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kaizynofsickness · 1 month

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Caught In The act

SMUT BELOW, MDNI!

Warnings!— catching Gojo masturbating to you, panties in mouth, gagging (with the said panties), switch/a tad bit subby Gojo, dacryphilla (a small bit), pussy whipped, slight size kink, cervix fucking, slight degradation if you squint, needy themes, pet names (baby, princess) begging.

"Hmmph-" Satoru lets out pathetic whines behind closed doors, muffling his voice with the sweet taste of your panties in his mouth, cock getting fisted into his hands. He was missing you to an unhealthy level. And by you, he means that little cunny.

His eyes roll back and a choked sob of a moan goes into your panties, the taste making him feel aroused and it all goes to his tip, making it twitch.

He can picture your face as he goes animalist, taking you from behind, shoving your head into the pillow as you cry and beg out from how mean he was bullying his dick deeper. How absolutely adorable and hot you would sound begging for mercy, making his orgasm shock his body. He groans deeply, fucking the cum right out of his cock as he wishes it was your hole sucking and milking it out of him like always. His orgasm felt so lame, he couldn't get what he wanted properly. He didn't want to have his cock fisted into his hands, he wanted to have your cunt greedily squeezing him back inside with every thrust.

He wasn't satisfied.

His imagination is tiring his brain, you're just rotting him away with that cunt, and he can't even have it right now. He takes your panties out of his mouth, letting out a gag of relief yet disappointment. The spot where your pussy would be resting in was soaked in his spit and some tears. He then wraps the fuzzy fabric around his tip before sliding it down to the base, beginning his stroking. "Oh... Like that, hm?" He couldn't help but wish you were there, below him, whining as he teased his tip into you as he liked. Yeah, he was talking out loud, pretending it was you he was talking to. Pathetic, right?

He has a sex drunk smile on his face with his eyes clouded with pure lust. He was whipped for that cunt, and this was what happened when you neglect him from so long. He gasp, whines, moans and even growls trying to imagine your face. His pumps get more desperate, frustrating tears almost falling out of his eyes. "Fuuuckkk, wan' load that hole sooo bad..." he growls out, balls tightening as he gets ready for another orgasm, his mind telling him he was going to paint your insides white. Soon, long white, creamy strings and globs of cum shoot from his blushing tip, hips jerking up. He stains through his orgasm, cum seeping out of him.

"Satoru?"

You just happen to open the door in on him, acting as if you couldn't even hear what was going on inside. You caught him at orgasm, midway through the pleasure. Such a fucked out face with small tears dotting in the corner of his eye, cock twitching and veins pulsating as his seed shoots. It takes a second to calm down from his high before he even looks your way. "Baby...?" He was getting even more red, seeing you just standing there with your eyes wide, directly looking at his cock.

He wanted to start justifying himself. Yet you already seen how your panties were wrapped around his cock so tightly. There wasn't nothing more to say, you saw everything, and you're not stupid. You know what he was doing, especially with the amount of cum everywhere.

"listen, I just wanted you and—" he didn't even know where to start.

"You... Masturbated. To me?" You point to yourself, dumbfounded. You believe that your boyfriend would do such, but with your own panties? "Uh, yes... Princess, you're just so desirable—especially... Your pussy." He seemed to completely forget how he was embarrassed, eyes trailing down your body. That's what he was waiting for, and it's right in front of him. There's no need to wait no more. His voice became sultry, gruff and needy. "Hmm... Come here. Take care of the rest." He spread his legs open for you, giving you a good look of how much cum was down to his base and twitching, veiny and needy. His cock was begging for your attention—touch.

"n-now?!" You were honestly just a bit shocked. His change in emotions was almost bipolar. His eyebrows furrowed as you just stood there as if he didn't say anything. "Baby, I didn't stutter. Get on."

He went from being awkward to being demanding. "Don't deny me no longer, please..."

You didn't want to see him so desperate, so you decided to climb onto the bed, your thighs spreading open as you straddle him. His eyes almost roll back just from the sight of this. If only you had your clothes off. His hands don't waste any time to start traveling your body as if it was a map, grabbing your breast and pinching the nipples underneath all of the clothing. You let out a shocked yelp, almost a moan from his simple touch. Now you waste no time, hastily starting to removes your lower clothing and quickly discarding your panties.

"there we go now..." he was completely pleased with what he was seeing, his cock standing straight and already lined up with your hole to be shoved into. With a jerk upwards, half his length made it inside that sweet and tight hole. You whine from the sudden intruder making no room for more. But you can tell how this is going to go. You slowly sink down onto his dick, pussy engulfing him deeper until he is shoved up in. You only stop when your ass hits his body with a small sound, at the base of his cock. Or even balls deep.

Being the greedy bastard he is, he wiggles your body from your hips down even more, his tip pressing inside and trying to reach spots that shouldn't be touched. "O-okay, that's all that can fit." You meekly say to him, hands trying to pry his own off. Yet he makes sure to fuck deeper.

"yeah? You think? We'll only see soon if you begin to ride me right, princess." He snickers, a small smirk on his face before he thrust his hips into you. He was giving your cue to hop like a little bunny on the dick. You listen well, lifting half of his cock out, a wet and slick sound filling your ears as you slam yourself back down, a slap echoing.

You repeat the action, slow strokes at the start to get yourself ready to be pounded. Satoru leans his head back on the bed board, mouth slightly agap as he lets out small moans, your wetness coating him down his pelvis already. His pretty voice encourages you enough to get him to load you and stuff you silly full of cum. Your bouncing gets more frequent, aiming his tip as it fucks against your cervix with every pound. You ride him out, hips occasionally rolling around to feel him rubbing his dick inside your sweet spot.

"just like that, mm..." He says, half there. This is what he wanted this whole time.

"you couldn't'—hm—wait?" You say in between your own little moans, your hands desperately gripping onto him for support as you frantically bounce on him. Satoru doesn't want to remember his slight embarrassment in that moment. You can't blame him for being so attached to something so addicting? Just that sweet pussy and wetness alone gets his mind foggy. He whines lightly from your tease. As a result to your mouthy and bratty attitude, he decides to hammer you down, hands on your hips. "Who can wait for such a good fuck? Do ya not hear how sexy y'er pussy sounds? Talkin' me s' well." His eyes begin to close and ecstasy, using his strength to get you down on his dick right. His breathing becomes more rapid. "And can you complain? You get good dick."

Matter of fact, you couldn't complain; literally, you were being fucked so silly that the air got knocked right out of you every time he slammed you down to his balls. You cry out, the pleasure starting to manipulate into some sort of pain. The mix was even more arousing. Even if your moans were drowned out by the wet sounds of your pussy being slid in and out of, the sound 'pat, pat' echoing with every skin connection, you couldn't even be heard. You were babbling uselessly to him—to his mean dick that you'll cum a mess on.

Satoru felt your walls around his, tight and warm on his tip as you pulsed. He loves the soaking of your wetness and the lewd sounds from your mouth and cunt. The only reason you were leaking so much arousal is because his monstrous size left no room, so when he fucked, he fucked it all out of you. "P-please, 'toru, fuck! Slow dooownnn..." You beg to him, nails making small crescent shapes into his shoulders. He can't help but laugh at you. This is what he been imagining, why would he stop ever? "Tch, tch..." He pretends to be disappointed, shaking his head.

He doesn't even humor your desperate and pathetic cries. He wants to see you how he just was in the bed with your panties, all whiney and needy, even if you were begging for something else. "Sh, baby. Sh, jus' lemme make you cum."

Soon enough you did exactly that. You feel the familiar high chasing up. Your clit throbs for attention and touch as you shake slightly, body ready for an intense feeling. You clamp down on his dick. "F-fuckkk, cummin'." You let out the prettiest series of moans and soft whines, the sounds going straight to his dick and making him all hard again while he was still inside you. Your juices stream from your pretty pussy, cumming down his dick as your thighs quiver slightly. Satoru keeps a smile on his face, pussy drunk as he watches the clear and white blurry mix soak his lap. He whistles out, satisfied with how you made a mess. He gives you a firm squeeze on your ass, signalling that it wasn't over. "Made me close to cummin' with that sight of your pussy gushing, princess." He whispers to you, hands going back to drill you full of cum.

You back arches naturally, walls overstimulated along with your neglected clit. Your pussy was a drug for him that he wants to abuse like crazy. If he could have this everyday, he will never jerk off again.

"s-sensitive!" You cry out even more, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He couldn't help but smile, cooing to your state of mind. "You're fine, baby. Be that good slut and ride me with my movements." He demands of you playfully, even if he was serious about needing you. You end up complying with him, raising your hips up to match his speed with your face still nuzzled into his neck. He can't help but let out a moan simply because of how good you listen. His pace becomes sloppy, and he becomes greedy as he chases his orgasm like a madman. At this point, he can't even hear your words. He was just so focused on watching as his dick disappears inside your cunt. "Finna fill you good—" his voice becomes strained.

The feelings of warm liquid spreads around your walls, coating and painting them white just how he wanted it. Your body jolts from the sudden warm feeling all inside of you, his steamy seed sticky.

You could have just passed out right now. You still had so much self-consciousness, but it was the way that he wanted to continue that made you want to black out. Satoru notices this, and it only brings the cocky bastard some more ego. "Aw, dick too good for you?" He said in a mocking tone, slightly patting your ass.

"hmph... y-yea." You weakly respond. He lifts your face up to his by your chin, kissing your lips deeply in an intoxicating yet bruising kiss. "Then your okay for more, right?"

"more...?" You said in almost disbelief, looking into his sapphire diamond eyes. Yet you can only see such desirable lust. "Yeah, more. I didn't stutter, unlike you." He shakes his head, shifting his dick inside you as he only cock warms. "Why can't I use you as a cock sleeve now? You're the one who made me wait."

You can't help but believe that this was real. You should have never denied him of sex so long. "Fine. Go as long as you want." You agree to him reluctantly, hesitant as you slowly give your body to him. The way you didn't gave him such a prideful feeling as if he needed any more confidence. He kisses your lips again before going back to place his hands down on your hips.

"how many rounds?" He considers it. "How abo—"

"fuck it, nevermind." He doesn't even wait for you to say anything more, he decides that he wants to flip you over. Soon enough your head is placed into a pillow, and his hand skillfully force you to arch your back. "I'll go as long as I want. Like you said."

˚꩜⋆.°⭑Do not copy, translate, or steel in any way, reblogs are appreciated and allowed.

@kaizynofsickness

From a poll I did.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #x reader #female reader #fem reader #jjk satoru

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riverbutghost · 9 months

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Liability

this is part 2, part 1 is here!

It was the day after, and you dreaded getting out of your bed. But it was yet another training day and Price would chop your head off if you missed it. Then you suddenly remembered your decision about leaving.

It was hard, you knew it. And you also knew you had to talk to Price about it.

You wore your training outfit and got out of your room. You wanted to say goodbye to your friends, but you probably wouldn’t. You couldn’t, because of the fucking reason.

You went down to the kitchen to grab an apple and water, only to come face to face with your lieutenant. You wished you had slept a little longer.

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, and went back to making his coffee. You gulped down, suddenly feeling small. He made you feel like that, he did this. But you couldn’t feel anger, you only felt sad and useless.

You didn’t say a thing and opened the refrigerator, took an apple and a bottle, and closed it. You cleared your throat when you realized he was on your way, only to meet with a look. He didn’t move.

“Can you move?”

You calmly stated, voice just above a whisper because of crying for hours. He didn’t move a muscle for a second, but then he started walking towards the door. You quickly walked behind him.

After you walked out of the kitchen, he turned around and trapped you next to the kitchen door. You gasped quietly, and felt small again.

“Did you cry?”

You scoffed at him and wiggled your arms, but he was insistent.

“Why, are you gonna make me feel small again? Or what, you’re gonna remove me from your squad? huh!?”

You told him quietly, trying not to wake anyone up at this hour. He clenched his jaw but didn’t say a thing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave tonight.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at you with more intensity.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He hissed, voice still low. You averted your eyes from him, only to meet with his eyes again.

“Don’t touch me,”

You hissed calmly and pushed him away from yourself.

“I didn’t mean it.”

He stated calmly but his eyes weren’t calm. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying so hard not to cry in front of him.

“I don’t care.”

He looked away from your eyes for a moment before trapping you into the wall again. He opened his mouth, eyes slightly panicked.

“You’re not leaving-“

“Let me go!”

“No, listen-“

“Fuck you!”

“Don’t say that-“

“I hate you!”

“Be quiet-“

“It’s always because of you!”

“You d-“

You pushed him away, finally stopping your fight with him.

“You can’t just throw yourself to death and expect me to thank you.”

He took a breath and again, walked towards you. You folded your arms and looked down.

“You hurt me.”

He swallowed and put his hand on your waist. You looked at his hand.

“What are y-“

“Just stop for a second.”

You shut your mouth and looked at him. He sighed, eyes looking anywhere but you.

“I’m… sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you. Fuck, I was mad. You almost died, I almost lost you. I’m sorry.”

You looked down at his hands, which were rubbing your sides as he stooped talking.

You looked up at him, and you were lost.

His eyes were red, almost like he was drunk but you knew he cried.

“You didn’t mean any of that?”

He shook his head slowly and gulped.

“Please don’t go, I need you.”

Your lips started wobbling and you looked down again.

“Fuck, you hurt me so much.”

Your tears started streaming down your face, and he pulled you towards him. He hugged your waist, and put his chin on your head as you fisted your hands and put them on his chest while literally breaking down.

“M’sorry love, didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You cried harder at that, and he started rubbing his hands on your back while kissing your head.

“M’sorry I took it all out on you.”

You sniffled and bury your head on his chest, taking in his deep scent.

“I’m sorry for everything, pretty girl.”

You nodded your head, still not moving from him.

“I’m not stupid.”

“You’re not. You’re the smartest, bravest sweet girl.”

You still didn’t move an inch, and he kisses your head again.

“It’s gonna take a little while for me to forgive you.”

You stated while removing your head from his chest. He nodded with a clenched jaw and kissed your head again.

“Are you gonna take off that mask or no?”

He took ahold of the mask and pulled it up a little, only to free his mouth. You smiled a little.

“C’mere…”

He pulled you towards him, lips finding your dried ones.

What a turn of events, right ?

@msjaeger

@adamsloverboy

#call of duty #call of dooty #cod mwf2 #simon riley #simon riley angst #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #drabble

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 4 months

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Just imagining what it would be like for you and Eddie to both drunk and looking for each other. You don't realize you've been talking to one another the whole time.

Steve's party had been going on now practically all night. You and Eddie arrived hours ago, and now you can't seem to find each other. He went off with his friends, and so did you. You mingled and stayed close together when you first got there. But soon, you unintentionally drifted away the drunker you got.

Your face was tingling, and your head felt so heavy. Your whole body just wasn't corporating. Your limbs felt like they were in a constant battle to keep you standing or even walking straight. You kept calling out for Eddie.

You wanted to go home but knew he wasn't driving. Not in the condition he was probably in. He got drunk way before you did. You saw him throwing back shot after shot. Then chasing it down with his favorite beer, a pbr. The thought of the taste is already making you gag. He was a lightweight no matter how much he tried arguing against it.

You were stumbling and kept calling for your boyfriend. "Eddie!"

You even grabbed some random dude just because he had longish hair. He was definitely not your Eddie. You made a face of diagust and mumbled "ew" under your breath when the guy turned around.

The party kept getting louder the drunker you became. Everyone kinda started looking a like. Your vision was nothing but a blur. You even confused Nancy for Steve at one point. All because she had on his jacket.

The funny thing is that she never even bothered to correct you. If it wasn't for Robin speaking up to tell you, it was actually Nancy you were talking to. You would still be calling her Steve the rest of the time.

The killer hangover you're destined to have in the morning made you wish you never started drinking tonight. Too late. You knew you were screwed by the fifth shot of tequila. You and Eddie were going to be in misery.

You stumble again and flop down on the couch next to someone. A man who you really can't even focus on any distinctive features. He's just there slumped back with his legs spread open holding a candle that he assumed was his beer can.

You may be drunk off your ass but not drunk enough to mistake a candle for a can of beer. You look over, and he's nothing but a blurry figure to you. You blink and blink, trying to figure out who he is. Your drunkened mind comes up with nothing. He is another stranger to you. Little did you know that's actually your boyfriend. Who you have been on the hunt for all night long.

You heard him mumbling something in coherent over and over again.

"What you say?" You slurred.

He burped before repeating. "I said you have seen my girlfriend? She's cute. You can't miss her."

"Oh no havent seen her...m'lookin for my boyfriend actually. He's a nerd you can't miss'em" you giggled and sat up a little.

"Haven't seen any nerds around." Eddie quipped and went to take a drink from the candle.

He made a face when nothing went into his mouth. He still has yet to notice his actual beer is on the table.

"Been lookin' for her all night. I even cried at the beer keg." He sounded like he was about to cry again. "Guys out there forced me to come sit down to calm myself."

You put your hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He sounded so sad you couldn't help but feel bad for him. "She's around here somewhere."

"My boyfriend is missing too, startin' to think he's in a bush passed out." You rubbed your eyes and laid back against the couch.

Eddie snorts and goes in his pocket to grab his pack of cigarettes.

"All I know is when I find that little shit I can pass out in peace." He slurred and practically ripped open his pack of cigarettes to get one out.

"Yeah, me too-- When I find my boyfriend, I'm passing out too." You hiccuped, and your eyes slowly got heavier. The party started to die down a lot. People were falling asleep or walking home.

"When you'd get here?" Eddie turned to face you. "Been lookin' for you all night!"

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson concept #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x blurb

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katiexpunk · 7 months

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Little Mouse | Pairing biker!Joel Miller X fem!Reader

Summary: Date night. Your favorite. You're dressed up and ready for a good time, only to find out that your sleazeball boyfriend is really just a jerk. Stood up and now alone in a bar on the bad side of town, you quickly come to realize you shouldn’t be there for more reasons than one. An unexpected savior to your shit night, a masked motorcycle rider quite literally saves your life, not caring whose blood was on his hands as a result. His only ask as a token of your appreciation? That you go for a ride with him. What could ever possibly happen? Rating: 18+ Minors DNI, like seriously, this shit is dark AF. I say this with love -- GTFO. Word count: 10K (yeah, we know, wtf) Warnings: Implied cheating (fuck her boyfriend) mentions of being stalked, suggestion of sexual assault/rape (not by Joel!), murder, blood, alcohol (reader is tipsy), switchblades, motorcycles, prey/predator complex, dom/sub, use of ‘little mouse, little one, baby’ also ‘sir and daddy.’ Fingering, female stimulation, dub-con, collaring, leather kink, mask kink, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, painful sex, choking, reader crawling on her knees, unprotected sex, brat taming, p in v, cowgirl, size kink, creampie, ownership kink, breeding kink. Authors Note: I AM SCREAMING. This was such a treat to work on with the lovely and talented @josephquinnswhore. This is my first collaborative fic, and the whole time Tay and I were just crying at how much we wish this version of Joel was real. This was truly a labor of love. Whether this is a hit or a flop, it doesn't matter to me, as I was lucky to get a sexy new friend out of it. Tay -- ilysm. Thanks for working on this with me. P.S. to my U.S. followers, you get this earlier than Saturday because it's already Saturday across the world, so enjoy your Friday night smut sesh.

The thudding noise of your fingers tapping against the hardwood of the bar makes for an easy outlet for your anxiety, although the woman next to you gives you an irritating look, obviously annoyed by the vibrations rolling their way down to her elbows resting on the bar top.

Twenty minutes. That’s how long you’ve been sitting at this miserable bar, the Cadillac Lounge.

It's quite a shit little dive – you had expected something fancier, but your boyfriend insists it’s ‘one of the best’, citing their famous hot wings and heavy pours. If it was truly one of the best, then shouldn’t he be here by now. Where the fuck is he?

In the 20 minutes that have passed since you got here, not only are you getting uncomfortable sitting at the bar by yourself, dodging glances from questionable patrons, but you've come to the conclusion that not only is he late, but he’s also a cheap bastard, and probably doesn’t think you deserve anything fancier.

Hell–you're dressed way too nice to be in a bar of this caliber in a sketchy part of town you’d never been to before. It's loud outside, and some people in the bar are too drunk—too rowdy, yet the man behind the bar stays silent as he passes you your second dirty martini. A marvel they even know how to make a martini. His silence makes you think it’s an all-common occurrence in this place; a pretty girl at the bar by herself, waiting for some shitbag guy to walk through the door.

The dress that clings to your body is one you bought specifically for this occasion; specifically for him – a mid-thigh-black leather dress – hoping he’d take you out somewhere nicer than a run-down bar where the stool legs were uneven and the television hardly caught reception. The soft material hugs every inch of you perfectly, and the spaghetti straps allow for plenty of cleavage to be seen. Your wallet aches as you remind yourself of the price of your black red-bottom heels; the effort you’d put into getting your nails manicured, and eyelashes done.

The floor is mismatched, an ugly shade of dark red wood that hasn't been cleaned in god knows how long; by the way your heels stick to the floor with each step, you can only assume it's been months, maybe even years. The pool tables in the back of the bar are dimly lit, and the floor surrounding them is a dark crème colored carpet, although there are plenty of stains, deep red and mustard yellow from wine and beer spilled in the ‘no drinking zone.’

A ping from your phone alerts you of a text message, and you stop your anxious tapping on the bar, almost dropping your phone onto the floor you were fumbling so fast to see what message you’d received. The woman two seats down finally adverts her irritated gaze from you.

Hey, not gonna make it tonight – I'm going to give Ashley a ride home from work, sorry to leave you hanging.

Ashley, as in his former ex-girlfriend, Ashley. He’s skipping out on date night to give his ex-girlfriend a ride home? What the actual fuck.

You blink stupidly, the longer you stare at the screen the blurrier the words become. Tears gather in your lash line, and the letters melt together to become large black shapes, eventually becoming unrecognizable, but it’s too late to forget them; they’re ingrained into the back of your eyelids, and when you finally close your eyes, a few tears fall from the outer corners.

What an asshole. You’re done. This is the last straw.

You begin to furiously tap out a response to him, leaving nothing but little click click click echos in the air as you do. Hot tears streaming down your face, no doubt ruining your mascara, you hit send on your response.

You know what – if you’re gonna give Ashley a ride home from work and leave me in this absolute shitshow of a bar, by myself, on OUR date night, you can fuck right off. We’re done.

Jerk.

You drop your phone back into your purse, and your fingers instinctively grip around the stem of the glass in front of you. You haven't even taken a sip from it until now; the vodka is sharp and bitter, but it slides down your throat with ease. You angrily slam the $15 cocktail, with a mission in your mind. Get drunk and forget your douchebag boyfriend, er, ex-boyfriend.

“Another,” you say, signaling to the oddly quiet bartender. Seriously, what’s with this guy? He eyes you down before finally nodding, and reaching out his hand to swipe the empty glass from in front of you.

As you sit there waiting, you realize that everything about you stands out, suggesting the way you obviously don't belong here – not in this bar, in this part of town, not even in this dress, the one that clings so perfectly to your frame, hugging your tits just right. You shift in the stool under you, beginning to feel uncomfortable, leather sticking to your now too-warm skin, sticky from your tears and the flush spreading from each martini you’d greedily consumed.

Mr. Silent I don’t say anything bartender places your third martini in front of you. You take a sip in silence, attempting to forget about the reality you are currently in.

Suddenly the low hum of the bar’s ambiance is interrupted by an unwelcome interloper. A man, reeking of booze, staffers toward you, his leering, yellow-twinged, bloodshot eyes filled with inappropriate lust as they shamelessly gaze at your breasts. “Hey there hic gorgeous,” he began, his breath a foul mix of whiskey and cigarettes, “looking awful sad over here, ya hic need some company?”

You stiffen, fingers lightly clenched around the stem of your martini glass, and shoot him a withering look.

This guy is a walking cliche of all things repulsive, like a welcome sign to the shitty part of town you were in. With him closer now, you’re able to really get a good look at him – his dirty and oversized clothes hanging loosely on his skeletal frame, a foul body odor clinging to the material, eyes hungry. The mostly gray and thinning hair that remains on his balding head indicates he’s too old to be interacting with someone your age, and his leathery and wrinkled skin clearly tells the story of a life spent mostly in the bottom of a bottle.

With his tone, you’re able to understand his intentions clearly. You take another sip of your drink and manage to squeak out a pathetic response, one that has no real bite or purpose, “sorry…’m not interested.” The man sits on the empty stool next to you anyway, leering eyes still painfully obviously drinking you in. You gaze at the bartender as if to say a little help here, but it’s useless, he’s not going to be of any more service than what’s required.

The full realization of the situation you’re in begins to wash over you – you need to leave. Now.

You slam the cocktail and let out a sputtering cough as the vodka begins to make its way back up your throat, now tinged with the flavor of bile. You grip the edge of the bar and your knuckles bleach white as you try and fend off the sudden wave of nausea that hits you like a freight truck.

Maybe drinking three martinis in the span of less than half an hour wasn’t your brightest idea.

The man drops his forearms to the bartop in front of you and begins to lean into your personal space, before spitting out “pretty thing like you, I bet you taste real fuckin hic good,” he says with a coy, husky laugh, making you shudder. Shivers shoot down your spine in alarm, the hairs on the back of your neck standing in full salute, your instinctual response warning you of the looming threat.

His eyes are dark and his pupils are unnaturally dilated, the thought makes your skin crawl as you note he’s not only a drunk, but also probably under the influence of some kind of drug, which uproots the fear of this interchange turning violent; a dark scenario where your rejection makes him angry and unpredictable.

The voice in your head shouts at you once more – LEAVE.

You stand and push your rickety, uneven stool backward, not even bothering to pay for your drinks before you grab your purse and storm out of the building, fighting to move your shaky legs fast as the bottom of your heels stick to the floor once more. You ignore the shouts of the barman telling you to close your tab, but you ignore them. Now he says something.

Once outside, the night air is brisk, but a welcome refreshment from the revolting encounter. You pause to take a look around at the world around you. The street practically screams danger to a young woman, let alone a drunk young woman. The dodgy streetlights that are functioning emit a hazy glow and don’t do much in the way of helping to light the path around you.

You walk around the corner and steal a glance behind you before you rummage through your purse, opening the golden clasp, it’s cool on your fingertips and the sensation only adds to your growing anxiety. Your fingers fumble around in panicked haste to find your phone. Finally. You sigh a breath of relief as your fingers grasp the cold metal. You jab at the screen, but quickly find that it’s dead. Shit, shit, shit. Your last sliver of safety snuffed out, leaving you alone – you hope – in the unforgiving night.

You think you might be sick as the wave of nausea returns. Your belly emits a low grumble and wait… fuck. No, you really are gonna be sick. Your pace begins to quicken as you scramble to find a place to throw up, away from the peering eyes of the residents who live on the wasteland streets that surround you.

You stumble your way into the back alley of the bar, and the world begins to spin. Your heart pounds in sync with your dizzying head – the sickening laughter from the creep at the bar still ringing in your ears, deafening you to the life surrounding you. The grimy brick walls of the alley offer you little comfort, the rough texture of them leaving small indents on your hand as you lean into the wall for support, and empty your stomach onto the asphalt beneath you. You cough at the secondary burn of the alcohol that now sears your throat for a second time tonight.

Although your stomach is empty, you continue to dry heave, bent over at your waist and staring at the rocks beneath you, when you hear the thud of loud footsteps behind you. Before you can register what’s happening, a grotesque shadow looms over you, and his smell hits you.

Oh no.

“Came out here to make it easy hic f’me, didn’t you, princess,” he snarls. “You knew what you were doin’, wearin’ this leather piece, didn’t ya babydoll?” He lurches out to grab you, but before he can, another figure materializes out of the darkness. His silhouette was hard and sharp against the pale light illuminating the alley, an unlikely savior in this hellish scene. Before you can even blink, he has the creep pinned up against the wall, his large forearm pressing against his throat. “You leave this nice girl alone, yeah?” he says, voice dark and menacing. He presses harder against the man's throat, “or I’ll make you fuckin’ regret it,” he threatens. Your savior spoke evenly, although there was an obvious underlying tone of threat muffled behind the black motorcycle helmet he wore.

“Chill out, man…was jus trying to have a good ti–” before he can even finish the thought consisting of violating you, your savior draws his head back and smashes it forward, the helmet connecting with a sickening crack against the creep's nose. A sharp, visceral sound reverbs through the alley, catching the attention of a few passers-by. They pause to look at what’s happening, but quickly keep moving, knowing better than to intervene. The now bloody man lets out a startled yelp, his hands reaching up instinctively to grab his now very broken nose.

“What’d you just fuckin’ say t’me?” Your savior grumbles. “You do this often, huh? Come out here into back alleys, whip out your limp little cock, and try and show pretty ladies a good time,” he huffs.

“I’ll show you a good time,” he says, snaking his free hand into his back pocket. There came a click, a sound as sharp and quick as a viper's bite, and the creep audibly whimpers, knowing what made it. There it was– a switchblade.

The creep continues to gravel with the man holding him captive in his strong grasp, “listen, man, I was just messin’ around…I swear! I’ll leave her alone, you can have her, fuck, please just let me go! I promi–” before he can finish the sentence, the silver blade was already plunged up into his ribs. The sound of the gurgling man choking on his own blood catches your attention, a result of your savior's expert maneuver with the blade. Still holding the man flush against the wall with his broad upper body, he uses his free hand to open the visor of his helmet. Eyes glaring into the man’s now, he pushes the blade in deeper as says, “Oh, I will,” and a masked grin washes across his face as the crimson red blood begins to pour out onto his gloves and the ground below; your savior moving his feet as not to dirty his boots.

With a swift movement, he releases the blade, and you watch in shock as the man thuds to the floor, sticky red blood stains his shirt and begins to pool on the pavement below, body limp, eyes glued open like he never saw it coming.

Is this really fucking happening right now, you think to yourself, rationalizing you’re probably hallucinating or something.

You watch as the man reaches a gloved hand to pull his visor, a smear of blood left behind as he pulls it down, hiding what little identity he had revealed to the creep. He turns his frame to face you and begins to stride forward, little drops of crimson falling from his gloves onto the floor by his sides as he does.

Eyes wide open like a deer about to be hit by a truck, you stare at him – your savior? You doubt it.

He just murdered a man in cold blood and told him he would have you. Surely that must mean you were going to succumb to the same fate or worse. Your fight or flight response kicks in, deciding on flight, and you begin to quickly back away from the man and the scene that just unfolded in front of you like a fucking horror film.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says, narrowing the gap between your bodies.

You don’t respond as you continue your trek backward, gait unsteady as you try and keep your heels and ankles steady in your six-inch stilettos. Scared, you step back until your body unexpectedly meets the cool, hard metal of a motorcycle, causing you to let out a small squeak.

His strides are large and it’s not long before he has you trapped against his body and the motorbike; leaving you nowhere to run.

“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?” The man’s question is rhetorical and humorous. His large figure looks over you, a leather jacket clings to his broad shoulders, preventing you from looking anywhere but him.

You sure feel like a little mouse – small and defenseless. He tilts his head, looking down at you curiously as if you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

And you are.

“You – you – killed that man,” your heart was in your throat as you spoke, unsure if your whispered accusation traveled the short distance to his ears.

“Yeah, little mouse, I did. Creep like that – trust me, he had it coming,” he says, voice muffled but sure.

His large palm begins to rise to your line of sight, and your heart sinks to your stomach as you stare at the blood now ever so close to your face. He pauses before he drops most of the bloody fingers into his fist, leaving but one clean finger out as if to point to something. He drags it over your cheek, down the razor edge of your jaw, and uses it to tilt your chin up to face him.

“You know, I probably saved your life – really should be thankin’ me,” he says, presumably gazing back at you, face still hidden from view by the helmet.

“And you can start by comin' for a ride."

You gasp.

He’s got to be fucking joking.

“I promise, you’re safe with me, alright?” He says, voice soft this time.

Right. Safe with the dude who just murdered another dude in the alley behind some sleazeball bar.

You can tell his words aren't a request.

Everything about his demeanor is commanding.

He demands attention.

Your attention.

Perhaps it was the heartache or the way he just saved your life, maybe even the three martinis you’d smashed in a short duration of time, your rational thoughts impaired from the alcohol content flowing through your blood, you internally agree to his demands. And for some unfathomable reason you can’t comprehend, his voice melts you like butter, his attention making you feel special.

A pang of arousal shoots through you.

“Okay…” you say, voice sweet like honey, but hesitant. If you’d kept him waiting long, he doesn’t mention it.

“Good girl,” he says, nodding to the back of the bike.

He knew you were an obedient one. He could tell. He reads your emotions like braille, it is as if he can feel every single thought running through your brain.

You need a protector, a savior, someone to tell you what to do and care for you. Someone who would do anything for you. You need him.

His hands hover over your waist, guiding you to the back of the bike, a safeguard, he would catch you if you slipped. As if he would ever let you fall.

You swing your leg over the back of the seat, sending your already tight dress higher up onto your hips as you do. The motorcycle's leather seat is cold against your inner thighs, a welcomed reprieve from the growing heat there. His hungry eyes watch as you adjust yourself, slowly gazing at the bareness of your legs, now prickled with small goosebumps in anticipation and response to the chill in the air. “Here little mouse, take this,” he says, wiping the bloody gloves onto his tight-fitting denim jeans before taking off his leather jacket and handing it to you, revealing a white mesh tank top that clings to his sun-kissed skin. You can’t help but notice that his shoulders are littered with freckles, all over his toned arms and shoulders, and the back of his neck. You find that small detail about such a harsh man a little endearing.

“Leather on leather,” he says, pausing to eye you up and down, “looks good on you,” he finishes. He places his hand on your bare thigh, his touch causing you to hold your breath, making sure you’re stable before he too mounts the bike.

“Hold on to me real tight,” he commands. You follow his instructions, your arms wrapping firmly around his waist, your fingers coming to a clasp as you scoot forward, your breasts pressed firmly against his warm and inviting back.

“Atta girl,” he praises.

Fuck. His words go straight to your already aroused core.

He couldn’t be sure if it was a button from the jacket pressing against him, or your nipples, but he decided it was the latter considering how cold you’d been moments beforehand.

The thought causes his cock to stir in his jeans. His mind can’t help but wonder, with your soft hands all over his toned body, rousing deep and vulgar thoughts in his head.

Your sweet little palms, what would they feel like wrapped around his—

He pushes the thought down, adjusts himself slightly, and turns to look over his shoulder at you as the bike begins to rumble to life. He jabs the kickstands with his heel and faces forward once more, palms firmly grabbing the clutch and throttle on the handlebars.

The loud sound of the engine and the rhythmic vibration it gives stimulate your now aching clit. The only barrier between your sopping cunt and the bike was the sheer lace panties that did nothing to stop your slick from leaking onto his leather seat.

With your body glued to his, you both tear through the inky black of the night. It was apparent that this side of town not only lacks security, but safety too, the buildings are all run down and cars seem to be left on cinder blocks, being stripped down for parts and left to rust. For the first time tonight, you’re grateful you’re not alone – grateful to be with him.

It seems the government had also neglected the quality of the roads, loose gravel flings out of the crevices of the back tire of the motorbike, and you grasp on tight to avoid the giant potholes that have now become a major problem on this one street. Without much warning, although you could have predicted it would happen, the bike jerked violently beneath you, the rear tire hitting a pothole with an unforgiving thud.

You gasp and your grip around his waist loosens in surprise. The sudden jolt sends your hand sliding down, and before you can correct it, your fingers brush against his already painfully stiff cock. He freezes in response. The feel of his hard bulge causes you’re already sticky folds to dampen further. You grazed the area for less than a few seconds, eventually finding your common sense and snatching your hand back up to grab your wrist, but the tension in his body tells you he felt you do it. That he liked it. You did, too.

You have no idea where he’s taking you, and though the streets of the unfamiliar town were a labyrinth to you, he seemed to navigate them with ease. Not before after, the bike comes to a slow as he pulls up to a nondescript warehouse.

Once inside, you take in the smudge and the grime of the shop. There was a surprising order to the chaos around you. The walls, washed with a pea-like hue of green, were the perfect backdrop for the display of tools in every size and shape imaginable, arranged perfectly above the wooden workbench. The air stank of oil, sawdust, and metal, but there was a certain comfort to it, a testament to the hours of sweat and hard work spilled within its confines.

With the two wheels of the bike are now stationary beneath you, he kills the engine. He swings his leg off to stand at the side of the bike. He offers his hand to steady you as you get off yourself, leaving a little wet spot on the seat from your slick as you do.

You know you’re aroused, but you don’t seem to notice just how much, but he sure does, eyes glued to the mark of you. The sight makes him shift and he adjusts himself to accommodate for the shrinking amount of space.

Taking in the surroundings, you do a tiny circle, before stopping facing him.

“Why – why, am I here?” you cautiously ask, not sure if you want the real answer.

“To say thank you t’me, properly, little mouse,” he rasps, voice dripping with suggestion.

You wonder what it means to thank him properly. A surge of desire courses through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity at the thought.

He takes a step forward, and his overwhelming presence engulfs you, bringing with it the scent of musk, twinged with sweat and the sickly sweet copper smell of the blood left on his hands.

It’s absolutely intoxicating.

In your haze, your fingers reach out to touch the cool plastic of the black tinted helmet visor, curiosity gnawing at you for just a peek of the man that had you enthralled; you hadn’t even seen his face and yet you were completely dripping for him.

Before you could catch a peek, his fingers gripped your hand tightly in warning. He tilts his head to the side as if you’d really just tried that.

“What do ya think you’re doin’, little mouse?” The warning in his voice only made the need between your thighs that much stronger.

“I—I just wanted to...” you whine pathetically, trailing off as your mind begins to fill with obscene thoughts, rendering you unable to finish even a single sentence.

Although you can't directly see his face, you can feel his harsh stare burning you to your core. His firm grip around your wrist causes your nipples to harden in response to the touch. Everything in your vision blurs suddenly, the room nothing more but a mere haze, you almost don’t feel the right grip on your hips as he maneuvers your body, pushing your chest over his bike. A small noise of discomfort leaves your lips as the fuel cap of the bike digs into your breastbone. It hurts, but you don’t complain, not wanting this to end before it’s begun.

With his hard cock now pressed firmly against your ass, one hand grips your waist and the other holds the back of your neck. His fingers are cool and they send a shiver down your spine at his touch, his grip tightens on the back of your neck, holding you in place – trapped.

He hadn’t ever let a woman touch his bike, let alone ride with him; you should be grateful.

He was doing something for you.

“You’ll take what I give you, little mouse, not a sliver more, got it?” He growls.

You mewl under him; your non-verbal response only adds to your lack of cooperation, in his eyes, you were challenging him to make you submit to him.

He leans down, chest now flush with the curve of your back. You don’t dare to look back at him, feeling your legs tremble as he pushes his hard erection further into the exposed skin of your ass. Your leather dress had ridden right up, making for easy access, which his thick fingers happily take advantage of as they trace the thin lace of your panties.

He can hardly pry his eyes away from the now-drying stain your slick had left on his seat, and now here you were; pressed under him and fucking soaking for him.

“Now listen here, little mouse. When I speak, I expect you to answer me, or this all stops. Got it?” he says.

You tremble at his words and pout as he halts the small glide of his fingers along the lace between your folds. Caught up in the sensation, you don’t respond quickly enough.

“Answer me,” he commands while pulling his hand away and landing a swat over your pussy, the sensation on your clit sends a little shock through your body.

Senses returning to your head now, you nod frantically, eyes widening as you stutter, “Y-yes, sir. I understand.”

Seemingly satisfied with your response, his fingers resume their tortuous motion of gliding over your still-clothed folds, only taking a moment to recover from the moment you called him sir. It serves a bigger purpose, a large part to play in your dynamic. He rests his helmet on your shoulder and lets out a husky sigh, his own need beginning to catch up with him.

“How badly do you want it, little mouse?” He asks, a hint of challenge in his voice, hoping to get a ride out of you, and frustrate you further.

“Fuck–ppp, please touch me…I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll do whatever you say,” you say, realizing your begging is no better than the creeps back in the alley.

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you, finally soothing the gnawing, aching need inside you. He traces his thick finger over the crease between your folds before he hooks the edge, and pushes the soiled fabric to the side. Your cunt has a visible sheen from the slick that’s spilled over from all of his teasing; a warm invitation for his fingers, your inviting hole sucks two of them in and clenches around him.

“So wet for me already, little mouse, fuck–,” he trails off. You moan in response, knowing he’ll expect an answer to his comment. He grins as he skillfully curls his fingers inside you to meet the spongey soft texture of your g-spot. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, every prod stretching you, getting you ready for him.

He can feel you crawling towards the cliff of your orgasm, but he's gonna take his time with you.

He knows you want to cum, that's obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come.

“Stop thinkin’ so damn loud,” he gruff voice circulates inside your head and descends down to your core, sending you spiraling.

Your fingers struggle to find purchase on anything as he continues to drive you closer and closer to your release, fingers prodding in and out, only leaving periodically to circle your clit before going back to their home inside you. The line between pain and pleasure has blurred; being bent over the bike is starting to get uncomfortable, and your neck is starting to ache from his hard grip that keeps you from slouching over. The blood is beginning to rush to your head, the lack of circulating air in the building and your lust cause your skin to heat, and small beads of sweat begin to form on your chest and forehead.

You're so, so close. When was he going to put a stop to this?

As if to read your mind once more, he says, “I know, baby. Doing so good. Concentrate on me,” his words bring you back to your surroundings, drawing you away from your demented brain's imprisonment of unease.

Your legs tremble against his groin, and the sweet moans that leave your lips echo through the workshop. You think he might, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up, he doesn’t cover your mouth. The pretty little noises coming from your throat only urge him to ram his fingers into you at a quicker pace, as if it were his personal mission to make you finally come.

Your mind goes foggy as your whole body stiffens. Your fingers find a tight grip on the leather seat of the bike and mindlessly, you dig your nails into the material, creating several crescent moon-shaped marks into the leather as you do. He rides out your orgasm with you and doesn’t stop until you totally soften under him, legs weak and shaking from overstimulation and pain from the position you’re in.

Now satisfied, you catch a glimpse of your handiwork on the seat. The once perfect material was now marked by your desperation.

“Tsk, tsk, little mouse – markin’ up my bike left and right tonight,” he says, voice firm, “I ‘otta punish you for that,” he scolds.

It was already too much, the position he had you in, his taunting and tormenting. What would a punishment look like? you wonder.

“‘M sorry, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you sputter, head still dizzy from your release.

Still inside you, he pushes his fingers aggressively deeper into your hole and he holds them there. The noise is obscene; the squelching of his fingers pushing into you, slick dripping down your legs, coating his fingers. It only made him hungry for more. Beneath the helmet, he licks his lips, clenching his teeth as his eyes roll into the back of his head. What he wouldn’t do for a taste of you.

“You're gonna be,” he says. The emphasis on his promise he makes you tremble, anticipation eating you from the inside out.

“Gonna come for me again, little mouse,” he orders.

Fuck. No. “I–I can’t, it’s too much, I’m too sensitive, and my, fuck, my legs hurt like this,” you say.

Your words fall on deaf ears, as he ignores your pleading. You were going to come again, and he was going to make sure of that.

He inserts a third finger and continues to fuck into you. His thumb reaches out to your clit, the small amount of pressure has you lurch forward with a yelp, the nub already extremely sensitive from your first release. The hand that’s gripped the back of your neck jerks backward harshly, forcing you back into his body. He wouldn’t allow you to do that, try to escape him.

Holding you into his chest, he reaches his free hand around and finds your clit once more. His fingers move antagonizing slowly as he makes soft circles around it, his pace decreasing, the overstimulation going with it. Your pain begins to flourish into something softer, and he once again has you crawling the stairs to your climax. You fight the temptation to jerk your hips, to fuck yourself stupid on his thick fingers, and make yourself come all over his already, soaked and pruned fingers. The added texture to his fingers adds to the sensations you’re experiencing.

“Bein’ such a good girl, there you go,” he sets a stable pace, murmuring to you, rubbing sweet circles onto your clit, and resuming fucking his fingers into you, “gonna give my mouse what she needs.”

“P-please let me come,” the plea leaves your desperate lips like a need, a key factor to your survival, like if you didn’t come again you were sure to die. The coil inside of your lower stomach winds once more, and your legs continue to shake, the only thing keeping you upright was the strength of his arms and his fingers unraveling you. Each swipe of his thumb on your clit is calculated, like he’s figured your body out already. He knows you’re close, the way you’re trembling and babbling senselessly, the way your hole clenches around his fingers, contracting to tighten around him to keep him inside.

“You can come, little mouse – come for me, baby, soak my fingers,” he says.

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like you were nothing but a pool of gas ignited with a flame. Your knees buckle, and he holds you tight to his chest. His sticky fingers leave your hole and away from your swollen clit.

“Such a good girl,” he praises in your ear. You revel in it, letting his words soak deep into you to your bones. He moves his slick-coated fingers up to your lips, “Now clean ‘em for me,” he commands, once again leaving no room for there to be a question about what he wants. You do as he orders. He presses his fingers into your inviting mouth, and you lap at your release and suck him dry.

He doesn’t give you but a minute to recover to catch your breath, now satisfied with your cleaning job, before he grabs a fistful of hair to spin you around, gently, but assertively. Your eyes drop down to his waist, and you see his hand on his leather belt. He begins to unbuckle it, the metal making a small clank as he releases its clasp, and yanks it off, leaving a whip sound in its wake.

You watch in anticipation as he uses both hands to make a small loop in the belt. You swallow your anticipation as you realize what he’s doing. It’s not long before he has it perfectly sized to accommodate your head, and he slips it onto your crown, and begins to lower it around your neck. Once there he secures it tightly, leaving enough room for you to breathe, but tight enough to feel its presence before tugging at the makeshift collar and deeming it satisfactory.

“Get on your knees, little mouse, he gruffs. “ Told you I’d punish ya for what you did to my bike,” he continues, voice lusty and low.

You pause, slightly dumbstruck.

Is he serious?

The little voice that gnawed at you to leave the bar earlier in the night comes back in full force and tells you that he most definitely was and that you’d be wise to listen.

You drop to the cold cement floor, knees meeting the harsh ground coated with little flecks of sawdust and grease. Your perky tits were practically spilling out of your leather dress at this point. You don’t care. You don’t even care about the bruises that were now forming from the position you were in; you want to be a good girl, give him what he wants – impress him. You were ready to worship at the altar of the man who had saved your life.

He watches you and palms at his hard cock before turning on his heels to walk away.

The fuck. Where’s he going?

He walks over to the side of the shop. This side was more empty than the primary workspace, but primarily occupied by a file cabinet in the corner and an aging bed, presumably only used for mid-workday naps. There’s an old rusted heater next to the bed, too close to the wall for comfort, you wonder how many cold late evenings this man had spent in this workshop, every little detail gave you some insight into his life, it felt familiar. Like you know him, that he was just an ordinary man; although you know he was far more intriguing.

He pauses by the grimy mattress. His fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans, and he slowly undoes them, letting them fall to the floor, finally releasing the giant cock that was restrained behind the denim fabric. He takes himself in hand, tilts his head down, and spits for lubrication.

“Crawl to me, little mouse,” he says, dark gaze fixed on yours, “come get this cock,” he adds, stroking his length up and down, letting his weight lean onto the back wall of the shop as he gawks.

Crawl to him.

The words pierce you like a bullet, tearing through your flesh until you have no choice but to tend to the wound to stop the bleeding. You're his little pet, and you’ll do anything to make him happy.

You tilt forward, placing both palms on the ground so you’re on all fours. Eyes transfixed on him, and god, his cock, you begin to move, slowly crawling the distance of the shop. The already barely secured fullness of your tits gives way with the change in angle, allowing them to spill completely out of your dress. The sensation of the cold ground under your hands and knees, the cool air drying the stickiness on your inner thighs, and the thickness of the makeshift collar on your throat spur you on. You begin to crawl faster, needing to get to him sooner, needing to taste him.

Once in front of him, he pushes himself off the wall and comes to stand directly in front of you. He continues to stroke at his cock, and you salivate at the sight of his angry red tip weeping beads of pre-cum, veins boldening from the blood rushing through him. You want so badly to touch him, but you wait for him to give you the okay to do so, your palms patiently resting on your knees.

“You want this, little mouse,” he asks, already knowing the answer to his own question. “It’s all yours, come get it, baby,” he says, giving a nod of permission.

You reach up to take the weight of his heavy cock in your hands, and you admire the way your fingers barely touch. You stroke his length a few times, mouth watering at how silky soft his skin feels and the warmth it exudes. You look up at him from under your lashes and playfully dart your tongue out. You flatten it and lick a teasing stripe up to the tip of him, maintaining his gaze as you do.

“If you know what’s good for ya, little mouse, you won’t fucking tease me,” he says, the words still bite, but you can tell he’s losing his resolve. As much as he wants to pretend he’s in control, you’re the one with all the cards.

You slide the tip of him into your waiting mouth, wrapping your lips around, feeling a slight sting in the corners as they stretch to accommodate him. You stay shallow on his length at first, working up to wet him with your spit. After a moment, you feel confident you have enough lubricant to fully take him.

You begin to pick up your pace, allowing his cock to glide down your throat, kissing the back of it as you bob up and down. He lets out a satisfied sound, and you hum in response, savoring the taste of salt and musk that dance over your tastebuds.

Using the makeshift collar as leverage, he wraps the free material around his fist and pulls it taught, holding you with his cock stuffed down your windpipe. Your eyes begin to water, it’s so much, but you stay put. Spit begins to pool at the corners of your mouth, long dribbles of it spilling out over your lips and down your chin to your chest.

“Fuck, little mouse – so good, baby. Being such a good hole for me,” he praises.

His words encourage you to open wider, letting your jaw relax as you do. He pulls the leather strap tighter until you feel him deep in the back of your throat, your lips wrapped obscenely around the base of him, nose flush against his skin. He’s so deep you can hardly breathe. He holds you there a moment longer until you begin to tear up.

He slightly retreats, allowing you to catch your breath, your lips resting just around the tip of his girth. You look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mascara smudged, and he smirks. He was fucking wrecking you, and he loves every second of it.

He allows you a second to catch your breath, before he once again pulls at the belt, sending you right back down to the base of him. He lets out a deep, guttural groan in response. He could feel your heartbeat on the tip of him this deep, and it was almost too much. He pulls back and fully retreats out of you this time, bringing with him strings of saliva that fall onto you pristine but red-marked skin.

“Up,” he says, finally allowing you the opportunity to find relief from the cement that turned your knees and shins cherry red. You do as he says, pausing momentarily to brush the debris from your flesh before looking up at him. He pauses momentarily to admire you before bringing both hands up to undo the buckle of the belt, releasing you from the collar.

As you look up at him, you can’t help but feel distaste towards the helmet, wishing you could just see the man behind it. You had given yourself to him completely, submitting to this dangerous and exuberant man. Why wouldn’t he show his face? You whine loudly in response to his touch on your sensitive neck, the belt had left a thick plum-colored mark ingrained into your pretty skin, your entire body was sore from the events of the night and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

Through his pleasure, his moans and raspy breaths of exhale, each and every opportunity for you to hear him have been tainted, unfairly muffled by the thick plastic. The noises he makes are primal, deep, something you crave more of; he’d been giving you so much tonight, made you cum hard more than once, and fucked your throat raw, but it isn’t enough; you want more of him, all of him.

You hadn’t been bashful the entire night, but suddenly you aren't confident enough to verbally ask him; multiple attempts have already been made to try and convince him to take it off, which he has quite harshly rejected.

He seems to sense your shift in energy, the anxiety radiating off of you like a pungent smell. His fingers grip your chin, curling them underneath to make you look up at him. Your mind flashes back to when it did it earlier in the night, only this time his hand wasn’t covered in blood. You suppose you should have felt some sort of relief at that, but your unease only worsens.

His masked figure continues to glare down at you, looking as if he might offer something sweet in his words, but he doesn’t; instead, he simply says, “ready for a different type of ride, little mouse?”

His words go straight to your already wet and stretched cunt. He’s finally going to fuck you.

He puts one knee onto the mattress, causing the springs of the frame holding it to scream out, the squeak an alarm that the sheer weight of them might be too much for their rusty coils to handle.

He pulls you flush against his chest and reaches his arms behind you to unzip your dress, and you're grateful, the leather fabric had pooled at your hips at this point and you were starting to sweat under the heavy folds. You sink into the warmth of him, the side of your face flush with the cool plastic of the helmet. As he works to release you from your cloth prison, the dress you were once so excited to put on, your gaze drops to the back of his neck, and you notice a patch of sweaty salt and pepper curls under the bottom edge of the helmet. You reach your arms up around him and intertwine your fingers around the locks. You had thought maybe he was older, but seeing the greying hair was the confirmation you needed.

With him now so close, you take in the opportunity to smell him, and fuck it was absolutely invigorating – like fresh coffee in the morning, the smoke from a campfire, and wait…is that, patchouli? Fucking patchouli? Because of course, your masked, murderous savior would smell like patchouli. You take a deep inhale through your nose, and hold it at the top, as if to commit his scent to memory.

He finishes with the dress, and you step out of it, also deciding to ditch the scrap of panties that no longer serve their intended purpose. Now bare, you stand in front of him innocently. You were nervous, unable to see his expression, unsure if he likes what he sees.

It doesn’t take much for him to give you the confirmation you need that he in fact, does, his rock-hard cock practically staring at you, begging for something to bury into. His rough and calloused palm traces over your arm, leaving goosebumps as it trails down. He latches onto your wrist, pausing to gently trace the blue veins and feel your pulse. His gentleness causes you to melt.

He takes a seat on the mattress, pulling you with him.

For the entire evening, your body had been riding the line between pain and pleasure, and it had never been more blurred than right now. Your knees are shaking as they find the broken springs under the grimy mattress.

It's almost too much, your knees ache with bruises forming on them from their assault on the cement. Straddling his hips, he reaches between your bodies to position himself at the entrance of your wet and waiting hole. You sink down onto his length halfway, eyes falling shut as you do.

Fuck – he’s big. Almost too big.

His hard cock fills you so good; and he gives you a second to adjust, frozen in pleasure for a moment when he finally reaches the hilt of you, the tip of his cock nudges in a painful pinch. For a moment he’s panting and just holding you on top of him, hands tightening around the delicious flesh of your hips. He’s just using you to keep his cock warm until he can catch his breath. He can tell by your incessant squirming that you’ve never had something so big stuffed inside of your small frame, and he was here to change that; fill you up how you deserve to be.

“Shit, baby – you’re a tight one, aint’cha,” he says, groaning breathlessly.

You begin to find your pace on him, rolling your hips into his as you find a rhythm, gliding effortlessly over his thickness with the help of his praise, his filthy words encouraging you to fuck him harder. His hands are still firm on your hips, leaving little bruises at the fingertips, and he assists your rolls back and forth as you grind your clit against the thick black hair at the base of him, teasing your swollen clit with each move as you do.

“I’m going to ruin you, little mouse, fuck you so good all you’ll ever think about is me. All you’ll ever feel is me.” His claim is arrogant, but rightfully so, the way he’s filling you to your ribs was something that couldn’t ever be competed with.

He knows it, and you know it. You are doomed to be a prisoner to an approach to sex you’d never experienced. Addicted to every touch.

The possessive nature of this man wouldn’t ever be matched with anyone else.

They would all fall short.

He had broken you to need him.

His hands roughly grasp at your breasts, pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers, and an airy moan leaves your lips as he watches them bounce, he gives them a harsh slap, earning a yelp from your lips as the sensation. The sting lingers and the red mark it creates is more proof of what this man’s doing to you; creating evidence that you’d remember long after he was gone, the ghost of the touch you’d feel one night in the future when you needed someone, no one would ever compare. He was leaving his mark on you.

His calloused fingers are thick, wrapping around your neck, applying a small amount of pressure to the side of your neck along your pulse point, until your vision goes a little fuzzy and you subsequently relax into his hands with the notion.

With as much as he's taking you—he curses under his breath when you let out a whimper of pleasure, holding the position, slipping his thumb into your mouth which you greedily sucked on, he feels the hum of a muffled moan.

“Such a good girl,” he moans, “squeezing my cock so fuckin’ tight, little mouse. This pussy was fucking made f’me,” he praises, his words practically dragging you over the edge, and you cream all over his cock as he continues to relentless thurst upwards inside of you, practically touching your lungs.

Your slick makes it easy for him to fuck into you right to the hilt, burying himself into the most sacred part of yourself. Greedily, you clench down onto him, sucking him back in when he tries to retract from your hole. In your delirium you swear you can feel him in your stomach, you’d never had someone so fucking deep inside of you before. Wet mewls escape your lips as you feel him drag his cock in and out of you, reaching places no other man had ever been. With the way your cunt greedily swallows his cock, he starts to feel a sense of infatuation, he would do anything to keep you.

“This pussy isn't goin’ to take too nicely to another cock, will she, little one? She likes me too much,” he says, but you find it hard to concentrate on words when there are so many things stimulating you – his cock, his hand around the column of your throat, the growing need budding in your clit, your intense desire to fucking look at his face.

Before you can register what’s happening, loud moans leave your lips, when they do the saliva that had accumulated inside of your mouth falls, dripping down onto the visor of his helmet. A gruff moan leaves his lips, one of shock and pleasure, seeing you drool all over him on his cock was a sight that spurred him on.

“Fuckin’ you so good you can’t even think properly, can you little mouse? S’alright, just let daddy make you feel good.”

Daddy.

You want so badly to cum.

But there’s something holding you back.

You need to see him. It's no longer a question or a curiosity. It's a non-negotiable.

“Shi–-shit, I’m so close, ugh I need to see your face,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes, “Please let me look at you while I cum on your cock,” you beg.

He ignores the request, your hips still grinding onto him, until you pout and beg once more, “Daddy, please!”

He grips down tight onto your hips, urging you to come to a slow, and eventually a full stop. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. He releases his grip and reaches up to place both hands on the helmet – yes, yes, yes, take it off – he pauses with his palms on the sides, before using the strength of his arms to take the helmet completely off.

The cool helmet now in his hands, he sets it off to the side on the mattress, and the inside rolls to face up.

That’s when you notice it – a small label, curiously out of place. You focus your gaze and the small letters focus in view; it’s a name.

His name.

Joel Miller.

You smile and decide to tuck the new knowledge away, for now, and turn your attention back to him.

Oh my.

He’s fucking hot.

Seeing him for the first time is jarring.

Like you should’ve expected him to look exactly like this, perhaps you’d expected him not to be so fucking handsome.

His wide brown eyes are watching you, the stare lingering on your face, the same stare you’d felt burning into your soul the entire evening. His pupils are dilated, a sentiment of his arousal for you. You want to take your time admiring him, in case he changes his mind and reverts back into the comfort of his helmet, but it’s too late for that; you’ve seen him.

You’ll remember every detail of him until the day you die. The patchy facial hair, his full mustache trimmed neatly; a small heart shape on the left side made your heart swell, it's well-groomed but still simultaneously unruly. He's a man who looks after himself. On the right cheek, there is a single dimple; showcasing itself as he bites the inside of his cheek.

It seems you finally had him like putty in your hands. He looks anxious, his eyes scanning your face frantically, searching for anything that would make you retreat from him, any sign of regret.

Your hand reaches out slowly as if approaching a stray animal, your pleading eyes begging for this one thing, just one simple touch. He flinches slightly as if this kind of feeling of your skin on his was foreign to him, but he doesn’t move, nor resist your action.

The pad of your soft thumb rubs over his lips, and you lean forward as if to kiss him.

You don’t.

Instead, you pause with your lips inches away from his, your hot breaths mingling together. A smirk washes over your face, and you flint your gaze up to his.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you whisper seductively.

What the fuck.

You uttering his name catches him off guard, rendering him surprised and vulnerable. He looks at you like he just got stabbed; he wouldn’t be the only one tonight. Like a bear preparing for a fight, he growls, and bucks his hips up into you, beginning to fuck you again, hard.

With his cock stuffed inside of you and the sight of his face, you’re close to your release.

Eyes gazing into his for real for the first time tonight, you feel a wave of pleasure overcome you, and you spill over onto him like a broken yolk. You fall forward, body limp and sore, and he lets you lay there, his chest your strength. He pauses, letting you work through your orgasm.

Once your shaking has subsided, he brings his hand up to your jaw. He smooshes your cheeks together, your lips puffing as he does. He stares at them for a moment, his expression mirroring your own, eyes dark with desire, before pulling them to his in a fiery kiss. His tongue explores the recesses of your mouth, and you welcome it with a moan that rumbles from the very core of your desire. Fuck, finally. You savor the taste of him, all salt with a hint of mint.

His lips part from yours, and he begins to chase his own release once more, his cock resuming its relentless pace, fucking in and out of you.

Seeing and feeling your orgasm already had him close. For the first time tonight, he finally got sips of fresh air, each breath filled with the sweet scent of all things you. He was absolutely ravenous.

“Fuck–,” he gasps, his orgasm not far off, “Gonna come, little mouse, wanna shit–wanna fill you up, make you full of me,” he says, breath heavy and shallow with each thrust.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you pant, moans weak and timid.

“Fuck, Joel, give me your cum, want it so bad” you beg, your walls pulsing and squeezing around him, your cunt crying to be filled.

He gives you a few more shaky rolls of his hips, and then slows, balls deep inside you.

“You’re mine now, little mouse,” he says, shooting long, thick ropes of milky white release, painting your cervix with his seed.

At that moment you realize you are his, nothing more than a little mouse caught in his trap – and he’ll never let you go.

END

...or is it?

Tagging: @sydneyinacoma @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls and @toxicanonymity (our queen of dark fics and source of inspiration)

Oh hey! You made it to the end. Cool. Thanks for reading. Since you're here, I'll pass on a reminder that I'm just a horny little wannabe fic writer trying to make her way on this hell site and write things that make people turned on happy. Likes and comments are wonderful and much appreciated, but reblogs are really what counts in making people see this, especially for smaller blogs like mine. If you like this, please consider reblogging.

#dark joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #the last of us #kinktober #dark writing #pedrohub #collaborative writing

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osaemu · 7 months

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・𖠗 EMAILS I CAN'T SEND EVENT !

with songs featuring gojo, geto, dazai, chuuya, and childe !

BEFORE YOU LISTEN . . .

careful, there's gonna be some pretty mature themes headin' in . . . sex, cheating, overthinking, y'know, the usual. it's hard being hot !

WHAT'S THE ALBUM ABOUT ?

well, i heard some guys from jujutsu kaisen, bungo stray dogs, and genshin impact are involved in the drama, maybe you know them !

TRACK 9: NONSENSE "baby i'm in too deep, here's a lil' song i wrote, it's about you and me"

꒰ pop star!reader x secret lover!gojo

being a pop star is tough, and maintaining a relationship alongside it is even harder. good thing you have a boyfriend to share the nights with, but what happens when those night-time specials start seeping into your daytime routine?

TRACK 10: FAST TIMES "tiptoeing past so many stages, but what the fuck is patience?"

꒰ coworkers with benefits ft. pm boss!chuuya

being a mafia boss is hard, and the stress that comes with it could kill. so, your boss's solution is to take it out on his pretty little secretary — you. one thing leads to another, and soon it becomes a regular thing. it's okay, it's not like he's gonna fuck you during work hours, right?

TRACK 11: SKINNY DIPPING "if we could take it all off and just exist, and skinny dip in water under the bridge"

꒰ break up –> make up ft. criminal!geto

when you found out he wasn't who he said he was, you dumped him on the spot, and after that you didn't see him for nineteen days. so what happens on the twentieth day when you run into him at your local coffee shop, and how did it end with his dick in your mouth?

TRACK 13: DECODE "you're good at impersonating someone who cares, and you had me for a minute there"

꒰ actor!reader x actor!dazai

your co-star is known for his acting prowess, and maybe he's just a little too good, because even when the lights are down and no cameras in sight, you can never seem to figure out if he means what he says. even when he's drunk in your sheets, every word seems carefully calculated to get something out of you — who knows what he wants?

TRACK 15: FEATHER "your signals are mixed, you act like a bitch, you fit every stereotype, send a pic"

꒰ it girl!reader x fuckboy!gojo

you're everything, and he's just another fuckboy. but even though he's the biggest dickhead you've ever met, you can't deny that he's very, very attractive. so what happens when you have one too many drinks and end up moaning his name all night long?

TRACK 16: LONESOME "did you think about her face with your hands around my waist? did you even give a fuck?"

꒰ exes with benefits ft. fuckboy!childe

you probably shouldn't still sleep with the boy who ruined your life, but hey, he's the only one who knows how to fuck you just right. even if he made you cry for a week straight, you'd rather be crying out his name than wallowing in self-pity at home. and it's not like you're gonna get back together with him, are you?

TRACK 17: THINGS I WISH YOU SAID "i saw you met somebody and i'm jealous as hell, that i can't even stomach loving somebody else"

꒰ cheating ft. ex boyfriend!dazai

maybe it's wrong to cheat on your current boyfriend with your ex, but you never moved on and apparently, neither did he. and shit, he's just as skillful with his words as ever, so just one night wouldn't hurt, right?

SO, WHEN CAN I HEAR THE STORIES ?

well, hannah'll tell you whenever she feels like it, but who knows what order she's whisper them to you in ? it'll be a surprise ~

CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHEN THE STORY'S OUT ?

there's no taglist or anythin', but you can check back here to see if anything's leaked yet ! ++ maybe follow hannah and her tag, 'cause she said she'll post updates there . . . #✧ — emails i can't send

have fun listening! reblogs very appreciated xoxo –> signed, hannah

#✧ — docs #✧ — emails i can't send #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #childe x reader

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bratphilia · 6 months

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DADS BEST FRIEND WILLIAM AFTON SPITTING IN MY MOUTH SLAPPING ME DEGRADING ME HE’S SO BIG N TALL N MEAN SO MEAN SO FUCKING MEAN OHHHHH LAWDDDDDDDD HAVE MERCY 🫣😩😩😩 I HAVE TO SEE THIS LIVE LAUGH MATTHEW LILLARD (i love ur afton writings btw they make me feel 😩😩💕💕)

cw ; spitting, slapping, degrading, gagging, fingering, rough sex WILLIAM AFTON who's far from treating you well when the two of you fuck. dad's best friend or not; you're getting a mean fucking pounding. "open your fucking mouth," he snarls at you, body overpowering yours with ease as he grinds on top of you. you do what he says, drunk off the air already and he hasn't even taken your clothes off yet, and part your lips. he grabs you by your cheeks, forcing your mouth to stay open, as a slow string of spit travels into your mouth. you can only respond with a hum as he releases the lower half of your face and you swallow his saliva. he flashes you a satisfactory smile and leans down to guide your mouth in a sloppy kiss. he's rock solid against you, grinding with true promise into your thigh, avoiding the place where you need him the most.

for context, your dad is out in the garage fixing william's car. something wrong with the engine, he had said, but you weren't paying enough attention. you pretended to busy yourself with william's youngest daughter before he pulled you aside. a small whistle to grab your attention and a slight cock of his head in the direction of his bedroom told you what was going on. fixing his own car is something you're almost positive he can do himself, but that can wait. it's been, what? two weeks since the two of you last had another one of your trysts? he needs this, and he knows for a fact that you do too. anyways, back to the way his deft fingers lifted up your skirt. the one you wore for the purpose of easy access, slipping into it after the offer of going over to his house stood from your dad. his fingers don't slip in and out delicately; they jackhammer inside of you. pumping aggressively, so hard that the way his palm brushes against your clit he pumps upwards is delicious. it creates a pooling sensation in your stomach that grows hotter with each thrust of his fingers, and fuck, you're close—

but if you think you're coming from just his fingers, you're sorely mistaken. he coos an "aww, poor baby," at the way you cry when he slowly removes them, making you feel every ridge and indent of his fingers as the slide out of you. he stands to his full, huge height, and begins to unzip his pants, slides them down, and frees his cock from his boxers. he slides himself forward so his dick sits at your clothed entrance — he didn't bother to remove your underwear. "tell me how much you need it, baby," he tells you. "tell me how much you need your daddy's friend inside of you." you really wish he wouldn't talk about shit like that but he is the ultimate pervert, after all. stupidly, you roll your eyes. you regret doing so the moment you did, eyes widening at the flash of anger that washes over him.

SLAP!

he smacks you across the face. all too quickly, his dick is inside you, but he gives you no time to adjust. even the little time you spent apart in the grand scheme of things didn't make you feel like you could take his cock without him sliding in gently. tears prick at your eyes and he cages you with arms on both sides of your head, fucking you roughly into his bed. "this'll teach you to disrespect me, you ungrateful fucking bitch," he growls, leaning forward so that your faces are centimeters apart. his hips smack into yours causing the bed to rustle, and you to grasp onto him. you uses the hands enclosed around you to pin both of your hands to the mattress as he slams into you. he suddenly pulls out indecisively to flip you onto your stomach, landing a rough slap on your ass. when you try to lean up to look back at him, he buries a hand in your hair and smooshes your face into the bedding. you're really in for it now.

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf smut #william afton #steve raglan #william afton x reader #william afton smut

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wonryllis · 2 months

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I CAN BE WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO BE ⭑ LHS.

⭑ ᵎᵎ preview. where heeseung finds himself once again locked in your cages when you drunk call him to pick you up at night. where heeseung has no intentions of escaping the said cages, forever remaining under the spell of your love. LIBY?

wordcount `834 ﹙𝒘? + 𝒄𝓪𝐬𝐭﹚toxic situationship with a down down down bad lee heeseung x kinda naive philophobic fem!reader, age gap, suggestive: mild.

she's crazy but i love her.

heeseung's steps are slow and calculated, eyes glued on your figure trying to make your way to his car. stumbling and wobbly in heels you (kind of) seem accustomed to, feet clicking against the pavement in a hasty stride. he's worried. you were out with friends past midnight on a weekday, called him all drunk to pick you up from the bar and now you are barely able to walk straight, ankle on the verge of twisting at any given moment but you wouldn't let him hold you. he's worried sick.

"angel please just hold onto me hm?" he pleads rushing over when you visibly slip on an uneven part, hands almost gripping around your waist as you manage to keep your balance, staggering back into his arms in a couple of steps.

"you! who are you!" your hands push against his chest as you turn around startled. there it goes, again! heeseung sighs knowing what's to come. it's the third time in the last fifteen minutes, going over this exact conversation word to word.

"it's heeseung, your cousin's friend and your friend," he makes sure to emphasize on 'your friend' trying to stop this before it gets further into the loop.

"where's my cousin?" you ask, looking around the rather empty parking lot.

"he working," heeseung's explanation is dry because he knows you'll cut him off before he can say anything more,"and why are you here?" just like that. he remembers the first time this happened, when you were actually sober and met him at your cousin brother: jay's workplace. you showed up out of nowhere, without any notice and jay was going bonkers at how he'll get you back home when he has the most important client waiting for him in the next room. heeseung hadn't thought much when he offered to drop you off, a favor for a friend that was all it was to him.

"because you called me, angel," but god was he wrong, for he swears the moment he laid his eyes on you he was a goner. you were too darn pretty to be just a favor. you were younger, a party girl always running out to frat and sorority gatherings, bars and clubs. often calling jay to pick you up to avoid letting your parents know of your shenanigans.

"why did i call you and not my cousin?" everytime he had wished it was him and not jay, even though ultimately he was the one who went. carrying your cute drunk ass to your mansion and getting you to your room as discreetly as possible. you are a rich girl, two worlds apart and heeseung has felt it in many ways than not.

"because i'm your cousin's friend and you know me well," heeseung never thought he'd ever be more than just your cousin's friend to you. at least he hopes he is more. you have done things with him that you'd definitely not do with just your cousin's friend. a space curtaining acquaintance and lover, he hangs dangerously cold and heedless.

"so where's my cousin?" between days left ghosted and nights you throw your arms around him he stands unsure of his place in your life. at times he feels you know he's the one who could treat you better than any of the guys you cry for. yet there are moments when there's this sturdy wall you build, holding him away for the sake of not losing him like others. afraid of love is what you refuse you are but heeseung knows your conceptions of it are a little too twisted, broken he dare say. and his love for you is so far and conflicted to the things you have experienced, he understands the lengths and the time it will take for you to recognize and accept him.

"you know what, i'm getting you in the car myself," in an instance his hands grip at the back of knees and the curve of your waist, hauling you up in his arms. he walks quick to his car parked at the far end, smiling through the constant pouty mumbles of yours. eyeing you every two seconds, not being able to resist that pretty face of yours.

it is absolutely not in him to ever resist that pretty face of yours, your pretty eyes and your pretty lips as they graze against his own in gentle brushes. arms looped around his neck and thighs resting on the soft matress of your bed, albeit on each side of his own, yet again. sitting on his lap, so close, bodies pressed. "heeseungie, please stay," your voice a sultry whisper of a whine, a naive vixen, if that's even a thing.

lee heeseung knows he will never have the power to refuse you, he will be whatever you want him to be for how ever long you will want him to be.

you make him crazy and he loves you for that.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @enhaswirlds @enhasnuggles

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141goblin · 1 month

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Hi people. I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a fanfic and I thought i’d put a feeler out there to see if people are interested in reading my silly little brain worms and thoughts. Word of warning, it’s little rusty and definitely still a work in progress. I don’t yet have a title or anything like that, but i wanna share (ok ok leave me alone)

Part one: Soft.

Reader described as plus-sized. Fem reader. Implied past abusive relationship.

John Price X Reader.

“Amelia, I said no!” I huff into the phone, getting increasingly frustrated at my best friend’s insistence. She had been going on and on about some big military party that her boyfriend was going to, and of course, because we’re basically attached at the hip, she ‘needs me there’.

“Oh, come onnnn! It’ll be fun! And who knows, we might finally find you a man for you to spend time with instead of you sitting in your apartment and watching reruns of gilmore girls twenty-four-seven.”

I huff and roll my eyes, grateful that she isn’t able to see me. Honestly, the thought of having to drag myself off of my couch and go through the motions of getting ready and attempting to doll myself up makes me feel physically ill. Truth be told, I haven’t left my apartment for weeks. Not since i had that god-awful night with my arsehole of an ex boyfriend.

My mind drifts back to that night, the time I spent getting ready and psyching myself up, all for me to get there and be completely disregarded and used. Like a piece of meat. He’d been blowing up my phone with messages ever since, insisting he was sorry, and that it won’t happen again, and he just got carried away. I hadn’t had the mental capacity to message him back.. My best friends voice pulls me back to reality.

“You’re coming. I’ll be at your flat in twenty minutes with pre drinks. Shower and shave.”

Before I get any chance to worm my way out of this ridiculous ordeal, she kisses me good-bye through the phone and hangs up. I throw my phone to the opposite end of the couch and groan into a pillow. Just when I was settled, watching gilmore girls for the umpteenth time, with a glass of wine and a bowl of crisps… Shit, maybe I do need to get out…

I down the rest of my glass of wine and wince at the taste. I make a mental note to stop being cheap and buying shit wine just because it’s cheaper. After all, it’s not like I can’t afford to buy nicer tasting wine. But truthfully, I don’t go to tescos at 8pm in my pyjamas and buy nice wine to be all sophisticated. I do it to buy cheap wine and get drunk while i watch gilmore girls and cry, wishing i had the same relationship with my mother that Lorelai and Rory have. It’s pitiful, and pathetic.

I huff and drag myself off of my couch and make my way into my bathroom to shower. Once undressed, i notice just how hairy my legs have gotten. But, is it really worth the effort, the sweating and red face just to have smooth legs? I brush off the thought and step into the hot shower. I do my usual: wash and condition my hair, wash my face and body, and then actually decide to shave my goddamn legs. It takes me the better part of fifteen minutes, but beauty is pain, as they say.

Just as i’m stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that’s all too small to cover my stomach and wide thighs, my best friend makes herself known, clearly having used her spare key to let herself into my flat. Her face is all scrunched up in disgust at the state of the place and she’s begun to pick up my clothes that are strewn about the place, throwing them into the washing machine. I roll my eyes and make my way into my bedroom, and she follows. She has that shit-eating grin on her face that I know all too well. No doubt she’s going to make me squeeze into some tiny outfit in the hopes i’ll impress some random man and hopefully let him fuck my brains out. She’s highly mistaken.

Instead of a skimpy outfit, we compromise. I end up wearing a mid-length silk dress that has a risky slit up the leg, but not too high that it shows off my cellulite, one of my biggest insecurities. She does up my hair into a messy bun with a few curls framing my face and insists on me wearing her favourite red lipstick, telling me i’ll look ‘fuckable’, her words, not mine. After strapping some heels onto my feet I take one last look in the mirror, face slightly flushed from the two or three glasses of wine Amelia practically poured down my throat to loosen me up. I should feel beautiful, but I don’t. I can’t help but feel like a pig, wrapped in silk and smothered in ridiculous lipstick. Ready to be taken off to market and ridiculed by men that think it’s shameful to like a fat girl. My ex-boyfriend’s attitude and words from the duration of our relationship echoing around my head.

“They don’t see you like I do, babe. They don’t see your personality.”

“You’re wearing that?”

“Oh come on, babe. I was only looking at her. She’s a model, what do you expect?”

After a too long uber ride full of pep-talks by Amelia and discreetly drinking from the remnants of a bottle of wine, we’re standing outside of what can only be described as a fucking mansion. The type that has stairs leading up to its entrance that’s held up by beautifully structured pillars, the type of place i write about in my short stories. There are too many windows to count, most of them lit up by subtle golden glow, the soft buzz of music that’s able to be heart from outside, something soft and jazzy, like the type of music you’d hear in an old jazz bar in New York.

I’m too busy marvelling at the ‘fucking mansion’ in front of me when I hear the recognisable voice of Amelia’s boyfriend, Johnny. Johnny is the type of guy that can make any girl weak in the knees with his charming smile and sparkling blue eyes. He’s sweet and cheeky, but not my type.

“There you two are! Was beginning ‘ter think ‘yaes got lost.”

I give Johnny a polite smile and continue looking up at the grandeur of the building in-front of me while he gives Amelia a kiss and whispers something flirty in her ear. Johnny and Amelia are solid, and he’s good for her. Plus, he knows we come as a package deal, so he makes sure to make me feel included when I end up tagging along on their days out or evening drinks.

“Looking good, bonnie.” Johnny says to me, with a cheeky wink. Amelia laughs, her signature sweet giggle, and it’s clear why she turns heads everywhere we go.

I force a smile and hold back a self-deprecating remark.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

Amelia takes Johnny by the arm and leads her inside, making me follow like an awkward third wheel. I try my best not to feel like an idiot as i’m led into the main ballroom, where i assume the party is being held. Johnny leads us to the bar and buys the three of us a round of drinks. I try to insist that I can buy my own, but both he and Amelia dismiss it and i’m left with a blueberry Martini sitting in front of me at the bar.

After a few minutes of awkward small talk between the three of us, mixed in with too much PDA between Johnny and Amelia for my liking, Johnny leads Amelia off to meet some of his friends, leaving me alone at the bar. I hoist myself onto a barstool, arse spilling over the edge. Fuck sake, I think. People need to start inventing barstools that are fat-girl friendly. I ignore the buzz of chatter in the ballroom and down the rest of my blueberry martini, flagging down the bartender for another one.

I begin sipping on the fresh Martini and start looking back around the room. I can’t help but think this would be a perfect scene to write in one of my stories. A room packed full of rich people dressed in fancy suits and expensive dresses, where everyone pretends to be on their best behaviour.

After a few minutes of being alone at the bar, I make peace with the fact that I will likely be alone for most of the night while Amelia mingles with Johnny and his friends. It doesn’t bother me, per say, but something deep within my belly wishes that one, just once, I could be the one to turn heads, to capture the attention of a group of people with nothing but my appearance and laugh, to have people willing to talk to me and learn about me, without feeling like it’s out of pity.

I shrug to myself and take a few more sips of my martini and let my attention wander over to my best friend and her boyfriend, and his group of (presumably) military friends. Johnny must’ve noticed me sitting alone at the bar and felt pity for me because I see him making his way over, sporting his disarming smile. I smile back.

“What’s the matter, Lass? Not enjoying ‘yerself?”

He leans on the bar casually, and it’s clear he’s making an effort to make me feel included.

“I’m enjoying myself just fine, Johnny. You can go back to your mates and Amelia, don’t worry about me.”

He cocks a brow and flashes that cheeky grin.

“Not gonna join us?”

I shake my head and take another sip of my martini, waving a dismissive hand. I attempt to play it off with a joke.

“Doubt i’d fit in with your military mates.”

He scoffs and looks jokingly offended.

“Aye, come on, Bonnie. We don’t bite. I know Si looks like a scary fucker, but we’re a nice bunch. I swear.”

I laugh and take another sip. Johnny is a good guy, there’s no denying that, even if it does feel like he’s taking pity on his girlfriends fat, single friend that looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

Judging from the way he talks about ‘Si’, I make an assumption that he’s the one with the dirty-blonde hair, the one who’s built like a brick shit-house and looks like he could snap anyone in half with one hand.

Johnny points to one of the other lads, a typical pretty boy with striking brown eyes.

“That’s Gaz. He’s a good’un. Likes to flirt too much, but e’s harmless.”

I follow Johnny’s finger as he points to the third man. A man who’s wide, and fucking muscly, but looks like he has a soft layer of fat underneath that expensive suit of his.

“And that, that’s the Cap’n. The best of us all. Keeps us in check when we cause trouble. He won’t admit it, but he’s a softie at heart.”

My eyes stay on the wide man a little longer than the others. I see a smile under his well-groomed mutton chops and moustache that’s peppered with little greys here and there. His shoulders look like they’re about to burst out of his shirt at any given moment, and his hips are exactly the same. That’s all contrasted by his blue eyes, like a deep pool that women no doubt get lost in. The man’s a fucking contradiction. Too wide, Too soft.

Johnny’s voice snaps me back into the room, averting my eyes away from the man I know as ‘Captain’.

“Come on, Bonnie. Come say hello, mingle a little. We don’t bite.”

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #john price #john price x reader #self indulgent #modern warfare #fem reader #plus sized reader

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kaydenverse · 1 year

Text

paperwork

ghost x reader x soap

18+ MINORS DNI

genre: smut with a little bit of fluff

word count: little over 3k

a/n: this is my first smut in at least a year or so but i thought of this out of nowhere and cause there’s so few polyam ghostsoap fics i’m now obligated to write it. this is also my first time posting like a longer writing on here so apologies if it looks weird? also i did get a bit lazy with the end ngl, my bad. lower case is intended.

this is a gender neutral fic, they/them pronouns are used and there’s no specification of genitalia!

the readers call sign is “halo” and they’re a very skilled sniper on the task force.

content warnings: there’s plot to this? i think?, just filth for majority of this tbh, there’s a bits of tooth rotting fluff throughout tho, lots of pet names, degradation like a lot tbh but there’s praise sprinkled in, established polyam relationship, i believe in switch ghost and switch soap supremacy, edging, overstimulation, spit, begging, mask kink if you squint, all three of you are whipped BAD, uhh i think that’s all enjoy!

you would like to say you don’t know how you got here but then you’d be lying.

you know damn well that it’s both yours and johnny’s brattiness that’s got you here and you’re glad as hell it did if you’re being truthful.

first, there’s johnny.

he’s laid propped up with his back against the headboard of the bed in nothing but his blue boxer briefs and his hands gripping the sheets as he tries his absolute best not to touch you.

then there’s you who’s on your knees in between johnny’s legs that are bent in front of him and spread to make room for you. your cheek is squish against the scottish man’s lower abdomen due to simon having both your wrists pinned to your lower back and your ass propped up.

now, simon, he’s behind you staring dead into johnny’s eyes as he rolls his hips ever so slowly into yours. the teasing pace draws a pathetic whine out of you and johnny’s face flushes at the sound.

as much as johnny wants to touch you, he keeps his hands to himself and stares right back at simon through that skull mask of his as if you weren’t even there drooling like a cock-drunk idiot all over his stomach.

“i’m impressed, mctavish,” simon’s voice sounds strained as if he’s fighting off a moan. “thought you’d touch them by now.”

and johnny does want to touch you. in fact, he wants to touch you so badly he could cry. but, he’s trying to prove to simon that he can listen, that he can be good.

johnny doesn’t attempt to hide his desperation though because he knows both you and simon would see right through him. you both know him too well for him to try that.

“you gave me orders, l.t., i'm just followin’ them.” the words sound breathless leaving johnny and he can’t bring himself to care much. simon’s mask is pushed up to the bridge of his nose so johnny has a clear view of the smirk that stretches across his face.

“what a good boy, hm?” simon leans down and kisses up your spine. the kiss he gives the scar on your right shoulder you’d gotten on a mission a while back is noticeably a tad longer than the other kisses. “he’s being such a good boy, isn’t he, sweetheart?” you yelp a little when he bites down on your shoulder. a part of you wishes he’d bite hard enough to draw just a little blood.

that’d really drive you wild.

you whine, wiggling your ass desperately in an attempt you try to get him to start fucking into you again. “please, please simon, i’m so close-“

“i asked you-“ simon slid out of you completely, leaving you empty and coming down from your high yet again. “a fuckin’ question, didn’t i, doll?” now you’re the one who wants to cry.

“yes, good! he’s being so good!” you whine in frustration, looking up at johnny with the most desperate look he’s ever seen you give him. he wants to feel bad, he really does, but watching you nearly burst into tears after simon has been edging you for a full half hour has him far too excited.

“he’s being better than you at following orders right now, ” he shrugs as he lightly skates his fingers up your spine. “a first.” the taunt in his voice makes you clench around nothing.

if you weren’t so scatterbrained right now you would’ve bantered right back at him but, alas, there’s nothing going on in that pretty little head of yours except desperation and the need to cum.

johnny just now realizes how hard he’s breathing as well as the fact that if simon keeps this up he’ll come without being properly touched. it’s not helping that you’re squirming, almost frantically, right over johnny’s crotch. ghost lets out a laugh at the pleading look soap tosses him.

“now maybe if you two weren’t such brats i wouldn’t have to teach you lessons like this.”

the three of you had gathered in ghost’s office on your lunch breaks just to be around each other for a bit since each of you were busy doing your own paperwork that needed to be done. you and soap sat in the cushioned chairs facing his desk and you all munched away on your sandwiches.

soap did most of the talking and you commented here while ghost just listened. soap can never stick to one topic for long before he’s onto something else but you don’t mind, neither does ghost. you find it cute in all honesty. you’re both his favorite listeners.

you would’ve lost track of time while intensely listening to soap ramble on if ghost hadn’t glanced at the tiny clock in the corner of his computer screen.

“apologies on interrupting your rant of your least favorite lunch meats,” no one else but you and soap could’ve caught the playfulness hidden beneath ghost’s deadpan sounding words. “but it is time for you two to return to your jobs and not bother me anymore.”

soap groans and you slouch in your chair, also making a mental note of johnny’s passionate dislike for processed ham. “paperwork is boring though, ghost.” you give a poor attempt of pouting at him. “and you love when we bother you.” a true statement.

“boring or not you still have to do it, halo.” ghost leans back in his chair and hums, tugging his mask back down over the lower half of his face. he rests his arm back on the armrest, mirroring his other arm, and his legs are slightly spread.

what a sight.

you don’t even have to look over at soap to know his thinking the exact same thing. for a split second, both of you also think how you’ve scored one of the hottest men alive.

like, seriously.

wow.

“and same applies to you too, soap.” ghost says before the scot could say anything. the small tilt of ghost’s head simply makes him all the more attractive.

soap groans again but still stands up and stretches a little. “i guess we should get going and do our work.” he laughs softly and you stand up as well. “it would be nicer to be doing you though.” he winks at the lieutenant.

the joke is so corny you can’t help but laugh a little. but still, he’s speaking both of your truths.

“get going and i’ll consider letting you do so later.” ghost is quick to reply but he keeps his expression unreadable. he watches both sets of his partners eyes light up and shakes his head. “always need to be rewarded, can’t go a day without it.” he tuts loudly so you both hear his teasing and his shake is head.

“i will have it finished and on your desk within an hour, sir.” soap grins, leaning across the desk to press a kiss over ghost’s mask where his mouth would be. you follow suit and ghost’s heart nearly bursts at the gesture. he won’t ever tell either of you that

but he doesn’t need to, you both know already. you know him.

“i’ll have mine in 45.” you challenge and grin. soap rolls his eyes as he turns towards you, cupping your face in one hand.

“oh, you’re on.” soap smirks at you before kissing you gently. you don’t let him pull back, though. when he does try to pull back you chase after his lips and kiss him again. this only happens twice before the soft whine you let out helps soap catch onto your silly little plan.

he keeps his lips on yours and cups your other cheek while your hands go to his hips, thumbs digging into them just the way he likes. you let him nudge you backwards so you’re sat on the edge of ghost’s desk with your back to the masked man.

you both just go at it, for lack of better words.

ghost just watches. he makes no sounds and keeps his reaction hidden exceptionally well. the only time he moves is to catch the pencil holder you nearly knock over when shoving a hand onto the desk to keep soap from knocking you over with the force of his kisses.

ghost straights the pencil holder, slotting a pen that fell out of the container back in before he finally speaks. “paperwork. get on it. now.”

you two fly apart like you’ve been caught, like ghost hadn’t just be sitting directly behind his very misbehaved partners kissing intensely for a full three minutes.

“yes, sir.”

“i’m on it, l.t.”

“what? now you wanna give me puppy eyes and beg? now you feel sorry for what you started?” the stare simon gives johnny almost makes the scot nearly moan, “or maybe i should place the blame on you?” he leans back down and rests his chin on your shoulder, “i mean,” his voice drops an octave or two as he plants a kiss behind your ear. “you are the one who started up that little stunt. johnny was just being a good boy and following along.”

now, both you and johnny know the ‘no one is allowed to cum until i say’ rule is in place at the moment but my god, was simon making it incredibly difficult just from his words alone. degradation with just the lightest sprinkle of praise gets you and soap ecstatic and simon takes full advantage of that constantly.

“ooh you’re so worked up, si. glad my plan worked.” you’ve finally pieced enough of your brain back together to smart mouth again.

johnny almost shakes his head at you, almost tells you ‘now we’re really in for it.’ but simon is quick to manhandle you onto your back and latch a hand around your throat. johnny whines from the pressure of your back against his clothed, leaking cock and you whine from the pressure simon puts on your throat. a shameless moan rips from you when simon gives a little squeeze.

simon leans in close to your face, giving you a stare that could kill. “were you just that desperate for me to fuck you that you have to go around plotting stupid little fuckin’ schemes for it to happen, hm? need me to fuck you as a reward for everything? must want me to if you had to come up with a plan to make sure it’d happen.”

and just like that, you’re gone again. every single thought being replaced by one’s of simon and johnny, nothing more.

your whole body jerks when simon’s free hand reaches back down between your legs and he uses his middle and ring finger to slowly trace over your hole, both to tease you and as a subtle way of checking that you’ve still got enough wetness to take him again. of course you’d still have enough though, he’s got you so worked up you’re shaking and johnny has tears of desperation starting to prick at his eyes.

“open.” the hand around your throat moves up and his thumb taps your lips gently. you obliged and simon leans down and spits directly into your mouth. you swallow with no hesitation.

johnny’s hips immediately buck up against your back at the sight, “fucks sake.” he breathes out and drops his head back to look at the ceiling.

“eyes on me, sargent.” simon almost growls. johnny hesitates for a second before looking back down at the two of you. it takes everything in john “soap” mctavish's body to not cum on the spot.

ghost has let you sit up a little and leave various hickies and bite marks along his chest. he’s let his guard down just a little and johnny already knows what he’s gonna ask. “i’m good.” he breathes.

“same.” you murmur as you bite down on that spot on simon’s neck that always makes him groan. with that, as quick as the soft moment came, it’s gone again and simon presses two fingers into you. “simon!” you’re caught off guard and whine.

“they’re so fuckin’ wet.” simon hums to johnny who smiles a little. you love it when they talk about you like you’re not even there.

“i bet,” johnny almost reaches out to pet the top of your head but immediately stops upon the warning look simon gives him. it takes simon all but two minutes before you’re whining and bucking your hips the way you do just before you cum.

this time, a tear or two does slide down your face when simon’s fingers leave you empty again. you want to beg, to plead with the lieutenant but all you do is pant and shake. “so pretty.” simon pats your right cheek twice, making sure to smear some of your wetness on your cheek. johnny chuckles when you toss simon a very annoyed glare.

“please.” you manage. the wrecked tone you say it in actually works and simon sits up, tugging you a tad closer to him, so your upper back is pressed right against johnny’s bulge. the movement makes johnny groan again but simon ignores him. why does johnny find simon ignoring him right now so hot?

“since you asked so nicely, darling,” simon hums, finally sliding himself back into you. johnny isn’t sure if he’d rather be in your position or simon’s as he watches simon pick up the pace, fucking into you fast and hard.

you’re falling apart and falling apart fast. you’re moaning, whining, whimpering, just the full show. you should be embarrassed at how quickly you approach your release (four minutes. still better than johnny’s record of about 25 seconds one time.) but it’s been ripped away from you so many times in the past 45 minutes you don’t care in the slightest. when simon shifts his angle just right and nudges into that perfect spot, you know you’re done for.

“can i,” you pant, clawing at simon’s bicep and squirming back against johnny who looks like he’s about to lose it. “please, sir.”

now you knew, you knew, what that title does to him in moments like this. it’s near impossible for him to not want to give you everything and more when you pathetically beg him like that.

“fuck, yes, go ahead let go for me.”

simon barely gets all the words out before you’re arching up into him and your orgasm hits you like a fucking bus. you’re swearing up a storm, simon and johnny’s names mixed in as well.

behind you, johnny is not-so-subtly rutting against your upper-back. simon glares up at johnny for breaking his order to stay but that look, that glare, that’s what has johnny smacking face first into his high only moments after yours. simon should’ve known that would happen.

johnny’s hands fly into your hair and he grabs which punches a high pitched whimper from your chest.

simon just knows he’s going to think about this exact moment frequently for the rest of his life.

simon stills his hips and sits up back on his haunches he watches you make a mess around his cock and johnny make a mess of his briefs behind you.

“where’s my thank you, darling?” simon hums as he slowly drags his hands up your sides. the touch is overwhelming but a good kind of overwhelming.

“th- oh god,” you breathe out when he pinches one of your nipples. “thank you.” you feel boneless under simon as he hums happily at your response. you can feel johnny panting behind you as well as the sticky wetness of his release on your upper back.

“johnny boy lost.” you giggle lightly after a minute or two of catching your breath and putting your brain back together. you tilted your head back to look up at said johnny boy behind you. he’s got a blush that’s spreading down to his shoulder making the freckles that dot them stick out even more.

johnny is staring up at the ceiling and his entire body is buzzing. “uh-huh,” is all he can think to say to which you and simon smile at. you swear your heart skips a beat when you catch a glimpse of simon’s dimples.

simon leans over you and presses a kiss onto the center of johnny’s chest. “hey, i wanna kiss him.” you grumbled and nudged at simon to get off (and out) of you. simon plants a quick kiss on your lips before completing your request. you flip over and you’re on johnny in a second, the both of you smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths.

simon just contently watches for a few moments before tapping your hip. “oi, my turn.” he doesn’t mean for that to come out so playful, wanting to keep up the tough guy act right now, but he can’t help it. you roll onto your side next to johnny. johnny waves simon over and pats his thighs. simon shuffles forward and straddles the other man’s hips.

johnny looks so small with simon seated in his lap despite them being near the same height. the scottish man has to tilt his head up to get a proper look at his boyfriend’s partially masked face.

“you’re so pretty, baby.” johnny’s accent sounds thick as he presses a kiss to simon’s throat. simon only hums, a little worried that if he spoke he’d sound whiny. “take care of me and our lovely darling so well.” he wraps his arms around the lieutenant and plants more kisses around his collarbone.

you watch that switch in simon’s mind flip and he’s suddenly all mush in johnny’s hold, a soft whine slipping from his lips when johnny bites over one of the hickies you had left on him.

only you and johnny know how to flip that switch.

simon is only ever this vulnerable and relaxed around you two. his two. soap and halo, johnny and you. you’re the only two who can just make him melt on command. just piece the right words together in that gentle tone of either of yours and he’s done for, down for the count. he’s just ready to do anything either of you ask. that makes you smile as you watch them.

simon leans down and kisses johnny before any further praises are said. johnny immediately rocks his hips into simon’s and they moan into each others mouths. they start off a little slow but it doesn’t take long before they’re both desperate and rutting against each other like their lives depend on it.

you’re perfectly content just watching them fall apart against each other, soft groans and hushed praises filling the room.

you love it.

you love them.

crazy that your distressing, life-risking job has led you to the most perfect people you could’ve ever imagined.

you’re pulled back out of your thoughts when simon lets out the prettiest whine as he cums onto johnny’s stomach and his own. johnny had gotten riled up again and was shaking through his second orgasm.

you roll over to the bedside dresser and fetch a washcloth out of the drawer. johnny takes it and gently wiped off the both of them and tries to wipe you off but with a 6’4” soldier dramatically slumped against him in his lap it’s not the easiest.

“such a baby.” you snort at simon and take the towel from him instead so you can wipe yourself down. simon, affectionally, flashes his middle finger at you before he finally rolls off of johnny and squishes himself between the two of you.

the three of you lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence and getting comfortable cuddled together. you’re the first to speak again, “you know, i don’t think i deserved to be edged that long.” you flip onto your stomach as you look over at them.

“oh you’ve handled longer, don’t complain.” simon teases and he’s right. just a month or so ago johnny had you in tears after a full hour of denial and simon just watched from a seat in the corner of the room. johnny laughs in agreement.

“and you love it so now you really can’t complain.” johnny grins when you flip him off. simon snorts and tugs his mask all the way back down.

“are you not hot right now, mate?” soap taps the cheek of ghosts mask.

“i am.”

“then why didn’t you take it off?”

“cause you’ve both got a thing for it, especially you, sweetheart.” ghost nods towards you. well…he’s got you both there.

“well, you’ve got a thing for my accent.” johnny defends himself.

“and my hands.” you hum, drumming your fingers on simon’s bare chest. simon doesn’t bother to defend himself because you’re both right.

you prop yourself up on your elbows. “hey, how come he got off so easy?” you huff. johnny had only been instructed to keep his hands to himself and stay still. he ended up breaking both those rules in the end

“cause he turned his papers in at the time he promised. one hour. you took, two hours to finish yours.”

“i got distracted!”

“distracted by what exactly?”

“…thinking about you and johnny…”

“typical.”

2K notes · View notes

haziwritesstuff · 4 months

Text

the happiest girl

But tonight, I'll be the happiest girl in the world. You'll see like it never happened.

Modern! Aemond x reader Wordcount | 1.8k Warnings | Aegon's a cheating bastard, sadness, mostly fluff.

Aegon took nothing in life serious. And your relationship with him… Was just one of those things. You loved him and you believed he loved you, to some degree at least. He just happens to love himself and his own needs more.

You were staring at the message you received on Instagram from some girl. She was claiming that she had a relationship with him. Part of you wanted to scold her but you decided against it. You always had some suspicion about it, he came home a lot later, he didn’t look at you the way he used to. Somewhere, somehow you saw it coming. But it still hurts. It feels like your heart was shattered in a million pieces and there was no one to pick them up. The apartment you shared with him did not feel the same anymore. What once was a place of happiness and comfort, is now a place of dread. Because that is what you felt right now, you dread to see him. But you had to know. Time was ticking by slowly as you were waiting for him to come home.

Finally you heard him stumble in. He wasn’t aware of anything… It was like every other day, but this one was different. You could feel a sense of foreboding, almost as if you expected it to happen, but it still hit you like a wave of bitter salt water.

As if you were drowning, struggling to keep your head above water. You saw him stumble in, drunk and unaware, yet you didn't feel rage or despair, just a deep sense of sadness and disappointment. He came towards you and sat down on the couch, still not aware that you were aware of his affair. "Hi there love," He tried to kiss you. "Don't." Your voice was cold as ice, and a chill ran through your body. He looked at you with a drunken grin and giggled. "Come on girl, it's just a little bit of fun. Lighten up!" "Aegon I know about her." Aegon's face went blank. He sat up straight and looked at you with a cold and emotionless gaze. "Her? What are you talking about?" "The woman you've been sleeping with. I've seen the messages. Don't give me any bullshit right now, I know the truth, and you know it too." Aegon swallowed – you were not supposed to find out. "I expected more from you. I thought you were better than this. But you're obviously just a coward who can't even keep his pants on. How could you do this to me, to our relationship? I trusted you and you broke it. You know what? I can't stand the sight of you right now. I'm going out. Don't expect me back."

It was cold outside, but the cold air felt refreshing after the suffocating atmosphere inside the apartment. You walked to the nearest bus stop, your tears streaming down your cheeks. You felt heartbroken and angry, and you didn't know where to go or who to turn to. All you wanted was to be held and consoled, to be taken care of and loved. But that seemed like an impossible dream, now more than ever. You wished you could turn back time and undo everything that had happened, but you knew that wasn't possible.

You suddenly felt your phone buzzing. Aegon sent you a text message, "Please come home. I want to talk. We can fix this." You read the text message and hesitated. On the one hand, you wanted to believe that he was really sorry and would change his ways. But on the other, you knew that deep down inside, he had been cheating on you for a very long time, so no matter what he said, nothing could really change that. And in all honesty you had nothing left to say. You sent him a text message back, "Don't contact me again. I'm not coming home. We're done." He responded with the usual, "I'm sorry, I promise I can change. Just give me another chance, I can't lose you. I will do anything for you."

"You're not the one who gets to cry." Tears started to fall again. You turned off your phone because you didn't want to hear any more of his excuses and lies. You stood at the bus stop, trying to calm yourself down, but all you could do was cry.

You wanted to have a drink to numb your pain and clear your head. You walked to a nearby bar and walked inside, taking a seat at the bar. You waited for the bartender to come over and order a glass of wine. “Put it on my tab.” A voice behind you spoke. Your eyes widened in surprise when you saw Aemond. You looked at him for a moment, surprised that he was here and that he was the one who offered to pay for your drink. "Aemond... What are you doing here?" He smiled at you, "I was just here having a drink with some friends when I saw you. I saw that you looked troubled, so I decided to come over and see if you're alright. I didn't think I'd see you here..." “Oh ehm… Aegon and I… We broke up…” Aemond's expression changed, becoming more empathetic. "I see... I'm so sorry to hear that. It must've been really hard for you. Do you need someone to talk to?" He didn't seem surprised, not at all. Aemond took a step closer to you and put his right arm around your back. You could feel the warmth of his body and it felt calming. He asked, "Can I tell you something?” You nod at him, you've always liked Aemond. He was different but in a good way.

He took a sip from his drink and looked at you. "I know we've been friends for a long time, but I can't lie to you. I've always had feelings for you. I know that's not something you probably want to hear right now, but I couldn't just keep it to myself. I understand though if you're not interested in me the same way, but if you will, let me comfort you, just this one time. You need someone right now, and I'd like to be the one you turn to."

You were speechless. Aemond continued, "I know it's unfair to confess my love for you in this situation, but I didn't want to miss this opportunity. I've always had a huge crush on you, and maybe this was the universe's way of letting us know that we needed each other. I know this may not be the right time for us to begin a relationship, but if you're open to that idea, I would be more than happy to be here for you and support you through this difficult time."

It took you a while to progress all of that information. You finally find the courage to speak up, "Aemond, it's really kind of you to say all of that. I can't say I'm not tempted to take you up on your offer, but I'm still a bit shocked by everything that happened. I'm just not sure if I'm ready for a relationship right now, but that doesn't mean I don't want to be cared for and consoled. Could... could we spend some time together, just for tonight?"

Aemond smiled warmly at you, "Absolutely. I totally understand that you're in a fragile state right now, and the most important thing is for you to heal and move on from this situation. I don't want to pressure you into anything you're not ready for. But I do want to be there for you and help you through this difficult time. Is it okay if I sit here with you for a little while? I promise I won't force any unwanted advances on you."

You suddenly realized that if you'd asked Aemond out, instead of allowing Aegon to charm you, everything would have been different. You would never have gone through the heartbreak and disappointment, and you would have had someone who truly loved and respected you all this time. The thought of what could've been started to make you feel a bit down, but Aemond's presence always had a comforting effect on you. You couldn't have asked for a better person to comfort you in this very moment.

"Tell me something funny, Aemond. I'm in desperate need of some laughter." "Hmm, something funny..." Aemond thought for a moment, and then he smiled and said, "What do you get when you cross a banana with an elephant?" "Oh god... I didn't think you'd actually try to tell me a joke!" "Well, I can't say I'm a professional comedian, but I thought it would help lighten the mood. So, what do you get when you cross a banana with an elephant?" You had such a hard time keeping yourself serious. Aemond wasn't a natural funny person but seeing him try this way... Made you feel a certain way. "Just wait for it..." Aemond looked at you with a smirk, enjoying making you laugh. "Okay, ready? Here's the punchline - you get an 'eleph-nana'!"

And for the first time in a while the tears coming from your eyes weren't from hurt or sadness, they were from laughter. The two of you sat at the bar for a while, laughing and joking and enjoying each other's company. After a while, Aemond gently placed his hand on your arm. "Would you mind if we left the bar and went somewhere more private?" Your eyes lit up when he private, "I'd love that."

You could feel the cool air on your face and you saw the stars in the sky, they were exceptionally bright tonight. Aemond took you by the hand and led you to a secluded spot, far from any noise or distractions. He stopped in front of you and looked into your eyes. "Can I ask you something?" "Yeah, you can ask me anything." "Can I kiss you?" You shouldn't want it but you wanted it so badly, you wanted him to make you feel again. “I… Yes.” You whispered. The moment you said that, Aemond quickly leaned forward and kissed you deeply. You could feel his lips against yours and the warmth of his body. It felt amazing, as if all the pain from before had just disappeared. His hands caressed your face and neck as you embraced one another. You were completely swept up in the moment, and there was nothing else besides the two of you. You could feel the rush of hormones and emotions, your heart was beating fast and your breathing was shallow. The feeling was almost overwhelming, but you wanted more. Aemond pulled you closer and his lips pressed against yours with more passion. Your hands ran through his hair and you held him tightly, as if you didn't want the kiss to ever end. Aemond broke the kiss, "Would you like to come to my apartment?" Your heart raced as you looked into his eyes and nodded your head, unable to speak.

But tonight, I’ll be the happiest girl in the world. You’ll see like it never happened.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fluff #aemond one eye #modern aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x oc #modern aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond x you

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findafight · 1 year

Note

On the one-sided harringrove post- I feel it becomes infinitely funnier with bi steve. He likes men, just not Billy. Never Billy.

Oh yeah. When Billy fiiiirst comes to school with his music blaring Steve is head over heels for Nancy, so he might register that the guy with the Camaro and loud music has a good ass, but then billy opens his mouth and Steve is like "oh, no ass can make up for that personality." And continues with his life.

Just. Okay I like to project just a liiiiittle on Steve with him just. Not realizing his attraction to men isn't a straight thing. Like. Of course all straight people feel that way, you just kinda ignore it or don't do anything about it. So Steve is half way between being comfortable in his sexuality and being closeted to himself because buddy used Hawkeye Pierce as the blueprint of straightness.

So Billy is out here, wallowing in self hatred and internalized homophobia, hating Steve and wanting Steve and hating that he wants Steve and wishing Steve would pay attention to him enough for a hate fuck he can cry about later, and it's all very angsty. All the while Steve is just actually completely fine with thinking a dude is hot he's just got standards that include "not racist" "doesn't try to beat up kids" "hasn't made me blackout from head trauma"

Wait. Oh no. I feel an au coming on. Shit. Au where post S2 Robin hears piano coming from the band room after hours and is her curious self going "I must see who is this mysterious genius" and it's Steve. They get to talking and hanging out and all of a sudden Robin thinks they are actually good friends. Best friends. Somehow.

Cue them going to a band party together. Someone spikes their drinks with waayyyy more than they were expecting so they are blasted. Robin has to go pee but does not want to go alone so she drags Steve into the bathroom with her and makes him face away. He's like haha Woah you really had to pee. And she goes shut upppp and washes her hands but sits across from him. Steve smiles at her and gives her his speech about how amazing she is and how glad he is to be her friend (it is like March '85 so he is still not ready to get back out into dating yet). Robin tells him about Tammy. They sing. Someone slams the door open and kicks them out of the bathroom because there's a fuckin line.

They lay on the grass outside and look at the sky. Steve like. Caaaaasually mentions once having thought he was gonna marry Tommy when he was six and then realizing you just didn't do anything about those feelings and Robin's gotta shoot up going WHAT!! WHAAAT? Because it sounded like Steve coming out to her? Right after?? She came out to him??

And Steve is like yeah. Like you don't really have to? Easier to ignore it and flirt with girls who I like or think are hot. And poor Robin's brain is melting she's like please Steve I'm really drunk are you telling me you sometimes want to kiss boys? And he's like yes, obviously, everyone does. Just like everyone also wants to sometimes kiss girls. Except lesbians I guess who only want to kiss girls? And gay guys only want to kiss guy? Yeah that makes sense and straight people don't care but go for the opposite ya know?

Robin is like NO!! And calms down some and says "okay I'm telling you this because you are my friend and you just told me almost the same thing. Steve. I like girls and only like girls. That not a straight thing"

"yeah. You've said."

"but I am ninety nine percent positive that just because you like girls doesn't mean you're straight because you also like boys."

"what"

"yeah dude, I do not think this is a heterosexual experience you're describing. I'm not an expert but. Yeah.

"oh. Huh."

"yep."

"I definitely thought it was."

"your brain is so weird I'm still kind of obsessed with you."

"haha. Honestly I'm kind of obsessed with you. This is wild."

"well. At least I know you're stuck with me."

"ohhh nooooo whatever will I do with my best friend always around..."

ANYWAYS THE ACTUAL POINT OF THIS is not in fact the stobin. It's actually that

Sometime probably in may, when Steve is ready to be on the dating scene again, he gets with Eddie. Robin is happy for him but also so mad because he went from "probably shouldn't act gay even tho everyone feels a little gay sometimes" to "hey Robin what would you say if I said I got a boyfriend?" In less than two months. How does he have straight AND gay game. That's not fair.

Steddie getting together is a non event. Eddie is still like ewww sports and yet somehow he made out with Steve Harrington and the next day Steve asked if he wanted to get milkshakes and throw rocks into the quarry to see the splashes. Eddie must restrain himself from thinking it's a date because he knows it's not but it'd also be the perfect date (Eddie is a simple man)

At the end of the night steve kissed his cheek and says "I had a really great time..."

Eddie just blurted "hey do you want to be my boyfriend?"

To which Steve perks up like "yes! I'd like that!"

And Eddie didn't actually think he'd get that far so he was like "neat!! See you tomorrow!" before slamming the door in Steve's face.

So they're dating and Eddie disparages sports but Steve is like haha aw you don't like watching me play? Which is sooo mean to Eddie because obviously?? He likes?? Watching his boyfriend??? Run around in tiny shorts and sometimes shirtless?? He has to reevaluate some things he supposes.

All while this is happening Billy is still on his Greatest Homoerotic Rivals shtick with Steve. Eddie notices and is like to dude...what is with Billy? And Steve just sighs. Says Billy is weird and obsessed with him and glares all the time. It's a whole thing. Billy is pissed because what is Steve, his epic rival, doing hanging around some random band geek, his sister's bitchass friends, and maybe the local dealer.

Alright. Grad happens. Yay Steve! Poor Eddie. They go to some party , hang out with people, sell some drugs, etc. Billy is unfortunately also at this party, and is like. Lazer eyes boring into Steve's back. Very annoying. At some point, he sees Steve slip away and is like this is my chance so he follows him.

Howmever he comes across Steve, his epic and totally heterosexual rival, making out with Eddie the freak Munson.

And listen this is a scary thing to be caught inna town like Hawkins, but that's not the point of this post.

So Billy goes "what the hell?"

They turn around. Billy is still spluttering.

"what are you-why would you-- with him?!" He says.

Steve raises his eyebrows, alllll cocky confidence. He smirks a bit. Drawls. "Well, yeah. I like cock, billy. Just not yours."

Because the point of this post is that Steve is a bitch.

Thank you.

#steve Harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #steddie #anti harringrove #lol anon you got me rambling.#stranger things #robin buckley #findaanswers #finda writes stuff #anonasaurus #anti billy hargrove #tagging for both i guess hoo boy #didnt think itd turn up in the billy tag because thats the eighth tag so i guess my bad!#it was for organization and tag blocks #billy Hargrove

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wicchyy · 5 months

Text

0.1 — drunkfession ; james potter

sum: alcohol has both you and James thinking about what could’ve been

warnings: drunk teens

notes: wrote this months ago but its literal shit needed to clear my notes tho!

James stumbled in his steps as he climbed up the corridor stairs. His head was heavy, his eyes bleary, but even in his drunken state he was still able to make out the person stood before him.

Judging by your puffy lips and reddened cheeks, he was able to either guess you were drunk or had been crying. Your hair fell in its silky locks, tangled by the ends. James just wished he could comb through them, make them look perfectly straight just how he liked it. His heart ached a bit when your eyesight avoided him immediately.

He knew he’d hurt you, he knew how you and him didn’t talk much more these days, didn’t joke around even when you’d been promised a friendship still. But none of those compared to you avoiding eye contact with him.

The breakup didn’t go well. He had convinced you that both of you weren’t good for each other. And maybe you weren’t. Things were messy for you, and he was in a complicated situation as well. You’d gone through a list of hookups after. But James, James had gotten into a semi serious relationship with Lily Evans. At first he tried to hide it, then things got more complicated and James couldn’t keep things away any longer. The news came a few months after your breakup, but the fact hurt, and maybe mixed with a bit of alcohol in your senses— you had broke down to the pictures of them together.

James didn’t knew what was going on in his head then, maybe he enjoyed Lily’s company, maybe he did like her. But if he did, then why was he so completely over her in just a week, or why— even worse, was his heart panging in his chest and his heartbeat ringing through his ears when he sees you like this.

And why, when the air gets colder and the leaves turn browner does he have you feeling like his girl again?

“Hi.” He starts simply.

You wave your hand, “You can cross, Potter.”

He wants to speak, but the words don’t come out right, “I— I don’t—“

“You know, you can speak to me properly. Know you’re drunk ‘n all, but it’s really not that hard, Potter.”

“What d’you mean?” He asks harshly.

You lean away from the wall, “I mean, you’ve been avoiding me all the time. ‘S not like I’ve done anything wrong, have I?”

“Oh, c’mon Y/n. I—“

“Why’re you even here?” You slurred, “Shouldn’t you be busy with Lily?”

He rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by the question. “I have an actual life other than her, thank you very much. And besides— ‘s not like we were anything.”

You knew. Of course you knew. You were friends with Sirius and Marlene, Merlin, one of those were bound to say something. “Really?” You asked, not to sound too interested or anything.

He hmm-ed, answering simply.

“Then why’d you break up with me?”

One. Two. The seconds passed by just as direct as your words. Unsurprisingly aiming for his heart.

“You know I cant answer that, Y/n.”

You scoffed, “Why not? Haven’t had actual closure all this time. Might as well, right? We’re both drunk, probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.”

Truthfully, even if you were drunk off your arse, you knew you wouldn’t forget about anything about this night. Even starting from this moment, it had all been captured and stored in your memory. Just like all the other ones with James in it, it was tucked in the safe space of the small slot in your heart.

“Yes. No— lie. I remember everything with you in it.” Just like your minds were the same, he admitted just a bit more bravely than you.

“I just want to understand, Jamie.”

There it was. Jamie. He knew the nickname was coming, and yet he still expected a small heart attack to occur when you pronounced the name so gently, just like you used to.

“I know you do.” He sighed, running a hand through his mess of curls. “But I don’t know either. My head was a mess, just like you were. And I guess— I guess I never apologized to you and never helped you through it. But you should know, Y/n, I really am sorry for all of it.”

Your eyes shot up to the ceiling, avoiding the mess of tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “I didn’t ask for your apology. I asked why.”

More tugging on his hair, “I don’t— don’t know, Y/n. I guess, things were really messy and I did the first thing that came to mind instead of thinking it through.”

“You should’ve spoke to me. Asked me for help. Or something. I was there for you, Jamie. You had me, just like I thought I had you.”

The words cut. He knew, and you knew too.

“You were there for me?”

You rolled your eyes again at him, a small laugh escaping and your voice going down. “You know you’ll always have me, right Jamie? No need to be so choosy with my words.”

His beautiful hazel eyes light up, “I know.”

“You avoided me. You acted like I didn’t exist.” You frowned. Even with his poor eyesight, James could see your eyes turn glassy.

“Honey—“ James stopped himself, “Sorry, Y/n. I— I didn’t know you felt that way. You said you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“What?” You suppressed the want to smack his head, “When did I ever say that, you idiot?”

“I dunno! I just got the vibe!”

“You’re so stupid, Potter! This is why I hate you!”

“You don’t hate me.”

“Yes, I do.”

James scoffs, “You could never hate me.”

“Right, because you’ve treated me so perfectly.” You mumbled.

The staircase didn’t have much air as the window was far on the top end. You felt yourself getting hotter, particularly the heat reaching up to your cheeks when James clicked his tongue and pursed his lips.

“Let me treat you perfectly then.” He offered, you weren’t sure if he meant it or if it were just one of his mindless, drunk flirting. Probably the latter.

You scoffed, “Not a chance, Potter.”

“I mean it.” He took a step forward. His fingers twitched, itching to grab ahold of yours. He knew just then what it’d feel it, yours were cold and his was warm. He knew it was like whatever this was between you two, just something teetering on the edge, if he had a chance to grab ahold of you he knew he could warm you right up. But James hadn’t yet trusted himself if he was able to earn your heart and not break it again.

“I have experience in not believing what you mean.”

“I wanted it to be you, Y/n. So badly.” He confessed in a whisper.

“Then why not?” You only dared to ask as the tears finally drop gently across your cheeks.

Why not? Well, it was quite clear then why not. Because his robes were decorated with red and gold and meanwhile yours were lined with astute silver and green.

You. Always you. How could he ever forget … about you? Even if it’s been months since your breakup, and months since you’ve spoken so intimately with each other, everything about this felt natural.

“You know why not.”

You rolled your eyes, pretty sure your cheeks have been rained with black mascara by now. “It sucked to see you trailing after Lily for weeks. It sucked because I knew how it felt having you on mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

You scoffed, trying to lighten the mood with your insistent remarks the whole conversation. “You’ve said that before.”

“Honey.” James smirked ever so slighty. He moved his face closer to you until you could feel his breath fanning over your nose. “I’m so, so sorry.” Your cold choulder was suddenly touched by a warm presence, his fingers creeping up to twiddle with the thin strap of your dress.

“Jamie..” your voice wavered, serving as a warning to James.

“I could have you forgiving me so easily, you know that?”

You decided then, if James wanted to play this game then you could compete as well. “How about, you spend more time trying to get a sincere apology to me ready by next morning. Maybe then I’ll see if I’m ready to forgive you.”

“God, I had you tearing up a minute ago and now you’re back to this?” James panted.

Your hand pushed at his chest, “See you in the morning, Potter.”

James smiled politely, the smile you hated. Then his head dipped lower and pressed a singular light kiss on your clavicle. “Goodnight, then.” He whispered against your skin.

“Ugh. Goodnight, Potter.” You replied swiftly before quickly leaving.

💌 thanks for reading lovie! support me by reblogging <3

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ughgoaway · 1 month

Text

you're just a stranger I know everything about.

Content warnings; sadness lol, confrontation, crying, a few Taylor references because I am unbearable, swearing, shouting, and just general angst. (no happy ending either oops)

a/n; day 1 of the matty 35 celebration! and what better way to start it than with some teacher au angst?? I know my birthdays always have an air of melancholy, so I feel like this is appropriate. I fear this is rushed and SO bad, but eh, too late now!! anyway, enjoy! maybe? if you can?

word count; 3.5k ish

(this fic is an extension from the "don't you think of me?" universe, which you can read here.)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The text sits on your phone. Every time the screen starts to dim, you tap it to keep it illuminated, yet you don't reply. You can't. Every muscle in your body feels frozen except that one finger.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You watched the phone dim, but the name of the contact seemed to stay just as bright, even when the light is as low as it can be, “Matty. DO NOT TEXT.” glows on your screen. The warning was added against your will after a few too many drunk almost-phone calls.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It’s an hour later when the phone dies. You knew it was coming, watching the percentage of charge drop slowly. You got the 15% warning. Then the 5%. But still, you did the same thing until the screen finally went black.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You don't need the phone to be lit up to remember what the message said anyway. You’d read it a thousand times over already. You’d analysed it, broken it down, performed autopsies on every single word, each letter was scorched into your brain.

“Hey y/n, long time no talk.

I hope you got my letter, if you didn't read it, that's okay. You already know everything I said. You always knew me better than I did.

Anyway, I know this is a long shot, but it's my birthday party next week, and I just can't imagine celebrating without you there. All I can think about is my last birthday, me and you in Hawaii. I don't expect it to be like that, but I would love it if you came. Even if you just had one drink, we don't have to talk. You can wave at me across the room and stay far, far away. Treat me like I've got the plague for all I care, but just come, please.

Give an old man his birthday wish?

See you there, maybe. I hope so, anyway.

Matty x”

You want to do the same to the text that you did to his letter, burn it to a crisp. But that doesn't exactly seem feasible, considering your phone was £500, and probably not flammable. plus, you had blisters on your fingers for weeks after the letter, and you dont know if it's worth it again.

But you can't deny that the blisters were oddly comforting. Reminding you what you did every time something brushed your digits, that he was gone, and you had the power. The ball was in your court, and you intended it to stay there.

And it was there for months. But Matty ruined that by sending that message, he got the power back whether he intended to or not. And it was made even worse by him telling Charli, and her endless phone calls begging you to come.

You’re so good at telling her its not going to happpen, and every message that comes in gets a firm “no.” or just gets point-blank ignored. She begs, saying that she needs a friend there and that she'll even let you choose a few songs for George’s DJ playlist. But you stay strong, shaking your head and sighing, insisting you've moved on, that chapter of your life is closed, and you'd like to keep it that way.

So you can't help but wonder how you ended up dressed up on a Saturday night standing outside of Matty’s house, bottle of wine gripped in your shaking hands and the distinct noise of your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk towards the house you've done everything you can to forget.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

As soon as you walk in, you can tell the house is different from how you left it. Obviously, the strobe lights and birthday balloons were new, but even ignoring those, the whole space felt wrong. Even more unforgiving and cold, which was impressive considering every inch was covered with people, dancing and chatting. Still, a lifeless air hung around.

Your eyes darted around, finding the places that you used to occupy. The painting you bought Matty no longer hangs on the wall, replaced by yet another award. You can't help but feel bitter when you see the poster celebrating the album full of songs about you. The spot where your mug used to sit on the counter was empty, but the dark stained ring of coffee remained, forcing you to fight a small smile. maybe he hadn't completely erased you, even if he tried.

People recognise you immediately, and they don't hide their shock well. They might think that they do, smoothly recovering from their initial surprise, but they don't. You see their wide eyes and disbelieving glances, each person acting like you're a ghost haunting the house you once lived in.

You play pretend along with them, smiling as best you can and answering all their questions.

"How's work?"

"How have you been?"

"you seen any good films lately?"

but, you both know you're dancing around the one question they really want to be answered.

why the fuck were you here?

Eventually, the people stop coming, and Charli finds you, plying you with drinks and half-slurred thanks as she begs you to stay for just 5 more minutes. You agree, only because you have yet to catch a glimpse of the birthday boy, and that made everything just bearable.

You quickly regret that decision when you see him not even a minute later, standing by George in the DJ booth smoking a cigarette and laughing in that contagious way he always did. High pitched giggles and his head thrown back.

But he doesn't see you, so it's still okay. You can hang on a few seconds more. Your chest might be tightening with every moment, but you're not suffocating yet.

However, when a tall blonde girl walks over and starts making out with him, it suddenly starts to feel like the room is on fire, and you’re choking on the invisible smoke. The burn of the flames starts to feel all too real when he pulls away from her, though, and his eyes find yours as if they're magnetised together.

The realisation falls over his face immediately, dropping his hand from around her waist and trying desperately to weave through the crowd surrounding him. You don't stay to see if he breaks through the sea of people, already rushing out as fast as you can, forcing your cup into a stranger's hand and moving as fast as your legs can take you.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

“y/n, stop.” You hear Matty’s voice behind you as you storm out his front door, but you don't turn. It sounds muffled, like you're being pulled underwater, and someone is screaming at you to get up. But the waves keep on pulling you deeper, and his voice becomes more faint with every step you take.

Yet, as soon as the cold air fills your lungs and his skin finally touches yours, you're pulled out. You spin around as soon as his fingers graze your shoulder, acting like even his touch is painful as you wrench away.

It was finally here, the time you were dreading. The time when it was just you, him, and everything that remained unsaid.

His eyes held yours as the silence of the night surrounded you, and you couldn't help but study him like you always did. He looked different. Not better or worse, just different. The colourful lights in the house had been hiding his features.

He had more lines on his face, deeper ones on his forehead, but the ones around his mouth had lightened, his smile lines fading. You could still tell even when it was slicked back with heavy gel that more grey streaks danced through his curls.

His eyes were the same, though. Always so telling, so revealing. If you wanted to know exactly what Matty Healy was thinking, look in his eyes. They spoke more than he did. Which sounds absurd if you’d ever had a conversation with him, but you'd bet your life on it.

You almost start to soften at the sight of him, old memories flooding back. Flashes of warm sun and hot kisses, filthy sex followed by soft breakfasts in bed. But then he speaks. Why do men always do that? Just as you're thinking about saying something and trying defusing the situation, they open their stupid mouth.

“Where are you going?” he asks softly, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in oxygen, his lungs fighting to catch up.

“Home, Matty. I shouldn't have come. I don't even know why you invited me.” You try to spin and walk away, to finally move on. But of course, Matty’s voice drags you back under once again, and the same water fills your lungs.

“stay, please. i dont know why i invited you either, but I did. I didn't expect you to come. I just-” Matty stutters as he speaks as if his brain can't catch up with his mouth, things pour out that he doesn't mean. And he knows it. It's crystal clear as soon as his wide eyes shoot open, processing what he had really just said.

He didn't expect you to come? He put you through all this and didn't think you'd show up? What was the point then? Was it just to hurt you? Did he just want to see if he could? to see if his name popping up would have the same effect it always did, make you come running to him?

Your body moves without thinking, turning to face Matty with fires burning in your eyes, "You didn't think I would come? Then why the fuck did you even invite me, Matty?! to flaunt your new girlfriend? to try and "win" the breakup? Well congratulations, you've fucking won. I'm sure that model hanging off your arm is just perfect for you.” sarcasm drips from your every word, burning Matty like acid rain.

“No! It's not like that. I don't know. I think- I think I was just scared we’d never be in the same place again. That I would love you for the rest of my life, but I’d never see you again.” his voice softens as he speaks, and you almost want to give in, to crumble at his gentle tone and warm eyes. But he can't still love you, it seems impossible when you go back and see the destruction he left behind.

“That's what a breakup is, Matty. And did you ever think about me? About what I want? I can't help but think that maybe that would've been better. If being in the same room as you means feeling like this, I don't ever want to see you again.” You spit back angrily.

Matty's nostrils flare before he speaks, and you can see the anger building inside him. It takes a lot to get Matty to shout, but you can tell with every second you're making him inch closer. And you don't know why that makes you feel so good, but if you're honest, you don't want to know.

You want to keep going, keep pushing. You want him to act like he did that night. You needed to see it again. You needed to know he couldn't ever forget the night you're forced to remember.

“y/n, I don't- I just don't know what to say to you. What do you want from me? Do you want me to say that saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do? That it ripped my heart out of my chest? That it fucking destroyed me? It did. Of course it did, you always made me feel everything. Losing you was no different.” You heard the way Matty’s voice cracked the more he spoke, but you ignored it. If he wanted to pull the dagger out of your heart, it was his job to deal with the bleeding.

“It didn't feel that hard when you stopped coming home at night. Or when you were fucking screaming at me. Or even that night when you walked out the door, you made it look pretty fucking easy that night. Because that's how it was Matty, you left. So don't come to me bitching and whining that it destroyed you. It's your fault. All of this is your fault.” you feel your voice wavering, but you suck in another breath, refusing to let him see you weaken, to see that wall you built start to break down.

“I deserved a better goodbye, Matty. If the goodbye you gave me hurt, the one I deserved would have fucking killed you.” You poke Matty in the chest harshly, pushing him back on his unsteady feet.

Streetlights flicker above you, the severe light dancing across Matty’s features. As long as you can remember, this light was busted, flicking on and off at will. It used to annoy you, distract you at night when the light poured through the curtains of Matty's bedroom.

Tonight, however, you loved it. No one could hide what they were really feeling under the harsh yellow glow. It seemed to pull every emotion to the surface of your face, illuminating even the darkest parts you wanted to hide.

So it was easy to spot when anger reared its ugly head in Matty. This time, he doesn't push it back. He physically can't.

He needs you to know that it did kill him to say goodbye, and that you can see that. he needs to understand how you can’t you see that he's the shell of the man he once was as he stands here?

“I apologised to you. I know you got my letter. Thanks for the response, by the way, a great way for us to get closure for whatever the fuck this was.” venom drips from every word that falls from his lips, and you have to fight to hide the smirk brewing on your face.

Finally. Finally, he was angry. He was pissed off. This is what you needed. You need the big fight, the final breakdown. Just one more time, you tell yourself, just one more screaming match, and you can move on.

A scoff involuntarily is ripped from your chest, as if you can't believe the utter bullshit coming from the man across from you. “I'm sorry, you think you deserve a response? What would I say in it, “Oh Matty, I'm so sorry! You're so right. Please let me come over so we can fuck all night!!” I know I'm not your usual airhead type, but you have to think more of me than that”

Your voice is high and piercing as you speak, and you know it. It always was when you started to get riled up. However, in this moment, you didn't care. You just needed something to happen, for him to get just as annoyed as you've been for fucking months.

“You don't think I deserved anything, though? Not even an acknowledgement?” his incredulous eyes met yours, begging you to take everything back and say you're sorry too, that it wasn't just his fault, even if he knew that wasn't true.

“Why should I? You never acknowledged my feelings. I don't think you asked me how I felt in the last month of our relationship.” Wet tears start brewing at your lashline. You want to fight them falling. But you can't, your resolve weakening with every second he stands in front of you.

“you know, that night we broke up, I realised something. you hadn't said you loved me in weeks. I said it every morning. But you'd hum back, or nod, or hug me. But you never actually said it.” Matty tries to cut in, and you already know what he wants to say. But you don't let him, powering through his half started words and desperate eyes.

After a few shaky breaths, your words start pouring again, “You treated saying “I love you” just like how you treated saying sorry. Like it would kill you to even think it. You've still never properly apologised for how you treated me, never said it to my face. But when we were together, I found myself saying sorry thousands of times over for feeling anything. I felt guilty for being pissed off at you, like I was doing something wrong. But I had every right to be! You had become a man I didn't even recognise, and for some reason, I still loved you, even when I shouldn't have. But at the time, I didn't see that. All I saw was you hurting. And because all I do is care, I wanted to stay. To stay for you, for us. Our family.”

Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes. The harsh wind blowing between you whistling through the street. Your eyes can't be dragged away from Matty’s, tears falling freely between the two of you.

And suddenly, you don't want him to be angry any more, you don't want this all to happen. You wish you could go back, never come here. But time doesn't work like that, so you’re stuck with tears pouring down your face as you stare at the man you once thought was the love of your life.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Matty whispers, and you could see the desperation on his face, wet eyes tracing your every feature.

In that moment, he didn't know what he wanted your answer to be.

If you said no, it would kill him. Every ember of hope smouldering inside him would be burnt out, never to be relit.

But if you said yes, he doesn't know if he can let go. If you say you still feel anything for him, he knows he’ll be looking for you in every universe until he finds the one where you stay.

“I won't ever not love you, Matty. No matter how many times I tell myself I've moved on or that my life is better without you in it. I will always love you, and that's fucking agonising.” you sniffle as you speak, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How did you go from screaming at each other to professing your everlasting love?

Matty wants nothing more in that moment than to start begging you to come back, telling you how you can make it work, to talk about what he would do to get you back. But he knows he shouldn't, so he doesn't.

“Annie still thinks about you all the time you know,” Matty says, and your chest hurts from the whiplash of this conversation, jumping between memories of your old life so fast its almost unbearable. But you knew Matty. He needed to jump around to stay sane, so you jumped with him.

“I know, I remember you saying in the letter that she stopped asking when I was coming back. Is that true?” your voice drops again, as if you were sharing secrets at a sleepover.

“I thought it would be easier when she stopped asking, maybe then I'd not spend every waking hour thinking of you. But when the day came, it wasn't easier. It was like watching you leave right in front of me all over again. It brought me back to walking into the house for the first time after you left, looking at the empty space and trying to figure out how to fill it. Annie was filling it by asking about you, but suddenly she wasn't, and that glaring hole in my life was back." Matty's voice breaks as he speaks, but he clears his throat and tries to ignore it.

"I realised then that I'll never not think about you. Even if no one talks about you. Even if I never see you again, I'll still think of you.” Matty sucks in a shaky breath as soon as the words stop pouring out of him. His lungs seemed like they were sticking together with every word he said, and it felt like death. But he couldn't stop the rush of words, so he let the death surround him.

“Tell her I said hi” you reply meekly, not sure what to say in response to Matty’s outpour.

“I won't” matty says, forcing a half smile and chuckle that you half-heartedly return.

Once again, the blanket of silence surrounds the two of you, enveloping you in a way that feels all too familiar. So you break it, not letting yourself fall back into old patterns.

"i just dont understand how it all happened so quickly. how did you go from a stranger to the love of my life, only then to become someone I wish was a stranger all over again?" You whisper, your shaking hands coming to cup Matty's wet cheeks as you step closer. His hands wrap around your waist instantly, pulling you in and holding you so tight it almost hurts.

Silence hangs between the two of you. But its no longer painful or awkward, stilted or angry. It was a silence of acceptance, an acknowledgement that this had to be the final goodbye. There was no erasing the past, the demons that followed the two of you couldn't be ignored. So you were done, this was it.

Eventually, you pull away, and your face hovers in front of Matty’s for a few beats too long. You want to give him a final kiss, a proper goodbye. and you swear you can almost feel his lips against yours, taste the salty tears that would fall from your eyes. You don't, though. Your hands drop from his wet cheeks, and you walk away.

Every fibre inside you wants to turn around and go back to him. It feels impossible to face the future with the person you planned to spend it with standing 10 steps behind. But you do, moving forward and trying not to mourn the life you know you can never get back.

#starting off the celebration strong #by bringing the mood down #my fav activity #sorry if this is bad! angst is fun but HARD #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic #matty healy angst #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 angst #teacher au!#Matty35

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iamthecomet · 3 months

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comet ffkdjf lpleASE aether and mountain helping rain through his first heat and he's all shaky and wet plEASE can you elaborate

So I know you sent me this like more than six months ago, but I was thinking about it again and uhhhhhhh. 2.2k words based on this post about Rain's first heat topside. Wet boy Rain. Anal Fingering. Double Penetration. Heat stuff. Rain and the Big Boys. This one's got it ALL.

Rain’s pretty sure he’s dying. Between the fevered haze in his brain, and the ache in all of his muscles, and the incessant lurching of his lower belly he’s sure this is the end. Some awful sickness he caught from one of the humans that is going to end him.

The moon tells him otherwise. Tugging on him like he is the tide. An ebb and flow of desire lit deep in his body, at the base of his aching spine. It can’t actually be his heat can it? In the pit they didn’t feel like this. There was a pleasant ache, an insistence. But maybe he’s closer to the moon here, or maybe earth is just different. No water ghouls to contend with. No fight for dominance. With survival needs off the table, Rain can really feel it.

Can feel the way need thrums through his entire body. The pain of it. It's debilitating. It’s miserable. It’s wonderful. He feels like he’s been lit on fire from the inside, like he will burn if he doesn’t do something about it.

He wakes up like this, shivery and hard and hot. He wants to stay curled into a ball in his bed. Wants to wish this away. He'd be lying if he said he didn't try. He isn’t sure what to do. Go ask for help? Embarrassing. Impossible.

He rolls onto his back, uncurling aching muscles. Raising his arms over his head something in his spine popping solidly as he does. The relief of that is quickly overshadowed. As sleep bleeds out of him, everything else increases. He throbs against his boxers.

He slips a hand down to touch himself, fingers slipping under the waistband and finding himself wet. The curls at the base of his cock already damp. Shaft slick with pre. He gives himself one stroke, two, and he’s gone. Toes curling, body bowing. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip to try to keep from crying out and fails. Gasping through it as he paints the inside of his boxers and his hands and stays hard. No relief to be found.

“Fuck.”

Need tugs at him, pulls him from his bed. He’s clear enough to know he isn’t thinking clearly, but not enough to care. He throws on a shirt, changes his boxers, pulls on some sweatpants. He’s hoping for the illusion of normalcy.

It’s early, so he’s not surprised to find no relief at Cirrus or Cumulus’ doors. Dew’s is locked, and when he knocks and presses his ear to the wood all he hears is a grumble as Dew rolls over and ignores him.

He has to reek of his heat, he knows it. But the sun isn’t even up yet. He stumbles blindly down the hall, toward the next set of doors. He doesn’t get there–he runs directly into Mountain instead. Stumbling face first into his chest, grappling for a hold as he teeters off balance.

Mountain catches him, steadies him with hands on his biceps and Rain looks him at him. Dazed, hazy. Drunk already on the smell of evergreen and his own need.

“Mount, you coming?” Aether calls from somewhere behind Rain, around the corner.

Mountain looks down at Rain, the moment stretching as the scent of Rain’s heat hits and Mountain’s pupils dilate before Rain’s eyes.

Mountain doesn’t answer Aether, instead his fingers tighten on Rain’s bicep. He inhales deep.

“Oh, Rain–”

“Help me,” Rain whispers, pleads. Even the touch of Mountain’s hands on his arms is torture. Too much. Too sensitive.

“Hey, Mount–oh.”

Aether’s closer now. Rain can hear him, footsteps echoing through the hall. Feels him before he even really gets close. He smells ozone. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end like the moment just before a lightning strike.

“He wants help,” Mountain says, finally raising his eyes from Rain’s face to look over his head at Aether.

Aether’s hands slip onto Rain’s waist, finger squeezing, and then Aether’s crowding him against Mountain. His chest pressed right up against Rain’s back. Head dipping down so the tip of his nose presses into Rain’s mused curls. Aether inhales and Rain feels his stomach drop, his knees threaten to go with it, buckling and shaking. But he couldn’t fall even if he tried–not wedged between them like this.

His cock kicks against Mountain’s hip. He knows Mountain feels it.

“Please.” Rain turns just in time to see the grin that splits Aether's face, sly, devious. Rain's stomach swoops. "How could we say no when you ask so nicely?"

⛧

Rain doesn’t remember the trip back to his room. Doesn’t remember Aether or Mountain stripping him, not really. He remembers hands, touch. Aether’s hands skimming up over his thighs. Mountain’s fingers curling around his throat, pulling him to lay against his chest, head tucked under Mountain’s jaw. His hips bracketed by Mountain’s knees. The hard line of Mountains’ cock against his spine.

Everything snaps back into focus when Aether gets his mouth on him. Settled on his belly between Rains’s spread legs. Suckling the tip of his cock into his mouth. Tongue pressing down on the sensitive spot beneath the head. Aether pulls off to trace the vein on the underside with his tongue and Rain bucks in Mountain’s grip. Keening. Desperate.

“Is he wet?” Mountain asks, Rain feels the rumble of the words against his back.

“Soaked,” Aether answers, pushing Rain’s legs further apart, spreading him wide and dipping lower to press his tongue against his clenching hole. Sucking on the rim until Rain thrashes. Desperate.

He’d like to ask for something. To cum maybe, or just for more, but he can’t access that part of his brain. Not with Mountain’s fingers hovering over his pulse. His other hand tweeks at a dusky nipple and Rain can only feel.

Aether presses his tongue into Rain, laps at him, firms up the muscle and really tastes him. Groaning as he does.

“Touch him, Aeth.”

Rain half expects to be tortured. For them to drag this out, to make him beg for it, but Aether’s hand comes up without hesitation and wraps around his cock, wet with spit and pre. He pulls back, lips slick, and replaces his tongue with a finger. Pressing into the third knuckle and petting upward and Rain swears he goes blind.

His orgasm lights him up, burns him alive. He paints his stomach, Aether’s hand. He throbs with it, feels relief for a matter of seconds, enough to take one deep breath of fresh morning air before clarity flees again.

“God damn it,” Rain grits out, frustrated. Aether slips another finger inside, he spreads him open a little more.

“You’re alright, Raincloud,” Mountain promises, kissing his temple, smoothing sweaty hair away from his face. “We have you.”

“Fuck me,” Rain manages. “Someone. Both of you. I don’t care just–please.”

“Be patient.” Aether chides. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Rain is beyond caring. Well past patience. He needs it. Needs to be full. Needs to feel nothing but the slide of a cock, needs to be split open.

Aether sinks another finger in, three now, and Rain sags against Mountain. Turning his head to mouth at the earth ghouls collarbone as Aether works him open. It takes too long. But Rain can’t do much except lean into it, rock his hips against Aether’s hand. He tips his head up and Mountain kisses him. Possessive. All tongue and teeth and the taste of juniper.

All Rain can think about is being filled. Knotted. Changed. He wants to hear the wounded noise Aether makes when he pops his knot. Wants to cum on Mountain's cock. He needs it. He feels like he'll die without it.

“Soon, Raincloud,” Mountain coos in his ear, resting a heavy hand over his pounding heart. Rain would be mortified for accidentally saying all of that out loud if he could think well enough. He feels the way his cheeks flush, hot like the rest of him. But the shame never actually comes. He’s too far gone, too desperate.

Mountain shushes him, a sweet sound in his ear followed by the catch of teeth along the edge and only then does Rain realize he’s still talking. Babbling broken nonsense as Aether fingers him and Mountain rolls a painfully hard nipple between his fingers.

Aether kisses the inside of his thigh, mouths at his balls. Rain isn’t sure he exists anymore. He is only these points of contact. Only the unbearable need to feel. He is only where he merges with Aether and Mountain. Nothing else.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” he whines as Aether slips another finger inside. Four now, crowded together, pressing deep.

“Need to be patient if you’re gonna take us both, Rainy.” Aether mumbles, lips against Rain’s thigh.

Clarity slices through him, if only for a second. Both of them. He goes rigid, tips his head back to look at Mountain, still holding him tight, something soft to land on as he falls over and over through waves of his heat.

“Both?” he whispers.

“Mmhmm,” Mountain hums. He bends down to capture Rain in another claiming kiss, a direct opposition to Mountain’s calm demeanor.

Mountain pulls back but holds Rain’s face close, their horns nuzzled together. “Fastest way to break your heat.”

Rain swallows, Aether crooks his fingers just so and Rain’s eyes roll up, flutter closed, he sags in Mountain’s hold.

“Don’t you want it?” Aether asks. “Don’t you want us both?”

Rain’s nodding before Aether’s even done speaking. Yes. Of course he does. Both of them. As soon as he thinks it, it all makes sense. Puzzle pieces clicking together. Of course that’s what he needs. Two knots. Right now.

Aether pulls his fingers from Rain’s body. Rain opens his eyes just in time to see how shiny with slick they are, dripping with it. Aether reaches down between them and slicks his own cock up with the mess.

Then Rain’s being moved, hauled up along Mountain’s body until he’s fully in his lap, legs splayed over his hips. Head bumping back against the headboard. Mountain hooks his chin over Rain’s shoulder and looks down as Aether presses his fingers back against Rain’s hole to gather more slick. Rain feels himself clench around nothing.

“Pretty,” Aether muses, meeting Rain’s gaze as he takes it upon himself to slick Mountain’s cock too. Taking Mountain’s cock in a tight fist and stroking. Mountain hisses, he turns his head to mouth at Rain’s jaw, breath stuttering out over Rain’s oversensitive skin.

Rain hears how wet it sounds, all because of him.

“Gonna take us both, baby?” Mountain asks, breathless already and Rain nods fervently.

It all happens fast after that–or maybe Rain is just too fucked up to process the steps. His heat addled brain can only think of one thing, and then all of a sudden, he’s getting it. Aether helping to lift him up as Mountain presses his cock against Rain’s hole. Rain doesn’t so much drop down on it as he is pushed. Aether and Mountain’s hands guiding him in a slow slide.

Rain’s body lights up in relief. Finally. Finally. He’s full. Everything slotting into place. He rolls his hips and Mountain groans, guiding him in a slow easy grind that puts Mountain’s cock right where Rain needs it most. Rain could sob with it. Pleasure finally unspooling at the base of his spine in a way that feels real.

And then, he’s being pushed back, laid back down on Mountain’s chest. Mountains arms curling around his waist to hold him there. And Aether’s pressing in too. The fat head of his cock popping in alongside Mountain’s. Leaning forward, bracketing Rain between his big forearms, their foreheads coming together as he presses deep. Folding Rain further in half, pushing his thighs further open with the bulk of his body. He snugs up between Mountain’s legs until he’s as deep as he can go. Both of them wedged inside of him until he’s full. Changed. Complete.

They’re all still for a few breaths. Aether tilting his head to kiss Rain softly, tongue dragging over the seam of his lips until he can lick inside. Rain welcomes him, opens himself to all of this. Let’s Aether lick the whimpers from his mouth as he squirms and clenches around both of them. Desperate for friction. Body still screaming to be knotted, heat roaring up in him again the longer they stay stagnant.

Then they both start to move in opposite directions, a counter rhythm and Rain’s brain goes silent for the first time in hours.

Rain keens. He tries to rock back on them, to meet them where they fuck into him quickly gaining speed as they find their rhythm. But Mountain stops him with a firm grip on his hips. Stilling him with ease that makes Rain’s stomach clench. Rain stops, sags, allows himself to melt into Mountain and Aether, into the easy glide of their cocks in and out of him. Rain whimpers, eyes rolling back, falling closed.

“That’s it,” Mountain says, voice tense. “Relax, Raincloud. We’ve got you.”

“Lie back and take it,” Aether adds, affection coloring his words even as his thrusts turn toward rough. “Let us take care of you.”

#comet writes #crow ♥#ficlet #ish #Mountain Ghoul #Rain Ghoul #Aether Ghoul #Mountain/Rain/Aether #Ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfiction #ghost band fic #the band ghost fanfic

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kingofsummer93 · 5 months

Text

Once Cursed, Twice Shy

Part 1 of my gift to @velidewrites for @acotargiftexchange!

Summary:

Don't mix vodka and magic, they said. It will end badly, they said.

Elain's never been particularly superstitious, but when a ghost from her past comes crashing back into her life, she realizes that the old saying might have been true after all.

And that she might have (accidentally and definitely not on purpose) cursed her ex-boyfriend.

Inspired by the Ex Hex by Rachel Hawkins.

Chapter 1: A Fateful Spark, an Ill-Timed Blaze

Ao3

Ten years previously

A clap of thunder rang out over the town of Maple Glen, followed by a torrential downpour so sudden it seemed as though the sky had singled out their little village to bear the brunt of its ire.

Elain sighed, burrowing further into the couch under her nest of blankets and pillows. She envied the storm, at that moment. What she wouldn’t give to be able to dump her hurt and anger into the world for a couple hours before being reborn, fresh and dewy, her broken heart melded back together by sunshine as her memories faded like a clearing sky.

She sighed, and the storm raged on as if in answer.

“Do you ever wish you were born as something else?” she asked, swirling the dregs of her bright blue cocktail around in her glass. “Like, a bird, or a tree, or, or…”

Vassa let out a noise that was halfway between a snort and a hiccup. “There it is.”

“There is what?”

“The philosophical stage of your drunk journey. I thought we passed it two drinks ago. First we have affectionate Elain, then loud Elain, followed with a brief appearance by pensive Elain, and then-”

Elain grabbed a throw pillow and chucked it at her friend, who nearly toppled off her end of the couch as she ducked to avoid it. Perhaps they were a bit drunk.

“I mean it,” Elain pressed, draining her glass. “Trees don’t have to worry about dumb boys, or school, or finding a job. They just…” She held out her arms and lifted her head to the ceiling, wriggling her fingers around like leaves in the wind. “Hang out and bask in the sunshine.”

“Babe,” Vassa said drily, “trees get cut down and then get sawed up into building materials or burned or whatever. Dumb boys are the least of their worries.”

Perhaps it was the vodka’s fault, but for some reason this seemed incredibly sad to Elain. Her throat closed up, her eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears.

“Oh no.” Vassa flapped her hands around in a panic, her mirth gone. “Oh shit, what did I say?”

“Lucien had a tree house growing up.” The words bubbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He told me his oldest brother helped him build it. And then one day he went out to the forest and discovered that the section of the woods with his tree house had been cut down. Something about tree rot.”

“See,” Vassa said wisely as she refilled both their glasses from a pitcher. “And that’s why you don’t want to be a tree.”

Elain snorted, wiping the tears from her face with an already damp corner of her blanket. She’d shed so many tears in the past two days that she was shocked she hadn’t dried up like a raisin yet.

“Fuck him,” Vassa continued. “He doesn’t deserve a treehouse- or any house, for that matter. He can live on the streets for all I care.”

Elain pictured it for a moment; Lucien’s long fiery hair grown even longer from years of living as a vagabond, a scraggly beard not quite covering his devilish grin. Perhaps he’d live in the woods, in a little cave with a mattress made of leaves and moss. The image didn’t repulse her as much as it should have.

Suddenly she was enraged.

This had been her refrain for the past three days, ever since she had so unceremoniously thrown him out of her apartment. Moments of deep grief when it seemed like she’d never stop crying were followed by rage so intense it felt like her blood was on fire.

The same fire that ran through his veins, the flame that she had found so utterly irresistible.

Her gaze moved against her will, landing on the box sitting in a corner near the door. She’d been studiously avoiding it, torn between the satisfaction she’d get at throwing it out, and the desire to keep a piece of him close, if only for a little while longer.

It was irrational, but that box of stuff had somehow become a physical reminder of him, and getting rid of it would be like cutting the final thread that tethered him to her. Not to mention that a small part of her brain still hoped that he would come back, that somehow it would turn out to all be a misunderstanding.

That he would choose her, against all odds, in defiance of the path that had been laid out for him.

Perhaps even more humiliating than the rejection itself had been the deception. Because he had known- for the entirety of the summer he had spent tangled up in bed with her, whispering that she was the one, making her burn in a way she had never even dreamed possible, he had known it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last, because by the end of the summer he was due back in England, where his betrothed waited for him.

The fucker had been engaged the entire time and hadn’t bothered sharing that information with her.

But the worst thing of all had been the way she’d so thoroughly fallen for him. Every touch, every whispered word had seemed so sincere that she’d never once questioned his devotion. What a fool she’d been. Perhaps if he had been honest with her from the start she would have allowed him to fall into her bed, but not into her heart.

Or better yet, she would have steered clear of Lucien Vanserra altogether.

Elain could still picture the moment she’d first laid eyes on him during the Summer Solstice festival. Vassa had bullied her into setting up a kissing booth (a venture that had turned out to be quite lucrative) and they’d had a steady stream of customers all morning. Around midday the energy in the crowd had shifted, like a ripple in a pond. And then the crowd had shifted, parting like the sea.

And he had appeared. Tall, his golden skin practically glowing in the summer sun, his shoulder-length hair so vividly red she immediately knew he was a witch. No human could ever look like that. He had locked eyes with her from a distance, and it had felt to Elain like she was being set on fire.

“Who is that?” she stage-whispered to Vassa, who had just given their elementary school math teacher a wholesome peck on the cheek for the sum of five dollars.

“Who?” Vassa followed her gaze, and her eyes went wide, her hand clamping painfully around Elain’s wrist.

“Ow!”

“I think he’s one of the Vanserras,” Vassa whispered, slightly awed. “He’s got to be, look at that hair.”

A smile quirked up the corner of the handsome stranger’s mouth, and Elain wondered absurdly if he had somehow heard. The Vanserras were a powerful magical family, and nobody knew the true depth of their power. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had unnaturally powerful hearing.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Elain said, stupidly. She felt slightly dazed as she continued to stare into his eyes, as if she was physically incapable of looking away.

In truth she had never seen any of them before.

Hundreds of years ago, a man called Thelor Vanserra had founded Maple Glen and tied his magic to the village. Magic ran strong here- for those who knew where to look, that is. Tourists simply assumed they had stumbled upon a particularly charming village, where commerce always boomed and disaster never struck.

But the truly odd thing about Maple Glen was the fact that it never snowed, despite being far enough north that it should by all reason get buried under snow every winter. It was like the town was stuck in perpetual autumn, with only a few weeks of balmier weather in the spring and summer. Nobody questioned it, assuming Maple Glen simply existed in a peculiar micro-climate.

It was a wonder how far people would go to avoid seeing magic, even when it existed right under their noses.

Twice a year, on Summer Solstice and Winter Solstice, a member of the Vanserra bloodline would come to town in order to regenerate the magic for the coming season before disappearing back to England. They were notoriously reclusive and haughty, and were rarely seen around town- much less strolling through a crowded festival.

“I always pictured them scrawny and inbred,” Vassa had said, surreptitiously fixing her hair.

The crooked grin on the stranger’s face widened, and Elain’s stomach dropped. He had definitely heard that.

And then he started walking towards them.

Elain froze, her stomach roiling with equal parts thrill and fear. Would he curse them? It didn’t seem likely, judging from the amusement on his face, but she squirmed nonetheless.

When he was a few paces away from their booth he paused, his eyes still fixed on her. From this close Elain could make out the color of his eyes- a warm brown, tinged russet, as if kissed by the flame his bloodline was rumored to wield. His features were sharp and elegant, his wide jaw covered with the barest hint of auburn stubble. There was a thin, crooked scar running down the left side of his face that, combined with the devilish gleam in his eyes, gave him an aura of danger. It sent a shiver down Elain’s spine, and she felt momentarily struck dumb, as if by magic.

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head. The motion made a strand of his vibrant hair fall over his face, and Elain’s fingers itched to brush it back.

Vassa giggled beside her. Elain had never, in her nineteen years of life, heard her friend make such a sound. She bit her lip hard to prevent herself from doing the same.

“If I walked through fire for you, could I get a kiss too?”

Vassa made a choked sound that sounded as though she was holding in another giggle. Elain could only stare for a moment, before realizing that she was staring at him with her mouth hanging wide open.

“I- sorry, what?”

With a casual wave of his hand a wall of flame had burst to life out of thin air. Elain jumped to her feet, scanning the crowd for signs of anyone having noticed the blatant display of magic. But oddly enough, nobody at all was looking at them. It was almost as if some force was making the crowd look away.

She glanced back at the flames just in time to see him walk through them. Surrounded by flames, with that troublesome grin on his face and his eyes twinkling with mirth, it almost seemed like she was being bewitched by the devil himself.

In the end it turned out to be not too far from the truth.

The summer romance that had followed had completely knocked her off her feet. Lucien was nothing like the boys she’d dated before. There was something charmingly old-fashioned about the way he spoke, his impeccable manners and posh accent so at odds with his serpentine tongue and devilish humour. He had felt like a drug, something decadent and rare that left her buoyant and giddy. She’d been hooked from her first taste, her fate sealed the moment he’d walked through those flames and pressed a feather-soft kiss directly to her lips. She’d let those flames consume her.

But the thing with fire, she’d learned, was that it could be doused in an instant.

Elain wondered if he ever would have said anything at all, had that vision not infiltrated her dreams. Would he simply have left her apartment and gotten on a plane back to Yorkshire without so much as a goodbye, never to be heard from again?

They had been lying in bed when the vision had swarmed her senses, limbs tangled together, a lazily swirling fan doing little to cool their heated skin. There was never any logic or reason to what triggered her visions, but something about that hazy veil between consciousness and sleep seemed to make her prone to them. One unclear reality being replaced by another, images fogging her mind so that sometimes she wasn’t sure if they were visions, dreams, or nothing at all.

But that night, as she’d laid there happy and content, blissfully uncaring about anything but the present, the future had decided to make itself known to her anyway. At first she thought she was simply drifting off into dreams of him, and she had sighed, grateful to be with him even in sleep.

Her blood had grown cold as she’d realized the Lucien in her mind was not alone, and nor was his soft smile aimed at her. There was someone else, someone with long rosewood-colored tresses and hazel eyes that shone almost golden, like a cat’s. Someone who was wearing a white dress, wrapped in the arms of the man currently in her bed.

Someone who was decidedly not her.

At first she’d chosen to ignore it. Perhaps it wasn’t a vision at all, but simply her lust-addled brain playing tricks on her. But then Lucien had announced that he needed to fly back home for a while, to take care of some business.

“I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone,” he assured her, his mouth pressed to her ear. “You won’t even miss me.”

In the span of a few seconds he had managed to rip her heart out and rip it to shreds. She’d been so stunned that at first she didn’t know how ro react.

“I’m sorry, Love,” he murmured, misunderstanding her shock as displeasure. “There’s some things with…my family, that I need to handle in person.”

Something about his choice of words had made Elain want to laugh, even as she was fighting rising tides of panic and heartbreak.

“Who is she?” had been the only words she’d been able to formulate.

Lucien stared at her in shock, the color draining from his skin until she knew for certain she hadn’t miscalculated.

Then had come the accusations, the excuses, the explanations, followed by more accusations.

He was engaged.

Betrothed had been the word he’d used, like something out of those romance novels her sister liked. He was betrothed to a stranger he’d never even met, someone he allegedly had no intention of marrying. He was going back to end it, he claimed. He wanted her, he assured.

“I didn’t want to say anything at first because I didn’t know what this thing was between us, and then when it became serious it felt like it was too late, and I didn’t know what to do, and please, Elain, just look at me…”

She had, and something about seeing him like this, his usual smooth exterior replaced by rambling words and eyes wide with panic, almost made her break. But then she’d remembered the woman in her vision, the one with such unusual colouring that she could only be a witch- and a powerful one, if she had been betrothed to a Vanserra. And most of all, she remembered the joy on Lucien’s face in that vision, the way his eyes had crinkled around the edges like they did when he was happy.

In retrospect, throwing his clothes out the window had perhaps been a tad immature, but it had been effective in getting him to shut up and leave her apartment.

Elain shook her head, clearing away the memories that refused to leave her alone.

“You know what,” she declared, slamming her glass on the coffee table with a clang, “let’s burn his stuff.”

Vassa whooped, jumping to her feet before Elain could second guess her decision. Fuck him. Fuck him and his beautiful fiancé (bethrothed) who no doubt had the perfect pedigree and wielded some powerful brand of magic to match the Vanserra’s. Something respectable, like elemental magic, or a knack for spell work. Not something weird and impossible to understand like her Sight.

“Fuck him,” she said again, getting to her feet. “Fuck her!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Vassa upended the box into their fireplace, lifting up a cloud of dust, ash, and various herbs from an ill-advised cleaning spell they’d tried to cast the week before. “Care to do the honors?” she asked, extending a box of matches towards Elain.

Elain took a shuddering breath as she looked at the sad little pile of ashy belongings. Clothes, a few books, thin leather straps Lucien had used to tie his hair back. Straps he’d once used to bind her wrists together as he-

Elain struck the match so aggressively that it snapped clean in half. The second one lit, the little flame seeming to mock her as it danced near the tips of her fingers.

The fire was slow to catch, smoking pathetically as it tried to crawl along the pile of fabric and books. And then it grew, until their faces warmed by the heat of the flames. Elain very pointedly ignored the fact that Lucien could summon flames ten times this size without so much as blinking.

“We curse you, Lucien Vanserra!” Vassa declared, stirring the flames with a poker.

“I hope you burn in hell,” Elain mumbled.

Vassa cackled. “He’d probably be happy there. Let him rot somewhere his flame can’t catch.”

Elain might have imagined it, but just for a moment the fire seemed to grow brighter in the hearth.

“And may his betrothed be frigid in bed!” Vassa added with another cackling laugh. Once again the flames flashed hotter, almost blue.

“And may she break his heart, just like he did mine,” Elain added sadly.

It seemed like she was speaking directly to the flames themselves, and for a second they appeared to wink in response. She blinked, and shook her head against a wave of disorientation. Merlin, she was drunk.

A flash of lightning lit up the night sky outside, followed by another rumble of thunder that made them both jump. With a mechanical groaning the lights inside the apartment blinked off, leaving them sitting there in the dark.

Vassa groaned. “Damn it, power’s out again.”

But Elain’s attention was still on the fire- or, more accurately, on the space where it should have been. In the space where moments before flames had danced merrily, there was now only a fine layer of ash, all traces of Lucien’s belongings having vanished, like the flames, into thin air.

Elain gulped. “Vassa? I think we might have done something bad.”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #acotar gift exchange #it's a holiday romcom folks #low plot heavy shenanigans #Lucien VanCursed

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