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royallyprincesslilly · 2 years

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Title: Move Heaven To Make Hell Pay {Prologue}

Lewis Tan x OFC Tissandra Hudson AU

Warning: Cursing, Plot, Prologue, Drug Reference, Violence Reference

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Not Yet. Soon.

Note: We’ve got a Lewis Tan AU! He isn’t an actor in this one and this one’s genre has a lot of fantasy elements in it. I’ve been reluctant to share this one because it will also incorporate some Asian culture (because I am in love with it like legit obsessed) and I don’t want to offend anyone if I mix and mash things together for my own purposes. I plan to do just that but will remain true to the culture. I’m nervous to share it but I hope you guys enjoy it.

If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.

As always, thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Prologue

What were life and death when you’d lived as long as he had? What was life? He’d long lost the true meaning of life, long forgotten the joys of this moral world. As he drove in the back of the chauffeured Bentley, he stared out of the window, watching everything and nothing at all. All around, people were bustling about hurrying from this place to the next to see this person or another or try this or that. They were always in a rush.

He guessed he understood. They were on a time limit. One day the reaper would come for them and not one of them knew when that day would be. Rushing was all they knew.

Once upon a time death was something he tried to avoid, but those days were long gone. Now he recklessly confronted it, daring it to stake its claim but each and every time, death eluded him. It was a disappointment each time, but it was an outcome he expected. Death was not in the cards he was dealt. Nothing would change his fate. Well, there was one thing and one thing only—or one person that is.

He took a slow deep breath then released it just as slowly. A heaviness that he always carried with him weighed him down, but right now, that heaviness felt more profound. Groaning, he balled his firsts still raw and tender from the workout he’d put them through an hour ago.

“You good, boss?”

Angling his head to the left first, then the right the cracking of the tendons echoed in the car; “Fine.”

“I doubt they’ll ever try that shit again,” Cobra, his driver, and head of his protection detail said from the driver’s seat.

He scoffed because he knew they would try it again. It was the way of his world. If you didn’t go for the king, how could you ever be the king? He knew the game and expected it. He had been living in this world for too long to not know the mentality of everyone in it. If you had ambition, drive, a whole lotta balls, and a few screws loose, his throne was the one to come for. That was the thing though; if you came for the king, you better not miss, and they all missed.

He grabbed the tumbler from the cup holder it resided in and gulped the amber colored Hibiki down, ignoring the burn as it poured down his throat to then engulf his stomach. A deafening crack of thunder that was loud enough to shake the car erupted outside and he felt the blow surge through him.

“Fuck!”

He gripped the armrest tightly keeping himself in control. A few cars up ahead swerved, momentarily before getting back into their lanes, no doubt the drivers being shocked by the sudden thunder.

This had happened before. In the last few weeks, he’d heard it and felt it over seven times. It had even happened before a few weeks ago too. He’d heard it several hundred times before, and he knew what they meant. Fighting to overcome the pain in his chest, his eyes moved to the window watching the people scurry along their way. Again, the thunder struck, and again the pain ricocheted through him. With it, the night lit up with a bolt of lightning across the sky, illuminating the faces of those in the crowd. In a blink, he saw her. It was as if the thunder and lightning had planted her there.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. There she was. He’d found her. Everyone around her was frozen and she stood there gazing up at the sky. She stretched her arms out as if waiting for something. He trailed his eyes over every inch of her face beginning at the gentle arch of her brows that framed the deepest, most hypnotizing eyes he’d ever gazed into—ever. Then he moved to her full and shapely lips that were covered in a plum-colored lipstick that made them look so damn inviting. When his eyes crossed to her memorable cheekbones the memories flooded him and for several long moments, he was frozen as if he’d overdosed and was now on a trip.

“Don’t move,” he managed to croak out before his eyes fluttered closed.

He allowed the effects to take him. It was no use fighting it. His breaths came in ragged, and shaky though forced they were. It felt as if someone was sitting right on his chest, and he had to struggle for each breath. A slow tingle traveled through his body and pooled in the most sensitive parts of him—fingertips, lips, spine, toes. The stirring of his cock was another sensation that he buried himself into, letting it do to him what it willed.

A groan escaped him as a wave of pleasure took him up, up, up. The feeling of soaring through the air filled him and everything made him feel alive. The harmonious melodies of the guqin filled his head and brought him back to times of old. He could almost feel her. Almost. Then the searing pain came. It was a pain he knew to expect, yet still, it took him by surprise. It was the pain of loss. His head jerked back as his body convulsed going through the tail end of the same process, he’d experienced time and time again. His teeth gnashed together, grinding while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. At light speed, every memory played back, the good, the wonderful, the bad, and the ugly. It was his reminder. Even from his grave the ruthless bastard still hadn’t changed. He was still a brutal tyrant.

He groaned as he was finally released and brought back to reality. It took time for his body to calm down, time for him to stop shaking, time for him to reign in every sense that was reawakened—sharpened even. Through the pain that wracked his body nearly crippling him, all he could echo in his mind was—finally. His eyes flew open and instantly he snapped his head back to the window, but she was gone.

“No.”

He flung open the door then stepped out into a downpour of rain looking up and down the sidewalk, hoping to see her in any face that passed him. She wasn’t there. The rain poured down his face, drenching his designer three-piece suit but he didn’t care. A black Mercedes pulled up behind his Bentley and De-Wei stepped beside him without saying a word. The scent of his signature smoke blend surrounded him. Neither of them spoke.

“Strange weather.”

He finally looked beside him at De-Wei who brought the rolled brown paper to his lips and took a puff. The amount of rain should have drenched it making it impossible to smoke but nothing was impossible the longer you lived. He didn’t bother answering, instead, he arched back looking up into the night sky.

“It’s her.”

“You should be happy,” De-Wei expressed.

He was right. He should be. He was, but the more times he experienced this, the more he anticipated the end. He’d become bitter.

“Find her.”

De-Wei hesitated long enough to take another long drag from his rolled smoke. He slowly blew it out then held it out for him to take.

“Consider it done.”

With that, he took the smoke and got back inside his car while De-Wei went his way. Taking a long pull, he held the smoke and allowed the swirl of emotions inside of him to settle. It wasn’t happening quick enough and after a minute he blew the smoke out. There was much to do, and he was determined this would be the last time.

“Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged, please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

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TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @caramara3 @mauvecherie-writes @caplover22 @ficsfordays @keytodespair @jd-now-jq @maxcullen @queenoftheworldisdead @tinydramatist @wakandalivesforever @scoop93535 @bforbbgirl @ramp-it-up @winchwm @reignandrain @areubeingserved @est1887 @titty-teetee @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @shar74nett @brownsugarcoffy

#move heaven to make hell pay fic #lewis tan #lewis tan au #lewis tan fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic #lewis tan x reader #lewis tan x you #lewis tan x black reader #black fanfiction #mob lewis tan au #yakuza lewis tan au #triad lewis tan au #gangster lewis tan au #forbidden love fanfic

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

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The Treatment of Captain Syverson- Chapter 7: Non-Productive Time

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: On a slow afternoon, Shane remembers a couple of fun evenings with Sy, and can’t help but start texting him…he turns out to be a bad influence.

Don’t want spoilers? Click me first to catch up!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, a steamy scene that bumps up against the line of smut/not smut…it looks like smuttish is, in fact, a thing, (see what I did there? Toss a high five to your fic writer for the paraphrased Witcher quote in these here notes! lol! Sorry, i’m tired...and in a weird mood tonight...) so, anyway, using that. I love it.

Author’s Note: This chapter was about half done before I even started SI1 and SI2! So that’s why it’s come along so quickly in the wake of them. It could also mean that there are some continuity issues…I found a couple during the re-write of the first part, and more when I was proofing, so it should be good, but…fair warning, one or more could have escaped me! Also, let me know if the text convo is hard to follow. I’ll try to reconfigure it to be more clear. It seemed to me like context was enough, and they’d had text convos before, and no one said anything…this one’s longer by about 300%, though, so…feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

Time seemed to pass slowly when Shane wasn’t with Sy. When they weren’t having dinner together, or doing their typical date thing. She thought about their second date. One of the bars in town, chosen for its above average bar food but mostly, it’s pool tables. The warning he’d given her via text had made her laugh:

We’re goin’ to Cade’s for apps and pool, if that's okay. As gorgeous as you looked in that blue dress you wore last night, I recommend jeans and a T-shirt for tonight, okay?

She took his suggestion. A simple black tee, because she was a food klutz from hell, layered over a red camisole, and her favorite jeans. It showed off her dainty arrow necklace well.

While they played, they drank beer and talked about life, getting deeper into things than they could at therapy sessions.

“Dad split when I was about ten, I guess. Mom did her best with her only son, but she sent me to my grandpa’s a lot when she was working or just…needing her own time. He’d been an army man. Fought in Korea. His dad was in World War II. It felt like…I don’t know, this pull, like I was meant to join up.”

“Destiny?” She asked. A dreamy tone overtook him when he talked about his family and his now former career.

“I guess. Never though too much of all that before.”

They smiled at one another. Knowing.

“What was he like? Your grandpa?”

“Oh, Pap was the best. He was a mechanic in the service and so he could get anything hummin, ya know? We fixed up and built motors for all kinds a’ shit. My first car was a ‘67 Shelby Mustang with the fast back all because when I was about 14, he found most of one at a salvage yard and basically rescued it from the crusher. Got it for about nothin’. For two years we collected parts and did body work on that thing. And by the time I turned sixteen, it was the most beautiful, show-ready Kerry green machine you ever seen.”

“One of my favorite cars! I’d love to see pictures!”

“I’ve still got ‘er.” He grinned. “When Pap died, it got…hard for me to drive her, ya know? So…special occasions only now. And he left me his truck, which he’d just bought brand new while I was on my first tour. That F150 crew cab we came here in, with all the bells 'n whistles. I couldn’t let such a fine automobile go to waste.” He grinned.

“You’re such a gear head.” She chuckled.

“Hey, you may be glad about that when you need somebody to get your own motor humming.” He teased back at her, bending over the table to take his shot and sinking it deftly. He said they would only play for fun, but he was still winning this round…which she didn’t think was that fun.

“Okay, I deserved that.”

“The shot, or the innuendo?” He asked to clarify.

“Yes.” They laughed. He eventually did miss, making it her turn.

"Ya know, I'm disappointed in this date, Shane." He baited.

"How come?" she asked, a bit hurt.

"A guy only asks a girl to play pool with him so he can show her how to shoot…and you already know."

It was true. She'd played a lot growing up and even a bit as she got older. She and her siblings loved billiards. Her whole family, really. And although she was no professional, she wasn't half bad for an amateur.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, sizing up the table for her next shot, but knowing with a fair amount of certainty what he was implying.

"You know. I wanted to get all close to ya. Show ya how to grip that cue in your hand. How to stand, bent at the hip, where to eyeball your shot from." he smiled. "All that shit ya see in movies that makes the girl all nervous and excited that the guy's touchin' on her. Pressed up against her."

Shane grinned, picked up the small, blue cube of chalk and rolled the concave side over the tip of her cue…she had no need to do so, most people didn't, really…but she made herself look really sexy doing it and asked Sy, "Is that right? Well, I guess you'll have to find another way to get your cheap thrills, because this girl has been known to run a table." She bent over the green felt seductively, the angle at which she did so displaying her décolletage in his direction just enough to tantalize him into licking his lips. She took her shot at the 10 ball, but sunk the 8 instead, losing her the game…damn. She shouldn't have gotten cocky.

"Run it where, sunshine? Into the ground? Off a cliff?" he laughed as she stomped over and began to poke him mercilessly in the ribs.

"Come on, Minnesota Fats. Let's pay the tab and find something a little cozier to do."

"Oka--wait, did you just call me fat?" he was incredulous. She laughed.

"Oh my God, you thought YOU were gonna teach ME about billiards…Minnesota Fats is like the most famous pool player of ever. I am not calling you fat."

"You messin' with me?" he squinted.

"Sy, google it. I promise. I would never call you fat. You're… my sexy man bear."

"Technically a bear is a fat animal." he sulked.

"Why don't you tell that to one when it's chasing you down to make a meal of ya!" Shane laughed. "Come on. Remember? I think I mentioned something about… finding another way for you to get cheap thrills. Lets explore that, shall we?" she whispered into his ear. He dropped some bills on their table nearby to more than cover their food and beer, and they hauled ass into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had definitely been exploring. In the two weeks since they'd been given the green light to see each other outside of therapy--the day Sy basically handed Shane's boss her own ass--they'd spent most evenings with each other, unless Shane had a particularly late evening at work or an early day the next day. A few nights, they had been together so late, that just staying over seemed the most reasonable option. But they had both agreed to take things slowly with the physical stuff. It had been a long time since either of them had been in a relationship, and given their patient/therapist situation, waiting a while for the sex had seemed like a good idea…on paper. On the sofa had been a different story.

One day last week, she'd had to make an early night of things, and stood up from his couch, but was pulled back down to straddle his lap.

"Hold on a minute, sunshine. Why don't you gimme a proper goodbye before ya go, hmm?" he held her so close to him at every curve of their bodies, like the pieces of a puzzle snapping flush together. His kisses were deep and agonizing, his beard gently brushing her mouth, teasing her with its uncommon softness. She returned the ardor, squeezing him in every way she could.

She couldn't contain the desire pooling at her center, especially when he clearly couldn't contain his, either, straining against his shorts, pressing against her so deliciously, right where she needed him. She didn't hold back. And he was nothing if not encouraging to her endeavor.

"That feels so good, baby. You're so warm. Mmm." he whispered as he nipped at her ear and bit at her neck. She hadn't intended to, but she felt herself slipping over the edge, into pure euphoria and gripped at his hair, still rather short, though growing out from the mandated buzz. The length made him even more sensitive and when she ran her hands up his neck and over the back of his head, the result was like an electric current straight to his manhood. His body tensed as his release followed hers seconds later.

"Fuck." he said. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" she was truly confused.

"For losin' it like a teenager." he sighed and laid his head against the back of his couch in surrender…an unfamiliar sight, Shane was certain.

"Don't worry about it. I mean…it's not quite how I pictured our first time, but--"

"Oh, hell no. This doesn't count as a TIME, sunshine. This is batting practice. A warm up.”

"Ooh, you and your baseball references again. I told you, I need to leave, Sy. You can't get me worked up with that kinda dirty talk." she kissed his cheek, and stood. "Walk me out?"

He did. And they stood holding one another in the dark, leaned up against her Explorer, Sy's back against the door, Shane's cheek on his bare, hairy chest, and the turning of the earth all but forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had to stop thinking about him. About their dates and the time they'd spent together. But her schedule had fallen apart for the day due to a nasty storm that had blown in, she had no more education to work on for now, and she could only clean and organize her treatment room and desk so thoroughly.

She guessed…the secretaries knew she was available if need be…and she was salaried…what was the harm in texting Sy? She'd stayed late and came in early and overworked herself in general so much for this clinic. She could justify a bit of downtime.

Hey! Whatcha doin?

Just did some exercises that my super hot PT gave me! *winky face emoji*

Uh-Oh, should I be jealous?

Mmm, hard to say, sunshine. I guess it'll depend on which one of you sleeps with me first. *devil emoji*

Smart money is on the one who’s already let you get to second base…and basically third, even though…does it count if it’s basically because of a dare. Induced by Jack Daniels?

I think it counts if you came…*smirk emoji*

Damn those skilled fingers and Tennessee whiskey.

What can I say. I told ya I knew how to get a motor humming. *cool guy emoji*

You certainly do. No doubt about that.

So how's your day goin', sunshine?

Eh, everyone's cancelled on me. I have no one until 4:00, and I have nothing to do until then. I've decided to see it as a blessing and text my favorite fella.

And when he didn't respond, you resorted to me? *smirk emoji*

Hey you know that you have no competition for my affection other than like, my dad…and Chris Evans. Lol

Your dad, I'm sure I couldn't compete with if I tried, from what you've told me. Chris…well, I'm a REAL captain, not some guy jumpin' around in tights.

Mmmm, shame. I bet you'd look good in a getup like that. *heart eyes emoji*

You think so?

Yup! *American flag emoji*

You wanna be my Black Widow?

I mean…I've already basically got a costume…*embarrassed monkey emoji*

*several lines of big eye emojis*

Yeah, a few Halloweens ago…I was Romanoff. Now you know. I'm a total nerd.

I'm a nerd, too, sunshine. Serious nerd.

How am I just finding out about this? There's next to no merch at your place, and you never wear typical nerd shirts…*skeptical face emoji*

You haven't seen my whole place…*wink emoji*

What, are you telling me you have Batman bedsheets? *lol emoji*

Oh, it's much…much worse than that. The bedroom is pretty neutral, but…I have a…kind of rec room in the basement that is basically nerd central.

Oh. Em. Gee. I can't WAIT to see that, Sy!!! And how dare you hold out on me!!!

Well, I mean, I didn't wanna lay out all my cards right off the bat. I'm playing the long game.

Ah, so, when do I get to see this nerd trap?

Come on over, sunshine. *smiley face*

I said, I've got a patient at 4:00.

Everyone's cancelled on you. Can't you cancel on them for once?

Not unless I'm violently ill do I ever have any patients cancelled on my behalf.

So…say you're violently ill and come see me. *shrugging man emoji*

I dunno, Sy…

I got stuff to make that soup you like…

She had made it clear to him how much she loved soup, especially a good creamy potato soup, and on one of their dates, he'd had her over and there was a big pot of the stuff on his stove, made from scratch. She'd never had better, and he almost got lucky that night…and I mean…he still got a little lucky. He cooked for her AND cleaned up, AND let her pick the movie that night. She still picked an action movie, because she wasn't really a romance movie type, overall. Even so. Could she leave him hanging?

She opened her thread with Heather in her messenger app on her laptop.

Heather, is there anyone who could take my last patient, Mr. Lopez?

Looks like Cheri has a cancel around that time. Need me to move him?

If you could. I'm not feeling well.

Are you pregnant?

Omg, every fucking time. Why when anything is amiss in a woman's life must it be pregnancy?! And why is it okay to ask that question?! Ugh! She loved Heather like a sister, and it probably was just a joke, but uuuuuugh!

Yes…yes I am. *eye roll emoji* I've got a killer headache that's making me queasy. I'll email Susan. Thanks.

You bet. Tell Sy I said hi. *wink emoji*

Shut up.

After a quick and concise email to her boss, she picked her phone back up. One unread message.

You there, sunshine?

She simply replied,

Get that soup ready, Captain, I'm on my way.

Up Next: Chapter Eight: Heat/Ice

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy #smuttish #not full on smut

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theimaginesgalore · 4 years

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Cigarette Daydreams - Prologue Rafe Cameron x OFC JJ Maybank x OFC Kooks x OFC Pouges x OFC

WARNINGS: This has some HEAVY smut. Exhibitionisms, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight reluctance. THIS SERIES IS NOT SOLELY PORN, BUT THIS PART IS A PRETTY MUCH PORN WITH VERY LITTLE PLOT.

Layne Reid was something else. At least that’s what JJ Maybank decided after he had started working for her father, Thomas, at the beginning of his sophomore year. He had been hired to do yard work, any sort of handy work needed done, and up keep the pool, boats, and vehicles. Thomas Reid was an extremely wealthy and busy business man so he hired JJ to do whatever he couldn’t do at his home, and he paid him well to do so. Layne was nearly a year older than him and she was a lot of things, and a horrible driver was one of them.

If JJ had kept a tally of how many times he had fixed just one of Layne’s vehicles (which he did) in just the eight months he worked for the Reid’s, it would be in the dozens. Layne had two cars, yes two. One was a 2019 Audi A7 and there was never a problem with that thing, JJ felt like she just had that car just to show how fucking spoiled she was, which maybe she did honestly. Her second car was a vehicle she had begged and begged for, it was a 1968 Mercury Comet, Convertible of course. That car had costed Thomas a pretty penny, and continued to cost him more and more money. It was a perfect car, and JJ was incredibly jealous of the girl for having such a beautiful car, Layne was just a bad driver and hardly ever kept up with the maintenance of it. If there was one moment JJ could pinpoint that he actually fell for her though, it would be because of that damn car.

The only problem in this love story, aside from her being a Kook and him being a Pouge, you ask? Rafe Cameron. Rafe had been Layne’s boyfriend for nearly two years, and she was crazy about him. JJ never was able to understand, the two were just such opposites. Layne was soft, kind, intelligent. Rafe was hard, mean, and cruel.

Rafe had a girl that everyone wanted, literally everyone, and he loved it. He loved knowing all his friends wanted her, all the filthy Pouges wanted her, fuck even his own sister, who was Layne’s best friend and had a boyfriend, wanted her. But that wasn’t all that Rafe loved. He genuinely loved Layne, she had been with him for everything the past two years, he just had bad qualities that got the best of him sometimes.

He knew that fucking Pouge was there, doing whatever it was that Layne’s dad needed done that day. Rafe hated that Thomas had invited him so trustingly into his girlfriends home, and that he was allowed alone in there with Layne while he was wherever he was doing business and her mother, Claire, just left to go spend money and plan events with Rafe’s own stepmother, Rose. So, in Rafe decided to spend the afternoon with his girlfriend, but knowing the Pouge was there only fueled him to stick his hand in her panties, while sitting in the middle of her living room. You could say he was a slight exhibitionist. In all honesty, he loved fucking Layne, but knowing people who liked Layne are around?

“R-Rafe, JJ is here some-somewhere. Ah-“ A moan caught in her throat when he bit down on her neck and plunged two fingers inside her soft cunt at the same time. She was straddling him, blonde and pink hair a mess, tank top pulled down under her breasts, and panties and shorts damp with her arousal as her boyfriend roughly assaulted her body.

Rafe growled and grabbed her hair yanking her head back, shoving his fingers even deeper inside her. “God you are such a fucking slut, saying his name while I’ve got you like this.” He cut himself off and started rubbing his thumb against her clit while he continued to roughly finger her, he thought maybe he should lay off a little, he knew he was hurting her, but hearing her same his name in the breathy and horny way she did had him pissed. He roughly kissed her breast before biting her nipples harshly.

Layne let out a high pitched moan, followed by a gasp in slight pain. She cursed herself for being loud. JJ was at her house working today, she wasn’t sure what her dad had him doing either, he could be anywhere. “C’mon slut, talk to daddy.” That statement alone almost brought her to orgasm, well that, his fingers working themselves in and out of her at the brutal pace they were going, and his thumb not easing up on her clit.

“Rafe-“ He roughly yanked her hair again, feeling her clench around his fingers. “What’s my name, whore?” She gulped. “D-daddy, he could come in at any second.” Rafe had gotten even harder and the thought of JJ Maybank walking in on him fucking his girl. He roughly pulled his fingers out of her and shoved her off of the couch and onto her knees.

Layne winced slightly at his roughness, lately he had been even roughed than she was used too. She watched as he pulled his shorts and underwear off, and he quickly grabbed her face before pulling her into a searing kiss. The kiss was short lived, and before she could even catch her breath Rafe had her mouth on his cock and began pushing her head down as far as he knew should go.

JJ had heard Layne moaning, and he had gotten turned on slightly, but he knew he should’ve left. But how could he leave when her dad had left him such a long list of things to get done before he got back Monday, and it was Saturday.

He knew what Rafe was doing. Rafe wanted to make him jealous and this wasn’t the first time, but this was the first time he was doing it so openly where JJ could have to see. Finally JJ decided that he was just going to leave and work extra tomorrow to get everything done for Thomas. He had quickly put everything back in its place before going to leave quietly, but he immediately caught eyes with the groaning mess of Rafe Cameron with his hands roughly on head of the pretty girl crouched between his legs.

Rafe smirked wickedly at JJ. He knew the Pouge would keep watching, so he only got rougher and dirtier with Layne. He tightened his grip on her hair and started roughly fucking her face while keeping his stare on JJ for a moment.

“You like that don’t you, you pretty slut. You like daddy fucking your face right here in the living room knowing that dirty Pouge could walk in at any second.” He looked away from JJ and pulled Layne’s mouth off of him, quickly pulling her back on top of him and roughly sliding into her.

Layne groaned at the rough feeling. Her pussy was sensitive and immediately clenched around him as he fucked himself into him, feeling her high start to build back up.

JJ couldn’t breathe, he imagined Rafe just got ridiculously great head and his own cock was so hard it hurt. He watched Layne’s ass bounced against Rafe’s thighs, and felt his eyes glued to the spot where Layne and Rafe were linked, watching as her went pussy took him in over and over again. He wondered if he looked close enough if he could see the girl clench around him.

Rafe didn’t let up, he fucked her and he fucked her good and rough and at a brutal pace. He felt her begin to clench around him and stifled a groan, feeling his balls tighten up and he knew he was going to come cum quickly.

“You want daddy’s cum you whore? Huh you want to take daddy’s cum like a good whore who knows her place? My pretty cum slut.” Layne gasped at his vulgar words and closed her eyes as he hit her spot over and over again roughly, clenching around him she finally came.

Rafe’s eyes rolled feeling her clench around him, but he wasn’t done yet. Quickly pulling her off of him, shoving her to where she was clinging to the back of the couch and he smirked at JJ before shoving himself back into Layne and wrapping his arm around her to rub her clit while fucking her. “No-no I can’t” and Rafe quickly pinched her clit “Yes you can slut, you want him to hear you, I know you do.”

Layne felt her eyes roll back, it was too much, the sensitivity from her orgasm, the feeling of him filling her at a new angle, the feeling of his fingers on her clit. She was gasping for air at this point, another orgasm quickly approaching.

Rafe smirked feeling her clench around him again and quickened his pace, “No no slut. You do NOT get to cum again.” and with that he stilled inside her, releasing his orgasm into her and holding her hips in place as he felt his body twitch and her pussy spasm around him.

He pulled out of her and turned his head to glare at JJ, but saw he was already gone. He smirked and thought “good” to himself before turning back to his mess of a girlfriend. He saw his orgasm already leaking out of her and quickly put two fingers back inside her, curling them before pulling them out. Using his other hand he quickly turned her around and shoved his fingers into her mouth, having her clean their releases off of them.

A/N: PLEASE give me some feedback! this is my first imagine/series! any and all feedback is accepted and appreciated!

I am open to requests!

#jj obx #obx #rafe obx #obx imagine #obx smut #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #jj maybank #rafe cameron #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut

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sofreddie · 6 years

Text

Love To Hate You

Summary: Dean and Isabella do NOT get along, until a close call brings up some long buried feelings.

Characters: Dean x Isabella/Iz (OFC), Sam

Warnings: Angst, Language, Dean is a dick, Major Injury, Fluff

Word Count: 1,616

A/N: Commissioned work for @imascio08. I really enjoy the “I hate you because I love you” tropes. They’re so much fun to write. And I REALLY enjoy writing arguments and conflict. Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m really bad at Summaries and Titles.

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Dean Winchester. The bane of my existence. I never knew it was possible to have such a fiery hatred for someone. I mean, sure, I’ve hated monsters and big bads. But another human? I’ve never really had more than a strong dislike. But along came Dean Freakin’ Winchester, and suddenly I knew what it was to hate someone with the fire of a thousand suns.

Like anyone else who owned a set of eyeballs, when I first met him - umpf. With his stunning green eyes, chiseled and deliciously angled features, full and pouty lips, tall and muscular build - yeah, I swooned, hard. And then he spoke. Now, I’ll admit his voice - gruff, deep, like whiskey and gravel in a crystal glass - I thought to myself, ‘Here is one of God’s finest creations’.

But he quickly proved himself to be cocky, womanizing, and knew how good looking he was. As I realized this, I knew I needed to stay far away from him. And later, that first night we met, when I turned down his offer of some post-hunt fun and he told me with a shrug it was “my loss” - yeah, Dean Winchester could go fuck himself!

Over time, we ran into each other here and there, as tends to happen in the hunting community. Those who survive tend to run into each other time and again. Each time we met, he seemed more cocky, and I hated him a little more with each pass. Eventually, I noticed he would greet me with the same disdain and indifference with which I gave him. But it wasn’t until three months ago that I truly hated him.

Dean slammed the motel door shut, the walls of the small room shook with its force.

“What. The. FUCK. was that, Iz?!” He shouted at me, with more fury than I’ve ever seen from him. “Did you NOT understand the plan?! ‘Cause I’m pretty fucking sure we went over it a THOUSAND times!” His face was red, neck straining as he shouted the words at me, spittle flying through the air.

“The PLAN got thrown out the goddamn window when you decided, as usual, to be a self-sacrificial ass!” I shouted back, just as angry. “Correct me if I’m wrong, DEAN, but I’m pretty sure I saved your stupid ass back there!”

He stomped across the room to stand in front of me, mere inches apart, towering over my five-foot-two frame. I pushed him back, if only to keep from craning my neck to look at him.

“You almost got us all killed.” He growled through clenched teeth. “Maybe you should improve your hunting and LISTENING skills before you attempt to run with the big boys.”

“I did my job!” I defended. I felt on the verge of tears, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Dean,” Sam jumped in, trying to calm the raging storm between us, “Iz may not have followed the plan, but we all got out of there alive and it was a successful hunt.”

“Yeah,” He scoffed, his eyes travelling up and down my form with a look of disgust, “this time.”

“You know what, Dean?” I shouted back at him, grabbing my duffle and heading for the door, “If I’m such a terrible fucking hunter and inconvenience, maybe you all should stop calling my ass for help!” I threw open the door and marched towards my beat up old car.

“Good fucking riddance!” He shouted from the open doorway and I threw my bag in the back seat and climbed in the driver’s door. “You’re fucking reckless and completely useless!” I froze in my seat. Dean had NEVER said anything like that to me before. In the dim light of the parking lot, I could only see his hulking form, hands balled into fists at his sides, body moving with deep, angry breaths. I felt the tears start to fall and took off from the motel as quick as I could before he could see how much he hurt me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

That was three months ago, and I hadn’t spoken to either Winchester since. Sam had attempted to contact me several times after the motel incident. Dean even tried a few times when Sam couldn’t get through. But I ignored every call, deleted every voicemail and text without reading. Eventually, they stopped trying and I felt like I could breathe again. The Winchesters had all but left my mind as I continued travelling across the country and hunting.

So, imagine my surprise to be thinking of Dean as I lay, bleeding out on the ground, two dead werewolves beside me, one of which still had it’s claws buried in my stomach from where it shredded me. I heard voices in the distance, growing closer to me. My vision was starting to blur and I was struggling, with little strength and no success, to remove the heavy werewolf arm from me.

“Iz?” I heard a man’s voice and saw his face swim into my vision, but it was too blurry to make out. I felt the werewolf arm being removed from me and I shouted at the pain of the claws being removed from my gut. “Isabella, Sweetheart, hang in there.” I felt myself being lifted into strong arms before it all went black.

When I came to, I was groggy and could barely move my body, I was so stiff and sore. I groaned with the effort, opening my eyes and trying to focus my sight.

“Iz! Hey, hey, don’t try to sit up.” I heard that voice again from before. As I forced my eyes to focus, I saw Dean, sitting beside me on what appeared to be a bed in a motel room.

“D-De.” I tried to talk, but my throat was so dry. I felt a cup at my lips and drank. Realizing it was water, I gulped down the glass, desperate for more.

“Take it easy, Iz. I’ll get you some more water.” He rose from the bed and I took the opportunity to try and sit up, my abs protesting the effort, making me flinch and cry out in pain. “Hey,” Dean returned to the bedside, “Don’t try to move. You got slashed up pretty good back there.” He said, his tone surprisingly soft as he helped me sip some more water.

“Dean? What are you doing here?” He smirked, setting the glass on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Well, I thought I was taking care of a werewolf hunt. Turns out another hunter beat me to it.” He smiled a little wider then.

“Are they dead?” I tried again to sit up and Dean sighed in irritation, helping to prop me up against the headboard with pillows behind me.

“You’re stubborn as Hell you know that?”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Yeah, well, you got it.”

“Dean,” I sighed. I really couldn’t handle a fight at the moment, “Why are you here?”

“I told you, I was here for the hunt - “

“No, Dean. Here. Why are you here.” I emphasized. He scoffed, running a hand down his face.

“You almost died back there, you know! If I hadn’t shown up when I did, you would have bled out on that damn floor. You expect me to just leave you there?!” He was growing angry, his tone becoming more forceful.

“You hate me. You could have easily just-”

“I don’t hate you, Iz! How could you think-”

“You said I was reckless and completely useless.” My voice was barely a whisper as I ran my hands over the bandages covering my torso. I couldn’t hide how much it hurt me to say those words again. Dean lifted my chin to meet his gaze.

“I don’t hate you.” He whispered back. “I didn’t mean to say those things, I shouldn’t have said those things.” He sighed. “I just - I was worried. I was worried you’d get hurt, or worse. And I just, lost it.” We were silent for several minutes, his words hanging in the air, before he spoke once more, his gaze somewhere far off. “When we met,” he smiled, enjoying the memory, “I was enthralled by you. Here you are, this beautiful and tiny hunter. But you held your own, you were so badass. And when I tried to make a move, you shot me down.” He looked down at his lap, clearly hurt by the memory. “I thought it wasn’t a big deal. But then we kept running into you and I wanted you more and more and you just made it really clear it was never gonna happen.”

I was speechless. This whole time I thought Dean hated me, but he thought I hated him. How did things get so crossed?

“I don’t hate you. I just - I never thought I could have you for more than a night here or there, so I tried to tell myself I didn’t want you.”

After several moments, Dean let out a hearty laugh. “God, we’re fucking stupid.”

“Thank you - for saving me tonight.” I looked into his eyes, like examining precious gems shining in the light.

“I almost lost you.” He said, his hand raising to rest against my cheek. I nuzzled into his palm, the warmth and gentle touch welcomed, making me feel at peace. “Iz.” My eyes met his once more as he leaned in and placed a kiss against my lips, soft and sweet.

“Will you stay with me? Just until I’m good enough to head out on my own?”

“Baby, I’m never leaving you again.” He smiled and I returned the gesture, melting into his kisses.

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#sofreddie #love to hate you #dean x oc #dean winchester #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #fanfiction #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #angst #fluff #oc #ofc #commission

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makebelievetimeformymind · 6 years

Text

Bad Boys

Drabble: Breaking Bad based

Word count:: 1.5K

Characters: Jesse Pinkman, Avah: OFC

Warnings: Drugs other than weed

Summary: Prompt from @dialouge-prompts

A/N: ALL FEED BACK IS WELCOMED!!!

Forever Tags (Short short list because I only have a list for SPN): @soythedemonqueen @deansbabygirl01 @thatbrattygrrl-blog-blog

“Aye, yo dude…Heads up, we got cops behind us.” Pinkman stuttered from the passenger seat. Wiping his palms on his pants roughly he kept looking to his rear view mirror over and over. Head pinging like a ping pong ball. We were headed back from his house to my own and this was the last thing we had time for. ‘Greaaat’

“Fuck. Stop doing that…” moving my eyes upward to see it coasting about two car lengths back, I kept cruising. He was slowly closing the distance until he was right on our car’s ass. “Calm it down, we got nothing on us.”

‘Wait.’

“You’re clean, right?” Turning my head casually to see his face he nodded up and down.

“Yeah, man… I ain’t packin’ shit.” His eyes were telling the truth. Not that there was a reason to lie because that shit would be on his dumb ass and knew it.

“Fuck them bitches then. They can run my shit all day long, it’s-“

**Sirens and flashing lights**

“Ahhh, gezz yo. What the hell!” Pinkman’s voice squeaked.

“Don’t say a word. Just hand over your ID when asked.” In the small parking lot I tried to stay calm. I knew I wasn’t carrying but the law has never liked Pinkman. Then again, he never gave them much choice. Cars passed slowly to watch and pass judgment.

I sat still, both hands on the wheel’s bottom as he made his way to me. ‘I’m not about to give they asses any reason to think non-sense.’ My best friend was fidgeting his fingers and tapping the side of the door with his foot. Sounded like a seconds hand on a wall clock.

*Knock, knock*

I lower the window down half way and smile as he peers down. Able to watch myself in the reflection of his sunglasses I waited for him to speak. ‘I don’t talk to cops out of free will, Sir.’

In a flat tone with no expression, “I’m Officer Scott. License and insurance, please.”

Through the small space created the ready man snatched it, “Here you go, Sir.” Not sounding sassy or smart, but the same as he did.

“Yo, excuse me.” Sharply to my right I watch Jesse tilt his head sideways to a second cop standing at his door. “Can you tell me what she did wrong?”

My eyes didn’t notice the second car and immediately sent my heart into panic mode. Focusing on my breathing wasn’t working. Sounds blurting out instead, “Dude, shut the fuck up.”

“ID Pinkman, hand it over.” Putting his sunglasses on his head he placed his hand on the holster. Digging into his pants Pinkman did as we both said, in a huff.

“Fuck this shit, yo! This is harassment and beyond bullshit.”

Five minutes later my cop returned without my stuff. “Would you be willing to let us search?”

My eyebrows and left cheek lifted high with my lips poking out. Inhaling deeply through my nose and back out extremely slow, “Uhh, on what grounds? Why did you pull me over?” I was having trouble keeping my voice steady. The K-9 beside the other pig sat calmly in my rear view mirror.

“Your back plate is difficult to read... Look, if you don’t want to let us search, they…” gesturing toward the partners, “… are gonna walk around your car while you two stand with me.”

“Seriously? All this from my tag being dirty?” After eye contact with Jesse, they rolled to the back of my head and back around to the cop. I made my head circle backwards to add dramatic effect. “I haven’t done crap for this to be happening.”

“You have Jesse Pinkman in your front seat. That’s all the reason we need. As long as the K-9 doesn’t pick up on anything you can go.” He lifted the door handle but it was locked. “Step out of the car please, ma’am. You too, yo.” Mocking Pinkman was their favorite task.

“Yeaaaaah, cause it’s il-le-gal to be friends, ugh.” Dimples flashing at him I smiled.

Arms crossed on the side of the road my resting bitch face more than showed. Jesse sat on the curb between us. Being the smart ass I love he started whistling ‘Bad Boys’ as I watched Top Flight Bitch Boy lead the dog to my back driver side. An imaginary line created by his finger was trialed by the wet nose.

“This is pathetic. If you want me, come after meee, no reason to mess with her.”

“Just hush, please.” Pity begged from my eyes and lingered in my vocals. I couldn’t stress it more if I tried.

Half way along the passenger’s side I didn’t feel so uptight and my shoulders relaxed slightly. The cop pointed at his rolled down window, “Up, here.” Points, “Okay, here…” Creating the invisible line they kept on. He smelled the front tire and walked around the front end to the other side. Starting to feel more and more relaxed my arms uncrossed resting on my hips.

*Dog whining sounds with barking*

“Alerting us to possible findings!” The pig called out.

‘No fuckin’ way!’ Quickly making my way beside them, the other cop and Jesse were right behind me. The K-9 launched at me to ‘keep away’ and I tumbled backwards on the ground. He held it back and spoke his command to ‘hush’. Laughing he winked and walked the dog to his car, whistling ‘Bad Boys’…

Scott squatted to the wheel’s level, “Let’s have a look…” He ran his hand around the fender on the inside starting from behind the wheel, slowly reaching higher as far as he could. Midway through dark eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth lifted.

“There’s no God damn way you found something!” I bellowed as Pinkman helped me stand. Cop number two was making his way back in a jog once hearing my yells. My mind was being blown. ‘No. Impossible.’

Gasping for air bent over with his hands on his knees, “Back up, women. What was it, Scott?”

Seeing a gray rectangle box in his hand I was wondering the same thing. The cop turned it over a few times looking at it from all angles before pushing the side, like you would a box of matches. Bouncing his head from success a small bag is reveled, with white shit inside, in his hand and he sat the key holder on my hood.

“Arrest her.” Proudly, he walked away with everything. “Bring her along my way, Brilla.”

“Hands behind your back. Avah Hutson, you are under arrest. Anything you say can and will…” My heart dropped to my gut, I felt sick. I let him put cuffs on too tight and guide me to the trolley like a rag doll.

“Dude, what the hell?” trotting along beads of sweat on his forehead formed, he was freaking the fuck out. “This is a fucking joke, right?” Wide-eyes next to me the whole time with tears, “Nah, man… No... Take me instead!!”

Brilla kept a firm grip and continued with my rights. My strides were half his size, “Do you understand these rights?”

“Jesse, take my phone… Just get me out.” Ducking, I sat in the back seat and tears flowed the moment the door shut. “AND DON’T WRECK MY SHIT!”

With my head bouncing against the glass I paid no mind to him gawking me through the mirror. I kept my eyes on the floorboard and prayed. This was a set up, clear as day. ‘How could this be happening?’ Wanting to run his mouth he whistled ’Bad Boys’ in a funky manner until the perfect time.

Placing the car in park at the station he looked back at me once more. Taking a few moments for me to look up, he wasted his time.

“So, you’re not going to say anything?”

“No.”

“Well, I think you should. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Nothing I could or would say tosses me a chance and I knew it.

#Breaking Bad #breaking bad fanfic writing #breaking bad drabs #jesse pinkman #Pinkman #jesse #fantasy #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fictions #fan fic writing #writers on tumblr #breaking bad writing #dialogue prompts

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hornsbeforehalos · 7 years

Text

8 Second Ride

Paring: John Winchester x OFC Warnings: Poorly Written Smut, Language, Third Person POV, A/N: This idea came to my mind based on the song with the same title by Jake Owens. It gave me super big John Winchester feels and so here it is. Thank you, sorry if the smut is shitty, I wasn’t even planning on writing it, it just kinda happened *shrugs*. AND YES I KNOW THE DIALOG IS SUPER CHEEZY OKAY IT GOES WITH THE SONG SO SUE ME. Submitting this for @rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts Artist’s Contest (JDM CORNER)<3

TAGS: @aquivercactus @srj1990 @jdmfanfiction @jeffreydeanneganstrash @through-thesilver-lining @reigningqueenofwords @addiction-survivor25 @dragongirl420 @daddy-kink-confirmed @missghoul18

Walking through the door of Harvelle's, Ophelia knew that every hunter in the bar's eyes instantly landed on her. She couldn't blame them, she knew what she looked like. She knew that the zipper to her leather jacket held up her ample cleavage just perfectly, her ripped black jeans clinging to her curves like they were water against her skin. Her bright green eyes shining against the neon lights plastered all over the establishment, her long, brunette hair flowing teasingly behind her, begging for some old hunter to just come up behind her and give it a tug. She ignored the cat calls and whistles though, only there to have a few shots of whiskey to wind down from the hell of a hunt she just finished up. Damn Wendingos.

She smiled at Ellen as she approached the bar top, pulling herself up on one of the stools next to the only man in the room who hadn't turned when he heard the door open. "How ya been, Oph? Long time no see." Ellen greeted, pouring the huntress a shot of her favorite whiskey. Ophelia took it gratefully, downing the first shot before replying with a wink, "Good, Ell, real good. Been all over everywhere, was in town and figured I'd stop by to see my favorite girl though." The quiet, dark haired man next to her in his own leather jacket seemed to chuckle, jerking both Oph's and Ellen's attention towards him. "Got something to say, John?" Ellen growled, cocking a haughty eyebrow in his direction. "No 'mam," he mumbled, smirk still playing curiously upon his lips, "Thought so. Be happy you're even in this place and keep your trap shut, yeah?" "Yes 'mam" he replied back, nodding his head as his smirk widened to a grin at the bartender. Ellen drifted away from the two of them, checking on her other patrons and doing her jobly duties. The two strangers sat side by side silently, sipping their whiskeys until the man finally spoke again, "Oph, huh? Weird name." She cocked an eyebrow in his direction, smirk playing on her lips as she brought the last of the amber liquid to her lips, " S' Ophelia, but Ellen's known me since I was knee-high to a grass hopper, so I let her get by with the nickname." "Ophelia," He repeated, nodding his head in understanding before turning his face towards her’s, "Yer Jane's kid, right? Thought I recognized them eyes." Ophelia bristled at the mention of her mother's name, her death still being the only soft spot in her heart even after all the years it'd been. "Yeah," she answered, "God rest her soul." The man, John, as Ellen had called him, nodded his head again and lifted his glass in salutation before motioning Ash to bring another round, "She was a good woman." "That she was. You knew her?" "Yeah, a little," John confirmed, looking down to his now full glass that Ash had just poured him, "Hunted with her a couple times." Ophelia nodded her head, turning in her stool to get a better look at the older hunter. He was handsome, strong jaw and dark eyes that matched his hair. His brown leather jacket smelled of gunpowder and whiskey, her favorite scent, and she couldn't help the smirk that came to her lips, "You gotta last name, John?" John met her eyes as he shifted in his own seat, turning to face her and leaning one arm across the counter top, "Winchester." Winchester. John fucking Winchester. Of course she'd heard about the legendary John Fucking Winchester. He was known in the community as one of the best, most ruthless hunters that ever hunted. She knew of the tale of his two boys around her age who hunted too, their mother, his wife, being murdered when the youngest was just a baby by something 'unexplained,' she had even put the pieces together that the same thing that killed their mother was probably the same thing that killed her's over her baby brother, but she never let anyone else know about that. Breaking the gaze she didn't know she'd been holding with John, she cleared her throat and maneuvered back around to face the mirror behind the bar and take another sip from her glass. "You alone or 'ryou waitin' on someone?" John questioned, faux innocence thick in his drawl as he lifted his own glass towards his lips with a smirk. Another quirky eyebrow in his direction was thrown by her as she sat her glass down and turned her head to him, "As a matter a fact, I'm not," her eyes gazed down his figure devilishly before she brought her eyes back to his and bit her lip. He huffed a breath of a laugh at her boldness before throating the rest of his drink, "'Nother one?" She smiled, "Of course." The night carried on with the two new found acquaintances, the pretty brunette surprising the older hunter with the way she kept up with him, matching him shot for shot and not even letting him win at pool. Her laugh reminded him of something from a distant time period, a musical sound that sang to a part of him he locked away long ago. He could see the same determination and fire in her eyes that had once blazed in another beautiful huntress he had known before he even knew what a huntress was. He couldn't keep himself from staring at her as she bent over the pool table and positioned her cue, the curve of her small but very shapely backside at the perfect angle as she readied her shot. "LAST CALL FOR ALC-HEE-HOL!" Ash shouted from his stance on top of the bar, drunkenly gesturing to all the customers to pay their debts. The sudden outburst jarred Ophelia's concentration and her stick slipped when she shot, successfully sinking the eight-ball into the pocket where the last remaining stripe was supposed to go, costing her the game. "Well look at that, I win one after all." John teased, leaning against the unused pool table holding his own stick, forearm resting across the top of it lazily. She rolled her eyes and walked towards him after setting her stick on the table, liquid courage giving her enough oomph to step into his personal space. He smirked down at her as she peered up at him, his drawl thick with something other than amusement,"Yes?" "Do you mind takin' me home tonight?" She asked sweetly with a darker glint to her mossy irises. He chuckled at her but took her hand and led her towards the parking lot, slapping multiple twenties on the counter top and giving Ash a wave when he shouted "Thanks for stopping by, John! Oph! See ya'll 'round!" The cold gust of Nebraska air hit them both in the face as they stepped out of the roadhouse, John throwing his arm around her small shoulder-span as she pulled the zipper up over her bosom to protect her chest. He lead her towards the back of the parking lot, both of their eyes shifting over the car-filled area and the people, the hunters, lingering in the area. Everyone was always on alert, and he met eyes with several other men who watched them make their way towards his truck. Ophelia gasped when she realized that the old jacked up GMC she'd been admiring when she first pulled in belonged to the handsome man she'd be going home with 'Just my luck' she thought to herself with a smirk.

"Never seen a hunter with tires on his truck this high." "Climb on up," He rasped, opening the passenger side door and extending his hand that she ignored as she made her way up the step rails and into the seat on her own. As she got situated and buckled her seat belt he entered through the driver's side, reaching over to the cup holder and tossing the old Dixie brand cup out of the window. She smirked as the familiar smell of wintergreen Copenhagen passed through her nostrils. The loud roar of the old Sierra's revved up engine as it came to life was music to her ears, and she inwardly moaned to herself as her eyes flickered out the windshield to the hood of the truck. "Like that, baby doll?" John rasped lowly, his baritone in harmony with the purr of the motor as he put it in reverse, tires squealing as he pressed the gas, "You ready?" "Yes" she breathed, excitement filling her chest as her gaze shifted back to him. "Good, hold on tight," He chuckled before throwing the old 4x4 in drive and burning out of the parking lot, smoke and dust behind them. But he was killed by a man with a switchblade knife For 43 dollars my friend lost his life I'd love to spit some beech nut in that dude's eyes And shoot him with my old .45 'Cause a country boy can survive Country folks can survive John chuckled at the young woman sitting in his passenger seat, listening to her pretty voice sing with an impressed grin on his face. She caught him glancing at her and smiled herself, slipping herself across the bench and resting one hand on the man's shoulder, the other snaking it's way across the seat and onto his thigh. John Winchester actually fucking gulped, thrown off for a second by her bold actions, gathering his wits quickly, he glanced away from the windshield to her as he rasped, "What d'you wanna do?" She grinned up at him as her finger tips danced across the stretched denim of his jeans, biting her lip playfully before pulling away and leaning back against the passenger side door, her pupils darkening in a sinful way, "Don't really matter, s'long as I'm with you." A low growl emitted itself from John's throat, low vibrations strong enough for her to feel in both her eardrums and the wetness starting to gather in her panties. Her chest heaved as she bit her lip again, kicking her boots off into the floorboard and pulled her feet into his lap, soft soles running up and down both his strong thighs, gently massaging the thickening bulge growing there. John pulled down the old tobacco road towards the empty field surrounded by trees. He parked the huge truck into the underbrush and turned to meet Ophelia's lust filled stare, his hands falling from where they'd been white-knuckling the steering wheel onto her pretty little feet as another growl rumbled out past his parted lips. Another mischievous grin creeped its way across her face as he pulled her ankle down and brought her closer to him, her thighs draping over his lap now as he bent over her form to bite at the crotch of her jeans. She gasped at the sudden sensation of the zipper being pushed against her swelling clit, and her hands instantly found purchase in John's thick hair. He crawled his way up her, stopping at the zipper of her jacket to pull it down, revealing the thin tank top that couldn't conceal her heavy breasts as her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths. His lips sucked and bruised the tender meat as his hips dug into hers until he maneuvered one hand up to pull the shirt down, releasing one of her nipples for his mouth to suck on. His tongue swirled around the hardened nub and his teeth clinked against the metal piercing the sensitive flesh, earning her another lustful groan and buck of hips from the older man, "Well, that's pretty." She giggled a bit at his surprise, biting her lip as she peered down to her chest at him devouring her, "you should see what else is pretty." John's eyebrows rose instantly, a loud bark of a laugh coming from him as he lifted his body off of hers to push upward to her eye level, "I got some blankets in the back, 'smore room." He dipped his head into the side of her face to nip at his ear, earning him a moan from Ophelia's lips, "Then get off me and let's go." Sure enough, there were multiple blankets in the toolbox in the bed of the truck, and John laid them out like a pallet after pulling the tailgate down for her to climb into. Ophelia was on him instantly, almost knocking him back as she straddled his lap to yank his jacket and shirt off. He obliged before grabbing the back of her hair and forcing her lips to his, his tongue demanding entrance into her mouth that she swiftly accepted, each of them dancing together for dominance as he yanked her own jacket and tank top off of her delicious body.

Once topless, his calloused hands stroked up her rib cage, making her shiver, before grasping the full handfuls of her chest and massaging roughly, pulling on the barbells attached to each nipple. She moaned loud into his mouth, thrusting her hips against him as he bucked into her before sliding in between his legs to work open his jeans. He lifted up slightly so she could pull them off, leaving him in his boxers before he sat up to twist her under him so he could do the same.

They pulled off each other's underwear together, before she forced him back onto his back, positioning herself on top of him, the head of his heavy cock at her entrance. He sat up with her in his lap, his arms curling behind her and fingertips going to the back of her shoulders to push her down onto his thickness with a grunt, instantly filling her as she ground her self into him simultaneously. The high pitched, pornographic sound that escaped her lungs spurred the older man on, pulling her up off him with the thick drag before impaling her on him once more. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her short nails scratched at his chest. Her first orgasm took her, and him, by complete surprise as the stretch of him overtook her and she erupted around him, clenching and pulling him in deeper. He stilled himself to feel her flutter, growling into her ear as he bit and licked at her neck, marking her as his with each nip. Once she finished contracting her body relaxed and he could feel her open up to him more as he pulled her up slightly to thrust into her again. Ophelia finally came back to herself as she felt him rock into her, her moans and his grunts mixing together in sinful harmony. She pushed him back again and started riding him, his hands falling from her shoulders to her hips as she rotated and ground against him. He let one hand drift to her clit as she bounced, rubbing the sensitive bundle back and forth and finding yet another barbell there, causing a feral roar to rip his throat as he felt his own release nearing instantly. Soon enough, after enough thrusts he could feel her cumming again, him encouraging her with deep grunts and rasps, "That's it, baby girl, let Daddy feel it." "Fuck," She grunted, eyes rolling back again as she spasmed around him and let herself fall forward. He began a punishing upward thrust into her, chasing his own release now that she'd gotten her own. It didn't take more than a few more minutes and he was right behind her, "Pill?" he suddenly questioned, hips stuttering at the better late than never question. "Yes." She hissed against his neck, biting it gently, "Fuck, I'm gonna cum again." Her words triggered him, his hot wetness spilling into hers and filling her up, leaking out down his balls and thighs to the blanket below him as he continued his barrage into her, his groans and roars sending into her own final spiral of completion before they both finally pulled away from each other to collapse in the bed of the truck. "How's the rodeo?" John panted, satisfied smirk on his sweaty face as he looked to her. She chuckled at him, herself breathless as her sweaty hair clung to her skin, a wide smile grew on her lips when she replied, "Better than any 8 Second ride."

#john winchester smut #john winchester x ofc #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #john winchester fanfiction #challange fic #song fic #jake owens fic #jake owens #jdm fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan #jdm x ofc

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Arranged {1}

Yahya Abdul Mateen II x OFC Nyorie Kane

Warning: Plot

Words: 1.4k

Summary: Yahya is thirty-three, and his friends and family all seem to believe that it is long overdue for him to have a wife. He’s been set up more times than he can count and with his busy schedule and rising Hollywood star, it is becoming even more difficult to meet people, well people who aren’t looking for a come up. In the beginning, he said he didn’t want anything serious; his motto was “I’m was here for a good time not a long time.” Then it became he didn’t want anything that would distract him from where he wanted to go and what he wanted to accomplish. Now that his fame is rising and he’s approaching a sweet spot in his career he decides what the hell the time might be right.

In comes “A Match”, an exclusive matchmaking company run by his best friend Ramel’s wife Tamika. He gives Tamika and Ramel free rein and all his trust to find him, someone, he’d mesh well with. Instead of going through her clientele Tamika has just the right woman in mind, her best friend, Nyorie. Things are done a little unorthodox at “A Match” though. This unconventional route is credited for a near-perfect success rate.

Note: I’ve only tagged those who have expressed to be on a forever tag list.

****Also, please keep an open mind.

**Loosely Proofread/Edited**

✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*

Chapter One

“Man, you not getting any younger. Plus we all know how important family is to you the rate you’re going you not even gonna have one till you fifty,” Ramel said as he came back into the living room with his hands full of food. Ramel stopped in front of the U-shaped sectional and handed out bags to their owners. He stood up and took the cream-colored plastic bag Ramel held out for him.

“I don’t know how many times you’re going to keep saying this.”

“As many times as need be. I mean really, is uncle Ya good enough bruh?”

He pulled out the containers of food and thought about Ramel’s words for a few moments. He loved being uncle Ya, loved picking his niece Havea and nephew Rami up for their biweekly ice-cream and bowling night. He loved showing up to their school functions and trips to Disney and tagging along to kid movie premiers. He wouldn’t change anything about it.

“Look man, I know you love my kids. What’s not to love? I also know you want kids of your own. You can’t have that continuing on the way you are,” Ramel drilled home.

He knew it. Truthfully, he’d been mulling the pros and cons over for months. Ramel wasn’t the only one in his life badgering him like this. His mother, sisters, and brother were all on his case too. His mother liked to pile on the guilt asking him when she’d get a grandchild and when she’d get to see him walk down the aisle and made it no secret she was praying for it before she died. What the hell was he to say to that?

“Not everybody wanna be married Mel, you got half the squad on that ball and chain shit leave him alone,” Rashawn blurted out. The four of them laughed loudly. Normally they’d be keeping it down because of the kids but they were at a sleepover, so they were free to be as loud as they wanted.

“Man, shut up. He the last one. Your ass bout to be on that ball and chain shit too. One-week fool,” Ramel added.

“You don’t have to remind me. Torri has the house filled with everything wedding related. Man, this week needs to hurry up so we can get back to real life.”

He leaned back and focused on his food. He was the last one in the group still single. The last one of the four musketeers, the lone wolf. It didn’t bother him before; it was just the way it was. Now—he wouldn’t focus on it, not now.

They continued to watch the basketball game and talk like they always did when they got together. They’d been friends for a long time, and he valued their friendship and advice. He trusted them with everything and would always have their backs as he knew the same was true for them.

Rashawn desperately stayed away from all and any talk about his wedding to Torri. He acted like he’d been caroused into the wedding when everyone knew damn well he was stupid in love and cried through the proposal. Ramel assumed the role of loudmouth big brother pretending like he knew everything; it was a role he’d played for most of their friendship. Tyrell didn’t pretend to not be the hopelessly devoted husband he was to Dacia; he was the one who was always caught texting her and secretly face-timing her during guys night out. When they got together, a lot of fun and a lot of shit-talking always happened and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the time the game ended, the food finished, and Tamika came home it was close to two in the morning. Ramel wasted no time kicking everyone out when he saw how inebriated Tamika was.

“Y’all don’t have to go home, but you got to get the hell up outta here. My woman is drunk, we got no kids for the night, some freaky shit bout to go down!”

They all rolled their eyes and quickly began gathering their things.

“How freaky?” He looked back to see Tamika crook her pointer and wiggle it to Ramel who smiled but pushed her hand down trying to hide her finger. He knew they were into some freaky shit and he did not need the details or the visuals.

“Imma head out. I have an early day later anyway. Stay up man,” he said and went around the group giving each of them their handshake.

“Think about what I said burh. We here for you,” Ramel finished. He nodded and walked over to Tamika and gave her a kiss on the cheek before he walked out the door to his car in the rounded driveway.

The drive back to his house was a quick and quiet one. When he got home he showered and used the rest of his awake time to prep for the coming day. He knew it would be a long one.

-The Next Day-

Just as expected the day stretched on and on. He got maybe two hours of sleep before he was out of the house and on a set for a photoshoot. That shoot went on for eight hours, then he was off to a string of interviews then two meetings and yet another photoshoot.

It was now close to one in the morning and they were just getting their last shots. He was exhausted. he knew this came with the territory. If he wanted to act he had to be okay with photoshoots, interviews, paparazzi, and everything else that came with fame. Some days it was a tough pill to swallow and he wondered what it would have been to continue on in architecture, and others he took it in stride and piled more onto his plate. Today was a mix of both.

“All right Yahya, thank you that’s a wrap,” the photographer called out. He nodded and went around shaking hands with everyone who worked the shoot. A woman with dirty blond hair approached him with a wide smile.

“I am such a fan, Yahya. I loved you in Aquaman.” He graciously smiled and thanked her. She bit her bottom lip and gave him a look he knew wasn’t strictly friendly. “Can I have a picture?”

“Sure. No problem,” he cautiously responded as he stepped beside her and waited for her to angle her phone just right.

“Say Black Manta.” He smiled at her request and held up his peace fingers. Once the photo was taken she turned to him again and thanked him.

“Look, I know this is forward and normally I wouldn’t do this but it’s 2020, I’m gonna shoot my shot.” She held out a piece of paper to him and he could see a phone number scribbled across it.

“This is my number. No pressure to use it, just—if you want to use it, I’d answer, and we could hang out.”

She was attractive, he wasn’t going to deny that. Her skin reminded him of smooth chestnut. Coupled with the color of her hair she was a beautiful woman. He was just leery of her motives. Ninety percent of the women he’d met since his breakout roles all had ulterior motives. Most just wanted to be seen out with him so the rumor mill could start circulating and give them their fifteen minutes. He wasn’t with that. That was the one thing about his newfound fame. He never knew what anyone wanted from him anymore.

“Uh--.” He was speechless. He didn’t want to embarrass her by rejecting her, so he took the paper and nodded. “Thank—you.”

She smiled and again bite her bottom lip. “Okay, great. See you around.” She walked off leaving him to look down at the paper with her name and number. “Thalia-954-389-3048.” She’d dotted her I with a star. It bothered him and he didn’t know why. He stuffed the paper in his pocket resolved in his decision not to take it there. He didn’t have the time or energy to sift through the sea of clout chasers.

He quickly finished up, got his things and left. He’d missed his workout for the day and needed to get one in. every little bit helped especially with him trying to get into Matrix shape.

Luckily his trainer was up and was able to meet him at the gym to train. A few reps on the treadmill, another couple sets of weights, then some time on the bar and finally a brutal boxing session rounded out the hour and fifteen-minute rotation. By the end of it, he was dripping sweat and ready to just drop in bed which is just what he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chrisgalore @thatrandomhetaliachick @missdeerstalker15 @queenbetter @jesseswartzwelder @briellableu @titty-teetee @zaddysqueen7 @melaninhawtie @simplyyamberr @airis-paris14 @ashanti-notthesinger @afraiddreamingandloving @ajspencer1892 @wakanda-inspired @chillavesss @drsunshine97 @cleothegoldfish @builtalongthewayside @theunsweetenedtruth @geeksareunique @aykanna @hanasamara @profilia @ollieveracity @autumn242 @missyperle @sup3rn0va13 @chaneajoyyy @forbeautyandlife @kreolemami @designerwriterchic @laketaj24

#arranged fic #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul mateen ii fanfiction #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x reader #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x you #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x black reader #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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feynites · 7 years

Text

*flings some nsfw, polyamorous concert au dirthalene in @selenelavellan’s general direction*

Fear fiddles around with the straps of their stockings, fighting back the urge to swear.

They’ve worn a lot of odd outfits for a variety of gigs. The giant bunny suit stands out in recent memory; a costume for a charity Halloween ball. But usually they’re content to leave things like heels and corsets and garters to Deceit or, occasionally, Dirthamen. The clothes are a safety hazard in and of themselves. The shoes are impossible to run in – well, impossible for Fear to run in – and the wide variety of straps and buckles and zippers involved just seem doomed to catch sensitive skin in unyielding places. Welts, cuts, infections… unnecessary risks.

At least, they think, the clothes are in their size. How Des got their size, they aren’t sure. They suspect Deceit, and they have a long and fitting retaliation planned, involving some highschool photographs and a certain MySpace page on the Wayback Machine. But that’s a matter for another day.

Today’s matter is the need to get Des out of his apartment for at least half an hour, so that Selene and Dirthamen and Deceit can all set about decorating it, covering the place in balloons and streamers, and setting out the cake they ordered from the erotic bakery down the street. And after two failed attempts and an increasing amount of desperation, as the countdown to the surprise party grew nearer, Fear had resigned themselves to their fate.

They know what will get Des moving.

They finally manage to get the stockings lined up right, and double-check their bustier. Which they have no bust for, but the questionable article of clothing seemed intent on making up the difference with some well-placed black roses. The skirt swishes around their hips as they pick over the pair of steep high-heels, and make their way out of the bedroom. Des has been trying to get them into an outfit like this for quite a while, now. It was a quest, according to him.

Fear supposes his preoccupation has its uses, sometimes. They’re not actually embarrassed to be seen in revealing clothing. They just don’t like attempting to walk in the stuff – and they’re not a big fan of giving Des the satisfaction, either.

He’s much more amusing when he’s being denied.

Stone silence greets their emergence back into the apartment’s main room. Fear glances up, and raises an eyebrow as Dirthamen and Deceit regard them with surprise, and Selene looks equal parts shocked and flushed.

“I can get you twenty minutes, guaranteed; it will take him that long to get here,” Fear offers, striding towards the kitchen counter, where they’d left their phone charging. “Any longer than that and you’re on your own, though he’ll probably make a point of being obnoxious for at least a few minutes more. You should head out now. Text me when you’re almost there, and I’ll call him over.”

They work their feet into the godless shoes, standing in the kitchen, and then start trying to figure out how to angle their phone to take the necessary picture. They’ve faked Des out a few times, just to try and make a point. Using store mannequins or obvious photoshops, mostly. So this one will probably have to be a convincing whole-body shot to get him to actually come over.

Deceit is the first to recover.

“Here, I’ll take the picture,” he says.

“You all owe me,” Fear declares, handing over their phone. Selene looks like she’s slowly scraping her jaw up off the floor. Her fingers are twitching; apparently she and Des share more than a few kinks in common.

That would explain the lace underpants they found in Dirthamen’s sock drawer. Definitely too big for Selene herself.

“At least you won’t have to give Des an actual present,” Deceit reasons.

“As if I would have given him one anyway,” Fear counters. They paid for the cake, after all.

Deceit makes them move into ‘better light’, then, and fiddles with the phone, despite the apparent need for haste. But before Fear can get too annoyed he finally snaps the necessary picture. Their pose isn’t precisely alluring, but then, they don’t think it needs to be. They’re wearing the outfit. That will probably do.

“Alright, shoo,” they instruct, waving towards the door. “I’m not wearing this for your amusement.”

“Would you, though?” Selene blurts.

Dirthamen nudges her towards the exit, as her cheeks flame, and Fear considers.

She does have a birthday of her own coming up.

“Maybe,” they concede, before stepping out of the heels again. Selene makes an odd sound, which they ignore, as they stride back to their room. Apart from the initial struggle of putting it on, the outfit isn’t actually as uncomfortable as they expected. Probably by virtue of fitting properly. Still, they are not a fan of the bustier – it seems like the kind of thing that could break and jab wires into their ribs, under the wrong circumstances. They take it off, first, and then shimmy their way back out of the skirt, as they hear the apartment door close. The outfit comes off easier than it went on.

Part of the point, probably.

After a few moments they are down to the stockings and the brightly coloured panties.

They consider, and then take a second photo. This one of their lower half.

Just in case Des is resistant to the bait, for some reason.

Then they finish changing out of the whole mess, and pull on a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a black undershirt. Fear settles onto their bed, and turns on the television. Surfing through some of the channels until Dirthamen texts them to announce that they’re almost at Des’ place.

They open a chat to Des.

What are you doing?

There’s a pause. Mercifully, not long.

Having fantasies about you ofc ;) ;) ;)

Fear rolls their eyes.

What will they claim as repayment for this?

They think Dirthamen and Deceit are going to be doing their laundry for the foreseeable century.

What kind of fantasies? they ask.

Pick your poison baby I am all full of wicked ideas

And no punctuation, it seems.

Fear supposes that’s enough preamble, and attaches the first picture to their next reply.

Something like this, perhaps?

Another pause ensues, longer than the first. Long enough that Fear feels the need to comment again.

If you’re touching yourself, you should know that it is actually me in that photo, and that the clock is ticking on how long I plan to stay dressed like this.

…omw

They snort.

You’re at the apartment right???

Yes. Move quickly, birthday boy.

They reconsider.

But don’t violate any traffic laws.

Des’ response is quicker this time.

No promises ;) ;) ;)

Fear checks the clock, and then settles back again. They give it ten minutes, before some unnamed whim has them considering the second picture.

…Well.

It is Des’ birthday.

And they suppose they could give him something to make up for the inevitable disappointment.

They send the second photo.

Tick-tock.

No response for several minutes.

Then,

Baby stay JUST LIKE THAT just right where you are I am c o m i n g

Fear can’t quite fail to take that opening.

What, just from the photo?

No response. They suppose he’s driving, though, so they probably shouldn’t test their luck any further. Unless… oh. Selene has the car. So he probably hopped on a bus, then. That should give them even more time.

Fear finds a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress and finds themselves drawn into examining the corset dresses a soon-to-be-bride is critiquing. Not much different from the bustier, in fact. It’s interesting how context and colours can change so much about clothing. The consulting team has moved on – possibly into another episode; it can be hard to tell – by the time they hear a distinctive thump from the fire escape.

They blink, and then head over to the window.

They’re not entirely surprise to see Des wedged up against it.

“Noooo…” he moans against the glass, staring at them.

Fear frowns, and pulls open the window.

“It’s dangerous out there,” they snap, reaching over to yank Des inside. “Take the stairs, you lunatic.”

“I forgot my key,” Des admits, looking distinctly forlorn and rain-soaked, and just pathetic enough that Fear actually feels a little bad for him.

A little.

“You should have buzzed me,” they counter.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking with my higher brain, if you know what I mean,” Des counters, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

They take it back. He can fall down the fire escape.

“Ugh,” they say, checking the time. “Go home.”

“Are you at least still wearing the panties underneath the sweats?” Des counters, eyeing them up and down.

Fear purses their lips. He’s not even wearing a coat. And after a moment they decide that they can be magnanimous, as they turn, and head for the laundry hamper next to their closet. They pluck the panties up from the top of it, and then toss them at Des. He catches them easily enough, and his cheeks actually darken as her realizes what he’s holding.

“Not wearing anything under the sweatpants,” they say.

Des starts moving towards them, but they raise a forestalling hand.

“No,” they say.

“Aww, but sweetums-“

“No.”

Des’ disappointment lasts for a moment, before he, of course, bounces back.

“I’m keeping these,” he declares. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“No,” Fear says. “I’ll get you a bag, and you can go home, and touch yourself in your own bathroom.”

“Tease,” Des accuses.

“You have photos, now,” Fear counters.

“Oho, believe me, I am going to make full use of those-“

They throw a spare canvas shopping bag at his head.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Fear says, as if they didn’t invite me here,” Des replies, but he doesn’t actually seem all that put-out. “Admit it, you get off on making me run around at your beck-and-call. Winding me around those pointy fingers of yours.”

Fear shrugs.

“Why would I deny it?” they counter. Though they don’t usually like to give him this much material. Still, it’s not as if they actually dislike Des. Disdain him sometimes, sure. But there’s a reason he’s part of the group, and it’s not just because Fear enjoys watching him have sex with Deceit and Dirthamen and Selene.

Though they do enjoy watching that, often enough.

“You’re such an odd duck,” Des tells them.

Fear makes a ‘shoo’ motion, and picks their phone back up. Interlude over, and discussion concluded. They won’t be making anymore ‘overtures’ for at least a month, now. Des will have that time to get tired of the material they’ve already given him.

He’s heading back, they send to Selene.

They get a thumb’s up emoji back, as Des finally gives up, and leaves.

He’s gone for less than five minutes before they get another text from him.

Send nudes? <3 <3 <3

Fear sighs.

They already regret everything.

Selene’s birthday goes a little differently.

Fear buys a pair of dark ballet flats, that match their stockings, and pull a pair of leather booty shorts and a see-through tube top out of the pile of offerings Des has subsequently managed to ‘ply’ them with. The tips of their hair are bleached and dyed blue for a concert, so they throw on some blue eyeshadow and a sapphire choker, and a matching ring. Big enough to be useful, just in case they have to punch someone.

It’s one of the simpler outfits they could don for this occasion, but it still takes them nearly the longest to get ready. When they emerge from their room, they spy Des, hovering next to the windows. If Fear is black-and-blue, Des is black-and-purple, wearing a pair of thigh-highs and a silky dress that looks like it was vacuum-sealed to him, and absolutely will not cover his ass if he leans more than an inch forward. Amethyst earrings drip towards his shoulders. Safety hazard, Fear thinks. They could catch on something.

Deceit is wearing a dress, too. His is black lace, not much longer than Des’ little number, with dark green stockings and a… mesh veil? Over his head. With emerald hair clips holding it in place.

Fear blinks.

“Why do you look like a slutty widower?” they ask.

Deceit just grins.

“It’s my theme,” he informs them, with a wink. “I like to think I’ve just buried my fifth… no, sixth husband. There’s some debate about the first one, it was mostly a common law type thing. But I still got all of his money when he died so tragically young.”

Deceit bats his eyelashes.

Fear gives up. They should never have given him an opening. Des looks like he wants to join in, now.

“Are you on the prowl for husband number seven?” he asks, not quite moving away from the window.

Deceit purses his lips, and then shakes his head.

“No, I think at this point what I really want is to find a gaggle of attractive people, and settle down into some kind of polyamorous commune. It’s time I started thinking realistically about my romantic goals. I’m not getting any younger, after all.”

“Good point,” Des agrees. “You are getting pretty wrinkled…”

Deceit narrows his eyes, and then produces a faux crocodile leather clutch from somewhere, and pulls a make-up mirror out of it. Fear levels Des with a look, but he’s already gone back to staring out of the window, snickering to himself.

Dirthamen emerges, then. His heels click as he carefully walks out of his room. His own ensemble is all-black, with a fitted corset, mesh stockings, and matching fingerless gloves. His skirt swishes with his every step, and he’s going slow. But he seems mostly satisfied.

“Is this acceptable?” he asks.

Des offers a low whistle of approval.

“I’m in raptures,” he declares. “Are we sure it’s not my birthday?”

He moves away from the window, and Fear pre-emptively catches his hand before it can settle on their hip. Nudging him over to Deceit instead.

“You are thematically appropriate,” they assure Dirthamen.

“Selene pulled in,” Des adds, waggling his eyebrows to let them all know that if they heard a double-entendre in there, it was entirely intentional. Then he slips one of his hands up Deceit’s skirt, and gets reproachfully slapped away again.

“End of the evening. End,” Deceit reminds him.

“You people ask so much of my self-restraint,” Des sighs, but folds his arms to himself, at least. “Ten bucks says Selene gets in through that door and we never make it to the club.”

It’s lingerie night at one of the local hotspots. Des found the venue himself, said it would be a good choice because of the floorplan, and the lack of overwhelming crowds. Plus, there was a drag show. A nice change of events, watching someone else perform.

“I’ll take that bet,” Fear decides. Selene likes dates. And she’ll probably be too dazed to protest any plans for… twenty minutes? That’s their guess, anyway. They head over to the closet, and start pulling out the trench coats they’ll all need to make it to the venue without being arrested. Or solicited.

They’ve just settled the pile onto the arm of a nearby chair when they hear Selene’s key scrape in the lock. Fear knows Des told her that they were going out for her birthday date tonight. They couldn’t do anything earlier, unfortunately; they had a recording session that they couldn’t reschedule. But Des had spent the morning with her, anyway.

“The only movie at the nearest theatre was…”

Selene looks up, as she finishes getting in through the door, and then freezes.

Her eyes go wide.

The keys fall out of her hand and hit the floor with a distinct clunk.

“Happy birthday!” Des exclaims, raising his arms, and shaking his hips a little. Enough so that the edges of his skirt flutters.

Deceit offers a wink, while Dirthamen glances down at himself. Obviously uncertain if the outfits have gotten a good response, or a bad one. Fear gives Selene a look over, for their own turn. She’s wearing neat white slacks and a blouse, with her comfortable pumps. They head back over to the closet and pull out one of their white dress jackets, extracting it carefully from its hanger bag. It will go nicely enough with what she’s already wearing that – especially with the four of them in tow – she’ll look just fine for the club.

“…Uh…” Selene manages, her gaze flitting over all of them, now, as if she’s not sure where to put it.

Eventually it settles on Dirthamen. To no one’s surprise.

“Is this alright?” Dirthamen asks her.

She swallows hard enough that Fear can hear it, even with their back turned, and then just manages a fervent nod as her face gets redder and redder.

They stride over, and offer her the jacket.

“Here,” they say. “It is lingerie night at one of the local clubs. We thought we could go, and have a nice time. There is a drag show, and the boneless wings are reportedly quite good.”

Selene mechanically accepts the jacket from them, and stares at their chest.

“What?” she asks.

“Put the coat on,” they advise, a little more gently. “It is chilly out.”

Her brows furrow, but she seems to relax a bit once everyone starts sliding into their trenches, in turn. Then she seems to recollect herself, and puts on Fear’s jacket, before she bends down and retrieves her keys from the floor.

“We’re going out in public?” she checks, a little faintly.

“Mmhmm!” Des confirms, negligently buttoning his coat before he reaches over and links an arm with hers. Then he leans in and whispers something in her ear. Fear doesn’t hear him, but whatever he says has Selene’s face darkening all over again, and embarrasses her enough that she raises a hand to cover it.

“Des,” she hisses.

“What?” he replies, with utterly unconvincing innocence. “I thought you’d appreciate knowing. I certainly do.”

Selene thwacks his arm.

“Desire,” Fear says.

Des makes a face.

“Ugggghhhhh, do not,” he protests.

“You’re driving,” they inform him. “You know where the club is.” And if his hands are on the steering wheel, then they won’t be wandering elsewhere.

The man lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But no more full-names, unless you want me to start calling you Enfanim.”

“I have no objections to that,” Fear informs him.

“Unfair,” Des mutters. “I’ll shorten it, then. Feefee.”

Deceit snorts, and Fear rolls their eyes, and sidles up to Dirthamen so they can help him if he trips. Not that he can’t navigate heels fairly well, but this pair is tall even by his standards, and they have visions of him getting caught between the elevator doors, or tumbling headfirst down the apartment steps and concussing himself.

Selene consequently ends up wedged between Deceit and Des as they make their way down, her equilibrium gradually restoring itself once they’re all covered by the trench coats. Though, not entirely, if the way her eyes keep flitting down towards their shoes are any indication.

“I feel over-dressed. Or… under-dressed? I’m not sure which,” she admits, once they’ve successfully made it to the car without incident.

“You look fine,” Fear assures her.

“Better than fine, mistress,” Deceit asserts, playfully.

Selene makes a sound of protest.

“Let’s not – no,” she decides. “It’s my birthday, no calling me that. We’re not making that a thing.”

Fear pushes Deceit into the front seat of the car, so that he doesn’t spend the whole drive nuzzling Selene like a remorseful limpet, and nods in agreement.

“They’re just playing,” they say, as Des slides into the driver’s side, and leaves them to squeeze into the back with Dirthamen and Selene.

“I know,” she says, and lets out a long breath. Then her lips twitch. “And I definitely don’t mind. I just need a few minutes to adjust. Never had four gorgeous people take me on a sexy lingerie date before.”

Fear nods in acceptance, and Dirthamen takes Selene’s hand. Threading their fingers together, as Deceit and Des squabble over which bridge to take to get to the club. It ends up being a longer drive than planned due to traffic, but not too bad. The club itself doesn’t have much of an exterior. But inside the atmosphere is colourful and exuberant, with a variety of scantily-clad people running around in corsets and bustiers and thongs and thigh-highs. The queens are in full form, with hair blown out in abundant curls and sequins aplenty, and their table gets them a very nice view of the stage.

It doesn’t actually take that long for Selene to adjust, once they’ve sat down. Des goes to procure drinks, and comes back with a bunch of colourful cocktails for them, and the atmosphere is good. Lots of compliments going around, playful flirtation and raunchy jokes. Fear keeps an eye on the other patrons. There a dwarven man at the bar who keeps looking at Des, and a human woman at one of the tables who is giving Dirthamen one of those ‘where have I seen that face before’ glances. After a few minutes Fear gets up and has him switch seats with them; it puts his back to the woman and settles Fear between Des and the man at the bar.

Selene ends up nestled between Dirthamen and Deceit by the time the drag show starts. It’s a good performance. Lots of audience interaction for parts of it, and the singing is very pleasant, Fear thinks. Bombastic, as expected. They make sure to leave substantial tips, especially for the queen who gestures to their table and then lets out a low whistle.

“Honey, are those all yours?” the vashothi performer asks, twirling a finger.

Selene actually beams, her cheeks flushed just a little bit from her cocktails, now, instead of embarrassment. She puts her arms around Dirthamen and Deceit.

“All each other’s,” she says, looking almost giddy about it.

“Aww,” the queen replies. “Well I guess no one needs to ask what you’re happy about tonight.”

“It’s her birthday,” Des pipes up.

Fear almost smacks him, as Selene’s expression turns worried. But thankfully, the performer doesn’t do anything more than drum up a round of applause, before launching into the next part of her act. And Selene relaxes again, enjoying the show. One of her hands slides under the table, and after a few minutes, Dirthamen shifts, and his own face starts to get a little flushed.

Fear appreciates Selene’s mischievous streak, when it comes out to play.

They let one of their own hands slip down to rest on Des’ thigh, idly stroking the exposed skin above his boots back and forth.

He leans a little closer.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says. “Care to join me?”

“It’s better to go in pairs,” Fear agrees, pretending not to notice Des’ slight pout as they ‘miss’ his meaning, and slide out of the booth. They make their way to the club’s unisex bathrooms, and Des gestures pointedly to one of the stalls.

Fear raises an eyebrow, and folds their arms.

“Did you honestly think I would fool around with you in a filthy public restroom?” they ask.

“I’m an optimist,” Des replies. “But if you’re not interested, I guess I’ll just take care of it myself.”

“If you come before we go home, I won’t touch you all evening. It’s Selene’s birthday, she should be able to appreciate the festivities,” Fear states, moving to check their make-up in one of the bathroom mirrors.

Des makes a sound of frustration, but then gives up.

”Fine. I don’t even know what we came in here for, now,” he says, moving up to the sink next to Fear’s.

Fear declines to mention that it was, ostensibly, to use the facilities for their intended purpose. Their make-up is holding up alright. Better than Des’ – though, they tend to use products that are meant to hold up under stage lights. Des steals some wipes from their purse and then redoes his eyes, leaving the rest of it plainer but also tidier than before.

“Remind me not to get this brand of eyeshadow again, it’s a mess,” he mutters, just as the door to the bathroom opens.

The dwarf from the bar, Fear notes.

They watch him as he moves up to the sink next to Des, and turns on the tap. His gaze drifts up and down Des’ form again, while the man himself mostly frowns at his make-up wipe.

“Having a nice evening?” the dwarf asks.

Des nods.

“Of course,” he says.

“Yeah, you looked like you were here for a good time,” the dwarf agrees.

Fear notes the movement of his hand, and moves quickly. Darting behind Des and grabbing the dwarf by his wrist, before he can settle his grasp onto Des’ backside. Des blinks at the sudden movement, and then turns and raises an eyebrow just as the dwarf wrenches his hand back.

“What’s the big idea?” the dwarf protests.

“You keep your hands to yourself,” Fear snaps.

It earns them a sneer.

“Like you aren’t all asking for it, in those outfits. Why else would you come here? What’s the matter, think you’re too good for me?”

Up go Des’ eyebrows.

“Ew,” he notes.

The dwarf’s face twists, and he makes like he plans on grabbing Des. To what end, Fear’s not sure, but they catch his fist again, and offer him a solid pop to the nose in further rebuke. It’s the button kind, so it smashes pretty easily beneath their knuckles, but without a lot of damage. They opt not to use their ring hand.

Yet.

“Hands off,” they repeat, letting the dwarf stagger back, cursing.

“Sluts!” he accuses.

Des sighs.

“Why do people always call me that when I don’t want to let them paw me?” he demands, mostly of the ceiling lights. “Do you not know what that word means? I suppose you couldn’t spit out something like ‘tease’ with the same amount of vitriol, but at least shift gears into ‘skank’ or something…”

Fear grabs Des by the arm, as he’s in the midst of critiquing his would-be assailant’s choice of insults, and firmly pulls him out of the bathroom.

The dwarf, thankfully, seems too preoccupied with the blood pouring from his nose to follow after them.

“Really,” Des drawls, and then sighs. “I suppose we should go tell someone about the angry molester in the bathroom.”

“Probably,” Fear agrees.

“Don’t tell Selene. She gets upset about these things.”

“Alright.”

They make their way over to the bar, and opt to tell the bartender. It gets Des a free apology drink, if nothing else, which he happily carts back with him to their table, as one of the bouncer goes to take care of their ‘friend’.

Des glances at Fear, as they sit down again.

Then he leans over, and, just quickly, presses a kiss to their cheek.

“You’re a good soul, Feefee,” Des informs them.

“Don’t call me that,” they instruct, but without a lot of genuine annoyance.

It earns them both a trio of surprised looks.

“What brought that on?” Selene wonders.

Des winks at her.

“Private bathroom adventures,” he declares. “Now, who wants to go home and have sex?”

She sighs at him.

They do end up going home not too long after that, though. Back to Fear and Deceit and Dirthamen’s apartment, anyway. Fear drives them for the return trip, with Dirthamen cooling off in the front seat – he got a little hot under the collar in the club – and Des and Deceit both paying an awful lot of attention to Selene in the back. Fear’s mind wanders, though, tuning out the rustle of fabric and the hitches in various breaths.

They should think about getting a new apartment, they suppose. Maybe not soon, but, it’s a matter to be prepared for. Moving can be stressful. Better to plan early. Finding a place big enough for all of them could be tricky. Maybe a house would make more sense, at this point. Though they’ve always been a bit leery of getting a house, though. Not enough security. Too easy for one of Dirthamen’s relatives to just pull into the driveway, unless they invested in a gated property.

Fear bounces some numbers around, mentally, tapping a finger against the steering wheel. By the time they pull into the apartment parking lot, they’ve moved on to weighing the variables of different viable locations.

Should they factor in neighbourhoods with access to early education facilities?

They’re probably have to have a group discussion before they could consider that. Children – and the various means of acquiring them – are a complex and often dangerous venture. Not to mention additionally vulnerable, and in need of a lot more security considerations. Dirthamen doesn’t want biological children, they know that much. Where Selene and Des stand on it is less clear. Deceit wants kids at some point. And Fear would have troubles carrying them, for a variety of reasons. Pain not being the least concern.

Adoption seems like a good simplification, if it becomes relevant. Which it probably won’t, in the immediate future, but Fear prefers to think ahead.

They park, and head out to help Dirthamen stand up on his heels. Des and Deceit and Selene manage to emerge from the backseat, flushed and rumpled but still decent, and the five of them make their way back inside with a certain haste in their steps.

They set up in Dirthamen’s bedroom, which has the most supplies and the biggest bed. Selene switches gears from being rumpled by Des and Deceit, into pouncing on Dirthamen, her blouse open and her bra crooked, while Dirthamen tumbles back towards the bed. Deceit and Des start their usual back-and-forth in turn, half quarrelling about who’s going to do what and to whom until Deceit manages to handcuff Des to the bedpost.

“I win,” he growls, and shucks Des’ dress up to his armpits.

Fear takes up their usual station in the bedroom chair, folding their legs and watching the proceedings. Savouring the simmering heat that builds up in them, as Selene mercilessly teases Dirthamen up amongst the pillows, and Deceit carefully fits a condom onto his own erection. Fear opens up the drawer next to themselves, and tosses a couple of cockrings onto the mattress. Selene takes one, but Deceit puts the other aside, and instead sets about working Des open. Lifting his lower half up off the mattress.

Fear continues to sit, still with their legs crossed and their gaze hooded, and continues to watch as Selene sucks Dirthamen until he’s begging to come; and as Deceit fucks Des until he does, clutching the bedpost behind him. As they switch things up a little, and Dirthamen goes to suck off Des – still with his own cock erect and flushed, leaking as he bobs between Des’ thighs – and Deceit presses Selene into the pillows, turning all soft and cuddly even as his refractory period closes, and he switches out condoms so he can thrust into her, in turn.

Fear watches them all drive one another senseless, spending themselves and denying themselves by turns. Selene is the one who finally frees Dirthamen from his cockring, and rides him until he comes inside of her. Deceit uncuffs Des from the bedpost, and rubs gently at his wrists, until Des seizes an opening to tie him up in turn, and then slides the second cockring onto him for the next round. Smirking as he lazily work his hand up and down Deceit’s length, until his hips are bucking in tired-but-still-hungry thrusts. Then Selene and Dirthamen join Fear in watching, the two of them slumped together in sated bliss, while Des strokes and fingers an increasingly incoherent Deceit. All their outfits rumpled and pushed aside, bottoms pulled off and tops askew.

When Deceit begins to beg, Fear gets up from their chair.

They pull a dental dam from the drawer next to it, and make their way over to the bed, next to Selene. No one notices them at first; too caught up in their own activities. But Selene looks over as they settle onto their knees beside the mattress.

“May I?” they ask.

She blinks at them, a little hazy from her own activities, but nods nevertheless.

Fear takes her by her hips, and arranges her at the side of the bed. Legs on either side of them, sex spread out in front of them, as they settle the dental dam into place. They can smell sweat and arousal on her tired, still-flushed skin, as they lean in, and press their mouth to her. The dental dam tastes like peaches. Selene herself is warm and very soft, her thighs still shivering a bit, as they languidly drag their tongue up and down the length of her. Focusing on the changes in her breath, and the shifting in her muscles. It’s not often that Fear wants to perform acts themselves.

But tonight, they do. And, well. It is Selene’s birthday.

They keep their motions slow and savouring, enjoying the brush of her thighs against their cheeks, and the sound of Deceit coming on the other side of the bed. They let their eyes slide shut, and focus on pressing their tongue deeper into Selene. Sucking at her clit, and holding her hips in place, and noting every building quiver and twitch as she gets closer to completion. It’s important to note that, because whenever she gets too close, Fear has to slow down. Rest their tongue and their mouth a little, and keep her from coming too soon.

Their impulses are rare. So, it pays to make the most of them.

But finally their mouth becomes too tired to keep going much longer. So they grip her more closely, all at once. Swirling their tongue over the sensitive cluster of her nerves, as the peach flavour fades, and then they suck at her until she comes in definitive rush. Thighs clenching around their ears, fists balling in Dirthamen’s sheets.

Very gratifying.

Fear gives her thigh an approving kiss, before they pull back, and take the dental dam away.

That’s when they realize the others are watching them.

Des looks a little floored. Deceit and Dirthamen are less surprised, but still clearly affected.

And Selene, for her part, seems pleasantly dazed.

“Thank you,” they say.

Selene manages to raise a hand, before dropping it back down onto the bedspread.

“Anytime,” she murmurs.

Des snorts.

Fear just nods, and then goes to fetch some water bottles and wet wipes.

#filled prompt #dirthalene #concert au #band au #citrus

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