#the way he fucking says crawling back to you

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are. 

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference. 

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord. 

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean. 

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away. 

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree. 

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?” 

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe. 

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide. 

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile. 

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much. 

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off. 

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck. 

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you. 

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater. 

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps. 

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep. 

And you just watch him. 

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign. 

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost. 

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can. 

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake. 

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. 

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns. 

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep. 

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint. 

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care. 

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window. 

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all. 

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice. 

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands. 

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word. 

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it. 

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow. 

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever. 

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic. 

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered. 

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost. 

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more. 

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours. 

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace. 

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression. 

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath. 

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.” 

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them. 

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it. 

���I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head. 

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all. 

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain. 

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins. 

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before.  “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him. 

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn

[peachycocaine]

She's such a fucking whore, i love it.

Pairings: Thanos x Fem!reader (she matches his freak in this ig)

Tw: mutual masturbation, squirting, cumshot, slut shaming, degrading, drug usage, mentions of death. 18+ minors dni.

It was meal time, the soldiers handed out food as people gathered around in a line. He started looking for you in the line, but you weren't there. He saw you by your bed, stuffing your hand down your shirt. At first he was taken aback but it seemed like you were finding something in there, you pulled out a packet of cigarette from your bra and looked around before inspecting it and opening it to make sure there was still some left in it. Thanos saw this and chuckled, there really was more to you. You quickly stuffed the packet back into your bra and got up, walking towards the restroom. Thanos followed right behind you.

He sneaked into the women's restroom, relieved when he saw there was no one else besides you two in there. He knocked at the door of the stall you were in. You froze as you were just about to light a cigarette, did someone catch you? "Occupied!!" You yelled out, hoping the person would leave. "Yo, open this door i gotta have a word with ya." The deep voice startles you, why the fuck was there a man in the womens restroom but god you were curious about what he had to say. You shoved the cigarette into your pocket before opening the door, you looked up to see the purple haired lunatic who was acting up during the game standing right infront of you. "What do you want?" Your tone bold, thanos just puts his hands in the air "woah woah senõrita.. no need to get all fiesty, lemme in would ya?" A smug smirk crawled up on his lips, you rolled your eyes allowing him in and locking the door behind him.

"Saw you pull out a pack of cigs, just wanted to have a lil' smoke with you" he says as he leans against the door. You take a seat on the lidded toilet spreading your legs a little, making him whistle. You scoffed "only got one cigarette, it's puff puff pass, alright?" You mumble out as you light the cigarette between your lips. He drinks in the delicious sight, watching you inhale the smoke. You hold out the cigarette to him, maintaining eye contact with him as he takes it from your hand. You watch the way he brings the cig up to the lips, taking a drag then inhaling it, then blowing it back out. Something about the way he did it made you bite your lip and rub your thighs together. He chuckled as he watched your demeanor shift.

"Y'know i got something crazier than tobacco, this shit's a baby drug. I got the real stuff right here" he grinned as he held out the chunky cross necklace, kissing it before opening it. In the necklace were pills, each a different color. He chuckles at the way your eyes gleamed with curiosity. He pops one in his mouth then closes the necklace again. "What about me?? You didn't even give me one!" You say as you cross your arms "what's in it for me senõrita?" He teasingly says with a shit eating grin on his face. "I literally let you have a fair share of my last cigarette and you're not even gonna offer me one?" You couldn't believe this cocky motherfucker, you were so generous but at what cost? He just snickers at your temper "tell you what beauty flower, put on a good show f' me and i might consider giving you one" you scoff as you realize what he meant before unzipping your jacket, slowly.

You tossed your jacket aside before lifting your shirt up, just enough for him to be able to see your bra. You catch the fabric of your shirt between your teeth as you run your hands around your chest, occasionally squeezing one of your concealed breasts. He licks his lips as he sees you completely whoring out over a pill. "Give me more, bitch. Let me see how slutty you can get" his voice was raspy as he cupped his erect cock that twitched in his pants. You unclasp your bra, letting your breasts free. He groans at that as he rubbed his clothed cock. "Fuck- you got such a sexy pair, i bet ya get your way with everything with those" you hated to admit it, but you liked the way he outright sexually objectified you. He finally pulled his pants down, you watched as his cock sprung out. Precum beading at the tip as it twitched, it was big and girthy. He smeared the precum across your breast before spitting down onto his cock, some of the saliva falling onto your boobs. He starts rotating his wrist and jerking his cock in a slow pace. "Come on slut, finger fuck yourself as i get jerk off to your tits." Without any objections, you pull down your trousers along with your panties. Sitting back on the toilet as you spread your legs, you circle your clit with your finger tip, soft moans falling from your lips. Thanos grins as you start touching yourself, his cock throbbing under his touch.

You sunk 2 digits into your wet heat, pumping them in and out. He gawks at the view pathetically as he starts jacking himself off faster. You match his pace, fucking yourself faster as he does too, whines and moans slip past your lips as you look up at him jerking himself off right infront of your face. He looks down at your glossy eyes, groaning at the way you held eye contact with him while you two got off on eachother. You bring up a hand to your chest, rubbing at your sensitive erect nipple as you continue fingering yourself. "Look at you, slutting yourself out on a stranger. You're such a whore." He grins as he sees the way you twitch at his words. You pump your digits in and out faster as you felt something building up in your tummy, throwing your head back as you let out the sluttiest whimpers. Thanos increases his pace too, gliding his hand across his cock faster and rougher. His breath hitched when you started grinding against your fingers, your legs shook abruptly as you fucked yourself onto your fingers. " 'm cumming f-fuck Oh! Sh-fuck.. fuck fuck fuck" you screamed as you felt the coil snap. Watery liquid sprayed out of your pussy as your whole body shook, falling everywhere. You snapped your eyes shut as you realized you had squirted all over thanos, not daring to even look at him.

Thanos' eyes widened but his pace doesn't falter, instead he goes faster. He lets out a breathy chuckle while continuing to fuck his fist "fuck you really are a whore aren't you baby? You made such a fucking mess out of yourself. 'M gonna make you my cock slave" your cheeks heated up, this was embarrassing, but you didn't know it turned him on even more. His hand came down to a harsh slap to your cheek, making you gasp and open your eyes. "Look at me when i'm speaking to you, slut." His voice cracked a bit, you knew he was about to cum. "C-cum all over me, please.. cover me in your cum" you mumble out while you look up at him with those fuck-me eyes. He chuckles, cupping your cheeks. "You want it that badly, whore?" You nod, not breaking eye contact with him. He mutters out a silent "fuck" before hot ropes of cum shoot right out, marking your tits and face, some of it got onto your hair too. His dick twitches as he empties more of his creamy thick load onto you before he runs his hand through his hair. "Fucking hell.." is all he mutters out as his eyes scan over your now cum covered body. "Wish i had my phone so i could take a pic of this shit."

He opens his cross necklace, placing a pill on his tongue then kneels down to your level. Pulling you into a open mouthed kiss, making sure you swallowed the pill. "There, as i promised."

[leqonsluv3r]

What about Leon with a reader who is hard to make cum? I love your work 💛

the diner

—re4!leon kennedy x fem!reader

masterlist taglist prompt game

an: my ovaries are fucking crying anon, i hope this is what you wanted :,) sorry i took so long my lovelies, i hope this makes up for my absence <33 ily all

they had tried everything.

or almost everything, it felt like no matter what leon did. she just couldn’t cum. she just couldn’t, it’s not that she wasn’t attracted to him, she’d have to be blind and stupid not to be.

but she just couldn’t cum.

it was annoying and at first she didn’t take it personally, but after he had spent hours, upon hours. trying to eat her out, nothing.

nothing.

not even a small hint of getting close, just a small bubbling and tingling in her belly whenever she got remotely into it.

it was frustrating, it was making her angry. she just wanted to cum and her body wasn’t letting her. they had tried everything. well not…everything. but pretty close.

leon knew how frustrating this was, and no matter how many times she reassured him that it wasn’t his fault (which it wasn’t), she had never been able to reach orgasm easily. even when it was just her by herself.

he wanted to try something with her, thinking that maybe if he tried this. they’d be one step closer to maybe getting her to unravel. he hoped anyways, he just needed to wait until the right time.

it was another one of those nights when she was sitting with him in bed, his hand on her knee as she watched the tv. her head resting on his shoulder, she was relaxed and content. she didn’t feel wound up, she just felt at peace where she was.

his hand slowly started to drift up her thigh and under her nightgown, her body thrumming just a little bit at the touch. she groans softly and buries her head into his shoulder, “what’s the point…?” she mumbles, “i’m defective. i can’t cum like you want me too.”

he hums and presses a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her thigh, “i still want you.” he whispers in a low growl.

she heaves a small shaky exhale at his words, the way they echoed through her body like an electric shock. she bites her lip and leans her head more into his shoulder, “leon…” she whines in part annoyance and part arousal.

he squeezes her thigh again, “we’re gonna try something different. sit in between my legs, baby.” he says as he looks down at her.

she hoped he had some kind of plan or else this was going to be a very uneventful evening. one of many that she’s had. she crawls in between his legs and sits against his chest, her back laying against the hard edge of his chest.

she swallows as she feels his bulge against her ass, making a small noise as he slides his large hands over her covered thighs. “do you want to hear my theory?” he mutters lowly against her hair, gripping her nightgown clad hips.

she swallows but finds words, “yeah, sure.” she mumbles, half distracted by the way his hands were grabbing her so possessively. like he was an animal, a caveman almost.

“i think you don’t know how, i think you don’t understand your body.” he says with a small smirk against her hair, his hands drifting back underneath her nightgown. “like what if…” he slips his hands underneath her panties, causing her breath to hitch.

“i smack this pussy? what do you think will happen?” he says in a low playful tone, his fingers tracing the outer lips but not really touching her. she swallows, leaning her head back a little against his chest, “i-i don’t know, it’ll hurt?”

he chuckles softly, “i don’t think it will, i think you might like it.” he hums as his finger finds her clit, slowly circling it with his finger and causing her breath to catch again.

“that’s not…”

“no, it’s not.” he says with a small smirk, “but i think you need to be properly stimulated and educated, baby. i think that’s your problem.” he explains gently as he keeps circling her clit at a slow agonizing pace.

his eyes were blown wide with desire as he watched her twitch a little in his lap, “mmm, yeah, i think you just get too amped up.” he tuts as he slowly pulls his hand out of her underwear, causing her body to sink in disappointment against his.

“but i think we can fix that.” he hums softly, “i’m almost determined to get you to come, to be the first guy to get you to finish.” he says in a low growl as he tugs her ruined underwear off of her legs, tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.

his words sparking a thrum of desire through her, one that no other guy could match in a million years.

he pulls her back forcefully so she’s in the same position as before, moving her thighs over his own so she was spread open. “oh yeah, mmm…” he hums into her ear as he spreads open her pussy with his fingers.

“look at her, poor thing.” he sighs dejectedly in her ear, like he’s actually talking to it. “poor little pussy has never gotten to cum. she’s probably dying.” he says with a mocking chuckle as he slowly runs his large finger over her drenched slit.

she shivers audibly against him, her body shaking with the anticipation that she could cum tonight. she needed to, it was so beyond frustrating that she couldn’t.

“i think we should stuff her full, do you think that’d work? have you full so that you can barely speak?” he rasps in her ear, gently nibbling on her earlobe as he ran his fingers through her drenched slit.

she bites her lip and nods slowly, “yes…” she whispers with a small exhale. “i-i think that’s worth a shot.” she finds herself saying.

he hums and smacks her pussy lightly, causing her to jump and whimper, “good, because i think you need it. your all tense, baby.” he says lowly, “and i think cumming would help.”

she couldn’t agree more, she felt so wound up. irritated that she couldn’t come and frustrated that he was trying hard all this time and nothing was working.

he slowly slides one finger into her entrance, stroking her inner walls with his finger as she gasps softly. her eyes flutter shut, she tries to lean her head backwards again but he shakes his head behind her. “no, eyes down. your watching.” he says firmly, and there’s no room to argue with that.

her eyes look down, watching one finger disappear in and out of her. the action is lewd and defining but she doesn’t care. his fingers feel so good, he’s like a master at her inner workings. her body just doesn’t always respond to it.

the lewd noises from her arousal and his finger only heighten when he adds another one. pumping two of his fingers in and out of her. she moans as she watches, her thighs shaking where they’re wrapped over his.

“your taking it so well, such a good girl.” he mutters lowly into her ear with a smirk. she whines and clenches around his fingers at his lewd words. her body shaking. she could feel his covered erection against her tailbone, he was just as worked up as she was.

he decides to keep going, slipping another finger inside of her, three fingers now moving in and out of her tight soaked entrance. she whimpers and her face scrunched up at the tightness.

“you were made for this, made to take my fingers inside of you.” she grabbed onto his hand that was resting on her shaking thigh, holding onto it for dear life. “leon…im not…im not going to be able to-“

“shh, be quiet.” he says firmly as she writhes a little against him, “your going to soak my fingers, you hear me.” he says lowly into her ear, the implication of his words making her more determined. “don’t force it baby, relax…” his hand on her thigh soothes over flesh.

she swallows as if she’s a fish out of water, gasping for air. she tilts her head back against his shoulder, his large fingers hitting that spot inside of her, making her eyes roll. she felt like she was teetering closer and closer, she didn’t think something this simple would make her come.

all the other times it was much more and it never worked but this, this was simple and close to nothing.

and it was working.

he moved his thumb up to her clit and rubbed over it with his thumb, her body practically vibrating as she let moan after moan leak from her lips.

“you gonna be a good girl and soak my fingers?” he asks as he curls the three thick digits inside of her, not stopping. his thumb pausing over her clit. “yes! fuck…please!” she exhales a sob, feeling water pool its way into her eyeline.

he remembers something he tried with her a while ago that she seemed to like, he smirked against her ear and moved his free hand up to her neck, his large hand gently wrapping around the base of her throat. “mmm, there you go.” he hums with a small dark voice.

her eyes rolling back as he lightly squeezes, clenching around his three fingers as he continued to pump them in and out of her. she was practically drooling, fucked out at just his fingers and his hand around her neck.

“such a messy little slut.” he hissed into her ear, the gentle man from before was gone and in his place was him. his hand on her neck, calling her a slut. she felt taboo for liking something so raunchy and dark. she didn’t care right now though.

she could feel her orgasm cresting, her arousal shining on his three fingers as he moved them faster. his thumb rubbing rapidly against her clit. she was such a mess and she couldn’t find it in herself to even care.

he was so hard, it was borderline painful for him. her pretty lashes soaked in tears as he kept moving his fingers in and out of her at a rapid pace, his hand wrapped around her neck and gently squeezing. her moans seeped into his ears like the sweetest melody he’s ever heard.

“you like that baby? you like taking my fingers like you take my cock?” he asks lowly as he nips at her ear, gently biting it. he squeezed her neck again as she didn’t answer, “yes…! yes!” she practically screamed as she felt tears leaking down her cheeks.

it was all too much and yet not enough, she was so close. it felt like she had finally almost reached the finish line.

“mmm, that’s it baby…you can do it. cum all over my fingers.” he mumbles into her ear, squeezing her neck in his grip. she feels her eyes water as his words swim through her head and she lets out a loud moan…

and finally, she cums.

she covers and releases all over his fingers, letting out shaky exhales as he pumps his fingers, trying to work her through it. it feels so good, the tension is melted and gone. she feels so much better now.

his hand loosens and drops from her neck, rubbing over her trembling thigh in comfort, she swallows like she just ran a race — her mouth dried out.

he presses a kiss to the side of her temple and her cheek, he slowly takes his fingers out of her pussy. the glisten of her arousal all over them, she watches with half lidded eyes as he brings them to his mouth and sucks the release off.

she lets out a shaky breath, his blue eyes dropping to her fucked out expression on her face. he chuckles softly, “you look wrecked. you okay?” he asks softly.

she swallows and nods slowly, “i feel good. i forgot how good it feels to…” she breathes raggedly, short sporadic breaths exiting her lips. he nods and smiles at her, “i know, honey. i know.” he whispers as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

he gently moves her to her side of the bed, letting her lay back against the pillows. he slides her underwear back up her legs, gently rubbing her hips in soothing circles.

she remembers his words from earlier, “so you feel accomplished right? you made me come.” she whispers with a small shaky laugh.

he smirks, a devilish one that looks almost unlike him. “oh absolutely.” he says as he crawls next to her side on the bed. pushing some hair out of her face, “but this wasn’t about me, it was all about you. that was the goal this entire time.”

she feels her heart soften a little, he could’ve easily just fucked her or…done something for his benefit — like other guys from her past did. but not him, he did this for her. because she needed to feel how good release is.

“i love you.” she whispers with a tired smile, her limbs sinking into the comfort of the mattress. he cups her cheek with one hand, rubbing his thumb over her jawline. “i love you too.” he whispers.

he was perfect already, but this just added onto everything. how selfless he was to give her an actual good experience instead of giving her up and tossing her to the side. she actually felt like she was worth something when she was with leon.

and no other guy could measure up.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @adollrable @leonkennedygvrl @porcelainseashore @squazmine @spfoah @jmivenus @rcttendolly @melankkholy (to join the taglist visit the link at the beginning or on my blog!!)

[puck-luck]

i think … a lot … about jack getting pussy drunk and whining whenever you say you can’t take anymore bc he just needs to feel you around him at all times

warnings: sub!jack, use of “miss” in a sir!kink type way, ambiguous “is jack with another girl or not” (up to you. idc which one you choose), sex as therapy <3, begging, dirty talk, praise, references to thigh riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral m!receiving, handjob, fist-fucking, making out, pain kink, unprotected p in v (with creampie), riding, desperate!jack, spit, cum and spit as lube.

pairing: sub!jack hughes x dom!fem!reader

wc: 4,444

It was only a matter of time before Jack came crawling back to you. After all, this is what he does– he gets in a funk or a slump or whatever you want to call it, and then he spends the night with you. 

It started as a one-time thing. Then, two times. Then, it became a ritual, almost. Now… well, now, this ritual has grown into one of Jack’s most important superstitions. When he’s not playing well, he comes to see you, and he comes when he sees you, and suddenly– oh! He’s got his mojo back.

Three hours after tonight’s game, another overtime loss that you’re sure Jack blames himself for, he knocks at your door. He’s later than usual, often coming over as soon as he’s able rather than letting a few hours tick by. Still, when the door swings open and you go to greet the boy, Jack’s all over you.

He overwhelms your senses with no preamble. His hands are running over the curves of your body without a set path or plan, displacing your baggy sweatshirt and pulling at your comfortable pajama bottoms. You can taste the mumbled pleas on Jack’s tongue. The begging that doesn’t coat your tongue falls on your ears and Jack is nothing if not persuasive.

“Need you,” Jack says. He finds your hand, clutching your wrist and bringing your palm to his cock. He grinds into your touch. “Fix it. Take it all away, make me better.”

You’ve never liked the way he says that, like your touch is the true fix to every single one of his problems. You don’t like the way Jack asks you make him better because that’s not what you’re doing. Jack treats it like magic, but in reality, all you’re doing is taking control. All he’s doing is relinquishing that control for once, letting his mind finally clear after being run rampant with play after play and mistake after mistake. He doesn’t admit it to the world, but Jack beats himself up after a bad game– and after a series of bad games, he comes to you.

“Okay, baby,” you reply gently instead of scolding him, catching Jack’s hands and clasping them in your own. “Let’s go to bed. I’ll make you come.”

You lead Jack down the hall to your bedroom and you can’t help but wonder why he was late. You’ve been waiting for him for a few days now, knowing that he’s going to need you. You admittedly don’t keep up with the Devils because you’re a fan. In reality, you don’t care about hockey all that much. The exception, as it always seems to be, is Jack Hughes.

Once inside your bedroom, you sit on the foot of the bed. Jack stands before you, eyes darting around the room and coming back to you awkwardly. You tilt your head to the side and fall back into the same role that Jack needs– the authoritarian, telling him what to do. “Are you going to undress for me?” You ask, an air of impatience painting your words. “Or are you going to stand there all night?”

Jack’s eyes widen and he blinks. He pushes a hand through his hair, saying, “Yeah– yes,” before he pulls his shirt over his head by the back of his collar and rushes to remove his pants. 

Before he can remove his boxer-briefs, you stop him and beckon him closer. Jack steps forward, between your legs and looks down at you, chest rising and falling evenly, albeit a little fast. 

You fit your palms over his thighs and feel him out over the briefs. The strong muscles of these thighs– fuck, you remember the first time you took control, when Jack had finally broken after minutes of trying to maintain a shred of dignity and begged to have his cock inside of you, needing to feel you, but you’d denied him and continued to rut against his quads until you came. Jack had been left straining in his shorts, and when you switched to his other thigh to make it just as damp as the first, he’d come with just one brush of your hand against his length. 

You scratch down his thighs and Jack whimpers, his eyelids fluttering at the sensation. Like a good boy, his hands are clasped behind his back. He’s allowing you to do whatever you want– something that you’ve proven, time and time again, is better than when Jack manhandles you onto the bed and takes what he needs. In making him wait, and in making him practice a bit of self control, you give him something he can’t find anywhere else. 

Which is why you think he’s here today. Late.

“What took you so long, sweetheart?” you ask, bringing your index finger to the waistband of Jack’s briefs and tracing the lettering there. “I’ve been waiting for you to come see me.”

Jack lets out a breath, his head dipping shamefully. He refuses to meet your eyes.

“Jack,” you say, your tone growing sharp. “Tell me.”

“I don’t want to,” Jack replies. His voice is pouty. “It’s embarrassing.”

You withdraw your index finger from the band of his shorts and bring it to the front of his underwear, tracing over the line of his cock. “Jack,” you repeat, scolding him. “You know that you don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me.”

Jack just whines in the back of his throat, shaking his head. His hair falls forward, into his eyeline, but he doesn’t remove it. He uses the curtain to hide his face even further.

You pump his cock once over the front of his briefs, then pull the waistband down an inch. The tip of Jack’s cock, hard and red and leaking already, becomes visible. Then, you pull back and lean back on the bed, propping yourself up by your elbows. You’re still fully clothed and your legs are crossed, whereas there’s a blush starting to creep down Jack’s neck.

“I can’t touch you until you tell me, baby,” you tell Jack. His eyes find yours, his head barely tilting up, and he already looks betrayed. To make matters worse, you bring your right hand to your stomach, then push it up further beneath your sweatshirt. You sigh and roll your head back as your thumb and index finger find your nipple, pinching it and rolling it beneath the fabric. Just because you can’t touch Jack doesn’t mean you can’t touch yourself.

“Y/N,” Jack protests weakly. He wants your attention back. Sweet boy– he’s never been able to watch you pleasure yourself without feeling left out and neglected. Still, he stands before you with his hands clasped behind his back, cockhead peeking out from his waistband. A dribble of precum has bubbled from his slit and fallen down the underside of his tip, path completely visible to you.

“That’s not what you call me when we’re together like this,” you correct in a bored voice, raising your eyebrows at Jack and bringing your hand to your other nipple.

“Miss,” Jack corrects in a rushed voice. “Please.”

You’ve never been a fan of the word Mistress, feeling like it’s too 1800s-Evil-Vampire, and while you love to take care of Jack, you’re not exactly his Mommy. You’d gotten the idea to be ‘Miss’ when you’d teasingly said “Yes, sir,” to Jack after a session, and he’d slurred out a little fantasy about letting one of his teachers reward him for doing well on a test. Everything seemed to click into place and you’ve been ‘Miss’ ever since. 

“Baby, I’m not touching you until you tell me why it took you so long to see me,” you remind him. You take your hand from beneath your sweatshirt and lean back on it, in the same position as before. “Tell me now and I’ll even get my lips around your cock, J.”

Another blurt of precum rises from his slit, his cock twitching in his briefs. “Please, I can’t say it,” Jack fusses, looking away from you and shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t– it’s just stupid.”

“Oh, honey,” you simper, coming back to a sitting position. “That bad?”

Jack doesn’t reply.

You’ve known all along what the problem is– or, at least, you’ve suspected. It wasn’t long after your last hookup that Jack told you he’d started talking to a girl and that he wanted to see if something could work out with her. You hadn’t really minded. It wasn’t like you and Jack were dating or exclusive; you dom him when he needs it and other than that, you don’t talk. It’s pretty much the definition of a ‘working relationship.’

You lean forward and press your lips to Jack’s tip, a chaste and sweet kiss that you might even give his lips when he’s being good for you, or when he needs that extra reassurance. “Let me guess, baby,” you say. “You tried this with her, didn’t you?”

The tips of Jack’s ears turn redder and he nods, in tiny, aborted movements.

Sympathy floods your being. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say with another kiss, flicking your tongue over his slit to collect the precum. “She wasn’t able to take care of you the way I can?”

Jack shivers and shakes his head. 

“Poor thing.” You pout at him, then bring your lips to his v-line and kiss there. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make you feel better. I’m here.”

You kiss down his abdomen again, finding his tip and fitting your lips over it gently. You suck his cock methodically. You’re not moving up and down. You’re not sucking gently, then harshly. You’re just consistent, creating suction around his tip that slowly brings him closer to the edge. You blink up at him, watching as Jack’s breathing grows more rapid and he has to roll his head back on his shoulders and look up at the ceiling to compose himself. You bring a hand down between his legs and find his balls, palming them and rolling them in your hand.

“Gonna–” Jack warns, his hips twitching. 

Moving for the first time, you nod. You squeeze his sack too, just for that extra confirmation, and because you know that it makes Jack jump. 

He spills over your tongue, a wanton breath leaving his mouth. His legs are a little shaky as you continue to swallow against him, continue to fondle him over his briefs. It’s only once his breath evens out that you draw back and instruct him to lay on the bed.

Jack follows your directions easily, happy and placated from his climax. He lays back on the pillows, lifting his hips when you tuck your fingers into the sides of his waistband and start to remove the briefs. 

You pull your sweatshirt off and fit yourself against Jack’s side, rubbing your palm along his torso before bringing it to the side of his face. Jack’s eyes are hooded and his smile is relaxed, turning to face you because of your guided hand. You bring your lips to Jack’s, rewarding him silently for the way he handled his orgasm. He didn’t thrust into your mouth, nor did he shoot off without warning you. He followed your lead and did everything right.

You continue to touch Jack’s torso as you kiss him, growing bolder in both areas. As you lick over his bottom lip, which is chapped and broken from his incessant worried chewing, you thumb over his nipple. That draws a hum from Jack, so you do it again, feeling the sound vibrate between your bodies and rumble against your lips.

The kisses are lazy and Jack is insatiable but submissive, sucking on your tongue and capturing your lips sweetly because you’re allowing him to do so.

“Thank you, Miss,” Jack murmurs against your lips. 

“You’re welcome, J,” you reply at the same volume. “But we’re not done yet, angel.”

“No?” Jack asks, pulling away with a smile. 

“Mm-mm,” you say. You bring your lips back to his, then loop a leg around his. The crotch of your shorts brush his thigh, but you’re not planning to do anything with his thighs today. “Just relax and keep kissing me, baby.”

You take his hand and bring it to your chest, encouraging Jack to play with your tits over the lacy white bralette you’d been wearing under your sweatshirt. He enthusiastically does so, shifting his body closer to yours so that his reach isn’t at an awkward angle. Jack’s thumb finds your nipple almost immediately, already hard from how aroused you get seeing him like this, and he toys with you.

At the same time, you’re starting to toy with him. It starts with a light brush over his cock, which is fighting hard to become fully stiff again. You trace your fingers over his tip, mapping the organ as if you don’t know it intimately by now. It’s when you rub a finger over his slit that Jack’s cock jumps and really starts to react. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out against your mouth, eyelids fluttering open. “That feels good, Miss.”

“Hm, yeah?” you ask. You rub his slit again, letting your fingernail catch on the divot. Jack’s abdomen tenses and he moans. “Are you going to get hard for me again, J?”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, thrusting his hips up tentatively and pinching your nipple.

“Oh, you want to fuck my hand?” You loop your fingers into a circle around his base, then drag them up to the middle of his shaft. “Make yourself feel good ‘til you’re ready to come again for me?”

Jack’s eyes light up. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Can I?”

You chuckle fondly pushing yourself up onto your elbow and planting a kiss on the tip of Jack’s nose. “Yeah, baby. Show me how bad you want to come, okay? Don’t stop ‘til you’re almost there.”

Jack nods, his head swiveling up and down until you give his cock a squeeze and prompt him to begin. It’s then that his head falls back on the pillows and his hips start to move, abdomen flexing and tensing with each thrust. 

You watch his stomach for a minute, watch the abs appear and soften with each twitch of his hips. Jack’s cock is steadily, but surely, coming back to its full length. His breath hitches on a particularly rough thrust, faltering until you tilt your chin up and smooth a kiss onto his neck, right over his pulse point. Jack gasps and begins to pump his hips harder, faster.

“Shit.” He chokes on the word as you suck a bruise onto his neck, your movements slow in contrast with his own. “Do you want me to–”

“Does it feel good, my love?” you ask, whispering the pet name in Jack’s ear before nibbling on his earlobe. You know how crazy he goes for it, even despite knowing that you both crave nothing more than what you have in bed, in this relationship. Jack isn’t your love, but nothing makes him fuck you like hearing you say that.

His breath turns into a weary pant. “Fuck, Miss, I’m going to come if you say things like that,” he whines, his hips blurring in your peripheral vision. You’re watching the sweat bead at his hairline and his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, especially as he gets close.

“Make yourself come all over my fist, J,” you command sweetly, tightening your grip on his cock until Jack’s mouth falls open and his head tips back. His hips never stop moving, not even when the first spurt of cum escapes from his slit and starts to run over your fingers.

Jack is making sweet little noises as he uses your fist to extract all the cum from his cock, whimpers that have you pressing kiss after kiss to his neck, jaw, and cheek. 

“So good, baby,” you praise under your breath, just loud enough that Jack can hear it. “That was perfect. My sweet boy, coming for me just like I asked.” 

He needs praise when he comes to you, and you’re never shy about giving it to him. In the beginning of your relationship, it was hard for Jack to listen to your commands and anticipate what you wanted. It was hard for him to be good, even though he wanted to satisfy you. Jack had been active for years before he met you, and he was always an equal partner or the more dominant person in those relationships. With you, it’s the first time that he’s been so reliant on another person to bring him pleasure, to know what’s best for him. It took time, but you’ve both figured it out by now– and you know what he needs.

So when his hips stop moving, and his breath starts to even out, you use the cum on your hands like lube. You keep stroking his cock, your grip as tight as it was when he came. 

“M-” Jack stutters, his eyes wild when he finds yours. “Miss?” he asks.

“Hm?” you reply, focusing on his cock and the way that you’re preventing it from softening, continuing the stimulation so that it remains erect.

“Fuck- it, oh my God,” Jack lets out, his breath heaving out of him like he’s been punched. 

“What is it, baby?” you ask, pretending like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. You’re not a fool– you know that it’s hard for men to come multiple times in a night, much less one right after the other. That sort of thing feels impossible, biologically unfathomable, but you’re determined to pull a third from Jack tonight.

“It- it’s too much,” Jack whines out, voice breaking. “Miss, fuck, that’s too much.”

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, twisting your hand around his tip before pressing the tip of your thumb to the crown of his cock. You press into the underside, massaging the sensitive skin, and stare at Jack expectantly.

“No, fuck, keep touching me,” he begs, despite the way his hips are twitching on the bed, away from your touch. “I can- I can come again. Please, in your pussy? I’m… ‘m being good.”

“Are you?” you tease, squeezing Jack’s shaft before you resume working over him. “Or are you trying to tell me what to do?”

Jack flounders for a second, opening his mouth and closing it with no sound escaping.

You quirk an eyebrow and lean down, letting a line of spit fall onto the head of his cock. You rub a bit of the liquid against Jack’s slit, which has his eyes rolling back, and then you use the saliva to make the movement of your hand easier. 

“No, no, whatever you want,” Jack says, the words coming out in a rush. 

“That’s right,” you say. You come up and kiss his lips, plush and slack beneath your own. He’s losing himself a little bit, so you’re determined to bring him back to center. “I know you didn’t mean to demand anything, baby.”

“No, was an accident,” Jack agrees. “Didn’t mean it, Miss, honest.”

“I know, sweetheart, it’s okay,” you tell him. You kiss him again, briefly, and Jack returns it this time. He’s desperate to prove himself and demonstrate how good he can be. “I was going to give you my pussy anyway. Do you want to make me come, J?”

“Yes.” Jack nods, wildly, touching your sides and trying to pull at your pajama shorts. “Want you to feel good too, Miss.”

“That’s my boy,” you say with a smile. “My good boy. Always so eager to please.”

“Mhm,” Jack whines, pulling you close and kissing your neck. “Need it, need your cum. Wanna feel it around me.”

God, when he starts to really lose his inhibitions, his words sound that much better. He’s begging you and you’re not even on top of him.

His cock is still hard enough for you to slip it inside, so when you’ve managed to remove your shorts and panties, you straddle his lap. You hover above him at first, holding Jack’s base and drawing his tip through your wet folds. Despite not touching yourself so far at all tonight, you’re dripping for Jack. This– what you have going here– is incredibly sexy.

Jack bites his bottom lip to suppress a whine, which is when you finally start to lower yourself.

At first, you let his tip breach your hole. You stay there, adjusting to the intrusion and flexing your muscles around his sensitive cockhead. Jack’s bottom lip shakes from the effort of staying quiet, still trapped between his teeth, and his eyes are silently begging you to keep going. 

So you do. You continue to sink lower, and lower, taking your time with his cock. It’s a few minutes before you sink down on him until you’re flush with his hips. 

Jack takes a shaky breath and looks up at you, eyes bright and dazed from the oversensitivity he’s experiencing. You watch his pupils dilate when you clench down on his cock, then how they return to their previous size when you relax. His hair is curling in clumps over his forehead, cheeks and nose dusted in pink blush. Jack’s mouth stays open as you start to move, grinding against him. 

You keep your hands on his abdomen to steady yourself, moving your hips in sensual circles until it’s too good. You start to need more, so you begin to rise and fall on Jack’s cock, fucking yourself in short strokes at first, although they grow deeper and deeper with each pass. 

Jack’s hands come to your hips and rest there, not quite guiding your bounces but certainly feeling the way your sides flex and move. His eyes roll back into his head, mouth parted wide in a silent scream. His eyebrows draw together and he gasps for breath. 

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?” you ask coyly, knowing that Jack can’t decide how it feels. The pinch of his eyebrows spells pain, but the way his hands touch you and pull at you tells you that he wants nothing more than to have you atop him, gripping his cock with your gummy, wet inner walls. “Do you think you can come one more time for me?”

“I don’t know,” Jack admits in a shattered voice. “‘s hurting, but I want to, I wanna come…”

“Oh, it’s hurting?” Your voice is wracked in sugary-sweet, sarcastic sympathy, slowing your hips and rising off of Jack, leaving just his tip inside. You lean forward, his cock millimeters from slipping from your warmth. “I don’t want my baby to be in pain, maybe you can get me off another way.”

“No, no–” Jack yelps, his eyes flashing open and his fingers digging into your hips. He uses his strength to drag you back down onto his cock, until it’s sheathed inside of you again. “No, Miss, please, I’ll be good– I promise I can come again, please, I need your pussy–” He thrusts up once just to show you that he can, cutting himself off with a loud moan.

“Begging for me, J?” You tease, touching his bottom lip and rocking your hips.

“Yes, Miss, fuck, I need it, I need to be inside you, can’t be good without you,” Jack babbles, saying everything that comes to mind. His hips are still moving into yours and it feels good, and he’s so desperate to show you what he can do, that you don’t berate him for taking matters into his own hands. 

You lean down to kiss him, squishing his cheeks together between your thumb and fingers. Jack whimpers and kisses back, his thrusts more like involuntary shudders. His tip brushes your g-spot and, in a welcome turn of events, stays there. It nudges your spot with each aborted thrust, bullying the spongy area inside of you and making your own mouth fall open.

Jack licks inside. “Please,” he keens before tangling your tongues. His hips pull you down, in time with the shallow movements. “Miss, please.”

“Keep going, baby, you’re going to make me come,” you tell Jack in a soft voice, petting over his features and smoothing his sweaty hair out of his face. You touch his lip again and slide a finger onto his tongue, which Jack takes and sucks like he’s latching onto your nipple. Your stomach jumps at the sight and you sigh, a noise that spurs Jack on even further. 

He clutches your sides desperately and breathes heavy around your finger, his mouth falling open when you squeeze his member with your cunt. You take advantage– removing your finger from his mouth and lowering down until your lips are an inch away. You gather some spit in your mouth, emulating the Jack that you see on the ice whenever you watch him play, and direct the wad toward his tongue.

Jack seizes when it hits, his cock pressing as deep into you as it can go. Cum flows from his tip, a weak stream from having come twice already in the night, but it fills you regardless. It hits your spot, and Jack’s cock jumps inside you, unable to stop twitching from oversensitivity. 

As his eyes go starry, probably seeing white from the strength of his orgasm, you fall apart on top of him. Your own climax hits you like a brick wall, making you throw your head back and grind on Jack’s length. You have to ride it out– regardless of the desperate, pained noises Jack is making– and it has never felt better.

“Miss, fuck, oh–” Jack repeats mindlessly, even after you pull him from your entrance and fall into his side. You’re a mess, leaking all over your clean sheets, and Jack is no better. He’s sweaty, covered in a light sheen, and his skin is splotchy with the blush that crawled down his neck with each orgasm. “Fuck, I… I don’t even…”

“I know, J,” you coo softly, petting over his hair. You brush your lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to say anything, angel. Let’s go to sleep, baby, let me cuddle you all night.”

Jack curls into your touch, throwing his arm over your waist and shoving his thigh between your legs. He buries his head in your neck and kisses it softly, holding you tightly until he falls asleep.

You expect that he’ll be gone in the morning, like he always is. For now, you pet his hair and whisper soft praises in his ear until his breath is even and quiet and he’s fallen asleep, body wrapped around yours.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

By night, you're mine

Written for the Countdown to Midnight bonus card of the @steddiebingo and for the January round of the @stmonstercalendar

Prompts: Overstimulation & Dragon

Rated: E

Words: 2,140 (also on AO3)

Pairing: Steve/Eddie

Tags: Fantasy AU; King!Steve; Dragon!Eddie; Established relationship; Mates; Soul Bonds; Monsterfucker Steve; Possessive Eddie; Overstimulation; Multiple orgasms; Coming dry

Notes: Happy Dragon Appreciation Day and happy two-year AO3-versary to Hic sunt dracones. This is "that one time Eddie threw overstressed Steve over his shoulder like a bag of flour" mentioned in the epilogue of the original fic.

“-which normally I'd be happy to do, but we still need to be careful with our provisions, so I said I'd need to check in with you first.”

“Huh?” Steve startles, tearing his gaze from the scrolls before him to find Wayne measuring him with a quizzical look. “Sorry, what?” 

Wayne raises a bushy eyebrow. “The new volunteers for the castle guard. I'd love to take on more, but maintaining an army is costly, and we need to be careful with our resources going into the winter.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, no, you're right.” 

He looks back down at the numbers on the parchment - harvest records, presumably. It's turned dark since he sat down with them, and he still hasn't made it past the first few lines. Every time he tries to concentrate, the ink starts to wiggle and dance before his eyes. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose to chase away the dull headache throbbing behind his temples, but all it does is make the ringing in his ear go louder. 

“Listen, son,” Wayne says. His tone is kind. Steve doesn’t understand how he can still be so fucking patient with him. “You don't have to decide this today. It's alright to-” 

“Do things at my own pace,” Steve snaps. “I know. You've told me. Eddie has told me. Everyone has told me, in fact. Everyone keeps on telling me, and quite frankly, it's starting to go on my nerves, so I'd appreciate it if you could just fucking not.” 

He regrets the words before they’re even completely out, before silence drops heavily over the study.

Wayne draws a breath to say something - maybe an apology, maybe a rebuttal. Steve never finds out, because that is when the door swings open and a glowering dragon breezes into the room. 

Eddie is pissed, Steve doesn't need the annoyed twinge of their soul bond to know as much. It's glaringly evident, from the scowl on his face to the restless twitch of his wings and right down to the way his tail swishes behind him.

“Eddie, can’t this wait?” he sighs. “I'm in the middle of something here, I don’t-” 

Eddie ignores him.

“I got it from here,” he tells Wayne, and then the next thing Steve knows is that the room flips upside down. 

“What the fuck?” he yelps, legs kicking uselessly at thin air as Eddie hoists him clean out of his chair and throws him over one shoulder. “Put me down, you big brute, I'm not done here!” 

He slaps at the spot between Eddie’s wings with one hand, trying to keep his flower crown from falling over his eyes with the other, but all it gets him is a warning rumble and a squeeze of the hand against his ass. 

“Oh, you're done,” Eddie says, carrying him through darkening halls and past gawking servants. “Believe me.”

Steve keeps yelling and griping at him all the way up the winding staircase to their tower room, but it's no use. Eddie unceremoniously throws him down into their nest and doesn't wait for him to get his bearings before he crawls in after him and brackets him with his weight.

“Fuck, will you leave it?” Steve growls, trying to scramble back upright. “I don't have time for this shit, I need to-” 

Eddie snarls against his lips, anger and desire and lovelovelove sizzling over their bond as he pins him down into the sheets, and Steve forgets why he was fighting back. His body reacts to his mate’s touch on pure instinct, and soon he finds himself arching up into Eddie’s warmth and gasping into his mouth like a drowning man coming up for air. 

“Go on,” Eddie says when they finally break apart, cupping Steve’s face in both hands so that he must look into his eyes. “Tell me. What do you need? Because we both know that whatever the fuck it is you’ve been doing lately is not the answer, beloved.”

Somewhere behind Steve’s collarbone, the bond tugs. 

“It’s not that easy,” he claims. “I have a ton of things to do, I can't just- ... Fall will be over soon, and I still don’t know if the harvest will be enough to get us through the winter. People might go hungry, or worse, and it will be my fault if- ... My father never cared about their struggles and if I just let things repeat themselves, they’ll- … I can’t become the kind of king he was, I can’t!” 

His dragon sighs, kissing his forehead, just below the lopsided flower crown.

“And you won’t. There’s no way you ever will. But working yourself until you drop will not make you a better king.” He’s so full of conviction, so full of this unwavering adoration that Steve still isn’t sure he deserves, even though he has gotten better at accepting it. It spills over into the bond, making it thrum and glow as he trails more kisses down Steve’s cheekbones and jaw and neck, until he finds the bite mark on his shoulder. “You need to be kinder to yourself, my love. I’ve hardly seen you in days. Haven’t fucked you in longer.” 

“I should’ve known this was about sex,” Steve says, but there's no malice behind it. “Do you also sometimes think of other things than fucking me?” 

“Beg your pardon? I think about plenty of things,” Eddie pouts, even as one of his hands reaches between them and starts tugging at the bindings of Steve’s breeches. “Fingering you. Sucking your cock. Pleasuring you with my tongue until you scream. Riding you until you come inside of me. None of which I've done in weeks, for the record.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, lifting his hips so that Eddie can undress him, and sighing in bliss when their naked bodies slot together.

“It's not been weeks, you big baby. You fucked me damn near senseless after that audience with the clergy, and that wa- aaaah, shit.” 

Eddie, who has crawled between his legs to lick a long, wet stripe up the length of his hardening cock, gives him a petulant look. 

“Eleven days ago, beloved. I've counted.” 

“See?” Steve insists. “That's not weeks. That's hardly even-” 

Eddie bites down on the soft flesh of his thigh, wrapping a hand around his base, and his head thuds back into the pillows. 

“It's been too long,” his dragon insists, soothing the fresh teeth marks with his tongue. The tug in Steve’s chest turns into a hot, insistent pull - a needy thing that tingles through his entire body and leaves his mouth as a weak moan. “Stop being stubborn and admit it, you little tease.” 

His hand starts stroking Steve's cock - tantalisingly light, not nearly enough - at the same time that his fangs find the bite mark again, and Steve’s spine nearly arches off the sheets.

“Alright, fine,” he blurts, hands tangling in Eddie’s hair, trying to guide that beautiful mouth back to where it should be, but his mate remains stubborn. “It’s been too long. Missed you. Want you, need you. Eddie, please!” 

“Well,” his dragon hums, pressing a wet kiss to his flushed shaft, and the noise vibrates right into Steve’s veins like liquid fire. “If my king commands it, who am I to refuse?” 

*

Steve comes with a hoarse sob, spent cock twitching feebly against the sticky mess coating his stomach. Some of it is his, even though he seems to have none left by now, even the thin, watery drops of his second and third climax having run dry. Most of it is Eddie’s, who never seems to grow tired or limp, no matter for how long they keep it up. Who has been taking him apart for hours now - with his cock and his fingers and his tongue, then his cock again, like he’s hellbent on making up for the past few days in the course of one single night. 

Steve whines and writhes, trying to squirm away from that white-hot pleasure-pain sensation that's setting every single one of his nerve ends on fire, but Eddie has him bent in half on his cock, Steve's legs slung over his shoulders, and he can't get away, can't do anything but lie here and take it as his dragon keeps thrusting into him with long, deep rolls of his hips. 

“Eddie,” he gasps, not quite sure where he even pulls words from, swatting at his mate’s head with feeble hands. “Eddie, please.” 

Eddie chuckles against the hollow of his throat, breath warm and ticklish against the fresh marks on his skin. 

“Please what, my pretty? Fuck you harder? Deeper?” He rocks his hips as if to demonstrate, so deep Steve swears he feels the outline of his huge, ridged cock bulge through the skin of his stomach, smug amusement thrumming over the bond at the breathy moan it gets him. “Make you come again? You have to use your words, how else am I supposed to know what you're thinking?” 

Steve thinks he's mated to a fucking dickhead, and Eddie catches it, because he laughs again as he shifts their positions. And then his hand finds Steve's entrance, one come-slicked finger stretching him open to wiggle inside, and Steve yelps.

“Break! Need a break, please, it's too much, I can't-” 

He's hardly made it three or four words into his desperate babble before Eddie has slipped out of him, pulling him against his chest and combing his sweat-soaked hair from his face. 

“So well done, my love,” he rumbles, once Steve has caught his breath and calmed down enough to hear other sounds beside his own racing heartbeat in his ears. “See how you can just tell people you need a break and nobody will be mad at you?” 

Steve snorts, happily tilting his head up for a kiss. Every muscle in his body feels loose and relaxed. 

“Yeah, point made, thank you. Except I don't think people's lives and happiness depend on whether I can come five times in a row or only four.” 

“Says you,” Eddie grumbles, and Steve wraps shaking fingers around his horns to pull him in and kiss the scowl off his lips. 

They don't talk much for a while after that, content to just bask in each other's warmth and exchange caresses and kisses. Eddie starts cleaning their combined relief away with his tongue, grinning when Steve’s spent cock twitches at the attention. 

“I'll cut you a deal, beloved.” 

Steve, who has drifted off into that pleasant dozy state that always comes after a good fucking, hums reluctantly. His head is too heavy to lift, but it's a pleasant kind of heaviness, and he knows that it's alright to give himself to it, because Eddie’s here to take care of him.

Eddie smiles, kissing the inside of his thigh before crawling back up, leaning on his elbows to gaze down at him. His tail comes curling up to wrap around the both of them, pointed tip playing with Steve's hair. 

“I know you wanna be a good king, and I know that means dedicating your life to your people, you've told me all that.” He rattles it off with an annoyed eye roll, like a reluctant child reciting a lesson to a teacher, and Steve laughs softly, reaching out for another kiss. Eddie grants it gladly. 

“But you will not,” he then continues, and his voice goes stern, “continue working yourself to the ground like that. I won't allow it. You are mine. Everyone else is lucky I don't mind sharing.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve says, but needs to stop himself when Eddie’s fangs ghost over the hollow of his throat. He quickly disguises his moan as a cough, but it's not much use. The bond shivers with the thrill of his arousal and Eddie grins knowingly. “So what's the plan? You gonna rent me out to my own kingdom?” 

Eddie winks at him, and his tail twitches excitedly.

“Funny you should say that. I was thinking we could split your days in half. As long as it's light, you get to do your politics and your meetings and your paperwork and whatever other boring stuff it is you've been doing. But by night …” He leans down, nipping at the shell of Steve's ear. “By night, you belong to me, and to nobody else. And I’m going to take care of you the way you deserve. How does that sound, beloved?” 

Steve stops mid-moan to pull back and look up at him. 

“You know what? This is so insane it might actually work.” 

“As most of my ideas, my king,” Eddie smiles, turning him so that he can kiss his neck as he slots into him from behind. “And now, enough talk. The night is still young, and you might still manage number five.” 

[lethargiccryptid]

Death Of A Marriage

Miguel O'Hara x Reader ♡ Angsty Drabble

Word on the street is the O’Hara’s are getting a D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

You're still not certain when it all began.When the nights of heated passion turned to little more than oceans of cool sheets between the most familiar of strangers. 

Miguel became intimately familiar with his tablets and gizmos. Hands that had once handled and worshiped your body with the tender care of a sculpture found themselves slowly and steadily becoming more familiar with the coffee maker and an endless deluge of increasingly complicated and intricate puzzles. 

The signs had been there, you suppose. One late night at the office turned into practically every night of the week. The habit of twisting your engagement ring when nervous slowly died- along with your desire to wear it at all. One excuse to leave your ring on the bathroom counter turned into it taking a permanent vacation from your finger. 

Somewhere along the way those looks of longing and desire turned to nothing more than the briefest meeting of the eyes. Always shuttered and always closed off to conversation. You’re not certain when the desire to even know how he felt died but it had. 

Somehow, across the growing ocean of silence carefully built between you, you’d grown cold. By any estimation that turned out to be a blessing as it made his early morning admission over coffee easier to bear. 

“I want Dana.” 

To his credit, Miguel has attempted to look contrite as he informed you of his desire to fuck his ex wife. Tired eyes searching for salvation in his cooling coffee, tie askew, and hair haphazardly styled. In the past - before the tired numbness had set in- you might have teased him that your own hands had done a better job at styling his hair during a moment of passionate embrace. 

Now… now you found only the limited energy to bring your mug to your lips and study him blandly over the brim. 

“You want a divorce?” The words sounded hollow to your own ears, a faint whisper of passion long dulled. His eyes met yours, equally bland and equally shuttered. 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

From his expression that hadn’t been the response he’d expected. Though, given the lengthy apathy between you, you hardly understood how he could’ve expected any other. 

“That’s all you got to say?” His eyes flickered with the barest hint of heat. Your own eyes dipped numbly to his fingers and how they tightened about the mug- but this was the titanic, and that buoy wasn’t going to rescue him. 

“What do you want me to say, Miguel?” 

Miguel flinched. It's been so long since he’d heard you call him by his full name. Not since the early months of your relationship. 

“I don’t know.” A hand scrubbed down his face in frustration. 

There were lot’s of words in the back of your mind that you’d like to have said. Would have loved to have the energy to say. 

‘I hope you’re happy with Dana.’ 

‘I really hope it works out this time, Migs, cause if it doesn’t, I won’t be here for you to come crawling back…again.’ 

But these words died like everything else along the currents of apathy. 

The death of a marriage. Just like that. It died with little ceremony. Papers were signed. Boxes were packed.

You still haven’t figured out between you how to explain to Gabriella that she’d see little of you, but her parents were giving it another go. Conchata was thrilled- she’d never much cared for you. 

The death of a marriage. Did most die with a bang? Was the funeral announced with fireworks and fights? Not yours. Yours faded like the faintest of memories. It passed with little more than a wet squelch as it slid to the floor and breathed its last. 

Word on the street is the O’Hara’s are D.I.V.O.R.C.E.D.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 58

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,000ish

Summary: Wade begins to take matters into his own hands.

Warning(s): My poor attempt at Deadpool jokes.

Notes: I know I said Jan. 19th. But I can't sleep. Please share reactions! 

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

When Laura came home in the morning, she found Logan asleep against the apartment door. Curious, she kicked his foot, making Logan jump awake. He looked up to see her staring down at him. Logan scrambled to his feet.

“What are you doing out here?” Laura wondered, skeptical.

“I, uh… your mom… well,” he stammered, struggling to know where to start. Laura raised an eyebrow at Logan, who sighed. “Your mom came home and her hands were burnt.”

“What?”

“She wouldn’t let me help her. She kicked me out, but not before her powers flared up. I’ve been out here all night.”

“You should have called me.” Laura pushed Logan aside to get to the door.

“Your mom would have been even angrier at me.”

“Don’t care. She’s my mom and she’s—“ Laura’s shoulders fell. What were you? Sick? Dying? Both? “Next time I need you to call me.”

“Okay… I’m sorry, Laura. I don’t mean to make things worse.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you need to step away for a few days. Let me handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle things alone. Neither of you.”

“I’ll let you know if we need anything.” Then Laura slipped inside before Logan could say anything more.

Laura’s eyes scanned the dark apartment. You weren’t anywhere to be found in the living areas. She kicked off her shoes and headed further into the apartment. She peeked in the bathroom and her room before finding you curled up on the bed in your room. You were still in your clothes from the day before, back facing the open door. Laura quietly set her backpack down before going over and crawling behind you on the bed.

“Laura?” You rasped, turning around.

“Hey, mom,” she whispered. Her eyes scanned your burned face from the tears before falling to your wrapped hands. “Are you okay? I heard something happened.”

“Did Logan call you?”

“No, but I wish he did. I found him sleeping outside the door… What happened?”

“It was nothing… It was stupid… and I shouldn’t have yelled at Logan the way I did… It’s just… There’s been moments were I forget that he’s not my Logan… my James… and then when it comes rushing back… it hurts.”

Laura nodded. “I know. It’s hard for me too… But, mom, what happened with your hands?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“But you’re not.”

“I have to be… I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden, you’re my mom.”

“Yes, but about about Wade and Logan? They don’t need to be burdened by me.”

Laura scoffed. “Wade just feels blessed to be in your presence. You are his favorite superhero. And Logan… I think he’s just trying to do better than he was before… Letting them—us—help you is not being a burden. It’s showing strength in a different way… Just think about it.”

You smiled at Laura. “How did I get so lucky to have a daughter like you?” You leaned over and kissed her head. “Is Logan still out there?”

“I don’t know, but probably.”

“I know I should apologize, but I’m not ready… We both owe each other explanations.”

“I’m on your side, no matter what.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

~~~

Logan was clearly tense as he entered his shared apartment. Wade was at their table, messily eating a bowl of cereal.

“Well, hello, Peanut!” Wade greeted, mouth full of food. “Have a fun night?”

Logan grunted, heading straight for the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer.

“It’s a bit early for beer, isn't it?” Wade questioned. Logan didn’t respond, lifting the drink up to his lips and drinking it all in one go. “Woah there, Peanut. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Logan grumbled. “Just screwing up everything like usual.”

“Oh, drama! Spill the tea.”

“The fuck?”

“It means tell me all the juicy gossip! Wow, that was either your age showing or your universe was very different in it’s lingo than this one.”

“Fuck you.” Then Logan headed to his room and slammed the door.

“You two better not be having sex out there!” Althea shouted. “I don’t want to here any of it!”

~~~

You avoided Logan for the next few days. It wasn’t like Logan didn’t try to get to you, but you actively ignored him and Laura acted like your own personal bodyguard. Logan eventually started pulling away, but not completely. He lingered out of the corner of your eye in the shadows, always concerned, always there.

Wade immediately noticed that something was wrong between his best friends and he wasn’t having it. 

“Good morning, Peanut!” Wade sauntered out into his apartment kitchen, where Logan was sitting at the table, an unlit cigar between his lips. “Need help lighting that? I know a beautiful firestarter next door that—“

“No,” Logan interrupted, voice firm and final.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t—“

“You know that she can’t use her powers. Don’t offer them up like their yours.”

Wade put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just trying to help you out there, Peanut. You’ve been moping around here for days when you’re not off fixing cars. I’m just trying to be your bestest friend.” He plopped down in the chair across from Logan. “So talk to me, Peanut. I’m all ears.”

Logan scoffed, pulling the cigar from his mouth and rolling it between his fingers. A lot was weighing on Logan’s mind. He understood that Wade was trying, which was a lot for the loud mouth, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it all. Before Wade could say anything to push Logan further, Logan heard the sound of your apartment door shutting. He got off the chair and took large strides over to the door, using the peep hole to look out in the hallway. 

You and Laura were in the hallway, looking like you may be heading to run errands. His eyes looked for your hands. He sighed when he noticed the compression gloves. 

“”m goin’ to work,” Logan mumbled, before opening the door and stepping out in the hall.

You and Laura immediately looked over at Logan. The three of you standing there, frozen. Wade peeked his head out, taking in the sight. He whistled.

“Well, the tension out here is thick,” Wade commented. “Maybe my Peanut Buttercup should just go and fuck it out—“

“Wade!” Logan snarled.

“Do you guys need anything at the store?” Laura asked.

“Oh, yes!” Wade responded. “Some more Lucky Charms and condoms and—“

You couldn’t help but laugh at Wade. “Just text us your list Wade,” you told him. “We’ll be happy to pick it up.”

“Do you two, uh, do you need any help?” Logan asked.

“We’re good,” Laura stated. “Thanks.” She looped her arm through yours and began pulling you away. “Let’s go, mom.”

Logan watched as Laura pulled you away. Wade watched, eyes flickering  from Logan to you and Laura before going back to Logan.

“Maybe you should chase after her, Prince Charming,” Wade whispered, nudging Logan with his elbow.

“Fuck off,” Logan retorted. “I’m goin’ to work. Don’t wait up for me.”

~~~

Wade found himself at your bar near closing time.

“Hey, Buttercup!” He greeted, slipping into one of the bar stools. 

“Wade,” you replied with a smile as you wiped down the bar. “We close in five minutes.”

“I know. Came to walk you home.”

“Really?”

“And maybe figure out why you and Little Wolf are shutting out Wolvie.”

You sighed. “Wade… Now is not the time.”

“Oh, I know. Which is why I’m walking you home. And don’t you think you can get rid of me. Ain’t that easy, baby.”

~~~

Closing up the bar was quicker tonight, much to your dismay. Wade stuck around like he had told you and even tried his hand at helping, though he wasn’t very helpful. Before you knew it, the two of you were walking home. Wade immediately noticed how tense you were, like you were trying to make yourself smaller. Something was wrong and before he could get to the bottom of it, a man stumbled into view from the alley. The strong stench of alcohol wafted off of him.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” the man slurred. “Been a few days… You owe me a new jacket. You burned the last one.” He reached for you. 

Wade quickly grabbed the man’s wrist. “I wouldn’t touch her if I were you, asshole,” his voice was threatening. 

“She owes me a new jacket or a really good blowjob. I was just trying to be nice to the pretty lady.”

“Okay,” Wade whipped out a small knife and held it to the man’s throat.”

“Wade, don’t!” You said.

“Oh, Baby Knife and I will if this man ever tries to get his grubby hands on you again.” He shoved the man back towards the alley. “Now go wet your whistle in one of the drain pipes back there and never get near my Buttercup again.”

The man stumbled back into the darkness. Wade spun around to face you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered, continuing the path back to the apartments. 

“No biggie,” Wade waved off. “Big Brother Deadpool is always up for some protecting.”

“I could have handled it.”

“Didn’t need to.”

“But I could have.”

Your insistence caught Wade’s attention. “It’s an honor to protect my favorite hear.” Wade notice you tense at his words. “Okay, Buttercup, time to start talking.”

“Nothing to say.”

Wade scoffed. “Bullshit. Clearly that man had tried something before and you took care of it. And then there’s you and Logan and your built up trauma from like ninety years of events and—“

“Please drop it, Wade!” You stopped and faced Wade, hands trembling as your powers threatened to surface. “Just stop! I can’t— There’s so much— I’m not—“

Wade’s hands cupped your face as your breaths became panicky. He didn’t care that your skin was growing hotter. “Look at me, Buttercup. Focus on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry that I’m letting you down… that I’m letting everyone down…”

“Never.” He shook his head. “You’re not letting anyone down, Buttercup. Don’t you ever say in front of me again.”

“Everything hurts, Wade… Everything.”

“Good thing I’m here then.” You didn’t bother to stop him as he swept you off your feet and held you close. “I’ve got you, Buttercup. Don’t you fret.”

~~~

Logan was pacing his apartment as he tried to think of a way to fix things with you. There was also the fact that his own issues had been spiraling with each passing second. He couldn’t dump that all on you, you deserved better. Though, it seemed very hypocritical since he would take on any of your issues in a heartbeat. He stopped pacing when he could hear a set of footsteps out in the hallway. Logan quickly opened the door to see Wade carrying you down the hall.

“What happened?” Logan asked. “Is she hurt?”

“Hold your claws, Peanut,” Wade replied. “Our Little Flame isn’t injured.”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you whispered. 

“Come on, let’s go see Little Wolf.”

Logan was quick to reach your apartment door first, opening it for you and Wade. Laura was working on homework on the couch but rushed over as soon as she saw you in Wade’s arms.

“Mom! Are you alright?” She fretted, scanning you for any signs of injury.

“I’m fine,” you repeated. “Wade’s just overreacting.”

Wade scoffed. “Sure, whatever you say.” He sat you down all the couch. “Okay, I’ll be back. Nobody move!” Then suddenly he was out the door and running down the hall.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Laura asked, coming over to sit beside you.

You nodded. “I’m fine, kiddo.”

Wade rushing came back into the apartment in full Deadpool gear and weapons. He slammed the door shut before locking it and leaning against it, twirling one of his golden guns.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Logan asked.

“No one is leaving this apartment until we all spill our issues,” Wade replied. “I’m calling this therapy, Deadpool style.”

next chapter >

[actuallysaiyan]

C'est Si Bon(Mafia!Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, nipple play, vaginal fingering, spitting, slight d/s dynamics, biting, lewd themes word count: 1.5k pairings: Mafia!Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader summary: he just loves how corruptible you are, and you love how rough he gets with you. a/n: part of the Une Belle Histoire/To Have and To Hold universe. art of Toshinori in banner is from freesilverwind on Twitter/X\\ for you @thoraeth

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi.  @cherryblossombankai, @sunflowers-heart,  @erebus-et-eigengrau @pixelcafe-network

Having him in your bedroom was a rush. You watch as he gets closer to you, his eyes alight with desire. Toshinori was hungry for you, that fact was obvious to you. But you were so inexperienced with this kind of thing, you weren’t quite sure where to start.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he growls softly before kissing you hungrily. “Just listen to me, kitten. I’ll take good care of you.”

He continues to kiss you while his hands caress and soothes over your sides. He loves the cute little outfit you have on; a soft pink cashmere sweater with a skirt to match. The white tights you put on to keep yourself warm during the bike ride only served to make your man even harder.

“Sweetness,” he grunts as he begins to knead your breasts harshly. “I’m sorry I can’t be any more gentle with you. You’ve made me so fuckin’ hard.”

He tosses you onto the bed, loving the way your eyes widened and your breasts bounced. Even just this bedroom is so damn adorable. The thought of corrupting you has made him hungry and lust after you. He knows he’d never actually hurt you, but he can get rough with you. You love it too, knowing this is how he shows his affection at times.

Toshinori unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He kicks off his boots, making his way over to the bed like a predator stalks its prey. There’s just a little hint of uncertainty in your eyes, which only makes his cock throb under that tight pair of jeans he wears.

“It’s okay, kitten. You look good enough to eat.”

He crawls onto the bed, dwarfing you in comparison. You whimper when his hands press against your breasts once again. Toshi kisses you with fervent hunger and need. With a single thrust of his hips, you feel his erection poking you.

When he takes a moment to pull back and look at you, he groans. There you are, laying on your frilly pink and white pillows with your hair splayed all over. Your cheeks are flush and your lips parted as you let out the cutest little noises. To think, he hasn’t even undressed you and you already look fucked out.

“Cute little kitten, just begging for it.” He spreads your thighs and wraps them around his waist.

For a few moments, Toshinori grinds against you as he kisses you. His tongue slides into your mouth as his big hands work on the tiny little buttons of your blouse. You gasp when he just rips it open, baring your cute bra to him.

“Shhhh…I’ll buy you another one,” he murmurs against your skin.

Toshinori is like a rabid animal as he licks, sucks and bites your skin. He’s eager to leave his mark; to let the world know that you belong to him and only him. There's a slick that dribbles from your core, making you feel even more aroused than before. You try to tell him, but you’re almost too embarrassed to say what’s happening to you.

So you take his hand and guide it between your thighs. Toshinori growls loudly when he feels just how soaked your little panties are. Oh, you aren’t being fair at all. Even though he just tore open your blouse, he wanted to try and take it slower.

“So wet for me, huh?” He asks, his warm breath on your neck. “I knew you’d be excited for this.”

He helps you pull down your skirt, tights and panties. Once you’re naked on the bed, he bites his bottom lip seductively. Oh you’re so fucking cute like this. He knows that he’s the only man you’ve been with and you’ve only done so much with him, so every time you two are intimate, it makes things even more exciting for the both of you.

Toshinori runs his thumb down your soaked folds, watching as your little hole clenches around nothing. You’re wanting him so fucking badly, and it only drives him even more mad for you. He continues running his thumb over your clit and folds, making you mewl for him. You’d probably come undone just from this.

“Tell me,” he growls softly in your ear. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

You cover your face, trying to hide how embarrassed you are by this. “N-no, too embarrassing.”

He uncovers your face, pinning your wrists above your head. He kisses you fiercely, making you shudder with need. You cant your hips a few times, trying to get a little friction from him. He whispers in your ear again, “tell me.”

You swallow hard and take a deep breath. All the acts that you two have done together, everything feels so good. You remember the time he kissed and suckled on your nipples, fingering your little pussy. Or the time he kissed all the way down and devoured you like the wild animal that he is.

“I want you,” you whimper. “Want you to fuck me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Just the sound of you swearing like that makes his head spin. You rarely swear, and just knowing you want him to be deep inside you, it’s adding the fuel to his fire. He pushes one of his fingers into you, his other hand keeping your wrists pinned to the bed.

“You like that, don’t you?”

You nod your head, barely able to answer him properly. He curls his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. Your hips buck up, and you let out the cutest little moan. Toshinori laughs at your reaction, but you know it’s not a mocking laugh.

“That’s my good girl,”

The words swirl in your mind as you ride his finger. Then another one joins the first, curling up against that spongy spot. You’re panting before long, the coil in your stomach tightening so fast. Before you know it, you cry out as you ride out those waves to perfect bliss.

Toshinori eagerly prolongs your orgasm until you slump against the bed. He smiles devilishly as he pulls his fingers from you, bringing them to his lips. He grunts loudly as he gets to taste you. You watch with hooded eyes as he cleans his fingers.

Without waiting any longer, he pulls his pants down. His throbbing cock slaps against his abdomen. Toshinori growls when you try to reach out to stroke him.

“Cockhungry, huh?” He grins as he spreads your thighs even wider. “Just wait. Be a good girl and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

You whine as he uses the head of his cock to smear your slick all over your cunt. He growls again when he prods your little hole, watching it try to suck his cock into you. You’re such a needy girl, it’s hard for him to tease you for too long.

He slams into you, going balls deep with one solid thrust. The bed creaks under his harsh movements. The sound of skin slapping together fills the room along with your moans of pleasure. Toshinori leans in and he chuckles darkly as he kisses you roughly.

“You were needing this, huh?” He asks, nipping at your bottom lip.

All you can do is moan and whimper, which makes him even more aroused. He’s not complaining, he knows how you get when you get a good fucking like this. It’s what you need, even if you act all prim and proper around everyone else. 

His big hands soothe up and down your sides before he kneads your breasts. You yelp when he tugs on your nipples, and your walls clamp down around him. His eyes widen.

“Ohhhh, so you like it when I’m this rough with you huh?”

One of his hands soothes down to your clit and he leans in closer just to be able to spit on the swollen bud. He begins to rub it in fast little circles, alternating between that and pinching your clit. His other hand works on your tender breasts. With all of the rough stimulation, you’re pushed over the edge once more.

The pulsing of your walls drives Toshinori crazy. He goes back to roughly gripping your hips, pulling you closer to him with every snap of his hips. He’s grunting and growling as your orgasm pushes him closer to his own peak.

“Gonna fill up this cute little pussy,” he growls. “Gonna mark you up from the inside out.”

With a few more rough thrusts, Toshinori roars as he begins to spill deep inside of you. Shots of thick, hot cum coat your insides. You shudder as you take it all, a blissful smile on your face as you slump down on the bed again.

He rests against your chest; he’s sweaty and tired. There’s a little impish grin on his face when he goes to kiss your neck, sucking on one spot to leave a mark. Then he kisses down to your nipple, latching on to suckle for a bit as he comes down from his high.

“Fuck, I love corrupting you.” He says, grinning up at you.

When you run your fingers through his sweaty hair and you tenderly give him words of love, Toshinori melts. Though he may be rough with you, he knows you love him all the same.

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2025– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (32)

Smut/NSFW below. I have to split this scene in two because a) smut takes forever to write, and b) I need to go to sleep.

***

Vander can't taste whiskey in Silco's kisses. He can feel the flush of warmth on Silco's cheeks, the loose limbed confidence, but he can't taste the alcohol. Next time, he'll kiss Silco on the way home, drag him behind the mess hall and taste the whiskey on his tongue.

They're still half dressed. Vander got distracted and handsy when Silco was peeling off his shirt, had to kiss that bare skin. Press his lips to the purple-green bruises scattered across Silco's back and chest, proof that he's alive but not unharmed.

They're on the bed, and now Vander regrets being impatient. With Silco's mouth on his and Silco's clever fingers between the buttons on Vander's fly, fingertips teasing him through worn cotton.

"Did you mean what you said?" Silco asks. "About swapping?"

Vander has no idea what he's talking about. It's hard to think clearly with Silco's fingers ghosting along his cock. "What?"

"When you said–" Silco starts and then stops, pushing himself up. Vander wraps his arms around Silco's shoulders, pulls him back down for a kiss. Vander likes kissing like this, Silco lying on top of him, that easy weight on Vander's chest and Silco's cock pressing against Vander's stomach, already hard and promising. He likes the way Silco digs his fingers into the meat of Vander's biceps. The way he squirms and shifts against Vander when he sucks on Silco's tongue.

He's not such a fan of the way Silco jerks his face away and scolds, "I was trying to say something."

"Less talking. More kissing."

Silco rolls his eyes. "Do you want me to fuck you?" He asks it like it's doubtful, like Vander's probably changed his mind.

Like it hasn't been something that keeps coming back to Vander. Face buried between Silco's thighs, dragging his tongue over Silco's cock and wondering how it would feel inside him. Wondering if Silco would hold on to his hips the way he grabs hold of Vander's hair, desperate and pushy. "Yeah."

Silco pulls a face Vander can't translate. "We don't have to. We could–"

"Yes," Vander says again, talking through him. "Do you need me to beg?"

Silco looks down at him, all greed and hunger. "Would you beg?"

"Yes," Vander says, and Silco keeps watching him like he wants to tattoo his name across Vander's chest. "Please. Please, Silco. Fuck me."

Silco darts down for a sharp kiss full of teeth and desperation. And then he's gone again, climbing off the bed. "Get those off. I'll get the oil."

Vander lifts his hips up and pushes his pants down. It might have been quicker to get out of bed like Silco and just shuck them off. Vander ends up trying to kick them off each leg, and then has to sit up to tug them off his shins. It's a bit ridiculous. He probably looks like a clumsy oaf.

Vander gives Silco an apologetic grimace, but Silco's just standing there, as fine and pretty as anything Piltover has. He smiles at Vander, almost laughing at him, but it's fond and happy, and it's hard to be embarrassed when someone looks at you like that.

"All done?" Silco asks and Vander tosses his clothes somewhere on the floor.

Vander lies back down. "Yeah."

Silco crawls onto the bed, between Vander's legs, pushing them further apart with one hand on Vander's knee. He sits back on his knees and runs both hands down over Vander's chest. Flat palms first, then scraping at the muscle with short, blunt fingernails, then soothing that tiny sting with another soft sweep of his hands. He does the same over Vander's stomach and the front of his hips, leaving Vanders skin tingling and sensitised. Leaving Vander squirming and hopeful.

He reaches for the oil, and pours it on his hand, sealing the bottle before he spreas it over his fingers. Vander spreads his thighs a little wider but Silco reaches for Vander's cock first. The slide of his hand is slick and luxurious, enough to make Vander groan.

They don't waste the oil on this, on something as everyday as a hand on a cock, but it feels amazing. Smooth and steady, Silco's talented fingers squeezing in just the right way.

Vander gasps for breath when Silco brushes across his hole, a barely-there brush of fingers, a shivery counterpoint to the confident grip on Vander's cock. Vander rocks his hips up in encouragement but Silco keeps the touch light, just enough to make Vander aware of where those fingers should be.

"Don't tease," Vander growls, and he already sounds wrecked by this.

"It's not teasing if I intend to follow through," Silco says, voice low and dangerous.

"It's taking your sweet time–" Vander groans as Silco twists his other hand, thumb rubbing under the head of Vander's cock. "Silco…"

"You did suggest begging," Silco says but before Vander can say anything more than please, he's pressing inside Vander. Just one slick, careful finger.

It's an odd feeling. Good but.. different. It brings a strange awareness of his body. Vander clenches around it, just to feel how his body fits around it, how good it almost feels.

"Teasing," Vander accuses, breathless.

"You'll appreciate it later," Silco says, and Vander thinks no, he Won't. Not if Silco drags this out so long he comes before the main event.

At least the hand on his cock slows down, gives him a chance to breathe as Silco carefully, so carefully, slides his finger out halfway and then pushes it back in.

"Fuck, Silco. Come on. Please!"

"I was joking about the begging," Silco says, but he starts moving faster. Starts rocking his finger in and out of Vander, pressing deeper each time.

It's good, it is good, but… "More," Vander growls and Silco presses a kiss against his bent knee and then adds another finger, pushing in and up, and setting off fireworks in the base of Vander's spine.

Vander can't get the words out but Silco does it again and again, ruthless and perfect. Vander arches back, skin too hot and too tight, rocking between Silco's hands. He bites at his lip, eyes screwed shut as Silco pushes another finger inside him. Everything sharper and more intense, the slick sound of Silco's fingers thrusting inside him, Silco's steady grip on his cock, the burst of pleasure as he rubs his thumb over the head.

Vander digs his toes into the sheet. His balls feel tight and he can feel that crest getting closer, and he's rocking into Silco's hands even as he cries out, "Stop, stop!"

He's left empty and so fucking close, cock throbbing, but then Silco's leaning over him, kissing him gently, one sticky hand on Vander's cheek.

"Sorry," Vander manages, still breathing hard.

"It's fine." There's a kiss to the bow of his lip. To the edge of his jaw. The curve of his cheek. Sweet and tender. "It's okay."

"I was just too close," Vander says sheepishly. "Caught me by surprise."

Silco blinks at him once, twice, and then says, "Oh," like that wasn't what he was expecting.

"Just needed a moment."

"Feeling better?" Silco asks drily, but he smooths a caring hand down Vander's side.

"Less likely to go off in the next five seconds, yes."

[miasmaghoul]

Pretty in Pink

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Mountain/Rain, Aeon/Rain, Mountain/Aeon/Rain

Contains: trans rain, heavy forcefem (including use of she/her pronouns for a transmasc character), objectification, light bondage (and a gag), gaping, object insertion, dacryphilia, spit/drool, a little praise and lots of degradation. (don't worry, it was all rain's idea)

Rain is a vision in the remnants of pretty pink lingerie, just a bralette and thigh highs; his panties and garter belt lie on the floor, torn off in a wanton frenzy. His arms sit bound to the headboard, tongue poking out from his ring gag as Mountain fucks into him with no mercy. So deep and thorough, really wrecking that gorgeous cunt.

Aeon lays at Rain's side, watching. Not allowed to touch, but drooling in more ways than one over the sight and sound of Rain being stretched, being ruined. Mountain has his legs pinned to his chest, the slap of skin on skin deafening. Aeon kneads at the mattress with eager claws, eyelids fluttering when Rain arches and soaks the sheets for what has to be the fourth time so far.

"Such a perfect slut for us," Mountain grunts, sinking his teeth into Rain's stockinged calf as his orgasm rolls through him in fierce waves. Aeon watches Rain's stomach intently, adoring the way each thrust of Mountain's cock makes it bulge.

"She's so well behaved," he admires, and the single mascara-stained tear that slips from the corner of Rain's eye makes his heart skip.

Mountain pulls out when his balls are finally empty, holds Rain's legs wide open so Aeon can crawl down and get a real good eyeful of how he can't even fully clench. A mix of cum of slick leak from his abused hole, but the way his clit jumps makes it so obvious that Rain still needs more.

"I think she's ready for you now," Mountain rumbles, licking sweat from his upper lip as Rain legs shake in his grip. Aeon chokes, cock flexing and slapping against his belly when Rain whimpers through the gag. "Hush," Mountain chides as Aeon scrambles to his side, trembling all over. "We all know you aren't done yet, princess."

"Fuck, look at her," Aeon huffs, the back of hjs hand ghosting down Rain's thigh. "I can see so deep inside."

Aeon hooks two fingers into his gaping cunt, and Rain tries so hard to bring his legs together. A hopeless endeavor considering Mountain's firm grip on his ankles, but the effort is cute.

"She's so loose now," Aeon comments, smearing the mess between Rain's milky thighs. "I don't think she'll even be able to make me cum."

Rain sobs at that, staring up at them with wide, watery eyes and pink, streaky cheeks. Aeon wants to gather that gorgeous face in both hands and kiss him until he can't breathe, but that will have to wait.

Besides, they have other plans to take his breath way.

"We can fix that," Mountain says, low, and the flash of fear in Rain's eyes when he gestures at the bedside table makes Aeon's stomach swoop. He hurries to open the drawer, and inside -

"Oh."

Aeon returns with Mountain's idea of a fix; a hard plastic tube filled with too-pink silicone, the end of it molded into the most picture perfect pussy he's ever seen. It's so fake looking he could laugh, but the moment Rain sees what he's holding all Aeon can do it lick his lips.

"Ae'n," Rain tries to say through the gag, tongue flopping behind the ring. "Don', 'lease don'...wan' you, not -"

"Hush," Mountain repeats, and this time Rain earns a slap to the cunt for his trouble. He squeals, writhes, and if Aeon has to wait any longer to stick his dick in something he's swears he's going to dissolve. "Give it here," Mountain tells him, and Aeon only drops the toy once before he manages it.

He can only hear the rush of his own blood as he watches Mountain gather Rain's copious slick and smear it over the plastic of the fleshlight, the surface shimmering in the lamplight. Mountain looks up at him as he works, tipping his head at the sight of Aeon's cock dribbling onto the floor.

"You should get that wetter first," he comments, gesturing with the toy. Pointing it between Aeon's pretty pink stiffy and Rain's wonderfully inviting mouth. "Go on, let her be useful."

When Aeon gets the hint, his knees wobble.

He's gentle when he threads his fingers into Rain's sweat-soaked hair, stroking a hot cheek along the way. Rain leans into the soft touch as best he can, a little reprieve from their combined cruelty - cruelty he'd damn near demanded this morning, already all dressed up before Mountain and Aeon had even finished breakfast. His eyes drift shut as Aeon's other hand cups his chin, and the sound Rain makes when Aeon pushes two fingers through the ring is nothing short of stunning.

"Good girl," Aeon breathes, and that's all the warning Rain gets before he's forced to gag. His eyes fly open, blown nearly black as Aeon gathers saliva on those two fingers. He makes the loveliest choking sound when Aeon pulls them out, smearing that wetness all over his cock with an ever-tightening grip on Rain's messy curls. "Is that enough, Mount?"

The other ghoul looks up from where he's dragging the fleshlight between Rain's swollen lips, hums his approval, and Aeon lets Rain's head thud back against the pillows. Wipes the excess saliva coating his fingers off on Rain's burning cheek before he joins Mountain at the foot of the bed once more. He brings the toy to his lips, spreads it open to spit inside, and when he hands it over Aeon mimics the action without question.

"Is she ready?" His voice has gone so thready, the idea of what he's about to do setting off a cascade of goosebumps. Mountain hums, nods, and with one last kiss to Rain's ankle he crawls up onto the bed. Pins Rain's legs down with little effort, the other ghoul far past fighting.

"Take a deep breath, angel," Mountain says as Aeon takes his place. He's drooling down his chin, hands shaking as he lines up the plastic tube with Rain's hole. "You can scream if you need to."

Aeon isn't sure if that part is meant for him or for Rain, but neither of them stays quiet when he pushes the toy inside him. Watches him stretch around it, no resistance for how wet the other ghoul is, the fleshlight sinking deeper and deeper until just the flared head of it sticks out of that beautiful cunt.

"Holy shit, she actually took it." Aeon's dizzy at the sight, at the truly sad sounds pouring from Rain's mouth. Clammy palms stroke Rain's quivering thighs, his gasping breaths music to Aeon's ears.

"She'll take more than that," Mountain tells him with a chuckle, and when Aeon looks up he finds the other ghoul fondling his own soft cock and Rain's still-covered chest. "Go on," he encourages, deeply amused. "See how much she likes it like this."

Aeon can't close his mouth, tongue flicking over dry lips as he touches spit-slick silicone. He watches Rain like a hawk, stares into those beautifully dazed eyes as his fingers trace the edges of the toy's lips. He doesn't know what to expect when he sinks a finger inside it, but it certainly isn't the shuddering, whorish moan that escapes the ghoul before him.

"Can she feel it?" Aeon pumps that finger in and out, and every motion makes Rain twitch. Surely he can't, but...

"No," Mountain says cheerily. "That's why she likes it so much."

"'uck 'e," Rain gurgles, grasping at the binds around his wrists. Trying so hard to to get any sort of stimulation, his clit so stiff and red that Aeon almost gives in to the urge to stroke it. Almost. "'lease, 'lease 'uck 'e, I -"

"What's that, love?" Mountain plucks a nipple through his bralette, a sharp pinch that makes Rain's eyes roll. "Use your words. We can't help you otherwise."

At long, long last, Rain weeps. Fat, hot tears of frustration flow like rivers down his cheeks, soaking into his hair and the pillow below, and it's with a tight growl that Mountain says,

"That's our girl."

He leans down and kisses Rain as Aeon lines up, fingers digging into Rain's waist, and the sound of their tongues dancing is accented by the clink of metal. Mountain brings the gag with him when he pulls back, and Aeon thinks he's never seen Rain look so desperate.

"Pleaae fuck me," he slurs, thick and urgent and with a trembling lower lip that Aeon yearns to bite. "Please, I'll...I'll be such a good girl, please -"

Aeon shoves his cock into that tight silicone, and like the whore he is Rain howls.

Aeon won't last more than five pumps, and he couldn't possibly care less.

[slut4christopherr]

— fresh love? —

part one!

christopher owen sturniolo..

warnings: nsfw, smut, squirting, fingering, blowjob, stoner!chris, aftercare, pet names

summary: you and chris lay in his bed, the only sound heard is the rain drops tapping onto the window, and whatever’s going on between you and chris.. read to find out!

chris speaking = orange

reader speaking = pink

you and chris were lay next to eachother in bed, matt and nick screaming their heads off at a fortnite game downstairs.

you lay your head on chris’ shoulder as you get comfortable, chris scrolls through instagram, stopping on a post, your post.

you quickly realised it’s your most recent post, you in a red, lacy bikini on the beach, the sun capturing your curves. the photo captioned

“let’s go summer 2025!!👙🏖️🌊”

chris double taps the screen, making a red heart appear, signalling he’d like my post.

chris turns his head slightly to get a better look of you.

“you look s’good in that y’know ma?”

you can’t help but let the corners of your mouth tug up into a smirk, knowing exactly what’s going on in his head.

“makes me so. so painfully hard lookin’ at you. your just. fuck-“

you grin, bringing your lips close to his ear and whisper

“i’m just what? christopher?”

hearing his name roll off of your tongue sent shivers down his spine, was it the way you said it or just. you

“mm- your gonna regret posting that for the world t’see”

5 minutes later…

you sit on chris’ lap, back against him, legs spread, mouth open and head leaned against his broad shoulders as his fingers pump in and out of your sopping cunt with ease

his slender fingers curl up, hitting that soft, spongy part inside of you that makes you see stars as you let out a loud moan

his free hand wraps around to cover your mouth

“don’t want anybody hearing us now do we?”

your eyes roll back at his tone, the way he said it made your legs go weaker

you let out a moan, muffled by his hand, sending vibrations through his body

you feel a knot begin to form in your stomach, you grip onto chris’ biceps, your pussy strangling chris’ fingers deeper inside of you.

your legs begin to quiver, threatening to close but chris pries them open with his knee

as chris’ thumb lifts up to rub my sensitive clit in pressured circles, the knot instantly snaps, chris pulling his fingers out to focus on my aching clit

clear liquid gushes out of me, onto the sheets below up, making it a darker colour, then glistening in the dim light of the led’s.

your eyes squeeze shut as chris lets you ride your high before stopping and placing his fingers to your lips

you open your mouth, letting him slip his fingers into it then sucking your juices off of his fingers.

“your doin’ s’good for me baby”

i let his fingers out of my mouth with a pop, and he throws my panties fully off in seconds

i sit on the soaked bed, my eyes focusing on chris’ noticeable budge in his grey sweats and his shit eating grin smacked on his face

the red tint in his eyes somehow made him look hotter than ever

you crawl over to him, fiddling with his belt, pushing his unreleased fresh love hoodie a little bit higher

you throw the belt across the room, followed by his sweats and you pull down his calvin klein boxers so they pool at his thighs

his head leaned against the headboard, hands already tugging at your pin straight hair, making a makeshift ponytail

you wrap your cold hand around his length and use your thumb to rub the leaking precum off of his tip and spread it across his dick, like lubricant

he let’s out a guttural moan at the feeling of your hands on his dick and grips your hair, telling you to use your mouth

“use your words handsome.”

chris’ chest rise and falls with speed as his says, barely above a whisper

“please.. use- use your mouth ma.”

you grin, knowing you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, completely at your mercy

“gotta be quiet baby, can’t have anyone hearin’ us”

chris nods, as you bring your head closer to his throbbing dick.

your head lowers down his shaft, his hips bucking forward in pleasure, his sensitive tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag slightly and him to let out a deep breath. trying to keep the quietest he can.

you look up at him through your eyelashes, as you bob your head up and down his length.

chris looks down at you, his eyes dark with hunger and need

chris’ hands grip your hair almost painfully, as he holds you balls deep and begins face-fucking you. the sound of his balls slapping against your chin to the gags and slurping sounds. the rain hitting the windows with force

“mmm- m’gnna- fuck- fuck-“

you lift your mouth off of his dick and wrap your hand around it, rubbing his tip ever so often with your thumb as your hand moves at speeds

he groans and moans until white tops of sticky cum comes out of his tip, landing straight onto his fresh love hoodie

“new hoodie ruined huh?”

you grin, seeing his disheveled face, the slight red tint on his cheeks, his hoodie having white marks, slowly dripping down

chris stands up, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the bathroom

“bubble bath time princess, take as long as you need, i’ll stay in with you the whole time”

his lips meet yours in a slow, delicate kiss

“sorry i ruined your hoodie baby.”

chris grins

“ruined? baby you can keep it, y’know, memories”

chris hands you the hoodie, the white marks still visible in the dark blue material

the end.

a/n: tysm for reading!! i enjoyed writing this so much!

with lots of love & a fat ass - mia🩷

taglist: @ishasturnz @m4ttthemunch @whore4mattsturniolo @slut4chrisstunr @baileysturns @ariastur9z @pr3ttylittleslutt @freshl6ve @mattsobvimyfav @bernardsbendystraws @phone4pills @iluvnicksturniolo

dividers : @bernardsbendystraws

[bullet-prooflove]

5500 Follower Celebration: Safehouse - Nick Torres x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @whateversomethingbruh @district447 @lovebookheart @stelacole

Companion piece to:

Casanova - You recieve an unwanted gift.

Promises - Nick makes you a promise.

Dry Land - Nick returns home.

A Little Naughty, A Little Nice - Casanova reflects on your relationship.

It’s barely dawn when you wake up to the sensation of Nick slipping out from underneath the sheets. You feel the absence of his warmth, hear the zip of his duffle bag before he starts to dress in the dark.

“Baby…” You drawl, propping your head up on your arm. “Don’t put your clothes on, come back to bed.”

Nick tilts his head towards you, his features highlighted by the orange glow that filters through the blinds of the safe house you’re currently residing in. He’s wearing that smile, the one that settles something in your chest.

“You know I would like nothing more than climb back into those sheets and fuck you into the mattress.” He tells you as he pulls on that black t-shirt over his perfectly sculpted chest. “But the sooner we catch the guy, the sooner we can go home and not worry about the agents in next room overhearing us.”

That’s the downside of the safehouse, it’s not just Nick keeping you company. It’s two members of Lisa’s team too, ones that probably heard Nick helping you relieve a little stress last night.

You sigh as you flop back onto the sheets and stare up at the ceiling. Up until now you’ve been pretending the past twelve hours were some sort of vacation, you and Nick holed up in a fancy apartment, tangled up in each other but now reality is crashing in and you remember the real reason you’re here.

“Hey.” Nick says softly and you feel the mattress depress alongside of you as he crawls back onto the bed. His thumb chases over the apple of your cheek as he lies down beside you. “This won’t be forever.”

“It feels like it.” You tells him. “It feels like I’m trapped within my own life. I can’t go home, can’t go to work, I’m just stuck here…”

“I know.” Nick says kissing the corner of your mouth. “How about I have someone bring some of your cases over, you can build a murder board in the living room, spread the pictures out across the floor the way you do in the room in the office. You can do a little good while we’re holed up here.”

“I would like that.” You mumble as his lips begin to wander lower. “You’re sure you can’t stay for thirty more minutes?”

“I wish I could.” He mutters, huffing his displeasure into the curve of your throat. “But Knight’s already downstairs waiting.”

You pout as he pulls away and he chuckles as his thumb traces over your pert lips, dipping between them. You bite down lightly and he groans at the sensation before he climbs off the bed readjusting himself in his jeans.

“I have to go to work with this now.” He whines and you give him a mischievous look as you climb out of the bed, naked in all your glory. It only serves to make him harder, his cock throbbing in the confines of the denim as you head inside the en-suite.

“I’m going to be thinking about you in the shower.” You taunt him and it takes every ounce of self-restraint Nick has not to follow you into the bathroom and fuck you in the shower.

“You’re a wicked woman Harper.” He calls out as the water turns on and he hears your laughter over it, followed by the shower door closing.

“Don’t forget those files.” You remind him as he picks up his keys, tutting at your naughtiness.

It’s half an hour later that there’s a knock on the door. You step out of the shower, winding the silk kimono around your body before you hurry towards it, pulling it open.

“Deputy Director.” You say, your damp hair falling across your features. “What are you doing here?”

He holds up the files you requested along with two cups of take out coffee.

“I’ve told you before.” He replies before stepping inside. “Call me Gabe.”

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[clarkeyhill]

Crawling Back To You | George Clarke Part Five

Smut. Fluff. Angst

-

"Hey Stranger" the voice called, a familiarity in its voice resonated with someone who you'd hoped you not cross paths with for a while.

But here he was, stood in a flannel shirt, white top underneath and the smell of his aftershave lingered around his presence.

George.

"Hi" you say softly, avoiding eye contact as your drinks were placed on the bar

"It's nice to see you" he adds, sincerity in his voice

"Yeah, sorry I've got to get back to katie" you say, grabbing the drinks and shifting away from the bar

"Y/n-" George's voiced trailed off

The pit in your stomach deepened, you didn't want to brush him off like that. He was sweet, genuine and actually gave one shit about you; yet you were forced to reject the universes matchmaking for the sake of your friendship.

"Ahhh finally!" Katie says grabbing a cocktail

Your face sat visibly white, Katie cocks her head to the side

"You okay?" She asks

"Yeah I'm fine, just need some air, wanna come outside for 5?" You ask her, pointing to the rooftop bar area

She nods as you both filter through the crowd, George was nowhere to be seen thankfully. As you take a seat on a table outside, the crisp London air graced your skin once more. You both sat, sipping your drinks and scanning your surroundings.

"Are you sure you're okay? You seem to be people watching" Katie asks again

You sigh, unable to hide it "I saw George" you say

"George?" She questions

"Yeah at the bar, he said hello, but I brushed him off" you admit

"I wonder if he's with Chris" Katie asks, a sense of hopefulness in her tone as if she wanted to see him

"I don't know, I just saw him" you add

-

The air ran colder as the night drew in, you made your way back inside. The affect of the multiple pornstar martinis becoming visible to your ability to walk. You and Katie made your way out as you booked the Uber, waiting in the dim of the streetlights.

It's not long before you both get home, slinging your bags and shoes into the passage way. You both giggle to yourselves at the state of you both.

"We really went to town didn't we" you admit, the room spinning beneath you

"Oh absolutely" Katie chuckled

"Night" you say making your way to your room

"Night" Katie replies

-

You perch yourself on the edge of your bed, the emptiness of it left a feeling of regret. Even though you didn't do anything but kiss George, you couldn't help but want to fall to sleep next to him right now.

The tipsiness creeped in more as your drive for attention sky rocketed, you were a good drunk, but you couldn't help but experience heightened sex emotions when you'd had a few. You open your phone, scrolling through Instagram with blurred vision. The voice of George's "hey stranger" lingering in the back of your mind.

It's was 1am, he'd be asleep. Or with someone else. You couldnt bother him, you were the one who said you didn't want to see him again. But you couldn't help but want to feel the warmth of his embrace. Opening up your contacts you hovered over his name, the urge to call created a thud in your chest.

"Fuck it" you sigh, clicking the call button

A few rings let out, doubtful of him answering, you pull the phone away from your ear to end the call when you hear

"Y/n? You okay?" The huskiness in his tone rocked your emotions

"Do you ever get the thought of calling someone when you've had a few?" You ask him

"Where are you?" He asked

"Answer the question, George" you insist

"Y-yeah I do, sometimes. Why?" He admits

"Can you come over?" Your words slur, but the prominent sincerity ran through the drunkenness

"I- I thought you said it wasn't a good idea" he says softly

"I lied. Please; I need you, I'll text you the address, if you don't come that's fine, but I think I'll forever come crawling back to you regardless" you admit, ending the phone

-

The pit deepened as you sent him the address, wondering if he'd turn up or not, or if you'd just made an absolute fool of yourself. Only time will tell.

-

🫶🏻

@themdera @olivianorrisxx @loveheart-123 @pretendyoucantseeme @tyna-19

[whereubeenloca]

Doors

Part 3 of the Neighbor! Reader series: (1), (2), (3), …

Summary: Carmy locks himself out, you help him.

Pairing: Carmy x Reader

Tags: VERY Slow burn, Awkward flirting

Word Count: 713

“Thanks. Have a good night.” You slur out to the Uber driver as you fumble with the door handle, slipping out of the car and clamoring to the sidewalk. 

Your boots clatter against the concrete, crunching the small bits of salt and ice below them. The wind whips your hair around as you walk the treacherous five feet to the front door. What was supposed to be a quick happy hour with your friends had turned into a bar crawl, and you were drunker than you’d like to be on a Wednesday night. Or was it Thursday now? Whatever, doesn’t matter, you decide as your hand blindly sweeps the bottom of your purse in search of the front door key. As your vision focuses you see something on the stoop, suddenly it shifts to the side. Wait- 

“Carmen?” You say a little too loud. 

The lump jumps and stares back at you. Tired eyes meet yours along with chapped cheeks and a runny nose. 

“Uh, hey.” He sniffles in response. 

“What-” You start, placing one foot in front of the other. You miss the first step and your ankle rolls into the concrete. He reaches for you as you awkwardly correct your position, gripping the cold metal railing to steady yourself. 

“What are you doing out here?” You try again as you pull yourself to the top step. 

“Got locked out.” He responds sheepishly, standing up from his spot on the ground. “Couldn’t get ahold of Randy.” 

You click your tongue as you dig through your purse once more. “Fuckin’- fuck Randy, dude.” Rolling your eyes at the thought of your landlord. 

“Asshole still hasn’t fixed my radiator. It’s free-zing in there.” You huff, keys in hand. 

You miss the keyhole once, twice, three times. The door clicks as it opens and you stumble inside. Carmy’s hands hover closer than usual, half ready to catch you and half ready to let you fall on your face. 

“No, yeah, totally uh. Fuck Randy.” Carmen mumbles as he follows on your heels, stopping in the small foyer of the shithole you both called home. 

“How long were you out there?” You ask over your shoulder as you attempt to climb the narrow staircase to your apartment. 

“Like an hour maybe.” He says tentatively, eyes glued to your back as he watches you oh so gracefully crawl up the stairs. 

“Jesus, you’re lucky then.” You huff, limbs heavy as you make your way to the landing. You push your weight into the wall next to your door, suddenly aware of how drunk you are. 

“I don’t like- I don’t do this often.” You say sheepishly “I swear.” 

He laughs in response “No- I mean. I didn’t think-” 

“But in case you did.” You interject, raising your hands.“I… do not.” Beautiful, eloquent, spoken like a true poet. No notes. 

Silence fills the air as you rock back onto your heels. 

“Are you… can you get inside your apartment okay?” You ask. 

He nods quickly. “Oh yeah, I uh- I have those ones.” He laughs, hands in his pockets.

“Good, good…” You nod simply, pressing your weight into the wall as you take a breath. He’s lingering, at least that’s what you want to think. 

“Can I… have your number?” You blurt out. 

Carmen’s eyebrows shoot up “I- uh.” he stutters out. 

The weight of your words suddenly hits you as heat climbs your neck. 

“In case this happens again.” You say in an attempt to save yourself. Smooth. “In like- a neighborly way.” Super smooth. 

He takes a pause as he looks you over, poor guy looks absolutely shell shocked. Before you know it he’s pulling out his phone and opening his contact list. 

“Yeah, that would be uh, good.” He says as he passes his phone to your shaky hands. 

“Yeah, yes. Great.” You agree softly. Your skin is hot as you type your phone number into his cracked screen, thumbs shaking nervously. 

He takes his phone back and gives you a polite smile, “Well um… goodnight.” He nods. 

“Goodnight.” You respond back “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” the words come out of your mouth without thinking and your face drops. You can’t get into your apartment fast enough. 

You did not just do that. 

[duchessonfire]

Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 2 Chapter 4

Follow-up of my re-read of Part 2 Chapter 3. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 2, Ch 4 below the cut (spoilers for part 2 ahead):

Okay first of all, early 2024 Duchess, why are you writing "the man" everywhere?? I have had to edit over 15+ "the man"s in this chapter. WHY???? JUST SAY 'NEGAN' OR 'HE'!! I feel like as writers we tend to fear repetitions, but one thing I've learned over time is that the brain doesn't register stuff like the main characters' names or very common pronouns such as "he" or "she". If there's a repetition that appears glaring it's more "the man" or "the boy" because that's definitely not that common. Another thing I tend to fear is confusion, especially in mlm ships where both characters are refered to as "he", but honestly just looking at the context helps clear that up most of the time.

Alright, now that this is out of the way, let's talk about one of my fave chapters ever.

These scenes in the infirmary/parking lot were definitely supposed to be THE sexy moments of part 2 because, back when I was writing it, I didn't mean for part 2 to have any real smut, which I planned to hold off on until part 3. However, when I was writing the last chapter, it soon became clear that the smut was going to happen earlier than expected.

Now, let's start at the beginning, which is Carl becoming officially a member of the Saviors:

When Carl makes them stop for a fifth time, Big Richie growls, “He ain’t gonna be happy.” “Yeah? What’s he gonna do? Throw me back in the cell?” The Savior frowns at his acerbic tone. “Man, what crawled up your ass and died? You got a beating. Welcome to the fucking club. We’ve all been there. The Doc will patch you up and then it’s business as usual. Just be grateful you ain’t on the fence after the shit you pulled.” Carl huffs petulantly but he knows Richie is right. He’s caught a lucky break until now. Negan never disciplined him the way he did the rest of the guys, no matter how many times Carl stood up to him. If he had been any other soldier, he would have gotten an attitude-check the second he told Negan to go fuck himself that day in the mess hall, when he had humiliated Carl into making a sandwich. Instead, Negan had given him a pass, and then afterward, when he’d saved his life, he had let even more things slide, never doing more than playing fucked up mind games that sent Carl chasing after his own tail like a mad dog. He can’t complain, not after riding the gravy train for so long. He’s a Savior now, and that means following the same rules as everyone else. His shoulders deflate and he adjusts his grip on the wall to start climbing down again. Seeing his resignation, Big Richie tells him almost consolingly: “Hey. It ain’t so bad. At least you’ll get pain pills out of it. I’ll trade you some good shit for them. Just come to me first, ok?”

I've mentioned before that I really enjoy writing the background characters of Sanctuary and this is a good example of that. To me, the Saviors are this sort of frat house, this boys' club of adults that are basically reverting back to a teenage state because of the very high-school/college campus atmosphere that Negan is fostering. The Saviors know they're the jocks/cool kids, but they are also very much the first recipients of Negan's mercurial temper. Negan doesn't bother disciplining the workers himself, cultivating instead a sort of detached paternal/benevolent god attitude. With the Saviors, however, it's very much a rough coach-football players type of relationship. By getting punishment from Negan, Carl won a badge of honor that he didn't even know he was missing before. He's only realizing now that the preferential treatment that Negan had given him until now had further isolated him from the other Saviors, who kept their distance from this strange teacher's pet who spent so much time alone or with Negan himself. Carl becomes aware of this when Big Richie gives him a metaphorical clap on the back and tells him that becoming Negan's punching ball is part of the job. Now that Carl has received a beating, he's officially one of them.

Now, for the infirmary scene:

“Finally,” Negan exclaims when Big Richie leads Carl into a small medical room. He’s standing with his hip cocked against a brown exam table, rocking Lucille through the air back and forth. Next to him, Carson is busy doing his inventory, though Carl is pretty sure it’s just a front considering how the Doc keeps sending nervous glances at the baseball bat. “I was starting to think my favorite little serial killer had kicked the bucket during the night. Sure would have been a shame, after all the great progress we made yesterday.” He straightens up and takes a long look at Carl. “Jeez, you look worse than the shitbags of the fence. I gave you a whole damn day to yourself and you couldn’t even take a shower?” He rolls his eyes. “Big Richie, get him some clothes that don’t reek of piss. And close the door behind you. Let’s give the kid some privacy for fuck’s sake,” he calls out as Richie exits the room, his tone mockingly indignant. The door clicks shut and Carl becomes hyper aware of the fact that he’s trapped in a small room with Negan. Judging from the way Carson gulps nervously, he’s not the only one. “Well, come on, Doc. Do your thing. Can’t you see the state he’s in?” Negan tuts, but his rakish smile contradicts his feigned disapproval. He saunters to the other end of the cramped room and settles near a metal cabinet. There is a glass jar full of lollipops next to his elbow and he shoves his fingers inside, grabbing a handful of candies. He puts them in his pocket, save for one which he starts unwrapping.

All of this was inspired directly by canon. In The Cell episode, Negan has Daryl beaten up and when Dwight brings him to the room that Negan hopes will be Daryl's, he tuts disapprovingly when he realizes that Daryl's bruised lips prevent him from drinking a glass of water, and he then berates Dwight for not thinking of giving Daryl a straw in the first place - which is the summum of hypocrisy when Negan is the one responsible for Daryl's bruised face. This is one of those little cruelties that make Negan's character so delightful, turning sadism into a schoolyard game. The lollipops, of course, are from the Hostile and Calamities episode when Carson is fixing Dwight after a beating - ordered by Negan, again - and Dwight grabs a handful of lollipops from the jar in the exam room. Do I obsessively rewatch seasons 7 and 8 until they overtake my brain completely? Yes. Yes, I do.

“No painkiller,” Negan says suddenly, and they both turn toward him. He’s been silent until now, watching without a word while Carson probed Carl’s wounds and disinfected the occasional cut. He pops the candy out of his mouth, his eyes now deadly serious. Dr. Carson looks between Carl and Negan, conflicted. “The ribs will hurt a lot. I really think it’d be better if—” “He can take it. Right?” The question is aimed at him, a clear challenge, and Carl realizes then that just because he killed the worker like Negan wanted him to doesn’t mean the punishment is over. He knows it’s another test, but at least he knows the answer to this one. Shane made sure of it. “I can take it,” Carl says, his answer meant for Carson but the defiant tone aimed at Negan. Judging from the way his eyes twinkle, he gets the message. He puts the lollipop back into his mouth and Carl gets a glimpse at his pink tongue wrapping around it before his lips close on the white plastic stem.

One of my fave things about these two is how they get in their own little bubble and have this understanding between them that leaves the other people around completely puzzled. Carson doesn't understand why Negan would deny a Savior painkillers out of the blue. If a Savior is punished, he doesn't get medical care, period. But Carl knows what it's about. It's another test, another way Negan wants Carl to prove his worth. Because of course Negan's favorite boy isn't afraid of pain. I love writing Carl as a badass who takes pain without flinching so this scene was an absolute joy to write. These two are soulmates so someone as sadistic as Negan would inevitably fall for the one person in Sanctuary who isn't scared of pain.

A gloved hand appears in his field of vision and drops clean clothes on the table in front of him. Richie must have brought them at some point, Carl probably too busy biting back agonizing screams to notice. He slowly turns his head to look up at Negan who’s peering at him from under his lashes, his cheek bulging out from the lollipop still in his mouth. “Attaboy,” he murmurs. A dark and shameful thrill runs through Carl at the praise. Negan leans forward, the plastic stem of his candy grazing Carl’s sweaty temple. “Just between us, I got a lil’ bit hard watching you take it so well.” Carl’s face heats up, from degradation, or disgust, or something else he can’t hope to name. Negan chuckles and turns on his heels, walking out of the room. Carl knows he’s waiting for him outside the door when he hears him whistle another cheerful song. Negan isn’t done with him yet.

In case you were wondering, yes, Carson heard the whole exchange and, yes, he was deeply disturbed by it. Only a handful of people notice the growing sexual relationship between Carl and Negan, and Carson is one of them.

He just wants to leave, to go back to his room and sleep some more. Maybe have something to eat, considering he can’t even remember the last meal he’s had, but then Negan straightens from where he’s slouched against the wall and stands toe to toe with him. The side of his cheek goes round as he rolls the candy with his tongue. Never letting his eyes off Carl, he grabs the plastic stem between his fingers and takes the candy out with a wet and sucking sound, his lips wrapping around it one last time, leaving them pink and shiny. He offers the gleaming lollipop, the head of it an inch away from Carl’s mouth. “Open up,” Negan says. Carl’s breath catches in his throat and he freezes, a deer in headlights. His eyes dart from the lollipop to Negan’s unreadable expression. After a long second, he stomps a foot on the ground and roars with laughter. “Lighten up, kid, I’m just messing with you,” Negan cackles before popping the candy back into his own mouth. He wraps a lazy arm around Carl’s shoulders and leads him away from the infirmary, his mood shifting so swiftly that Carl gets whiplash. “C’me on. Let’s find you something to do.”

Negan is good at playing it cool, but the truth is: if Carl had indeed opened his mouth and taken the lollipop, there's nothing on God's green earth which could have stopped Negan from putting Carl down on his knees and shoving his dick in his mouth. Period.

“Now, you fucked up yesterday and everyone knows that, so I can’t just send you back to Dwight. The garden is prime real estate, and only boys who behave get to work there. We’ll just have to find you something else to do for a few days, until it looks like you’ve learned your lesson.” Carl’s heart skips a beat when Negan suddenly pulls him even closer, flush against his side. His breath rustles the long hair around Carl’s ear as he whispers conspirationally, “But you and I both know you’ve got a lot more fuck-ups coming. I’m getting your cell cleaned as we speak, so it’s all nice and ready for your next little rebellion. I’m even thinking of putting your name on the door. Really make it official.”

Little foreshadowing for part 3 right there ;)

Negan whistles, a long melodic note, and Carl drags his eyes back to him only to meet his devious smile. As much as he craves Negan’s attention, he can never decide if he’s more thrilled or terrified to have those gray eyes zeroing in on him, like a sniper’s bright red scope aimed directly at his head, a hair-trigger away from shooting him down. Negan twists Lucille’s handle, the way he always does when he’s thinking about some terrible trick to play on him, and Carl knows he’s coming, can feel it the way that mammals have learned to feel a predator’s eyes on them, a deep-seated instinct a million years in the making. Negan’s lips stretch into a feral grin, and he’s ready to pounce when Joey shifts and makes a small noise next to him, nervously expectant. Negan blinks, turning on his heels and breaking whatever tunnel vision tied him to Carl only a moment ago.

These two are so obsessed with each other, they keep forgetting they aren't the only ones left on Earth.

Carl scrambles back, narrowly avoiding getting stepped on. He looks up, glaring, but Negan’s eyes are full of laughter, obviously reveling in playing a game when he’s the only one who knows the rules. He keeps whistling, faster now, stepping forward again, making Carl step back in tandem, a twisted version of a dance. With a clang, his back hits the side of the white truck they use for the drops to other communities, and Carl realizes only too late he has been herded straight where Negan wanted him, in the shadow of the largest truck on the lot, far away from prying eyes. The cold surface of the truck is like ice between Carl’s shoulder blades, piercing through the layers of his shirt and t-shirt and chilling him to the bone. In front of him, Negan puts a gloved hand next to Carl’s head and leans forward. Out of nowhere, Carl is reminded of that time in sixth grade when he used his hall pass to sneak into the school gym, not wanting to listen to Miss Harnett drone on about geometry any longer. There, he had caught a glimpse of a couple of nine-graders under the bleachers, in the very same position he and Negan are now. Hazily, Carl wonders if the girl’s heartbeat was as loud as his, blood rushing in her ears and turning her cheeks flaming red like his surely are now. “So,” Negan says slowly, his pink tongue darting to wet his lips. “What did you think about Athena’s little show back there? That’s how you get a guy wrapped around your finger, by the way. Ain’t nothing better than a tease who leaves you wanting for more. She really knows how to get me all worked up,” Negan chuckles warmly. They’re so close, the husky sound of it sends shivers from the root of Carl’s hair down to the tip of his toes.

Negan just casually telling his 18 yo Savior that he should act toward him like a wife. Also one thing you need to know about me is that if I can make Negan herd Carl like a shepherd dog herding cattle, I will. It's one of my favorite dom/sub trope.

I'm not going to quote the entire parking lot scene but I absolutely love it, especially because Carl barely says a word. Negan is the one doing all the talking but, because he's so watchful of Carl, so obsessed with every little sign he displays (Carl has 0 poker face skills, which makes it easy for Negan), he can read Carl like a book. It's actually something I'm constantly surprised about in the Savior AU: how little Carl actually says. Because the story is told from Carl's pov and we have access to his every thought, it feels like Carl is constantly talking, when in fact he very rarely says anything out loud, preferring to watch from a distance instead. Carl is an extremely introverted character in the Savior AU, but that's no problem for Negan, who talks more than enough for two. However, it's always interesting to see the scenes when Carl does talk, because those are the scenes when Negan can get a good glimpse at what's happening inside Carl's head. And when you look at those scenes (the rooftop in part 1, the cell in part 2, etc.), you'll notice that, for all that Negan thinks he can read Carl like an open book, when Carl does talk to him, it's usually to say something Negan didn't expect. Every time that boy opens his mouth, Negan is in for a big surprise.

“You should touch yourself tonight,” Negan says, almost companionably, and Carl is so used to obeying his command that his hand twitches forward before stopping mid-motion. He tries to hide it by tightening his fingers into a fist but the way Negan’s lips stretch into a devilish smirk tells him he failed.

Carl is such a sub it's a miracle he doesn't just put himself on a leash and hands the end of it to Negan.

Also, while in the infirmary it's Carson who was the uncomfortable witness of Carl & Negan's increasingly disturbing relationship, in the parking lot it's Dwight. Those boys are not as discreet as they think they are, and the most observant members of Sanctuary are starting to pick up on it.

Now, for the masturbation scene. Honestly I hadn't planned to actually write it. It was inevitable for Carl to jerk off while thinking of Negan but I thought I'd leave that up for the readers to guess. As horny of a writer as I am, I tend to avoid smut unless it serves a purpose to the story, because smut is so difficult to write that I can't really afford to make it gratuitous. However, I ended up writing this one because I realized that Carl's sexual awakening (both in terms of the fact that he's attracted to a man and that he was so sexually repressed before) did serve an important role in the story. Re-reading this scene, I'm very happy with it, because it encapsulates what the whole fic is about: Carl's trauma, Negan's intoxicating personality (as in: both toxic and attractive), the fact that for all of his cruelty and perversity, Negan is the one person that makes Carl feel alive after years of being emotionally abused by Shane. I often think of Carl through a Pinocchio metaphor: he was a wooden puppet for Shane, but Negan is the one who breathed life into him and turned him into a real boy. And real boys are horny, sorry, Carl, I don't make the rules.

Conclusion; tldr: Negan spends the whole chapter sexually harassing Carl who is so into it he might as well be flopping down on the ground like a cat demanding to be pet. Negan is trying hard to be cool about this and not ravish Carl against various surfaces (the exam table in the infirmary, the truck in the parking lot...).

PS: did you spot Michonne and Tara in the Terminus flashback? ;D Rick and Carl almost met a few times in the Savior AU, being in the same location without realizing it.

[joannerowling]

that g*iman article is so vile holy shit. it makes the stink his fanbase has risen after the podcast even more rancid. at this point im confident that people who are wholeheartedly trying to please the gender movement are either spineless coward or predators who are building themselves a loyal support net. bc even now his fandom still have a problem with victims going to a "terf podcast" and treat it on the same level as actual serial sexual violence. like be fucking real for once. and it took them like a month to start actually taking about the basics instead of running a fucking conspiracy about secret trans rights sabotage.

also, ive made a personal observation. this whole incident has turned me away from good omens book and series 100% the minute I've finished listening to the podcast. I haven't gone back ever since and don't feel any significant loss about it what so ever. Analysing this made the constant moaning about ethics of consuming content from La Sorcière TERF maléfique and producing fan works about it pathetic. if they had any consistent principles, like they demand everyone else to have, it wouldn't be such a tragedy in the first place. I can, of course, recognise that HP probably has a much more significant role for these people than anything g*iman ever produced. but the question remains – if she is so harmful and evil, and she harms you personally, why are you still engaging with her universe and characters? I've read a lot of g*iman to be very confident in saying that his books and comics do contain disturbing shit that is unsettling and unpleasant, and that looks and feels like it was a choice to write it that way. i was being turn away from his works simply because the content was uncomfortable and g*iman was starting to look like a hypocrite because of what he said and wrote. good omens was sorta like the last straw, partially become it was co-written by Prattchet (his attitude towards Rowling soured my experience with his lit too, btw. thnx, Joanne, for sparing me lots of time and nerves 🩵), and it's gone now too. so like, if the hp book are crawling with bigotry that makes them feel unsafe and targeted, why even touch them still? read another book, indeed.

Reading the article convinced me to listen to the podcast (now that it's been added to Deezer i can do that in the train, yeah!), and my god, it's absolutely horrific what these women went through.

But re: your second paragraph. Here's the thing, i don't think clues about writers doing horrible shit out of the public eye are to be found in their work (as Gaiman himself apparently put it, writers can lie). It's not his fiction which should have tipped people of, it's his actions.

Middle aged married man with kids, publically hanging on tumblr, a website known for being full of insecure teenage girls and younger women who find refuge in fandom culture. Plenty of famous men would probably do the same if they didn't fear it'd look suspect, but the fact that Gaiman was bold enough to actually do it spoke of someone who had compulsions he couldn't reign in even if it would have been smarter. And those types are usually the ones who act on their impulses.

The fact that he has high charisma in general. Not just with young women but older writers as well, men and women. He's reasonably attractive for a man his age and very eloquent. Never trust a man who can make that sort of impression on people.

The way he used Pratchett's death and their friendship to prop himself up. Well, that one is touchy i guess, they were clearly friends, but i don't know, i always had a bad vibe about this. Adapting Good Omens was fine, but he pushed season 2 with this "Terry would have loved this, it's the sequel we always planned on writing" angle i knew he was a manipulator who would steep low to get what he wanted.

The fact he never directly attacked JKR, unlike other men of his ilk (like RT Davies or GRRM), only once published that ask of that anon on his tumblr who said she'd plagiarised Diana Wynne Jones (which she obviously didn't). Gaiman just answered "we should always read more of Diana Wynne Jones" or something like that. Sly fucker.