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charliemwrites · 8 months ago

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There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

��Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Masterlist

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #nikto x reader #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #cod nikto #konig cod #neighbor!reader

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shawtuzi · 12 days ago

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girl you know what i wanna do, i wanna rendez-rendezvous ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

pairing: plug!toji x black fem!reader

cw include: porn with a little plot, drug usage ofc, a very minuscule mention death, oral f & m receiving, unprotected sex, smacking, choking, breath-play, some squirting, spit, lots of praise bc he’s so down bad for her while they’re fucking, PUSSYDRUNK TOJIII, backshots, prone bone position, fawking from the side, creampie n i think that’s about it!!! wc: 6.4k

ᰔ

ᡣ𐭩

“is it just a universal thing for all plugs to take for-fucking-ever to bring the weed? do they not like getting paid? this guy must really not like getting paid,” your babbling fell on deaf ears as geto and gojo focused on the game in front of them. occasionally they’d respond with a ‘uh huh’ or ‘i know right’ but this time they didn’t even have the decency to pretend to listen!

you huffed, picking at the charms on your nails, “you guys suck and so does your friend. i have plans later! i’d like to leave at a decent time to get ready.” geto whipped his head around to look at you, his brows furrowing, “i thought you were already dressed for the club…plus it’s not even dark out yet what you need to be getting ready for right now?”

“geto…wearing all fur boots? to the club? be smarter than that please,” you sighed, falling back against the couch. you whipped out your phone, sliding over the camera, “and for your information i’d like to get in a power nap before i go.” geto kissed his teeth, muttering something under his breath before his phone pinged, the sound catching your attention. before you could utter a word you were shushed by geto, a pout fell on your face as you fell back against the couch once more.

after taking a few pictures of yourself you grew bored once more—so of course you had to bother your friends some more. “so how did you guys even meet this guy? does he sell more than just weed? how long have you been buying from—”

“he’s here!”

“thank goddd! she’ll finally shut up, we won’t have to suffer any longer!” gojo tossed the controller on the table, his head falling in his hands. you grabbed your purse, taking out the money before standing. “i hate you guys i really do,” you glared at the two men before walking to the door—waiting for geto to walk out with you of course because stranger danger is very much real.

the sun was beginning to set, hues of orange, pink, and red swirling in the sky. “it’s so pretty out, i’m gonna need you to take a few pictures of me when we’re done,” you tugged down your mini skirt as you trailed behind geto.

you stood to the side as the two men talked—your curiosity getting the best of you as you peeked through the window. the windows were tinted of course, but you could still get a glimpse inside. now you didn’t know shit about cars but this was nice. “i wonder how far that seat goes back,” you mumbled to yourself, a small smile creeping on your lips. damn ovulation.

geto eventually moved to side, signaling that it was your turn. you straightened your back as you approached the window, your jaw almost dropping at the man in front of you. you nearly fell over when the first thing he said was ‘you’re pretty.’

“thank you, um, how much do i owe you again?” you asked, gripping the cash in your hand. toji looked you up in down, a smirk making its way onto his lips, “i like your tattoo.” he pointed to the area below your breast where ‘divine feminine’ was tatted across the curve in cursive. you grazed the tattoo with your manicured nail, your cheeks heating up.

toji opened the bag that contained your eighth before throwing a little extra weed in the baggie. he wrapped it up before holding it out for you, the baggie looking extra small in his big hand. “how much do you i owe—”

“it’s on me.”

now this made you really smile, your tooth gems now on display. “reallyyy?” you giggled, nibbling on your bottom lip. toji nodded, his eyes drifting to that damn tattoo again. his eyes flicked back to yours, “you just gotta do one little thing for me,” he spoke lowly, fist closing over the baggie. you stepped closer to the window, your heart pounding against your chest.

“and what’s that?” you fiddled with the end of your skirt, his intense eye contact now making you feel small.

“tell me your name, please?”

when you said it he practically swooned, his palms now feeling sweaty because he hasn’t felt this way since her. “such a pretty name…y/n….i like it,” toji licked his lips, his fist opening once more to hand you the weed. sure his hand might’ve lingered a little longer than it should’ve but you surely weren’t complaining.

“if you ever need some more please let me be the first person you come to, i wanna see you again. s’not everyday a guy comes across a pretty thing like yourself. you can get my number from sugu,” you had completely forgotten geto was waiting with you, but when you turned around he was nowhere to be found.

“must’ve went inside…eh whatever, now what were you saying?” you smiled, leaning against the car. since you were both clearly flirting you might as well give the man a little something to fantasize about. “it was very nice meeting you y/n, i hope i see you again soon,” toji gave you one last smile before pulling off, leaving you by yourself.

geto and gojo were rolling up when you came back inside, immersed in their own conversation. “you guys didn’t tell me your plug was so fucking hottttt!” you squealed, falling back into the couch, your feet kicking back and forth with excitement. “he’s so generous too….and so so cute. that scar on his lip is so sexy and he’s so big i wonder how big—”

“don’t say another word i’m begging,” gojo whined, covering his poor ears. the kissed your teeth now sitting up, “that man will be mine i’m telling you guys, he should be very scared because now i’m on the prowl.”

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

unknown number: hi! is this toji?

unknown number: it’s y/n from the other day, i was wondering if you were available to bring me a little something?

toji smiled at his phone, immediately saving your number. he’d hate to even admit it to himself, but he’s been anticipating a text from you for days. he just couldn’t get you outta his head! your smile, your cute lil doe eyes, your scent. you smelt so sweet, like the most expensive candies you get out for special occasions.

you made his chest tight, his palms sweaty, and his jeans tight as fuck—he just had to have you.

toji: send me your address.

toji: i’m omw.

“oooh shit—okay okay time to lock in,” you jumped up, quickly shedding your pj’s for a cuter, yet still cozy outfit to wear for toji. you settled on an oversized knit olive colored sweater and a long brown cotton skirt—yes it was an outfit that showed less skin than you were used to but hey it’s fall and hoes do get cold sometimes! just asked you were finished up adding the rest of your jewelry your phone pinged.

toji: i’m outside.

you suddenly felt nauseous, but the good kind—the excited kind of nauseous where butterflies where swarming all around your tummy. on the walk to toji’s car you held your chin up with confidence, the bracelets on your wrist dangling as you damn near strutted to the man’s car.

toji rolled the window down, a cloud of smoke swirling out of the window. “hey girl, how’re ya?” toji asked, setting the blunt he was smoking aside. you giggled, bending down to lean against the window.

“hi tojiii! m’doin’ good? you?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. toji hummed, shrugging his shoulders, “i’m okay, just been working.” it was silent for a few beats before he spoke again:

“i’m glad you texted, took you long enough,” he chuckled as he bagged up your weed, not even bothering to scale it. out of instinct your brought your hands to your cheeks, the coolness of your hands bringing you some relief. he just made you so beside yourself and for what???

“well now that you have my number maybe you could drop by and we could just, you know, hangout?” there you went again giving him those doe eyes as you asked your question in the sweetest voice. toji sealed up the baggie and held it out for you, “i’d like that a lot y/n.” the way your named rolled off his tongue felt so right.

as you both continued to talk toji could notice you were shivering despite wearing that big ass sweater. “do you wanna sit in here for a minute? finish this with me?” he asked holding up the half smoked blunt. you nodded with zero hesitation, quickly making your way to the passenger side. you were immediately met with warmth as you got in the car, your body relaxing into the heated seat.

“if this sounds too rude you don’t have to answer and i apologize if it does but….how old are you? i’m not saying you look real old or anything you just look, like, more mature,” you fingers anxiously tapped against your thighs, itching to grasp at the muscles practically bulging from his compressed t-shirt.

toji laughed. not just a little chuckle or breath through the nose, but a real genuine laugh. it was amazing to say the least.

“believe it or not i’m thirty four,” he gave you a toothy grin before sparking the blunt. your eyes nearly popped out of your head at his words. this man??? thirty four???

“ohhh so you are an old man,” you giggled, the sound of your laugh giving his chest that irritatingly tight feeling again. toji playfully rolled his eyes, taking a hit of the blunt before passing it to you. “i swear once you get past twenty five everyone suddenly thinks you’re old,” and he was certainly was not wrong. he’d lost count if he many times geto and gojo called him old man just to piss him off.

“i may be a little older but i still fuck like i’m twenty one,” toji rested against the seat, his eyes flicking to you. your mouth was slightly agape as you tried to tried to think of something smart to say back but unfortunately you were left speechless. you took a hit of the blunt, turning your body more towards him. “is that so?” you asked, passing the blunt to him.

toji nodded slowly, his eyes now low and red. before either of you could say anything else toji’s phone lit up, and you being the nosey thing you were couldn’t help but glance at his phone. “who’s baby is that?” you asked pointing his lock screen. toji smiled at the picture before looking back up at you, his smile faltering the slightest bit.

“that’s…that’s my son.”

it was quiet for a few beats before you broke into a big smile, a tiny squeal slipping past your lips as you picked up his phone to examine the picture. “he’s a cutie! look at those eyes—oh and those little cheeks! he looks just like you toji,” you giggled, handing the phone back to him. toji grinned, taking his phone back from you.

“ahh thanks! he looks more like his mother to me, acts just like her too,” your eyebrow quirked up at the mention of the boys mother. “i take it you guys aren’t together anymore?” you asked, cocking your head to the side.

toji was silent for a moment, his throat tightening at the mention of her. “she, uh, passed actually. a few months after megumi was born,” it was silent once again, toji was now avoiding eye contact with you. he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt you place a comforting hand on his knee. he whipped his head towards you, an apologetic look now on your face. “i’m sorry to hear that toji, but for what it’s worth i bet you’re an awesome fucking dad,” you gave his knee a little squeeze before pulling away.

“thank you, seriously. it feels nice to hear that because somedays i really wish she was here, not for me but for him. she was amazing i wish he got to know her the way i did,” toji was never the type to talk about his late wife, especially with someone he was trying to pursue, but you were different. you made him feel so safe and he barely even fucking knew you.

before he could babble anymore about her he stopped himself, fearing he’d make it even more awkward. “she sounds great toji m’sorry you lost her so soon. don’t worry though i’m sure you’ll find another love like that again,” and you meant every word you said.

“i can’t believe it’s only our second time speaking and i’ve already managed to bring up my dead wife, fuck am i doing?” he chuckled, throwing his head back against the seat. you quickly reassured him that all was well and you were grateful that he was felt so comfortable to share such a personal side of his life with you.

“i’d love to stay and talk more but gumi’s sitter has to leave early. ill see you again soon though yeah?” toji couldn’t help but brush his knuckles over the apple of your cheek, grinning when he felt the heat radiating from it. “you blushin’?” his grin now turning into a smirk.

“get away from me,” you swatted his hand away, unable to contain the smile forming on your glossed up lips. “this was real fun though, don’t keep me waiting too long now,” you gave toji one last smile before getting out of his car. the second he pulled away you whipped out your phone, immediately dialing your best friends number.

“hey…you busy? no? good because i needddd to talk about what just happened with someone.”

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

toji: hey pretty.

toji: you free? i wanna see you.

you squealed, kicking your feet with glee as you read toji’s messages. tonight was the night. after two months of unbearable sexual tension you were gonna claim that man in more ways than one. you quickly texted him back saying you were indeed available and to hurry his ass up.

you made your way to your closet, sifting through your clothes to find the outfit. you needed something that’ll make his head spin and dick hard…perhaps some subtle lingerie would do the job.

you finally settled on a lacy, red wine colored nightgown that showed just enough to have him wanting to see more. you brushed out your thirty inch bussdown, tugging it just the tiniest bit to see if it’d stay in place. toji was a big man and he looked like a hair puller—you were hoping you were wrong but if he was you were certainly praying your hair stayed in tact at least a little after he was through with you.

toji: i’m here. hurry it’s cold as fuck out here.

you took a deep breath, channeling your inner tina snow as you opened the door for him. “hi tojiii,” you beamed, resting your body against the door. toji’s jaw was quite literally almost to the floor as he took you in. if he looked close enough he could see your pretty lil nipple piercings through the nightgown.

“come in! come in! it’s freezing out there,” you tugged toji in your house by his sleeve, quickly shutting the door once he was inside. “what’re you all….dressed up for,” he asked lowly, nearly crushing the rello packets in his hand.

be patient. don’t get too excited. be patient.

he kept chanting that over and over in his mind but it was doing little to help him, especially since he was already sporting a semi. “oh i just thought i’d put on a little something nice for you i don’t know,” you could feel your confidence faltering under his lustful stare.

“well,” toji took a step closer to you, and then another, and then another till you both were nearly chest to chest. “i think you look really nice, sweet of you to get all dolled up for me,” he trailed his fingers over the material of your robe, chuckling the tiniest bit when he saw your bt21 cooky slippers. you looked up at him through your freshly done lashes, a grin making its way onto your lips.

you slipped your smaller hand into toji’s, guiding him to the living room. he wasted no time getting comfortable, his body immediately relaxing into the plushness of your couch. you sat on the opposite end of the much to his dismay, “why you so far away from me hm? come closer.” with shaky arms you scooted closer to him until your thighs were nearly touching, but it still wasn’t quite enough for him.

you let out a tiny gasp as toji easily picked you up and say you on his lap, you could feel the full throb of his dick against your ass. “that’s better,” he smirked, squeezing your hip gently.

it was silent for a few beats before you took the rello packet from toji, two pre rolled blunts waiting in there to be smoked. “so how long do i have you for tonight?” you asked, sparking the blunt. toji ran his tongue over the scar on his lip as he watched you exhale the smoke, not even realizing you had asked him a question.

“i have until eleven, gumi’s sitter was nice enough to stay an extra hour,” ever since toji had accidentally slipped up that he’d been seeing someone megumi’s sitter has been extra generous with her time. it probably helped that she was also getting paid some very hefty overtime. you glanced at the clock on your wall reading 7:18PM. only three hours and a couple something minutes of him to yourself—it was definitely time to kick things into overdrive.

“toji?” you spoke softly, passing the blunt to him. toji hummed, taking a long drag of the blunt as he stroked your back with his free hand. you readjusted your position on his lap, your arms now wrapped securely around his neck. the next six words that came out of your mouth nearly had him busting in his pants.

“you finally gonna fuck me tonight?”

“what did you just say?” his tone was low now, boarder line growling out the words. you sighed dreamily, brushing his soft, jet black hair out of his face. “i said are you finally gonna fuck me tonight? finally gonna show me you’re not such an old man?” your manicured fingers began to scratch at his nape, making him groan. toji closed his eyes, his head falling back against the couch.

“take off your robe.”

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

“tojiii,” you whined in defeat as toji sloppily kissed, sucked, and licked at the insides of your thighs—so close yet so far from where you really needed him to be. you made a few attempts to take your thong off but toji was having none of that and slapped your hands away each time, threatening to tie your wrist together with his belt if you tried it again.

you mewled when you felt his lips finally kiss your center over your panties, his tongue lolling out to get a taste at the wetness that seeped through them. your hands were balled into fists by your side, the urge to hump his face becoming unbearable.

“lift your hips up honey,” you heard his raspy voice speak from below you. you nearly screeched in happiness as he finally slid off your soaked panties, tiny webs of your slick sticking to your pussy. you jumped the tiniest bit when you felt a warm glob of spit fall on your clit.

“relax sweetness i got you,” was all toji said before dipping his tongue between your folds, immediately moaning at the sweet yet tart taste that was you. you felt his tongue cup your clit, the movements so soft and precise and it had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

you’ve been with men who claim they eat pussy for their own pleasure but toji….it was like he was making love to you with just his mouth the feeling the indescribable. each gush of your essence that spilled out was quickly slurped up by his greedy mouth, his moans nearly matching the volume of yours.

he was now drawing slow circles around your clit and that was what had your legs shaking, pussy clenching around nothing as you came on his skillful tongue. “t-toji you’re so goodddd,” you whined, shoving his face impossibly closer to your pussy.

toji finally released your clit from his lips with a pop! your cum now coating the entire lower half of his face. “do it again n’ this time put a finger in…please?” your brushed your thumb over his lips, whimpering when he sucked your thumb into his mouth. he ran his pointer and middle finger between your folds before pushing his middle finger inside, cursing under his breath at the way you were already squeezing his finger so fucking tight.

“you taste just as good as you smell pretty baby, i just knew you would though,” he licked his lips, not once taking his eyes off your cunt. “why’d you keep her from me for so long huh?” he rasped, slowly adding his ring finger into the mix. you squirmed underneath him, your hips rising each time he fucked his fingers into you. “i, uh, i-i don’t know i just—”

“you just what?” he teased, now sucking your clit into his mouth once more. your mouth dropped open, thighs immediately closing around toji’s head. you gasped wetly when you felt a rough smack against your thigh, a silent warning from toji to keep them open. you shakily opened your thighs again, your hands now finding purchase in toji’s soft locs. “you still ain’t answer my question,” he hummed, now rubbing sloppy circles on your clit with his thumb.

you shook your head in defeat, physically not being able to find the words as to why you deprived him and yourself of something so so good. “you liked teasing me pretty baby? ya liked sending me home with my dick hard each time i saw you? hm?” the squelching from your pussy got louder by the minute, you second orgasm of the night quickly approaching.

“i—”

“did you like feeling wanted by me? needed by me?” toji was now using his free hand to push down on your abdomen, smirking when he saw your legs start to shake again. all you could let out was an absurdly loud ‘oh shit!’ before you were gushing around toji’s fingers, a small stream of cum landing right on his awaiting tongue. his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he slurped up every drop you had to offer him. he hadn’t even noticed he was now grinding against the couch, his dick now fully hard.

toji pushed your nightgown up your tummy so he was able to kiss his way up your soft skin until he finally made it to your lips. he brought his thumb to your chin, pushing down ever so slightly until your mouth was open. you knew that look all too well. you could see the hesitation in his eyes so you helped him out a bit by sticking out your tongue, letting him know he had the green light.

not even a second later toji let a glob of spit fall from lips and onto your awaiting tongue, a lovesick smile making its way onto his lips as you swallowed it. “c’mere,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours as he shoved his tongue in your mouth. he caressed his tongue against yours, swallowing each tiny moan you let out.

“so sweet baby, even your kisses taste like honey,” he moaned against your lips, pressing his dick against your pussy. he shuddered when he felt just how warm you really were, even over his sweatpants.

“you’re so hard toji,” you whispered against his lips, your foot stretched up to push against his dick making him groan. “lemme—lemme suck you off. can i please? just a little bit?” you continued rubbing your foot against him, internally turning him into a pile of mush. toji mindlessly nodded his head, making quick work to sit back on the couch.

you stood up on shaky legs, now kneeling before toji as he stared at you like you were his prey. you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them off with ease. toji sighed in relief when his dick finally sprung free, no longer confined by his boxers.

“your dick is so pretty,” you bit down on your bottom lip, taking just a little time to admire toji in all his glory. he was long and not only that but he was insanely thick. you grabbed his dick gently, the soft, velvety skin making your mouth water. “don’t be nervous if you can’t take all of it, i know i’m kinda big,” although he sounded apologetic the shit eating grin on his face said otherwise. you had to prove yourself now—you had to give him some fucking work now.

you licked your lips before suckling the tip in your mouth, lord he was already a damn mouthful. toji hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until he let out a long sigh, his head slightly tilting back. you kissed and licked your way up and down his dick, trying to make it as wet as you could before taking half of him in your mouth with ease. “a-ah shit y/n w-wait oh!” the back of his head nearly knocked against the couch as you took the rest of him in your mouth.

your throat felt so tight n hot around him it had him digging his nails into his muscly thighs, nearly drawing blood. you hummed around his dick, trying to relax your throat as much as possible. you knew he was close already, you didn’t even care if he came down your throat that instant. toji felt his balls tighten and began to frantically shake his head, “y/n please i don’t wanna cum so soon. please baby please.”

you brought your hand to his balls, now gently massaging them. he wanted to pull you away he really did, but no one has ever been able to deepthroat entirely before—you were showing him a whole new world. you began to bob your head, obnoxiously sucking on the base and tip as you did. “s-shit wait—”

unfortunately for toji it was too late for him. you felt a shot of cum hit your tongue and knew you had to milk him now for everything he was worth. you focused your lips solely on the tip, moaning as cum coated your tongue. “that’s so good baby keep sucking me like that, j-jus’ like that,” he ain’t even give a fuck no more that he came so soon. he had enough stamina to give you another mouthful of cum if you wanted it.

you finally removed his dick from your mouth, now slapping the appendage against your tongue. “now what were you saying about being too big for me,” you smiled up at him, both of your hands still stroking his dick. toji kissed his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest. he made quick work to remove his shirt, tossing it mindlessly to the side.

“get up here and bend over the armrest,” his voice had dropped a couple octaves and although it was a little frightening it didn’t stop the wetness pooling in your core. you stood up, about to remove your nightgown but you were stopped by toji, mumbling something about how he wanted you to keep it on.

you kneeled on the couch, bending over the armrest as you arched your back as much as possible. you could hear the crinkling of foil and quickly turned around, shaking your head at toji. “i want you raw, ‘wanna feel all of you without a stupid condom,” you nibbled on your bottom lip nervously as you voiced your request. toji was still for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours.

after a moment he tossed the condom aside, his hands now finding purchase on your hips. you could feel the hot base of his dick against your pussy, and you just couldn’t help but slowly move your hips back and forth. you both moaned in unison, the grip toji had on your hips now tightening.

“put it in for me,” he grunted, pulling his hips back. you licked your hand before reaching underneath you to grab his dick, giving it a few slow pumps before positioning the tip at your entrance. toji’s face scrunched up in pleasure as your pussy swallowed up his dick with ease, the dull stinging sensation hurting you in the best way possible.

it took a few minutes but he was finally able to bottom out, the tip of his dick nearly kissing your cervix. he pulled out halfway before slamming back in, the couch shifting forward the slightest bit. “good little fucking pussy,” toji grunted, spreading your asscheeks to get a nice little view of his dick fucking into you. you were taking him sooo well he was sooo proud of you.

“how you feeling pretty baby? talk to me,” toji wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling your body into his chest. your arms immediately reached behind you to tug at his hair, each tug earning you a pretty moan from him right in your ear. “feels s’good to-toji, you’re so f-fucking deep,” you gasped violently when you felt his rough fingers begin to toy with your swollen clit.

toji nibbled at your ear, licking the shell of it before whispering, “yeah? pretty girl feels me in her tummy hm? oh yeah i can feel me rightttt there.” your body jolted when you felt toji press down on the small imprint of his dick. he tightened his grip around your throat, nearly cutting off your airway completely.

“lets play a little game hm? i can feel how close you are so m’not gonna let you breathe until i feel this pussy cumming around my dick, that okay with you?” he loosened his grip on your neck until you consented, he couldn’t help but smile proudly.

“alright pretty baby cmon, make that pussy cum for me,” he growled now increasing the pace of his thrusts. it was now very hard for you to breathe as toji tightened his hand around your throat once again, the action making your pussy squeeze toji’s dick impossibly tight. your mouth dropped open, tongue lolling out of your mouth as toji fucked you like he hated your guys. “almost there girl, i can fucking feel that shit cmon baby give it to me,” toji grasped at your breasts over your nightgown, tweaking at your sensitive nipples.

you began to feel lightheaded, your legs nearly giving out on you. you finally came with a silent scream, your pussy spasming around toji’s dick. just as you were at the height of your orgasm toji finally removed his hand from your throat allowing you to breathe. you fell against the armrest, your body going completely limp as toji milked your orgasm out of your. “goddamn you’re still cumming baby, such a good girl for me m’so proud of you,” toji was praising you left and right as stream after stream of your cum soaked his thighs and the couch.

after you were done toji let you rest for a moment, still inside you as he gently stroked your back. “you okay mama?” he whispered in your ear, giving your shoulder a soft kiss. you hummed, nodding your head and crazy enough you still wanted more.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

“oh my goddd,” your feet kicked against the couch as toji’s bigger body pushed you further into the cushions, preventing you from moving out of his grasp. he had you in a chokehold, your drool and tears dripping onto his bicep as he fucked into you like a madman. “that’s that shit….good shit right here goddamn y/n,” toji grunted in your ear, sounding genuinely frustrated at just how good your pussy was.

my mans was completely lost in the sauce. not a thought behind his eyes besides one thing—you. your warmth, your wetness, the fact that you still smelled like a goddamn s’more even with the intense smell of sex and weed in the air. for the first time in his life toji was pussydrunk.

“m’gonna cum honey, you ready for me?” a symphony of moans and whiny yes’ poured out of your trembling lips. three more strokes and toji was letting out a pornographic moan, his teeth biting down onto the soft skin of shoulder. rope after rope of his warm cum coated your walls, so much it was beginning to leak from your pussy. “so full,” you mewled, your toes curling at the warmth that now radiated throughout your entire body.

toji wholeheartedly believes that he was a man that was born to breed a whole lotta babies because it was absolutely ridiculous at how much he came—especially right now. each time he thought he was done your pussy would squeeze him once more, milking more out of him until it was almost painful. what was even worse was the he was still hard.

that’s how he ended up taking you roughly from the side. your ass was clapping back against his pelvis n thighs so hard they turned the lightest shade of pink. “y’hear how sloppy your pussy sounds honey? makes me wanna ruin you over and over again,” he growled in your ear, gripping onto your chin to have you look at him. your eyes were closed in bliss, a trail of drool slipping from your lips and onto your chin.

toji licked at the spit on your chin before giving your face a couple quick slaps, “open your eyes n’ look at me while i fuck you. cmon pretty baby lemme see those eyes.” you cracked your eyes open immediately whimpering at toji’s intense gaze. toji slowed down his pace, now settling for slow, deep strokes. “you’re so pretty,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours.

you gave him a weak smile, moaning when his dick hit a particularly deep spot. “can’t nobody else see you like this again except me got it? you’re my girl now. mine to hold, kiss, fuck—i want all that shit y/n. i want all of you, can i have you?” if you able to you would’ve swooned over his words, but unfortunately all your poor little fucked up brain could muster was a raspy ‘yes.’

toji gave you a sweet smile and a lil kiss before going back to his brutal pace, the couch thumping the ground with each thrust. “that’s what i like to hear honey, gonna treat you so well. make you the happiest girl in the world i promise,” and he meant it. every promise he whispered in your ear he would make sure to keep it until the end of his days. you were the one—he was sure of it.

“i’m gonna cum toji,” you whined, bringing your hand down to rub furiously at your clit. toji gave you a helping hand by spreading your lips, the squelching noise from your pussy increasing as he did so. “m’gonna cum too honey, let’s do it together cmon m’right there,” you both so so close until toji accidentally slipped out of your pussy, a pearl of cum dribbling from the tip.

you were just too wet he could barely fuck into you without slipping out once more, frustration overtaking the both you. “goddammit,” he grunted, gripping his dick tightly once again before slipping back in you—this time he just kept a hold on it. “fuck back into me baby, you can do it there you go,” toji moaned in bliss as you fucked back into him, your wetness dripping onto his knuckles.

“yes yes yes f-fuck!” you pressed your backside into him as much as possible as your orgasm took over you, his trailing not far behind. the hand he was using to hold his dick steady was now holding your leg up, gripping onto the soft flesh of your thigh as he fucked into you with shallow strokes. he came inside your pussy with a deep groan, pulling out to cover your pussy with the rest of it.

toji gently set your leg down, now pulling your trembling body into his chest. “it’s okay pretty thing we’re done now, i got you just breathe with me,” you took a couple deep breaths, running your hand along toji’s toned body just to make sure he was really there—that this really happened.

“that was good, thank you toji,” you whispered, nuzzling your face in his chest. toji kissed the crown of your head, taking yet another deep inhale of your sweet scent. “no thank you, that was the best sex i’ve ever fucking had and i mean it,” he chuckled, giving your shoulder a loving squeeze. you glanced at the clock on your wall, whining when you said it was thirty minutes till eleven.

“i guess you’ll have to get going soon hm?” you mumbled, making toji frown. toji nibbled on his lip before shaking his head, “don’t worry about it honey i’ll take care of it, you just rest up yeah?” he gave your forehead another kiss, shushing any protest you had about him having to leave.

once you were fast asleep toji reached for his phone that was on the coffee table, careful not to wake you. he dialed the sitters number, praying for the absolute best.

“mr. fushiguro! how’s your date going, will you be home soon?” toji felt horrible for what he was about to ask but he at least had to try. “it’s going good, thank you! actually i was wondering if you would stay the night with megumi? paying you overtime is no problem in fact i’ll triple it! i just wanna spend as much time with my girlfriend as i can,” sure he hadn’t properly asked you to be his woman yet but she didn’t have to know that.

the line was quiet for a moment before the sitter started laughing, “of course i wouldn’t mind saying the night with him! i haven’t seen you this giddy over a woman since mrs. fushiguro, please enjoy your night and i’ll see you in the morning!” after multiple thank you’s toji hung up, his heart swelling with happiness.

“baby….hey i’m able to stay the night im gonna take us to bed, where’s your room?” you mumbled out the directions to your room and before you knew it you were wrapped in your comforter with toji glued to your side.

#toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x black reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk toji #jjk x reader

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cherrygirlfriend · 1 month ago

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stepbro!rafe using a vibrator on reader

warnings: smut, stepcest, DUBCON, blackmail MDNI wc: 1.5k i've never written stepbro rafe before but i got this idea and wanted to give it a try??? so i have no idea how this is going to turn out but hopefully halfway decent

"rafeee, can you get my charger? it's in the top drawer of my nightstand!" you called up from downstairs, making your stepbrother roll his eyes.

"fucking get it yourself!"

"the food's gonna burn!"

despite you being on the first floor, rafe could hear the whiney tone in your voice, and almost picture the way your lip bottom lip would be pulled in with that despicable pout that managed to get you everything from both his father and your mother, and so, begrudgingly he opened the door to your bedroom.

he rounded the corner of your four-poster bed, bending to open the top drawer of your nightstand, spotting your charger on top of a bunch of your other shit, and letting out a small scoff as he threw the charger onto the bed.

but when rafe spotted a small key peeking out from underneath some stupid fashion magazine, his interest was piqued; he didn't even need to pick it up to know what it went to. it was the bottom drawer of your nightstand, him having an identical nightstand in his own bedroom, and knowing the almost scandalous contents of his own bottom drawer made him curious as to what you could be hiding in yours.

he picked it up, observing it for a moment before slamming the top drawer closed, swiftly putting the key in the lock and twisting it open. when he pulled it open, at first it appeared as if nothing was in it, but he knew better. he pulled the false bottom off, throwing it onto the bed, and when rafe's eyes fell onto what was in your nightstand, he couldn't help the grin on his face.

some of the contents were pretty tame; a pile of notebooks that he assumed were your old diaries, some weed, and some adderall that he knew you used to pop like fucking skittles back when you were in high school and had a big test coming up.

but his eyes widened slightly when he spotted the bottle of lube and the small, pale pink bullet-shaped vibrator; sure, he knew you had your vices and you weren't an innocent girl like you led your mother to believe, but you'd always been kind of a prude; you'd never let any of your old boyfriends mark you up even back when you'd been in high school like most girls that were too horny to even realize, and even now, he saw your face flush whenever there was a fucking sex scene on television and you conveniently looked down at your phone for the duration of it.

what really struck his eye was the stack of polaroids he knew you'd taken with the instax mini camera ward had gotten you for christmas, and when he picked up the stack and turned them around, only the first image was enough to cause his jaw to slack slightly.

it was taken on a timer, and you were kneeling on your bed, your hand splayed on your neck, wearing a sheer pink lingerie dress, lacy pink panties covering your pussy while your nipples were covered by red, heart-shaped pasties.

he went through the polaroids, his eyes widening and his shorts tightening with each picture, shots of you wearing different lingerie sets, ones of you looking over your shoulder seductively while you were kneeling on the bed, showing off your ass in a pair of thongs, pictures taken where your tits were soaped up and just covered by your arms, ones-

"rafeee! did you find it?!"

he chuckled at your called-out question, so unaware of the things he had found, putting the polaroids back in the bottom drawer, "yeah yeah!" he called back out, but as he was starting to put the false bottom back in, he got an idea.

and so, before he put the false bottom back in the drawer, he slipped the bullet-shaped vibrator into his pocket.

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat; you had no idea where it could've gone, having used it literally that morning. even though you remembered putting it in its usual spot in the bottom drawer of your nightstand, it was nowhere to be seen.

you thought that maybe you'd accidentally left it on your bed; your bedding, now on the floor. maybe it was on your top drawer instead, the contents dumped on the floor next to it. now you were going through your bookshelf, your teeth biting into your bottom lip so harshly you could taste blood in your mouth.

it wasn't only that you didn't want anyone to find it; it was also that you were so fucking sexually frustrated. you'd already gotten yourself off in the morning, but still, everything even slightly sexual had caused you to press your legs firmly together to seek some relief.

you nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard someone clear their throat, and when you turned to look at who it was, you were faced with your stepbrother, a smug smile on his face.

"looking for something?" rafe said, holding up the pink device you'd been looking for, your eyes widening when they landed on it

"did you go through my stuff you psycho?!" you stomped to him, rafe holding the vibrator over his head and out of your reach when you tried grabbing it. "give it to me!"

"i don't think that's how you speak to someone when you want something from them." rafe tsked, his jaw clenched as he pressed you against your bedroom wall, his hand on your chin, making you look up at him, "see, you're supposed to ask nicely. didn't mommy teach you that?"

"what do you want, rafe?"

"you know, when i found this little thing," rafe tapped the small vibrator against your cheek, "i found some really interesting pictures." he grinned, your eyes widening, your heartbeat picking up, immediately knowing the pictures he was talking about.

rafe turned on the vibrator, letting it travel down your chest, until coming in contact with your clothed nipple, slowly, involuntarily pebbling under the vibrations, your stepbrother's breath hot on your face, an obvious tent in his sweatpants. "it would be such a shame if your mom saw them, you know?"

"they don't show my face..." you said with a small sniffle, your eyes starting to sting with tears, meanwhile you felt your cunt starting to get slick with arousal from the stimulation to your nipple.

"aw, she might be stupid but she's not an idiot. you really think she won't recognize that pretty little body? all those pretty marks and dots on your body. are you willing to risk it?"

rafe's hand started traveling lower, the vibrations trailing down your ribs and abdomen, causing you to tense up your muscles as you spoke, your teeth gritting together, "what do you want?"

"to own you."

rafe had you pinned down on your bed, your hands gripping onto your already crumpled sheets; your lacy panties clinging to your pussy, thoroughly soaked in your arousal, and you knew they were beyond saving.

your flimsy top had been pushed up to reveal your breasts, and he'd been using the vibrator on your poor pussy for an hour now, and somehow it had been the most excruciating yet exhilarating hour of your life.

"i can't..." you whined as rafe brought the vibrator to your clit, and even though it was covered by the soaking fabric, it felt as if there wasn't any barrier at all, the stimulation bringing you closer and closer to your third orgasm. "'s too much... feels too good…"

rafe let out a cruel laugh at that, only bringing up the volume of the vibrator, pressing it even firmly against your clit, causing you to let out a yelp that turned into a moan, roughly grabbing at the fat of your breast as he brought his face closer to your face.

"you're gonna take it." he smiled, pressing a small kiss between your breasts, before standing up. "keep it in place." rafe commanded, and you brought your hand to weakly hold the vibrator at your clit while he walked around your room, in search for something.

"what... what are you doing?" you mumbled, your mind hazy from the pleasure coursing through your body, your eyes widening when rafe turned around, holding your polaroid camera. "r-rafe?"

rafe walked towards the bed, turning on the camera as he kneeled over you, swatting your hand away from the vibrator, replacing it with his own. "this is gonna be your best picture yet."

before you could protest, you were blinded by the flash, trying to use your arm to cover up your eyes, the picture slowly coming out of the camera, and rafe set it down next to you on the bed while it slowly changed from black to a picture of your body, showing your bared tits and the soaked panties that had molded to the shape of your pussy, rafe's large, ringed hand holding the vibrator against your clit.

rafe turned off the vibrator, throwing it onto the bed, grabbing the photo, and shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants, before leaning closer to your ear.

"i own you." he whispered roughly, before standing up and leaving your room.

#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fanfiction #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks fic #obx

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officialaemondtargaryen · 5 months ago

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Dinner & Diatribes

❝i knew it from the first look of mischief in your eye.❞

Summary: You both swiped right and suddenly you're standing in a stranger's kitchen while he makes you spaghetti.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Author’s Note: this might be the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written, so fair warning. also, thank you tom, who inspired this by saying that dinner & diatribes would be aegon's hozier song. it's just true. anyways, this was really fun to write.

Warnings: language, recreational drug use, alcohol use, fluff, intense sexual situations (including: oral sex - female receiving, sexual intercourse - p in v), just two single people who are horny, more fluff, aegon being so cute that i couldn't stop smiling the whole time i was writing this.

It was precisely 9:39 PM on a Tuesday.

You were sitting cross-legged on your couch, nose deep in a fresh murder mystery that you had been working through for the last two days. There was a lit joint between your fingers that you were nursing, taking little hits so that it wouldn’t completely burn out, and on the cushion next to you, your phone softly vibrates and lights up; a familiar icon flashes across the screen and you can easily make out the words, “It’s a Match” from the corner of your eye.

It’d been a regular occurrence since you had downloaded that accursed app.

You’d been single for far too long, according to your best friend, though you hadn’t really noticed. The sweet silence of a solitary life was something that you had enjoyed for the most part. It wasn’t even like your online dating life had really taken off, either. You’d get matches but hardly anyone would reach out in any way that made you feel like they were serious. They wanted your Snapchat username, or they were in an ‘open’ relationship or asking for a threesome, and one guy even asked if you would send him pictures of your feet. Even some of the ones you thought were serious about taking you out- or even just hooking up- would end up ghosting you before anything actually happened.

“It’s not supposed to be serious,” you could hear your friend’s words rattling around in your brain. You shake your head and focus once again on your book; they have a suspect, it’s the best friend! How fitting.

Once again, your phone lights up and vibrates. Not wanting to be distracted from the plot, you ignore your new match and get back to your mystery with anticipation; the best friend is about to confess. You go to take another hit of your joint and frown upon realizing it’s burnt out. As you move to grab your lighter, in comes another message, and another, and another. You stop what you’re doing and pick up your phone, swiping at the screen until you find the culprit. He’s known only as Aegon T, and according to the one sentence he has written on his profile, he has a dog. You swipe through his pictures- the dog is a golden retriever, the man looks like a golden retriever.

In the message thread, he’s basically talking to himself.

There’s four new messages waiting for you, while three little dots begin flashing at the bottom of the screen; disappearing and reappearing as you read what he’s already sent.

“So, I’m high.”

“And I am making spaghetti… and it’s really good.”

“At least I hope it’s really good, it could just be the weed…”

“I could use a taste-tester, if you’re up for it? I can’t pay you or anything, but it’s honest work 😏”

Aegon begins typing again and you watch the screen, a smirk on your lips. You are 99% sure that the spaghetti is truly an innuendo for what he really wants and have half a heart to just block him, but you watch as those little gray dots continue in the bottom left corner of the screen; he’s going back and forth with himself and you can’t help but find it oddly cute. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate a witty response, but before you can even begin typing, he sends a fifth message.

“That was weird as fuck, right?”

Then a sixth.

“You probably don’t want to come over to some random guy’s house on a Tuesday.”

He finishes up with a seventh message.

“Unless you do…”

He almost sends an apology. After all, what's another message? He’s already fucked this whole thing up; not even giving himself a chance before he nose-dived. If he was being honest, he should just go ahead and delete his whole account; save you from secondhand embarrassment and save himself from repeating the same mistake again in the future. He sets the phone down on the kitchen counter and goes back to ripping bong hits to calm his nerves. Though, he’s unable to keep himself from checking his phone for a response; a response that likely wasn’t going to come and he’d spend the rest of his night feeling like a complete idiot.

Seven back-to-back messages should have screamed ‘red flag’, but you’re glancing at the clock as if you were seriously contemplating taking this stranger up on his offer. After all, you do have needs just as much as the next person. But, you’re wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, your hair’s a mess, and you were covered in the crumbs of your munchie snacks. Meaning, you were nowhere close to being prepared for what was sure to happen between you and this random stoner offering you dinner.

Yet, you respond to him, “I could never turn down spaghetti”.

Aegon’s stirring the sauce when he gets your message. He’s instantly elated, thrusting a celebratory fist into the air. His fingers fly across the keyboard swiftly, sending another quick message, “Atta girl 🙃 My place is on the corner of 9th and 51st, above Jasper’s.”

“Be there soon,” you reply with haste.

It was apartment #4 and you made sure to text your friend the address, and given name of your potential murderer, and also share your location for her to keep an eye out. She says all you have to do is text her at any time if you need her to call and bail you out with a fake emergency. All she asks in return is for you to have fun and let her know if you are planning on spending the night- which was an idea that you weren’t opposed to, but it wasn’t something you were planning on.

You’re nervous as you stand outside of the door to his apartment, fist hovering for a moment. Now’s the time to make a fast exit- you haven’t met him, you could turn around right now and never meet him. You could wake up alive in the morning, safe in your own bed. Or, you can knock on the door and have what might be a really nice spaghetti dinner with a really nice guy. Hell, he could even be the love of your life and in fifty years you’ll both look back on this day and laugh about how you met on Tinder and how you were stupid enough to go to his house and not a public place.

Finally, you knock.

Aegon puts the lid back on his spaghetti sauce and shuffles into the living room. Sunfyre is on the couch with his ears perked; his tail’s wagging and he’s panting eagerly, waiting patiently to meet this new visitor. Aegon whispers over to him, “wish me luck,” and thinks to himself, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish. He peers through the peephole when he approaches the door and there you are, a sigh of relief deflates his chest.

“Oh, thank God,” you can hear him say as the door swings open. His accent is surprisingly British. “You’re real.”

The very first thing that you notice are his eyes. They’re piercing; somehow blue and lavender at the same time– the color of a warm, summer sunrise and they’re crinkling at the edges as he smiles. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweats and a pale green hoodie, and the only word that comes to mind when you look at him is warmth. He’s somehow more attractive in person than he is in the pictures on his profile, which you didn’t think was possible, but he’s standing right in front of you and you can’t help but think to yourself, he doesn’t look like a murderer.

Then again, neither did Ted Bundy.

Aegon stands there for a moment, just staring at you, unable to do anything else. His words escape him, he can barely even breathe. You look exactly the same as your pictures; even without the makeup and even in the shitty, fluorescent overhead lights of the hallway. Even in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, you’re stunning. He’s having a hard time believing that you actually showed up and he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring for much too long until you shrug back at him.

“Did you think I wasn’t?” You ask with creased brows and a lopsided smile.

The corners of his lips pull upwards as he looks at you, “I don’t know. You’re just so beautiful, I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t some sort of hologram… or a robot.”

“Wow, you’re pretty smooth,” you say with a playful smirk, desperately trying to keep your composure— trying to play it cool, hoping that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re secretly spiraling, because it took all of one smile and one compliment and you were done for. “But, I’ll have you know that flattery won’t work on me. I’m here for the spaghetti and the spaghetti alone.”

“My apologies,” Aegon says with a chuckle as he holds his hands up defensively. “Right this way, then.”

He steps to the side, allowing you to enter his apartment, and shuts the door behind you. It’s nice, clean, smells like fresh baked bread and tomato sauce. There’s niche artwork adorning the walls, he’s got candles burning, and there’s some lowkey, downtempo R&B playing softly in the background. He quickly moves past you and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to follow him.

However, before you can take all of two steps into his apartment, a flash of golden fur is suddenly at your hip, pawing for attention. You drop down to a knee and happily accept any and all kisses from the pup. “Oh! Hi, what’s your name?”

Aegon sticks his head around the corner and says, “That is Sunfyre. In case you were wonderin’, he’s a very good judge of character and I will be consultin’ with him later where you’re concerned, fair warning.”

You roll your eyes and scratch behind Sunfyre’s ears, his tail thumps in approval.

“Would you like something to drink?” He continues and disappears back into the kitchen. “I’ve got wine and bottled water. Oh, and milk?” There’s a rustling in the kitchen before Aegon adds with a nervous chuckle, “scratch that, there is no milk.”

You politely excuse yourself from Sunfyre and step into the small dining room off of the kitchen.

There’s a grin on your lips, which you pursed so that he doesn’t think you’re laughing at him. Sunfyre joins the two of you and circles around his owner’s legs as Aegon empties an almost full half-gallon of milk down the drain. His kitchen is small but looks to be well used, which you appreciate. You know almost nothing about this man, other than his name- if ‘Aegon’ was even his real name- and the name of his dog, and yet here you were, standing in the threshold of his kitchen with a strange sense of comfortability as if you had been lifelong pals.

“Water is fine,” you tell him.

He produces a bottle of water from his fridge and tosses it over to you with ease and goes back to the stove. You step further into the kitchen, taking in your surroundings. The kitchen, like the living room, is covered in artwork and vintage decor- things you’d only find in some obscure thrift store or estate sale. On the refrigerator are a collection of magnets from different cities and countries, real touristy type shit. Some of them even had names on them; Alexander, Aaron, Alistair, Alan, Adolf.

Maybe these are the names of people he’s killed.

“You travel a lot?” You ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“I try to,” he says from over his shoulder as he continues to stir the sauce. You can hear him set the lid back on the pot. “Most of those are from my sister, Helaena. She thinks it’s hilarious to give me magnets with random ‘A’ names since you’ll never find the name Aegon on any of those,” he says from behind you. He’s leaning against the counter with a half glass of wine. You quirk an eyebrow at him, not fully convinced. “She has a few from me that say Helen.”

“Is that her?” You ask, finger pointing to a pretty blonde in one of the many photographs he had pinned up.

He nods and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close that you can feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. The proximity causes you to blush and he smirks in response, leaning over your shoulder as he points to the other people in the pictures. “Those two are my little brothers, Aemond and Daeron,” he claims and then points to two women. “That’s my half-sister, Rhae, and next to her is my mother.”

“The redhead?” You ask surprised, given she didn’t look like she could be old enough to have four grown children. He nods and takes a step back, leaning against the counter with half-lidded eyes and a tipsy blush. “She looks like she could be your sister,” you say softly, turning back to glance at all of the faces; he seemed proud of his family, like they were very close.

You turn away from the fridge and lean against the counter at his side. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the music and the sound of boiling water where the noodles were cooking. You look at him and the corners of your lips can’t help but twist up into a shy smile, but you bite at the inside of your cheek out of nervous habit. He props himself up on his elbows, taking a sip of his wine, clearly comfortable with the silence.

“So,” you look up at him and his little smirk grows. “About the job…”

“Ah, yes,” he nods. “As I stated earlier, I won’t be able to pay you a monetary wage, but the position does come with a benefits package.”

“And what exactly would this benefits package include?” There’s an innocent flirtatiousness in your voice that only adds to the tension.

“Outside of the free gourmet meals that I would be providin’ to ya, which is obviously the most important part,” he smiles and steps to the side to grab a spoon from the drawer and holds it out to you. Your fingers softly close around his as you pluck the utensil from his grasp. He clears his throat to distract from the fact that he was visibly flustered from the slight touch. “There’s also unlimited cuddle sessions,” before he can finish, you shoot him a look. “With Sunfyre, of course! He’s the real boss ‘round here, after all.”

“Cuddling with the boss?” You quirk an eyebrow and look down at the golden retriever, his eyes round and gleaming; clearly waiting for a hand-out. “Sounds like a conflict of interest to me.”

“Well, if it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about,” he counters quickly with a soft yet playful tone. “I s’pose we could renegotiate the terms of the agreement and you could have me instead.”

“I’m listening.”

“He might be better at cuddling for obvious reasons and he might be better lookin’,” Aegon continues. “But, I give better backrubs. I mean, I have thumbs and he don’t. You can’t give decent backrubs without thumbs, can you? Plus, he’s a sloppy kisser.”

“Oh, you’re really trying to sweeten the deal now, huh? Backrubs and kisses? I must admit, that is quite a compelling offer,” you muse. “It seems my decision hinders on whether or not you can actually cook, wouldn’t want to accept the position blindly, now would I?”

“Are ya doubtin’ my skills?” He asked playfully.

“No offense, but you possess the aura of someone who could fuck up a can of Spaghettios,” you tell him with a sincere smile. “So, forgive me if I don't get my hopes up.”

Aegon laughs and it’s a warm and infectious sound that fills the kitchen. It’s genuine, as is his perfect smile. You can’t seem to keep yourself from staring; eyes softly tracing every detail of his face– from his full, pink pout, to the scar above his right eyebrow, and the dimple of his chin– thinking to yourself that you’ve never seen a man more beautiful. His smile turns back into a smirk as he notices you staring at his lips and you look up to meet his eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you feeling vulnerable. His gaze softens as you look away, turning your attention back to the spaghetti sauce on the stove in front of you to distract yourself from the blush creeping up your neck.

There’s only one way this night ends.

It was obvious before you even left your house and it was certainly obvious now.

“Go on, then,” he prods, motioning to the pot on the stovetop.

His eyes are wide with anticipation as you dip into the simmering sauce, stirring it a few times before bringing the spoon to your lips. He’s nervous; it’s his mother’s recipe– one he’s spent years perfecting– but with his luck, you will most likely think it’s steaming garbage. Yet, he watches intently; holding his breath as your perfect lips curl to blow softly, cooling the sauce before you finally taste it.

The moment the spoon touches your tongue, you're determined to remain impartial. After all, you’ve had your fair share of disappointing meals from men who’ve claimed to be great cooks. Aegon certainly could be the very latest and you wouldn’t be at all surprised. So, you keep your expectations low, and try your hardest to remain stoic, but as the flavors begin to unfold, you can feel your resolve wavering.

It’s good. Better than most.

Reluctantly, you have to admit that this is the second-best sauce you’ve ever had, right after your grandmother’s. You glance up at Aegon, who’s watching you with a mix of anxiety and hope, and you can’t help but smile.

“I have to give it to you,” you say, your voice betraying a hint of admiration. “This is incredible. Almost as good as my grandmother’s.”

The relief and pride that spread across his face makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah?” He asks with a toothy grin.

“I’m still not completely convinced that you can actually cook, but you can– at the very least– make some top-notch spaghetti sauce,” you tell him as you place your spoon to the side.

“Top-notch, eh?” He asks playfully as he begins plating your meal. “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you say to him with a laugh. “It’s just spaghetti sauce.”

“Just spaghetti sauce? Don’t let my mum hear you say that,” he says with a smirk, setting a full plate in front of you on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to work extra hard on the next one.”

“Assuming there will be a next one,” you reply, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Though, you have set the bar pretty high tonight. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Well,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he reaches around you to grab a plate. His lips are hovering above the shell of your ear, his voice low and teasing, causing your cheeks to immediately flush as the heat between the two of you intensifies. “I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.”

For a split second you expect for him to lean in for a kiss. Your heart is simultaneously skipping beats and racing at the same time; your breath catching in your throat as he leans in— But then he smirks, grabbing the plate and taking a step backwards. He’s doing it on purpose, you realize; his proximity expertly calculated to keep you on edge. You look up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The soft blush of your cheeks has his blood pumping and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. He’s trying his absolute best to play it cool but the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him has him unraveling.

“Is that so?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “What other skills do you have up your sleeve?”

His grin widens as he looks down at you, setting his empty plate to the side. His gaze, once again, drops to your lips. “I have a few tricks,” he says softly, his voice filled with promise. “But I doubt you’d believe me if I told you, so how about I just show you?”

“What?” You ask with a playful innocence. “Before dinner?”

“I’m not really in the mood for spaghetti anymore.”

“Oh?” Your smirk is only growing. “What are you in the mood for?”

Aegon says nothing, but a confident grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he rests his hands on your hips. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in by the waist, until you’re pressed against him and his lips are on yours. The kiss is both gentle and urgent and a little bit awkward, as any first kiss should be. You felt like a teenager again, kissing a boy for the first time– butterflies in your stomach and all.

It takes no time at all for you to find your rhythm with him, and he deepens the kiss, pushing you up onto the kitchen counter to meet his height. Your arms naturally drape across his shoulders, your legs wrap around his middle. He’s completely taken over your mind, filling up every tiny space that he can fit into; the smell of his cologne, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, the feeling of his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs– his fingertips teasing just underneath the hem of your shorts.

Breathless, he pulls away from you as he pulls your sweatshirt over your head. He stops for a moment to take in the sight of you; clad only in your bra and shorts, lips red and blotchy, swollen and full. You’re looking up at him from under your lashes, softly biting your bottom lip as you wait for him to continue. He gently lifts his hand up to your cheek and traces the curve of your cupid’s bow with his thumb, providing one last show of tenderness before he leans in to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

His touch is suddenly rushed; spreading a wildfire across your skin in the wake of his lips as he rips off the remainder of your clothes. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re sitting exposed on his kitchen counter in only a thong, blushing wildly and covering your face with your hands.

“No– no hiding,” he clicks his tongue and pulls your hands away from your face. “I want to see you.”

He whispers a string of profanities and compliments as his starving eyes roam your figure. Self-doubt creeps into your mind and you momentarily consider making a quick exit, convinced he won’t like what he sees, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel desired in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

Aegon’s gaze is electrifying and intense, drawing you in and silencing your negative thoughts instantly. His hands pull you in by the waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter as his lips work their way down your chin and neck; leaving a trail of red marks down to your chest. He hums, smirking as he takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His hand kneads the other, rolling your hardened nipple between two fingers. Your head falls back, lips parted slightly as you breathe out his name.

Each sound he elicits from you urges him on even further until he’s on one knee, looking up at you from his position with those pretty eyes. He runs a hand up the back of your calf, softly teasing you with his fingertips before tossing your leg over his shoulder. You knew where he was going, and yet, you were still surprised as he began placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs; shivering in anticipation as goosebumps formed on your skin.

“You’re so wet,” he says proudly, praising you.

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers delicately smooth over your clothed clit. He hooks a finger around the dampened cotton and pulls your thong to the side, groaning at the sight of your perfect pussy. Without wasting another second, Aegon’s mouth is suddenly on you and your hands immediately find the back of his head; fingers curling into the roots of his silver hair.

You roll your hips against his tongue, cursing out as your legs begin to shake. He moans, face still buried deep in you and the vibrations have you writhing. Both of his arms are wrapped around your thighs now, holding you tight to him, not letting up for even a second. Then he stands, lifting you up onto his shoulders. You squeal in shock, holding onto him tightly, but he doesn’t stop; he continues to devour you as he blindly carries you towards his bedroom.

When his knees hit the side of his bed, he tosses you back onto the mattress.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he strips out of his clothes. . You can see the outline of his arousal; prominent and pressing firmly against the fabric of his sweats. You bite your lip at the sight and he smirks as he catches your stare. His movements are unhurried, giving you ample time to appreciate the sight before you. His hoodie and shirt come off first, then his sweats, and you can’t help but notice the way that his muscles flex with each motion. He’s not overly built, but there’s a solid strength in his frame that is evident in the way he moves.

Outside, headlights from passing cars cast streaks of light and shadows across the walls of his room. It’s quiet, the music in the other room has stopped playing and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You swallow thickly, encompassed by the tension of the moment as he crawls up the length of your body; placing tender kisses along your skin. His lips leave a trail of warmth, each touch igniting a spark that travels through your entire body.

When he reaches your face, he pauses, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches away. The anticipation builds, thick and electric in the air between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts slow and tender but quickly deepens; fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer, his body pressing yours deeper into the plush mattress. Your hands explore his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the tension and strength beneath his skin and coming to rest on his shoulders; gripping tightly as he continues to worship your body with his mouth. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, heightening your senses and pulling you further into the moment.

You curse at the feeling of his girth against your entrance. Your hand moves up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips as he presses slowly into you.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers into the crook of your neck as his arms become weak.

He knows that he won’t last like this; it’s been a while and you feel way too good. He’s slow at first, wanting to steady himself and maintain control, but his rhythm picks up quickly; hips moving with an unrelenting rhythm, each thrust bringing you both closer to the edge. You can feel his muscles tense, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck. His moans are a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you can tell he’s fighting to hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, feeling the overwhelming need to reach that peak together. His pace quickens, the tension in his body building to a breaking point. You feel the same pressure inside of you mounting before it’s suddenly crashing over you like a wave. He follows seconds later, a low groan escaping his lips as he spills into you. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless and clinging to each other, bathing in the afterglow.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs against your skin, head pressed to your chest as you stroke his hair softly. His eyes flutter shut as he listens to the sounds of your heartbeat.

You hum in agreement, smiling to yourself as you savor the peacefulness of the moment.

Suddenly, you’re joined by Sunfyre jumping up on the bed, his tail wagging enthusiastically. You smile at him and pat the empty space next to you, inviting him to join your cuddle session. He eagerly accepts the invitation, circling the bed a few times before snuggling up next to you. Aegon lifts his head and smiles, clearly pleased that you would be so open to having the dog in bed with you. He wraps his arm around both you and Sunfyre, pulling you closer.

“This is perfect,” he says softly, his voice filled with contentment as he lays his head back on your chest.

"So, about that job offer," you say playfully, your fingers tracing patterns along his skin. "I think I'll accept the position. When would you like for me to start?"

He lifts his head to look at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about tomorrow night at seven?”

Before you can respond, a distinct burning smell reaches your nose. Your brows furrow as you sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

Aegon’s eyes widen in realization. “The spaghetti!”

He jumps up from the bed, pulling on his clothes quickly, and scrambles into the kitchen. You follow behind him, tossing one of his t-shirts over your head and meet him in the kitchen.

“I guess I forgot to turn off the burner,” Aegon looks disappointed but then chuckles, shaking his head. He looks at you with a glint in his eye and smirks. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Oh, that sucks!” You laugh, playfully nudging him. “Is it too late to back out of the job now?”

“Way too late for that,” he says as he pulls you into a soft kiss, silencing any doubts immediately. “You’re mine now.”

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “But I came here for the spaghetti.”

He chuckles and pulls back slightly. “Will you settle for pizza?”

“I’ll settle for anything, as long as it’s with you,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around his waist. “And as long as there’s extra cheese!”

2K notes · View notes

ceilidho · 3 months ago

Text

hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top.

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk.

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar.

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here?

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates.

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny.

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run.

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in.

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off.

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed.

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile.

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane.

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here.

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt.

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern.

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder.

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes.

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe.

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky.

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries.

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked.

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut.

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop.

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck.

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey.

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.”

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either.

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already.

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price.

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference.

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery.

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words.

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes.

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow?

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house.

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together.

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow.

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts.

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back.

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels.

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut.

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point.

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants.

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale.

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it.

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop.

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed.

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot.

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw.

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick.

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant.

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming.

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers.

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold.

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own.

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied.

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity.

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him.

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms.

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle.

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in.

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that?

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs.

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his.

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth.

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain.

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off.

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves.

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine.

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping.

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle.

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after.

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you.

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh.

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under.

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted?

You need it like air.

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face.

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead.

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth.

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him.

Time blurs. You lose some of it.

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out.

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks.

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.”

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment.

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around.

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection.

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that.

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it.

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night.

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before.

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily.

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this.

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by.

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar.

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look.

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch.

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny.

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be.

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust.

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it.

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew.

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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preqwells · 3 months ago

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downtime | logan howlett x reader

summary: logan had been meaning to show you the wooden cabin he'd visit when given the time— he didn't anticipate how enraptured he'd be with the the absence of chaos in his life

cw: slightly suggestive

domesticity looked good on logan in your eyes.

chopping wood for the fire you two would burn at night, making sure the weeds didn't interfere with the tomatoes you had been growing, and sometimes even fishing despite his lack of patience for it. his jeans hung low around his waist, hair speckled across his chest through his open-collared shirt—you had to admit, you liked this side of him. you two had decided you wanted to get away for a while since logan wasn't particularly needed at the moment. he had been wanting to show you the cabin he frequented when he wasn’t busy, daydreaming to himself with the thought of what your reaction would be to it. you weren't surprised at the nature of the wooden cabin. it was secluded and neatly tucked away in a corner of a vast forest that no one would dare to enter unless they were in for a rude awakening. maybe you were kidding yourself with the idea that you two might be able to go off-grid for a while, but it was a thought you both were willing to entertain.

you smiled to yourself as your eyes tore away from the much-welcomed sight of your boyfriend leaning back on the couch, hulking thighs spread as his head lolled back. your attention trailed back to the deer he had caught earlier in hopes you could do something with it. "should i slow-cook it? maybe even make it into a pot roast?" you suddenly spoke up from the kitchen, your lips pursed in thought as a lighthearted scoff left him, his eyebrow quirking up for a moment. "askin' the wrong person. never been known to be much of a chef, sweetheart." he gruffed out, too tired to allow his eyes to roll into the back of his head at the thought of even picking up on anything remotely related to cooking. "mm, you're right," you said through a small chuckle, your eyes still examining the raw meat, "could always just set up the grill out back. chop it up, make 'em into kebabs… but we don't have any skewers. if only there was something that we could use…" you playfully trailed off as you pressed your index finger to your lower lip as if conjuring a thought. logan quickly caught onto the fact that you were talking about using his claws as kebab skewers to which he shook his head in response, shooting you an amused glance.

he rose to his feet, floorboards groaning under his weight with each movement. "ha-ha, you're hilarious. damn near a comedian." he retorted as he made his way to you, placing his empty beer bottle on the counter before his arms wrapped around you, giving you a small squeeze. his front pressed to your back, your heart fluttering at the sudden contact. the contours of his muscles molded into your frame nicely, warmth emanating from him as his breath fanned against the nape of your neck. "well… i was thinking about signing up for the local comedy club. could be my big breakthrough, y'know?" you sighed in faux contemplation as you felt the softness of his lips pepper kisses from your nape to your pulse-point, his hands lingering on your waist. his thumbs found the belt loops in your jeans, tugging on them absentmindedly. "y'right, bet the squirrels and mornin' birds would love to hear the material you been practicin' on me." he murmured into your skin, eyes fluttering shut as he deeply inhaled your scent. seeing as how sensitive he was to scents, there were lots of scents he couldn't stand. hated the smell of gasoline, hated any kind of gaudy perfume— if he thought about it for too long, his nose would probably scrunch up out of disgust. yet he was particularly fond of your scent, fresh linen and cotton. your scent was as pleasing as your personality. you were good for logan. kind, compassionate— you smoothed out his rough edges. god knew he had too many.

domesticity looked good on you in logan's eyes. the wood you'd carry to the fire pit for your late-night chats recounting the events of the day, the tomatoes you'd complain about that wouldn't ripen and sometimes even fall off too early from local wildlife taking their swipes at it, and your insistence on him learning some proper patience for fishing since you still had a taste for wild-caught salmon. his hands found the hem of your flannel, sliding under the fabric as his fingertips grazed the softness of your skin, traveling down past your navel. warmth flooded your cheeks as a sheepish smile played at the corners of your lips, your hands on the counter to brace yourself. "logan— logan! i still have to marinate the meat." you hastily whispered before a breathy moan escaped you as his tongue rolled over your skin, teeth nipping at the crook of your neck. "mmm, don't worry 'bout it." he spoke into your neck before gently lifting you onto the counter, his eyes filled with affection. he didn't know how it happened, honestly. couldn't pinpoint it even if he tried to recall what you did that caused him to be so smitten with you. he quietly admired you for a few moments, taking in how hues of orange from the sun setting filtered through the window and cascaded onto the side of your face, his hand raising to cup the swell of your cheek. you didn't know it, but logan had made a quiet vow to himself to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe, in this life and the next.

he'd show you tonight how much he adored you, in more ways than just one.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine #james logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x you #x men #wolverine x you #wolverine xmen

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domjaehyun · 2 months ago

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under the influence (l.dh) — TEASER

PAIRING ▸ stoner!haechan x fem!reader WORD COUNT ▸ 11.1k in the fic, 907 in the teaser WARNINGS ▸ a hint of dubcon, pervy!dom!haechan, shy!sub!reader, dacryphilia, corruption kink, finger sucking, oral (giving & receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play (receiving), marking, some cum eating, spit play, groping in public, panty stealing & sniffing PLAYLIST ▸ FYS - john concepcion, sweet release - kevin ross NOTES ▸ here’s a preview of Under the Influence 😁 the full fic will hopefully be up by October 7th on my Patreon, but if you’re not subscribed to me there, then it’ll be out on here on October 23rd :) enjoy!

“Pretty girl, you want another hit of the pen?” Haechan offers, and you think back to the way Haechan clutched your chin earlier to shotgun you, finally shaking your head in refusal. “Okay,” he relents, reaching into his back pocket for something and frowning before pulling out an empty hand. “I have something for you.” he says before standing up and heading back to his room.

He emerges once more with a half of a red gummy cube sticking out of his mouth, sitting back down on the couch and draping his arm over the back so it’s ghosting just over your shoulders. “Bite,” he urges through closed teeth, and you shoot him a wary look. “Bite,” he stresses, and you falter, not sure if you should.

“Is it an edible?” you ask cautiously, and he rolls his eyes, an amused chuckle leaving him.

“Yes. Bite.” It’s not a request, and instead of getting huffy about him bossing you around, you’re more surprised than anyone else when you lean in and carefully bite the other end of the gummy, tugging your half away from his mouth before chewing it. It’s sweet and sugary, but there’s a definite strong aftertaste, a tongue-drying, almost numbing sensation that reminds you it was more than just a little snack. “See, you don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You don’t answer, instead sitting back and pulling out your phone to fire off a quick text to your group chat consisting of the two girls sitting a little ways away from you and your fourth roommate, Yurin, who usually frequents these hangout sessions but had to pass this time to study for midterms.

you [18:11pm] SOS you [18:11pm] he keeps being all TOUCHY TOUCHY what do i do?

You set your phone down on the couch face down and stand up, heading to the bathroom to calm your nerves.

Little do you know, your phone buzzes while you’re gone, Haechan’s curiosity getting the better of him as he flips your phone over.

Luckily for him, and very unluckily for you, you don’t have a privacy setting on your Messages app notifications, meaning that any incoming texts can be read by any prying eyes, no passcode necessary.

yurin big trouble mister [18:14pm] maybe tell him how you get all TOUCHY TOUCHY with yourself to the thought of him 😁 karina bo bina [18:16pm] god could you be any more crass?? yurin big trouble mister [18:17pm] LMAOOO i couldn’t help it the joke was right there yeri berry [18:18pm] you’re laughing. our dear friend is about to get consumed by a weed smoking incubus and you’re laughing.

Haechan snorts to himself in amusement, deliberately leaving your phone face-up for your return. You enter the room shortly after, picking up your phone and scrolling through your notifications with a small frown bordering on a grimace.

“What’s got you all upset, pretty?” Haechan asks, feigning curiosity, and you flinch, locking your phone and tossing it in your lap in a panic. “And now you’re jumpy, too? What’s on that phone that’s got you so stressed out, hm?”

“Nothing,” you answer far too quickly for your liking.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Haechan persists, voice lowering in pitch and volume as he moves closer to you, eyes bright with excitement and something else you can’t quite place. “I think there’s something incriminating on that phone.”

“Incriminating?” you mumble, dazed and flustered, and Haechan nods slowly, lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Incriminating like… nudes, maybe,” he muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully, and at the sight of your confused face, shakes his head. “That must not be it. Maybe a message of some sort… from a friend…” You freeze as you realize exactly what’s going on, and Haechan’s grin only widens now that he can tell you know that he knows. “Wonder what you look like when you… how did she put it? ‘Get all touchy touchy with yourself’ to the thought of me.”

“Haechan,” you murmur, heart rate quickening as you try to think of any possible way out of this conversation. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“I think it’s exactly what I think it is.” he counters with a mischievous wiggle of his brows, and you whimper in panic, desire starting to blaze in his eyes at the sound.

“What were you doing looking at my phone, anyway?” you accuse, cursing to yourself as your voice shakes slightly.

“I’m nosy,” is all he offers in response. “And, oh, please, you wanted me to see that text. You wanted me to know that late at night,” he teases, pulling your hand closest to him away as you squeal and try to cover your ears, “you touch your pretty little pussy,” he forces your hand back down between you two with a chuckle, “and think about me.”

“Could you lower your voice, please?” you mumble nervously, and he just laughs.

“You don’t want everyone to know that you’re into me, do you?” he remarks, and you swallow thickly, looking down at your lap. “I’ll keep your little secret. For a price.”

You study him out of the corner of your eye suspiciously. “What price?”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully before leaning back and draping his arm behind you on the couch. “I’ll let you know.” His voice is teasing but there’s an ominous edge to his voice that makes you gulp.

i hope you enjoyed! you can subscribe to my patreon here to see it 2 weeks early :)

#haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #lee haechan smut

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worldlxvlys · 8 months ago

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control

dealer! chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: smutttt, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denial, p in v, cream pie, cursing, oral (male + fem receiving), 69, drug use

summary: the effects of the weed that you and chris were smoking made you horny enough, but add his recent insta pictures into the mix ? any sense of self-control you had left your body and suddenly, all you could focus on was making him a trembling, whiny mess under you.

a/n: idea credits to my love @hearts4chriss <33

everything was hazy.

my red eyes drooped ever so lightly, eventually fluttering closed as i took a hit from the joint that chris and i were sharing.

the smoke floated around in the air while we spoke about whatever came to our minds, giving each other our full attention.

well, i was paying attention, just not to his words. i wanted to listen to what he had to say, but i couldn’t help but find myself fixating on everything else.

the way his tongue darted out every now and then, wetting his dried lips.

his cheeks, which were lightly dusted with a rosey tint to match the color of his lips.

his hair, strands messily sticking out in every direction, only adding to how good he looked.

the veins in his hand protruded from his skin as he dug into the ice cream he brought over for us, causing me to clear my throat as i attempted to regain my composure.

i watched as he shoveled the sweet dessert into his mouth, just before the half-melted treat could spill anywhere.

“and i was gonna ask you which pictures you think i should post today, but i ended up picking-”

"wait, you posted?” i asked, grabbing my phone from its place beside me on the bed.

my eyes widened slightly when i saw the pictures, he looked so good.

he always looked good, but these pictures in particular turned me on a little more than they should have.

“you’re joking, right ?” i asked, the words flying out of my mouth before i could stop them.

“what?” he asked confused.

the weed seemed to have taken any self-control that remained in my body, as i immediately straddled chris’s lap.

“you didn’t think you were gonna be able to post those pictures without getting your brains fucked out, did you?”

he stared up at me, mouth hanging open while his hands held onto my waist.

“i mean, i don’t-” his mouth opened and closed like a fish, while a jumbled mess of words fell from his mouth.

i hooked my fingers onto the waistband of his shorts, effectively shutting him up as he squirmed in anticipation.

i moved from my place on top of him, situating myself on my knees between his legs.

i pulled the fabric down slightly to reveal his happy trail, immediately adorning the newly exposed skin with kisses.

he let out a low whine at the feeling, hips bucking up into my face.

i quickly pushed his hips down, holding him steady as i ran my tongue along his skin.

“fuck” he sighed out, eyes falling shut as he swallowed harshly.

i could tell that the weed was affecting him, his sensitivity to my touch growing with every movement.

“lift” i told him as he followed my instructions, raising his hips while i pulled his shorts down.

i brought my hand to his clothed dick, which pressed against his boxers angrily.

i pressed a kiss to his crotch, eliciting a low whine from him.

“what do you want, chris?” i asked as i began to palm him.

“need your mouth” he moaned out.

“lay back, take off your boxers” i told him, watching as he eagerly did what i said.

when he was laid fully naked on the bed, i stripped for him.

i joined him on the bed, sitting behind him with my chest pressed to his back.

i wrapped my arms around his waist, my hand finding its way to his dick.

"i- fuck- i said my mouth” he groaned out as i collected the pre-cum that leaked out of his tip in my hand.

“you’ll get my mouth” i spoke as i squeezed his base, his hips jerking up in response, “when i feel like it”

he remained silent after that, only moans and whines leaving his mouth as i continued to move my hand up and down his length.

“does it feel good, chris?” i asked, whispering into his ear while i nibbled the lobe.

“fuck, yes. please don’t stop” he groaned, thrusting his hips up into my hand.

“tell me when you’re close, baby” i spoke before beginning to take the skin of his neck between my lips, sucking harshly.

i littered his neck with dark bruises while he continued to fuck himself against my hand.

“so eager, my love. but if you want to cum, you’ll have to slow down” i told him.

“n-no, please ! i need to cum so bad” he spoke, his pace remaining the same.

“chris. slow down” i spoke again, causing the pace of his hips to slow against my hand.

“there you go, is it so hard to listen?” i asked as he let out a groan.

“fuck” he whispered out as his veiny cock moved against my hand slowly.

“i’m close” he spoke, his breathing picking up.

before he was able to let go, however, i moved my hand away.

“shit” he whined as his cock twitched, but he was left unsatisfied.

“you don’t get to finish that easily, baby. you gotta work for it” i spoke, chuckling as he went to move his hand towards his dick.

i quickly grabbed his hand before he got the chance to touch himself, “keep your hands behind your back. i swear to god, if you move them i’ll tie your ass up” i spoke into his ear.

he did as i said, but never acknowledged that he heard me. i turned his face to look at me, tilting my head at him, “you got that?”

“yes” he whispered as he stared at my lips.

i wrapped my hand around his neck, bringing his face up to mine to pull him into a heated kiss.

he moaned into my lips, while our lips molded together.

“you ok?” i asked him, noticing the dazed look on his face.

“you’re such a freak” he smirked up to me.

“and you’re such a submissive bitch” i answered, letting go of his face and moving my hand back down to his length.

i circled my thumb around his tip, pushing it against the slit, making his hips jolt up into my hand.

“such a tease” he mumbled under his breath.

in one swift motion, i moved to his side and pulled his shoulders back to lay down.

i moved so that each of my legs were on either side of his body.

“you obviously need some help in shutting the hell up” i spoke before moving to sit on his face.

chris immediately hooked his hands around my thighs, working my pussy with his tongue.

i leaned forward, taking his dick into my hand and swirling my tongue around his tip.

he groaned into me, the vibrations intensifying my pleasure.

i moaned against him in response, making his noises increase in volume.

i took as much of him as i could, using my hand to stroke the parts of his member that my mouth couldn’t reach.

he pulled my lower body harder against his mouth, his tongue focusing on my clit while his nose nudged against my needy hole.

i focused on his tip, teasing it as much as i could with my tongue, causing him to push his hips up in need.

i could tell he was getting close, so i removed my mouth from him with an audible pop.

he let out a whine of disappointment, his hands loosening around my thighs.

“you wanna cum so bad? fine.” i spoke as i moved down his body, making my way between his legs.

he sat upright, watching wordlessly as i turned around to face him.

he stared up at me with his mouth hung open while i aligned him with my entrance, sinking down onto him.

his hands automatically flew up to my waist when he bottomed out, stopping me from moving.

“god, i could cum right now if you start moving” deciding to test his limits, i spoke “good” before beginning to move anyway.

“fuck- oh my god” he groaned out as he began to shake underneath me.

i knew his frustrations from his previously ruined orgasm were building up, but i didn’t think it’d actually make him finish so quickly.

“i can’t- holy shit” he shuddered as he shot his load into me.

i gave him a minute to regain his breath, his grip on my hips tightening slightly.

“i still- i wanna make you feel good. please let me fuck you” he begged.

“yeah? give it to me, baby” he lifted me up slightly before beginning to thrust his hips up into mine.

the feeling of his hot cum being fucked into me sent me into a frenzy, only making me wetter.

i could tell he was struggling, overworking his already spent muscles to make sure i felt good.

“you’re so good to me, chris. let me take care of you” i whispered down to him.

his thrusts came to a hault, allowing me to take over as i rocked my hips into his.

“fuck, yes. oh my god” he shakily moaned as his head fell onto my shoulder.

i brought my hand to his hair, raking my fingers through it slowly while i rolled my hips on top of him sensually.

“look so pretty like this, oh” his face scrunched up as he began to whimper under me, making me clench around him at the sound.

“fuck- i’m so sensitive” he spoke.

“i know, baby. can’t help it, love hearing those sounds you make” i breathed out.

“still feeling ok?" i asked.

he nodded his head at that, “yes, so close. can i cum?” he asked as his hands slid to my ass, groping and massaging the skin.

“wait for me, i’m almost there. can you hold it w little longer?” i asked, reaching between us to rub my clit.

“t-too much” he whined, his face scrunching up while a few tears fell down his face.

“take it, chris” i told him, wiping his tears away while he twitched inside of me.

his legs began to shake involuntarily, increasing the friction between us.

“fuck” his voice broke as he moaned out, eyes rolling back as he bit his lip.

“go ahead, chris. let go” i told him, his hips stuttering as his head flew back and he filled me up with his cum.

it wasn’t long before i finished on top of him, my release dripping out of me and onto his dick.

we took a minute to catch our breath, staying in the same position for a while.

“here, let’s get you cleaned up” i spoke, moving to get up when he stopped me.

“wait, can we just stay like this for a while?” he asked, his arms wrapping tighter around me.

“of course” i told him, wrapping my arms around his neck to hug his body close to mine.

“you ok?” i asked as i rubbed soothing circles into his back.

“when i’m with you? always” he spoke, placing a kiss to my shoulder.

🍑🍑🍑🍑

dwb! chris masterlist

main masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nicksmainbitch @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

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rebelspykatie · 6 months ago

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Part 1

Steve kisses him on a Thursday and he takes all the air in the room with him. Eddie doesn’t close his eyes. He’s too shocked to do much of anything, except sit there and let Steve take his face in those big hands and caress a thumb over his cheek while he presses their lips together. Eddie’s pretty sure he doesn’t move at all, glued to his place on the couch, as if time has continued on around him while he’s stuck there.

They’d been passing a joint back and forth, lazily smoking as they watched reruns of some old show that Wayne liked to put on when Eddie was a kid. It’s not soothing now, like it was back then, but is disharmonious in the background, the only sound in the room other than Steve moving against him as Eddie tries to figure out what’s going on.

When Steve finally pulls back, Eddie still doesn’t feel like he’s breathing. He’s able to take in Steve’s expression before his eyes pop open, the pucker of his lips, the shine to them that could possibly be from Eddie’s mouth. He doesn’t know why he didn’t push Steve away, why he didn’t intervene, but instead let Steve have this moment. All while he sat frozen.

The expression shifts once Steve’s eyes open, turning unbearably soft. His smile is sweet and gentle. He’s probably mellowed out from the weed, but his eyes are focused on Eddie. It’s not an expression Eddie’s used to seeing. It’s close to the one he gives the kids when they’re not paying attention, but not quite the same. Steve’s eyes are raking over his face, like he’s trying to memorize the dips and grooves of Eddie’s. He squirms under the scrutiny.

“Sorry,” Steve finally says, shaking his head a bit, “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”

He’s turned bashful now. Another expression Eddie’s not used to seeing. His Steve is a sarcastic little shit. He argues with the kids, pulls Robin into wrestling matches that he always wins until Robin starts biting, and carries a nailed up baseball bat in his trunk. Nothing about his Steve is bashful. Except, apparently it is. And something turns in Eddie’s gut.

He’s made some fatal mistake. Took a wrong turn somewhere and now the car is crashing out of control and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He put that expression on Steve’s face and he doesn’t know how to take it back.

“Uh-how long?” Eddie asks. He’s not sure why that’s what he says. Morbid curiosity, maybe. But now he’s desperate to know.

Steve’s jaw shifts, contemplating. “Not sure I had it figured it out then, but probably since you held that bottle to my throat.”

That seems preposterous. Completely illogical. They barely even knew each other back then outside of the passing monikers slapped on them from their respective cliques in high school. There’s no way that Steve’s wanted to kiss him for that long.

“Took me a while to pick up on the clues,” Steve laughs self-deprecatingly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ve never had to interpret what it means coming from a guy, so I think I deserve a pass on not getting it for so long.”

He’s smiling at Eddie again. Not quite as bashful, more teasing, like he’s anticipating Eddie teasing back. But Eddie is still stuck on the kiss. His brain hasn’t caught up to the words coming out of Steve’s mouth. He doesn’t know what clues Steve even means.

“I’m not sure what to say, Steve,” he hesitantly says when the silence has gone on a beat too long.

“You don’t have to say anything. We could put our mouths to better use, though,” Steve says, leaning in with a devious glint in his eyes that Eddie’s only seen in passing, in the halls of Hawkins High when he tried to ignore Steve pressing Nancy into her locker and kissing the daylights out of her where anyone could see.

Eddie finally snaps out of his haze and puts a hand on Steve’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. It’s the first time he’s made any move to stop this from barreling out of control.

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice sounds strained to his own ears, “wait.”

“Sorry, was that too fast?” Steve scoots back on the couch, putting some distance between them, but not backing entirely out of Eddie’s space. “I should’ve asked if that was okay, shit.” Worry creases his forehead.

“I-” Eddie takes a steadying breath, “I don’t understand why you did it at all.”

“Why I kissed you?” Steve tilts his head to the side, that curious golden retriever look. “Because I like you.” His brows furrow. “I thought that was obvious.”

“But you like girls.” It comes out more a statement, than a question. And it makes Steve look even more perplexed, the smile dipping, becoming more muted. “I saw you with Nancy, you weren’t faking that. Unless you have, like, Oscar worthy acting skills, but I don’t think you’re capable of that.”

“I do like girls, but I also like guys.” Steve shrugs, says it so casually like he has the whole world figured out and he’s unbothered by how insane that tidbit is to just drop on your unsuspecting friend, even after you kiss them. “Robin helped me figure it out. It’s called being bisexual.”

“Yeah, I know what it’s called, Steve.” Eddie huffs, frustrated with the direction of this conversation. They’re clearly not on the same page here and he’s not sure if he should just spit it out.

“Then what’s the problem?” Steve shrinks back into the couch, tension creeping into his shoulders.

“That you think I’d want to kiss you.” Maybe it’s better to just lay it all out on the table. Set the record straight here. Eddie’s beating around the bush too much.

“Y-you don’t want to kiss me? But you’ve been flirting with me for months.”

“I flirt with everyone, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh.”

And Eddie watches how quickly the light disappears from Steve’s face. How quickly the smile fades and turns into a twisted frown. Steve pinches his nose and stands up. “I guess we were both wrong, then.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #katie writes #angst #that i swear will get resolved #everyone just hold on ok #trust me

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reidsbabyhoney · 16 days ago

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second chances | s.r.

the one where Spence regrets everything that’s happened in the past six months.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader category: angst, fluff cw: none wc: 3.3k a/n: this took forever too write because every time i tried writing it i absolutely hated how it came out. i’m hoping i gave them the ending they deserved and that you all love it! also please let me know if there's any warnings I should add.

pt.1 masterlist spencer reid masterlist

The entire car ride home was a blur, and you mean that literally. The tears that coated your eyes never seemed to stop even after you arrived back home. The dull hum of the engine couldn't seem to drown out the noise-deafening pounding in your chest.

You couldn't help but replay every moment from tonight on a loop, the gut wrenching realization that Spencer moved on so quickly, so easily. It felt as if your entire world had been tilted on its axis and you were left to live in a reality that didn't make any sense.

Maya. You hadn't been able to look at her without a sharp pang of jealousy making its way though your chest. The way she spoke to Spencer, so casually, so possessively like you were going to take her from him at any second. But in reality that's what she did to you.

You told yourself that you were fine, that you had enough time to move on and get over that relationship, but its clear you were lying to yourself. Every moment you were in his presence were the few moments of bliss where you could pretend everything with him was normal.

You had loved him. You still did. The harsh truth of that might've hurt worse than tonight's events.

Once you finally arrived home you didn't bother to go inside right away. Turning off the car you sit staring at the dashboard, trying to ground yourself in something, anything but the whirlwind of emotions going on in your mind right now.

As your about to open the door, your phone buzzes in the passenger seat. Picking it up you see it's a message from Penelope.

From: Penny

Are you okay, sweetheart? If you need anything I'm just a phone call away. Please don't let his stupidity ruin your night, we all know how much of an amazing person you are!

A small smile painted its way across your features, though drained and not very genuine.

You quickly texted her back letting her know you were okay and just needed some time to process everything. With that you finally got out of the car making your way inside, preparing for another sleepless night.

You had taken the day off. Well technically you didn't request it, it was given to you by Hotch. The team had just gotten back from a long gruesome case and he decided that everyone needed some time to decompress.

It had been a couple weeks since 'The Incident' as Emily has so kindly labeled it. Since then the unkind thoughts hadn't left your mind.

You spent most of the day curled up on the couch barely able to focus on the movies playing on the TV. Your mind was a storm of thoughts that blossomed from that night, though not into flowers, more so like weeds that didn't want to fully be pulled from the ground.

You replayed every word he said that night. Every glance, subtle expression. There was no warmth in his tone, nothing that suggested the gentle, awkward genius who had found solace in your presence.

You knew it hurt, but what hurt more was the realization that Spencer wasn't the only thing you lost that night. You were mourning the loss of what had been, what could've been.

The next morning, you showed up at the office. The decision half-hearted, debating on requesting for another day out of the crowded space. You're not sure what you were expecting, for something to just change overnight, or if you needed to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

You walked in to see the team gathered around the bullpen. Derek was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly to JJ, while Penelope was chattering away in her usual high-energy manner. They all seemed fine, but you knew they could feel your emotions. You had always worn them on your sleeve, and the team was nothing if not perceptive.

And Spencer? He was nowhere to be found.

Your heart dropped, but you quickly masked the disappointment with a neutral expression. You couldn’t allow yourself to think about him right now, not with everything else going on.

As you slid into your chair, you could feel their eyes on you every now and then, but none of them dared to speak up. It was only when the elevator doors opened that you saw Spencer walking toward the bullpen. His usual awkward stride was missing, replaced by something… hesitant. His eyes briefly met yours, but instead of the usual spark of familiarity, there was something different. Something strained.

He was carrying a large coffee cup in his hand, but it seemed like he was just holding it for the sake of holding it.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with the same uncertainty that had been present in his eyes. You barely met his gaze, your stomach doing somersaults at the sight of him.

“Spence,” you said, offering a forced smile. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, but you couldn’t let yourself show it.

“I, uh, can we talk?” he asked, his words tumbling out in that way that was so quintessentially Spencer.

Your gaze flickered around the room, but you didn’t want to make a scene. “Now’s not the best time.”

He nodded, but you could see the disappointment in his face. He hesitated for a moment before turning away and heading to his own desk. You didn’t watch him go, how could you?

Hours passed, and the tension between you and Spencer lingered like a heavy fog. Every now and then, you caught his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but every time you met his gaze, he looked away.

You were exhausted. Your mind was scattered. And when you finally gathered the courage to step away from your desk to grab a coffee, it was then that Spencer decided to approach you.

“y/n,” he called out gently, his voice softer now, less urgent.

You paused mid-step, not sure how to respond. His presence was overwhelming, and even though you wanted to retreat, you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

Turning around slowly, you nodded. “Spencer.”

“Can we talk?” he asked again, this time with more sincerity in his voice.

You studied him carefully, unsure whether you could trust yourself to keep calm. “Do we really need to? I think we’ve said everything we need to say.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have. At least not yet.” He paused, looking down at his feet. “Please.”

You could hear the desperation in his voice, and for the first time since that night, you allowed yourself to truly look at him. You didn’t know what had changed, but you knew it was something important. You had loved Spencer for so long, and maybe it was time to let him explain himself.

“Alright,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s talk.”

The conference room door clicked shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you felt like you were trapped. The silence was thick, oppressive. Spencer stood by the window, facing away from you, his shoulders tense, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The space between you felt impossibly wide, like an ocean stretching between two distant shores.

You wanted to scream. To demand answers. To ask why. But you couldn’t, because the truth was, you were too scared of what might come next. The flood of emotions coursing through you felt like too much to bear. And the pain? The pain was undying.

Finally, Spencer spoke, but his voice was soft, almost trembling. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his words breaking the stillness in the room, but they did little to ease the ache in your chest.

He turned slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I’m so sorry. For the way I ended things... for pushing you away.”

His gaze finally met yours, but there was no spark there, no warmth. Just an empty, hollow ache, the same one you felt. The distance between you both was palpable.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was giving you space to breathe… to move on. To get away from the chaos that’s always been a part of my life.”

The words struck you like a punch to the gut. Protecting you? Was that what this was? Did he think he was being noble by choosing to shut you out?

“You pushed me away, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with the rawness of everything you were holding in. “I didn’t ask for space. I didn’t ask for you to shut me out. I was here… I've always been here.” The anger, the hurt, it all poured out of you, and you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. “I just needed you to be honest with me. To tell me the truth, not hide behind your fears.”

His face faltered at your words, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble under the weight of your pain. “I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking as if he hadn’t even meant to say it. “I was scared that if I kept you close, I would ruin everything. That I’d hurt you more. I thought if I pulled away, you’d be better off without me. But all I’ve done is hurt you even more.”

The truth of his words hit you like a wave, but it didn’t bring relief. Instead, it left you feeling raw, exposed. How could he think that? How could he think leaving was the solution? You had been through so much together. But the thought of him choosing to walk away, of him choosing her, it crushed you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Spencer,” you whispered, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill over. Your heart was breaking, the weight of everything that had happened too much to carry anymore.

“You didn’t just break my heart… you broke me. I was waiting for you. I thought... I thought we could work through this. But you didn’t give me a chance. And now you’re asking me to just… what? To just forget?”

Spencer’s face crumpled as if your words were a physical blow, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He was broken too, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable, scared even. “I don’t want you to forget,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“I just want a chance. A chance to prove that I’m not that guy anymore. That I’m not the one who left you… that I’m the one who’s ready to fight for us.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping before you could stop it. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore, Spencer. I don’t know if I can trust you after everything.”

He stepped forward, his hands trembling as they reached out toward you. “Please,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’ve spent every second of the last six months thinking about how much I screwed up, wishing I could go back and do things differently. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, erratic, unsure whether it was breaking or yearning for something—anything that might bring you peace. You knew Spencer had made mistakes, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. You had kept yourself at a distance too, not because you wanted to, but because you were terrified of what this might mean. Of what letting him back in might cost you.

“I’m scared, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m scared that if I let you back in, you’ll leave again. That you’ll hurt me again.”

He closed the distance between you, standing just inches away now. You could see the unshed tears in his eyes, the way his face was etched with guilt and regret. He reached for your hand, but instead of pulling away, you let him. You let him hold you, as fragile as it felt, as broken as you both were in that moment.

“I won’t leave again,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. I’ll fight for you. For us. I’ll fight for as long as it takes.”

The raw honesty in his voice, his words full of pain, of hope. It made something inside you snap. The walls you had built around your heart were crumbling, piece by piece. You didn’t know if you could ever go back to the way things were, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something better.

“I’m not asking for things to be perfect,” Spencer continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, the small touch making your pulse race. “I just need you to know that I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze then, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, but this time they weren’t just born from hurt. There was something else there. Something like hope. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to see where this goes. If you really mean it.”

His face softened, the tension easing just a fraction. “I do,” he whispered, his hand still gently holding yours. “I mean it. More than anything.”

And as he pulled you into his arms, you let yourself hold on, just for a moment. You weren’t sure where this would lead, or if you could ever truly forget the pain. But for the first time in a long while, you weren’t alone. And maybe that was enough.

It was one of those quiet mornings that felt like a small slice of heaven. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow through the windows, and the only sound in the apartment was the rhythmic hum of the coffee maker.

The air was still cool from the night before, but the warmth of the morning sun slowly crept in, filling the room with a gentle golden light.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, your bare feet tucked under you, a mug of coffee warming your hands. Your hair was messy from sleep, but you didn’t mind.

You had gotten used to waking up next to Spencer every morning, and the sight of him, still half-asleep, a little rumpled, and incredibly endearing, was one of the small things you’d grown to cherish.

Spencer was at the counter, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he flipped through a pile of paperwork. The clutter of his case files and textbooks was a normal part of your life now, but the way he had rearranged things over the past few months, more neatly than ever before, was a quiet testament to how much he had changed. He wasn’t perfect, but he was working on it. He was trying, and that was all that mattered.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet, pulling your attention away from your thoughts.

You looked up from your coffee, meeting his soft brown eyes. He was still wearing his sleep-filled smile, the one that only appeared after a good night’s sleep, when he wasn’t overthinking or buried under a pile of cases.

“I was wondering… would you mind helping me with something later?” His voice was tentative, but there was something else there now, something more confident. He wasn’t afraid to ask for help anymore.

You’d noticed that shift in him over the past few months, the way he wasn’t afraid to lean on you, to let you in when before he would have kept his distance. It had taken time, but now, when he needed you, he knew how to reach for you without hesitation.

“Of course,” you said with a smile, your heart swelling at how far you’d come since that difficult conversation. “What do you need help with?”

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, glancing down at the paperwork. His fingers hovered over the pile, as though unsure how to ask. “I’m working on this case… and I just need to go over the details. I know you’ve got that… special way of seeing things,” he said with a playful grin, using the affectionate nickname you’d earned after countless cases where your instincts had been spot on. “You’re better at spotting the details than I am.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, playfully teasing. “Oh, so now I’m the expert, huh? I thought you were the genius here.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and he shook his head, walking over to the table and taking a seat across from you. He didn’t even try to hide the fondness in his gaze as he looked at you. “You are the expert,” he said softly. “And I’m just the guy who gets to learn from you every day.”

The words lingered between you, warm and comfortable. You reached across the table, brushing your fingers over his hand in a simple, affectionate gesture. A small smile played on your lips as you felt his fingers intertwine with yours, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to hold anything back. There was no fear of losing each other, no worry that the cracks would reopen. Everything—every single piece of you—had found a place next to him, and for once, it felt right.

“I’ll help you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Just like I always do.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet sense of gratitude. You knew, deep down, that he wasn’t just thankful for your help with the case. He was thankful for everything—for your patience, for your trust, for the fact that despite all the mistakes and misunderstandings, you were still here. You had come through the storm together, stronger than before, and you could feel it in every touch, in every glance. There was an unspoken understanding between you now. A promise that no matter what came your way, you would face it as a team.

“You know,” Spencer said, his voice low, “I never thought I’d have something like this. Something so... real. So comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and free, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had plagued your earlier months together. “I think we’ve finally figured out how to make it work,” you said, your voice steady and full of warmth. “No more pushing each other away. No more running. Just… us.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze softening as his thumb gently traced the back of your hand. “I’m not running anymore,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice bringing a warmth to your chest. “I’m staying. For good.”

There was no need for more words. You leaned across the table, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was slow and full of meaning. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desperation, but one of quiet comfort. One of trust and affection. One that said we’re here, and that was enough.

As you pulled away, you saw the same sense of contentment reflected in his eyes, a peacefulness that had taken months to build but was finally here. You didn’t need anything else, because with Spencer, you had everything you’d ever wanted.

The coffee and case files were long forgotten as the two of you sat there, simply enjoying each other’s company. There was no rush to get to the day, no lingering doubt or fear. Just the warmth of his presence beside you, and the certainty that no matter what the future held, you’d face it together.

all notes and reposts are appreciated!! loving you always xx

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#reidsbabyhoney #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #fic recs #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #angst with a happy ending #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #bau team #fluff

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erwinsvow · 8 months ago

Note

i thinkkk all 3 boys have a thing for r but she only has a thing for rafe (realises when sofia shows up) 🤪 #kook trio reader

this would play out so funny seriously timeline not making any sense but oh well

you watch, jaw clenched and chewing on your cheek, rafe talking to the girl he's been with recently. normally you can push your feelings aside, but it stings this time, since she's been around for weeks. he never stays with one girl for this long, no girl besides you, you think bitterly.

"does she really have to come every time?" you ask, not realizing how jealous you sound. topper and kelce exchange a look. they saw this coming from a mile away.

you are a little oblivious, they discussed one night, not catching onto the way kelce has been suggesting the two of you go to dinner alone for the past month. no, you always agree and then tell him you're inviting rafe too.

you think topper coming over for ice cream and movies is the way he's deciding to cope over breaking up with sarah. you don't even realize this isn't a communal activity, texting rafe and telling him to pick up the ice cream.

it's fine, they've decided, except now you're getting upset, since rafe is doing to you what you've been doing to them.

"it's been like two weeks," top comments, taking a swig of his beer.

"seems like forever. what's he see in her anyways?" you hate that you even asked the question—envy didn't suit you, especially not with your best friends. she's nice, and pretty, and if she's good for rafe then they should be together.

you should be happy for him. it stings even worse because you're not, not at all.

"don't answer that," you follow up, shooting one last dirty look at them and turning away.

"hey! christ." kelce says, while you pick up his scotch and finish it in one drink.

"i need another drink," you huff.

"stop moping," top says.

"yeah, we all know he can't stay away from you. give it another week," kelce snickers, laughing with top.

you don't catch his sentence, a new idea coming to mind.

"what's that pogue's name? the one who sells weed? jj?" you turn to kelce and top, eyes wide and eager, smiling for the first time in an hour. "anyone got his number?"

#THIS WAS SO FUN I HOPE YOU LOOOOVE #i hate writing jealous reader feels wrong... rafe is her one and only <33 #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #kook trio reader

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loserboysandlithium · 5 months ago

Text

Let’s Play Pretend: ex boyfriend Eddie one shot

Minors dni, angst, I haven’t done any angst in a while so I’m sorry if this is shit 😂 I needed a good practice run and hopefully someone will enjoy it 🖤🖤🖤

*******

Okay, I can do this. Just breathe.

Thanksgiving. Your mom expected Eddie to be there. He’s been there by your side for the past three years. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the breakup. It was too hard. You still couldn’t truly wrap your head around it. How did we end up here?

Eddie pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his sweater, borrowed from the one and only Steve Harrington, as you both stand at the door of your mom’s house.

“You didn’t have to wear that.. she knows you Eddie.” you speak for the first time since he picked you up.

“Just wanted to look nice, ya know? Not like the asshole who broke your heart…” Eddie’s voice trails off as his gaze falls to his feet. His big black combat boots a stark contrast to his cream colored sweater. How does he manage to pull even this off?

“We said we weren’t gonna talk about it, Eddie. You promis-”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I’m sorry. I just- this is weird okay?” he mumbles.

He’d agreed, semi reluctantly, to play pretend for one night. Put on a happy face for your mom. Just one night. One dinner. Surely you could make it through, right?

You hear footsteps behind the door and take a deep breath as you reach over, sliding your hand into Eddie’s. The simple gesture making your heart ache. His calloused fingers, the chill of his rings, so familiar to you once. You hear the top lock click just as Eddie’s brown eyes meet yours.

He gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ready, pumpkin?” he whispers, his old nickname for you suddenly sending you into a spiral. Fuck, pull it together. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The door swings open, revealing your mother and you smile big, probably too big in an attempt to hide your true emotions. Your mind is swirling, flashbacks of you and Eddie filling your thoughts as you try to push them away.

“Are y’all ready to eat?” Your mother’s sweet southern accent easing your racing thoughts just a bit. You nod, releasing Eddie’s hand to embrace your mother.

“I know my boy is ready, and I made your favorite.” your mom smiles warmly as she takes Eddie in her arms next. You watch as he hugs her, squeezing tight. He’s always loved your mom. Always felt right at home. Soaking up the attention she gave him every time he was over.

“Thanks, Ma.” he answers softly, clinging just a little tighter than usual before pulling away. His eyes look glossy. Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He swallows hard, glancing your way once more before he excuses himself to the bathroom, the tear falling down his cheek only spotted by you.

Your mom ushers you into the kitchen as you begin to grab the dishes, carrying them to the large wooden table in the dining room. She’s rambling as usual, “I’ve missed you, baby.” “How are things?” “Eddie looks handsome as ever.” “Is that Steven’s sweater?” “Anything new?” Her last question hits hard as she wiggles her ring finger playfully.

You give her a small smile and a fake giggle as you shake your head no. “Mom, stop.” you groan.

“It’s gonna happen, baby. I just know it.” she reassures, leaning down to kiss your cheek. There was a time where that was all you wanted. You thought about it constantly. What ring would he get? How would he propose? The fantasies had run rampant in your mind. He was the one. He was supposed to be the one.

“Everything looks incredible.” Eddie’s voice appears suddenly from behind you shaking you from your thoughts. Then you feel his touch. His hand resting on your lower back as he pulls you into him slightly.

It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend.

He’s so close. You can smell his cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes and weed. Your favorite combo. You allow yourself to lean in a little closer, your eyes shutting softly as you brush against his chest.

His heart is fucking pounding.

The oven beeps and your mom claps her hands excitedly as she announces that the turkey is done. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“You doing okay?” he whispers, gently titling your head to look up at him.

No.

“M’ fine.” you reply instead. You can’t look away. His eyes drawing you in as always. His pretty lips. His brow furrowed slightly. He’s so fucking close.

“I’m not, if it makes you feel any better.” he says bluntly, his eyes still on yours.

“Eddie..”

“Okay kiddos. Time to eat.” your mom sings, placing the small turkey on the table as you all take your seats.

****

You spend the night playing along. Eddie making his usual jokes, your mom smiling and laughing, talking about memories of the past few years. Eddie’s hand rests on your thigh under the table, making your body tingle.

“God, I remember that.” Eddie chuckles, his genuine laugh something you haven’t heard in so long. Now when you talk, it’s always a fight. Screaming and crying. Or just another hate fuck. But it was never just that. And you both knew it.

You look over at his pretty smile, his eyes look light, his body relaxed. Everything felt almost normal again. But it isn’t real. None of it is real anymore.

After dinner, you hug your mom goodbye. Eddie kissing her cheek softly as he promises to see her soon.

Then you’re in his van. The light atmosphere fading back into your bleak reality as he drives you home. He tries to make small talk. Even tries to keep the earlier conversations going. Memories of your good times. They were the best times. But you have to stay strong.

He pulls into your drive, shutting of the van, landing you in a uncomfortable silence. “I should go.” you say quickly before he takes you off guard, leaning down to kiss you. You shove him off, doing your best to control your emotions.

“I just thought maybe we could..”

“I can’t, Eddie. Not tonight. I’m sorry.” you mumble, grabbing your bag from the floorboard of his van.

“Yeah.. yeah okay. Only when you want some dick, right?” he grumbles, his response making all of your feelings from the night explode out of you.

“Did tonight mean nothing to you? Did you not feel it? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“Of course I fucking felt it! My heart feels like it’s being ripped in two. Do you think that was fun for me? Playing pretend? A happy fucking family? I miss you. I miss us. You know that!” Eddie shouts, running his fingers through his dark curls.

“That isn’t fair.” you grit your teeth, begging for the tears to stay in place but it’s too late. They stream down your face in little rivers, blurring your vision as you try to compose yourself but it’s no use.

“I know I fucked up…” he starts and you just shake your head.

“I can’t do this Eddie. Please don’t do this.” you beg, your heart already shattering into a thousand pieces.

His firm hands cup your face, forcing you to look into his eyes. Those pretty eyes. His face matches yours, heartbroken, tears falling onto his chest, silently begging you to give in. To take him back. To forgive and forget.

You close the gap in between you, pressing your lips to his, tasting the salt from his tears as you kiss him gently.

He was supposed to be the one.

You pull back, resting your forehead against his for just a moment before wiping your tears.

“I can’t, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

#eddie munson angst #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson blurb #exboyfriend!eddie #Eddie Munson x you

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