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venus-haze · 2 years ago

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Baby Let's Play House (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: After noticing your exhaustion in trying to balance managing Homelander’s day-to-day and your relationship with him, he decides that you’d be happier behind a white picket fence than an office desk. You initially agree, but the housewarming party you throw reveals how differently the two of you view your relationship.

Note: This can be read as being related to My Destruction Is an Hour Late, but you don’t need to read that to understand what’s happening in this. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. First time incorporating Homelander’s perspective into a fic, also I took some creative liberties on how his costume works. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Homelander is his own warning (I never tag his stuff as yandere because that’s just how he is), but toxic relationship that includes possessive tendencies, gaslighting, guilting. Mirrorlander makes an awful, misogynistic appearance. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion/dubcon, oral (m. receiving), brief orgasm denial and choking. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Dating your direct superior was undoubtedly an ethics violation, but the trembling HR manager who signed off on Vought’s workplace relationship disclosure form couldn’t conjure up any protests when Homelander and you showed up at her office to make your relationship “HR official.�� When you’d expressed concern about how dating him would affect your career, he scoffed, ‘What are you talking about? Babe, I am your career.’ You faltered under the weight of his gaze, knowing full well he could hear your heart skipping frantically along as you thanked him for his reassurance.

He’d resisted the idea at first, one you brought up almost immediately after you’d become his girlfriend and he gave you a promotion. He was The Homelander. He didn’t need Vought’s permission to date you. It wasn’t until you reframed it as a declaration rather than permission that he was on board. Stan Edgar could read the damn form and weep. No more publicity relationships, not when he had you. It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control from there.

Your coworkers treated you differently, with a nervous politeness that was unsettling and isolating. Loneliness settled in soon after, almost as if by design. Suddenly, Homelander was the only one you could turn to, and by the nature of your job, he was almost always there, ready to fill whatever emotional void you needed filled, from co-worker to lover. He thrived off of your dependence, each display of it a hit that coursed through his veins. An addict in thought, he couldn’t get enough of you.

When he brought up this idea to you, not long after his grandiose proposal, you welcomed it. A cozy house in the suburbs didn’t sound so bad compared to the whirlwind of your responsibilities at Vought managing Homelander’s day to day on top of your relationship with him.

Now, as you walked up the pathway to the front door with the last of the groceries you’d needed before the housewarming party you were hosting the following night, the white posts of the picket fence that surrounded the house looked more like teeth rising out of the ground to devour you, red roses planted along the perimeter painted droplets of blood on the unhinged jaw. You knew it was never your choice.

Most of the time, things were good, and you and Homelander fell into a comfortable, domestic rhythm. When things were bad, however, there was nothing you could do but sit back and wait for it to end. That hadn’t happened in a while, and despite your excitement for the party, you could tell he wasn’t nearly as enthused. You foolishly hoped that the night you’d been planning for weeks wouldn’t end in disaster.

Almost as soon as you finished unpacking the groceries you’d bought, you considered what to make for dinner. Despite Homelander’s enhanced palette, he wasn’t that picky when it came to your meals. You wished he expressed some preference, though, since your Pinterest board for recipes was out of hand, even with your organizing it as best as you could.

“Hey babe,” Homelander greeted you with a smack on the ass, a domestic yet outdated gesture he favored upon seeing you in the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

He never used the services of Vought’s chefs after you and he began “going steady,” even though he did like their food more than yours objectively. Getting food cooked by a chef in an industrial kitchen and then brought up by an intern was too impersonal. You cooked with love, always adding a personal touch that made even the overcooked chicken cacciatore you’d served a few nights before worth eating.

“Do you consider soup a meal?”

“What is this, a Seinfeld episode?” he asked. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on the soup.”

“French onion.”

“That’s basically a deconstructed French dip. Sure, that’s a meal.”

“Perfect, I’ll make that, then.” you said. “I’m so excited for the party tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a blast,” he mumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his chest.

“C’mon, I get to spend the whole night showing off my amazing fiance and our incredible home,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on his clenched jaw.

His pouty mood cracked just the slightest bit, though he didn’t like how your attention had been all over the place in the week or so leading up to the housewarming party rather than solely on him. It was all you could talk about, and to add insult to injury, you’d started ordering him around far too much for his liking. You’d ask about his day as if it were an obligation to do so, a segue into ‘Pick up these streamers’ and ‘Remember to ask Jason and Patricia about their baby’ and ‘Tell Vought you need to be home by five.’

His biggest reason for even getting you this house and convincing you to quit your job at Vought was so you’d have more time for him. Even though your work schedule had been mostly dictated by him, you found yourself exhausted most nights, passing out in bed almost as soon as dinner was over. That was no fun at all.

Far too soon for his liking the next day, your stupid friends made their way up the street and to the house, bottles of wine and wrapped gifts in tow. He realized that he shouldn’t have left so much of the planning to you. To his displeasure, the guests were evenly co-ed. Though your hugs and greetings to the men who entered your home were polite and platonic, he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. Who the fuck kissed someone’s cheek as a greeting anymore anyway?

He watched as you played hostess, a tornado of hospitality as you ran yourself in circles around the house to refill drinks and jump in on conversations. You looked like you were having the time of your life, and his gloved hands balled into fists at his side every moment your attention wasn’t squarely on him, especially when you were all dressed up the way you were. None of them deserved to see how perfect you looked.

Finally, he crept up on you while you were speaking with your old college roommates who’d asked you to give the details on how you and Homelander got together. He was more than happy to indulge them, his arm tight around your waist as he took control of the narrative.

The version of the story that left Homelander’s mouth almost made you choke on your own spit. Of course, it started at work, with you harboring a crush on Homelander for far longer than he’d even noticed you. Your persistence was cute, though, and soon enough you’d wormed your way into his routine. Curious about your infatuation, Homelander would make excuses to keep you in the office late, until the projects became canoodling. He’d finally asked you out on a date, and you graciously offered to cook dinner for him.

He’d flipped the whole thing on its head. You had helped him with one project, and in the months spent building up your reliability, he was the one who’d become infatuated with you, until almost your entire life revolved around him. His story was far more palatable, as evidenced by your friends’ expressions of congratulations and how lucky you were.

You supposed you were lucky in a way. Homelander made sure you had nothing to worry about, except for him, of course. His moods were increasingly volatile as he was slowly pushed out of the spotlight of The Seven. The glance he gave you, loving to the untrained eye, was a warning. Despite your hope that the housewarming party would open up Homelander to the idea of you getting a bit more social interaction outside of just him, it was proving to have the opposite effect.

Then again, he never wanted to have a good time at the party, as you dejectedly reminded yourself. It was a shame, your friends all seemed to like him well enough, even if you did catch him being backhandedly rude to some of them a few times that night. He was so good at pretending when it came to the fans he supposedly hated so much. You weren’t sure why he couldn’t put up a front for a few hours for your friends.

By the time everyone left, you were exhausted. Drained physically and mentally from the demands of the party and your fiance, you were glad you’d opted for disposable plates and cups. The little clean up you had to take care of was just manageable enough to take care of before you headed up to bed.

“Glad that’s over,” Homelander said, drying the charcuterie board you’d handed him.

“Why were you so determined not to have fun tonight?” you asked.

“Excuse me if I don’t find entertaining your idiotic friends fun.”

“Then you suck it up and pretend, for me.”

“Don’t—don’t pull that.”

“Pull what?”

“That ‘for me’ thing. Everything I do is for you,” he said, huffing before lowering his voice, his icy glare making your breath catch in your throat. “You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody. Not when you have me.”

“Homelander, codependency isn’t—“

“Don’t pathologize me!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the granite countertop which cracked from the force he used. Upon noticing your terrified expression, he drew back a bit, letting out an unnerving laugh in an attempt to ease the tension he’d created. “You almost made me lose my temper there, missy.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, wide-eyed as you moved to take a tentative step back from him.

He quickly grabbed your arm, keeping you in place. “I know you are, darling, but a love like ours–it can’t be put into clinical terms.”

Fuck. You hit that specific nerve. It took him a while to open up about his childhood, the real one, not the Midwest little leaguer who loved god, mom, and the good ol’ US of A, in that order. That story sold comic books, it was comforting to watch on screen, the warm apple pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream. Not even born in a lab, by his own accounts, but dumped from a test tube and caged like any other animal used for experimentation. Except Homelander had been a boy, scared and alone as white coats filtered in and out of exam rooms and testing labs, poking and prodding. Though, torturing was more like it, pushing him to see the extent of his powers, whether their unbreakable hero was truly unbreakable. Then he was unleashed onto the world, the weight of it on his shoulders.

Something was wrong with him, psychologically at least, and you knew the unhealthy fixation on your relationship as his sole source of emotional fulfillment would have sent you packing if it were anyone else. Every time you considered leaving, as if you even could, you just as quickly thought of how scared and hurt the most powerful man in the world looked when he recounted every painful experiment he endured, the plethora of human rights violations that became so entrenched in his identity. The ensuing tug of empathy and guilt at your heartstrings made you stay.

Still, you had to let him know that you wouldn’t tolerate an outburst like that just because you’d had a lapse in judgment when it came to your phrasing.

“I think you should stay at your old place tonight,” you said.

“Babe, c’mon, the counter can be fixed. I’ll have someone at Vought call a contractor tomorrow and—“

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You still love me right?” he asked, desperately searching your face for an answer. “Right?”

“Of course I do, but we both need space to cool off.”

He huffed, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Fine, have it your fucking way. As always, babe.”

He stormed out before you could get another word in, you mentally sent your apologies into the universe to whoever would end up being at the receiving end of his wrath.

A few cars were lasered to smoldering hunks of metal on his way to Vought Tower. He didn’t care, the company had millions of dollars set aside each year for superhero-related collateral damage. After all, they weren’t even nice cars as far as he could tell. He was doing them a favor that’d go unappreciated, not unlike you.

Homelander’s arrival to his suite was devoid of any fanfare or announcements of his return. He was embarrassed to be back. Standing dejectedly in the dark doorway, he glared at every object in the room with disdain. It’d been a fine place to live before he knew any better, before he’d experienced what a home truly felt like. You’d once described it as like being in a museum, and he couldn’t disagree. At one time he thought it was to his taste. Now, the suite he’d resided for so many years without you felt cold, hollow, and unfamiliar.

He looked out on the city, rage boiling in his veins. Things were fine when it was the two of you against the world. Your shitty friends had to come in and ruin that. No matter how hard he tried, it was like you refused to listen to reason and see that he did everything because he loved you. He loved you so much it hurt.

“Now this is really pathetic.”

“You saw how pissed she was.” Homelander argued weakly against his sneering reflection.

“She’s a woman. That’s their default state when they’re running the show.”

“She’s not running the show.”

“Really? So that’s why you’re banished to the proverbial couch?” his reflection taunted.

Homelander swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do you suppose I do, then? Flowers? A box of chocolates?”

“No. That’s practically admitting you did something wrong. Do you remember how you got her in the first place? You didn’t ask. You took.”

Homelander nodded along as his reflection spoke.

“What you do is remind her who’s in charge. You’re the man of the house. Take the respect, the devotion, you deserve.”

You awoke suddenly in the middle of the night to a figure standing at the end of your bed. At first, you thought it was a dream, until the figure began to move. Turning on the lamp on your nightstand, its soft glow illuminated your side of the bed, casting shadows over your fiance’s face.

“Homelander!” you gasped. “Oh my god, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“You know the old saying, ‘Don’t go to bed angry.’ I already forgive you for tonight, but things need to change.”

“I need you to leave.”

“You don’t call the shots, babe. I’ve been way too lenient with you,” he said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. “Think you need a reminder of who’s in charge here.”

“Honey, what’s this about? You know I love you.”

“Sure, but you don’t respect me.”

“Of course I respect you—“

“No, you don’t. By the end of the night, you will,” he said, before beckoning you over to him with a curl of his index finger. “C’mere, sweetheart. You haven’t even welcomed me home yet.”

You felt his eyes practically burning a hole through you as you silently complied, pushing back the covers you’d been bundled under and padding your way across the room to where he stood. He somehow loomed over you, stony-faced like a marble statue honoring a god with disdain for humanity. His eyes glistened as he took in your face, though, betraying the whirlpool of emotions that rushed through him whenever he was in your presence.

Dozens of dresses and lingerie sets had been casualties of his lust and strength, the material torn from your body like gift wrap and promptly replaced within a few days. This night was no exception, as with a flick of his wrist, your satin nightgown was a pathetic pile on the floor.

Though you expected as much, he captured your lips in a heated kiss that almost made you lose your balance with his intensity. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you the way old tree limbs twist and tangle around objects left in their course, time and nature making it impossible to separate the two without irreversible damage to both.

“John,” you whispered against his lips.

There were plenty of men named John. It was a disgustingly common name, chosen for him by Vought to give him that relatable, everyman persona. Bullshit. He wasn’t an everyman. He was a god. People praised and worshiped Zeus, Jupiter, Jesus, Homelander—not fucking John.

Whenever you used it, though, suddenly the name was his. His. Not some stupid placeholder the white coats gave him instead of “subject whatever.” He was grateful you couldn’t sense the crack in his facade, his heart skipping a beat at how lovingly you said his name. How could you ever expect him to want to share that? Reluctantly, he pulled back from you, releasing you from his embrace. He still had a point to make.

“Get on your knees.”

You looked almost confused by his words.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned.

Slowly, you knelt on the shredded satin that lay at your feet, and with trembling hands unbuckled his belt, avoiding eye contact with the eagle that adorned it as if the metal bird of prey were judging you. You tried telling yourself there was no reason to be nervous, you’d given Homelander plenty of blowjobs before, but his mood was always much, much lighter when you did.

When you pulled down the spandex pants of his suit that was practically painted on him, you were greeted with an eye full of his hardening cock, already leaking with precum when you took it in your hand, eliciting a moan from him that seemed to echo through the bedroom. You stroked his cock, leaning in to give a teasing lick to the head that made his breath hitch.

“You like that baby?” you asked. “Do you want more?”

He whined, struggling to respond as you pumped his hardening length.

“C’mon, baby, use your words and—“

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, grabbing you by the root of your hair and shoving his cock in your mouth.

You gagged, trying to adjust yourself to the sudden change. Although, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to how big his cock was. The bulge in his suit certainly wasn’t compensating for anything.

“Go on, put that smart little mouth of yours to good use,” Homelander said, fingers still tangled in your hair as he tugged at your scalp. “Or are you so helpless without me that you can’t even suck a cock on your own?”

With a whimper, you did your best to massage his length with your tongue, taking as much of him as you could, though you never managed to fit all of him in your mouth. It wasn’t without a lack of trying. You gagged again, and this time he seemed to bore of your struggle and instead began fucking your throat at a merciless pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re it. You’re the only one for me. Why don’t you—fuck—get that?”

Your response was a garbled choking noise as you placed one hand on his thigh to steady yourself. The other reached out to fondle his balls, prompting an erratic thrust from him that nearly knocked you over. As unpredictable as Homelander could be, if you thought too much about how much self control he used to not accidentally kill you whenever the two of you were remotely intimate, your brain would start to feel fuzzy. Or maybe it was the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath.

When you looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, he was barely able to keep his own open. Blonde hair flopped across his forehead, he looked at you with hooded eyelids, the faintest smirk flashing across his face before he groaned again, throwing his head back.

He never lasted all that long to begin with, woefully sensitive and touch-starved despite his experience. Normally, you found it endearing, but tonight you were grateful as you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle his mercilessly fucking your throat.

With another involuntary thrust, his cock twitched against your tongue. You struggled to swallow his cum that was pumping into your mouth. Some of it mixed with spit as it dribbled from the corners of your lips down your chin.

As Homelander pulled his cock from your mouth, he observed your ruined state—disheveled hair, puffy lips, tears tracked down your face. Pride filled his chest as he watched you try to catch your breath. He’d never pushed you quite this far before, and he wanted so much more.

“Messy little thing, huh?” he asked, swiping what had escaped your lips on his thumb and bringing it to your mouth.

With a shaky sigh, you wrapped your lips around his finger, weakly sucking the residue from it until he was satisfied, pulling it from your mouth.

He smiled, caressing your cheek with his wet thumb. “That’s my girl.”

You hummed in response, the most you could manage with how sore your throat felt. It was good enough for him, because he offered you his hand, pulling you up from your knees with ease. His gentleness as he laid you back on the bed felt almost foreign compared to his ruthlessness just minutes earlier.

The reprieve was short-lived, however. As soon as he shed the rest of his suit, he pounced, his eyes betraying the intention to devour you whole. Animalistic, manic, from his predatory gaze to the prominence of his canines, he could rip your throat out if he wanted to. There was no point in trying to conceal your concerning arousal at the thought, even if he hadn’t reached between your legs to feel your wet pussy, he could smell it on you from a mile away.

He licked his lips, leaning over you as he teased your clit while sliding his cock inside you.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

Homelander grinned, rolling his hips against yours. “I know I am.”

He’d been aggressive in bed before, usually due to jealousy or possessiveness. The way he moved was far more calculated than impulsive, as if each thrust intentionally pushed you closer to climax as he rubbed circles on your clit instead of just him releasing pent up frustration and insecurity.

“You love taking it all, don’t you? Love the way I fill you up?”

His mocking tone went straight to your pussy, and you could hardly manage a coherent response as he pounded into you. Even then, it didn’t feel like enough, as you bucked your hips to get more of him.

He was studying you, observing every contortion of your face, feeling the way your wet pussy clenched around this throbbing cock as he thrust into it, the sound nothing short of obscene as it echoed with your desperate moans. Then, just as you were about to orgasm, he moved his hand away from your clit and pulled out of you so quickly, you almost started crying.

The look of hurt and betrayal on your face gave him conflicting feelings, but the one that won out was a smug superiority. He’d never loved anyone as much as he loved you, and it seemed like this ‘tough love’ approach was working. He wrapped his hand around your sore throat, his cold and intense stare as he leaned closer to your face sending a shiver down your spine that he could surely feel.

“You don’t come unless I say you can. You got that, sweetheart?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension.

You nodded weakly, a pained whimper trapped in your throat. As soon as he gave you a wicked grin in return, you knew that he wanted you to give in to your base desires like humans do. With so much of his life spiraling out of his control, he wanted to be sure he didn’t have to worry about you.

He released his vice grip on your throat, and, as if reading your thoughts from just a few minutes prior, leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before grazing his teeth down the tender flesh, feeling your racing pulse’s vulnerability.

“John,” you breathed, your voice inaudible to anyone but him.

“I know, darling. You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Please,” you whimpered, “please.”

“It didn’t have to be this difficult, you know,” he mused, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit.

You choked out a sob at the almost painful feeling of overstimulation. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not that hard to be good for me, is it? To just do as I say?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remind you again,” he said, his voice soft and low as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

The emptiness you felt between your legs was soon filled again by his cock.

You fell limp at this point, no movements in an attempt to match his thrusts. His reflection had been right, he just needed to take what he wanted and remind you who was in charge. He was in control, all you needed to do was lie back, look pretty, and take it. You should be thanking him for making things so easy for you.

He kissed you, reveling in how sweetly you moaned in his mouth now that he had you exactly how he wanted you. Your heart was racing, he could tell you were getting close, and he was too, but he wanted you to come first, to be the one to fold and give in to him completely.

“It’s all right now, darling. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

It felt like all of your muscles tightened before your release, your hips rocking involuntarily as your orgasm rippled through your body. The pent up pleasure was almost too overwhelming, and you had to grab his bicep to ground yourself, digging your nails into his skin. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you could break it anyway.

With the way your pussy squeezed his cock as you came, an unhinged moan and tears and vision clouded by stars, his own orgasm followed soon after. He never bothered with the pretense of pulling out. Filling you with his cum was right, it was natural, another way to lay claim to you. He hated condoms, but he knew his next course of action would be doing something about your pesky birth control soon.

You winced as you moved closer to his chest, allowing him to hold your body against his. Your muscles ached, and you knew that in the morning you’d hardly be able to move at all. It wasn’t uncommon with Homelander, and he loved your dependence on him on those mornings when he’d carry you from room to room, a reminder of his strength. He was the most powerful man in the world, you might as well have been a feather.

“How’re you holding up babe?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said softly.

He smiled, stroking your cheek. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now. It’ll make things so much easier, babe, you’ll see.”

You gave him a weak smile before closing your eyes, knowing fully well that he could hear by your thumping heart that you were faking sleep.

#homelander x reader #the boys x reader #homelander x you #the boys x you #homelander imagine #homelander #the boys

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lostloveletters · 5 months ago

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Love Like an Ache in the Jaw (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Kate "Woody" Woodward isn't quite sure what to make of love when she's finally got it, presented to her with unwavering devotion by the freshly promoted Captain John Brady.

Note: This is an expanded version of With a Rose Between Your Teeth (Is That Blood in Your Mouth for Me?) Title comes from Sweet Dreams, TN by The Last Shadow Puppets. Also, a million thanks to Kara @karasnonsense99 for letting me ramble about these two all the time ilysm🖤 Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Depictions of blood. Sexually explicit content involving oral sex (m. receiving).

The shining double bars on his collar said it all, catching the sunlight as he walked over to her on the tarmac. Unprecedented pride bubbled up in Woody’s stomach at the sight of him, and for a careless moment, she allowed it to boil over into a congratulatory kiss on his cheek. John didn’t protest, his hands on her waist, kissing her as best as he could with his lips pulled into a smile. Whispered about going out that night to celebrate. Not alone. Never alone, but typically with good enough company that she didn’t mind.

They were joined by most of his crew, guys she’d gotten to know well enough by virtue of hanging around John, but she managed to talk Darla into coming along when Holly declined her invitation, a regretful tiredness in her smile when she insisted Woody go out without her. But her fellow mechanic was fun, if not a little rowdy—perfect for a night of celebrating.

In all honesty, the night panned out to be a bit tamer than she’d been expecting. She zoned out from Hoerr and Hambone’s argument over whether Rita Hayworth or Betty Grable had better legs. John didn’t hesitate to input his preference for Hayworth, something Woody occasionally teased him about, asking if she should dye her hair red just to watch his ears burn the same color. Always muttered something about liking her the best, taking her into his arms and kissing her as if she needed the reassurance she wouldn’t lose him to the likes of the bombshell actress.

No, the conversation being held behind them caught her attention, a man musing at the billiards table over finding someone to play eight-ball with, having just been paid and ready to supplement his payday. Her fingers twitched as she brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaling as her mind raced. She’d played plenty stateside, back when she was still going by Kate.

Woody wasn’t sure what the hell he meant by quid, but her serpentine confidence slithered over the necessity of understanding exactly how much was on the table. When the car business was slow, hustling pool had been her next best bet. Good enough that she was sure even after two years of eschewing such habits, she would come out on top.

She turned around in her seat, and before she could stop herself, said, “I’ll play you.”

An RAF pilot and his buddies. They shared incredulous looks, snickering amongst themselves until one chuckled, “That would hardly be a fair game.”

“Double it.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

The corners of her lips twitched, and she snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray in the middle of the table as she stood up. “Whatever you’re betting, double it, if you’re so sure.”

The voices at the table fell to a hush, and she felt John’s fingers brush the small of her back through her blouse, as if to give her an out if she wanted. Too late. She let the beast rear its ugly head, forked tongue and all, as she stared down the pilot. He relented, holding out the pool cue for her. Probably figured it’d be an easy win. Line his pockets with her misguided cockiness.

Woody grabbed the cue. Watched with curiosity as they set up the rack, placing the eight ball at the foot instead of in the middle. Licked her lips as she realized there may have been differences in the way the British played than how she was used to, but she wasn’t about to betray her own ignorance by asking what exactly the rules were.

Instead, with a deceptively bored-sounding self assurance asked, “So am I stripes or solids?”

He considered her for a moment. “Stripes.” Motioned to the table. “Ladies first.”

She scoffed, cooly rolling her eyes at his false chivalry as she leaned over to break the rack. Spared a glance at John, his arms folded across his chest, watching her with an intensity that nearly sent a shiver down her spine. She hit the cue ball, sending stripes and solids across the felted table.

Standing up straight, she followed the striped ten as it rolled into a corner pocket. Missed the next one, but so did the pilot, and it was her turn again. She made up for her sloppy performance with nine and twelve in another corner pocket.

Woody stalked around the table and leaned over in front of John, making a bit more of a show than was necessary in shifting her hips to make the hit. Fourteen in the middle pocket. Looked over at him, the slightest smile on her face when they locked eyes. Everything else faded into the background, white noise and static compared to the way he was looking at her.

Acutely aware of his attention, drinking in the sight of her as she leaned over every so often, deliberately biting her lip or sticking her tongue between her teeth just to see his reaction, playing a different game entirely by the time she hit all of the stripes into the pockets, finally finishing off the eight ball.

Darla laughed. “Goddamn Woody, I didn’t know you could play like that.”

“She must’ve cheated somehow,” the pilot said dismissively to his friends, as if she weren’t even there.

“Jesus Christ, these guys,” Hambone muttered.

“There’s no way she could have cheated,” John said. “Be a man and pay up.”

“Or what?”

Woody shot him a glare, leaning against the cue. “Or I’ll shove this up your—”

It happened so fast. Too fast. Before she could even blink, a wad of spit landed on her face.

John grabbed Woody’s shoulder, pushing her behind him. Scraping chairs and mangled shouts drowned out the music playing from the jukebox. She wiped the spit off of her cheek with the back of her hand, cringing as she shook it out. Her stomach sank. Why the fuck did she say that? Lost herself for just a minute, let herself be the person she tried to leave behind in San Francisco, and it all went to shit, like everything Kate touched tended to do at some point.

Her eyes frantically searched for John in the fight that erupted. The sinking feeling in her stomach warped into something else entirely at the sight of him, taking a punch to his jaw before throwing a solid one in return. Always found guys who fought for their girls teeming with unearned bravado, something to prove. But John’s bravado had been wholly earned. Proved himself with his promotion to Captain, which he was putting in jeopardy on her behalf. More than that, it looked good on him.

Still, she wouldn't let him bear the brunt of her mistake if she could help it. She shuffled forward, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face as she grabbed his arm.

“John, come on! He’s an idiot!”

She practically had to wrestle him away from the chaos and into the bathroom. A cramped space with peeling paint and a naked lightbulb that almost didn’t let her close the door behind them until she forced it shut.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

Water poured freely from the faucet. She watched as he splashed some in his mouth, swishing it between puffed up cheeks.

“People might think we’re in love or something.”

He spit into the sink. Water pink with blood pooled at the rusty drain. It dripped from his chin as he stared her down with blown out pupils, reflecting her own unspoken desire. “We are.”

She reached out and wiped his chin with the pad of her thumb. Glanced at the glistening residue on her finger before sticking it in her mouth, letting the faint coppery taste settle sweetly on her tongue.

“Yeah. We are.”

And all at once she was consumed by it, the fiery desolation of being loved and loving in return. Made her skin burn, feel more alive than she had in months. No wonder it made people go crazy. Like him, her calm and collected pilot who suddenly didn’t hesitate to throw punches over a woman with no honor to defend except for the fact that he loved her.

He loved her.

She kissed him with a ferocity that forced him to grip the sink to keep himself steady. The faint traces of blood still in his mouth sent an almost vampiric fervor through her. Brought her hand up to his neck and felt the way his Adam’s apple bobbed at her touch. Always privately lamented that she couldn’t mark up his throat the way she desperately wanted to, sink her teeth into him and let everyone know he was hers.

She wanted more of him. Always more. Lowered her hands to unbuckle his belt.

“Sweetheart, what are you—”

“Got that handsome face of yours roughed up over me,” she rasped, pressing her lips to his jaw as she unzipped his pants. “‘S the least I can do, Johnny.”

He uttered a low ‘fuck’ as he watched her drop to her knees in the tight space. Nuzzled her nose against his crotch, the dim lighting nearly concealing the playful smile that's spread across her lips. She pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees. He swallowed roughly, licking his lips in anticipation.

She spit into her palm, then took his cock in her hand, wet and calloused as she pumped his length. Pressed a kiss to his head before wrapping her lips around it, her tongue warm and inviting. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his blunt nails scratching against her scalp.

She watched him intently, his face contorting with pleasure as she took more of him in her mouth. Noticed with obsessive observation what made him moan louder or tug on her hair a little harder. All of the noises he made echoed in the cramped space, and only served to drive her wild, give her more motivation to bring him to climax.

Her fingernails pressed crescent-shaped marks into his thighs when he thrust in her mouth. Didn’t matter that her jaw started to ache a little, lips were probably swollen and puffy. She wanted him to feel good, to know how much he meant to her, to use the memory of her on her knees in any fantasy he conjured up for himself in his private moments. She wanted to be it for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he forced out, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m close.”

She choked a bit when he thrust harder, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat. It twitched against her tongue, pulsing and veiny, his length almost too much for her to handle when he came, her name falling from his lips like a prayer though she was the one on her knees.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised as she swallowed his cum, fondly stroking her messy blonde hair. “Such a good fucking girl.” Her body purred at his words, claiming her with a gentle ownership she keened at the thought of.

She figured she loved him for much longer than just that night, except she hadn’t realized because it felt so different from the way other people described it. Not particularly soft or sweet, but it made her feel powerful, alive. Like staring down everything she feared and finally feeling able to conquer it all instead of running—she was so damn tired of running.

He offered his hand, pulling her up from the floor. His lips brushed her cheek, adoration pouring from the simple gesture of affection. “I love you,” he whispered against her warm skin.

“I love you too.”

Woody leaned against the door, catching her breath as John pulled his pants back on. Took a look at himself in the mirror, straightening himself out to appear every bit of the no-nonsense Captain who had her wrapped around his finger.

Turning around, he gave her a once over, taking in her ragged appearance in comparison.

“Your nylons—“

She looked down, finding a tear at the knee. “I don’t give a damn. Let’s just get outta here, Johnny.”

“You sure?”

“We can sneak out the back and spend the rest of the night alone. They all probably think we left already.”

“Sounds like you have somewhere in mind.”

Woody smiled, turning the knob to crack the door open, checking if anyone would notice the two of them slipping out together. Taking his hand in hers, she gently squeezed it. “I might.”

#john brady x oc #john brady x ofc #john brady #masters of the air #mota #mota x oc #mota oc #masters of the air x oc #mota x ofc #hbo war #hbo war x oc #hbo war fanfic #mota fanfic #ch: woody #i know maybe like 3 people will actually read this after like 2 months of not posting anything for them but fuck it we ball

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kcalsforhim · 27 days ago

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⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ wed 30th oct 2024 - past midnight

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

the morning was nicely underwhelming… nothing much done to be honest… my friend couldn’t hang out so i just went out on my own. called eli while getting ready cause when am i not otp with her her friends are sick of seeing little femboy twink in the corner of their eyes on her phone

anyway took the bus to the centre and first went to the h&m. was trying to get my minecraft boxers out of that pick up box using a code but the code wasn’t working. some girls complimented my style and i asked them if they knew how to open this box. they did not but they did stick around to help me out open this box. called support and shit and I GOT MY BOXERS LOL

they stuck around so we went to manos cause i was going there and they were following me around LOL. i got my usual order and one of the girls also got a boba yummy yummy.

we sat outside and we chatted for a while it was actually very nice and when it got dark and one of them left the other gave me a ride home she was super sweet and kinda fine ngl 😖

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

no step goal

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

contains : cucumber, edamame beans, carrots, wayyy too little avocado than usual, chicken, salad mix base (it was different this time ????? it had green onions)

also : vanilla mix pudding it was very good i know it looks gross but that’s because it’s room temp so it’s not smooth

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

cal goal : 430

spent : 433

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

FUCK YOU LADY AT MANOS i miss my male coworker that genuinely looked like he ran a mafia gang to make me my pokebowl. i’m not even mad she didn’t fill up the bowl all the way like the guy did because i’m not so concerned on getting fat… im mad cause the SALAD MIX HAD FUCKING GREEN ONION ????? the way i was gonna crash out. stop.

the pudding was also so yummy and just ugh love it… after i ate this food the way i genuinely passed the FUCK OUT like i crashed i stilll had my entire outside outfit on at this point 😭

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

i feel like a whore today but it’s fine… my ribs are ok… i feel ok… i guess ? i’m scared for tommorow…we’re having all you can eat but what if i can’t eat all i want 😖

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

thinspo that haunts me… and a drawing eli made of me that i thought was especially cute. she really captured my “ariana grande sleeve” habit 😖

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

i’ve been feeling so amazing and good and genuinely MANIC this song describes my feelings so amazingly <3

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

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augustrelapse · 5 months ago

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TIPS

@na:

- if you it do it while someone’s watching, never eat alone

- try fasting al least 5 days a month

- GUM (no sugar)

- cider vinegar can make u less hungry or at least give u nausea so u don’t want to eat

- drink at least 10 glasses of water a day

- drink black coffee if you are hungry

- buy smaller clothes to motivate yourself

- watch thinspo while eating or look at yourself in the mirror

- baggy clothes outside, and tight when you are alone so you can see your body

- you can ask to eat in your room, keep a plastic bag hidden, live the food there and throw it away outside at night (always say it was very good)

- try becoming vegetarian or vegan, it’s an excuse for not eating at some moments and will make you lose weight

m!@:

- drink water in between each bite

- you must chew everything at least 30 times

- chocolate tastes horrible when coming back from you

- remember you can only p*rg3 80% of what you it and only for the next 30 minutes

- try not using l@xat!ves, they don’t affect how you affect calories and the weight you’ll lose is from water and fecal matter, you should only use them after a large meal you didn’t p*rg3 so you lose that weight instead

both:

- if you can, buy a smart scale, it gives you more control

- set rules for yourself (for example not eating anything red, or not eating after 6pm)

- it takes 20 min for the brain to realise its full, take it slow

- denser food feels like more

- eat only what is in your plate and don’t put more food then

- protein/healthy bars tend to have a lot of calories, it’s better eating other foods that feel like more and have less or the same amount, it will make you feel fuller

- make a list of bad foods

- always have a list of safe foods for emergencies

- higher calorie items are better early

- write down everything you eat (separately, for example - lettuce- olive oil- lemon- salt)

or take photos, you’ll realise how much it is

- peppermint tea

- don’t keep your big clothes

- don’t eat it if you don’t know it’s nutritional values

- you can tell people you are allergic to certain foods

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fatguarddog · 2 years ago

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Welcome 🐾🔞

Follows from @follow-fatguarddog (inactive old main but I gotta keep it to keep this blog)

Hey, I'm Hutch, 29/UK/M, icon by @droolfang

I am not a gainer. I'm a chubby alt male feeder/feedee who enjoys stuffing and being treated like a dog ❤️

This is my space to explore my kinks, mainly weight gain stuff and slightly more aggressive pet play I'm trans, only use he/him pronouns and prefer terms like dick/cock and tits when referring to my body. I've had top surgery but enjoy fantasising about growing tits/moobs I like people of all genders, but do lean t4t ❤️

I love hearing other people's fantasies/ideas so ask is always open! You should probably scroll down a bit and read my Hard Nos first before sending one though (please no more slob-leaning asks) ❤️

DMs are open, but please only message if you're 23+ I offer custom audio commissions, find out more HERE I have a Ko-fi HERE if you ever wanna throw a dog a bone or treat me into something in particular 🦴

My Kinks

I'll be tagging my posts in case you want to search for or block something in particular - original stuff will still be 'hutch posts,' but here you can also find 'hutch photos' for pics of me and 'hutch audios' for little fat fantasy recordings Also to reiterate that whilst this is a weight gain-centric blog, I'm not in a position to actually gain weight nor am I a gainer, I just like fantasising about a world where I could be a lazy fat dog. Please don't send me asks about tips for gaining weight because I'm afraid I can't help you, I have always been roughly this fat and have no experience with consistent gaining

🐾 Fuck yes: feedism, weight gain (magical, slow, rapid, forced, etc.), ass/belly/breast expansion, general belly kink, monsterfucking, bondage, praise kink, intox kink (alcohol and weed), biting, pet play (think of me as a rough but loyal dog or a maybe pig boy)

🐾 Yes Please: breeding, cnc, some degradation, corruption kink, primal urges, hucow/lactation, inflation (favs are pumpkin, honey, berry and milk), plushification, force masc and force femme (not in a detransition way, just like how a cis guy would be into it)

🚫 Hard Nos: detransition kink, slob stuff, death feedism, gore, piss/scat, ddlg type stuff, incest, birth, feet, immobility in weight gain scenarios (I'm ok with it in more fantasy-based tf scenarios though, e.g. pumpkin inflation/transformation)

Taken anon emojis/sign offs: 🪞, 🐮💓, 🫐🐈, 🐶❤️, 🐑🤍, storm anon, 😻, 🎃, 💋, 🐳, 🕹️, ghost anon, 🎃☕, 🎃🦣, 🥛, 🥓🐻, 🐉, 🍩🐶, 🍒🦝, 🐷 🤓, 💜, 🧊🐺, 🎤, 🐺, 💣💥, 🐊, ⚡️, 🐇, 🔵, 🐗, 🎀, seal anon, doughnon, 🍰, 🦌, 🍔🐱, 🥨, dogboy, 🐐, ⚕️, sleepy cowboy, 📼, 🦇, 🦕, ☢️, 🍄, 🐷🐶, 🚙, 🌀, eldritch weight gain anon, ♉️ Emojis/sign offs help me know who I'm talking to if you've sent asks before, so feel free to add them! If you want to interact with me, please don't call me a puppy! Just dog/big dog/fat dog is fine, but puppy doesn't do it for me in referring to myself

BLOCK LIST

Under 18s or no age in your bios, you’re not welcome here

Same if you’re over 45, no disrespect it's just not comfortable for me

Misgendering and thinspo blogs, no thanks

Literally anyone who makes me uncomfortable at my discretion

Feedism jars filled out under the cut if you wanna know more

#hutch posts #hutch photos #hutch audios #hutch answers #hutch sona #<use these to find my stuff!#audio #< ignore that it's so i can find things

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ghostbeliveinme · 2 months ago

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30 días del reto Thinspo (día 21 super atrasado)

Día 21.- ��Cuáles son tus tallas de ropa?

Soy talla M (38) de ropa, aunque de pantalón a veces soy talla L (40/42). Lo sé, es demasiado grande... Aspiro a ser talla S o si soy muy ambiciosa xS. Sería lo mejor del mundo...

Han pasado tantas cosas que prefiero no comentar, solo sé y he descubierto que la unica alegría verdadera que tendré será ser delgada. Y me he dado cuenta de lo mucho que me ayuda esta comunidad, no debí haber descuidado los blogs. Lo siento mucho... Nos estaremos viendo más seguido porque ois mis únicas amigas y os aprecio.

#3ating d1sorder #princesa ana #tc4 #tw 3d vent #an0rec1a #no quiero ser gorda #quiero ser flaca #anaymia #diario de una gorda #estoy gorda

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aew-regression-cove · 4 months ago

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DNI:

NSFW Blogs (it's different if you post some nsfw and some SFW stuff, I will decide if I'm comfortable or not!!! just keep in mind I'm a minor!!!)

kink (even if 'sfw')/ageplay/ddlg/abdl or any variants!!!

'm-ps'/ped-philia

anti-agere/agedre/petre blogs

racist/ableist/anti-lgbtq+ blogs

pro self harm/eating disorder blogs

thinspo blogs

political blogs

discourse blogs

pr0shippers

blank blogs

overall bullies

Please note that I will block freely if I'm made uncomfortable. It's not necessarily personal, it's just to keep my blog safe for me!!!

I would like it known that I support Palestine however I will not be talking about the current situation on this blog (same as I have not spoken on any other issues either) as it's incredibly stressful and triggering, I understand if you don't agree with my choice however I will not be changing my stance on this. — This is my safe space and I would appreciate it people didn't guilt trip me for my decision. I have no money to donate, I do not have a blog with a large following and I am a minor, seeing those asks which can often include unsettling images is damaging to my mental health, I am aware that this is the state of the world however this blog is a place for me to escape from that. Please respect this!!!

Boundaries:

I don't take requests

— (I do however take prompts, photo or written for characters that are on my f/os list. // please check the tag ' #kit's thoughts 💭 ' for examples on what I mean. // And occasionally take requests from moots ONLY!!!)

^ I may not write these prompts, please don't pressure me to do so. I make them for fun and my own comfort.

please do not DM me if you are under 15. I am 17 and for my safety and your own safety I don't want to be in private chats with you!!! You are still more than welcome to send asks tho!!! <333

I say it a lot however everything I post is platonic!!! I personally don't post anything involving 'reader'/me with the intention of a romantic relationship, only platonic!!! <333

I struggle with paranoia so please don't send me cryptic asks/images/DM's!!!

Do not repost my works here or on any other platform!!!

I sometimes struggle with jealousy when it comes to certain characters that I see as my 'fictional caregivers'. I will get over it but it may mean that I temporarily do not interact with you/a post until I'm in a headspace to do so!!! It's nothing personal just my brain being fussy!!!

#[📚] ⭑.ᐟ kit's masterlist #fuck #→ sorry trying to avoid tags 🙏🏻#dni #will add if anything elses comes to mind

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anamnessia · 4 months ago

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THINSPO CHALLENGE

DIA 21

Mí talla es gorda, que más quieren que les diga... La verdad es confuso porque hay marcas en cuyas prendas sigo siendo M, pero hay otras que ni por las curvas entraría en una M, y no estoy diciendo que ese es m�� ideal, solo que si es mucho mejor a lo que soy ahora, ni siquiera compro ropa porque me rehuso a usar una talla más grande a esa, pero estoy segura que en jean sería un 14 o 16, si eso siquiera existe.

#diario de una gorda #confesiones de una gorda #30daythinspochallenge #Thinspochallenge #happybyana #hasta los huesos #to the bone #no quiero ser gorda #estoy gorda #anamnessia

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tiredaf23 · 6 months ago

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Intro post, ig lmao.

WE ARE A MINOR!! GET THE FUCK OUT, NSFW BLOGS!!

Hey, My name is Core. I'm the new host of the Anarchy system and use it/itself.

I share this blog with a few other headmates, who are listed below and we all use our names as sign offs:

Jeff: he/knife

Jack: he/buzz/static

Moth: She/her

Sans: It/itself

Stripes: they/he (they prefered)

Ben D. : He/it/game/mask

Lucid: Any in no specific order. Also, please recommend neos for me to try! 🤗

Jacques: It/itself.

Kurt: He/hym (yes its spelled right.

Wade: any: Yes I have sign off and it's 🗡🌯

A few other parts also come on the blog, but they'll probably tell you.

Color coded to help read. Typing quirks WILL be translated, don't worry!! We are against non-translated typing quirks!! This doesn't include punctuation or struggles to spell.

H O R S E. P L I N K O

DNI:

Racist, Anti-Black, Antisemitic, Islamophobic, Xenophobic, Zionist Against BLM, Support all / blue lives matter. Are a Nazi / Support the Alt-Right.

Sexist or Misogynist.

Endos. I won't even call your asses "systems".

Ableist

Ana, ED, or thinspo blogs, even if you post it. Posting with tags, you can interact, just tag the damn things!

Romanticize mental illnesses.

Anti Recovery Beliefs

Believe 'blackwashing', 'reverse racism', 'cisphobia' 'hetphobia' 'cishetphobia' etc are real things that exist.

LGBT+phobic (lesbophobic, homophobic, biphobic, panphobic, transphobic, aphobic, aspec exclusionist, etc)

Use slurs you can't reclaim.

M-Spec / "Good Faith" Identities / Labels

Fu**shi/F***ashi, fetishize mlm and/or wlw relationships/pairings/etc.

Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist or any branch of feminism that excludes trans women or claim that trans women are not women. / The feminism you are part of has a transphobic community or ideals. / Sex Worker Exclusionary Radical Feminist or any branch of feminism that excludes sex workers.

Against any sort of Non-Binary identity / claim to be 'gender critical' and/or 'nonbinary skeptic'.

Against xenogenders and/or neopronouns.

pro-ship/anti-anti.

Joke about or justify incest in any form, including families who aren't related by blood (step-siblings, adopted family, etc). Joke about or justify pedophilia in any form. Justify or participate in the sexualization of minors. Justify / romanticize abusive or unhealthy relationships.

MAP, 'pear' or 'minor attracted person' - a pedophile - basically.

transID & radqueer

Ship / kin / headcanon real people.

Support NFTS / Crypto / AI "art"

Anti therian/otherkin/FICTIONkin. We have to specify that fictionkins are okay.

SH and ED blogs. Nothing wrong with vents or spreading awareness, we're just not comfortable with it and will probably block you.

BYI!!!:

We use slurs we can reclaim. This includes the T-slur and f-slur. We don't over use them, either. We're not bad people, just trying to reclaim what we can and use it as a not slur.

We believe that intersex people who identify with a trans label (even ones uder an umbrella) can reclaim the t-slur.

We're not nice. We're blunt, cautious, and often snap if you overstep boundaries.

We are a BPD-er, are crippled, autistic, a witch, and pagan. Oooh- scary!! Dont like it? Whomp-whomp.

We believe that people who can still walk but struggle are crippled. People are more crippled than us, yeah, but I have to focus on only my leg to not collapse, so yeah.

We don't like vehicles and want to help the environment, but still use one because 🌟crippled without an aid🌟. So Taylor stans, sorry, but we shit on her big time.

We're white bodily, but Inner world face claims will be of THEM. None of us claim to know the struggles of POCs first hand, nor do we claim to be one. If one of our names are culture specific, do tell us!! We will find a new name ASAP!

Extra Christians, be careful interacting. You're fine, just don't talk about it on out page, please.

We also don't support Aspenfrost, vizzipop or any of her work, DSMP, or any other problematic media. Though we have alters of these media, we do not support it.

I think that's it??? Lemme know if you wanna somethings. Tell us of any other genocides in the world and who the victim is. Education is key to help.

Also let us know if we missed any tags, like trigger warnings. We also tag everything with #anti endo, because they can fuck off.

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punchurlightzout · 3 months ago

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tavros THINSPO 💜, Jimmy beetle AVERSPO 💜, or m*tt FATSPO 💜

Jimmy 8eetle AVERAGESPO💜 4 life.

#beetles

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mybeautifulbones1234 · 10 months ago

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TW M@L3 TH!NSP0

Thinspo for my fellow boy anas because no one represents us👍👍👍👍

#ftm ed #@n0r3xia #@na trigger #@nor3×14 #an@rexi@#@na buddy #@na tips #b0dy ch3ck #@na vent

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venus-haze · 1 year ago

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Night Shift (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: Your car’s totaled after driving over god knows what on those dark country backroads. A handsome mechanic named Bo works the night shift. You can’t believe your bad luck.

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is inspired by the deleted intro scene to House of Wax, except with Bo rather than Vincent. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Extremely dubious (non) consent. Threats, transactional sex acts, spit, degradation, rough oral (m. receiving), implied kidnapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Hour nine of driving. You were feeling fine, really. At least, you would be once you found a place to park for the night. Worth it to save money on another motel. The coffee from the last gas station you stopped at was long gone. The radio dial couldn’t go any higher. You tried to stay awake and alert by singing along to the staticky radio.

“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are—“ POP! “What the fuck?”

The pop sounded more like an explosion the second time around. Your iron grip on the wheel was in vain as your car swerved across the road. The speed limit sign took out your passenger side mirror, a metallic scraping sound accompanying the impact. Switching your foot from the gas to the brake, the scent of burnt rubber overwhelmed you. Finally, your car screeched to a stop, but your heart still raced.

Your hand shook as you put your car in park. Turned on your hazards. Stared blankly at the blinking headlights on the pitch black road. You hadn’t dozed off at the wheel. No way.

A dull pain pulsed through your chest, and you brought your hand to it. The seatbelt had locked, digging into your sternum as it kept you from any further damage besides the cut in your skin that began dripping blood. Not deep enough to need stitches, at least. You unbuckled the seatbelt, opening the door to stumble out of the car.

Both of your driver’s side tires had popped. The front passenger tire deflated from skidding on the uneven asphalt. You looked at the section of the road you’d just driven over. Country backroads were riddled with potholes. That could’ve been the culprit. Hard to see so late at night, even with your headlights.

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and flipped it open. No signal. Calling 911 only resulted in a dead dial-tone. At least you tried. Two options left. Stick around and hope someone would drive by and be able to offer help or walk back to the main road. In the hour or so you’d been driving, you’d only seen an old pickup truck drive in the opposite direction. The whole point of going this way was to avoid other drivers and get to your destination that much quicker. Walking back to the main road sounded torturous. There was nothing for miles, and it’d probably be daylight by the time you reached a sign of civilization. If you could even walk for that long. Either way, you were fucked.

Giving in to your defeatism, you walked around to the passenger side of the car. Your duffle bag had flown to the floor, not that you were too worried. It mostly had clothes, along with a few toiletries. When you opened it, however, you found your small shampoo bottle had opened, coating your belongings in soap, including the book you’d brought along in case you needed to pass the time somewhere.

“Worst night of my fucking life,” you muttered to yourself.

Not bothering to close the door behind you, you sat on the hood of your car and waited.

And waited.

You checked your phone’s clock just as it was about to die. A little after two in the morning. Half an hour and nothing. Just you and the sound of crickets. The occasional howl in the night. Rustling in the trees and bushes. You had turned off your headlights to save the car’s battery. There was no reason for anyone to know you were there, hidden under the cover of darkness.

“Hey, you alright?” a disembodied voice asked.

You blinked, bleary-eyed and squinting at the bright lights that assaulted your vision. Throwing an arm up to shield your eyes, you sat up, your back aching.

“Thought you were dead or something,” the man said, motioning to the bloodstain on your shirt.

“I think I fell asleep,” you mumbled, before jolting awake. You were talking to someone. Someone with a car. “My car got wrecked from the–I don’t know exactly, potholes I guess. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

“Happens a lot out here. The DOT don’t keep up these roads much. Boss has us drive around some nights just to check,” the man said, throwing a thumb in the direction of the truck behind him. A tow truck. You nearly cried in relief.

He offered you his hand, helping you off the hood of your car, keeping you steady as you got your footing on the road beneath you. Your legs felt sore too. As your eyes adjusted to the odd lighting, you tried to get a better look at your hero. His face was obscured by shadows.

“Mind headin’ over to the truck with me? I just gotta get a look at your license,” he said.

You nodded, following him to the tow truck as you pulled your wallet from your purse. He stood in front of the headlights. He glanced over your license, and you allowed curiosity to get the better of you, looking at his face better. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, nestled next to the cap he had on, dark curls peeking out from beneath it. His work shirt had a name patch sewn into it. Bo. If that was even his real name.

“Checks out to me,” he said, handing you your license back before your mind could begin racing too much.

“Thank you so much, Bo.”

He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, placing it between his lips. You watched as he lit it with a lighter he fished out from his pockets. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll get your car hooked up.”

“Thirty bucks right?” you asked, digging through your purse for the fee listed on the side of the tow truck. Two crumpled twenty dollar bills were outstretched in your hand for him to take.

“Hold on now, night shift is double.”

“I can give you my credit card.”

“Cash only.”

“Well, this is all I have.”

He grinned, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You got a lot more that I’m interested in.”

Didn’t even hide the way his eyes raked over your body. It was pitch black out apart from the tow truck’s headlights. How much of you could he even see? You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

You scoffed. “I-I don’t—“

“‘Less you wanna rough out the rest of the night on your own. Not sure when the next car’s gonna come through here.”

Your lower lip quivered at the predicament you found yourself in. Whatever. He’d probably make you blow him and be done with it. Hopefully never have to recount the humiliating situation to another soul.

“What do you want me to do?” you asked.

“Get on your knees.”

You hesitated.

“Ain’t got all night.”

With a shaky breath, you knelt in front of him, eye level with his crotch. The cracked, uneven road wasn’t kind to your knees, but Bo didn’t care. He flicked his cigarette aside, grabbing your face with his rough hand.

“Lucky I found you,” he said, his gaze burning your skin. “Lotta people wouldn’t be as nice as me if they found a pretty little thing like you alone out here.”

You tensed when he began undoing his belt buckle. “I changed my mind. I’ll wait here for someone else.”

He chuckled. “Too late for that, girl. No refunds.”

That was all it took to keep you there. Trapped. Your gaze kept fruitlessly looking for some sign of help from the road behind him. He seemed to know that no one else would come, smug as he palmed at his crotch before unzipping his jeans.

“Let me see you open that pretty mouth ‘a yours nice and wide for me,” he said.

You opened your mouth, presenting your tongue to him and trying to look at anything but the cocky expression on his face. He spit in your mouth, and you nearly gagged at the taste. Tobacco and beer. Stale. Bitter. You held his spit on your tongue until he said—

“Swallow.”

You did, trying to ignore the feeling of his saliva sliding down your throat.

“Attagirl,” he praised, giving you a patronizing pat on the cheek before prying open your mouth again with his fingers.

Your knees were on fire, and he hadn’t even shoved his cock in your mouth yet. You watched as he pulled it free from his underwear, already half-hard and intimidatingly big and veiny, twitching as if eager to break you. He gave it a few strokes, precum dripping from the head as he positioned it in front of your mouth.

“Give it a kiss.”

As soon as you pressed your lips to the tip of his cock, cold and chaste, you knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.

“C’mon now, like you mean it,” he chided. “Get a lil’ tongue in there.”

You could hardly see his shadowy grin, but it was clear from his voice he was getting off on your humiliation. Pervert. You shuddered to think of the other women who’d been in your place as you made out with his cock, your lips wrapping around the head, tongue flicking at his leaking slit before pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his shaft. His scent was strong, a sweaty musk that threatened to overwhelm your senses as he pushed your face against his hardening length.

“Shit girl,” he groaned, “you’re a natural whore.”

Suddenly, you felt a painful tug on your scalp, your yelp muffled by his cock forced down your throat, gagging as you tried to breathe. Your vision blurred with tears at his force, ears ringing as you could swear you heard him laughing at your struggle.

There was nothing you could do but take it, choking out sobs around his cock as he fucked your throat, hips thrusting with a punishing brutality that almost made you wish you’d driven into a tree instead. His cock filled your mouth, giving you little reprieve from him. Your throat burned at the relentless friction, head pounded from the lack of air.

“You’re gonna let me cum in your mouth, ain’t ya?”

You realized when his dark blue eyes pierced yours that he wanted an answer. Humiliated, your ‘yes’ was hardly intelligible with his cock in your mouth. To your shock, he slapped you.

“You ain’t gonna let me do shit,” he taunted through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna swallow it all, slut.”

Tears rolled freely down your cheeks as he pushed the limits of how much of him you could take, your throat constricting around his throbbing cock in panic and bringing him over the edge. He thrust hard when he came, nearly knocking you over if not for his hand firmly buried in your hair. His warm, bitter cum pumped in your mouth, down your throat, though you knew some of it spilled out from your lips despite your best efforts to swallow it all.

When he finally pulled his cock from your mouth, you took a painfully deep breath that burned the back of your throat. He reached down, a sinister gleam in his eye when you flinched. His thumb collected the cum from the corners of your lips, bringing it to your mouth. You sucked it clean, hoping you could silently communicate how much you hated him. He returned your death glare with amusement.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, inspecting it with a grin. “Good girl.”

You winced as you pushed yourself to your feet, drool and cum dripping from your puffy lips, knees split open and bleeding, grit and asphalt deep in the fresh wounds. You could hardly stand, leaning against the side of the tow truck, watching in disgust as he tucked his cock back in his pants and adjusted his cap.

“Alright, I’m a man of my word. Take a seat in the truck,” Bo said, the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “I’ll get your car hooked up, bring you back to the garage. Might be there a while.”

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher community #slasher fandom

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