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#reels&heels
shannnnanigans · 2 months
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Ajdjshaha I don't understand why doing literally anything is being a pick-me now. Like, you know that a girl is allowed to not genuinely like make up, or heels, or dresses or anything that you stereotypically associate with feminity, right?? You, as a girl, do not have to like one thing to like another. You don't have to fit in a box. Liking or disliking something will not make you a pick-me. This whole deal started off as a shade to people who put down others to lift themselves up, however, LOOK WHO IS DOING THAT NOW????
#this genuinely makes me so mad#because you don't actually have to fit in an aesthetic at all time okay????#you can like pink and not like make up#you can like bows but prefer other pieces of clothings over dresses#I mean this is a pretty obvious thing right?#things as such do not need to be told#I don't have tiktok but Instagram reels are positively worse I know#it's like they've completely consumed themselves so much in aesthetics that they've actually forgotten what people irl are like#not everyone irl have similar beliefs but some people genuinely do and it just aggravates me so much like????#it's alright if you're not a bow girl I love you bestie#ngl I hate this whole 'coquette' deal#it was fun for like 2 days but it's just annoying now.#I absolutely love all the hyperfeminine girls keep it up I say#but blatantly calling the rest pick me is a little harsh I believe#however this doesn't mean that you can go on and shit on people who actually enjoy that aesthetic#the whole deal is just about minding your own damn business and letting other people be without leaving any snide comments#like you can't say shit like 'only girls will understand the feeling of wearing heels' and not expect people to feel excluded#it's just like when the 'casual dressing' girls joked about 'dressing up' girls#just roles reversed this time#I totally understand where the need to have an upper hand is coming from#but this competition truly needs to go#I think we've had this discussion manier times#girl math#pick me girl#coquette
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ramdotexe · 2 years
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i can’t believe pre-memory wipe harry was concerned about masculinity while running around wearing Snakeskin Heels
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caranoirs · 1 year
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Debbie only has rights he's never done anything wrong in his life I'm s(creaming) rn
mm, katie giving ✨ Stockholm Syndrome ✨ for debbie-chan. really tho, i’m gonna explode myself when i finally get to watching njcup
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bjurnberg · 3 months
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My work boots are the most expensive shoes I’ve ever owned.
Also the most comfortable. I chose them after trying on several different brands and comparing lifespan vs usage vs comfort - I needed them for a physically demanding job, not the weekend hiking trails. I could have easily chosen cheaper boots that would have lasted long enough to be worth their low price, but I know the Sam Vimes Boot Theory and knew weaker, less comfortable boots would make my life harder in the long run.
So when the outside edge of the heel started wearing down after three years of heavy use I went to the shop I got them from and said “hey this is a common problem for me with how I walk but now it’s affecting my ankles and knees and I don’t wanna have to buy a new pair, is there a way to fix this?”
The salesman at this very fancy upscale boot store said “oh yeah, there’s a shoe repair place that can give you some heel guards - it’ll keep the rubber from wearing out.”
So at 8am this morning right after my 9hr shift ends I went to the shoe repair shop and it is the most hole-in-the-wall, is-this-a-real-business-or-a-mafia-front, am-I-gonna-get-shot tiny cinder block cube I’ve ever seen in my life. I grew up plenty poor and love me a good hole-in-the-wall business, but going from upscale store to this cash-only repair shop gave me whiplash. Wasn’t expecting this when a guy who wears three piece suits to sell boots said it’s the best place to go.
The skinny kid behind the counter looks somehow 16 and 25 at the same time, but when I tell him this place was recommended he smiles and says to hand over my boots. I hand him the vaguely warm foot-smelling boots, and stand in my socks in the 3’ square entryway surrounded by every color leather polish you could buy and watch as he turns my boots around in his hands, sizes up a crescent moon bits of plastic, and unceremoniously hammers tiny nails through them before handing them back.
The heels are perfectly level again. I can walk without almost rolling my ankles. They don’t clack loudly on the pavement or feel different. This is gonna fix my knee pain. It cost $10.
This kid had every tool he needed within arms reach, worked fast and smoothly, I was in and out the door in less than 8 minutes, and it only cost $10.
I didn’t think anything could cost only $10 anymore. I’m so used to hyperinflation prices I was spiritually thrown back to the 1400’s visiting the cobbler in town square. This kid might have been that cobbler and just decided to never die.
I’m still reeling from the whiplash, and gobsmacked at the price, and thrilled I didn’t have to go buy new, worse work boots (cuz I don’t have that kind of money for a second pair, I’m expecting these ones to last a decade) and it feels like I just experienced one of the rare little chunks of magic that floats around our world.
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mariposavuela · 9 months
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Making the claim that you support abortion so more women can join the military is actually a really dumb idea because it is both
never going to get conservatives on board with abortion and
is going to make more leftists drop out of the democrat party because now it boldly supports the military industrial complex and
is going to make more radical Trump supporters even more convinced that the democrat party is a cult of death and the polarization will then just pull more people from the edges of the left and the centrist conservatives who are against abortion.
Like sorry Moira but that take just has no idea how conservatives think or what they value.
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betterhomesandhozie · 11 months
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actually had so much fun with my class today
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valeskafics · 1 month
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"My Angel" - Rafe Cameron x Reader
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a/n: from an anon request for rafe x stripper!reader 🩷
Summary: Rafe sees an Angel in person.
Word Count: 4,010
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: reader is a stripper, drug use, alcohol consumption, afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, innocence kink, fingering, tiddy succin, overstim, dry humping technically, p in v sex, creampie
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Outer Banks characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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Rafe can’t think of a better way to celebrate closing his first big deal as the new CEO of Cameron Development than going to the most exclusive club in all of North Carolina. With Topper and Kelce at his side, he feels unstoppable. He’s on top of the fucking world. Rafe enters the club, wearing his best suit, scoping out the scene. Everyone seems to know who he is, the owner immediately coming out and introducing herself, saying that if Rafe or his friends need anything, she’s at their service. The club is called Inferno, and Rafe realizes that there’s some sort of angel vs demon religious theme going on here. And he doesn’t hate it. Most of the girls - the ones who aren’t on stage dancing - are dressed up as demons, complete with horns, tails, and the most revealing outfits he’s ever seen.
Party drugs are all around, and Topper quickly purchases a small baggie of white powder, giggling to himself as Kelce snorts a line off of one of the girls’ tits. Rafe’s eyes continue scanning the crowd as he pulls out his black Amex, setting himself up to do a line, when suddenly?
The spotlight falls on the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You walk out from backstage, a vision of beauty. The tiny little white negligee you wear clings to the curves of your body as you begin to make your rounds, greeting the club’s patrons, your outfit highlighted by the gorgeous pair of angel wings you wear, sky high platform heels showing off your legs, making you look like a fucking supermodel. You’re almost too beautiful. His heart thuds against his chest, blood rushing to his face and certain… Other parts of his body when you catch his eye and give him a sweet little smile before returning to your conversation.
“She’s fucking gorgeous,” Rafe mumbles, “Holy shit…”
“Aw, you in love, Rafe?” Kelce teases drunkenly, “God, I’ve never seen you look at a girl like that before. Top, our man’s whipped!”
“I’m in love with a stripper-”
Rafe shoots Topper a dirty look, making the younger man cut his singing off mid-lyric, returning to the girl who’s perched on his lap.
Finally, you make your way over to the VIP section, anticipation building in Rafe’s gut as you take a seat on top of their table, crossing your legs as you smile that sweet smile, your voice a soft, honeyed sound in his ears as you speak, “Welcome to Inferno. My name is Angel. I haven’t seen you boys around here before.”
There’s something pure about you. Something that’s so sensual, so alluring, and yet so very innocent. Rafe’s eyes wash over your form, taking you in. Those eyes, those lips. It’s like you were fucking made for him. A girl like you doesn’t belong in a seedy club like this.
“Why are you here?”
You tilt your head to the side curiously at his question, “What do you mean?”
“I…” He falters for a moment, ignoring Kelce and Topper’s confused expressions, “You’re… Pure.”
“Maybe I’m just waiting for the devil to corrupt me.”
Your reply is so playful, so suggestive that it sends his mind reeling. A sly smile crosses his lips as he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Don’t tell me you think I’m the devil.”
“I’m not the one who said it,” you tease playfully, “So, you boys new in town? Or just visiting?”
Topper speaks up, leaning in close to you and Rafe, annoying the latter, “We’re in town on business. I’m Topper. These are my buddies Rafe and Kelce.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” you flash them a smile, those pearly whites glowing under the club’s fluorescent lights. You glance over your shoulder as the announcer walks out onstage to announce the first dancer of the night, turning back to the boys, “Well, the show’s starting soon. Keep an eye out for me, I’ll be the one with the white wings.”
You give them a sweet little wave before sauntering off. And Rafe can’t take his eyes off of you as you go. You’re so fucking perfect. So pretty. He knows, somehow, you were made just for him. He’s fucking infatuated, his eyes following you as you mingle with the VIPs. He vaguely hears Topper and Kelce’s ribbing, making fun of him for being so possessive of you and not even having touched you yet. He ignores them, watching as you smile, taking a seat between two of the men in the section, twirling your hair, giving them that sweet yet seductive smile. Rafe’s blood boils at the sight, especially as one of the men wraps an arm around your shoulder, the other resting a hand on your thigh. And you make no move to get away from them as a gaggle of your other admirers flock to you, showering you with praise, vying for your attention.
How can you let anyone other than Rafe touch you?
He makes his way over to you, arriving just as you’re about to head to your dressing room. You look up at him, the man still towering above you despite the dangerously high heels you wear. Rafe notices the little gems you’ve put on the corners of your eyes, making them stand out even more. Everything in his body screams at him to touch you, to pull you into his arms. In his mind, you already belong to him.
“Hi again.”
Your smile sears through Rafe, his entire body feeling as though it’s an fire, that demure little expression on your face driving him wild, “Can I talk to you for a second, Angel?”
“I’m actually up in twenty minutes, so I need to head backstage,” you pause, resting a hand on his chest, your fingertips brushing against the bare skin visible near his collar where three buttons remain undone, “I’ll find you after my set though?”
His throat tightens at the feeling of your soft skin moving against him, one simple touch making his cock strain against his tailored pants, making him want nothing more than to bend you over and take you in full view of all these people, “I’ll be here,” Rafe whispers, desperation coloring his voice, “Please find me, Angel.”
“I will,” you promise, giving him a quick smile before sashaying away, the effortless sway of your hips leaving him hypnotized, watching you leave.
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Twenty minutes later, Rafe sits in the front row, flanked by Topper and Kelce, waiting with bated breath as you are announced. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, excitement building inside him as the beat drops and the song you’re no doubt about to dance to starts playing. You strut out onto the stage, your hair pulled back in two ponytails as you swing your hips to the beat of the song. The pale pink lacy set you wear fits you so perfectly, paired with those feathery angel wings and your pink platform heels.
You really do look like an angel.
I see you windin’ and grindin’ up on that pole
I know you see me lookin' at you and you already know
I wanna love you, you already know
I wanna love you, you already know
You’re like a goddess, the way your body curls around the pole, the way your hips shake from side to side. Rafe’s lips part in awe as he watches you, the cheering from the others in the room growing louder and louder with every passing minute. Jealousy starts to set in as he sees the lecherous looks they give you, the way you saunter off to dance in front of them, letting one of them tuck a hundred dollar bill in the waistband of your panties. They don’t have the right to see you like this. Not them. Only him.
Mobbin' through the club and I'm pressin'
I'm sittin' in the back in the smoker's section
Birds eye, I've got a clear view
You can't see me, but I can see you
It's cool, we jet, we're set, your lips are wet
You're rubbing your back and touching your neck
Your body is moving
You move your back against the pole, lowering your body down into a squat, right in front of Rafe as you meet his gaze for a single fleeting moment before closing your eyes. You pop your chest, wiggling your hips as you lose yourself in the song, those perfect curves of yours making his mouth water with want. He watches as you slowly move to your feet, hands running down your sides, the lights hitting you in a way that makes you look almost ethereal as you blow a kiss to one of your regulars.
And you know my pedigree, used to move 'phetamines
And I'm loving the way you shake your ass
In those jeans
I see you windin' and grindin' up on that pole
I know you see me lookin' at you and you already know
I wanna love you (love you), you already know
I wanna love you, you already know
Rafe watches you prance off toward the other end of the catwalk, nimble on your feet as you work the crowd. Do you know how much you’re hurting him right now? How it’s fucking killing him to not be able to touch you? To pull you into his arms and kiss those soft, plush lips? You’ve gotta know.
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When you find Rafe in the VIP section, your face and body covered with a thin sheen of sweat from your dance earlier, his breath catches in his throat. You give him that adorable smile, gazing up at him.
“Did you like my set?”
His gaze moves along your form, lingering on your chest, your hips, before he clears his throat, stepping closer, “You were perfect.”
You giggle, wrapping a lock of hair around your fingers, twirling it as you feign shyness, “Thank you…”
“C’mere…”
You let him pull you into his lap as he sits down, your hand resting against his chest as you tease, “So you are the devil then.”
A rush of desire floods his body at your playfulness, at your touch. It’s like the dam that holds back his most carnal instincts is about to break, and with you as the sole cause.
“Yes, Angel,” he chuckles, moving to rest a hand against your cheek, the feeling of your soft skin against his palm as you nuzzle into his touch driving him mad, “What are we going to do about that, huh?”
You glance back over your shoulder for a moment before suggesting, your voice low and soft, “How about a private dance, handsome?” You trace your fingertips over his lips, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch as you speak in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t usually do them. But I wanna make an exception for you.”
Rafe shivers at your touch, his want for you threatening to overwhelm him, his voice hoarse and breath hot against your skin as he mutters, “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” You giggle.
“This,” he repeats, “Why make me the exception, huh, Angel?”
You shrug, “Maybe you’re the first one who I’ve actually wanted to dance for.”
When you tell Rafe the cost for a dance, he gives you a cocky grin, “Money’s not a problem for me, Angel. I just want you to make it worth my time. I’m expecting a lot.”
His lips are close to yours, almost close enough to touch. You giggle, moving to brush your nose against his, the gesture so innocent and playful that it has his stomach turning with want.
“I’d never leave my devil unsatisfied.”
You take him by the hand, leading him to the back of the club, nodding at a pair of the bouncers to step aside and let the two of you pass. He relishes in the looks of envy the other men at the club shoot him, Topper and Kelce included, as you, the most gorgeous dancer there, take him back to a private room for a dance. His hands are itching to touch you as he follows after you, the soft feeling of your hand in his being almost too much to bear.
When the two of you reach the room, he waits for you to close the door, a grin spreading across his lips as you gently push him back to sit in the plush chair, your voice like honey in his ears as you murmur, “Just sit back and relax, sir.”
He watches as you press a button on the tablet in the corner of the room and the music begins to play. Rafe chuckles at your choice of song. It’s an old one but a good one, he thinks, and oddly fitting for the moment. 
Everybody look at me, me
I walk in the door, you start screaming
Come on, everybody, what you here for?
Move your body around like a nympho
Everybody get your necks to crack around
All you crazy people, come on, jump around
I wanna see you all on your knees, knees
You either wanna be with me, or be me
You begin to move your hips to the beat, your hands moving to the two ponytails you’ve put your hair up in. Your hair tumbles free as you run your hands along your curves, keeping your eyes locked on his, a coy little smile playing on your pretty lips. Rafe’s eyes are blown wide with lust, his breath caught in his throat as he watches you walking toward him, his heart beating rapidly as his gaze follows the path your hands take. The fire in his stomach burns hotter and hotter.
A maneater, make you work hard
Make you spend hard, make you want all of her love
She's a maneater, make you buy cars
Make you cut cards, make you fall real hard in love
She's a maneater, make you work hard
Make you spend hard, make you want all of her love
She's a maneater, make you buy cars
Make you cut cards, wish you never ever met her at all
Your hands move up to your chest, cupping your tits over your bra, squeezing slightly as you stand between his legs, leaning forward. You move your hands down to your thighs, moving your hips from side to side, and Rafe? His heart beats like a drum in his chest, faster and faster, harder and harder, his cock twitching in his pants as you move to sit in his lap, your back to his chest.
And when she walks, she walks with passion
When she talks, she talks like she can handle it
When she asks for somethin', boy, she means it
Even if you never ever seen it
Everybody get your necks to crack around
All you crazy people, come on, jump around
You doin' anything to keep her by your side
Because she said she love you, love you long time
“You know the rules, right?” You tease, moving your hand back to caress his face, “You can look but you can’t touch.”
A shiver runs through Rafe’s body as he imagines how perfect that soft hand would feel wrapped around his cock, squeezing and tugging, touching him. His Angel.
“I know, baby. I could look at you all day. But don’t tease me too much.”
“What’s the fun in that?” You giggle.
“God, you’re such a brat.”
The sensation of your ass grinding against him can barely be put into words. His mind is reeling, every tiny little movement you make drives him to the brink of insanity. Your hands move down his muscular thighs, squeezing gently.
“Am I? I don’t think I am,” you taunt, “You like the song?”
“It’s alright,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
“But I picked it just for you,” you coo, turning to face him.
You wish you never ever met her at all
You wish you never ever met her at all
She's a maneater, a maneater
(I been around the world, I ain't never meet a girl like this)
Your tits are level with his face as you grind your hips against him, your barely clothed pussy moving against the bulge in his pants. Rafe can barely hold himself back from grabbing at you, watching your chest bounce in his face, your scent filling his nose as you tease him. He squirms against you, his hips bucking up slightly, the only movement he’s allowed as you continue teasing him. Taunting him.
And then, all too soon, the song comes to an end. And you move off of him with a cheeky little smile, “Seems like our time’s up.”
Rafe sits there, frozen for a long moment. You little fucking brat. He moves quickly, caging you in against the door, his arms on either side of you. You gaze up at him through those long lashes, his heart nearly stopping at the way those doe eyes shine.
“Angel, I’ve got the money,” he murmurs, “Just a little more time.”
“I only dance. I don’t do more. I’m not like the other ones.”
He leans in close, his breath hot against your face, that little smile on your face making him want nothing more than to kiss you, “You’re different. I understand that,” Rafe replies, running a hand through your hair, “And I want to make you more than just a dancer. I wanna make you mine so that no man can ever have you again.” Rafe can see it in your eyes. That you like how possessive he is. That you crave the dominance he’s exerting over you. That you want to belong to him. “Let me make you mine,” he rasps, his lips brushing against your ear, “Let me give you everything you want. Anything you want.”
“You don’t even know my real name.”
His expression darkens slightly, though the smile never leaves his face, “But I want to. I want to know everything.”
You bite your lip, gazing up at Rafe, your soft chest pressed against his firm one, “Yeah? You wanna take care of me?” 
Rafe’s eyes burn with desire. You’re his. You’re all his. He knows it and he wants you to know it too. He nods, chuckling when you say you can take care of yourself, turning your back toward him, moving to walk away. Immediately, he’s pressing you up against the door, his front to your back, hands on your hips.
“Just let me, baby. Let me love you. Let me possess you.”
“How do I even know you can take care of a girl like me?”
“How about I show you?” Rafe asks, a slight tremble to his voice, his breath hot against your neck, “The things I can do for you. The way I can make you feel.”
You moan softly as he kisses your neck. Your hands rest over his, moving them up to your chest, feeling him squeezing at your tits as he continues biting down on your neck, his tongue soothing the sting mere moments later, leaving his mark on you.
“Angel,” he whispers, “If I was able to get that cute little moan out of you just by kissing your neck, imagine what else I can do.”
Rafe spins you around to face him and leans in, lips moving along your jaw, pressing featherlight kisses to your skin. Your body trembles in his grip, His hands still squeezing your breasts, feeling your hardened nipples poking through the fabric of your lacy bra.
“Prove it.”
Those two words are all it takes for him to capture your lips in a searing, hungry kiss. Rafe feels like his entire life has been building to this moment, every one of his nerves burning with need as he kisses you, devours your mouth with his own. His hands move down to your ass, squeezing your supple flesh, kneading it between his hands.
“You taste so fucking good,” Rafe growls, moving to kiss you again.
He pins you to the wall, lifting your thighs up to wrap around him, grinding his cock against you, smirking as you roll your hips against him. Every breath you take, every sound you make, every touch you give. It belongs to him. It all belongs to him. You belong to him.
“I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before,” Rafe vows, meeting your gaze, his thumb running across your cheekbone, your soft skin feeling like silk against his hands.
And then? You tell him your name. Your real name. And it falls from his lips like a prayer as he moves his hand against you, cupping your mound over the lace fabric of your panties, feeling how wet you already are for him. You mewl his name, your entire body reacting to him like you’re being touched for the first time, panting as you beg him for more.
“So needy for me, so wet and so fuckin’ desperate,” Rafe chuckles, rubbing you over your panties, feeling your cunt clench around him, “You want more, baby? I’ll fuckin’ give you more. Anything you want.”
Your back arches as you reach your peak, your toes curling as he presses down against your clit. One of his hands moves to your bra, unclasping it, the flimsy garment dropping to the floor, his lips immediately wrapping around one of your nipples, his tongue flicking against it as he suckles at you. He pushes your panties aside, burying two fingers knuckle deep inside your tight little pussy, pumping them slowly, the wet squelching noises spurring him on as he moves to your other breast, mouthing at it greedily.
You whimper, Rafe’s fingers rubbing up against that spongy spot deep inside of you, the one that you can never quite reach. Realizing he’s found your sweet spot, he smirks, pressing his thumb against your swollen pearl, rubbing his fingers harder and harder. He grazes his teeth against your nipple, making you cry out his name as you come all over his fingers.
Rafe undoes the button of his dress pants, pulling his cock out, grinning to himself as you move to stroke it, your touch so soft and delicate against his painfully hard length. He sheaths himself in you with one fluid thrust, your warmth enveloping him so fucking perfectly, his hands gripping your ass as he begins to rut against you. Your head falls back against the door and he’s painfully aware of the feeling of your high heels digging into his back, your hands gripping at the lapel of his jacket as he fucks into you mercilessly. His lips meet yours, his mouth hot and hungry against yours.
“You wanted more, didn’t you, baby?” Rafe snarls, his thrusts hard, moving in and out of you, feeling you squeezing him around him, gripping him like a vice, “I’m just giving you what you wanted, baby.”
The tears that spill from your eyes from the pleasure he gives you as you reach your peak again make him even more determined to rip another one from you. He sets you down, spinning you around and fucking into you from behind, gripping your hips as he slams into you over and over, your cries echoing in his ears.
“Fuck, Rafe, please!”
Neither of you know whether you’re begging him for more or begging him for mercy.
He continues, his balls tightening as he nears his own peak, feeling you squeezing around him, almost too tight for him to move, but he snaps his hips once, twice more, emptying himself inside you, feeling you reach your own end moments later. He pulls out, watching his cum leak from between your thighs, grinning at the panicked expression on your face.
“I missed my set,” you cover your mouth, “I’m so fired.”
“Baby,” he coos, pressing his lips to your temple, “You’re never gonna have to do another set in your life. You’re mine now, my sweet angel. And I take care of what’s mine.”
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angrythingstarlight · 8 months
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Biker Ari and Sunshine I repeat BIKER ARI AND SUNSHINE 😍
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CtjNzAWoGS6/?igshid=MTc4MmM1YmI2Ng==
Summary: Your grumpy biker/boss offers you a ride home.
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Pairing: Biker!Ari x Reader
AN: Part of the biker series, unbetad.
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You didn’t ask Ari to take you home.
You were going to walk, it’s not like you haven’t had to walk in the dark before.
Today was a long day, too many new customers with way more paperwork than you thought possible. Not longer after five o’clock rolled around, the words were a blur of black ink on the page and you decided it was time to go home.
After sorting out the rest of your work and prepping for tomorrow, you wave goodbye to the sullen biker working on an old Toyota, making sure to leave a light on for him.
It’s only been a few weeks, but you’ve learned that Ari is always the last to leave.
He’s also the first to arrive because no matter how early you get to the garage, he’s already there.
Glaring at you with those stunning blue eyes of his, a cup of coffee in his hand and another one sitting on your desk. He denies putting them there and told you to stop thanking him, muttering that you’re giving him a headache.
You don’t believe him, so you make sure to cheerfully thank him every morning. And no matter how much he grumbles, you still find a fresh cup waiting for you.
By the time, you get your purse and switch out your heels for your sneakers; the sun is already setting. The sky fading to a dark blue, the unrelenting heat simmering in the air.
You make it two blocks before you heard the roar of a motorcycle behind you. Ducking your head, your heart races in your chest when it slows down.
Please don’t be a creep. Please don’t be a creep.
You risk a glimpse over your shoulder, your anxiety melting away when you see Ari. Even with the helmet, you’d recognize his body anywhere. You don’t think you’ve ever met a man as massive as Ari Levinson.
“Hey!” you call out, waving at him before adjusting your purse over your shoulder.
“What are you doing?” His question comes out harsh as he parks his bike next to you, his helmet coming off in one quick motion. His long hair falling around his bearded face.
Unfazed by his menacing stance, your smile widens. “Walking home,” you state, gesturing to the empty sidewalk. “What are you doing?”
Teasing Ari seems to come as naturally as breathing. You’ve never been so bold with anyone before. Of course, it’d have to be with one of the most dangerous men in town.
“It’s not safe for you to be walking by yourself. Where’s your car?”
“Don’t have one. And I’ve been walking by myself since I was a teen, thank you very much.” With your wages, you think you’ll have enough saved up to get a used car by the end of summer. You can’t wait for the day you don’t have to trudge home in the heat.
You take a step forward, biting back a smile when Ari cuts you off. “I don’t like it.”
“Why?” You ask softly, your breath hitching slightly. “I’m just an employee, remember? You didn’t even want to give me the job. So why do you care if I walk home?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches and he looks past your shoulder.
Silence lingers between you, a warm breeze coasts over your arms as you rock back on your heels.
Just when you don’t think he’s going to answer, Ari steps off his bike and strolls to you, stopping when his work boots knock into your shoes. “Get on the bike.”
Your grin slips free and his eyes darken as they linger on your lips. You get the distinct feeling he’s even more irritable now. He gets that look on his face every time you smile. He can't tear his eyes away from your lips.
“If I say no?”
Ari tilts his head, cracking his neck, a deep, long suffering sigh rolling through his chest. “It wasn’t a request, Sunshine. Get your pretty ass on the bike before I put you on it.”
Part of you wants him to follow through with his threat. You don’t think Ari would struggle to pick you up. You’ve seen him toss around car parts like its nothing. Another part of you wonders how he’d respond if you listened, if he’d like it if you were good for him.
“Okay,” you acquiesce, placing your hand below the president patch stitched on his kutte. The flare of surprise in his blue eyes is worth it.
You’ll tease him tomorrow but you'll be good today.
You walk around him, your touch lingering across his chest. Stopping in front of his bike, you try not to shiver when he moves behind you, tilting your chin up to place his helmet on your head. It’s too big and the visor obscures your vision but something long forgotten awakens inside you, a feeling of safety, a little voice whispering you can trust him. You do. You have since that night.
Ari places his large hands around your waist and guides you on the back of his bike, he swings his leg over and settles in front of you. Wrapping your arms around his stomach, you rest your head on his back and close your eyes.
When you grab his hand and squeeze it, a grin tugs at his lips, he stays like that the entire ride home. It’s gone the second he lifts the helmet off your head.
As he’s walking you to your front door, you don’t question why he didn’t need to ask you for directions, your pointed, nearly smug look at your place, and his answering scowl speaks volumes.
Ari knows more about you than you realize— and for reasons that he’s refusing to acknowledge or admit, you ignited a need inside him, an urge to discover everything about you.
As you close the door behind you, he can’t help the flicker of a smile from playing across his lips.
It’ll be another week before he smiles again—it’ll be even longer before you understand it was because of you.
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mphountitled · 2 months
Text
𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞
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Farleigh Start x Fem!Reader
Summary: Hating Farleigh had never stopped him from using you
Content Warnings: Language, Fwb, Forbidden Relationship, Unedited, Dark Fic, Dark Humor, Coarse Jokes, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smoking, Weaponizing!Ollie, Smut (+18), Minors DNI, Slight CNC, Breeding, Neediness, Exhibition Kink, Grinding, Extreme Degradation, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Hate Sex, Hair Pulling, Rough sex, Messy Sex, Spitting, Orgasm Control, Dirty Talk, Choking
He'd definitely bully me if he was real, and I'd be in love with him
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"It's not like we're actually going to eat anything. Mother only insists we all make use of the furniture," Venetia's rambling is incessant as she walks briskly into the dining hall. You know her irritation is the by-product of the undiagnosed anxiety that comes with being forced into an uncomfortable Dior slip on such short notice.
In all fairness, you weren't doing so well either. The dress you are currently wearing is just as suffocating and Venetia's Saint Laurent heels dig into your bone. Your outfit is a velvety, laced up nightmare.
A torture chamber.
You wholeheartedly wanted to crawl into your own bed and forget about everyone and everything. In fact, the only thing keeping you mildly excited for dinner with The Henrys happens to be-
"Gentlemen!" You exclaim, before cleverly adding, "And you've brought Farleigh with you."
You all congregate at the left side of the dinner table, while the Henrys and The Henrys wives all mill about the dinner party. There are'nt any rules to things like this. It's all so self explantory.
What was not all too self explantory was your seating positions. Venetia forces you to sit in between herself and a very vexed Farleigh.
"How interesting," Farleigh barely addresses you in his tired monotonous lilt, "You're almost, nearly, just about, decently dressed." You bristle as you lower your behind to your chair, all while Farleigh shoots you a tight-lipped smile.
"Wow!" Your words drip with sarcasm, promptly halting Farleigh from flirting with the man to his immediate left - one of the Henrys closeted sons, no doubt. "That almost, nearly, just about sounded like a compliment!" You exclaim before leaning over beside him in a daring display of confidence. You place your hand tentatively on his thigh before whispering, "Am I going to have to use my rape whistle?"
Farleigh's scoff sends a string of lightning shooting down your spine.
"You're such a slut, I think you'd enjoy probably enjoy it." His breath is hot against your cheek and would be considered vile.
It should be vile.
Why can't you bring yourself to find Farleigh as vile?
With his elbows lowered underneath the table like a good little gentleman, Farleigh lets his fingers crawl tentatively over your thigh.
The games are on.
Your heart is beating at a million miles an hour with your mind reeling at not only Farleigh's large warm palm finding its home on your ample thigh but his words.
They are in complete contrast to everything you two have experienced together thus far on your stay in Saltburn.
As his fingers inch their way towards your inner thigh you're absolutely breathless. All you can think about is your escapade in the pool the evening before.
Both Catton siblings had been immersed in a very Catton argument, leaving you and Farleigh to your own devices on the banks of the stone pool.
With both your arms leaning over the ledge of the pool and Farleigh pressed to your side, no one could barely tell that Farleigh already had two digits dipped inside your weeping cunt. His hand moved slowly and deftly, so as not to cause too much of a stir in the water and give you two away. And he did it all while leaning his free hand out of the pool, cradling his copy of Jane Eyre with his eyes glued on the pages.
"F-Fuck Farleigh, can I cum?" He sighed at your agitated state.
"Not until I'm finished with Chapter 18." He mumbled almost distractedly, as if your needy voice was something akin to a pesky fly interrupting his reading.
Chapter 18, as you'd probably guessed, had never ended.
His cousins were back from their argument and his fingers left your cunt just as quickly. You had both went back to pretending to hate each other and you were left to 'rub one out' in the safety of your room like some hormonal teenager.
You truly are furious with him.
"What's this I'm hearing about a rape whistle?" Felix pipes up from the other side of Farleigh, equally dressed up all spiffy for the Henry's "You didn't rape anyone, did you?"
Farleigh's response is more of a hiss, "Of course I didn't-"
"Surely there must be more savory topics of discussion at the dinner table other than rape?" Comes the quick mediation of Elsbeth, who sits at the head of the table, clutching her string of expensive pearls as if they weilded the power to rid her of all these insolent little kids.
"Of course there is," you exclaim before turning your head to smile at the presence beside Ventia, nestled quietly in his seat like a little pauper.
Farleigh's manicured fingernails sink half moons into the skin of your thigh, peeking up from the slit of your dress as you lean away from him and say, "You must be Oliver! It's a relief to see another commoner around here." It was so undeniably petty to weaponize Farleigh's greatest foe, but the vexation of not being made to cum the night before still hangs heavily on your shoulder. And at the end of the day, you really just were a petty bitch.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ollie!" Slightly leaning over Venetia, the boy looks pale. As if he was biting down on his words. God, his tongue must be riddled in scars.
"Pleasure to meet you." Oliver cooly mirrors the warm and inviting smile stretched across your face.
"Don't lean over me," Venetia mumbles, "I'm not a child."
Meanwhile, Farleigh scoffs once again. While he injects himself in your conversation, his hands move swiftly to cup your vagina, nearly raking a gasp out of your throat in the process. "She won't sleep with you, mate." his brown eyes are trained on Oliver's. "She's a slut but not that big of a slut."
The extreme degradation laced in Farleigh's voice is enough to have you nearly moan out in front of all your friends, their family, and all the bloody Henrys.
Farleigh knew exactly which buttons to push to have you melting catastrophically against his fingers. He knew what words could have you slipping into subspace and he knew how to get your cunt weeping.
"Jesus Christ, could we not do this right now?" Venetia asks, staring pointedly at her cousin, and not at the sight of your legs parting to further accomdate his lazy rubbing against your cunt.
"I'm sorry, Cousin," Farleigh replies, "but it's not my fault your best friend is a raging bitch."
A breathless chuckle escapes your clenched teeth, "I-I'm not a-"
"Yeah, I am so completely done with this conversation," Venitia says, before strangling the stem of her wine glass and chugging it down as if it was nothing but water.
You turn back to hiss into Farleigh's ear, "You're such an a-asshole-"
"Say that again but don't sound like you're on the verge of squirting on my fingers in the middle of dinner." His grin is shadowed by the dimness of crystal chandlier and all the little candles posted along the table. "This is what you get for being a bitch," he says, socasually it makes you break your resolve by shifting in your seat, to better grind your cunt against his fingers, even for a mere second.
It's almost enough to make you cum right then and there.
"Oh-ho!" He aims a guffaw at the sky, "You really are a needy little slut-"
"This dress is shit," you suddenly push yourself out of your chair, creating the minimal noise of wood scraping against the floors. Most eyes are on you and Farleigh slyly removes his hands from in between your thigh. He leans over the table, bringing his fingers to his lips before spreading them over his gums like you would cocaine.
"I have to go change." You say to Venetia, before promptly (and very rudely) bowing out of the dinner.
A few seconds later, you hear Farleigh mumble something about needing a smoke and your heart rattles wildly in its cage. His footsteps are brisk behind yours, and you can feel his eyes sinking into your figure.
While your feet carry you to your destination and you let your brain catch on, you're already sneaking into Farleigh's room.
"Ah! Trespasser!" He exclaims excitedly behind you, with his hands stuffed in his pocket.
"You're so fucking annoying!" Your complains barely escape your throat before he's attacking you in a sloppy, open mouth kiss. He steals the air right out of your lungs, until he's breathing for the both of you. Farleigh slips out of his Abercrombie suit blazer, discarding the material as if it truly meant nothing to him.
His hands are everywhere, with special interests in your breasts compressed tightly by the uncomfortable stitching of your dress.
"This dress..." you mumble distractedly.
"Fuck this dress." He says, and you wholeheartedly agree. Perhaps it was desperate of you to turn in haste. Lifting the ends of your hair to present the zipper to him.
"You look fucking ravenous." He admits in a grave whisper, with his lips grazing the side of your neck, "I wanna fucking eat you." He says, "I wanna be inside you."
"You have such a dirty mouth, Farleigh," the groan that escapes his throat as he zips down your dress lets you know that you may have found your way in.
As the dress spills around your heeled feet, followed by your lacey underwear, Farleigh reattaches his full lips to the skin of your back. "What did you say?" His voice is like the rough gravel encircling Saltburn and you let your eyes roll to the back of your head as you arch backwards against him. His hardness presses against your ass and your fingers weave their way into his curls.
"I said youre a dirty boy, Farleigh." He ruts against you, almost as a second thought. "A dirty fucking boy,"
"Fuck," his hands dig into your hips, rubbing you against him. All as he pleases. "Fucking, fuck. I'm not gonna cum like this-" He says suddenly before spinning you back around.
It is few and sparse moments when you're reminded just how much taller Farleigh is than you and eventide it happens, the wind is knocked out of you. Farleigh advances on you like a literal predator until you're forced to fall backwards on his bed.
He barely undoes the bowtie, and only a few buttons go loose enough to showcase the beautiful expanse of his chest.
"You're absolutely soaked aren't you?" He asks, hovering on the bed above you.
"I need to cum, Farleigh, please-" You knew it was the only way to get what you wanted. You had unashamedly resorted to begging for a man who hooked his nails into your hair, forcing you to sit upright as he parted your legs.
"Look at you," he whispers before cackling maniacally. "You're so stupidly wet, you filthy fucking girl-"
"O-oh fuck, Fuck Farleigh," Your try by all means to grind your cunt into the mattress but is doesn't happen.
"When are you going to learn that I own your orgasms?" He whispers, with his other hand furiously undoing the belt of his fitted pants. "You don't cum until I say. You don't touch yourself until I say. You don't even fucking think about cumming until I say-"
"You're such a big little baby," you spit back, "A big needy, little b-"
You're once again pushed backwards and Farleigh's mounting you with his leaking cock locked tight in his fist.
You automatically lift your legs to present your cunt to him and he groans at the sight.
"I'm going to cum inside of you." He promises.
"I want you too."
Farleigh's eyes are heavy as he slides himself inside you. He looks down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. A treasure trove.
"Fuck- I need you to carry on talking." Farleigh says before shutting his eyes tightly. "Fuck you feel so good-"
"You're doing so well, baby," his hips rut inside you, accidentally pushing his cock in way too deep, way too fast and you both hiss and moan. "Such a good boy," you say with your hair finding his own curls, "You're being such a good fucking boy, Farleigh-"
"Open your mouth," you comply robotically. Farleigh places his hands on the underside of your chin before tipping your head backwards. His chains dangle above you as you stick your tongue out and he spits directly into your mouth. "Such a slut," he says, "Such a filthy fucking good girl." His words have you grinding your cunt against his cock until soon, you're both on the precipice of cumming.
"F-Fuck-"
"Such a good girl," he whispers, with his breath ghosting yoir face and the sound of skin slapping against skin only grows louder and louder. "S-So fucking good-" He whispers over and over again until your cunt clenches around his cock, promting Farleigh's orgasm with a quickness.
His cum spilling inside you has you slipping unceremoniously into your own orgasm and Farleigh wails in both the pleasure of your cunt milking him dry, or your fingers still pulling his hair like crazy.
"Fuck!" He exclaims before slumping on the bed beside you, "Get your fingers out of my hair, you psycho-"
"You love it, though," there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and all Farleigh does is scoff before patting down the pockets of his pants.
"You give me endless reasons to smoke," he says, before tipping his head back, unknwongly leaning into your embrace as your fingers coil through his soft curls.
"You'd smoke anyway."
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jobean12-blog · 2 months
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Next Door to Love
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Neighbor AU)
Word Count: 3,188
Summary: When you made the move to the city you never expected your new neighbor to be so sweet and helpful...or hot.
Author's Note: Because why not! Moving in across the hall from Bucky would be a dream, one I'd like to live out please and ty haha! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰
Warnings: fun and flirty, teasing and tension, a curse or two or three, Bucky is impatient and cocky in the best way!
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Last week
Your tired, fuzzy slipper clad feet drag along the floor as you trudge toward the door across the hall. You’re hoping someone is home. Someone who has sugar. Anyone.
You let out a quick exhale and lift your chin before rapping your knuckles against the wood. A frown starts to mar your forehead when you hear a sleepy mumble come from inside the apartment.
Shit, fuck, shit you woke him up. It’s a guy. Of course it is…because you don’t look like you just rolled off your mattress that still has no bedframe and tripped over twenty-five unopened boxes…etc, etc.
The door swings open revealing said guy…a hot-as-fuck guy. Naked, except for his unbuttoned jeans.
Oh hi neighbor.
Before you can stop it, your gaze instantly drops to the dark trail of hair below his bellybutton, framed by a set of abs that you could dry your laundry on.
You reel yourself in and lift your eyes to his which does nothing to help your declining focus. His hair is perfectly mussed from sleep, his chiseled jaw shadowed with dark stubble and his incredible blue eyes lined by dark lashes.
His hands are planted on either side of the door frame and with every passing second you’re mesmerized by flexing muscles in his chest and arms.
He drags a lazy hand through his unkept hair and smiles. Knowingly. Smugly.
“Can I help you doll?”
“Um…hi. I’m sorry if I woke you…it’s just…I moved in yesterday and haven’t gone shopping yet and I have no sugar. I need my coffee.”
“So you’re my new neighbor,” he croons. “Lucky me.”
You audibly swallow and hold up your coffee cup pleadingly.
“I’ll take care of ya doll.”
With a wink he holds up one long finger.
“Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with that sugar.”
He spins on his heel and walks toward what you’re guessing is the kitchen and it should be considering your apartments are mirror images of each other.
You step inside and stand by the door to wait. You hear him rummaging around and then hear a crash followed by grumbled curses.
Before you can react the cutest white cat saunters out of the kitchen, looking quite proud with his fluffy tail held high and blue eyes unblinking.
“That’s Alpine,” he yells from the other room. “Don’t let his cuteness fool you. He’s a menace!”
You let your laughter ring out and then kneel down to give Alpine some scratches. The cat instantly warms up to you and presses himself against your leg, purring loudly.
“Ah, of course he likes you.”
You look up at the sound of your neighbors voice and reluctantly give up petting Alpine to take the offering of sugar.
“Thank you….?”
“Bucky,” he finishes for you. “Name’s Bucky.”
“Thanks Bucky,” you say with a smile and then introduce yourself.
You look back down at the cat that is now circling between Bucky’s bare feet. “And Alpine really is cute. I can’t imagine he’s a menace.”
“Just wait until you get to know him,” Bucky says. “Can I get you anything else doll?”
“No. Thank you and again I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“No problem at all. I had a late night at the office and I was just being lazy. If you need anything else just come by. Anytime.”
His lips turn up in a boyish grin and he winks again.
You can feel his eyes on you as you turn and walk out into the hall and toward your apartment. Just as you push your door open you look over your shoulder and catch him staring, his teeth dug deep into his bottom lip.
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The knock at your door startles you from your unpacking trance and from your spot on the floor, surrounded by open boxes and a mess of things, you ask, “who is it?”
“It’s Bucky…and I have food.”
Your smile is impossible to hide and you shout back, “come in!”
Bucky appears in the doorway with a pizza box.
“Hiya doll face,” he chimes. “I figured you’d need some fuel.”
You drag yourself out of the mess on the floor and hop up onto the edge of the counter.
“Thanks Bucky. I really appreciate it, but you’re spoiling me. What is it now…the third time this week you’re feeding me?”
He hands you a slice and then stands there, watching while you take a bite.
“And why not? You need to eat and I love to eat, might as well do it together!”
You laugh through your bite. “Then what motivated you to help with my furniture?”
He shrugs and grabs a slice of pizza, shoving half into his mouth before he answers.
“Perfect opportunity to show off my muscles.”
He waggles his brows suggestively and flexes a bicep.
“Double win for me,” you admit, licking your lips. “How will I ever repay you.”
He remains quiet for several moments while he studies you then asks, “how about a real dinner?”
“Pizza is the realest dinner there is!” you state with a mouthful.
“Let me take you out. For something other than pizza.”  
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Would you say yes if I were?”
Your legs swing back and forth at the knee as you finish your bite and then place your slice of pizza down. You reach over the box and grab the marker you left out on the counter, placing it between your lips.
Watching him from under your lashes, you take his arm and roll up the sleeve of his Henley and when your fingertips make contact with the sensitive skin on his underside of his forearm you can feel his muscles tighten.
Your mouth curves around the marker at his reaction and you pluck it from between your lips and start writing on his skin.
“Now you’ve got my number. Text me and we’ll pick a date for our date.”
“Thank you,” he says, leaning in close and dropping his eyes to your mouth.
Your lips part with your small gasp of air and when his thumb lifts to brush along the corner of your mouth you let out a rush of air.
“Sauce,” he states before he licks his finger clean, his gaze locked on yours.
You nod as he steps back and pulls out his phone to dial your number on his arm. Your phone rings and he says, “and now you’ve got mine.”
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You spend the rest of your weekend unpacking and doing errands, running into Bucky only once in a frantic rush of laundry. He offers to help but you know if you let him you’ll become distracted and never get anything done. The two of you text back and forth, deciding on Saturday for your official date. No pizza involved.
The next morning you get another text from him.
“Morning doll face. Don’t forget an umbrella. Gonna rain later today.”
“Are you the weather man now?” you message back, smiling at your phone.
“Nah. Just a friendly neighbor.”
“Did you tell everyone in the building about the rain and remind them to bring an umbrella.”
“Just you…”
“Thanks, but I’m already half way to work sans umbrella.”
“Damn it. I knew I should have texted earlier. Now if you get caught in the rain it’ll be all my fault.”
“Hardly! I should have checked the weather. Can’t rely on you for everything can I?”
He sends a wink face.
“Is it Saturday yet?”
“Still only Monday morning. What’s Saturday?”
“Don’t tease me doll. I’ve been looking forward to this date since you showed up at my door lookin’ for sugar.”
“Have a good day Bucky.”
“You too doll…stay dry.”
You’re only two blocks from your apartment building when the sky opens up and the rain comes down in buckets. By the time you reach the doors you’re soaked through and cursing at yourself for forgetting an umbrella.
The door attendant lets you in with a sympathetic smile and as you’re sloshing past him and toward the elevator you hear Bucky’s voice.
“Oh doll. Look at you.”
He tugs his mail from the box and slams it shut, rushing toward you and taking your arm.
“Soaked,” you say sadly.
“I can see that,” he muses with a twitch of his perfect lips. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs and dry.”
The elevator doors open and you step inside with a shiver. He immediately starts to pull your jacket from your shoulders.
“What are you doing?” you ask without stopping him.
“You have to get out of this jacket. I’m sure your shirt is….”
He stops speaking when his eyes catch sight of your white button down, soaked through so that you can see the lace of your bra outlined against the fabric.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his eyes back to your face. “Here.”
He shrugs off his damp jacket and then takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.
“But it’ll get all wet,” you protest.
“Don’t care. You can’t walk out of the elevator like that.”
His jaw is set in a hard line as his fingers work over the scruff that lines it. The elevator dings at your floor and he takes your hand, leading you out and checking the hallway.
“Why are you looking around like that?” you ask.
He turns back to you and tugs you closer. “I don’t wanna anyone seeing you.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll have to kill them,” he states.
“Someone is acting a little jealous,” you giggle.
“Yeah well…we haven’t even had our first date yet. Can’t have someone looking at what’s about to be mine.”
“Yours,” you breathe out, not even realizing you’re now standing in front of your apartment door.
With shaky fingers you start to remove his suit jacket but before you can he stops you with a hand on your wrist.
“Don’t doll. Just keep it for now.”
“But we’re at the door. I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but if you take that off then I have to see you in your wet shirt again. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself if I do.”
“Control yourself how?” you ask in a breathy whisper.
He responds with a pained groan before his mouth meets yours and he has you pressed against the door.
Even though your shirt is soaked through and your skin is cold you can feel the warmth of his body seep into yours. You wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself and he lifts one hand to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.
Your scrape your nails along his broad shoulders and he moans out your name.
“Fuck, I love having your hands on me.”
The desperation in his voice has you arching into him and you drop your head against the door, giving him access to trail his lips down your neck. Your fingers slide into his hair and tug at the soft strands. He growls into your skin and scrapes his teeth over your pulse point making you gasp his name.
“Oh I like that,” you whisper.
He does it again.
“You’re going to like everything I do to you doll face.”
His lips graze yours and he swallows your whimper, crowding you closer to the door before muttering out a curse and letting you both take a breath.
“Is it Saturday yet?” he asks, still breathless.
“Still Monday,” you answer, feeling just the same.
“Right,” he says, planting his hands on the door above your head and dropping his head forward.
A door down the hall opens and he pauses, straightening his body to hide your own. You both smile at the older lady who walks by with a questioning look.
When Bucky’s eyes return to you they drop to where he spread his jacket open to put his hands on you, your shirt sticking to your wet skin even more now.
He stares before reluctantly dragging his eyes up and taking the sides of the material and pulling them tightly around you.
You tremble.
“Still cold?” he asks, his eyes soft with worry.
“Hardly,” you answer and lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“See you later Bucky.”
“I’m counting on it doll.”
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You spend the rest of the week juggling your time between work, texting Bucky and sleeping. You’ve only seen him once since Monday evening and that was for five minutes when he caught you coming home again but this time he had his friend Steve with him and there was no chance for any kissing.
Saturday morning rolls around and you wake up to a text from him.
“It is finally Saturday or am I dreaming?”
“It’s really Saturday!”
“Thank fuck! Can we start our date now?”
“No…I have to do girly things and prepare.”
“What kinds of things….?”
“I’ll see you tonight Buck.”
You can almost hear his groan through the phone.
“I’ll be at your door at 7 sharp.”
Bucky knocks on your apartment door at exactly the same time your phone clock hits 7:00pm. You grin at your best friend Nat before she gets up and walks toward the door.
“Oh girl. He’s hot!” a muffled voice says from the other side.
It isn’t yours so Bucky assumes it’s your friend.
“He’s at least a nine.”
Bucky scoffs, muttering, “a nine?” quietly to himself.
“Hey, I can hear you in there. Are you gonna open the door?” he asks the unknown voice.
The door swings open to reveal a red head who looks him over with two scrutinizing green eyes.
“Hi,” he smiles, holding out his hand. “I’m Bu…”
“Bucky,” she finishes. “I know who you are…question is…do you know who I am?”
“You must be Natasha,” Bucky answers with a smug smile.
“That’s right and I’m a black belt in jiu jitsu so you do anything I don’t like and I will end you.”
Bucky’s eyes light up and he watches Nat as she moves toward the kitchen.
“You almost ready doll face,” he yells, not taking his eyes off Nat in case she goes for a knife.
“I’m right here,” you say.
Bucky turns to find you standing right in front of him. His mouth drops open as his eyes sweep you up and down.
“This is where you say she looks amazing,” Nat admonishes from the kitchen, dangerously close to the knife rack.
However, Bucky’s eyes never leave you and when he steps into your space and wraps you in his arms, pulling you into his chest, you let out a squeal of delight.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” he says, loud enough for Nat to hear, then whispers, only for your ears, “I want to rip this dress off you.”
Your lips spread into a sly smile. “We made the right choice Nat.”
“Of course we did,” she chimes. “Now go. I’ll lock up.”
“I’m so ready,” he says, ushering you toward the door, but not before turning to Nat, still in the kitchen eyeing him warily, and asking, “I’m good with a nine, but just out of curiosity, what did I lose a point for?”
“You’re really gonna make me say it in front of you?” Nat asks.
“I wanna hear it too Nat,” you say, raising an expectant and skeptical brow.
“You didn’t shave.”
He runs the free hand, the one not wrapped around your waist, over his jaw.
“I didn’t get any complaints earlier this week,” Bucky says, eyes now sparkling with mischief.
“He’s right Nat,” you add. “I like it.”
Nat rolls her eyes and shoos you away.
Once you’re safely in the elevator and away from prying eyes Bucky invades your space, plastering you against the cool metal wall and caging you there with his large body.
“It almost killed me to not be kissing you for the past five minutes,” he says against your lips.
When you press into him and slide your body along his it sucks the breath right out of his lungs and fills them with something else. Need.
The kiss pulls a throaty groan from him and his belt buckle digs into your skin, the muscles hidden beneath his clothes, pressing and flexing over the thin material of your dress.
The elevator door dings and begins to slide open, causing you to give his chest a gentle shove.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asks as he lifts a finger and traces your swollen lips.
“That would suck,” you reply. “I kind of like having you as a neighbor.”
After a delicious dinner at a roof top restaurant down town, Bucky walks you along the street, hand in hand, as you listen and laugh to his childhood stories about growing up in Brooklyn.
“Where are we going now?” you ask.
“It’s a surprise,” he says as he twirls you into his side and presses his fingers under your chin to steal a kiss.
As you get closer to your destination the bright lights sparkle and the smell of the ocean is carried on the warm breeze.
“Which bridge is that?” you ask with awe.
“The Brooklyn Bridge,” he tells you and grabs your hand to pull you along. “Come on. I have something to show you.”
When you reach the top of the look out he slides an arm around your waist and pulls your back to his chest.
“This is so beautiful Bucky,” you whisper.
He kisses your cheek and takes your chin between his fingers, turning your face up to his. “I always thought it was the most beautiful thing in the city…but not anymore.”
You’re thankful for his strong arms holding you up and after a sweet kiss you enjoy the view in comfortable silence for a few more minutes but his hands start to wander, soft and sure, and with each passing touch your body aches for more.
His warm breath fans across your neck and his arm moves lower until his hand grasps your hip and he pulls you back to feel the hardness between his legs.
You suck in a breath and fight the urge to move against him.
With a curse he pulls away and grabs your hand, dragging you toward the park under the bridge. The only lights come from the lit-up buildings across the street and when he finds a hidden spot he backs you against the cold stone but you’re too hot to care.
“Bucky,” you whisper as your hands roam over his broad chest.
His mouth brushes yours before he gently nips at your bottom lip.
“I can’t even keep my fucking hands off you long enough to bring you home,” he murmurs.
His fingers find the hem of your dress and he slides them under, slowly teasing the fabric higher until his hand brushes over the wetness on your panties.
“Please, Bucky,” you pant.
“Fuck, I love hearing you say my name like that,” he growls. “I need to get you home so I can hear you scream it for me.”
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@hiddles-rose @littleseasiren @randomfandompenguin @blackwidownat2814 @goldylions @buckysdollforlife @lizette50
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rogueddie · 2 months
Text
Stitched Together T | 698 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is sitting in comfortable silence together doing their own thing
"Do you still have my vest?"
"Hello to you too?" Steve says, raising his eyebrows when Eddie takes that as his cue to push past Steve, into his house.
He quickly kicks the door behind him, curling an arm around Steve's waist to reel him into a quick kiss. "Hello! My old vest- you got it?"
"I do- I haven't been able to get the blood out yet."
"Oh, I don't want it," Eddie waves him off, already halfway up the stairs. "Come on, I need to see it!"
"What- Eddie!"
Steve hurries up the stairs after Eddie, who takes them two steps at a time. He hovers at Steve's bedroom door though, rocking back and forth on his heels, waiting.
It's then that Steve noticed the plastic bag that he's holding.
"You gonna explain?"
"In a minute! I need to see my old vest first."
"It's in my closet," Steve explains, leading him into his room and pointing.
Eddie immediately jumps over to the closet, glancing back at Steve before he opens it to make sure it's ok for him to dig through it.
It doesn't take him long to find the vest, face splitting into a grin as he pulls it out.
"Perfect."
"So... what's going on?"
"I'm gonna make a new one. Wanted to remind myself how this bad boy is layed out first."
"Oh?"
"I'll only need it for, like, a few hours. I can get it back to you by the end of the day."
"What? Wh- you brought your stuff here."
"Yeah, I'm gonna stitch it together in the van. I was thinking about going out to the quarry."
"You could- I mean, if you want to, you could just... do it here? If you want to. I'm just gonna be baking today anyway."
"Hell yeah. Any excuse to spend more time with you is a great idea in my book."
Eddie follows him downstairs, setting up on the sofa in the living room, while Steve continues past him into the kitchen.
Steve pokes his head back in after a minute.
"You didn't want to talk, did you?"
"I know how you get when you bake," Eddie reminds him. "I'm ok here. If I need anything, I know where everything is."
"You could ask-"
"No, I couldn't. It's ok, babe. Really. It's nice to just... know you're here."
"Oh. Really?"
"Really."
Steve goes back into the kitchen, but it's not long before he's washed the side, the bowls and utensils he used. All he needs to do is wait for his food to bake.
He wanders back into the living room, sitting on one of the arm chairs.
Eddie barely glances up, focused on his task.
He doesn't seem bothered that Steve is staring, so he just... watches.
It's surprisingly nice. Comforting.
He can see how much care Eddie is putting into each patch, taking his time when pinning them in place and being careful with each stitch.
By the time the kitchen timer goes off, Eddie has only managed to stitch two patches on and started on the backpatch.
He follows Steve into the kitchen once he's done putting his things away, just in time for him to start plating.
"Looks delicious."
"Mhmm," Steve grins. He pulls Eddie closer with a hand on his hip as soon as he's within reach. "You?"
"Got two done in the time it usually takes me to stitch on one, so, I consider it a win."
"Good."
He tries to lean in, pepper Eddie's neck with kisses until he caves the way he always does, easily following Steve up to-
"We should do this more often," Eddie continues. "Hanging out like this. It's... nice. It really is."
"Yeah," Steve agrees, reluctantly pulling back. He can't bite back his sappy smile though. "You're gorgeous when you get into your passions."
"Careful, Harrington. Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you're in love with me."
"Mmm, I don't know, they might be into something."
His attempt to kiss Eddie is ruined by how much they're both laughing.
Steve is pretty sure it's one of the best days that he's ever been fortunate enough to live.
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darklordofthesimp · 1 year
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Anything III (König x Reader)
Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.
Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.
A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.
Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?
Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
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"That fucker needs to go." 
"He's not going anywhere, Simon."
The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat. 
“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed. 
“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”
Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit. 
“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him. 
“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.” 
“And?” 
“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.” 
_________
Inhale, exhale. Again. 
Bang 
Then again. 
Bang 
And again. 
Bang
One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim. 
You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.
Bang 
You were still the best. 
“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.” 
Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable. 
The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target. 
Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot. 
You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up. 
As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming. 
A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted. 
As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter. 
Your body locked up. 
Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König. 
You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails. 
Your face stung at the sight of him. 
He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.
König ruined you and got away unscathed. 
You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.
Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.
 In, bang, out. 
They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon. 
There was no honour in what König was. 
Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement. 
You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck.  König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him. 
When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy. 
Then you struck. 
Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple. 
His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him. 
How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it? 
König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well. 
But it wasn’t enough. 
You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough. 
You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable. 
This wasn’t enough. 
König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed. 
You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you. 
When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.
Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched. 
His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest. 
König was afraid. 
And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth. 
“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close. 
König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun. 
This wasn’t enough. 
He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night. 
You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him. 
That you were going to kill him. 
“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?” 
König’s eyes softened. 
Don’t want your pity. 
Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 
Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you. 
When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming. 
Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips. 
“Your fight is finished.” 
König took in a sharp breath. 
You pulled the trigger. 
The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d  won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed. 
With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged. 
Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours. 
König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest. 
No, no, no, no. 
This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground. 
“Even in victory, you are nothing.” 
Crack
“You will always be nothing.” 
Crack
You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing. 
The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire. 
You were broken, broken, broken. 
“Birdy!” 
This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor. 
“Wake up!” 
Wake up.
Wake up. 
You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.  
“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.” 
“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.
“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable. 
Price was right. You had become a liability. 
“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.” 
You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body. 
“What-” 
You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-
No more, no more, no more no more no more-
Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic. 
“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.” 
You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened. 
“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.” 
You frowned. “Only at the very end.” 
Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life. 
You were strong. 
Stronger than him. 
“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?” 
The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back.  He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.
“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”
“How-” 
“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.” 
Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.
“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm. 
“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened. 
You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach. 
Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass. 
_
NEXT CHAPTER
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