the subject’s neck and allowing the wearer’s body to evaporate as their soul was transferred into the necklace as a sort of holding chamber. Upon having the necklace turned, it unlocked the usually impenetrable soul of the human body and allowed for the wearer’s soul to invade.

So as this unlocking occurred, the entirety of Arthur’s soul traversed into Cody’s neck and began to disperse itself throughout all of Cody’s body. With each additional second after this invasion, Cody found himself growing fainter and fainter as he lost all of his motor control and senses. Once every piece of this was taken from Cody and traded to its new host, Cody’s soul lost consciousness and caused the body of the hunky actor to suddenly collapse and fall to the floor. Upon making an impact, the key suddenly popped out of Cody’s throat and bounced across the wood floors of the trailer a few times before finally settling.

Out of nowhere, Arthur suddenly gasped as he was slingshot back into the realm of reality. Upon finding himself on the floor of the trailer, the man grimaced and groaned as he reached onto the end of the leather recliner and pushed himself back up to his feet. Looking around for a moment, Arthur’s eyes widened as he looked around and realized that he was alone now. As he took a look down at himself and saw the firm physique stretched out in the same clothes that he had previously seen Cody wearing, it didn’t take many more context clues for him to figure out what had occurred. “Holy shit, I’m Cody Christian,” he said, chuckling as his cock began to immediately harden at the thought of being in the body of his celebrity crush.

Eager to get a better look at himself, Arthur quickly grabbed onto the necklace on the floor and put it on before pacing through the small yet spacious trailer in search of a mirror. Upon finding a bathroom door and heading inside, the man flicked the light on and smiled gleefully as he saw Cody Christian staring back at his reflection. What soon followed was a rather intimate and erotic session of feeling up his body and admiring the gorgeous physique. As he lifted up his arms and flexed, the man’s cock throbbed and began leaking pre-cum due to just how erotic this all was. He was already a fan of transformation content, but the concept of actually experiencing a transformation of his own into one of his celebrity crushes was truly a dream come true.

“Serves you right you fucking asshole,” Arthur remarked, chuckling while hearing the sound of Cody’s voice saying his words now. “Yeah, I know you’re still down there deep down. A little perk of using this trusty necklace made it so you’re still able to witness and feel everything that I do while I’m in control. You made me feel extreme amounts of shame and embarrassment from just simply saying hello, so I’m going to make every day of your life a living hell now.”

Before Arthur could continue explaining how exactly he was going to go about torturing the real soul of Cody Christian, a knock on the actor’s trailer door caused him to stop. Upon taking a moment to calm down and try his best to adopt Cody’s talking style, Arthur took a deep inhale and exhaled before making his way out towards the door. Pulling it open though, the man smiled widely as he saw Peter standing on Cody’s doorstep.

“Did it work?” the intern asked, trying his best to play it cool in case the real Cody was still around.

While he at first tried to play it cool and pretend as though he was really Cody, Arthur couldn’t keep the charade up long and thus broke character by curling his lips into a devious smirk. “Oh yeah, it worked,” Arthur said with a chuckle. “The Cody Christian that you know is now no longer in control…”

Opening the door wide to allow Peter inside, Arthur quickly slammed the trailer door shut and locked it as he prepared to get a crash course on acting and get a head start learning Cody’s lines before he’s required to head back to set in 20 minutes. Although it was certainly a struggle at first trying to comprehend the intricacies of acting and learning what Asher’s plotlines have been so far this season, it was totally worth it when it was finally time to change into the clothing necessary for the next scenes. When Arthur was handed a hanger that contained Asher’s football uniform, the man was buzzing with excitement as he headed into the bathroom and changed into his clothing. Despite wanting so badly to spend time checking out his new body nude and admiring every inch of his godly new muscles, Arthur was adamant about the fact that the new Cody Christian wouldn’t be tardy or a drama queen in any regard. As such, he pushed aside his erotic urges and instead pulled the uniform on.

While doing so, Arthur still had a blast as he was able to find his two favorite things colliding together into one thing. Not only was he now in the body of his celebrity crush but he was also getting dressed in an accurate football that was quite similar to those that the NFL players he thirsted for wore. It was an absolute dream come true! This was especially true taking a moment to check himself out in the mirror and seeing how the padded football pants helped his thighs and ass look impeccable while the skintight compression shirt fully showcased the strong arms, modest pecs, and broad shoulders that he could now call his own.

Upon pulling on the shoulder pads and then putting on the jersey, Arthur’s cock, which was now a few inches longer, was consistently throbbing as the look was completed and he saw his reflection. He truly looked and felt like a football star! With this much needed boost of confidence from Cody’s previous taunting, Arthur was most certainly in high spirits. This was especially apparent as he looked into the mirror and gave himself a pep talk. “You’ve fucking got this, you’re Cody Christian and you’re even better than that shitty imposter!”

With this pep talk completed while also riding on the high of further tormenting the real Cody trapped deep down inside, Arthur gave an elated grin towards his reflection before exiting the bathroom and allowing Peter to lead him to set.

* * * * *

As shooting for the day was called, Arthur Harris was quite relieved to know how well his first day as an actor went. While remembering lines was one of his biggest worries, it seemed to be seamless for him as if he had gained Cody’s own ability to act and recall lines. The biggest issue actually came in the form of having to do the full-on football scenes that required him to actually run plays and catch the ball while in the role of Cody’s wide-receiver character. Luckily though, a quick refresher from some crew on the show was able to help Arthur fully grasp the plays and successfully nail the scene by rushing down the fake field and scoring the game-winning touchdown. Although it was obviously fake given the field and the numerous takes it took to get it right, Arthur still felt like a star football player when he “scored” and clenched the win for his character’s team.

While his time watching the shooting of some scenes was relatively brief, it was quite apparent that things were dense due to Cody’s diva behavior. But given the fact that the real Cody was no longer around and Arthur was on a mission of turning Cody into a more respectful and calm person, things began to feel a bit less restrained as the crew and cast began to interact more and thus started to create a sense of harmony on set.

This continued into the night until filming was finally finished after doing a workout scene in the college gym that Arthur had often seen hot clips of Cody working out in. It was quite mind boggling to find himself in Cody’s body while in the area that had led him to have plenty of wanking material. Even more wild was the fact that the scene called for Cody to be working out shirtless (something that the crew told him was due to feedback from focus groups that were aiming to appeal to more female viewers). Given the fact that Arthur hadn’t really gotten a great chance to check out his shirtless body, he was more than willing to go along with such a concept and eagerly peeled off his shirt.

While the crew offered to mist his skin to make him appear like he had been sweating, Arthur was quick the shut the idea down. “Nah, I’d like to go method for this scene,” he cockily remarked, giving a wide smile to the director which seemingly convinced him to agree. With permission granted, Arthur spent a few minutes working out on several machines until he was dewy enough for the camera to pick up on it. 

Once the scene was shot and filming concluded for the day, Arthur opted to stay back and spend a little bit extra time in the gym set. After saying goodbye and thanking the crew for their hard work, Arthur watched as everyone slowly filtered out and went home for the day besides himself and Peter. Upon waiting a few minutes to verify that there were no stragglers that could return in case they forgot something, the duo finally began to speak and discuss the events of the day.

After Peter gave high praise to Arthur for his performance as Cody Christian, the duo shifted gears to discuss some other elements to their deal. Obviously, given the fact that Peter was able to provide the unbelievable reality of possessing Cody, there would be a requirement to reward Peter for the gift he had bestowed upon Arthur. Although there could have been a sizable monetary requirement for such a priceless gift, Peter’s ask was quite simple. All he wanted in return for giving Arthur Cody’s body was the chance to admire the actor’s physique and achieve his fantasy of getting Cody Christian off however he desired.

Given the fact that Arthur knew that he would surely be horny in the aftermath of possessing Cody, it was a no-brainer for him to accept such a proposition. Not only did he get someone else willing to worship his body, but he also got to cum in the process! With the agreement out of the way, Arthur wasted no time pulling off his clothing and revealing to the both of them for the first time the nude physique of Cody Christian. 

As Arthur lifted his arms up and flexed his biceps, Peter was quick to jump into action by peppering kisses along his firm upper arms and running his tongue along the musky pits of the freshly sweaty actor. All through the experience, Arthur had a look of pure elation on his face as he savored the sensation of feeling incredibly strong and masculine. Although he had gained a rather impressive physique from his years of working out, the man was still rather meek and thus didn’t really use those muscles for much when it came to any romance and intimacy. With Cody though, that would all change since he felt like the total package.

To make matters even erotic, Peter was desperate to add more humiliation for the real Cody by moaning his name as he ran his arms along Arthur’s back and firmly used a hand to squeeze each perky ass cheek that he now had. While his hands then traversed back up Cody’s broad back and moved to the front, Arthur even chimed in talking about how great it was to have his body felt up by someone smaller than him. This tit-for-tat continued between the duo as Peter cupped Arthur’s pecs and ran his tongue along the man’s washboard abs while Arthur continued on the slight taunting towards the thinner man.

The idea seemed to be rather effective, as both men were soon rock hard and begging for release. Luckily, Peter recognized this fact for both of them and opted to do something about it. As he got down onto his knees and began to focus on toying with Arthur’s new cock, the former British man fell back onto the seat of the bench press and lifted his arms up while gasping. Despite seeming like a total novice when it came to sex, it appeared as though Peter was an expert as he sensually ran his tongue along Arthur’s new 9.5” shaft and even took a moment run his hands underneath Cody’s sweat-stained shorts to play with the straight actor’s tight asshole. Luckily though, the main event finally arrived as Peter opened his mouth and put his lips around Arthur’s cock. Before long, the two of them were loudly moaning (although Peter’s was muffled due to just how wide his mouth was spread attempting to wrap around the girthy manhood) as they both pushed desperately towards completion. Within seconds, the inevitable finally arrived as the duo came in unison, with Arthur’s thick load taking a quick journey down the back of Peter’s throat while Peter’s own cum splattered against his underwear in an intense fashion.

After Peter finished sucking and pulled his mouth off of Cody’s cock, the duo both laid down for a few minutes to catch their breath from such an erotic and unbelievable experience. When Arthur first received the invitation for the trip from Nate, he had no idea of just how life-changing it would be. Not only did he get to teach a cocky asshole a much-needed lesson, but Arthur also got a new body and life out of it… and the body of his idol no less! It was a dream come true, so much so that Arthur quickly said as much as he logged into his Discord account to send a message to Nate saying exactly that. While he promised to explain more later, Arthur ended the message by saying that the gift was the best thing he could have received.

Now eager to get out of the studio and explore what this new life has in store for him, Arthur said his goodbyes to Peter while talking about how he was excited to see him tomorrow. Although there was certainly no real attraction that Arthur felt for the meek nerd, it was safe to say that they would be friends forever due to the kindness that Peter had done for him. As he finally made his return to Cody’s trailer, Arthur rifled through the rather grand closet that had countless designer brands hung up. Feeling rather proud of himself for such a great performance as Cody Christian, Arthur opted to pull out a luxury suit and put it on. It was quite erotic to see the final result as he looked into the reflection in his bathroom mirror, especially given how form-fitting it was with his muscular build!

“Let’s go see what the life of Cody Christian has to offer huh?” He said to his reflection, lifting his arms up and giving a cocky flex that was punctuated with a wink to just further the humiliation towards the soul stuck powerless in his own body.  After grabbing Cody’s phone and wallet, a quick search through the trailer provided a set of car keys. Making his way out of the trailer, the man was quite amused to click the lock button of his key fob and see the lights of a brand new sports car light up.

Upon unlocking it and getting into the driver’s seat, the man oohed and ahhed at the leather seats he had as he turned the car over and felt the car purr to life. As he took a moment to press his foot onto the gas pedal and feel the engine powerfully rev up to the point where his body was shivering, a cocky smirk emerged on Arthur’s face as he felt drunk on unbridled power. Not only was he in a powerful car, but he was also now the proud owner of an even powerful body and life. All of those years of thirsting and blindly stanning the actor had paid off as Arthur was now for all intents and purposes Cody Christian through and through. With a body like this, he could get any man or woman he desired along with any role given his Prince Charming level good looks.

Even though he didn’t have a license or a car back in the UK, the brand new Cody Christian still felt no worries as he sped off into the night. He was a lucky man after all, and there was no way that he’d end up losing when he looked and felt this good!

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[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Prologue

Tommy offers Joel help one last time. The prologue to The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Grief. Mentions of child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 1.3k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Next Chapter

“If you think I’m not going to fight for what’s mine, you’re insane!” 

Joel remembered the woman on the screen. She was young, beautiful, her perfectly made up face snarled in rage. He remembered her. He always remembered her. 

He remembered the scene, too. 

Sarah had loved this show. She was obsessed, one of her friends at school put her onto it and she watched it all in a matter of weeks on Netflix. 

Joel had hated this show. There were drugs and sex and Sarah was just 13 when she watched it but he’d been such a sucker for her that he let her. He’d always been a sucker for her. He always gave her whatever she asked for. 

Maybe that had been wrong.

Maybe if he’d stood his ground more, maybe if he’d been a better father instead of just giving his daughter whatever she wanted, she wouldn’t be dead. 

“Mr. Miller?” 

Joel looked away from the television, reminded that he was in the hospital and that it must be after 3 a.m. by now. The nurse stood in the doorway, an almost pitying look on her face. 

“Your brother is here to see you.” 

Joel just went back to watching the TV. The woman he remembered was still there, beautiful face streaked with tears.

“I can’t believe you,” she whispered. She was a good actress, he thought. Convincing. She sounded like she was in pain. He doubted someone like her even knew what that would really feel like, what that would really sound like. He did. He knew. 

“Joel.” 

He looked to the door, his brother standing there, the early morning beginnings of a beard on his chin, in athletic wear instead of the suit he saw him in so often these days. He looked back to the TV. 

“You can’t keep doing this, man,” Tommy said, coming in and standing beside him. The woman on the TV raised a gun. “You can’t keep beating the shit out of people you don’t like, I can’t keep trying to buy them off, Maria can’t keep talking you out of trouble with the cops… Hell, I only really talked Maria into it this time because it’s the anniversary of the day she… we know it’s hard but you’re this close to ending up in deep shit with an actual rap sheet, man.” 

She screamed and sobbed as she pulled the trigger. 

“Joel.” 

The woman panted for breath before lifting the gun to her temple. It cut to commercial. 

“Sarah loved that show,” Joel said, looking away from the TV to see Tommy close his eyes and shake his head with a sigh. 

“I know you’ve been strugglin’,” Tommy said, crossing his arms and looking at him again. “And I don’t blame you, alright? What you’ve been through… I’d be a wreck too. I know it ain’t the same but it killed me too, for a while, losing her that way. Can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. But Joel… it’s been three years now. You can’t keep destroying yourself like this, you just can’t. It’s killing me to watch you do it but I don’t got it in me to keep saving you. I cannot let you drag me down with you, not now, not with…” 

He clenched his jaw for a moment, looking back toward the door and back at Joel again. 

“Maria’s pregnant.” Joel’s heart clenched. “She’s my focus now. I want to be there for you, Joel. Lord knows I owe you after everything you did for me but I can’t do it at the expense of myself or my wife and my kid. You understand?” 

Joel nodded slowly, looking to his boots. There was a dark spot on the left toe, the leather never really clean from the blood. 

“Here,” Tommy held out a business card.

Joel frowned. 

“Think I know how to get ahold of my own brother.” 

“This ain’t for me,” Tommy said. “It’s my hiring manager. This is the last thing I’m doin’ for you, Joel. Come and work for me. I can help you that way, make sure you’re not out there on your own. You don’t got the formal training of the other guys but we can handle that. Christ knows you got the raw skill, just ask the asshole whose face you rearranged…” 

“He’s lucky that’s all I did,” Joel snapped. 

Tommy ignored him. 

“Once your hand heals up, we can get you started,” Tommy said, card still out. Joel took it, running his fingers over the embossed lettering. “I want to help you, Joel. I want to be there for you. This is the last way I can do that. Understand?” 

He just looked at the card, Miller Security in large letters, Military Grade Personal Protection in smaller ones below. The email address was for someone named Marlene. 

Joel had probably met her at some point but he didn’t remember her. Joel had been to a few company BBQs and happy hours for the private security company his brother had founded about six months after his daughter died. 

Tommy used to work alongside Joel, the two of them taking contracting work together. If wasn’t easy work but it was satisfying. Joel liked building things, liked working with his hands and seeing the physical manifestations of his labor. It wasn’t a bad life, in hindsight. Not since he’d blown it. 

After his daughter died, Joel couldn’t keep working. He tried, after a few weeks, to get back to it but he sometimes showed up drunk, sometimes didn’t show up at all. It wasn’t long before he was fired and word spread. Soon, he got shot down for every job he tried for. He’d screwed over not just himself but Tommy, too. 

That’s how Tommy came to create the security company to begin with. He had a few old special forces buddies move back to town looking for work and Tommy realized he had a lot of highly trained men with time on their hands at his fingertips. What better way to put them to use than to start a security company?

The business took off. Joel was proud of him. Or, as proud as he could be while the rot of guilt gnawed at him for letting down his then struggling brother so badly he needed to start his own fucking business to fix it. 

And now his brother - six years his junior, the kid he’d promised his mother he’d look after when she was on her death bed - was offering him a job after bailing him out at least a dozen times in three years. 

“I want to help, Joel,” Tommy said. “Please let me. Work with me, get back on your feet, have a support system. I want to help but you have to let yourself be helped. Please.” 

Joel tucked the card into the pocket of his shirt and looked at Tommy, a pleading look in his eyes. Eyes that reminded him of Sarah. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll email in the mornin’.” 

Tommy closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” he said as a nurse came in around him. “I’ll be out here, give you a ride home…” 

“We’ll have him out quick,” the woman smiled kindly as Tommy turned to go. “I’m here to handle discharge. Can you confirm your name and birthday for me?” 

“Joel Miller,” he said. “September 26, 1982.” 

“Oh!” She looked up from the chart and smiled at Joel. “Happy birthday!” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Welcome to The Savage and the Sanctuary! I like to introduce my new fics as I'm finishing up an existing one. This likely won't get chapter one for a few weeks yet but you never know what might happen! I hope you're excited to go on this journey as Joel learns to find himself again after surviving the loss of Sarah. There's a lot of angst and excitement and smut ahead! Fingers crossed you enjoy the ride.

Love you!

Taglist: @christinamadsen

[todorokies]

midnight love affair - suguru geto

contents: nsfw, established relationship, fem!reader, reader is lowkey a smart mouthed bimbo, would this classify as crack ???, modern au where suguru isn’t depressed as shit

a/n: idk what this is i just need geto tbhh … inspired by the song midnight love affair by October London

“do you think touchscreen tvs will be a thing in the future?”

head woozy and heavy filled with nothing but the intoxicating sensation of your wet folds gracefully gliding up and down his painfully hard cock with your pussy occasionally clenching around him leaving a white ring imprint of your creamy residue. your raven haired boyfriend tried to make sense of the current predicament at hand as you stilled yourself on top of his lap, fully seated, letting his cockhead rest snug up against that spongy spot that always makes you dizzy.

his eyes held a look of pure dumbfounded confusion with sweat cumulating at the beginning of his hairline, lips extremely chapped and mouth agape he truly couldn’t believe what he’s hearing right now. (mostly due to the faint ringing of his ears as the pleasure was too much that he began to hear colours.)

you already fucked him dumb and he hasn’t even cummed yet.

with his leftover strength he was finally able to piece something together to counterpart your bizarre question. “huh?” was all he was able to conjure. you wrap your arms around his neck, “what do you mean “huh” did i already fuck your brains out? did you not hear what i said?”

oh now you’re getting sassy. he quickly licks his lips then elaborates. “i did hear you, i’m just confused where this is coming from all of the sudden.”

you simply shrug “it’s just a simple thought that came to me… consider it a shower thought if you will.” suguru gives you a look of uncertainty but doesn’t question any farther, instead, he indulges you.

“well the concept of a touchscreen tv is inconvenient, nobody wants to get up from the couch every time to change the channel.”

“i had a feeling you would say that!” you dramatically flail your arms in the air, “inconvenient or not you can’t deny the speed of the way technology is enhancing everyday; sooner or later somebody is gonna invent it.”

you had a point. “you’re right but would anyone willingly buy it? it just seems impractical to have in a home doesn’t it?”

“you’re not looking at bigger picture here; every year people complain about the amount of camera lenses apple adds to the latest iphone but yet they still go out of their way to buy it for a ridiculous price and you wanna know why this happens..?”

he quirks an eyebrow up signalling for you to continue suddenly intrigued to hear your conclusion.

“because consumers, especially tech nerds, love getting their hands on the newest inventions. it doesn’t matter how impractical it is, just knowing they possess something so expensive and high tech gives them this sort of euphoric high.”

“huh, i guess that reasoning never crossed my mind…you should definitely donate your brain to science.” a low dry chuckle passes from his lips and a frown tugs upon yours as you lift your hips to glide all the way up to the tip of his cock then slam yourself down earning a desperate throaty groan from the man below you.

“keep laughing and you won’t be cumming tonight.”

and at that all suguru could do is fondly smile to himself. you keep him on his toes everyday; always unpredictable with your actions and words. never in a million years could suguru see himself stopping sex midway to have an out-of-the-blue conversation about touchscreen television. this was one of your many quirks that made him gravitate towards you and crave for your spontaneous persona to find it’s way into his life.

“whatever you say goes my love, now can we please go back to fucking?”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[diabolicalacid]

birds of a feather— d day

october 6, 7:57 PM

location— tokyo university girls dormitory

you’re waiting by the gate to your dormitory for atsumu to show up. you’re dressed like a dime, in the prettiest outfit you could find. it’s the one you purchased on the rare occasion when tobio tagged along to the shopping mall with you. you’ve dolled yourself as much as possible, from your outfit to your hairdo, to your stiletos, the ones you never wear because your feet hurt terribly when you’re in them. all that, hoping it would catch atsumu’s eye.

as you wait, going back and forth between the watch on your wrist and the street in front of you, there’s one constant thought stirring around your mind. call it a newbie’s curiosity.

exactly what is it that atsumu miya has planned for the two of you. you cannot help but wonder. after all, he did say he’d make it a day you’d remember for a long long time. but if you’re being honest, even if it’s just the bare minimum, you’re still likely to appreciate it just as much since it’s your first time. if no one has done it for you before this moment, you’re bound to acknowledge the first time someone does it.

it’s twelve minutes past eight when a black sedan pulls up a few feet away from you. you’re sure it’s atsumu in there. the fact that you’ve seen this car dropping shoyou off a couple of times, and the fact that it’s an expensive luxury car only someone with atsumu’s net worth can afford, is enough to provide you confirmation.

atsumu opens to door to his car, letting himself out. he smiles softly, waving at you the moment he spots you standing by the gate. you’ve seen the man in his social media posts, you’ve seen him in several pictures with shoyou, you’ve seen him on television. but to see him in person, looking so crisp even whilst donning only a baggy jeans and a white tee, ropes your heart into losing control over its rhythm.

you haven’t even made a conversation with the man yet, all he’s done from his end is to wave you a hello, but you already feel your cheeks getting warmer by the second as he trails toward you, hiding something behind his back.

“shit, he’s quite good looking.

chuck that.

he’s very very good looking. who am i kidding?”

you drop your face into your palms, turning around for a moment. you need to take this in. it’s very heavy and scary and exciting and new all at the same time. for someone who’s never been taken out before, you think it must be normal for one to get goosebumps moments before their first date. the fact that atsumu miya is such a good looking, charismatic and gentle man isn’t helping either.

you take a deep breath, regain composure and turn around to face him, letting out a sigh as you attempt to shake the nervousness off yourself before you finally initiate a conversation.

“hey.” the word barely makes it out of your mouth, instead what comes out is a cracked rendition of his name, “miya.”

“atsumu, i mean.” you shake your head, embarrassed, correcting yourself.

you shrug, saying in an undertone, eyes unable to meet his gaze, “but miya is your last name, so that will do too, i guess.”

“i’m not sure.” you give up, dropping your head in your palms again.

he chuckles at you. you’re sure he knows you’re quite nervous. there’s no hiding the fact from the man who witnessed the colour red brimming off your cheeks as soon as he waved at you. not to mention, the way your dropped your face into your palms, not once, but twice, and your terrible attempt at greeting him while you couldn’t even say his name. if he knows, he should be a little more considerate. it’s your first time, you’re allowed to lose your cool.

he puts his hand on your head, ruffling it, a huge smile creeping up his face, “well, hello there, cutie.”

you whine, instinctively reaching his hand to take it off your head, “you’re ruining my hairdo.”

“i did my hair,” you mutter, under breath, “just for you.”

he apologises, withdrawing his hand, chuckling, “alright, alright, i’m sorry. no more, cutie.”

“you don’t have to be nervous.” he reassures you, moving his hand and places it over your cheek.

he caresses your cheek, then pinches it, beaming like a cheshire cat, “just call me atsumu.”

you nod, “okay.”

you breathe to render yourself in a better position, then speak up in an attempt to say his name, “atsumu.” you still falter.

“nice to meet you.” you manage to pull out a small smile for him, and though it’s plagued by nervousness, he accepts it.

“you too, cutie.” he affirms as he takes his hand off your cheek and pats your shoulder, continuing, “i hope you’re looking forward to our date.”

“i’ll make sure you have the best time today, my cutie.” he winks at you, adding, “it’s going to be a perfect date.”

if you weren’t flustered already, you sure are now. your cheeks turn a shade darker and your heart starts beating a little faster. to dramatise the moment, there’s a gush of wind and for a second, just for a second, it’s like atsumu and you are in middle of a scene from a romance movie. if it weren’t you in the situation, you would’ve thought to oneself, how cheesy.

he reveals the bouquet of flowers he was hiding behind his back all this while. it’s sunflowers. you love sunflowers. something about those flowers always facing the sun gives you hope. for someone like you, who yearns to have happy moments in her life in order to get by, and tries her best to be optimistic even on that worst days, sunflowers are quite symbolic to you.

he’s offering you something that means magnitudes to you. it seems his gesture allowed the heart inside of you, that was beating in a hazy rhythm, to calm down a little. however, after this, you aren’t sure if letting go of miya atsumu following only a single date is going to be an easy task.

he offers you the bouquet, “for you.”

“thank.” you stutter, taking a hold of it, “you.”

you look at the present in your hand for a moment. it instantly puts a smile on your face. you’re quick to embrace the bouquet of flowers closer to yourself.

“they’re beautiful.” you look up to him with the warm smile his gift put on your face, signifying your gratitude, speaking his name confidently for the first time, “atsumu.”

“just like you.” he compliments you, leaving you stunned. you don’t think your cheeks can turn another shade darker, and you heart that had managed to calm itself down, beats faster once again. at this rate, you might end up needing an ambulance for the tachycardia.

he takes one of many daisies mingled in with the numerous sunflowers, and puts it against your ear, mumbling, “pretty.”

it is at this moment that you feel your heart waging a war against its cage and your cheeks burning up quite literally. you step back, nervousness clouding your thoughts once again, but atsumu takes your hand and pulls you closer to himself.

with your bodies in close proximity of one another, only an inch apart, you aren’t sure what to feel in the moment. you feel dizzy, you’re about to lose your footing. you’re still being held by him, and when you lose your balance, atsumu’s hold tightens, his arm instinctively curving around your waist.

he looks to your feet, noticing your stiletos, instantly aware you’re quite uncomfortable.

he growls, “did you have to wear that?”

he sets you free from his embrace, hand reaching out to flick your forehead, as he reminds you, “i asked you to dress comfortably, didn’t i?”

“i dressed to impress.” you mumble, barely audible, eyes fixed on the concrete underneath you.

he sighs, saying, “give me a moment, i’ll be right back.”

atsumu jogs to his car, leaving you stranded with that massive bouquet of flowers. you aren’t sure what his intentions are, you can’t bring yourself to think straight either. your mind is fogged because of the things this man has been doing since he jolted into your life. if all this is for nothing in the days to come, you’ll be quite disappointed.

he returns with a pair of crocs in his hand. they’re the colour purple and approximately your size. they must belong to rin.

“here.” he hands you the pair, but before you can take it from his grasp, he stoops down and gets on one knee, muttering, as he lifts your foot, “nevermind.”

he takes the stiletos off your feet and replaces them with the crocs, looking up at you and smiling, raising his brow in question “better, isn’t it?”

you purse your lips, shrugging, “yea, i suppose.”

you cannot caulk your curiosity, so you ask, gesturing to your feet, “these belong to rin, don’t they?”

“yes, they do.” he confirms.

you smile, dejected, as you look to your feet, slightly smaller in size than rin’s as they sit in her crocs. you don’t understand the cause of your disappointment. you should probably be grateful that atsumu helped you out because if he hadn’t, your feet would’ve undergone tumultuous suffering through the day. but the fact that they belong to rin, his ex, seems to bother you to the core.

“rin would do the same thing.” he starts, raising himself off the floor and dusting his hands, giggling, “she’d wear ridiculous shoes too, until it made her feet hurt.”

you aren’t sure what to say, or how to feel about this. so you thank him, pursing your lips as you speak, “i’m grateful.”

he holds out his hand for you. you take it. he pulls you in once more, voicing, “let’s go.”

he starts walking to his car, pulling you alongside him, remarking, “we don’t have time for you to get cold feet, cutie.”

“i have the entire day planned for us.” he informs you, as he continues to tow you to his car. you allow your fingers to entwine with his.

his hold of you tightens and he drags you closer until you’re walking right next to him.

you chirp, lips stretched into the widest smile you have to offer, dimples apparent, “thank you.”

“i’m looking forward to spending the day with you.” you divulge, ending your sentence with his name, “atsumu.”

atsumu notices the bright smile tugging at your lips from the corner of his eye. he comments, “you have a beautiful smile.”

you receive his compliment, shifting the loose strands of hair behind your ear, so that they won’t pry with your smile that atsumu seems to appreciate so much, “thank you.”

“also, it’s my pleasure to be taking you out on a date.”

“are you sure it’s not the other way around?” you ask playfully, poking fun at him.

he wags his head, declining, a light chuckle accompanying his words, “not the other way around.”

౨ৎ it wasn’t yn who gave up making the summoning circle, it was me.

౨ৎ yn isn’t half as confident in real life as she seems online.

౨ৎ atsumu doesn’t know yn has been single all her life.

౨ৎ if it isn’t obvious, yn is hoping for more than one date with atsumu, expecting it leads to something more.

౨ৎ atsumu asked shoyou all about yn’s favourite stuff before he planned the date.

previous : every dog has his day

masterlist | next : the head and the heart

🐰 i have a feeling atsumu, shoyou and yachan are going to regret this. i had so much fun writing this chapter. special thanks to @wolffmaiden, i asked her to describe her perfect date with her favourite haikyuu boy and because she’s so delusional, she gave me a very in depth reply. i based off this chapter and the next based on her response.

taglist— @wolffmaiden @kafkassexchoe @luna-mothii @bomjug @le000xxgrd @dazqa @ineednanami @iluvaquaphor @debussy42 @choizzn @bunninio @empress-pug-pug @karasunoya @sereniteav @yuminako @reooreo @loveelylacey @nbcvs

[qveerthe0ry]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @for-a-longlongtime 🎊🎈🎂

You are the best Tumblr friend anyone could ask for. I’m so grateful for you and your incredibly supportive (enabling) tendencies, your insanely beautiful fic writing brain, and the ear you always lend to me to vent to.

Also for the gif of Oscar Isaac’s Dick and Balls that you sent me earlier today that inspired me to write a little FishPope blurb 😌 This is my gift to you and I hope you enjoy 💕 Love you!!

Smush

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: bulge worship, cock worship, cock warming

Sometimes Frankie just gets a little restless. 

He wants to relax. After a long day of work, and whatever project Santi’s got him working on in their garage, and making and/or eating dinner, all he wants to do is relax. 

He grabs a shower, sometimes with Santi, sometimes alone. He’ll change into pajamas— now that it’s summer, pajamas consist of underwear and a baggy old shirt. Then he grabs an ice cold beer and settles on the couch for some mind-numbing television while Santi reads or scrolls on his phone. 

But sometimes not even the most outlandish reality show can’t settle his restless mind.

Usually Santi notices it even before he does himself. A ‘knock it off’ grumbled at him above his reading glasses cues him in on the way he’s bouncing his leg up and down. 

Tonight, he’s grinding his teeth to some unidentifiable rhythm in his head. He only notices because he pinches his cheek between his molars and winces. His jaw aches a bit, he must’ve been at it for a while. 

He glances over to Santi. He’s got a really boring looking book in his hands, nestled in the corner of the couch. 

His thick thighs are spread open, inviting. Almost as inviting as the soft bulge protruding from his tight gray boxer briefs. 

Frankie’s mouth starts to water, alleviating that little nick his teeth caused. 

He shifts slowly at first, inconspicuous, and Santi doesn’t notice. So he moves again, lying out on their couch, so his head rests on Santi’s leg. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting comfy.”

“Hmm.”

Santi lifts one hand away from his book to ruffle Frankie’s curls and god, he’s got magic hands, the way one simple touch has his mind going pleasantly empty. 

He’s staring at Santi’s bulge now, shamelessly, since the man’s obstructing his view with his book. 

He knows it’s a mouthful, even completely flaccid. God, he bets it’s so warm and smooth. He shifts a little closer and takes a slow but deep breath and fuck. 

He smells so good. Even freshly showered, there’s always a hint of Santi’s natural musk, something so malty and deep that seeps through the fancy, expensive body wash he likes. 

Frankie wonders if it makes him a freak, that he likes it so much. Not that he really cares.

He wants more of it. He wants the smell and feel and taste of him all at once, to overwhelm him and just shut his brain off. 

So he adjusts up onto an elbow, and cranes his neck a bit, and smushes his face right at the apex of Santi’s thighs. 

“The fuck, Fish?”

Frankie inhales a big breath and hums it out before responding. 

“‘M restless.” 

His voice is muffled by Santi’s bulge, twitching now as the hot air from Frankie’s breath engulfs it. 

“Shit, yeah?”

“Mmmhm.”

Frankie hears a book page turn, and then Santi’s hand is back on his head once more. His nails scrape his scalp before his fingers really tangle and twist. 

“Wanna keep it warm for me, papi?” 

Frankie’s prick pulses where it’s trapped between his stomach and the couch. He nods, which only grinds his face against Santi’s package. 

It feels good, the softness of his underwear gently scraping the soft skin of his nose and cheeks. There’s and impossible heat radiating off of him, and Frankie seeks more of it, nuzzling around, rearranging his dick and balls as his face rubs against them. 

Santi hums and tilts his hips, nearly crushing Frankie’s nose as he seeks more friction, but even that sting is good, great. 

“Take it out.”

The nonchalant, commanding tone makes Frankie shiver. He whimpers a little, gives Santi’s package one more good smush before the fingers in his hair tug in warning. 

Frankie gets his fingers around the waistband, and Santi lifts his hips to help. Frankie licks his lips at the sight of his balls resting over the elastic, all warm and loose. 

He nudges Santi’s half-hard cock out of the way to nose at the base and lick the pronounced seam of his sac, to take a deep breath and inhale his intoxicating scent that’s even stronger now. He groans and grinds his own cock into the cushion under him for the smallest amount of relief. 

“Put it in your mouth, Fish.”

And he can’t protest, not with the way he has to swallow all the drool that’s pooled just from rubbing his face all over him. 

He tastes familiar. It settles him more than he’ll ever admit to anyone. The stretch of his jaw, the weight of Santi’s cock on his tongue, the tickle in the back of his throat. The novelty has never worn off, it just eggs him on. 

He starts to bob his head. Santi’s grip on his hair tightens. 

“Stop. Just keep it there.”

And even though he’s still a bossy prick, Santi’s murmur is softer and sweeter and less domineering than normal. 

Even so, Frankie obeys. 

He settles his head back down on his thick, fuzzy thigh and rests there. 

He suckles, still. More reflex than anything else. His tongue lies heavy on Santi’s frenulum as he swallows now and then.

The noisy static in his brain fizzles out as Santi’s dick fully inflates. His jaw stretches slowly in a welcome ache, and the scent of him is so heady and overwhelming as he shuts his eyes, and Santi’s hand in his hair pets and smooths and everything is quiet. 

Santi can’t wait until the next time Frankie’s restless.

[markantonys]

i already made a joke post about it but genuinely, the whole "wot s1 sucked, which was 100% the show's fault and not the source material's, but now s2 is so much better! shocking! who could've seen that coming!" narrative is SO annoying

like, the eye of the world is boring as shit! it's generic as shit! of COURSE an entire season based on it is not going to be the most groundbreaking or thrilling fantasy television you've ever seen in your life! how on EARTH can the readers who've been saying for decades that the books don't start to hit their stride until book 2 or 3 or 4 fail to grasp the correlation with season 2 being better than season 1? but even so, s1 alone IS more groundbreaking and thrilling than book 1 alone, because the showrunners knew that book 1 is boring and generic as shit and did their absolute damnedest to pull in as many unique elements from later books as they could conceivably fit in this early on.

second, s1 had to do a HUGE amount of heavy lifting in terms of setting up characters, relationships, lore, and worldbuilding. s1 did all this groundwork so that s2 could have the payoff you're enjoying so much, s1 constructed the basic building blocks so that s2 could explore the more advanced concepts you're gushing over. s1 ran so that s2 could soar! put some respect on its name!

third, stakes tend to get higher, characters to get deeper, and plotlines to get more exciting as you go along in a story. this is how stories work. why are you shocked that s1 only built the basic foundation of the story and s2 has the space to grow and deepen that story? that's how stories work, that's how TV works, and that's most certainly how the WOT books work.

fourth, practical constraints s1 had that s2 had less of

budget: s1 was starting from scratch, whereas s2 had more budget to spare since some things could be reused from s1 AND it got a bigger budget than s1 in the first place.

experience: second seasons almost universally tend to be better than pilot seasons, simply because everyone involved in making the show has gotten into the groove and solidified how they want to do this thing. this is how television works.

covid: it should go without saying that s1 would have been One Million Times more difficult and expensive to make than s2 due to covid stuff. whatever effect we may think covid had on s1, the true effect was probably astronomically higher than what we imagine. the majority of "looks too cheap" "looks too empty" complaints likely come down to this (notice that most of those complaints are about episodes 6-8 and not the early episodes; 6 was filmed pre-covid, yes, but i wouldn't be surprised if some covid-related restrictions were starting to rear their heads before production was officially shut down).

the worst part is the people who end their above-mentioned take with "they must have listened to audience criticism of s1 and made changes accordingly." [moiraine voice] the arrogance. s2 had already been written and filming was WELL underway (if not finished or close to finished?) by the time s1 even started airing. if you're impressed by what a great season they've delivered, the credit for that lies entirely with the people who made the show, not your stupid ass.

[chelseeebe]

dirty little secret.

NOT MY GIF!

summary: a babysitting gig at one of your dad's employee's houses leads to a filthy affair of secrets with a certain mr. harrington.

a/n: i have not proofread this one bit, i just wanted to get it posted so i could start on some ghostface!steddie hehe. i suppose this is another installment of the older!steve/mr.harrington saga though in my head they're different people.

he's a scummy scumbag but that's okay because it's sexy (don’t do this irl) smut and inappropriate relationship dynamics. r is 23/24 and steve is mid 40's ish.

it had all started fairly innocently.

a simple phone call asking if you could do some last minute babysitting. sure. easy enough.

earn some extra cash for doing absolutely nothing.

your dad had recommended you. someone who worked for him, steve or something or other, you’d met him before but that was years ago when you were much younger.

christ, you had a degree now. navigating the post-grad world. not with much luck.

the actual babysitting had been simple enough, feed the kids, put them to bed and now you could just relax.

the house was huge. obviously not decorated by a man, or at least not on his own. it was all meticulously designed, you’d never know there were kids living here. or anybody at all for that sake.

you’re lounging on the sparkling white couch waiting for this illusive steve to get back from wherever. your dad had said eleven but it was well past.

he makes an appearance at quarter to twelve, sighing loudly as he steps into the large hallway. the door makes you jump, sitting up straight on the sofa as if it were illegal to be sitting comfortably on such an expensive piece of furniture.

you peer over the back of the couch as he walks into the living room. finally putting a face to the name. you’d gone to his wedding reception so many years back, unhappy and moody as you’d been dragged along.

‘i am so sorry,’ he says, shaking his head and removing the tailored suit jacket, slinging it over a chair, ‘the dinner ran over and then it was just awful traffic.. how were they? i hope they didn’t give you too much shit,’ chuckling deeply.

‘no.. no, they were great,’ you nod, smiling weakly, standing up to gather your things and finally leave.

you couldn’t help but notice how tight his shirt was, clinging onto his defined arms. you draw your eyes away quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

‘good,’ he breathes, pouring himself a glass of whisky out of the obviously insanely expensive bottle, ‘d’you drink?’ offering a glass to you.

‘uhh.. not whisky,’ laughing quietly, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the obscenely large room.

‘it’s good stuff,’ he shrugs, still holding the second glass to you.

‘i’m okay.. thank you though,’ you nod, stepping closer to him. he smelled great. expensive.

‘fair enough,’ he laughs, taking a short sip, ‘right.. you wanna be paid,’ digging around his pocket for his wallet.

his pants also incredibly well fitted. there’s no need to mention what they were showcasing.

you give him a tight lipped smile, looking anywhere but his crotch.

his wallet is almost overflowing, stuffed with notes and various cards. you try not to gawp at the sight. your dad most definitely did not flex like this.

he hands you four fifty dollar bills, holding the pile in your palm. fingers clasping your hand. the sensation alone is enough to give you butterflies.

‘that’s too much,’ you shake your head, trying to refuse. a whole two hundred dollars to make mac and cheese and watch television.

‘no no, take it, thank you for coming so last minute, have you got a ride home? i can get you a cab?’ he nods, maintaining heavy eye contact, honestly making you squirm.

‘i drove.. thank you so much,’ placing the notes into your bag, still under his heavy gaze.

‘okay,’ he smiles, ‘i’ll uh- i’ll get your number from your dad for next time.. if you don’t mind?’

‘uhh..yeah sure.’

‘great.. thank you, again,’ his hand brushes against your arm, causing the goosebumps to rise instantly.

you give him one last shy smile and walk to the oversized front door. baffled by the things you were feeling. the small yearning feeling bubbling in your stomach. a man god knows how many years your senior. it felt wrong.

dirty.

-

the next time you babysit for him, he’s prepared. a bottle of fancy vodka left next to the whisky.

‘you’re a vodka girl, right? i can tell,’ he winks, a deep laugh erupting from his throat as he pours the clear liquid into a glass.

‘ahh.. how’d you know?’ you smile, not wanting to refuse the man, especially as he’d gone out of his way to get this for you.

he taps his temple, holding the drink out to you, ‘intuition..’

the conversation flows on, telling him about your degree and where you planned to go with it. him humbly flexing his own work, talking about the various connections he could make for you.

‘i know you’re robert’s daughter but i just.. i feel like i’ve seen you before,’ his eyebrows squeeze together, knee almost touching yours as his legs spread across the sofa.

‘i uh- i actually went to your wedding, the reception at least,’ you laugh, still heavily avoiding eye contact even though you could feel his eyes boring into your face.

‘oh my god, that’s right.. you were miserable,’ his laughter rumbles through the room, if the house weren’t so big you’d be worried about it waking the kids. not a chance they could hear a thing in this mansion.

‘i was.. i didn’t know you! my dad made us go,’ you giggle, just about meeting his dark eyes before quickly glancing down at his hand grasping the glass, noticing the lack of wedding ring.

he notices, rubbing the empty finger, ‘no,’ chuckling, ‘we’re not.. if you were wondering,’ you can’t tell if it’s a smirk or just his slightly tipsy smile.

‘sorry,’ you breathe, awkward that he’d noticed your attempt at subtlety.

‘don’t be.. we’re still married for now, but we’re not together,’ he nods, seemingly unaffected by the separation.

‘oh.. right,’ you chuckle, unsure of how you’d ended up discussing his divorce at midnight on a friday night. it wasn’t exactly anywhere near where you’d pictured yourself being after graduation.

‘d’you have a boyfriend?’ he asks, shifting slightly to face more towards you, still nursing the neat whisky.

you shake your head, ‘no.. not at the moment,’ staring just past him as to not make direct eye contact.

‘oh, i thought for sure someone would’ve snatched you up,’ his gaze falters, lingering on your exposed thigh, your skirt had slightly ridden up as you’d sat.

‘surprisingly not,’ weary as to whether you should pull your skirt down or let his eyes loiter. opting for the latter.

the attention was nice. unexpected. but not unappreciated. it made your stomach tight, slightly intimidated by his dark eyes.

‘hmm, that’s a shame,’ his tongue runs along his bottom lip, eyes slowly making their way up to meet yours.

you don’t know what to do. where to leave your eyes. his intense stare only worsening your composure. you’d have probably thrown yourself at him if he didn’t answer to your dad. complicating matters immensely.

‘you want another drink?’ he asks, leaning closer, shaking his own empty glass.

‘no.. thank you,’ the words struggle to come out, throat dry at the proximity of his body to yours. the smell of whisky and his cologne mixing to create an intoxicating smell.

‘sure?’ he reiterates, smirking as his eyes fall to your parted lips. mostly trying to regain air into your lungs.

your breath hitches in your throat, suddenly unable to speak, watching as he slowly moves over. cocky smile plastered across his face, relishing in your spreading blush.

he brings his face to within just a few inches of yours, pausing, ‘tell me if this is too much,’ the feel of his breath against your nose.

you shake your head slightly, almost paralysed by his eyes. it was confirmation enough for steve. his lips brushing yours softly, as his free hand moves to rest just above your knee.

your lips move with his, tasting the remnants of the expensive alcohol as his tongue glides across your bottom lip and into your mouth. a quiet gasp comes out as his fingers slide up your leg, his smirk evident against your mouth.

letting him take full control of the kiss, leaning back as his chest presses against yours. he takes full advantage of your new position, fingers creeping up your already short skirt.

you move back fully, back against the soft cushions. he doesn’t break the kiss as he moves on top, sliding between your now open legs, groaning into your mouth when your hands finally touch him.

resting on his shoulders as he manoeuvres his body, fitting perfectly with yours. he pulls back from the kiss, taking a brief moment to catch his breath, looking into your eyes for encouragement.

you haven’t enough time to process anything before his hips begin to move against yours, lips now attacking your jaw line. peppering kisses and gentle nibbles to the skin, eliciting a barely audible moan from your throat.

his hand had found it’s way to your panties, fingers rubbing against the cotton, ‘holy shit,’ he mumbles into your neck, ‘you’re already soaked.’

you recoil, burying your face into the pillow next to your head. this only makes him laugh, his body vibrating against yours as your panties are pushed aside, two fingers circling your entrance before slipping inside.

‘shit,’ you curse into the pillow, gripping onto his shirt.

his other hand comes up, coaxing your face out of the pillow with a gentle hand. when you finally emerge you can feel your cheeks heat up, his blown out pupils gazing back at you.

‘look at me,’ his voice bellows out, ensuring your attention stays firmly on him. you almost want to look away, just to see what he’d do.

there’s a small voice from somewhere up the stairs, ‘daddy,’ it whines and steve groans above you.

‘shit.. two minutes,’ he curses, removing his hand from underneath your skirt, climbing off of the couch.

you’re immediately jolted back to earth. back to mr. harrington’s living room where you were immodestly dressed. you sit up, face screwed up in disgust at your frankly whorish actions and pull your skirt down to an appropriate length.

‘fuck,’ you hiss to yourself, what the hell where you doing? screwing around with your dad’s employee who by the way, was at least double your age, was not on your cards.

you stand, frantic to gather your things and escape before he comes back down. you’d just ignore him if he called again. you could cut the loss on whatever you were owed for tonight.

you’re halfway down the long corridor when he creeps down the stairs, ‘sneaking out?’ his voice appears from behind, making you jump halfway out of your skin.

spinning on your heel to face him, every part of your body heating up with embarrassment, ‘i should get home..’

‘you don’t have to.. stay,’ he grins, walking towards you, one hand brushing against your arm.

you swallow, knowing exactly where that hand had been just minutes earlier. the feel of his bulge moving against your thigh. you almost shudder at the thought.

‘i shouldn’t..’ you manage to squeak out, mind preoccupied by what was hidden under those tight-fitted suit pants.

‘it’s late, i’m sure your dad wouldn’t want you driving at this time,’ he bargains, fingers squeezing around your arm.

‘okay,’ you breathe, relinquishing your stance, it seems it didn’t take much.

‘good,’ he nods, a smug expression overtakes his features, ‘give me two minutes,’ letting go of your arm and walking back into the dimly living room.

you stand awkwardly in the hallway, clutching your small bag and waiting for him to return from whatever the fuck he was doing. it was honestly made worse with the anticipation of what was to come. it was inevitable.

the light snaps off and he re-emerges, clutching onto a small glass of whiskey, motioning for you to climb the stairs.

you oblige as he follows closely, spare hand reaching up to rest on the small of your back.

‘ah.. i don’t think the guest bedroom has been cleaned.. i can make up the bed for you quickly if you want?’ he hushes, hand dropping to hover just above your ass.

you roll your eyes instinctively, it would seem men never grow out of the awful frat-boy tactics. he feigns shock for a brief moment before guiding you further up the hallway, towards his own room.

you hold your breath, entering the room. a large bed with silk covers takes up most of the room. he closes the door softly behind him, flicking on the lamp and setting his drink on the bedside table.

you marvel at the room, the extravagance of it all. it honestly could’ve passed as a five star hotel. he walks back over to you, running his hands around your rigid frame. unexpected overcome with nerves.

‘relax,’ he breathes, nudging his face into your neck, pressing amorous kisses down onto your exposed collarbone.

a small sigh leaving your mouth, which steve loves. taking it as a sign to continue, walking you over to the bed, hands groping any flesh they could.

your skirt flipped up over your ass as he continues the attack on your neck. your hands finally settling on his muscular shoulders, clinging on to his white shirt as you're dipped back onto the bed, his body climbing on top of yours.

'wow,' he mumbles, muffled by the crook of your neck, hands roaming the length of your body, 'so pretty.'

his large palm glides up, lifting your shirt with it, the cold air immediately leaving goosebumps over the exposed skin. only worsened by his soft fingertips trailing along behind your shirt, breaking apart long enough to pull it over your head.

your mouth falling open when his lips find their way to your neck once again, sucking on the tender skin. your fingers absentmindedly unbuttoning his shirt, defined shoulders peeking out as you gently tug it down his arms.

moving down to rid him of his pants, not ignoring how big he already felt under your palm, wondering if you'd even be able to take him all.

'y'sure about this?' he asks into your neck, fumbling with your panties as your hand tries and fails to undo his belt buckle.

you nod, cheek brushing against his mess of hair still buried in your neck. he reappears, gazing down at you as your fingers continue to fumble with the expensive, over-complicated belt.

you finally unclasp the metal, gasping as his cold hands brush against your thighs, fingers finding their way to your sensitive clit, circling around, causing a hushed moan. terribly aware that his children were not too far from you.

‘j-jesus,’ you mumble, sliding down his tailored trousers and rutting your hips against his, feeling his already very erect cock against your centre.

he’s still staring down at you, inches away from your face, unable to decipher the look on his face, a mix between animalistic desire and lust.

your legs lock around his torso and he wastes no time in aligning himself with your entrance, only breaking eye contact to look down at the space between your bodies before sliding in, a raspy moan vibrating from his throat.

hand sliding from the back of his already moist neck, down onto his shoulders, his shirt half-off as he thrusts in and out, pressing his forehead against yours. it feels incredibly intimate, his hot breath brushing against your cheek, the sounds of his balls slapping against your drenched cunt.

your head falls back onto the pillow, hair splayed out around you, rhythmically slamming into you. eyes fluttering closed when his thumb finds your sensitive clit once more. he grins when your hips buck against his in instant approval.

'yeah? y'like that?' he breathes, slowing his pace as you clench around him, nearing your climax. you can't open your eyes to look at him, the immense feeling of pleasure growing in your lower abdomen.

his gruff groans only accelerating your orgasm, 'sh-shit,' you babble, digging your nails into his skin as you reach your peak, waves of hot pleasure running through your body, thighs squeezing his torso, pulling him deeper as you writhe against him.

a series of expletives tumble from your lips, loosening your grip on his skin as he continues thrusting into your now sensitive cunt. the sound of your sweet moans pushing steve to his own orgasm, hips stuttering with his final few strokes before pulling out, painting your thighs with his load.

his mouth hangs open as he catches his breath, running a hand through his damp hair, watching as you come back down to earth. you brave opening your eyes, catching his amorous stare, a small smile overtaking his face.

you're unsure of how to feel, slightly embarrassed, still laid bare on the cotton bedsheets, scrambling to cover yourself as he reaches for a previously discarded towel. cleaning the mess he had made on your skin.

'well.. i'm glad you didn't sneak out,' he simpers, removing collapsing onto the bed beside you, fully removing the half-undone shirt from his body.

'me too,' you attempt to contain the smile on your face with the pillow, though it doesn't really work, exposing your smugness.

he sits up slightly, peering over you to the alarm clock on the bedside table, 'it's late, y'should probably just stay here.. just say i got back super late,' falling back onto the mattress.

you nod, not wanting to defy his suggestion. not that you wanted to leave anyway, fairly happy to stay right here with him.

steve pulls the satiny covers fully over the both of you, turning on his side to face you. dimly lit by the definitely overpriced lamp in the corner of the room. his hand comes up to your waist, pulling your body into his.

you're clueless as to how this had all transpired. now in what was technically your bosses bed, falling asleep in the older man's arms with no idea how you'd explain this to your dad in the morning.

-

steve's lips wake you in the morning, his stubble brushing against your shoulder as you blink, remembering where the hell you were.

you hadn't woken when he'd got up earlier to get his kids ready for school, probably for the best. not wanting to answer questions as to why their new babysitter was still here in the morning, dressed in their dad's shirt.

'good morning,' he breathes, nose nuzzled into the back of your neck, strong arms snaking around your waist.

'hi,' you respond, slowly coming to, relaxing into his embrace.

'nancy's taken the kids to school.. we've got a little time before i've gotta work,' you can feel his smirk, wandering hands already finding themselves between your thighs.

'your ex-wife was here?' sounding slightly panicked, knowing deep down that whatever had happened last night would land the both of you in serious trouble.

steve picks up on your worry, planting a wet kiss to your shoulder, 'don't worry.. she just picks them up, we're good,' reassuring you only slightly.

before you can dwell on the thought too much, his erection presses against your ass, eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat. you giggle, moving your leg to allow further access.

not quite sure what exactly was going on but absolutely elated to be involved.

-

your dad always had an extravagant party for his birthday. like, unnecessarily big with far too much money poured into it. you’d had to miss the last few years as his birthday fell in finals week.

the last time you remember going was when you were seventeen, you’d sat in the corner for the entire night watching as everyone danced and got drunk. wishing you could’ve been literally anywhere else in the moment.

this year, you’d have to go and deal with the fact steve was also there. in his best suit with those sickly fitting pants, hair perfectly styled and smelling like that intoxicating cologne you loved.

and you’d have to do it all without giving any inclination as to what was going on between you. it was about to be the hardest night of your life.

steve had even helped you pick out your dress. obviously opting for the most revealing option, trying to play it off as just liking you in black. you’d sworn there was a teenage boy alive inside of that man.

the last few weeks had been spent with him, mostly under the guise of babysitting. spending days at a time in his glorious house, waiting for nancy to collect the kids so you could leave his room. indulging in luxurious breakfasts, sharing clothes and enough sex to keep you satisfied for life.

not without plenty of gifts, hand-crafted pieces of jewelry and god knows how many bright bouquets of flowers now littered around your room. even adorning the beautiful diamond necklace you'd received last week, tonight.

your sister had questioned the sudden abundance of gifts but you'd carefully brushed her off, putting it down to some new guy you'd been seeing, she wouldn't know him.

the start of the party was absolutely fine. sipping on some rather expensive white wine, listening to your father go on and on about his life, never missing an opportunity to talk about you and your sister.

it was inevitable that at some point you would have to speak to steve. especially as you were his new babysitter and seemed to be over there a hell of a lot, working.

‘she’s great, isn’t she?’ your dad boasts, standing between you and steve.

your eyes meet his, a sight you’d actually missed all night. taking your bottom lip between your teeth, a small knowing smile on your lips.

‘yeah, absolutely.. i’d be lost without her,’ steve grins, nudging your dads arm. his eyes don’t leave yours, blood rushing to your cheeks, playing it off as just being bashful at all of the attention.

‘you’re over there enough, i’m surprised you let her have the night off,’ your dad laughs, slinging his arm around your shoulder and rubbing your arm.

‘ahh of course, she can have anything she wants,’ he clears his throat, continuing to make heavy eye contact, ‘she’s such a big help y’know?’

‘too right,’ your dad laughs, clinking his glass against steve’s.

you want to get the fuck out of there, unsure if you had the strength to not fucking pounce on steve the second your dad looked away.

the chat goes on for a little while, switching topics to unimaginably boring topics like whatever it was they did for work. steve had attempted to explain it to you, not that it was much help.

the small group disperses into their own groups and you’re left stood opposite steve, clutching onto your wine glass trying your damn hardest not to let your eyes falter to his package.

he leans in, whispering into your ear, ‘come and find me in five minutes.. there’s an empty meeting room down the hall, you’ll know which one,’ before pulling away, you suspect to go to said room.

you almost don’t want to. let him sit there waiting on his own as revenge for the flirtatious words he’d spoken about you to your dad. you don’t. obviously.

there was not a chance you could leave him be, especially not with the way he looked tonight.

besides, it was kinda fun. risky. there wasn’t much risk involved when you were at his house. other than dodging nancy in the mornings and hoping praying that the kids wouldn’t walk in in the middle of the night.

you give a quick look around, patting the older woman on the arm as you break away from the conversation you were only half-included in. trying not to trip over your feet as you exit, trying to find this meeting room.

there’s a row of almost identical doors and you want to curse him out when the last door in the corridor is adorned with a large, silver 69 nailed to the wood.

you open the door slowly, edging your way into the room when you’re pulled into the darkness. large hands grabbing at your waist holding your body against his chest.

‘oh my god,’ you say, almost too loudly, holding yourself steady as you grip onto his shirt sleeves.

‘shh..’ he hushes, you can just about make out his features from the small amount of light being let into the room. half of his face engulfed in the shadows.

‘you’re a child,’ you smirk, slightly tipsy and very much desperate for his touch.

‘i knew you’d find it,’ he chuckles, fingers digging into the fat around your waist, eager to feel the skin beneath your dress.

‘you’re not fu-,’ you’re interrupted by his lips crashing against yours, trying to pull you even closer. he’d mesh your skin with his if he could.

your hands move to cup his face, palms running against the stubble on his cheeks. jesus christ he could have you right here. you wouldn’t even care at this point.

his fingers inch your already short dress up, riding to the top of your thighs. you slip your tongue into his mouth, the one tiny bit of dominance you had in this situation.

a low groan rumbles into your mouth as one hand glides down his torso, stopping just above his belt. he manoeuvres both of you backwards, crashing into a rogue desk, fingertips surely leaving bruises as they clutch onto you.

‘we can’t,’ he mumbles, lips resting on the side of your mouth, leaving small, wet kisses as your fingers work on undoing his belt buckle.

‘we can,’ you nod frantically, aching to feel him inside of you.

the metal clanks together as you get it unbuckled, sliding a hand into his pants, palming above his boxers at his growing cock as he grunts into your mouth. falling apart at your touch.

the hallway light flickers on fully, footsteps leading up the corridor, stopping just before the room you were in. you pull your head back, eyes wide, just about seeing his worried expression.

‘well we’re about to do the cake, where is she?’ the voice you now recognise as your sister’s echoes in the hallway.

hand still comfortably dipped into his trousers as your head snaps to the door, making desperate pleas to god and anyone else above that she’d turn back around.

‘shit..’ he whispers, pulling your hand from his boxers by your wrist, distressed as your sister walks further up the hallway and back down.

you’re confident she’s back in the main hall as you exhale, relief washing over you, ‘oh my god,’ you giggle slightly, it was pretty funny now the immediate threat had gone.

steve does not share the amusement, his face straight as zips his pants back up, pulling away from you. you screw up your face in confusion, yanking your dress back down to an appropriate length.

‘jesus fucking christ,’ he huffs, tucking his shirt back in.

‘oh c’mon.. it’s fine, she doesn’t know.. no one knows,’ you frown, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to reassure him.

‘this was a stupid idea,’ jerking his arm away.

‘this was your idea,’ utterly dumbfounded by his attitude, nothing bad had happened so was the annoyance really necessary?

‘i know that- look, you should get back out there,’ he shoos you off to the door.

‘why are you being so weird? it’s fine,’ you breathe, now slightly offended that he was being so mean.

‘go.. they’re looking for you,’ patting your back, ‘i’ll slip out in a minute.’

one of the downsides to an older man definitely included his lack of a sense of humour. you didn’t appreciate having to explain simple jokes or why you found something funny. it was as if he felt the need to be serious about everything.

you shake your head as you slip out of the door, making sure the hallway was empty. there’s a lump in your throat. he still clearly thought of you as a child. someone that needed to be told what to do.

steve doesn’t make eye contact with you for the rest of the night. carefully averting his eyes when you’d try desperately to garner his attention. you don’t even notice him slip out of the door, deserting your plans to go over when the party had ended.

it all felt terribly embarrassing. not that you’d even done anything wrong. it was his idea to go to the room. nothing had even happened, your sister still had no idea anything was even happening between you.

you call him when you’re eventually home and sure everyone else was asleep. sitting cross-legged on your bed, the phone pulled over and resting on your lap.

‘hello?’ he speaks groggily into the phone. you’re shocked he’d even answered.

‘oh hello, d’you remember me?’ you reply, still slightly tipsy and now sharing the anger he’d obviously felt earlier.

he sighs and you can hear him sit up, bedsheets rustling in the back, ‘i’m sorry.. it was just- that was too close.. i can’t lose my job, you know that.’

‘nothing even happened, steve! you’re not gonna lose your fucking job,’ you snap, gripping onto the plastic receiver.

‘i know.. i just have to be careful- we have to be careful,’ once again trying to spin it as if you’d been the one to drag him into the damned room.

‘we are,’ you swallow, vision blurred as the lump in your throat reappears, ‘i know you’re scared but you don’t have to take it out on me.’

he exhales, ‘okay, i’m sorry,’ sounding only slightly remorseful.

‘i wanna see you,’ you sniff, wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, ‘can i come over?’

‘it’s late,’ he notes, you can hear the sheets rustle again and the soft padding of his feet as he gets up.

‘that doesn’t answer my question,’ deepening your frown, picking at a loose thread on your shorts.

you can still hear him doing whatever the fuck he was doing in the background, ‘i’ll be there in fifteen.. round the back.’

your frown immediately disappears, ‘okay,’ putting the phone down and jumping from your bed, getting your stuff ready to go.

you’re there waiting for him around the back of your house, an empty dimly lit road. you practically ran to his car when his headlights turned the corner.

sliding into the seat, slightly damp from the rain that’d started, he looks over quickly before speeding off. not giving anyone the chance to spot you.

there’s a small silence before you speak up, ‘i’m sorry,’ apologising for seemingly nothing. it didn’t matter, really. as long as he wasn’t mad anymore.

his hand comes over, resting on your knee, ‘we just have to be careful.. i wasn’t really angry.’

‘i know,’ you nod, though you didn’t. he seemed angry enough. enough to outwardly upset you.

you swallow any feelings of dejection. he'd apologised after all. what was the issue?

-

steve had been awfully quiet. suddenly not requiring your services as often. being overly cautious about your relationship, calling every few days and only inviting you over when the kids were with nancy.

you’re not afraid to bring it up when you do eventually go over. he was faffing about with some paperwork, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as you sit and watch.

‘why are you being so off with me?’ you speak up, curling your feet up underneath you.

‘hmm?’ he hums, barely lifting his head to acknowledge the fact you’d just spoken to him.

you huff, ‘you’re not even listening,’ crossing your arms over your chest.

‘i am,’ he slowly tears his eyes from the paper, looking over at you, ‘what’d you say?’

‘i said, why are you being weird with me?’

‘what?’ shaking his head, looking back at the numbers on the sheet.

you want to scream. tear the piece of paper into tiny shreds and sprinkle them across the living room.

‘you don’t call me, you don’t want to see me.. i don’t understand what i’ve done,’ you frown, shifting your position to face him fully.

he sighs, long and exaggerated, ‘that’s not true, nancy’s had the kids more.. i just haven’t needed you here as much,’ shrugging you off.

‘oh, so now i’m only your babysitter? you only need me here to fuck, is that it?’

‘you’re twisting my words,’ he finally puts the paper down completely, taking his glasses off and placing them on top of the pile.

‘so what am i? your babysitter or your girlfriend? i’m getting confused,’ sarcastic as you were losing your temper. he was great at evading the question at hand.

he blinks, ‘i’m not gonna argue with you, if that’s what you’re looking for,’ rubbing his temples.

‘answer the question.’

he’d never explicitly called you his girlfriend. you’d just sort of assumed that your relationship had gone past secret hookups. what with all the time spent together, the long hours spent chatting and the occasional, far-too-expensive gifts he’d gotten you.

‘you’re my.. i don’t know, my girlfriend?’ he’s so nonchalant with it all. only pissing you off further.

it was blatantly obvious just why his previous marriage hadn’t worked out.

‘do you want that?’ you ask earnestly, narrowing your eyes at him.

‘well not when you’re like this.’

it must’ve been a skill of his, to make you feel so crazy. so guilty for just wanting some clarification on your relationship.

you’re left speechless, opening your mouth to reply but nothing coming out. you look down, trying not to let him see your tears.

‘you know how i feel about you,’ he sighs, caressing your cheek, running his thumb over the blushed skin.

you nod under his grasp, squeezing your eyes to stop them from leaking.

‘yeah? you gonna stop being silly?’ he says softly, moving in closer. your eyes meet his, watering as a rogue tear slips out and rolls onto his hand.

you felt like a petulant child. like you’d just been told off and needed to be comforted. except, you only wanted to be comforted by him. his touch being the only thing to settle you.

you’d do anything to keep that. even if it meant biting your tongue and being ignored a few times a week.

he smiles when you place your hand above his, leaning into his touch. accepting that to have this, you had to take whatever he would give you.

[fallen-gravity]

One Call Away

It's 1982. Somewhere in New Mexico, Stan recieves a phone call from not-quite his brother. Someone is threatening to take his life. Whether Ford himself is desperately reaching out for help, or someone else entirely has him at gunpoint, Stan knows one thing for sure: He needs to find him and fast.

Alternatively: An AU where the payphone Bill used to call Stan while posessing Ford worked, and Stan is actually forced to listen to his "brother" threaten to kill himself.

Notes:

Caution: This fic has MAJOR spoilers for The Book of Bill. Proceed with caution.

Author's Note 2 Electric Boogaloo: God, this book has had a huge grip on my psyche all week. I'm losing my mind. I'm going absolutely feral. I lost my shit at the section of the Missing Journal 3 Pages where Ford revealed that Bill tried to make a phone call in his name to Stan threatening to kill himself. I audibly gasped. I read it three times. God. I'm insane.

No character death tag because nobody dies! This fic ends on a positive note, I promise :')

AO3 Link

Or under the cut:

When you’ve been scamming suckers out of their money as long as Stan has, you come to learn to expect that anything can happen. You learn to tend to your own injuries, you learn the best escape routes, you learn as many languages as you can in case you need to flee the country, you learn to disappear without a trace; when you expect everything, you learn to let nothing surprise you.

When you have a public phone line that anyone can call, you learn to expect that only about half of those calls are gonna be potential new customers eager to try out your products. When you’ve been relying on these new customers to provide the money for your next meal, you tend to pay attention to patterns; you notice when your commercials air, how many customers are likely to call in, and how long it takes for customers to realize they’ve been scammed and call back demanding their money back. To most, it looks like the world’s most elaborately thought out scam they’ve ever seen. To you, it’s survival.

Expect everything so you can be prepared for anything. That’s how Stan sees it, anyway. As long as he’s prepared, nothing can catch him off guard. If he knows what’s coming, he’ll never have to wake up in the trunk of a car with his hands tied behind his back ever again.

Unfortunately for Stan, though, that means being hyper-alert at all times, even in his sleep, so even the most mundane of noises can wake him up. If the couple in the hotel room next to him drops a bottle of shampoo in the shower, he’s gonna hear it and wake up. 

If the phone starts ringing at god-knows-when in the morning, he’s going to shoot up awake, even if it just turns out to be some dumb telemarketer trying to reach him about his car’s extended warranty.

The alarm clock on the hotel nightstand tells him it’s nearing four-thirty in the morning when the complimentary phone in his hotel room starts ringing. 

That’s…strange. There’s no way that could be a customer, because Stan never bothered to buy commercial spots for late night and prime time television. For one, prime time is incredibly expensive and has too many competitors who are selling actual products, and secondly, Stan’s found that he has the most success when he advertises on the daytime soap opera channels, because that’s when all the bored housewives and old folks’ homes are likely watching TV. 

Could it be someone he’s pissed off? No, that doesn’t make any sense either, because they don’t usually have the courtesy to call before they show up with a shotgun or twelve. It can’t be Ma, since she usually calls when Pa goes away on his weekend trips to Atlantic City. 

Nothing’s adding up. Every fiber in his being is telling him not to answer.

And yet… 

He fears more for what will happen to him if he doesn’t answer. 

He pats his hair down, takes a deep breath, and picks up the receiver. 

“You’ve reached Stan-Co! Totally authentic and worthwhile products. If you need it, I have it. Stan’s your man. How can I legitimately help you today?”

“Stanley!” replies an all-too familiar voice, one he hasn’t heard in nearly ten years. “Just the man I wanted to see!” he says, despite not being able to see him and having been the one who called first. 

“Wh- Stanford?!? The hell are you doin’ calling my infomercial line?” Stan splutters, too shocked to even bother trying to keep his voice down. 

“Awww, that’s not a very nice hello for your favorite brother, is it?” Ford’s voice replies, sounding like he’s suppressing hysterical laughter. 

Something’s wrong.

 Stan may not have spoken to his brother in years, but he can instantly tell that something’s wrong.

“Stanford, what the hell is going on?”

There’s a short pause, and then Ford blows a raspberry into the receiver. “You’re no fun! I thought for sure you’d cry like a baby when I called!” 

Yeah, okay, something is definitely wrong. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on, Ford? Why the hell are you calling me so late? Why me? I thought you hated my guts!”

“Oh, I do!” Ford replies without a drop of hesitation, giggling like a madman. “But I don’t have much time, and there’s something really important I need to say, and you’re the only person I want hearing what I’m about to say.” There’s something…off about the way he sounds, not quite the slur of someone who’s drunk and far too energetic to be that of someone lacking sleep. But there’s something almost garbled about it, like he’s not all that aware of what he’s saying, and if Stan listens close enough he’s sure that he can hear an echo.

But Stan can recognize the cheap, static-y sound of someone calling from a payphone anywhere. Wherever Ford is, he’s calling from outside, and the last time Stan checked the only places outside that echoed were either very high up, very dangerous, or both of them put together. Stan does his best to repress the lump forming in his throat trying to imagine what kind of danger he possibly could’ve gotten himself into, especially if he felt the need to call him, rather than the cops, but he still can’t quite shake the tremble in his voice when he replies.

“Not much time? C’mon, Ford, don’t say that! I can help you! Screw this cold shoulder bullshit! I can help you! Just tell me what’s going on so we can figure this out together!”

An eerily long pause, and the next time Ford speaks it’s as if he brought the phone as close to his mouth as he possibly could. 

“You’re too late,” he replies, colder and more dismissive as Stan’s ever heard in his entire life. “I’m going to take a swim in the frozen lake tomorrow, and I might not ever come back, so if you don’t hear from me, I just want you to know that it’s because I never loved you. Buh-Byeeeeee!” 

“WAIT!” Stan screeches, and thankfully it’s enough to stop Ford from hanging up. “Ford, c’mon, there’s gotta be something I can do! You’re acting crazy! I’m not asking anymore, I’m begging! Where the hell are you?”

Another pause. 

Then, a voice that doesn’t sound anything like Ford’s.

“Oh, goody! An audience! You want to watch him die so badly, that’s fine by me! I’ll even hold off just for you!” An ear-shatteringly high pitched cackle. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. If you want him, come and get him.”

“Him?! Who the hell is-” Stan snaps, but before he can ask any more questions, Ford hangs up, and all Stan is left with is the droning buzz of the dial tone.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Either Ford’s lost his mind and really is planning to off himself, or someone else is threatening to do it for him. Shit. Shit. Stan has to go now. Everything else be damned, if he doesn’t leave before this other maniac gets bored of waiting then Ford’s not gonna be there at all when he finally makes it to Oregon. That’s nearly halfway across the country from his hotel in New Mexico as is, so he already doesn’t have any time to spare.

He leaps out of bed, reaching underneath until he finds his duffle bag, and practically tears the place apart trying to get all of his belongings together. There’s something in his gut telling him he’s not coming back any time soon, and even if Ford had miraculously said he was only one state over, Stan isn’t willing to risk leaving behind anything important, weaponry included. How’s Stan supposed to know what kind of bullshit Ford got himself into? How could he live with himself if he assumed all was well and left his brass knuckles behind, only to find his brother half-dead in an alleyway somewhere? 

He’s not risking it. Even if everything is fine, and Ford had only sounded like that because he was drunk off his ass and had no idea what he was actually saying, Stan’s not risking it.

Even if Ford doesn’t want him in his life, Stan’s not willing to risk losing him. Not again. Not permanently. 

Once he has all his stuff together, Stan scribbles down a half-assed apology for housekeeping and tapes it to the door alongside a twenty dollar bill. He hastily tosses all of his stuff in the back of the car, and speeds off out of the hotel parking lot as if it were his own life on the line. He doesn’t want to think about the worst case scenarios, so for now he focuses only on the road signs for directions to the closest pit stop and hopefully enough energy drinks to last him the twenty-something hour drive he’s about to make. 

Thankfully, the closest one is less than an hour away and open 24/7 to boot, so Stan is sure that his luck is turning around; all he has to do is pop in, grab a few things, and be on his way. He’ll be in Oregon before he knows it.

That is, of course, until he realizes that none of the maps at the place even have a so-called Gravity Falls listed on any of them.

“Uh, hey,” Stan calls out to the worker behind the cash register, who looks like he’s falling asleep where he stands. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Gravity Falls is, do you? Gravity Falls, Oregon?” 

At first Stan’s not entirely sure if the poor guy even heard him, but then the worker eyes him up and down and sighs heavily. “You makin’ fun of me or something?”

Stan blinks. “What? No, A’course not!” he sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t exactly have a lot of time here! I don’t know why I can’t find it on any of your brochure maps, but I’ve got a gut feeling that someone I love is in a lot of danger and I need to get there as fast as I possibly can. Do you know where it is or not?”

For a brief moment the man still doesn’t answer, eyeing him up and down again, before he sighs and leans forward, like the information he’s about to give him is top-secret government information. “Alright,” he whispers, and glances around the store to make sure the two of them are alone. “I’ve heard things. Rumors. Crazy stories about ghouls and goblins and people who come and go without a trace of memory of who they were before they entered that town. I’ve got a general idea of where it is, but I’m not confident. If you’re willing to listen, I’ve got theories.”

Under any other circumstances, Stan would wave him off as insane and book it out of there as fast as he could, but he’s desperate for any information he can get, and he’s not entirely sure when the next time he’ll find anyone even remotely familiar with the town will even be. So Stan agrees, and does his best not to show how insane he thinks this worker is as he starts going off about the supernatural and monsters that sound like they belong in a Saturday morning cartoon. 

If Ford really is anywhere near any kind of place that fits this man’s stories, it’s no wonder he sounded like he was starting to lose his mind. 

After listening to the man ramble on for god knows how long and watching him draw circles in the map where he thinks the town could be, Stan thanks him by actually paying for what he came in for before jumping back into his car and speeding down the highway as fast as he possibly can. 

It’s an agonizing two day drive, only stopped by the times Stan fell asleep at the wheel and forced himself to pull over and take a nap, and the time he was so desperate for food that he pulled off at some truck stop (with admittedly the grossest food he’s eaten since becoming homeless) for a hot meal. If it were up to him, he would’ve done the whole drive in one go, but it was when he nearly careened his car off a cliff trying to stay awake that he realized that he wouldn’t be any good to his brother dead, so he resolved to also take short driving breaks here and there to make sure he kept his energy up; if he really does need to fight someone when he gets there, he’s gonna need all the strength he can get. 

Thankfully, upon arrival at Gravity Falls, Ford’s place of residence is much easier to find than Stan had feared; for a guy who’d been longing for a place he belonged since early childhood, Ford sure likes to stick out like a sore thumb wherever he goes. As soon as Stan goes around town asking townsfolk if anyone had seen anyone who looked like him “except a lot smarter, I guess,” nearly every single person he asks points off in the same direction of the woods and gives him the same confused sort of I think he lives somewhere in there. If he hadn’t gotten it from at least five separate people, Stan would’ve been sure that they were all screwing with him. 

And, as it turns out…every single one of them is right. It doesn’t take that much venturing in the woods for Stan to come across the giant cabin aglow in eerie blue lighting and surrounded by tall fences of barbed wire with pieces of cardboard stapled to it and “KEEP OUT” written on them in shaky handwriting. If Ford is anywhere, it’s here. 

Now…breaking into somewhere he’s not allowed? Stan can do that in his sleep. He’s done it hundreds of times, and he’ll probably do it another hundreds of thousands of times again before he dies.

But… 

Seeing his brother again? 

That terrifies him to his very core. Reason for driving all the way out here aside, there’s still a very real chance Ford’s gonna tell him he still never wants to see him again and slam the door in his face, and then Stan’s really gonna have nowhere to go. After everything, if Stan rescues Ford from whatever’s after him and he still tells him to leave and never come back?

What then?

…No. That’s not what matters right now. He can worry about that later.

With a shake of his head to brush off his thoughts, Stan rams his car into the fence hard and fast enough to topple it to the ground. He drives down the path until he’s close enough to the front entrance that he can hop out of his car as quickly as he can, but hidden enough that he won’t be seen if someone (or something) tries to escape.

Stan takes a deep breath as he exits his car and makes his way to the front door, and finds himself hesitating to knock the door as soon as he’s on the porch steps.

It’s for his own good, Stan tells himself. It’s for his own good. I’m just trying to help. It’s for his own good. 

He stamps down on any last remnants of hesitation and knocks on the door, loud enough for Ford to hear but gently enough to hopefully assure him that it isn’t anyone who wants to hurt him. Almost instantaneously, Stan can hear the sound of objects falling and glass shattering from inside, like a spooked deer trying to dodge the headlights of an oncoming truck. Stan’s sure he can hear the sound of someone muttering, and he’s relieved beyond comparison that it’s the only voice he can hear coming from inside.  

Because he can tell that it’s Ford’s voice. 

Which means he’s still alive.

Stan huffs out a huge sigh of relief, and subconsciously begins patting down the wrinkles in his clothes to make himself more presentable. He waits, and he waits, but despite Stan knowing he heard Ford stumbling around inside, he never comes to answer the door. 

Stan frowns. This is going to be even harder than he thought. Stan tries again, this time knocking exactly six times in the hopes that it’ll clue Ford in on the fact that it’s just him at the door.

As it turns out, though, that seems to be an even bigger mistake than knocking normally, because now the noises coming from inside sound even more frightened. From inside, Stan can hear a muffled string of curse words, followed by the sound of some piece of furniture being knocked over, and finally, the sound of feet trying and failing to sneakily run across a squeaky hardwood floor.  Stan’s about to give up, head into town, and try reaching Ford from a payphone instead, but the door slowly starts to creak open before Stan has the chance to step down from the porch and get back in his car. 

“Stay back!” Ford shrieks, his voice trembling. Stan still can’t quite see him, because he’s too distracted by the crossbow being shoved in his face. “I don’t care who you’re pretending to be, I will shoot if you try anything!”

Ford finally steps out into view, and Stan’s heart falls to his stomach. Sweet Moses, he looks so much worse than Stan ever could’ve imagined. His hair is a wreck, sticking up in some places and sticking to the side of his face in others. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, which Stan can only hope is from crying and not something…worse. There’s a dried streak of blood running down from his right eye, and there’s scratches and cuts splattered around his face. He’s wearing a ratty trench coat, and the white shirt underneath is practically falling off of his body, concerningly torn to bits at the chest area. And from what’s left of the poor shirt, there’s splotches of vomit mixed with some other…unrecognizable liquids.

Stan can feel a foul-tasting bile rising in his throat at the sight of him. Surely anyone else would flee, thinking him to be clinically insane, but Stan refuses to sit around and ignore whatever caused his brother to turn out like…this. 

“Stanford?” Stan splutters, failing to keep the shock out of his voice. “What the ever-loving  fuck is going on?” 

Somehow, that of all things is what seems to snap Ford out of his trance. He’s still clinging to his crossbow, but his fingers aren’t on the trigger anymore and his eyes are already looking less foggy than when he’d opened the door a minute prior. He blinks and rubs at his eyes, and takes a cautious, shaky step forward, like he’s afraid the ground will shatter like glass under his feet if he moves too quickly. 

“S-Stanley?” Ford whispers, more to himself than to Stan, but Stan can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes him. 

He’s not too far gone. There’s still hope. Stan goes to take another step forward, but before he has the chance, all the color drains from Ford’s face.

“Oh no,” Ford whispers, and the crossbow slips from his hand. “Oh no no no no no no no,” he mumbles, retreating back inside without closing the door. He comes back out moments later, gripping a flashlight in one hand and a VHS tape in the other. 

Out of nowhere, Ford grabs Stan by the shoulders, prompting a surprised yelp out of him, and even more out of nowhere, Ford takes the flashlight and flashes it in his eyes. 

“Ow! What gives!?” Stan exclaims, pulling himself out of Ford’s grip and rubbing at his eyes with his wrist. When his vision finally readjusts from the assault, he’s surprised to see that Ford’s whole posture has relaxed significantly. Sure, he still looks frightened out of his mind, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to shatter to pieces anymore. 

“How long have you been here?” Ford asks, completely ignoring Stan’s previous questions. 

“Uhh…” Stan pauses, admittedly taken aback by the question. “About an hour, I think?” he shrugs. “Had some trouble finding you, since some of the folks I asked around town didn’t seem to know who I was talking about when I asked about you.”

Ford’s eyes widen in horror. “You asked around town about me?” He splutters, but then clears his throat to regain his composure. “Did anyone try to get anything out of you? Were you followed?” 

Stan snorts. “Puh-lease. The most dangerous person around here is probably me, and I haven’t eaten a healthy meal in weeks.” He shakes his head. “Nobody said anything. And if I was followed, I’d know. It’s something you learn to look out for when you’ve been living on the streets for ten years.” There’s a shred more resentment in his tone than he meant for it to be, but it seems to get the message across well enough. Ford sighs, and gestures inside. 

“Come in,” Ford mumbles, his gaze falling to the ground. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time.” Without waiting for Stan, Ford turns heel and hastily returns inside. Stan does his best to follow close behind, but stops dead in his tracks as soon as he steps foot inside. 

The whole place is trashed. 

Trashed far beyond what Stan thought a single human could ever be capable of. There’s papers scattered everywhere, bottles of ink spilled and pooling everywhere, cupboards with holes smashed into the doors, broken plates and twisted rusty nails scattered all over the floor, a concerningly bloodied hammer on the kitchen countertop, multiple windows boarded up with splintered wood, and empty boxes of instant coffee mix strewn all around the kitchen.

Most concerningly of all, there’s a door that leads somewhere that’s covered with scratches and dripping with blood, and Stan’s not entirely sure whether that means something wanted in or if something was desperate to get out. 

Stan’s not entirely sure which thought he prefers. 

He doesn’t have too much time to stew on that, though, because he’s pulled from his thoughts by the loud thwack of plastic being smacked against the wall. He turns to the source of the noise, and he’s surprised to find Ford desperately trying to break the VHS tape in half. When that doesn’t work, he groans in frustration and resolves to throwing it on the ground. 

“Uh…Stanford?” Stan tries, and reaches out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Ford moves swiftly in another direction before he can reach him.

“I can’t do it,” Ford’s voice wavers with emotion. His head droops in defeat, and though his back is turned, Stan can see him cover his face with his hands. “I can’t do it. I’m too late. I can’t do it.”  He starts to shake even harder, like his body wants him to cry but he’s forcing it not to happen because he needs to stay strong.

For who? Himself? For Stan? For someone else?

“Hey, hey…” Stan drops his voice to a whisper, hoping a calmer tone of voice will be more likely to get a proper reply out of Ford. Stan is one-hundred percent not calm, and is in fact getting more and more freaked out the longer he doesn’t get a reply, but the last thing he needs is to stress Ford out even more than he already is. “S’alright. I’m here, okay? Whatever it is I can help you with. I don’t even care if it involves any nerdy-smarts stuff. I can learn it for you. I can help you.”

For a few brief moments, Ford’s heavy breathing pauses. He turns to look at Stan, and it’s hard not to flinch at the fact that he’s looking more and more like a kicked, abused puppy. He looks like he’s genuinely considering replying, even goes to open his mouth, but clamps down on that moments later when another thought seemingly comes to him. 

“I…” he stammers, and violently shakes his head again. “I can’t. I could never.” He starts pacing back and forth in place, rubbing his arms up and down together in a failed attempt to self-sooth. “I wish I could, but…” he trails off, but stops before he can allow himself to finish. He violently shakes his head again, like he’s not allowing himself to even think that things could possibly get better. 

Stan scowls. That’s the last straw. 

“Stanford.” Stan speaks firmly, and grabs at both of his brother’s shoulders. His grip is gentle enough not to hurt him, but strong enough to prevent him from squirming away. As it turns out, though, the strength isn’t very necessary, since Ford practically goes limp in his arms at the touch. 

“Stanford,” Stan repeats as he turns Ford around to force him to look him in the eyes. “I’m not asking anymore. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I know for a fact that I didn’t just haul my ass all the way out to Oregon from New Mexico worried sick to death that my brother was going to kill himself just for him to push me away again. I don’t know if something happened to you after you got rejected from that fancy nerd school, or if someone’s after you, or if you really are thinking about killing yourself. I don’t care if that phone call from the other day was a threat or just a drunk dial you made after watching too much Galaxy Sci-Fi Wars, or what, but I don’t need any of that to see how much trouble you’re in! You’re shaking! You’re hurt! Your house looks like it was hit by every single natural disaster all at once! I don’t care how it happened, I care that it happened. Talk to me, Stanford. I’m not leaving until you talk.”

There’s a heavy pause. Ford’s eyes are darting all around Stan’s face, and Stan’s not quite sure what he’s looking for. He doesn’t look angry or offended, but he doesn’t look all that convinced, either. It’s almost as if there’s a deep-rooted sadness in his gaze, like Ford’s not fully convinced of his honesty, and that breaks Stan’s heart more than anything else.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ford finally replies, breaking eye contact but not bothering to break out of Stan’s grip.

Stan wants to laugh. If the situation were less dire, he would laugh. “Wouldn’t understand?” he replies, gently shaking Ford’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t understand what? Having a target on your back wherever you go? An expensive bounty on your head? You think I don’t understand having to sleep with one eye open? With having to pack everything up as soon as possible because you might not survive the night if you don’t leave? Or do you think I don’t understand being too scared to try leaving, because you feel like the moment you’re out of a so-called ‘safe zone’ is the moment someone’s gonna kidnap you? Or throw you in the trunk of their car? Or do something much, much worse to you? Just because you pissed off the wrong guy? Do y’really think I don’t understand that, Ford? I understand that better than anybody. I understand that better than I’m willing to admit.” 

One final pause, and then Ford sighs heavily enough that Stan can feel the tension slumping off of his body.  Stan finally releases his grip on him, and Stan is hugely relieved to notice that Ford’s posture already looks significantly more relaxed. 

“You’re right,” Ford mumbles, and stretches his arms into the air to try and release any extra remaining tension. “You’re right,” he repeats, and nervously scratches at his chin. “Plus, uh…it probably would be easier to deal with this alongside someone else. I’ve…” he trails off, as if too embarrassed to finish. “I’ve been alone with my…thoughts for far too long. Some human company might do me some good.” 

Stan snorts. “Ha! Listen to yourself. Human company might do me some good. If I’d shown up any later you would’ve turned into a full-time nerd robot!”

Ford cracks the tiniest of smiles at that, whether he’s aware of it or not, and then it’s right back to business as usual. “Alright, fine. You got me.” He rubs at the back of his head. “There’s…someone after me. Someone who wants me dead. I don’t really know how to explain it to you, but it wasn’t exactly…me that called you the other night. I mean, it technically was, since I was the one who was speaking, but it was more like…he was forcing me to say those things. There’s something of mine that he wants, but I’m afraid that if he gets his hands on it, it’s going to hurt a lot of people. No, scratch that, I know it’s going to hurt a lot of people. I know that, and he knows that, and that’s why he wants it. But that’s also why I refuse to give it to him. It’s a big vicious game of cat and mouse. He wants it, I don’t give it to him, he retaliates with violence. There’s no winning.” He takes a deep breath, clearly trying his damn hardest not to spiral again. “Either I give him what he wants or he kills me taking it by force.” He buries his face into his hands. “I can’t do it.” He whimpers. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“...Bullshit.” 

Stan doesn’t even realize he’d blurted that out loud until Ford pulls his face from his hands to stare at him slack-jawed. “Come again?” 

“I said that’s total bullshit.” Stan replies, firmly standing his ground. “Listen, Ford, I’ve been dealing with his type for a lot longer than I’m willing to admit, and lemme tell you something; that’s just what he wants you to think. He wants you to give up and assume everything’s hopeless, because the moment you lose hope and stop fighting is the moment he’ll strike. He wants you to think he’s got no weakness, because that makes it so much easier to exploit yours. Everyone’s got ‘em, Sixer, but only the cockiest and most powerful aren’t willing to admit that they’ve got ‘em, too. And you wanna know a secret? They don’t like to admit they’ve got weaknesses because they know what it does to them. They know the second anyone finds out about their weakness that they’re just like the rest of us. If we know their weaknesses, we can fight back, and that terrifies those suckers to their very core. That’s the kind of stuff that sends them running home to their mamas. If there’s even an inkling of a chance that someone’s gonna knock them off of their pedestal, or that nobody’s afraid of them anymore because we’ve got ‘em figured out, that’s what gets them. They get so obsessed over the power they have on others that they forget to stop and consider that others can have power over them.”

“I’m telling you, Sixer, no matter what this guy tries to convince you, he’s just sayin’ it to keep you complacent. He wants you to think he’s got no weakness because he’s terrified at the idea of losing his power over you. Once you stop letting him control you, he’ll have nowhere else to stand. Once he loses you, he loses everything. It’s not about whether or not you can fight back, it’s about how you’re gonna fight back. Because once you fight back and you take control, he’s gonna have nowhere to run, and then he’s gonna be the one backed into a corner. You can fight back. You can tell him no.”

“B-but-” 

“Up up up, I don’t wanna hear it” Stan waggles a finger in his face. “If I’m still alive after all I’ve been through, I sure as hell know that you’re gonna make it, too. If I can chew my way out of the trunk of a car and tunnel my way out of a Colombian prison using nothing but cheap plastic cutlery, you can break away from whatever hold this guy has on you. Don’t sit around and wait for this guy to strike, you gotta stand up and strike first. He’ll never see it coming.” He slaps Ford on the back. “You’re a smart guy, Sixer, I’m sure that you of all people could figure out how to outsmart this guy. 

Ford looks like he wants to believe him, like he wants to hope that things are gonna be okay, but there’s something that’s still tethering him to his fears. There’s the briefest spark of hope in his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly as it arrived.

“I wish I could believe you, Stanley, but Bill, he’s-” Ford starts, but flinches like he’s been shot when he accidentally uses this other guy’s name. It breaks Stan’s heart to see his brother so fearful for his life, but it also makes his blood boil over with rage thinking about the power this guy’s got over him.

 What, is saying his name gonna summon him or something? Did this Bill guy plant bugged cameras all over the house so he could keep a constant eye on Ford so he’ll know if he’s ever thinking of pulling something over his eyes? Is that why Ford’s place is so trashed? Did he tear the place apart looking for secret cameras and hidden microphones? What gives?  

Ford freezes, as if he’s actually expecting this guy to kick his door in, and when nothing happens he audibly sighs in relief. 

Stan crosses his arms. “But what? This Bill guy’s supposed to be different? More powerful? I’m tellin’ ya, he’s no different than any of the other jerks I’ve had to deal with.” He jabs another finger in Ford’s direction. “And even if he was, by some chance? Even if this guy is somehow the most powerful and feared dictator in the whole universe, what’s the first thing I said when I got here?”

Ford goes to respond, but then his cheeks burn red and stops, a clear sign that he’s forgotten. 

“I said I’m here for you. I’m here because I want to help you. I could stand here and lecture you about crime lords all day, but nothing’s ever going to change if you don’t let me help you. I don’t care how big and tough this guy thinks he is! You’re my brother, Stanford. Nothing else matters more to me than my family. You even said it yourself earlier!” Stan throws his arms into the air in an exasperated manner. “Two heads are always gonna be better than one. Two pairs of fists are also always gonna be better in a fight. You don’t have to magically stop being afraid of this guy, but I’m telling you that it’s gonna be a lot easier if you have someone fightin’ the good fight with you. I wish I had someone when I was on the run from Rico and his gang.” 

Ford frowns. “Stanley…” 

“Point is,” Stan waves him off before he can go down a guilt-ridden spiral. “I’m not leaving. Matter of fact, I’m not asking you anymore. I’m telling you. I’m staying. Until we get this whole thing sorted out and send this Bill guy running for the hills, I’m not leaving. Protest all you want, but I’m gonna stay right here by your side until you feel safe again. Hell, I’ll even sleep on the front porch as lookout if you need me to! I’m tellin’ ya, I’m done asking nicely. I won’t let you kick me out this time, Ford. I’m here for ya through thick and thin.” 

For a few painstakingly long moments, Ford doesn’t respond. But he does look like he’s deep in thought, which is a hell of a lot better than all of the flinching and nervous pacing he’s been doing since Stan arrived. If nothing else, that in itself is a huge improvement. But before Stan can start again, Ford pulls a polaroid out of his trench coat pocket, and despite a gentle tear at the corner seemingly from age, it’s looking like the most well-kept object in the entire house. Stan doesn’t bother sneaking a peek out of fear of breaking what little trust he seems to successfully be rebuilding with Ford, but whatever it is seems to bring him a lot of comfort; he only looks at it for a moment, but those few moments are enough to sneak a soft, nostalgic sort of smile onto his face.

“You’re right,” Ford finally says, the calmest he’s sounded all day. “I don’t think there’s any way I could tackle this on my own. But with some help?” He smiles sheepishly. “I think there’s something we could do.”

“There he is!” Stan exclaims, grabbing his brother in a chokehold and giving his hair a rough noogie. “I knew my brother was still in there somewhere!” he grins, and tussles him up one more time before letting go. “And hey, maybe after all this is over you can give Ma a call, eh? She’s worried sick about you, I just know it.”

“Hah!” Ford laughs, tiny sparks of confidence returning to his tone and posture. “Now that’s someone I’m really afraid of upsetting.”

Stan grins, and gives Ford a gentle slug on the shoulder. As hard as Ford’s trying not to show it, Stan can tell he’s starting to enjoy the company. As much as Stan really doesn’t want to admit it, he was desperate for this kind of company again. He watches for a moment as Ford starts to go around cleaning some things off the floor, and Stan can’t help but crack a smile as he goes to join him.

If there’s one thing Stan does want to admit, it’s that he never wants to lose this sort of companionship ever again. Situation be damned, he has his brother back, and that’s more than any material goods he could ever ask for.

Given the situation?

Well, he said he’d stay until Ford wasn’t afraid of this Bill character anymore. But if things were completely up to Stan?

Stan won’t stop until the guy’s dead for daring to mess with his family. 

[dexlexia]

daddy issues (ver. 1) - toji x reader

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader rating: 18+ summary: Being the princess was a hard task. Being spoiled by your daddy was such a burden on your fragile shoulders. To be waited on by the man who spoiled you was such a difficult task. You weren't too sure how one could even TRY and do it. tags: pwp, daddy kink, smut, pet names (princess), d/s, rough sex, lingerie

Being the princess was a hard task. Being spoiled by your daddy was such a burden on your fragile shoulders. To be waited on by the man who spoiled you was such a difficult task. You weren't too sure how one could even TRY and do it. 

But you weren't the princess of a big castle in a far off land, you were the princess of a spacious apartment in the heart of Tokyo. And the daddy who spoiled you was a perverted older man with a shit relationship with his son and needed something to fuck into the expensive mattress. 

And you were never one to say no to pretty, cute things and a thick cock that made you see stars. So being the princess of your own kingdom seemed like a fitting title for what your charmed life was. 

You woke up around noon and found that Toji was gone. You wanted to curl back into bed for another couple of hours but you had to get your day started at some point. you got on your fuzzy slippers and stretched your arms above your head, arching your back in the process. In the kitchen you found a note from Toji

 'be home tonight. wear the two piece when i get home. - t“

You brought the paper to your nose and inhaled the scent of the cologne he used and probably sprayed on the letter. You squirmed a little at your love for him as you started your day. 

A nice hot cup of coffee and toast with bananas, powdered sugar and syrup on it. You sat on the couch and watched the news as you rested your feet on top of the coffee table. You briefly remembered Toji trying to assemble the table when you first moved in. He swore up a storm as you coyly handed him different screwdrivers. Eventually he took a break and ended up fucking you on the shag carpet next to the semi built table. 

Toji could be a rough lover, he liked things that didn't break. He pushed you to your absolute limit to make sure he was getting his money's worth. He said it was like hitting the gas at full speed on an expensive car to make sure the engine didn't burst. 

Your day went by quite quickly, most of the time you were kept at the apartment. Toji worried about bad men getting their hands on you, something so sweet and fragile should be protected at all costs. But when you were inside, you had full reign of the apartment. Usually it was spent trying new recipes for Toji, snuggling with the massive stuffed animals he bought you and watch television. 

You weren't too sure when Toji was going to come home. It could be at three in the afternoon or one in the morning, he was a busy man after all. But he knew he had a sweet girl to come home to, someone who'd take care of all of his needs once he walked through that door. After all, you'd do anything for daddy, that's what made you such a good princess. 

You brought the giant brown teddy bear from the corner of the bedroom and rested against it on the couch, it smelled like him. After all, you did spray it down every few weeks with his cologne when he wasn't looking. You threw the stuffed arm over your shoulder and relaxed against it, imagining it was your daddy. You really couldn't wait until he got home, you were so excited that while in the process of getting the stuffed teddy, you laid out the two piece for him. 

The lingerie wasn't anything too special. It was a white bra and panties set with cherries printed all over it. You didn't get what turned him on about them so much, you had so many nicer, more expensive sets but he wanted you in it all the time. When you asked him, he shrugged and said the fabric was durable for when you 'played rough'.

But you wouldn't be putting it on for a while now, as you got comfy you felt your eyelids grow heavy, and it wasn't long before you fell asleep in front of the television. You weren't too sure how long you had been asleep, but then suddenly you woke up to the sound of the front door closing. You popped your head up and looked over the back of the couch to the door and saw your daddy kicking off his shoes. 

His dark eyes looked over at you and the corner of his mouth curled, “I see the princess is tired? Didn't sleep well last night?” His voice was low and deadly, it struck a chord in you as you rubbed your thighs together. He was the sorcerer killer after all, he was a force to be reckoned with. He came up to you and rounded the couch so he was in front of you. He reached down and grabbed your chin, “I thought I said I wanted you ready.”

  “I'm sorry, daddy.” You gave him puppy-dog eyes as he held onto you. There was no fucking around with Toji, you might be the spoiled princess but he was the man who funded your charmed lifestyle, his word was law within the walls of your apartment, “You didn't tell me when you were coming home.”

He reached for your ass and grabbed it tightly. His calloused hand felt your flesh as he kept his eyes on you, his grip was almost bruising which made you wet. He ran his tongue across the scar on his lip and then said, “Well, baby, you have five minutes to make yourself presentable or else you won't be sitting right for a week. One, two, three, go.” His voice was a growl as he got out of your way to let you get up and rush to the bedroom. 

He laughed to himself as he watched you run away, you really were his good little princess. He knew that he had you wrapped around his finger, he'd spoil you as long as you were good to him. But he knew you'd always be good for him, you didn't have a bad bone in your body. 

A few minutes passed, in all honesty Toji wasn't keeping track, he then called out, ”thirty seconds, princess.“ And dropped himself onto the couch, his erection strained the front of his pants. His eyes were kept on the door to the bedroom where he heard you bumping into things and cursing to yourself. It was almost adorable how you tried to keep up with him, but he never wanted you to worry your little head about anything. Just sit there, suck his cock and look pretty.

Soon the door swung open and you looked perfect. Toji grinned to himself like a crazed man, that was the princess he knew and loved, wearing something skimpy for the man's eyes only. He adjusted himself in his seat and said, ”C'mere now.“ 

You even put on the little  sheer white thigh high socks with the satin bows at the top. Perfect, perfect, perfect, Toji had no excuse to punish such a sweet angel, his darling princess. You straddled his lap and kissed him on the cheek, ”How do I look, daddy?“ 

  ”Like a dream.“ He rubbed his clothed erection up against your panties, you moaned and he grabbed onto your hips, furthing pushing it up against you.

You noticed he had a bruise on his face and went in to carefully kiss it. He hissed through the pain and then moved his head to kiss you on the lips. You had little room to protest as you just melted into his touch. You could feel yourself grow more wet as you felt his hard cock pressed up against you. 

  ”Daddy.“

  ”Yes, princess.“ 

  ”Will you fuck me on the couch?“ You asked, your tone sounded so innocent compared to what you said. Your voice made his cock twitch in his pants. Soon you were placed beside him and he began to pull down his baggy pants past his cock, he freed it and it looked impressive against the black of his athletic t-shirt. 

Then he started to fully undress you, he liked the power that came with your nude and him fully dressed. It also gave him more exposed skin to leave marks on. He pulled the panties past your thighs, if this was a cheaper pair he would've ripped them right off. Once you were nude, he leaned forward and smacked your ass as you scrambled back onto his lap. 

  ”There we go, princess. Fuckin' perfect. You're mine right? You're so addicted to my cock that no other man could satisfy you?“ He said, his dark eyes looked darker with lust as you grabbed onto his shoulders and slowly sank down on his cock. He grit his teeth as he felt his cock enter you, a tight wet heat that felt like a punch to the gut. 

You whined, ”Yes, daddy.” And sat yourself on his impressive length. You already felt hot all over, the thrill of having sex with him was exciting. You loved the feeling of his cock bullying your insides as he pushed you closer to climax. You especially loved it when he left large, dark marks on your skin, it satisfied a deep part of you that wished to be owned. 

  “Such a good girl for me. That's it, ride daddy's cock.” He licked his lips, he had that look in his eye that he got when he was fighting. It could be chalked up to the similar feeling of the thrill of the hunt. Toji was the beast and you were the bunny that he wanted to sink his teeth into. He began to bite at your chest. He sucked dark marks on your chest, leaving especially dark ones near your nipples. He knew you'd been feeling them for some time afterwards. That thought excited him. 

You moved your hips at a nice, easy pace in an attempt to accommodate yourself to his size, but the pace soon bored your daddy and he gripped your hips and started to bounce you on his cock. His lips were on one of your nipples as he bit and roughly pulled at it. That combined with the also aching feeling of his cock being pushed in and out of your poor pussy made your eyes roll back in ecstasy. 

  “That's my good girl, such a perfect princess. Always a cock slut for me. You know how to satisfy me.” He groaned as he continued to harsh movements on you. He felt painfully hard, and he couldn't wait to paint your insides white. Thoroughly owned by him. 

  “Ah, daddy!” You moaned, “Please that feels so good, thank you daddy! Yes! Yes!” You whined as your breasts bounces as you fucked him. You believed that you were a good girl, this was what you were made for. For the affection of older men who enjoyed fucking sweet pussy. 

The two of you moved on the couch, Toji could feel the sweat of his body making him stick to his t-shirt and the leather couch. He looked over and saw the stuffed animal looking back at him. He reached out for the giant toy and knocked it to the ground so it would stop staring at him.

  “Daddy, that was rude!” You whined as you gripped onto his shoulders tightly, still thrusting your hips up and down on his cock. 

  “I didn't like how he was lookin' at us, sweetheart.” He grabbed you by the hair and pulled you down for a searing kiss as you continued to move up and down on his cock. The kiss was hot and messy and you could feel his cock bruising your insides as you moved. The sensation left your mind running blank.

Toji thought you looked perfect riding him on the couch, he always thought you looked beautiful when you were nude before him. You were his dream come true as he buried his cock as deep as he could inside of you. He liked his princess, well behaved, generous with her love for him. He wanted you submissive and all hs, even if you could be a brat. 

You both felt close to orgasm as the two of you continued to fuck. The kiss soon became open mouthed and Toji's tongue was basically down your throat, muffling all noises that came from you. He grabbed your breasts and played with them, his grip was hard and you knew it would only lead to more bruising. But you loved when Toji bruised you, it made you feel good. 

You pulled away from the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck and shoved your breasts in his face to get a good position to ride him. Toji groaned at the feeling and let you work your magic on his cock. He groaned and gripped your hips once more to guide you like the good daddy he was. 

With a few more hard thrusts you soon arched your back and came around his cock. The feeling was immense as you felt all the fight leave your body as pleasure filled up your skull like cotton. You dropped yourself against him, smothering him further with your breasts. He picked up the slack however and continued to thrust up into your limp body as the curl of pleasure formed in his gut. 

Soon he was finishing inside of you with a groan, and peeled you off of him to look down at him. Your eyes were glazed over and your mouth hung slightly open as you gulped for air. He grinned and slapped your ass, the sound rang in the air, “That's it.” He purred, “That's a good girl. My darling princess, such a good slut for me.” 

You nodded, body hot all over. You slid off of his cock and by his feet on the couch. You rested your cheek on his leg as you tried to catch your breath. And he played with your hair while he relaxed. Where you belong with him. His dark eyes gazed down at you, and you looked up at him. 

He smirked at you, “Well c'mon, princess. Why don't you clean daddy up?” 

[no1heyyyyyyyy]

Ambessa's tastes

This is really just her likes and dislikes in regards to clothes, smells/scents, music, television/movies, food etc.

Due to her privilege, money, and power- Ambessa can easily enjoy the finer things in life and so in terms of music I see her really enjoying opera She really likes the opulence of it all, the outfits, storylines, makeup, the sheer technicality of opera singing I think she’d also like classical- specifically string instruments like the cello or bass. I think she’d like the deep, low sounds of those instruments more than the sometimes shrillness of a violin She probably also thinks that piano is quite pretty, because of the sheer range it has I think she’d find knowing how to play an instrument (especially an orchestral one) to be very beautiful, and is something that may get her to be more interested in someone in a romantic or sexual sense

In regards to Ambessa’s taste in food, I think it’s quite clear from the show that she likes seafood I also see her as someone who really appreciates a nice steak, she’d like it more rare as well She’d be alright with chicken, but it’s not her favorite. She doesn’t quite like the texture For vegetables I think she would want something that isn’t too overpowering because I personally think that she would love spicy food and seasoning in general She loves a home cooked meal as well (she finds cooking to be a very sensual experience to watch). Especially after a baths

I think she’s one of those people that is so used to spicy food that it barely even registers to her anymore She’s more of a taste person. If it tastes bad she won’t go near it, but if the taste is alright but the texture is off, then she can live with whatever is put in front of her I think that she quite likes savory things as well and has a love-hate relationship with sweets However I do believe that she loves fruit. So much, especially island fruits, she just gives me the vibes that she would love to have a partner hand-feed her fruits dipped in a rich dark chocolate

For clothing she quite likes soft, natural fabrics. Nothing too restricting, and with darker colors. For those reasons she does not ever wear dresses (also because she does not like them) She strives for comfort always, but she still makes sure she looks presentable and feels good in her clothes I think at home she wears glasses. Ambessa is my love, but she is also an old lady who’s vision probably isn’t what it used to be. She’d wear thick black square frames At a ball, or gala- essentially any fancy event where she can’t wear her regular get-up, she’d be wearing an immaculately tailored suit (most likely three piece with no tie) It would be either charcoal gray or black, but the button down would be a burgundy or dark red of some sort

She’d wear an expensive gold watch and a chain slightly tucked into her collar Her shoes would be expensive leather boots (think those boots all the Peaky Blinder boys wear) in either a dark brown or black No makeup except for her dark red lipstic For casual wear she’d like something soft like cotton or linen wide leg pants, something that doesn’t make her feel trapped, that she can move around in She would wear house slippers, and insist her guests do as well (if it’s a personal meeting) Ambessa is a classy lady who doesn’t like people ruining her nice rugs She’d put her hair up, with silk ponytail holders (if you know, you know), because she may be old but she would strike down God himself if she began to lose her hair I think she would enjoy soft sweaters in the house, especially when she’s snuggling with her dogs (she has big doggies, dobermans, rottweilers, german shepherds etc.)

For television and movies I think that she’d love trashy television series I know that she would be obsessed with The Real Housewives or something really trashy like Jersey Shore She would eat that shit up, constantly shaking her head at their stupidity, yelling at the tv with her dogs laying on her chest as her mouth is wide open at the shenanigans of dumbass rich people For films she would love a good film noir, or a murder mystery/whodunnit type situation, because she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from screaming out who the killer is She would have a notebook out acting like she’s playing CLUE instead of watching a movie in the dark with her dogs

I think she would also really like witty chick flicks (Heathers, Jawbreaker, Mean Girls, etc.), she’d like the dark humor and fun plot She would absolutely go see Barbie. She would love it, not for the humor but just the message- she wouldn't show it on her face but she would be deeply impressed with the film for both empowering and putting words to the feeling so many women (and women aligned/GNC/trans/nb/AFABs and more) have She would hate Oppenheimer. She would’ve left by the middle, she would’ve been so bored

She also would like Psychological Horror, but not the conventional slasher flicks, she wants nuance and meaning to her movies (she’s bougie as shit) She would really like Silence of the Lambs, Joker, American Psycho, Misery, Candyman (I know it’s technically a slasher, but I think she’d love it anyway), Hereditary, Midsommar, Gerald’s Game, mother! (she would have gotten so angry she would have had to watch the movie in thirty minute parts on different days) For scents, I think she likes things that are earthy and grounding, balsam, musk, peppercorn, cinnamon (only a little bit though), patchouli, cardamom, sandalwood, a bit of rosemary She isn’t a huge fan of candles, she likes diffusers more I think her natural scent is very neutral and can go well with a lot of things, but I think smells or sprays that would go best with her were would be woody with smells from pine, leather, tiny bit of lavender, bergamot, lemon grass, amber, cedarwood, musk, etc. Her sweat smells more neutral too, it’s a little sharp and musty, but it’s mostly undetectable to most

[ticklishraspberries]

Movies Make Ticklers More Creative (Billy/Stu)

Summary: A bad horror film leaves Stu seeking entertainment in other forms, at the expense of Billy. (Thank you to the person who suggested I use the film Ghoulies as the movie in this fic!! Here is a YouTube link to the tickle scene in this movie, it is...Something for sure!! I haven’t seen the whole movie btw, just that clip as well as reading a few articles about it, so sorry if I’ve gotten any of the lore wrong. Regardless, it has an 8% on Rotten Tomatoes, so...)

As usual, Stu’s parents aren’t home, and he is filling the silence with the sounds of beer cans cracking open, hands rustling in the bowl of popcorn, girlish screams from the television speakers, and Billy’s commentary from the couch beside him.

After making their way through all the classic horror films, the boys have resorted to watching whatever they can find, whether they end up being fantastic deep cuts, or they absolutely suck, but joking about it makes it worth the watch.

Tonight’s movie is proving to be the latter. It’s a film called “Ghoulies” from ‘85, and it’s…Well, it’s keeping them entertained, for sure, but there is nothing disturbing (nor inspiring) about it. The scares are cheap, and the dialogue is atrocious.

Billy comments that the main chick, Donna, is kind of hot. Stu hums in agreement, but his heart isn’t quite in it. When the guy takes her out by the lake, though, their interests are piqued. This should be the part where Donna loses her chance of becoming the final girl, where she loses her virginity to the first schmuck who tries, and both the teens die a terrible death for daring to engage in premarital sex.

But that’s not what happens at all. Sure, it’s PG-13, but they were expecting at least a little action. But no, Donna and Mark stay fully-clothed and…Well, Stu snorts out a laugh as the kid starts tickling her instead of trying to bang her.

“This might be the worst movie that we’ve ever watched,” Billy says. His tone is deadpan, but there’s a smirk tugging on his lips.

“Oh, by far,” Stu agrees. “It’s not scary, and it’s not sexy. You can be missing one, but not both.”

Donna on screen is shrieking, begging Mark to stop tickling her. The scene feels eternally long, and since the screaming is that of laughter rather than fear, it feels much more ear-splitting than usual.

Stu looks over and sees Billy’s face screwed up in annoyance, and that sort of moping will just not do. Sure, the film sucks, but is good company not enough to make the guy happy?

“What a way to seduce a girl, eh?” Stu says, trying to crack some jokes and lighten the mood. “Tatum would nail me in the balls if I tried that.”

Billy just exhales through his nose in amusement, and Stu decides that isn’t enough.

“I mean, dude’s got no game. What did he say to her?”

“In the creepy voice? I dunno, I think he called her a little girl though, which is fucking weird.”

“Gross. She seems to like him, though. Maybe we should be taking notes,” Stu says, placing his beer down on the coffee table. They’re basically ignoring the movie by now, and he’s overcome with the strange desire to touch his best friend in that moment, to make him laugh like the girl in the movie, and that weird-ass scene gave him perfect inspiration on how to do so.

He and Billy have been friends since middle school, and Stu’s seen sides of him that no one else has. He’s pretty sure he’s the only person who has ever seen Billy cry, other than his parents. He’s the only person that knows Billy used to be scared of the dark, or that his mom had to sleep in his bed with him until he was ten because of that fear.

And, of course, he knows about the more fucked up shit that goes on in Billy’s head. He’s seen it first hand.

Stu also knows that Billy is ticklish, something he found out by accident and rarely used to his advantage, because last time he tried, he’d ended up with a pretty gnarly bruise on his jaw. But the risk seems worth it at that moment, so Stu takes his chances.

“Quit looking so miserable. The movie is shit, but I’m not,” Stu teases. Trying to mimic the weird, high-pitched voice the guy in the movie had adopted, he continues. “Cheer up, little boy!”

He reaches out a hand and prods at Billy’s stomach, which makes Billy shove at his hand with a suppressed huff of laughter.

“Fuck off,” he says.

Stu does not fuck off. Instead, he scoots closer on the couch, effectively trapping Billy between the arm of the couch and his body, and continuing to wiggle his long fingers against Billy’s stomach.

The light of the television illuminates Billy’s scrunched up expression, trying to hold back his laugh and seem pissed at Stu’s immaturity, but it only lasts a few moments before the bright, boyish giggles that are so unlike his personality come spilling out.

Stu grins in triumph. Billy’s actually sort of adorable when you get him like this: Guard down, acting his age, letting loose. He squirms like a fish on a hook, and Stu has to dodge his flailing limbs. His hair falls messily into his face, his cheeks look flushed.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you—” he grits out, but it doesn’t sound intimidating at all.

“No you won’t,” Stu replies. “You’d miss me too much.”

Billy lets out a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine, before dissolving into laughter again as Stu’s fingers dance up his sides. It isn’t until his ribs become a target that Billy truly fights back, grabbing at Stu’s wrists and trying to shove his hands away.

Stu takes that as a sign to back off, because although it was a risk he willingly took, leaving this without injury is still the preferable outcome. He watches with a grin as Billy catches his breath, arms wrapped protectively around his middle.

“You’re an asshole,” Billy says.

“I know,” Stu replies.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and Stu feels his face flush for reasons he isn’t quite ready to confront.

By the time they look back up at the screen, Mark and Donna are dead and they’ve completely lost track of the plot. Neither of them are complaining, because it was a fucking dumb plot to begin with. Leaving the crushed cans and empty bowl behind, the two boys climb the stairs and crash into Stu’s bed for the night, a common occurrence that somehow feels different this time, like something between them has shifted, just enough to make Stu’s heart skip a beat when Billy falls asleep with his face pressed into Stu’s shoulder.

Like this, he looks innocent. He looks beautiful.

Stu makes a mental note to research other horror films with tickle scenes in them, just in case he needs an excuse to hear that giggle again. Even if the movies suck, spending time with Billy is worth all the shitty scares in Hollywood.