#shoe size doesn’t matter

[baldmultiverse]

Crocs are just modern clogs

#shoe size doesn’t matter #tbh the first time I heard a size dosent matter joke was from tangled #love tangled #god teir movie

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. height difference + jjk men — seeing you struggling to initiate a kiss, ft. gojo, nanami, toji, choso

note. super self indulgent once again woopsies

tags. jjk men x female reader (separately). fluff, suggestive themes. size difference obviously: reader is shorter than the characters. little hint of an age gap in toji’s part (you; early 20’s, he early 30’s). reader gets referred to as ‘small, short, adorable’. nicknames used ‘baby, sweetheart, princess, little girl, angel’. includes drabbles for each character.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

“what’s the matter, baby?” satoru easily notices whenever you’re internally debating something. you’d fidget with your clothes, look around and nibble on your bottom lip.

even if you say that it’s nothing, your lover knows that you mean the exact opposite. he walks hand-in-hand with you out of the boutique where he had bought you a pretty dress. his thumb rubs your skin gently, hoping to comfort you with whatever you’re struggling to say.

“it’s uhm,” you finally speak up. satoru halts his steps and tilts his head with a curious pout on his lips. he doesn’t wish to pressure you into anything, so he keeps quiet.

his blue eyes follow your movements from behind his sunglasses. you step closer to him, your small hands travelling up to gently hold onto his jacket. you gulp before balancing your entire body on your toes—creasing your shoes a bit by doing so.

at this point, satoru knows what you’re trying to do. your actions are absolutely adorable and make the sorcerer giggle. he wants nothing more than to squish your cheeks together for being so cute. especially because you’re failing to reach his lips.

“oh, do y’need help maybe?” satoru asks with a smug grin. you frown and try to stand on the tips of your toes, though that didn’t seem enough. your lover needs to lower his head a tad more for you to kiss him.

satoru tilts his head backwards instead. he loves to see you pout and struggle to carry out such an affectionate act. he can’t help it—you’re so fun to tease, “c’mon, you can do it, baby!”

when you give up due to his constant teasing, the white-haired man gasps dramatically. you smack his bicep and turn around with a huff, “forget it.”

before you can take another step away from him—satoru’s hand reaches out to hold your wrist. he pulls you back against his chest, warm palm holding your cheek and tilting your head up so his glossy lips could meet yours.

“sorry,” satoru mutters against your mouth. his tongue sneakily swipes against yours which causes you to squirm. he gives your bottom lip a playful nibble in response, “couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

“welcome home, dear!” you greet kento at the front door as per usual. he sighs in relief and smiles tiredly, appreciating your appearance before him. he seems utterly exhausted from his most recent mission.

“it’s good to see you, sweetheart,” kento shuts the door behind him. he takes off his shoes and places them where they belong before doing the same with his coat. he looks down at you as you help him tidy his belongings, “you’re looking beautiful tonight.”

to say you’re flustered is an understatement. kento always knows just how to get you shy and embarrassed from the casual way he compliments you. you’re in your pyjamas and apron—barefaced with nothing extra going on and yet your lover is completely engrossed by your looks.

“thank you,” you murmur back with a bright smile. kento smiles as well after seeing your happy expression. that’s what he does it for.

you hold kento’s hand and feel its warmth engulf your skin. his palms are a little rough; probably from the hard work he put into those recent missions he did. you look up at the blonde man in front of you and want nothing more than to kiss him—show your gratitude for everything he does for you.

thus, you lean in and stand on your toes, balancing on one foot whilst the other floats a few centimetres above the wooden floor. it’s hard to find a balance, though your attentive partner is quick to lend a hand.

“careful,” kento whispers, his voice so husky that you feel a shiver run down your spine. his big hands settle on your waist and he doesn’t waste a single second after that.

he leans in as well, head lowered to yours and your noses lightly brushing against each other. kento’s lips find your soft ones—interlocking them in a passion filled kiss. you can feel his entire body relax even more. as if he’s waited all day to be back home. to be back to you.

to kiss and hold you close.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

“over here, princess,” toji calls you over with a subtle wave. he’s leaning against a brick wall, hands in the pockets of his black jacket. you walk over to him with an excited smile—happy to spend some quality time together with him today.

“hey, i missed you,” you comment and wrap your arms around his waist. you nuzzle your face against his chest to which toji reacts by giving you an awkward head pat.

the older man lifts your head up and away from his body by holding onto your chin. his eyes run over your face, letting out a short content hum. he’s missed you a lot too. not that he’d tell you that directly.

“how’s uni for ya?” toji asks. the pad of his thumb rubs your cheek and you lean into his touch. it brings a little smirk to his face—seeing how easily you become putty in his hands is rather amusing.

“been okay for most part,” you shrug and fail to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend. he probably doesn’t do it on purpose, but his half-lidded eyes makes your lower abdomen feel funny.

you’re still so nervous around him, though you’ve got the guts to at least kiss him first. you missed the feeling of his lips against you after all. the constant, soothing rubs of his thumb against your cheek only intensifies your desire.

you lift yourself up on the tips of your shoes. your cold hands cup toji’s face and he immediately gets what you’re trying to do. he snickers at the sight of you struggling to reach him and acts like he doesn’t know what you want.

. . until you whine about how you really want to kiss him. that man is sold the moment he hears your whiny voice.

“fuck. c’mere, little girl,” toji’s veiny hands go around your waist and move down to cup your ass, his lips crashing down onto yours with a desperation he’s never kissed you with before.

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

“do i need to add salt? she’s talking too fast,” choso ask whilst scratching his head. he’s watching a youtube video on his phone; specifically a cooking one. he’s attempting to copy a recipe in his kitchen and you’re helping him since he doesn’t know too much about phones. and cooking apparently.

you giggle and grab the phone from the counter. the lady’s words are incomprehensible due to the video being on two times the usual speed. you return the settings to normal with a light hearted chuckle, “yeah, because you’ve sped up the video, silly.”

“oh,” choso smiles sheepishly. he checks the stove and makes sure the food isn’t burning before turning towards you, “thank you. you’re a lifesaver, heh.”

you can’t help but admire the view of choso in front of you. he’s in an apron which is too small on him since it’s yours—his chiseled chest accentuated by the fabric. his black hair is up in a small ponytail and his cheeks are red. probably from embarrassment.

“you’re adorable,” you comment lovingly. choso’s cheeks turn even redder by your compliment and he sputters some words about how he ‘needs to focus on his cooking’.

you interrupt his stammers by getting closer. your lover stops and his lips are parted—giving you the perfect chance to capture them into a kiss. well, you try to at least

choso notices your silent struggles and blinks. it takes him a second to fully grasp the situation before he decides on helping you. he smiles warmly, his beefy arms effortlessly lifting you up to his height, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

one hand is on your thigh, the other holding the back of your head to deepen your shared kiss. choso pulls away and attaches his lips to your neck, settling you the counter, “want more, angel. you drive me crazy.”

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #choso x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #gojo fluff #nanami fluff #choso fluff #toji fluff

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, noncon, size/strength difference

gn reader

Thinking about breaking things off with your fuck friend 'cause you feel he's been catching feelings you have no intention of pitching...

“Why.” He asked, and the cross you’d made on your fingers in a wish to avoid the entire conversation untangled with a sigh.

“Please, don’t act dumb.” You groaned, exasperated and slightly irked. “You know why….” 

“No. Tell me.” He argued, and you sighed again in regret of your own common decency – wishing you’d taken the entire break-off over text instead, or at the very least taken the time to think about what you would say or do if and when he got this way. 

“You...”

You hesitated, taking a second to decide whether or not you really ought to voice it out loud – not because you had any doubts of it being true – but because the man in front of you was still very much a large brawny beefcake with temper issues no matter your sneaking suspicion that he saw you as something more than just a fuck friend.

“You’re getting too...” You continued, still scrambling for better words. Coming up short. “Clingy.”

He paused, his expression going from searching to a mix of offended and scrutinous.

“Clingy?” He repeated, forced disbelief a present factor in his tone. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who clings to me- screaming my name- begging me to cum inside you and-”

You cut his rant off with yet another sigh accompanied by a shake of your head. “That’s not what I mean by clingy. I’m sorry, I should have said emotional, and your comment just proved that.”

You folded your arms across your chest, watching him reel.

“Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. We’re done.” 

You left him on the sofa to go put your shoes back on – admonishing yourself for coming inside in the first place when you could have just as quickly done this on the doorstep and walked away.

“You're not going anywhere until we talk this through.” He followed, his stronger hand latching onto your upper arm in a grip that was unnecessarily harsh.

You didn’t really mind, though – it was his lack of charm that had charmed you to begin with – you only wished he’d remained that same savage he was and not gone all lovey-dovey soft on you.

“There's nothing to discuss.” You felt as though you were repeating yourself, getting more annoyed by the fact. “It was fun; now it isn't.” You underlined, looking back into his eyes, cringing when seeing the gloss of something that you really hoped wouldn’t amount to tears while you were still there.

“I'm gonna need more than that.” He said, the grip on your arm still kept firm with no inclination of letting up.

You didn’t really want things to get more awkward by asking him to let you go – feeling as though maintaining the position of strength was important so he not mistake your resolution.

He had a nasty habit of never taking you seriously.

“You’re being childish.” You stated.

“Childish?!”

His grip tightened with his outburst, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have your heart jump to your throat.

"Let go of me." Your voice had significantly diminished.

"You think you can tease me like this and then tell me to piss off?” He seethed, your arm aching in the bruising grip he had on it as he pulled you close until your face was an inch from his. “Think again."

Your breath thinned under his glare, and you felt nearly too stiff to do anything except stare back up at him in wait.

“Calm down.” You tried, but it seemed choice words were too little too late to save you.

“I am calm.” He hissed back into your face before pulling you back to the sofa.

Throwing you down on your back – you didn’t even have the time to gasp before he was on top of you.

“Get off me-” You whined, your hands shooting forth – trying with all your might to heave him off, but ultimately amounting to nothing more than a slight annoyance to the much larger man on top.

“It's all about sex with you, right? You want to have fun, right?” He said in a craze, and you cringed while he leaned down to graze your chest with chin-stubble and lips, whispering at your peachfuzz until goosebumps rose. “So let's have some fun.”

“Stop it – I said I don't want to anymore – I’m being serious.” You tried, once again – appealing to his reason.

But it would seem he was beyond reason…

“Oh? You're being serious?” He mocked with a sneer and a laugh. “You don't look it. If you want me to stop so badly, then stop me. Come on~ try a little harder. Show me how serious you are.”

You’re not sure why you took him up on the challenge, as you’d long known of your differences in build – how you posed as much of a threat as a bug in a mason jar...

But even a bug will try to escape still after the lid has been sealed.

“Come on~ you're not even trying~” He grossly crooned, smiling at your pitiful attempt at twisting him off with the useless help of your silly hands – how your much smaller body writhed beneath his weight and tried wriggling free.

Laughing dryly, he took your hands by the wrists and pinned them to the cushion beneath you. Sagging over you, his breath fanned your lips.

“What was I to you, huh?” He asked in a murmur, his face blank but his eyes swirling. “Just a toy?”

You were afraid to breathe, only keeping your gaze terror-wide of what he might do – still grasping to fathom how he’d even felt possessed enough to do this much – confused as to how you’d missed the signs while having not a single clue what more he was capable of.

“Guess now you're my toy, huh...” He muttered coldly.

And you just couldn’t help the whimper that it tore from you – finally understanding exactly what position you were in.

The disorienting knowing of what was soon to happen dawned on you mercilessly – and you completely broke under the hefty weight it had. 

“Oh? You’ gonna cry now?” He scoffed before hissing. “That's cute, seeing as I’m the one who’s had his heart stepped on.”

“S-stop it, get off me-” You cried, whole body shaking where you squirmed to no use nor end.

“Not so cold-hearted now, are yah, fuckin' bitch?” Was all he had to say while leaning into where thick streams of tears rapidly ran down your cheeks in stingy streaks. “You scared?” He whispered in licks at your ear. “Gonna start begging, hm?”

You only shook – eyes squeezed tightly to a close.

“Nah…” His tone scraped, similar to how the shaven stubble on his chin scratched lightly against your neck as he started placing small kisses there despite your whines. “'Cause you want this too. I know you do.” He insisted. “You're just scared I'll break your little heart at some point.”

You’re breath hitched as his hands parted with its twin – leaving it to keep your wrists pinned by itself as the other one traveled down between your bodies to undo your zipper.

You wanted to say something, but you were too scared to – listening to him and his lovesick speech – full of so many things you feared could trigger much sicker things.

“But I promise you that no one’s heart is gonna break here.” He vowed, still with his lips pressed wetly against your throat. “Not yours or mine.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Shinso, Kirishima

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo

HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

BLLK – Reo, Isagi

AOT – Eren

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut #yandere csm #yandere aot

[daddyy333]

Needy | Eddie Munson x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.6k

summary: Eddie has never given it all to you because he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you refuse to wait any longer. You want all of him and you want him now.

warnings: smut, p in v, oral (I think), squirting, overstimulation, ?

sorry this has taken so long I don’t know writing hasn’t exactly been my top priority because I’ve got a lot going on but I’m still writing as often as I can so new fics are gonna be slow but I promise I’ll be back to posting like I used to soon

The first time you saw Eddie’s dick, you were honestly worried. One, how the hell does he find pants and underwear big enough to fit that thing. Two, how were you ever gonna get it inside you.

He knew that look. A lot of girls wore the same look when they saw him for the first time. He didn’t understand it really, he knew he was a little blessed but he thought he was just a little above average.

So naturally, he went down on you and fingered you till you came 3 times to make sure you were relaxed and wet enough for him to stretch you out. You’d honestly never felt anything as good as Eddie’s cock, and ever since then you’d been obsessed with it.

You’d be calling every night begging him to come over, or to come pick you up just so you could feel him deep in you, feel that overwhelming stretch that felt better than anything you had ever felt before. He didn’t mind too much, he found it adorable how needy you’d get, whining about how much you need to have him inside you.

You almost always got what you wanted, but not entirely. He never sunk all the way in. Majority of the time he was on top, and even when you were on top he’d still be holding you still while fucked up into you. He didn’t want you to sink all the way down and hurt yourself, he knew he was thicker at the base and he didn't want you to go too far.

You had begged and begged him to let you try and see if you could take it, but he would never let you. No matter how hard you begged or how much you tried to force yourself lower, he always managed to stop you.

But tonight, oh you were getting what you wanted. You’d been the horniest you’ve ever been in your life the entire day, feeling your slick stick to your inner thighs whilst you worked and noticing a wet patch on your seat when you got out of the car, you knew you needed him and you needed all of him.

“Ed’s, put the book down” you said as you came in, throwing your bag on the dresser and unbuttoning your work shirt. Holy shit did he hate that shirt, he hated it because it was so provocative and they always gave everyone a size smaller so they would attract customers with their “attractive waitresses.”

But right now, oh god you looked sexier than ever. Your hair was a little disheveled, your makeup making your eyes look darker and even more attractive. He wanted to devour you and make you cum till you couldn’t think anymore.

You worked your shirt off, stepping closer to him as you unbutton your shorts. You got to the edge of the bed and kicked your shoes off before slipping your shorts off as well. He grinned at you as you climbed on top of him, resting your hands on his ribs as you leaned down and kissed him.

“Mm, baby” he groaned through the kiss, his voice low and raspy making your pussy clench around nothing. You moved your hands to his chest, grinding down on his half hard cock. He moaned softly into the kiss, his hands gripping your waist hard.

You lightly tugged at the bottom of his shirt and he pulled away, nodding at you. You got his shirt off and he smiled up at you, toying with the straps of your thong. You bit your lip and he sat up, running his thumb along your bra strap.

You reached behind you and unclipped your bra, letting him slide it off of you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect” he said and scoffed, burying his head between your breasts. Kissing, licking, sucking, he was all over your boobs for a good few minutes.

Once he seemed to finally move on, you got off the bed and said “take off your pants and boxers…please,” He shook his head and complied, groaning when you took your panties off and he saw your bare cunt, slick spreading on your inner thighs.

You whimpered softly as his huge cock sprung out, leaking precum as he hissed, jerking himself off for a little relief. You smiled and crawled on top of him again, running your hands up and down his chest and stomach, watching his cock jump as you felt his thighs up a little.

“Baby please…I need you. It hurts…” he said and you giggled. You bit your lip and lined yourself up with him, sliding down a little and stretching yourself. He sighed relievingly and squeezed your tit in one hand, the other keeping a firm grip on your hip as he moaned at the feel of your tight, warm, and wet pussy on his sensitive tip.

“Go slow, babe. D-Don’t hurt yourself” he grunted out, he’d kill to pound into you till the sun rose but he never expressed it, because he would never risk hurting you. You groaned and started bouncing on him, not going all the way just yet.

He moved a hand to rub at your swollen clit, moaning loudly as your pussy sucked his cock in over and over again. “Baby…fuck, I love this pussy” he said and you smiled.

You grabbed his hands, forcing him to lie on his back slightly and held his hands as you continued bouncing on his cock. He grunted, abs tensing slightly as the pleasure consumed him. Perfect, just what you wanted.

You smirked, kissing down his jawline and neck. Once he was plenty distracted you sat up, his arms still above his head squeezing the pillow now to ground himself. You placed your hands on his chest and bit your lip, quickly sliding all the way down till your clit touched his little patch of pubic hair.

You gasped, moaning loud as your pussy stretched around him, feeling so so full you couldn’t believe it. “Babe!” Eddie shouted and grunted, shuddering as his cock throbbed. Your brows furrowed, jaw dropped as you moaned like crazy.

“Eddie…oh- oh I can barely take it- y- y-your so big- Eddieee!” You moaned, digging your nails into his chest. He breathed a little heavy as he wrapped his arms around your back, kissing you gently.

“Holy shit, you’re so perfect!” He said and you whimpered. You lifted yourself up and slammed back down, nearly knocking the wind out of yourself. He was so deep, and so thick you could already feel yourself getting close.

You only bounced a few more times before you were cumming hard, screaming Eddie’s name and squeezing his cock so good he couldn’t even think straight. “Haggh! Good girl…yea, cum so f-fast on daddy’s cock” he said and you cried his name, whimpering as your orgasmed continued to hit you in waves, your clit twitching hard as your pussy spasmed around his dick

“I- Uhh! Eddie! It’s too much- it- ahhh!” You moaned, tears streaming down your face from overstimulation. He gently pulled you off and you panted heavily, resting against his chest. “Eddie…” you giggled and he hummed, caressing your hair.

He was a little upset at you for doing it without warning and pushing yourself too far, or so he thought. “Need it again…please?” You begged and he furrowed his brows. He sighed and said “it was too much for you”

“No, I want it again” you said and looked up at him, straddling his lap. He kissed you softly and said “you just calmed down from the first one, baby you need to relax for a second” “Ed’s…” you whined, pawing at his chest.

He rolled his eyes and said “turn around then,” You smiled and turned around so your ass was facing him and he sat up, getting ready for you to sink down on his cock. He kissed your neck a few times and said “come on, babe, let me feel that pussy again,”

“Thought you wante-” “shut up,” he whispered as he pushed you down on his dick, making you whimper. You let out a strangled moan, your thighs tensing slightly as you got used to the feeling again.

You took all of him, whimpering and writhing on his fat cock. He grunted and squeezed your hips, biting your shoulder slightly. You groaned and started to bounce, holding one of his hands and reaching behind you to pull at his hair with the other and keeping him buried in your neck, just where he liked.

“Fuck! It’s so good- it’s so good!” You babbled mindlessly. He grunted and chuckled, palming your ass. You were so fucking sensitive, you didn’t know if you were gonna be able to get him there before you came again.

He smiled as he watched you bounce on his cock, face twisted in pleasure as you pulled at his hair and squeezed his hair. He grunted and said “could watch you ride me all day, gorgeous…”

You mewled at that, groaning harshly when he started to fuck into you slightly, feeling like the wind was being knocked out of you. He smiled and ran a hand over to your front, pushing down on the bulge of his cock in your lower tummy. You gasped and looked down, moans growing louder at the realization of how big he was and how deep you were taking him.

You whined, crying out as you started to clench hard around him. He groaned and bucked his hips harder, wanting to cum with you. You gasped as your legs shook, a sob racking your body. You didn’t know what he was doing to you, you were cumming so easily and so hard you couldn’t handle it.

“Fuck, babe…so sensitive,” he said, rubbing your clit. You nearly screamed, your pussy clenching so hard as you squirted all over him. Your whole body was shaking, your breathing all kinds of messed up and your moans and whines flowing out freely.

Your mind felt fuzzy after you finally stopped, nearly slumping over if not for Eddie holding you. He got you off his dick, laying you next to him as you panted hard, clinging to him. “Fuck,” he groaned, looking down at his angrily red cock. He needed to cum so bad, and he knew you didn't mean to but fuck he was really worked up.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, I’m sorry” you started to apologize and he shushed you, kissing your head and holding you close to him. He smiled and said “it’s alright, princess. I know, I know, you just can’t handle me, hmm? Too big for my little princess”

You mewled, peppering kisses on his jawline as slick gushed from your pussy again. You were so tired and sore but you wanted to make him cum and you’d do anything to get him there.

“Ed’s…” you whimpered, grabbing his hip. He shook his head and said “babe, uh uh, you’re gonna overdo it. I’m good, I’ll take care of it” “no, no Eddie….please” you said and he sighed.

“One more,” he said and you nodded, biting your lip. He kissed you softly, swallowing the moans you let out when he cupped your pussy, playing with the stickiness between your folds and toying with your clit.

“So wet, baby,” he said, jerking himself off a little to get him somewhere. You gasped softly, your breathing shaky and irregular. He grunted and you mewled as you watched him fist his cock, the tip reaching above your belly button.

“I want it Eddie,” you whined quietly, looking up at him with pinched brows. He cursed at how adorable you looked, getting into missionary so he could see your pretty face while you came around his cock.

“Yea? What do you want, baby? Tell me,” he said and your breath hitched as his mushroom tip circled your clit. You whined and said “I…I want your cock, I want all of it! I want your cum inside me, please!”

“Shhh, pretty girl. I’m gonna give it to you real good, don't you worry” he said and kissed you softly, sliding himself in and thrusting at a good pace. Not too slow, not too fast, just enough to let you adjust to the feeling.

“Awh, so fucking tight…” he grunted and you whimpered. You squeezed his shoulders, nails digging in his skin. You furrowed your eyebrows, moaning Eddie’s name and squirming as he began to drill his cock into you.

He grunted, sucking your tits into his mouth, tongue swirling around your nipple. God, he was a slut for your tits. Whining into your boobs, he sped up his pace as much as he could.

“Mmh…Ed- E-Eddie!” You moaned and he grunted, panting softly as his eyes squeezed shut. He thrusted hair, your pussy swallowing his dick and making him see stars. “fuck…” he whispered, squeezing the sheets beside you.

You whimpered, hands tangled in his hair as your pussy fluttered around his cock. “Shit- shit uhh…oh god, I’m close!” You moaned and he moaned into your ear, your pussy squeezing him deliciously.

“I’m almost there baby….agh! Almost there!” He said and kissed your neck a few times, squeezing your arm slightly as he tried to keep the same angle that was making his dick throb so hard he thought it might fall off.

“I can’t….ahh! Don’t stop, don’t stop till- shit- till you…fuck!” You cried out as you squirted around him again, you were so sensitive but you needed him to cum at least once. He rubbed your clit, making your eyes roll back as your legs shook hard, stomach clenching as he thrusted as fast as he could until he finally exploded in you.

He nearly screamed as he came, burying his cock deep inside you, grunting and panting as he came endlessly. “Y/n- fuuuck! It’s too good- it’s too- ughhh!” He groaned, pumping his cock into you a few more times as his cock throbbed inside you.

“Baby…hey, hey look at me,” he said and caressed your face. Your eyes fluttered open as you whimpered, looking up at him. “Hurts…” you whimpered. He kissed your head and said “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Fuck, I knew I should’ve stopped I’m sorry. Why didn’t you use your safe word, huh?” “Just wanted to make you cum…” you muttered tiredly.

He sighed and started to pull out and you winced, pulling at his hair. “Ahh- babe! You know it’ll be okay once I’m out. Just relax,” he said and you sniffled. You curled over on your side once he pulled out, panting slightly.

Eddie grunted and stood up, collecting himself as he quickly realized that was not just any orgasm. He groaned and grabbed a towel to clean himself off. He winced, his dick super sensitive from the most amazing sex you two have ever had.

He put on clean underwear and made his way to the side you were facing, brushing your hair out of your face. “You don’t have to do anything, you know? We don’t have to finish with each other, I don’t have to finish inside you, none of that. I only want you to feel good” he said and kissed your head a few times.

You moved to lay on your back and sighed as the exhaustion took over. “What about you though?” You asked, playing with his hair. He chuckled and said “I always feel good with you baby”

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled, wearing stupid boyish grin. He smoothed your hair back and kissed you softly, humming into the kiss. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He said and you blushed, looking away.

Taglist: @readsalot73 @hellfire1986baby

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic

[ohbo-ohno]

run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you. 

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

#cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #bo writes #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost riley x you #dark fic #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

[livwritesstuff]

Steve comes home from a few hours of running errands with his and Eddie’s one-year-old daughter Moe to find Eddie pitching an absolute fit to his beleaguered book agent Paul over the phone.

Given how Eddie’s third book is about three months away from its release date, Steve has a pretty decent idea what the fit might be over.

The dreaded book tour.

Look – Steve doesn’t like it either. He didn’t like it back in ‘95 when Eddie’s first book came out. He didn’t like it in ‘99 with the second one either. He definitely won’t like it this time around, especially now with Moe in the picture. He actually likes having his partner around, believe it or not (and, if he’s honest, there’s still some baggage surrounding work-related travel and his parents’ relationship that he’s still trying to shake).

Still, he knows it’s a necessary evil of Eddie’s success and they’ll all survive it.

That’s Steve’s perspective anyways, even if Eddie doesn’t share it with him.

Eddie looks over as Steve drops a few bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter.

“Hang on, Paul – Steve just got back from absconding with my daughter,” Eddie says, and then he pulls the phone away from his ear, “Don’t put her down for a nap yet.”

Steve only shakes his head.

“Sorry, Paul,” he says, not raising his voice quite enough for Paul to actually hear him (Eddie hears him though, and that’s what matters) as he continues on his way up the stairs to get Moe ready for her nap (he’ll drag out the process as long as he can for Eddie’s sake – he’s not a total monster).

In the end, Eddie’s phone call ends no more than five minutes later.

“So what’s the damage?” Steve asks when Eddie makes his way into Moe’s room.

“Five weeks,” Eddie grumbles as he pulls Moe out of Steve’s arms. He presses a kiss to her chubby cheek and then adds, “Stops goddamn nation-wide.”

“Maybe stop writing so good and you wouldn’t have this issue,” Steve points out.

“Shut up – I’m not gonna do it. Paul can drop me, see if I care.”

“You’d care.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump.

“Yeah, I’d care,” he mutters, and then he shakes his head, “It’s entirely unfair that he’d expect me to leave home for over a month when he knows I have a little baby at home. I’m not doing it. She’ll be a whole teenager when I come back, Stevie.”

Steve looks at him, “It’s five weeks, love. She’ll probably still be the same shoe size.”

“I’ll miss our anniversary.”

“No, you won’t. It’s not ‘til the month after.”

“Okay, who’s side are you on here?”

“Paul’s, obviously.”

Eddie’s jaw drops as he feigns an affronted expression.

“I cannot believe that my beloved, my betrothed–”

“Betrothed?”

“–would side with my traitorous agent over–” 

“Ed, Paul was pretty forgiving when you slowed down writing for six months for the foster training stuff,” Steve points out (and it’s a point that actually manages to stop Eddie’s tirade – an impressive feat, he’s well aware), “And then he was really forgiving when you stopped completely for almost a year when Moe was born. Wasn’t this book supposed to come out, like, over a year ago? I feel like the least you can do is put up with a book tour given everything you’ve put him through.”

Eddie only blinks at him a moment – clearly trying to fathom any kind of counter-argument and coming up empty.

“Damn you,” he mutters.

“Can’t believe you used to be the guy who wanted to be a rockstar and go on year-long world tours,” Steve laughs, “Now you can’t even handle a month of the continental United States.”

“Watch your mouth, Harrington. Hey – maybe you and Moe can come and be the world’s cutest groupies.”

“We’ll see.”

#little do they know robbie’s gonna show up 10 months later and delay the next book by another four years lol #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

[princessbrunette]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

woke up thinking about big brother rafe, toddler!wheezie, and babysitter!reader again …

rafe getting jealous when he finds out you babysit other kids. he follows you about the kitchen at tannyhill as you prepare the toddlers lunch, smiling to yourself at his clear jealousy over something so trivial.

“so that’s why you can’t watch wheezie on sunday? who— who’s kid is it? like, who’s the parent?”

“thats confidential information rafe, i’m here every other day this week why does it matter?” you giggle, slicing up baby carrots to fit a toddler sized mouth.

he leans against the countertop, pressing his lips together and lets a silence fall over you for not even a minute. “wheeze is your favourite though right?”

you turn around with an amused smile, holding back your laugh at his pettiness. “what?”

“shes your favourite, right?” he stares at you, dead serious and you lean on one hip.

“of course she is. i’m here the most, aren’t i?”

“right, right… this kid you’re babysitting on sunday, they got any older brothers?”

“rafe, c’mon.” you giggle, a little flustered but you turn back to the counter to continue preparing the food to hide this.

“look, i— i’m just lookin’ out for you, alright? what if you go over there n’there’s some creep waiting for you?” he stresses and you shake your head, warmth blossoming in your chest.

later that day — the three of you head out on rafes boat, and for a little while, out on the open water, rafe drops the big bad bully act and lets his guard down. you watch as he holds his little sister on his hip, steering the boat with the other hand. you can’t hear what he’s saying, but the two of them are giggling. it’s the first time you really see rafe fill the ‘dad’ shoes, and it makes you wonder what it would be like to have your own baby with him. the idea makes your stomach warm and heart flutter.

within the next week or so, you end up at the same party as rafe on one of your free days. it’s the first time you’ve really hung out in a social setting appropriate for people your age, and it feels almost a little weird and awkward at first. as the night goes on and the drinks flow, things get more flirty. he had a super bad day, but with you here — things felt a little better.

rafe steps away to speak to topper for a few minutes, and in that time a total creep comes out of seemingly nowhere and begins to bother you. he talks too close to your face, starts to grab at you, doesn’t take no for an answer— you’re starting to think that you can’t actually escape this, until of course, rafe comes swinging out of nowhere.

but it’s not just a one punch and he’s done, no — rafe beats him bloody, the anger issues and coke and bad day piling up on him as he continuously beats on this guy. maybe he deserves it, sure — but when the guy stops responding and rafe continues to punch and yell, panic settles in your stomach. this guy might just die.

the crowd do nothing to discourage him, drunk and cheering him on as they circle round to watch, one hundred witnesses from every angle. you call his name, but you get ignored. he grips the guys collar, malicious open mouthed grin on his face as he holds him for a moment, looking at his masterpiece.

“rafe you’re gonna kill him!” you shout, trying to be heard over the cheering. he definitely hears, because he glances up at you— the look on his face reading that he just didn’t care. “its not worth it you’ll go to jail!” you feel tears in your eyes at the thought of him not being in the house with you and wheezie anymore. wheezie.

he lifts his fist to strike a final blow, and you holler out once more. “think of wheezie!”

it’s then he freezes, blinks a couple of times — and then just like that he looks around at the scene he’s caused and shoves off onto his feet, walking away. he walks away from the party, infact — he walks all the way home.

maybe he should keep his relationship with you professional, he could have been locked up for life that night. love makes you do crazy things.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

#rafe cameron prompt #bigbrother!rafe #toddler!wheezie #babysitter!reader

[riboism]

vaya con dios

》 c.s x fem. nun! reader

》 wc: 6.7k

》 plot: a strange visitor takes shelter in your nunnery and challenges your beliefs

》 content: religious guilt, religious themes, first-time, pornographer! san, nun! reader, eventual smut, some angst

Tossing and turning for the nth time that night, you finally found comfort in laying on your side with your hands tucked underneath your pillow. You took a deep breath before shutting your eyes, counting sheep in hopes that it’ll help you fall asleep faster, only for you to reach fifteen before your mind wandered again. 

It was impossible to sleep after the strange day that you had. You had a visitor. No one really visited the Nunnery. You often joked with your sisters that the Nunnery was your own world, a place so hidden inside the natural world that no one could ever find it. That was until he started knocking on your front door. 

Men are not allowed inside the convent. The only time a man would come into your world was when Father Aaron came to visit from time to time, and even then he’d need permission from Mother Reverend to enter her holy space. You couldn’t understand why she agreed to let him stay the night, let alone even grant him access to our quarters— not until she called you into the kitchen and tasked you with bringing him his evening meal. 

“Is he a Priest?” You inquired as you prepared his dinner plate. You heard that Father Aaron was nearing his retirement. Maybe this was his replacement. 

“No.” She answered with finality, not adding anything further. You hated it when she did that. 

“Then who is he? Why is he here? I thought men weren’t allowed in our convent.” 

Mother observed as you placed a few fresh berries into the dessert bowl. She liked to make sure that we weren’t giving others too much or too little. She didn’t like waste. “He isn’t, but I had to make an exception. He’s a traveler and he got lost and stumbled onto our doorstep. With how dark the clouds are and how windy it is outside, I figured it was best for him to rest here for the night before moving on with his journey.” 

“But he’s a man.” You emphasized. “What if he’s dangerous? It just doesn’t feel right, him showing up at our door in the middle of the night. Where was he going anyway?” 

Growing impatient with your constant questioning, Mother set down a heavy glass, the loud thump startling you into silence. “Mind your manners, child! It does not matter if he is a man. God gave him to us to protect, and that is what we’ll do. Now hurry along, he must be starving and it’s almost time for bed.” 

Nodding obediently, you ventured off into the closed-off wing of the Nunnery. The room he was staying in was made for women who were interested in joining the sisterhood and devoting their lives to prayer and servitude. Unfortunately, the Nunnery didn’t get many candidates for the past few years so the rooms remained vacant. 

The halls here felt colder. You didn’t like being in this part of the building. The Nunnery itself was old, and with that, the building creaked and bellowed from time to time, especially in this wing. The noises would scare you, especially at night, but your Sisters assured you months ago that the next few donations would be used to help reconstruct the weaker parts of the building. Maybe there were still some renovations left to do. 

Upon reaching the visitor’s door, you knocked quietly and waited until a voice called for you to enter. You kept your eyes low as you walked in. “Mother asked me to bring you your supper.” You announced quietly, before placing the tray on the side table. 

He was sitting on the bed, looking as if he was waiting for you. Your eyes remained at his feet. He still wore his shoes, which looked expensive and hardly worn. Curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rising from his feet to his shoulders. His shoulders were wide and broad, the suit jacket he wore ill-fitting as if he grew twice his size overnight and didn’t have time to buy a bigger one. You didn’t dare to look up any further. 

After a beat of silence, you awkwardly paced backward to exit through the door, not wishing to be around the stranger any longer than you needed to. 

“Wait,” he called, softly. 

Your body obeyed before your mind did, and you didn’t move another inch. You waited for him to say something. Perhaps he wanted only tea before bed, or maybe he wanted to ask for some fresh sheets since the room hadn’t been dusted in a while. But he didn’t speak any further after that. Growing ill at ease, you let your gaze drift upwards until you finally met his eyes. 

You didn’t expect him to look the way that he did. He was young, maybe around your age. You had never seen a man without graying hair and deep sunken eyes before. Most of the men that came to the Nunnery, whether it was Father Aaron or his acquaintances, always looked weak, gray, and brittle. The visitor looked fresh and radiant in comparison, with his sculpted cheekbones, neat eyebrows, and freshly trimmed dark hair. He was beautiful. 

And then there was the way that he looked at you. You felt trapped in his peculiar gaze, your cheeks burning up after every second that passed as you two took each other in. His eyes wandered all over you with hunger and curiosity, but upon meeting your wide eyes, his expression quickly softened, his mouth that was once agape with desire now curled up to a friendly and innocent smile. 

“What is your name?” He asked. His voice was soft and pretty. It felt like he was trying to lull you to sleep. 

“You may call me Sister ____.” 

“Sister” He nodded. “Forgive me, I guess I had taken the wrong route and got lost. I’m eternally grateful to you all for offering me shelter in this unpredictable weather. And for this hot meal.” He beamed. “I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. I understand it’s very late.” 

“No, no trouble at all. We are glad that you are inside and safe instead of out there in the storm.” On queue, a flash of lightning illuminated the walls, and a dull crack of thunder followed shortly. The sounds of crashing thunder and the strangeness of the visitor had you uneasy, and you knew it was best for you to leave the room right away. Mother wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you were lingering in the room alone with him, engaging in mindless conversation at the odd hours of the night. But despite your efforts to bow your head and inch towards the door, the visitor didn’t seem to acknowledge your rush. 

“It’s a shame…” He said faintly. 

“What is?” 

“That you have to hide yourself with all that garb. You’re very pretty.” His eyes lingered over your chest as if he was trying to outline what your figure looked like underneath. Full chest, thick thighs, slender legs, narrow waist, or wide hips, he couldn’t tell, but he liked that he didn’t know. A uniform made to hide the essence of a woman, to protect them from perverted and hungry eyes like his, ended up doing the opposite. 

Sensing your offense, the visitor rushed to apologize before you could utter a remark. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Sister. I work in entertainment. I go around and meet with decently looking women all the time for photoshoots and whatnot. That’s actually where I was headed now, to meet with a few women about an upcoming fashion magazine shoot. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I guess nuns and religion and all that stuff…” He peered over to the wall that was decorated with a sole golden cross and then sheepishly looked back at you. “...Make me nervous.” 

Part of you felt he wasn’t telling the truth. You weren’t sure how to take him. There was something off about him, how he shifted from kind and unassuming to something that lacked innocence. You had a feeling that he wasn’t telling the truth.  

Ignoring his strange comments, you quietly bid him goodnight and then rushed off to your room. 

You wished so badly to drift off to sleep and forget about this strange encounter, but the visitor preoccupied your mind. Did he really handpick women for prestigious fashion editorials? Did he mean it when he said you’re pretty? 

No one had ever called you pretty and you honestly didn’t know how to take it. Vanity wasn’t something the sisterhood was concerned with. It was blasphemous for him to speak to you in such a manner anyway, but why did you kind of like it? 

Pretty. You. Pretty. 

Coming from someone who looked like him, it felt like a high honor. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. He’s probably surrounded by beautiful women all the time. And he called you pretty. 

You. Pretty. 

God has a lot to say about those who let their vanity get the best of them, so you decided to brush away those thoughts and say a little prayer. Even as you prayed for forgiveness, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. 

―

The skies were even more aggravated the next day. You were a little bummed that the trip to the orphanage was canceled due to strict stay-at-home orders, so you spent the rest of the day knitting gloves and hats for the children. 

“Ouch!” You yelped, sucking on your pricked finger. This was the fourth time you pricked yourself tonight. You couldn’t stay focused on your task. Your thoughts were all about him. You had contemplated all day about going over to his room and apologizing for the way you left so abruptly. You didn’t want him to think you were being rude. After all, there’s no harm done with giving compliments, is there? 

You wondered what he was doing right now. He was probably bored all alone in his room. Mother took it upon herself to deliver him his morning and afternoon meals, so you didn’t have a reason to see him. She didn’t seem to want the other Sisters to greet the man. Perhaps your initial apprehensiveness had gotten to her and she changed her mind about you going into his room. What if she knew you were in his room for a while? What if she heard you two talking? The sudden heaviness in your stomach made you set aside your knitting needles. 

Even so, you had a strong urge to see him one more time. Who knows? Maybe the weather will clear up tomorrow and he’ll leave without you getting a chance to say something about that night. It was giving you a headache, how much you thought about him. Was such a brief conversation, yet he lived in your mind like he owned it. You couldn’t forget about those sharp cheekbones, his sweet talking voice, and that almost sinful way that he looked at you. 

The desire to see him again was too hard to ignore, so without hesitation, you sprung up on your feet and headed down to the kitchen to ask Mother Reverend if you could give the visitor his dinner tonight. She was appalled at your sudden initiative, but considering how her knees were bothering her again, she decided it was best if you took the tray up the stairs to his room tonight. 

This time when you knocked on his door, it was silent. You knocked again a little louder this time, figuring maybe he didn’t hear you, but to your dismay, there was no answer. Stumped, you lowered the tray. Why he wasn’t answering? Was he asleep? Why would he fall asleep before dinner? Was he sick? Maybe there was no harm in checking in on him, you told yourself as you twisted the door knob and stepped into the room. 

He wasn’t here. The bed looked unmade and some of his things were tossed around. The room was littered with cameras and film. He said he worked in the entertainment industry, but he didn’t specify that he was a photographer himself. There were various different types of cameras scattered on the table and some by the windowsill. One of them caught your eye― a gorgeous camera with a wooden frame and a brown leather strap attached, sitting on top of a few magazines. Setting the tray down, you walked over to the windowsill where the pretty camera sat. It looked expensive, decorated with a small graving on the side. C.S. Was that his initials? It hit you that you never got his name.

You noticed some camera film sitting next to the stack of magazines where the camera was placed. You knew it wasn’t right to snoop. It was an invasion of privacy, not to mention that God might be looking down at you and shaking his head. But you couldn’t help it. You wanted to learn more about him, and so you let curiosity get the best of you and now you stood there in the visitor’s room with his film roll in hand. Upon unraveling the roll, you were excited to see beautiful women in next season’s haute couture, but instead, you discovered something completely unexpected. 

Suddenly, a voice startled you from behind. “I could get you an advanced copy once it’s printed.” 

You gasped, whipping your body around to face the visitor who had just stumbled into his room to a nosey Nun going through his belongings. Your cheeks flamed up, too embarrassed with yourself to even notice that his hair was dripping wet from his shower. 

“If you’re interested, that is.” He smiled teasingly. It was clear he didn't mind you snooping around, but you still felt ashamed.

“Oh, no, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” In the midst of all the awkwardness, you dropped the roll and it unraveled a few inches until it stopped at the visitor’s feet. He bent down and picked it up, examining his photographs for any scratches or rips as you quivered in place, struggling to find the right words. 

“I’m sorry. Are they ruined?” You asked finally. 

“They’re okay.” He assured. There was a slight glow on his brow bone and cheeks from the hot shower. The white button-up he wore stuck to his chest, revealing some of his honey skin through its sheer and damp fabric. He noticed you staring. You quickly looked away. 

“The women in those pictures…are they-”

“Naked? Yes.” 

He spoke as if he had no shame about it. To him, it was as normal as taking photos of a rainbow or a wild deer. You wondered what Mother would think if she found out the man she let sleep in her holy Nunnery took nude photos of women for a pornography magazine. It would give her a heart attack, for sure. 

This was hard to take in. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt disappointed. How could someone like him take part in such filthy hobbies? And those women? How could they degrade and humiliate themselves like this? You couldn’t help but pity them, those poor things losing their way and succumbing to promiscuity. 

The visitor sensed your disapproval. It wasn’t a surprise, given the circumstances. Still, he felt the need to defend himself. 

“I understand you have your beliefs. But I have my own too. You may think it’s ungodly and lustful, but to me, it’s freeing, it’s human…it’s female emancipation.” 

“Female emancipation?” You said in disbelief. How are pictures of women with their legs spread open a symbol of female emancipation? Was he mad? From what you saw, it was all sinful desire catered for and by men. 

He stepped over to your side of the room, carefully returning the film roll to its case. “Have you ever touched yourself?” 

“What?” You held onto the cross that lay on your chest, dumbfounded that he would even think to ask you such a question so bluntly. 

He chuckled, “I respect all religions Sister, but there are some parts in the good book that I don’t really agree with.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, what’s the harm in pleasuring ourselves? If we see a beautiful woman or man, why should we feel ashamed for having certain thoughts about them? Humans are sexual beings, why should we feel shame if we are only feeling human emotions and desires? It’s like your God is asking us to not be human, to be something else, and that’s impossible. Isn't this how he created us? That’s why these photos represent freedom. They rip off the chains of sexual repression and free us into our natural state. The women I work with love what they do. They get to let go and embrace their femininity, something your God keeps forcing you to hide.” 

He was closer to you now. You could feel his hot breath hitting your forehead. He was riled up now, finally getting all that religious guilt that he’d been holding in for years off of his chest. You stood frozen in place, mouth open but unable to form a reply. He dipped his head down, lips almost brushing against your ear. “Why do we have to feel bad about feeling good, Sister? Do you mean to tell me you never had fantasies? You never wanted to feel another man’s touch so badly that it made you go crazy?”

He had you cornered now. Your breathing got shakier as his eyes locked into yours. He continued. “You’ve had thoughts, haven’t you? Of course, you have. And your God made you feel like there was something wrong with you like you did something unforgivable. Well, that’s just not right. Live so long feeling ashamed, you’re gonna snap.” 

That was about all you could take before you pushed him away and took off. Now lying in your bed, you struggled for the second night in a row to go to sleep because your mind was still torturing you with thoughts of the visitor. 

His words replayed in your head over and over again. You knew he was wrong. Or maybe, you wanted to believe that he was. You understood his sentiment, but there were some flaws in his beliefs. Shame can be dangerous, yes, but it’s the only thing stopping humans from committing sin. God teaches us restraint, and what he’s doing is completely sacrilegious, running around like a wild animal and giving in to temptations in the name of free will. You wanted to go back, to tell him he was wrong, to alert Mother Reverend of the pornographer currently residing in our quarters so he could be kicked out, but you remained in bed. You prayed tomorrow would be a bright and sunny day so that he may leave and you will never be disturbed by him again. 

The clock struck 2, and you turned on your side, still too restless to fall asleep. You remembered the photos that were in your hands. They were so intimate, so close to her body. There was one shot that you couldn’t stop thinking about. She lay topless on a messy and unmade bed, a coy and inviting smile playing on her lips as she held onto her breasts. From the angle, it looked like the photo was taken from on top of her. Your mind raced with images of the visitor straddling over her naked body, hiding his head behind the lenses while she let go of her breasts and unbuckles his pants, never failing to continue smiling for the camera. 

The woman looked so happy in the photos, almost as if she felt comfortable around him. What was he like with them? What did he say to get them to put their guard down? Did he touch them after? 

Your stomach is crushed with guilt. You shouldn’t be having such lewd thoughts about an ungodly man like this. But why couldn’t you stop? Maybe this is what he meant when he said it was unfair for God to make us feel shame for thinking these things. It’s inevitable. You see it now. 

With your will weakened, your mind replayed the moment he cornered you into the wall. The wall felt so cold against your back, but being so close to him made your cheeks scorn. He smelled like fresh pinewood soap. His cheeks were still rosy from the hot shower, and his white shirt was damp and almost translucent. The water from the tips of his strands dripped onto your shoes. 

Have you ever touched yourself? 

You couldn’t answer him then, but no, you haven’t. You were taught that it was wrong to feel such curiosity about your own body. It was a sin. It’s a sin, you tell yourself as your hands slip into your nightdress. This is wrong, you remind yourself as you start kneading your bare breast, just as the woman in the photos did. Your fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, the new sensation making you gasp and moan like a wild animal. Out of fear of being heard, you placed a hand over your mouth to mask your sounds. Suddenly, you felt something pooling between your legs. You pressed them shut, feeling a desperate desire for something you’ve never had before. God, what has he done to you? 

You were at his door again. Your conscience was screaming at you to go back to your room, to kneel in front of your bed and beg for forgiveness, but you didn’t listen. You were too far gone now. It was a type of craving that you knew wouldn’t go away until you satisfied it. You knocked quietly so as not to wake the others, but loud enough so that he could hear inside. It felt like torture waiting for him to open the door, but once he did, you were met with relief.

He furrowed his brows and whispered, “What are you doing here?” 

“I want you to take pictures of me.” 

He was stunned by your peculiar request, but even more so at your newfound boldness. “Are you serious? Do you know what you're asking me, Sister?” 

He watched you as you freed your hair from its bun, letting your wavy ends hit your shoulders. He studied each wave, his eyes wide like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. “I know exactly what I’m asking,” You answered. “Now, can I come in?” 

―

You watched him from your spot on the bed as he configured with his camera. His hair was tousled, which you seemed to prefer over his neatly jelled-back hair. His shirt was unbuttoned now, exposing his well-defined chest. His skin looked so soft. You wondered what it would feel like against your fingertips. You prayed he would hurry before you changed your mind. 

“Okay. Are you ready?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Yes.” 

He took a step forward and met you at the end of the bed. “Lay down.” 

Your body sunk back into the mattress. He rested one of his knees on the bed, eyes scanning over your body. You felt hot under his gaze. 

“Can you unbutton that gown for me, Sister?” 

Slowly, you unbuttoned the rest of your gown, exposing to him your bare breasts. He licked his lips, your red and swollen peaks making him weak to the knees. “They’re so swollen…” He cooed, “Were you playing with them earlier?” 

You nodded again, a little embarrassed that he could tell what you were up to in your room just moments before. 

He smiled approvingly. “Play with them again for me.” 

You did as instructed and twisted the sore nubs between your fingers. They were so sensitive and hard now that even the lightest touch made you moan. The look of pleasure on your face was delicious, and he immediately raised his camera lens to snap this moment. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said between clicks, “the most beautiful one I’ve had.” 

You liked it when he called you pretty. It made you feel so special to have his eyes on you, to be the center of his fixation, to be his muse. You wanted to show him that you could be like the other girls, but better and even more obedient. He was your God now and you wanted to be a worthy disciple. 

Once he was satisfied with his shots, he lowered the camera. “Can I see the rest of you?” 

You didn’t hesitate to remove your panties and toss them on the floor, but upon realizing his watchful gaze and the intimidating black abyss of the camera lens, you froze up and pressed your thighs shut. You were upset and embarrassed with yourself for not being able to go through with it and follow his directions, but he was more than understanding. He knew that face, he had seen it dozens of times. 

“It’s okay.” He said softly. It all felt like a dream. His voice was soothing like a lullaby, and his warm and skilled hands that were rubbing your thighs made you disarm and ease back into the bed, letting him guide them apart to reveal your glistening cunt. 

He let out a low whine. “Fuck, that’s the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.” 

That sound alone made your lower half feel heavy. You wanted to hear him make that sound again. You’d do anything to hear him make that sound again. He leaned back with his knee still resting on the bed and held up his camera, pointing its lens at your slick center. “Spread them.” 

Obediently, you pulled apart your lips with two fingers for him, your slick juices already gushing down as you did. He sighed deeply, a pained expression overwhelming his face. “So tiny,” he breathed after the camera shuttered. He had never seen anything like you before. So virtuous and delicate, yet so sinful and corrupt. You gave him so much, yet he wanted to see more of you. 

“Think you can take those pretty little fingers for me?” 

It took you a minute to understand what he meant. You were inexperienced regarding things like this, but you wanted to learn. You wanted him to teach you everything. 

“I don’t know how…” You mumbled. 

A devilish smile crept onto his face and darkened his features. “How cute,” he chuckled, amused by the holy and virtuous nun who had no idea how to make herself feel good. “Come here, I’ll show you.” 

He sets aside the camera and pulls you closer to him by your hips. Your heart fluttered at the motion, and you chewed back a whimper as he held your thighs down. He scanned your core with all his attention, examining your small hole that pulsated as you breathed in and out. “You really never touched yourself before?” 

You bit one of your fingernails and shook your head no. 

“Oh Sister, you’re really missing out.” 

Taking your hand, he guided them to your core and adjusted your fingers around your throbbing clit. It felt so foreign to you, so wet and sticky, you almost didn’t believe that this was a part of your body that you were touching. He went on to press a thumb into your inner thigh. “Rub it like this,” he said, massaging small circles into your soft skin. “Nice and gentle for me.” 

You shyly followed his directions and gently massaged over your clit. It startled you how sensitive you were to your own touch. It felt so hot as if hell’s fire was creeping over your body, but you loved it. You loved the new sensations, how filthy and impure it all was, and even more, you loved how he watched you so intently. Eyes glued to your shameless center, completely forgetting the camera he was holding and the task at hand. He knew now, that this was for him, and not for the camera. 

He had been photographing for years now and learned to hold off temptations until the end of the session, but he was struggling this time, with his cock heavy and aching to be inside of you. He found it charming just how inexperienced you were with your own fingers, and how your sloppy and awkward ministrations still made your body twitch. And those pretty pretty moans, he had never heard anything like it. So angelic, so enchanting, he almost believed you were a siren hiding behind rosaries and veils. 

Mustering up his last bit of strength, he swung his other knee over you and buckled his hips on top of you, lifting his camera up one last time. “Make yourself cum.” He demanded in between camera flashes. He absentmindedly rutted his hips against you, the weight of his heavy and clothed cock resting over your slick pussy as you played with your clit for him. His pants seemed tighter now, with the outline of his full and swollen balls peeking through. With his hard cock so close to you like this, you lost your focus and eventually, that high you worked so hard to reach went lost on you. Now feeling numb, you sighed in both exhaustion and disappointment. 

“Oh, what’s wrong Sister?” He said in a playful tone, “Too scared of the lord’s wrath to let yourself cum?” 

His chuckle dropped once he felt your hand rubbing against his crotch, your eyes so wide and innocent while shamelessly asking for a lick. “Please,” you begged, “need help.” 

God, he cursed to himself. Did you even know what you were asking him? Or were you just too needy, too far gone even to understand what you were doing? Even so, he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, if not more. He never had someone like you before. Someone so pious, so clueless, so pure. The girls he had been with were run through, and most of them had their tricks, but you were just an amateur. Not too long ago you were standing here with your hand on your chest, shocked by the nature of his pornographic career. Fuck, you didn’t even know how to play with yourself, and now you're tracing your fingertips on his zipper fly, begging for him to help you cum? 

For the first time in his career, his moral consciousness rang in. What was he doing? As tempting as it sounded, was he really going to defile a God-fearing Nun? 

He cupped your jaw, tracing his thumb across your soft cheek. Unbeknownst to him, this was the first time another person had touched you so lovingly. You leaned into the touch, reintroducing yourself to the warmth and fuzziness of his pinewood soap. “Are you sure about this, Sister?” 

He searched in your eyes for any signs of hesitation, but all he could see was lust. It was evident that you weren’t so God-fearing anymore. Maybe his words got you, he thought. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Yes. I want you to show me everything.” 

―

You watched nervously as he traced his tongue along your slit. His tongue felt so warm and wet, and you could see a few strings of his saliva connecting with your slick each time he lapped against your cunt. Both of your hands were pressed against your mouth to prevent any sound from slipping out, but it was so difficult not to moan and whine while he ate you out to his heart’s content. You had never felt anything like this before. It drove you mad how much of a twitching mess you were while he laid so carefree between your legs, lazily licking and sucking at your clit, oblivious to the heat that was rushing around in your lower belly. At one point, he focused his tongue directly on your clit, and the pressure from his wet muscle alone was enough for you to lose your guard and let a low broken whine escape your lips. 

He was so attentive to every reaction your body gave him. He knew you were about to cum even before you did. He held onto your thighs as your hips bucked up and down, letting you make a mess on his mouth and face. When you were done, he held your hips down and feathered a few kisses onto your cunt until you grabbed onto his hair and pushed him away. 

He had made you cum a few times like this. Each orgasm was even more intense than the one before. As exhausted as your body was becoming, your craving for him didn’t stop. It only grew stronger. 

It had been hours now. He moved so slowly, savoring each and every part of your body, making you cum from his mouth, his fingers, and even just by sucking your nipples alone. The other Sisters would be shocked to see you in your current state, your naked body soaked in cum and sweat, hips moving with a mind of its own. You were filthy but you didn’t want to stop, because if you stopped you would have to deal with the guilt and turmoil of your actions, and you didn’t want to do either. You just wanted to keep going, keep having him use you and use you until you broke. And that feeling― that momentary bliss you felt each time you reached your orgasm was unlike anything you ever felt before, and you were hooked, unable to stop, only interested in feeling like that one more time until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

You were starting to feel feverish and weak, going in and out of consciousness until you felt his warm and heavy cock resting over your stomach. 

You peered down your body, gasping at the sheer length of his cock. The tip was so red and wet, already leaking precum and dripping onto your stomach. 

“What are you doing?” 

He took your hand and guided it to your lower stomach. “You said you wanted me to show you everything. You still want that right?” 

He helped you wrap your hands around his cock. It felt even bigger in your hand, your fingers just barely making it around his girth. You pumped him gently, using his precum to help you move up and down. He took that as a yes. 

You could hear his breathing go shaky each time you pumped him. “It feels so hard” you whined. Was he going to put this inside of you? How would it even fit? Would it hurt? 

“You make me this way.” He sighed as he watched you handle his cock. Fuck, you looked so cute the way you held him with both hands, trying your best to learn in what tempo he liked it. He leaned over, his large body completely covering yours, face just millimeters away. You gasped at the feeling of his hot tip rubbing at your entrance. “It’s San, by the way.” 

“I’m sorry?” You paused.

“My name. It’s San.” 

San. It suited him. You were about to tell him that his name was pretty, but he had taken the words right out of your mouth. A pressure pushed into you, forcing your eyes to well up in tears and words to clog in your throat. 

“San!” You yelped, hands gripping onto his wide shoulders. San leaned in close, leaving gentle kisses on your cheeks, his lips wet with your salty tears. “You’re so beautiful,” He spoke into your skin as he rolled his hips into you. “You feel so good.” You took him so well, your wet walls grasping onto him so tight that he knew he wouldn’t be able to last as long as he usually does. 

With each thrust, you sang his name as if it was the only word you knew how to say. His cock hit you so deep now, stretching you out to your limit, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You held him tighter and let him find your lips. You both moved with so much passion and hunger as if it was your last night on Earth together. He was all you knew and wanted to know. You didn’t wish for it to end. 

You felt a blooming in your stomach and figured San did as well. Your legs wrapped around him tight as you finally let go. Goosebumps prickled all over your body as San pulled out from you, his warm seed dripping onto your stomach. It felt like he marked you, that he had declared you as his for all eternity. You rubbed the sticky white liquid around your stomach, finally grasping at the realization of what you two had done and what it meant. San could sense your alarm and immediately reunited with your lips. He didn’t want you to regret this. He wanted you to look back at this moment and remember him fondly.  

The exhaustion weighed in and you drifted off to sleep as he kissed you. When morning came, you were disheartened to see rays of sunshine peeking through the window blinds. San was sitting at the edge of the bed, slipping into his socks. He was wearing the same ill-fitting suit jacket he first came in with that night. 

San noticed you stirring around in bed. He looked back and greeted you with a soft smile. 

“You’re awake.” 

You sat up too quickly and flinched at the sudden pain at your core. 

“Easy,” he said as he placed a reassuring hand on your leg. 

“You’re leaving already?” You asked, quickly forgetting about the pain.

San pursed his lips. It killed him to leave you after the night you two had, but he had his duties to attend to. And so did you. 

He took your hand into his. “Listen, Sister, I don’t know if you still feel the same about last night, but for me…that was incredible. But we both know I can’t stay.” 

It was the truth, but the truth hurt like a ton of bricks. Stupid girl, what did you think was going to happen? You broke your vows, and your loyalty to the church, and gave up the one thing you can never take back. You were ruined now, but you still didn’t know how to move forward. Did this mean you didn’t want to be in the convent anymore? Or did you want to stay and act as if you didn’t give in to temptations last night? Would you grab all of your things and run away with him and never look back? Or would you remain and pity yourself for the rest of your life for what you did? It was all unclear, and San knew that. You still had things to think through. 

“I know,” You said in a small voice. He couldn’t stay. And you couldn’t ask him to. 

“I’ll never stop thinking of you.” 

He was looking at you with doting eyes. You traced your thumb on the back of his hand. 

“Will I ever see you again?” You had to see him again. You couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his beautiful face and feeling his soft hands on your skin. 

He let go of your hand and fished for something in his pocket. “Here,” He said, handing you a business card. “It’s my office in the city. If you ever change your mind…I’ll be there.” 

And with that, he pressed one last kiss on your forehead and took off. You lay there for most of the early morning, fiddling with the business card in your hand, grazing your fingers over the black raised ink. Choi San. Adult Film Photographer. 

It was pathetic to admit, but you think you loved him. And it killed you. You were only supposed to have the Lord in your heart, but it seemed you had given it away to a sinner. In such a short visit, he had made you feel things you had never felt before. You had never felt such strong emotions in the convent. The feeling of being desired, of being held, of being loved― it felt real. Tangible. Promising. Exhilarating. Feelings you were promised for years you’d feel each time you prayed, you felt all at once in one night with San. You almost believed that the Lord had robbed you of such pleasures. 

But then again, the convent was the only family you knew. They took you in, cared for you, and all you had to do in return was let the Lord into your heart. Serve him, alongside your Sisters, and blessings will come your way. 

Your feelings about the church were unclear, but one thing was for certain. In this lifetime or the next, you will see him again. 

―

a/n: I have been writing this since March. It's inspired by the 1800s painting "The Sin," and Kali Uchis's Vaya Con Dios. Please don't ask me for a part 2.

#ateez smut #san smut #choi san smut #san x reader #choi san x reader

[sensitivegoblin]

:(

#i tried to go shoe shopping and nothing I liked fit :( #i just wanna cut off all my fat now I’m just so depressed #i feel so disgusting and gross #it doesn’t matter how many meals and snacks and desserts I skip it’ll never be enough #i just wanna wear cute things :( it’s not fair that everything looks horrible on me :( #i dunno I just don’t know what to do #i wanna cover myself up and have no one see me now #todelete #no rb plz #or you’ll get blocked #I’ll never be loveable the way I look now #everyone else looks cute plus size but I just look like a monster #i haven’t been eating and I’ve been losing weight :( why don’t I look any prettier? :( #i feel so disgusting and sad why can’t I be pretty like my sister or people on tiktok? :((((((((

[freedomfireflies]

Stuck With You*

Summary: You and Harry have been assigned to a case halfway across the country. And getting stuck for over twelve hours in a car with him is nothing short of excruciating.

But having to share a bed with him?

A fate worse than death.

(aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope!)

Word Count: 7.7k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

BAM!

The violent sound of the car door being slammed is what jolts you from your nap, weary eyes fluttering quickly as you sit up in the rather uncomfortable chair.

You aren't sure how long you've been asleep but from the lack of light outside, you guess quite a while.

So, in an effort to assess your location, you lean forward to peer through the windshield at the bright, neon sign shining just above you.

Roadside Motel and Inn.

Slowly, the pieces begin to come together as you yawn and roll your head back to relieve some of the tension in your neck.

You and Harry have been on the road for exactly twelve hours. 

Twelve long, excruciating hours filled with bad rock music, limited snack breaks, and arguments over which part of the map to follow.

Harry doesn’t obey directions very well, something that became abundantly clear when he threw the map out of the window somewhere back in Ohio.

You have to smirk to yourself at the memory of his little tantrum before you realize...he's not in the car with you.

Curious as to where he went, you look back out the window just in time to see him slipping into the lobby of the motel, that familiar, sour scowl still set firmly on his face.

He must be going to book a room for the night, and you feel rather relieved to be calling it quits for the day.

Although, this motel doesn't look all that...safe. Or sanitary. In fact, it kind of looks like the motel in a horror movie where they'd find a dead body.

But, you aren't in a position to complain, so you lean back in your seat and wait for Harry to return with a room key.

However, after five minutes has passed and Harry has yet to return, you realize that something must have gone wrong.

And knowing Harry…it's a pretty safe bet.

So, you retie your shoes, zip up your jacket, and slip out of the car.

You can hear the aggravated arguing before you’ve even reached the lobby door. And you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes when the sound of Harry’s seething retort echoes into the parking lot.

“You aren’t fucking hearing me,” Harry is growling as he leans across the counter. “Two rooms. That’s all. I don’t fucking care about bed sizes or furnishings. I don’t fucking care if the TV is on the goddamn ceiling. Just give me the fucking keys.”

The poor man behind the counter looks absolutely exhausted with him (a feeling you know well) as he waves his hands in front of his computer. “I don’t have two rooms available, sir. I only have the one. One room. One queen-sized bed. One TV on the floor.”

Harry slams his palm against the desk with malice as you rush forward to intervene.

“Hi. I am…so sorry about my friend,” you begin hesitantly, pinching Harry’s hip in warning. “But, um…are you sure you don’t have any other rooms with two beds? No matter the size? We aren’t picky, really, we just…we’ve had a long day. And we’d really appreciate anything you can give us.”

The man’s eyes soften while Harry scoffs.

“Sorry, Miss,” the desk attendant sighs. “Just one room with one bed.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Harry begins again, tossing a vengeful glare across the counter. “There’s no way every other room is booked up but that one. What do you want, huh? You want money? Is that what it’s gonna take? Fine. How much fucking money is it gonna take for you to give us a key to a room with two beds?”

With a sigh, the worker says, “Sir…there are no more rooms. I don’t know what else to tell you—”

“You fucking prick. You think you can just con us out of another room because it’s the last minute—”

“Sir. No room in the inn. I don’t know what else to say—”

“Oh, you won’t say fucking much with my fist down your throat—”

“Okay, all right, let’s calm down,” you interject, wrapping your hands around Harry’s upper arm to tug him away from the desk. “We’ll take any room you have. Please.”

The charged silence seems to span an eternity as the desk attendant goes to retrieve a key.

And as he does, Harry rips his arm from your grasp while viciously whispering, “I had it covered.”

You snort. After all, you both know that’s not true. 

Once you’re officially checked in, Harry storms for the exit, nearly breaking the glass in the lobby door as he slams it open and shut. 

You follow a few feet behind, desperate to put some distance between you and his unjust wrath.

But, even still, you don’t miss his aggravated grumbling as he stomps back to the car, griping and cursing about, “Shitty fucking motels,” and “sleezy assholes with a stick up their arse.”

You suppose it would almost be funny if you weren’t dreading having to spend a night with him. In fact, you’re almost tempted to offer to sleep in the car but…well, you hate those fucking seats.

Harry is already unpacking your things by the time you reach him, tossing items left and right as he attempts to retrieve what you’ll need for the night.

He finds your duffle, yanking it from the backseat before nearly hauling it at you as you catch it and go stumbling back.

Then, he pulls his own backpack free before slamming yet another door shut.

With that, he leads you to your room, booted feet stomping across the concrete as you trail behind. 

It takes him about five minutes to figure out how to even get inside, large fingers fumbling with the keys as he growls and nearly shoves his fist through the door.

Once you’re inside, he flips on the light, and you both take a moment to assess its condition.

The queen-sized bed is more like a full. The wallpaper is faded and peeling. The smell is…unplaceable. The carpet is stained and dingy. The TV (which is not on the ceiling) is at least forty years old. And the bathroom has no door. 

And seriously, what is that smell?

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry huffs under his breath, backpack dropping to the floor. “No. Absolutely fucking not. Not happening.”

“Look, we don’t really have a choice, do we?” you argue as you move for the bed to study its condition. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and the next hotel isn’t for miles.”

“So?” he sneers, moving his glare to you. “S’better than this.”

“This is fine,” you retort, but wince as you say it. “Yeah, it’s not…great. But we’re only here to sleep and then we’re back on the road.”

“No,” he decides, arms crossing as he shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Not fucking happening, I’ll sleep in the parking lot.”

“Okay, great. Buh-bye, then,” you call, waving your hand through the air as if to dismiss him.

His eyes narrow. “He lied, by the way.”

Turning around, you gingerly lower yourself onto the mattress, expression scrunched as you make contact.

Ew.

“Uh…who?” you ask, rather distracted by the somewhat moist duvet beneath your ass.

Seriously, why the fuck is it wet?

“The owner,” Harry snaps, head jerking toward the door. “When he went to get the key, there was another fucking key right next to it. For the master suite.”

“…okay?”

He seems rather unimpressed with your answer. “Seriously?”

“What?” you huff as you stand back up. “Maybe it’s his room.”

“It’s not,” he decides haughtily. “No, he doesn’t fucking sleep here. ’Cause even he knows this place is a fucking dump. All right, satan’s asshole is cleaner than this room.”

Your nose crinkles. “Ew.”

“Exactly. So, get your fucking stuff and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the master suite, are you not fucking listening?”

“Harry,” you nearly scoff. “We don’t have a key. Okay, and even if we did, that’s…you know, illegal…I think.”

“God, you are such a fucking pussy,” he hisses, already spinning around to return to the door. “Fine. Fucking stay here. I don’t care. Sleep with the cockroaches while they make babies in your ear.”

You gasp as he disappears into the parking lot, the rather unsettling image in your head making your muscles recoil.

Ew, ew, ew.

You don’t know where he’s gone. Perhaps to argue with the owner again or perhaps to sneak into the other room.

But you don’t worry about him. Instead, you worry about what he said. About bugs, and babies, and them crawling into your ear, and mold, and bedbugs, and termites, and—

You fling yourself toward the door, duffle bag in tow as you slip from the room, nearly running into Harry on your way out.

He’s already returned, a key now spinning around his pointer finger as he nods at you. “Changed your mind, I take it?”

You exhale a deep breath. “Did you at least pay for the room?”

“What do you think?” he snorts. “Fucking waited till he went to the bathroom and snatched it.”

“Harry, he’s gonna notice the key is missing.”

“No he’s not. I put the old key in its place.”

You lean back. “Oh. That’s…smart.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sounding so fucking surprised,” he grumbles before brushing past you toward the stairs. 

“Come on, that’s not what I—” You begin but stop when you realize arguing with him is rather futile.

Instead, you follow after him toward the second floor of building as he leads you toward the end, where only one room lies. 

He manages to get this door open a little quicker and once it swings open, your eyes widen.

It’s not the Hilton, but it’s a hell of an upgrade. The room is significantly larger, it doesn’t smell like ass, and the bed is huge. At least a king, you imagine, if not bigger. With what looks to be fresh, clean sheets and even a nice throw blanket.

Harry grumbles something about, “Now that’s more fucking like it,” as you both continue into the massive space to look around.

There’s a mini bar, two TVs, and a nice vanity in the corner. The wallpaper isn’t stained, the carpet is soft, and this bathroom has a door.

“Shit,” you breathe as you practically levitate toward the mattress. “Okay…I hate to say it, but…you were right. This is…so much better.”

“I know,” he deadpans, tossing his backpack toward the floor before moving for the couch placed just across from the bed. “Okay, I’m going to sleep. We’re leaving at eight. Try not to fucking bother me until then, yeah?” 

With that, he flops down onto the sofa, eyes falling shut as he settles back into the cushions.

A little surprised, you stare at him, curious as to why he’s chosen to sleep on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the room. In fact, the floor would likely be more relaxing.

However, his expression remains placid, most likely aware of your presence but refusing to acknowledge it. “Go away now,” he mumbles without ever glancing up. “Stop fucking hovering and go the fuck to sleep.”

And you’d likely argue or remind him again of how unpleasant he tends to be but choose instead to obey as you head for the bathroom. After all, you are tired, and tomorrow you have yet another long day of traveling ahead.

With him. And his outrageously hostile temperament.

Once you’ve changed into some pajamas, you exit the tiny bathroom and scurry to the bed. It’s still winter outside, and even though this is the master suite, they apparently haven’t mastered heat.

The covers are thin, hardly adding even one degree of warmth. You tug the throw blanket further up and curl yourself into a ball, hoping to find some relief from the shivering of your teeth but to no avail. 

You have no idea how Harry isn’t freezing his ass off but can’t exactly focus on him as you begin to lose feelings in your toes. And now, the large bed seems to be working against you since all it does is provide you with more space to be cold in. And even if you wanted to readjust, you’d lose the spot of warmth you’ve created, forcing you to get stuck with the cold sheets once again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry suddenly growls, and you vaguely see the outline of his body as he straightens up from the couch.

Curious, you sit up as he stalks over to you, his large hand coming out to snatch onto the blankets and rip them back.

“Shit,” you breathe, recoiling away from the frigid air. “The fuck are you doing—”

“You won’t stop fucking shaking and it’s fucking annoying,” he snaps as he climbs onto the mattress beside you. “Move.”

A tad stunned, you blink at him. “I—seriously, what are you doing—”

“I’m trying to get some goddamn sleep,” he huffs, as if it were obvious. “But I can’t with your fucking teeth making so much goddamn noise. So, I’m gonna fucking hold you until you stop shivering.”

“Like hell you are,” you snort, already wiggling away from him. “The whole fucking point of us finding another room was so that we didn’t have to share a bed. Remember?”

“Yeah, well, that was before your teeth started doing the tango,” he retorts. “Now shut the fuck up and cuddle me.”

“I—Harry. I’m not going to cuddle you, that’s gross—”

“Oh, grow up. God, you are so fucking dramatic. We’re adults—”

“Yeah, but we’re not in fucking Twilight. Okay, Jacob? I don’t need your doggy heat to warm me up—”

“My doggy heat? The fuck does that even mean? I wasn’t gonna hold you doggy style—”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re not gonna hold me at all—”

“For fuck’s sake,” he seethes for a second time before his arm is extending across the space between your bodies to latch onto your hip and drag you closer.

You don’t have the time to protest before your face is being squished into his chest as he pulls the blankets back up. 

Your brain is the next thing to freeze as you take a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

And why you aren’t fighting it.

Because much to your dismay…he’s right. Again. Instantly, this is significantly better, and you can already feel the movement return to your toes as you take a deep breath.

And suddenly, you realize that he’s…everywhere. Against you, around you, inside you. Well, his smell is, anyway. The subtle scent of his cologne making a home in your lungs.

And it’s…nice. A masculine vanilla, of sorts. Comforting.

…ew.

And while your first instinct is to reach up and shove him away…you don’t. Instead, your hands come to rest on his chest as you feel each curve and dip of his strong body. Maybe you’re too cold or too tired, but whatever the case, you don’t push.

“You can’t do this,” you choose to mumble, despite the fact that you do nothing to stop it.

He simply snorts under his breath. “Already am.”

You shift but don’t pull yourself out of his arms. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Your eyes narrow, even though he can’t see you. 

For a moment, the dark room falls quiet. The sound of his breathing above you is soft and you feel his body rise and fall with each one. It nearly lulls you to sleep as the heat begins to surround you, much like his arms have.

“Why are you so mean to me?” you hear yourself whisper, momentarily stunned by the words that came from your own throat without permission.

He seems to tense. “I’m not mean to you. That’s just…you know, our thing.”

“Our thing is you being mean to me?”

“I’m not mean,” he repeats sternly, arms constricting around your back. “Trust me, if I were fucking mean to you, you’d know it.”

“So…this is you being nice?”

You hear him huff. “Can you please just go the fuck to sleep?”

“Okay,” you murmur, with absolutely no plans to do so. 

But you allow him to think that he’s won for about two minutes before you voice your next question.

“Why is being mean our thing?”

Another sigh. “I swear to fucking God—”

“You used to bring me cookies,” you remind him, the memory of when he first joined your sector years prior coming to mind. “Every morning. You’d bring me cookies from the bakery you stopped at on the way to work.”

Again, he goes quiet, muscles hard beneath your touch. “I don’t remember,” he replies after a minute, the cadence of his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

“I do,” you say, fingers absentmindedly stroking his soft shirt. A nervous habit. “I remember. It was my favorite part of the day. You were so…kind. Quiet. Maybe a little shy, but…you were a great addition to the program. I liked having you there.”

He snorts again, the sound full of disbelief and contempt. “Yeah. Right.”

You lean back, head tilting to look up at him. “I did.”

He looks down. Stares. Says nothing.

You don’t know what you wanted him to say but you do suppose you want to know why. What changed between the days when you were almost friends to…now.

“I’m not mean to you,” he finally answers, a bit softer than his last remark. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Oh, so the constant insults and degrading comments are just a part of your charm and charisma?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work.

His lips press into a thin line. “Why do you care if I’m nice to you or not?”

“I’m…’cause you used to be,” you say, rather confused by the question. “And clearly something changed, I just…I don’t know. I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why.”

“No, why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. We’re not friends.”

“Yeah. I know. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t we friends?”

He leans back now, too. “…why the fuck would we be?”

You shrug. “Because we work together. And have to spend a lot of time together. And it would be nice to at least be civil.”

“I don’t want to be civil,” he scoffs. “Especially with you.”

Now even more startled, you blink at him. “I’m sorry, what the fuck does that mean?”

Again, his jaw clamps shut, effectively ending his side of the conversation.

You’ve struck a nerve, but you have no idea which one.

And despite the fact that he’s still holding you, his touch has grown cold and distant.

So, you snatch his shirt between your fingers and tug. “Stop doing that. Just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about—”

“Yes, there is. Look…if I…did something…just tell me. Okay, because I probably didn’t mean to, and I can’t exactly apologize for it if I don’t know. So, just…spit it out—”

“No—”

“Yes—”

“I said fucking no—”

“And I said I don’t fucking care. Now, tell me what I—”

“Charlie.”

The name brings your response to a halt as you hesitate and flick your eyes between his, looking for understanding. “…what?”

Harry takes a deep breath as if steeling himself from the conversation. “Fucking Charlie, all right? You started dating Charlie. That’s what you did.”

There’s a certain disdain behind his expression that you manage to make out and it throws you for a loop. “I…wait, what? I don’t get it, why is that bad?”

He hesitates before sighing, seeming to dismiss the conversation altogether. “Forget it.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, tugging on him again. “Did…did you want to date him?”

His eyes roll. “Here we fucking go—”

“No, I mean it. ’Cause I don’t understand why else that would make you hate me—”

His attention snaps back down. “I don’t hate you, I…look. It doesn’t fucking matter, all right, so just drop it—”

“It does matter. It does, Harry, because it’s been driving me nuts for four years and I can’t take it anymore.”

And maybe he’s tired, too. Maybe he’s delirious from the long journey or maybe he’s just tired of talking, but for whatever reason, he finally lets his vulnerability slip through the cracks.

You see it peak through his expression. See it—feel it—in the way he holds you. Looks at you. In the way he fights with himself to reveal the truth.

“Because I liked you,” he says. So simply, you could almost be tricked into thinking it is. “I liked you. A lot. But you didn’t like me. You liked him.”

You can say nothing. Can offer no response or reaction as your lashes flutter and your brain works to process what he just admitted to you.

His jaw tenses as he waits. “Yeah. Exactly. So…there you fucking go. Happy?”

“I—” Your heart begins to race wildly inside your chest as this secret bounces around the walls of your mind. “Harry, I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he mumbles, shifting a little as his grip begins to loosen, desperate to let you go and pull himself away. “Why would you have? I’m not Charlie.”

You frown. You don’t like the implication in his tone. “No, you’re not Charlie. And you should be really fucking glad you aren’t.”

Now, it’s his turn to work through your reply. “…what do you mean?”

“I mean Charlie was a fucking ass,” you tell him, past resentment slipping through your hostile tone. “Okay, cheating on me was one of the nicer things he did.”

And you almost think you see pity in his eyes mixed with just the slightest hint of rage. “He cheated on you?”

“Oh, yeah. Cheated on, belittled me, ditched me in the middle of one of our dates with no way to get home,” you recall. “Not to mention he was shit in bed, he couldn’t be bothered to learn my last name, and he owes me over fifteen thousand dollars.”

Harry rears back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.” You almost smirk, somehow amused by his utter shock. “So, trust me…Charlie was not a threat to you. In fact, nobody could have been a threat to you.”

 “And what does that mean?”

He sounds suspicious and you hesitate, curious as to whether or not this is really something you want to admit.

You swallow the urge. “It just means…you were my friend. And I cared about you, and it kind of fucking sucked when you turned on me.”

His expression falls, frown mirror your own. He opens his mouth, ready to respond, but then stops. He stops and he looks at you and he mulls. 

You wish he’d allow you a visit inside his mind. Wish he’d clue you into his thought process but perhaps it’s better this way.

And maybe he was right. Maybe this is your thing. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t like you. 

Maybe that’ll make it easier to stay away.

“So…he was shit in bed, huh?” Harry murmurs after a moment, and your brow raises.

“Really? That’s what you’re taking from what I said?” you tease, playfully slapping at his chest. “Very funny.”

“M’not being funny,” he insists, nodding his chin at you. “Must have been hard for you. Or…I guess soft?”

Your eyes narrow as you smirk. “Ha. Ha.”

For the first time all day…he smiles. “Look, I just…I feel bad for you, you know? I mean, yeah, the cheating and stealing and being an ass part all suck. But…the bad sex? That’s just unforgivable.”

“It was heinous,” you agree, feigning a wounded sigh. “Seriously, I had to replace three vibrators over the course of our relationship. Three.”

He sucks in an empathetic breath. “Yikes.”

“I know. But I got really buff in my right arm.”

His grin widens until you can see his bunny teeth. “For fuck’s sake—”

“But not the left one for some reason. So it was really uneven. I looked like a Picasso painting—”

“Oh, my god. Stop. Please stop talking—”

“What? You’re the one that asked.”

“Yeah, I asked because clearly you need some help.”

This time, you rear back, eyebrow raising as you look at him. “I’m sorry…what?”

And he almost looks like he regrets the words that just came out of his mouth, but instead of taking them back…he shrugs one shoulder up. “Well…come on. You have to admit you’re…tense.”

“Wha—I am not tense,” you sputter. “I’m…I…just because I don’t put up with your shit does not make me tense.”

“No, but you not being able to come the way you deserve does.”

It’s so…tenacious the way he speaks. The way he says deserve like he’s had this thought before.

You wonder if he has.

“And who says I haven’t?” you counter.

“Have you?”

Your split-second hesitation is answer enough and his smirk returns as he hums to himself.

“Got it,” he mumbles, letting his eyes rake down your face. “Like I said…s’a shame.”

You snort, “Oh, is it?”

“It is.”

“And why is that?”

“Cause I could probably help you out.”

There it is again. That confidence in what he’s offering that makes your breath hitch. “Harry…come on.”

“Come on what?” he teases. “Your tongue? Your stomach? Your pus—”

“Okay, all right, enough,” you interject, wincing a bit as you lean away. “Seriously. Stop.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? We can’t…this is a weird conversation,” you huff. “You don’t…that’s not what we…it’s just weird.”

“Why do you think it’s weird?”

An unamused glare begins to form. “Because it is.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because we don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like that.” Your hand quickly gestures between your bodies. “You said it yourself. Our thing is being mean. Arguing and fighting and you getting on my nerves.”

He hums again, as if considering it. “Well…maybe this can be our thing, too.”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

The exasperated expression on your face deepens at the familiar nickname. “It is not going to be our thing.”

“Fine,” he sighs, one hand raising as he surrenders himself. “I’m just saying…it would probably help you stay warm.”

Oh, he’s such a fucking—

“That’s…dumb,” is what you choose to reply with, to which he smiles.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But it works. All that body heat, and friction, and excursion—”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

Your lips set into a line. “Are you being serious right now or are you fucking with me? Because I really can’t tell.”

“I’m being serious,” he says, just as simply as before. “Dead fucking serious.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Told you. I feel bad for you.”

You scoff rather incredulously as you turn over onto your back, forcing his arms out from around you. “I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Clearly.”

It goes quiet then, both of you falling in line with the comfortable silence.

After a moment, you look over, suddenly aware of the absence of his body now that you’re no longer trapped against his chest.

And you almost…miss it. The warmth, and the slight serenity, and…the safety.

He’s one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met but he’s damn good at his job. He’s quick, he’s smart, and he’s quite capable.

And he’s got more muscles than he’s got brain cells.

“What?” he grumbles, seeming to finally notice your staring.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shaking the thought of him free as you glance back up at the ceiling. 

But you feel him study you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No,” you deny instantly, cheeks flushing at the very idea. “God, Harry. You’re so—”

“Annoying. Yes. I know. I’m also quite good with my hands if that’s any help—”

“Harry.”

“Princess,” he mimics, and you can hear the smile. “We don’t have to, I’m just saying…my services are here.”

“Services,” you repeat under your breath, snorting some. “How romantic.”

“Never claimed to be romantic. Just claimed to be good.”

“Well, you would think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so.”

“Yeah, well, Charlie thought he knew so, too.”

“Well, we’ve already established I’m not Charlie, haven’t we?”

Your eyes flick back over to his. “Maybe. That doesn’t make you good.”

“And what about me implies that I wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you called it services?”

“Getting you off is a service. A very nice one, actually. Or would you rather call it a favor?”

“I’d rather call it nothing. Because it makes it sound cheap.”

“We’re in a roadside motel. What about this entire trip doesn’t scream cheap to you?”

“The fact that we work for the government. And the fact that they’re not paying us to…you know.”

“What? You can’t even say it? Come on, Princess, I thought you were better than that.”

“I’m…I…” It’s incredible how quickly he’s managed to render you speechless. “I’m just saying, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“People fuck on the job all the time,” he reminds you. “Just last week, Spencer Reid told me about this girl he met in Vegas—”

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you exclaim, hands immediately flying to your ears to protect you from any unpleasant information about your friend. “What he does is none of my business.”

“You mean who he does,” Harry corrects smugly. “Look, Hotch doesn’t care. As long as the job gets done, it doesn’t matter.”

“So…what? That makes it okay?”

“Okay? It’s just an orgasm, it’s not murder—”

“Shit like that is personal,” you huff. “It’s intimate and…delicate. You know? It’s not for people who already don’t like each other. That makes it…messy.”

“Yeah, well…I like it messy,” he says, and despite yourself, there’s a catch in your throat. “Besides, I don’t know why we’re still talking about it if you don’t want to do it.”

You hesitate. He’s got a point.

Suddenly, he pushes up onto his forearm to really get a good look at you. “…unless you do want to. And you’re trying to argue yourself out of it.”

Your mouth drops open. “What? No, I…no.”

He snorts. “Oh, well, I’m convinced.”

“I don’t,” you insist before the truth begins to beat against your ribcage like a drum. “I mean…I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“No. Not unless we make it weird.”

“Well how do I know you won’t make it weird?”

“It was my idea. Why would I make it weird?”

“Because you are weird.”

“Yeah, but I’m still good.”

You exhale a sharp breath. “Harry…I’m being serious.”

He returns your stare. “So am I.”

“Well…I still don’t understand why you want to. Don’t guys hate stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?” he retorts. “Fingering you? Eating you out? Tasting you? I’m sorry, what part of that doesn’t sound like a fucking dream?”

“Listen, Charlie used to tell me that it was gross—”

“And Charlie’s a fucking pussy,” Harry decides, rather resolutely. “Which is ironic since he doesn’t know what to do with one. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Okay, we know how to enjoy the finer things in life.”

“Is that…a compliment?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Thanks. Are you convinced?”

Are you convinced? You almost want to laugh at the very question but…perhaps you are. Perhaps he’s right—yet again—and this one-time agreement could offer you a bit of…help.

And heat.

Since it’s still fucking freezing.

“If I say yes…you have to promise to never…bring this up again,” you begin as he straightens up. “Never, Harry. I mean it. Not as a joke. Not when you’re mad at me. Not when we’re in front of anyone. Ever.”

“What, you think I want people to know about this?” He smirks. “Promise. What happens in the shitty roadside motel stays in the shitty roadside motel.”

“Great.” Your hands gather in front of your stomach as you begin to pick at your nail beds. “So…okay. Great. Is that…I mean, are you—”

“What do you need?”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

“My mouth or my fingers. What do you need?”

God, this feels too fucking real. You swallow rather thickly as you move your focus to his nose, looking for something less intimidating to concentrate on. “I don’t know. Whichever you want, I guess.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he replies easily. “It’s about what you need. So, I’m gonna ask you again. And this time I need an answer, all right?”

You simply look at him.

“What do you need…to come?” he asks softly, moving a bit closer across the mattress as his breath fans across your face. “Do you need my mouth? My tongue? My fingers?”

His hand outstretches for your neck, palm sliding up until his thumb can sweep along your jaw. 

“Hm?” he hums, gazing down at you rather curiously as you lean back into the pillows. “Or do you need it all? Do you need more? Need to feel full? Fucked?”

You feel like you’re being pulled into a trap. Lured into the devious intentions swimming behind his eyes.

But you don’t…care.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Princess,” he continues, his voice like silk. Sex. “Give you whatever you need. Just have to ask.”

“I don’t…I don’t know, really,” you whisper, desperate to shove the control in his hands. “I’m not…I don’t care. Do whichever you’re comfortable with.”

“Darling…there is nothing about you I couldn’t be comforted by,” he says, finger teasing your bottom lip. “Do you really think…I’d choose not to feel you? Slip myself inside you and feel how fucking tight you are. ’Cause I know you are, aren’t you, honey? Bet you’re so soft…so warm…so fucking wet. Be so easy to taste you for myself.”

 He was right. He is good at this.

And maybe in the past you’ve liked to have some control, but right now…you’d do anything for him. Be anything he wanted you to be. 

He knows exactly what you need. Knows that you need someone to put you in your place. Guide you toward what you want.

“Why don’t I start with my hand?” he suggests gently, looking for approval on your face. “Give you a minute to realize how much you like it.”

When your only response is continued staring, his head tilts.

“Words, Princess,” he warns. “Or we stop.”

And really, he hasn’t even done anything yet but the very idea of stopping makes your stomach recoil.

“Fine,” you manage to breathe. “Your…hand. That’s…fine.”

You hate how…nervous you sound. How unsure, but Harry is more than willing to make up for the slack, grinning to himself as he trails his palm back down your neck.

“Need you to relax for me, okay?” he instructs as he reaches your chest, delicately and tamely slipping between your breasts toward your stomach. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t graze, doesn’t take a moment to fondle you like a prepubescent horny boy. He does only what he said he was going to. “Just like that, there you go.”

He continues to glide along the fabric of your shirt until he reaches your hips where the band of your pants lie. 

His finger taps against the elastic, almost as if waiting.

“Say it again,” he whispers, dipping down until his nose ghosts across your cheek. “Need to hear you say it one more time.”

And you wonder if he really does want to be adamant about consent…

…or if he just enjoys hearing you submit.

“Please,” you just about gasp, suddenly aware of the lust you feel for his touch. The way you really do feel…empty. “Please, Har…just…just—”

His hand disappears beneath the material, and when you feel him brush over the fabric of your underwear…your eyes flutter shut.

He chooses to forgo skin on skin contact. At least for now, and you imagine it’s because he’s waiting for you to feel a bit more at ease.

And the rather generous thought does something to your stomach as he begins to drag the pad of his thumb down your covered clit.

You go still. Deathly still because it feels so fucking good. You hadn’t realized you were this wound up but instantly…your muscles turn to jelly.

“How’s that, hm?” comes the low purr of his voice, his lips now much closer to your ear. “Feel good?”

You nod mutely as your hands begin to fist the sheets below you. 

“Good,” he replies, seemingly proud as he repeats the previous action before moving down. Then…he tsks. “Oh, honey…what’s this?”

You venture a glance over at him as he leans back to see you.

“Already so wet,” he says, fighting his amusement. “What’s got you so worked up, darling? Haven’t even done anything yet.”

Truthfully, you don’t know. You hadn’t realized. Maybe he’s just that good or maybe your body has been more complicit to his unspoken intentions than you were aware of.

Either way, he’s right. You are so pathetically wet, and he hasn’t even fully touched you yet.

“Have you been thinking about it this whole time?” he asks next, voice slipping back through the needle of salacious resolve. “Hm? Just been lying here, dripping for me? Needing me to make it better?”

He adds a bit more pressure and you gasp, the ache between your thighs growing much more unbearable.

He does it again before slowing down and your chest just about caves in.

“What?” He moves closer again, grinning to himself as he places his lips against your neck. “Something wrong?”

“Har…” you nearly whine, squirming some under his hold.

His tattooed arm flexes as he rolls the heel of his hand down your clit. “What? What is it? What do you need?”

You, you, you. The thought screams inside your head as he licks his tongue along your jaw. 

“Please…” you say instead, hoping you sound desolate enough to garner his sympathy. 

“Please what? Can’t read your mind, honey. Need you to tell me.”

You groan in the back of your throat, partially from his arrogant, flippant behavior and partially from the way he’s pulling at your skin with his teeth.

“Just…just…” Still, the request refuses to come out, and you want to smack yourself for being so weak.

“Just…just?” he repeats, somewhat mockingly but still gentle. “Just what? Just…this?”

You feel his finger hook around the hem of your panties before he’s effortlessly pulling it aside to graze his touch through you.

And you moan, so much louder than you’d meant to. Because even this simple touch does more for you than Charlie ever did.

“Ah,” he murmurs as he dances his mouth down the side of your throat. “That’s what you need.”

And before you have the chance to reply, he’s slipping a finger inside right at the same time that he’s raising up to kiss you.

Really kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours as you willingly give him every breath in your lungs.

The combination of sensations just about kills you as he effortlessly works his touch in and out with ease.

And he’s not recoiling the way you imagined he might. He’s not half-assing it or declaring he’s already done.

No, he’s…he’s indulging in you. Truly and completely as he groans into your bottom lip before sucking on it.

“Fucking knew it,” he whispers, moving to sit up on the bed so he can fully hover over you. “Fucking knew…”

You aren’t quite sure what he means but you do like the way he says it, your skin flushing as he gently introduces you to a second finger.

And it’s so good. So…full. Exactly the way you’d hoped. Exactly the way he’d promised.

Practiced, and patient, and pure pleasure. Right now, you know nothing but this feeling he’s giving you.

His kisses grow hungrier. Angrier. Like he’s fighting himself on how much he’s enjoying it.

And it makes sense. You’re rather annoyed yourself at how easy it was to start needing him. How desperate he’s made you become in such a short time.

Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders and keep him close, nails scratching at the few hairs lying on the nape of his neck.

You hear him sigh. Perhaps with contentment as he places his other hand on the mattress to brace himself and fully give in.

You wish you’d turned a light on. Wish you could really see him. Drink him in. Admire the man you’ve always loved to look at.

Because he is quite fun to look at.

Your hips lift from the mattress as if chasing the feeling he’s offering, and he makes a noise against your mouth that’s a mix between entertained and disappointed.

“Easy,” he chastises, subtly pushing you back down. “Come on, Princess. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Har,” you whimper again, pulling a bit harder on his curls. “Please…just…hurry.”

“No,” he says simply, and your lashes flutter. “No, I’m gonna enjoy you. Gonna take my time…and you’re gonna take it.”

You exhale a wounded whine as he leans back and slowly removes his fingers.

And the loss of stimulation just about ruins you.

“Fuck,” you seethe between gritted teeth. “Come on. God, knew you’d be a fucking pain in my—”

His hands latch onto your pajama pants and underwear so he can pull them down, and when the cold air hits your cunt…you gasp again.

Once they’re off and discarded to the side, he maneuvers along the mattress until he can take hold of your thighs and guide them apart. 

Then…he blows.

A warm, gentle breath dances across your already sensitive pussy, making you tense as he settles onto his stomach.

His fingers constrict around your legs to keep them planted firmly to the bed as he leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh. 

Then, another.

And another.

And another.

Higher, and higher, and higher until he’s so close…you can practically taste it.

He pauses and you aren’t sure why. You hope it’s not because something’s wrong. Or because he’s repulsed. Or because he’s changed his—

His tongue presses into your cunt with fervor and pressure, cutting your overthinking short as he takes that taste.

And just like that…everything makes sense.

All you understand his him, and his mouth, and his lips, and the powerful rush of immense and innate pleasure washing over you.

But it doesn’t just wash, it surrounds you. Overwhelms you. Pulls you down until you feel like you’re drowning.

There’s static in your brain as he sucks on your clit and squeezes your legs in his hands. As he leaves kisses across your pussy and traces his name across every inch.

“Harry,” you whisper, too overcome to care how pathetically enamored you sound. “Please…please…please…”

You can’t see him, but you don’t doubt that he’s proud. Probably smiling to himself as he releases one leg to slip his fingers back in.

He curls, and he stretches, and he sucks until your skin is on fire. Until it almost hurts. Until you feel as though you can’t hold it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, nose bumping into your hip as he works you closer. “S’a good girl…you can take it, come on.”

“Shit…shit, Har,” you breathe, muscles burning from the way you attempt to hold yourself together. “Can’t…please…���

“Yes you can. You can, come on—”

“Harry—”

“I know, Princess. I know. S’okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you—”

“Please…”

“Shh…let me play with you. M’having so much fun. Don’t wanna stop.”

And you don’t want him to stop either. You never want him to stop again. You want to stay here, in this shitty motel, on this lumpy mattress, in his hands. Forever.

He’s so warm, and strong, and safe, and good.

And you can feel the tears slip from your eyes from the immense build-up and from the realization that you are so insanely…happy right now.

You hate him. God, you fucking hate him.

But there’s no one else you’d want around. No one else you can even imagine yourself doing this with.

You don’t want to let this go. This joy, this serenity, this moment.

Him.

You don’t want to let go.

But you know…you’ll have to.

The tears begin to flow a bit faster as you suck in a sharp inhale through quivering lips. 

You focus in on his touch. His voice. The gentle rasp that encourages you to keep going. That he’s got you. That you’re doing so good. That he can’t wait to taste you. 

And you can’t do it any longer. Can’t hold off, can’t fight it.

You come with a mangled whimper, fingers clawing down the sheets as your thighs squeeze around his head. As you see a glimpse of heaven while he makes you roll against his tongue. As everything changes.

“Fucking perfect,” he hums, working you through every second, thrusts slowing as he eases you back down. “So good, honey. Just like I wanted.”

But you don’t respond. Can’t. Not out of remorse or embarrassment…but because your throat has gone dry from the tears.

And as the dark motel room falls silent…he hears it. Hears your cries as you struggle to contain your emotion.

“Hey…hey,” he calls sternly, quickly straightening up so he can move closer. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You don’t answer as he reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp, and the moment the light fills the room, you throw your hands over your face.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms, cheeks stained with broken promises and humiliation. “Fuck…fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he warns, fingers already wrapping around your wrists to pull them down. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t. Just tell me what happened, tell me what’s wrong.”

But you don’t. Can’t. You simply blink up at him as he studies you, the trepidation clearly etched across his expression. 

For a moment, you both stay there. Him kneeling above you, hands tight around yours, and you. Lying in your defeat.

After a minute of silence has come and gone, he seems to understand. Seems to accept that this isn’t about what did happen.

It’s about what didn’t.

His eyes grow sad as he sighs and reaches up to brush a thumb down your lip.

Then, he caresses your cheek with more tenderness than you’ve ever seen from him.

“I know,” he murmurs while your heart just about shatters. “In another life…I would have done it right.”

And you know exactly what he means.

You sniffle as he dips down to find you again. Mouth on yours as a hundred unspoken promises pass between you.

“Yeah…in another life.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

#harry #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles request #harry styles x reader #harry styles fan #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles concept #harry styles enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #one bed trope #enemies to lovers!harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic

[cranberrymoons]

i'll be home for christmas

prompt: no upside down au (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: t word count: 909 words tags: flirting, bartender eddie, college student steve

welcome to Day 9 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

Nancy dumps him a few months after he moves away for school, and so he doesn’t come home that summer or the one after that, until a couple years have gone by and he ends up stuck back at his parents’ house during Christmas break. 

He hasn’t seen them in a while, but truth be told, he’d kind of rather just be back in South Bend hiding out in his dorm or maybe at the bar with Robin, the only other person from Hawkins who’d ended up at Notre Dame. He hadn’t even known her before they were there, and she’s a year below him, but – whatever. When you leave a small town, you sort of tend to find each other after a while.

She’s not there right now, though, so it’s not like it really even makes a difference. She’s off on some trip with her own parents, one that they take every other year, back to visit her mom’s old hippie friends in Berkeley, because Robin has the sort of parents who have old hippie friends back in Berkeley. Maybe Steve could just get adopted by them, and then he'd never have to come back here at all.

Anyway.

He’s here now. That’s the problem.

And of course he got into a fight with his dad on the first night back. Of course he did. I wasn't even over anything worthwhile, just – Whatever. It doesn’t even matter. He doesn’t even care, just. He really does hate his dad sometimes.

He clenches his jaw in rhythm to the song that’s playing from the tape deck in his room, turns his head on the pillow to squint at the glowing red alarm clock in the corner. 

8:50 PM

It’s barely even nighttime. He can’t just sit here like this, like he’s waiting for his parents to leave, because they’re not going to fucking leave, so maybe – maybe he should –

He catapults himself off the bed and reaches for his keys on the dresser, shoving them in his back pocket before he can overthink it. Down the stairs, slipping into his shoes by the door, shrugging into his coat. Calling over his shoulder that he’s going out, don’t wait up, and –

He doesn’t actually know where he’s going, but he gets in his car and starts driving. Just drives until he ends up parked in front of the Hideout, the run-down little dive bar on the complete opposite side of town. 

It’s open, and there are a few people hanging around out front, so he turns off the car and goes inside.

It’s dark in here, the ceiling low and the music kind of weird and more guitar-y than he’s used to, but it’s medium-crowded in a way that makes him feel like he can probably just grab a seat at the bar and blend in and not have to worry about anyone trying to talk to him about –

“Harrington?”

Fuck. 

He turns with a big fake smile on his face, prepared to deal with Tommy, who he hasn’t seen in at least a year, or maybe even Billy, who he hasn’t seen in about as long. Worst of all would be the Byers kid, the one he got dumped for, but Jonathan’s probably not bold enough to actually say anything to his face, but still. The last person he expects to find is –

“Munson?” 

Eddie gives a little jerk of his head and drops a dish towel over his shoulder. He braces his hands on the opposite side of the bar, arms spread wide, and Steve’s eyes flicker down, just for a beat, to the way the thin cords of muscle flex under his skin where it’s lined with a twisting pattern of black tattoos.

Eddie clears his throat, and Steve sucks in a breath, blinking back up to his face. Eddie raises his eyebrows. 

“What’ll it be?”

“Um. Just a – beer, whatever,” Steve says as he tugs his coat off and slides onto a stool. “You work here?”

“No, I’m just a really creative burglar,” Eddie says. He reaches for a glass and pulls the tap as he eyes Steve up and down. “Playing the long game. If I stand back here long enough, they’ll stop noticing me, and that’s when I strike.”

He sets down the drink and slides it across the bar, and Steve grins as he accepts it, letting out a surprised laugh. 

“Well now you’ve given it away,” he says, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip. “Your plan is ruined.”

“You’re going to turn me in?” Eddie asks. He folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the countertop behind him, and Steve’s eyes drop down again like he can’t help it. “What if I cut you in? Ten percent?”

Steve feels a pleased little flush wash over him as he looks back up to Eddie’s face, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip of his beer. Eddie’s smile is slow and a little sweet, and it makes something in Steve’s stomach do a weird little flip. He tears the corner off a bar napkin to distract his hands from fidgeting too much, and leans forward across the bar. He narrows his eyes.

“Twenty.”

Eddie’s smile grows. He lifts his chin. “Fifteen, and your next beer’s on me.”

Steve laughs, feeling a warm glow settle in his chest. “Sounds like a deal.”

[also on ao3]

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #my fic

[lightseoul]

cw. fem!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (~28 yrs old)

word count. 0.9k words

“I’m home,” you call out, haphazardly putting your keys back into your bag with one hand, the other cradling near your chest the mid-sized box you got from Sato’s shop earlier that day.

You’re careful not to mess up the pastry that sits inside it.

“Welcome home,” Bakugou’s gruff voice echoes from the direction of the kitchen, the sound of which immediately soothes the tension you didn’t know you held in your shoulders.

It’s been a long day, you think to yourself.

Excited to meet him after almost 24 hours of not seeing each other, you hurriedly toe off your shoes, noting to yourself to properly return them on the shoe rack later—lest your Katsuki nags your ear off again (affectionately).

“Hey,” you greet once more as you enter the room, cautiously placing the box on the table before striding towards him to wrap your arms around his middle.

He grunts in acknowledgment.

With your chin on his firm shoulder, you examine the impressive array of ingredients and some of your favorite dishes on the kitchen counter, as well as on the island behind you.

You decide to tease him.

“What’s all this for, babe?”

You can somehow feel more than see him side-eyeing you. “The fuck?”

As innocently as you can, you pipe up: “What?”

At your query, he shrugs himself from your hold and places the knife he was just using to expertly chop vegetables on the table before turning to face you, incredulous.

“Whaddya mean, ‘what’?” he huffs, before continuing. “Are you saying you forgot what day it is?”

You debate with yourself for a second whether or not to continue this ruse, ultimately deciding against it when you see the flash of hurt on Bakugou’s face.

Smiling, you reach out to hold his hands in yours.

He doesn’t shrug you off.

A frown still decorates his face, though.

“Of course I didn’t, babe,” you squeeze his hand for emphasis. “How could I?”

“You very much could, you know,” he says as a matter of factly, turning back to continue hacking on the green onions on the off-white chopping board. “You’ve barely been getting enough sleep with how hard you’ve been working. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t know what month it is.”

You only grumble in response. He wasn’t wrong.

After a few seconds of staring at his backside, you sigh in defeat, spinning to step toward the kitchen island.

“Well, I got us something.”

“What,” he says more than asks, focus still directed towards slicing carrots now. You smile to yourself; you could practically hear the pout in his tone.

You tap on his shoulder, and at that, he finally turns to look at you, an eyebrow raised in question.

Immediately, his gaze lowers to the box that you’re currently holding, and a whirlwind of emotions dances across his face.

“...‘Happy 4th anniversary to us, champ’?”

Despite yourself, you snort. He shoots you a glare, though it has no bite to it.

You gesture to the cake you’re holding. “I didn’t include ‘I love you’ because I knew that would embarrass you around Sato the next time the class gets together.”

“Yet you decided to use this weird as fuck pet name?” he shakes his head, exasperated. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think his cheeks are turning pink. “Your dumbass making me sound like your kid.”

At that, you cackle, and a smirk manages to crack through the annoyed facade he’s trying to maintain.

You place the box back on the counter and step towards him again, coaxing the knife from his grip. You place it on the board before moving to circle your arms around his neck.

His hands automatically find their place on your hips.

You grin up at him.

“Well, you do call me mommy, sometimes.”

Now, you’re definitely not imagining the redness that’s creeping up on his face.

“Shut up,” he pokes at your side, and you can’t help the squeal that erupts from you.

After a moment of him tickling you and you frantically begging him to stop all the while gasping for air, he finally relents.

He’s still red in the neck when the air between you falls into a quiet lull.

You reach up to comb his hair back with your fingers, tiptoeing to press a kiss on his forehead. When you pull back, you see that his gaze has visibly softened, and he’s now looking at you with what you’ve long identified as adoration.

Longing, too.

Four years of being married, and it still knocks the wind out of your lungs.

“Happy anniversary, Kats,” you whisper, before looking around your shared kitchen that’s filled with testaments of the effort Bakugou puts into your relationship. “Thank you for doing this.”

“‘s no big deal,” he mumbles, dipping his head to rest on the crook of your neck. He says this despite everything else in the room telling you otherwise.

When he lifts his head back up, you shoot him a knowing look and he shoots you another right back.

One you know all too well.

One that says ‘You know what I mean. Don’t make me say it’.

Four years of being married, and the giddiness and pride of knowing Bakugou Katsuki this intimately still hit you like a truck.

“I love you,” you whisper again.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively, before dipping in to place a kiss on your forehead. “I love you, too, dumbass.”

#is this bad #idk #don't answer that #LMAO #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 11

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“So… what happens if Walter buys us out?” Timothy asks, a confused squiggle in his brow that hasn’t lessened for the entirety of the conversation.

“Well, we won’t be out on the street,” your mother says, “and your father will be taken care of. We can send him to The Gardens. He’ll be comfortable there… we can visit.”

You bite on your knuckle, gnawing anxiously. Timothy frowns and rubs his chin, a sparseness of new stubble there. He sniffs as he tries to unravel the riddle.

“Does that mean he’s my boss?”

“Well, more of a landlord,” your mom explains, “he’ll help with the farming and take his cut. If he does this, he’ll have to cut back at the mill. It’s a big sacrifice. For everyone.”

Timothy nods and drops his hand to twiddle against the table, “it sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah… it’s our only idea,” your mom murmurs.

“What are the terms?” You ask suddenly, hiding the ridged marks in your finger left by your teeth. “He’s going to let us pay rent? On a whole farm?”

“If the bank gives him good news,” she rubs her palms together, “I don’t know. We need more information but we can hope.” Her voice quavers as she brings the tissue back to her nose, “I only ever want to do what’s best for you two.”

“Ma,” you reach out to touch her elbow, “we can help. We’ll pull together. All of us, with or without Walter.”

“I hope we can,” she snivels and begins to weep again.

You look at Timothy. He looks gaunt. He’s absolutely terrified. No matter how hard you try, you can’t see him doing it himself. He isn’t ready to take over for your dad. You don’t know if he ever will be.

You turn back to your mom as her shoulders shake. She looks little better than Timothy and you bet, if you glanced in a mirror, you would be much the same. This can’t all fall on her. She’s had to deal with so much so far.

“Tim, what’s wrong with the truck?” You ask suddenly, your mother and brother flinching at the same time.

“What?” He stammers.

“What’s wrong with it? Is it running?”

“Yeah, kinda, it stalls out but you just gotta give it a few.”

“Ma, how long?”

“What?” She rasps.

“How long do we have? Without Walter, just us. How long do we have to figure this out?”

She lowers her head and takes a deep breath. Her voice cracks, “six months.”

You cringe and try to show the impact as her answer threatens to knock you over. You lay your hands gently on the table and stand. You leave them and go into the living room where your father sits, staring and still. You pull up the short footstool from in front of the couch and sit by him.

You’re silent as you watch him. His eyes are glazed, his features are slack and emotionless, he doesn’t even know you’re there. He is a ghost. You put your hand on his, begging him to smile, begging him to crack a joke. Your heart swells then shrinks down so small it hurts.

“Dad,” you whisper and squeeze his hand, “I love you.”

You stand and kiss his cheek. He doesn’t react. You see your mother in the doorway. She watches with arms folded but doesn’t say a word as you cross the room. Neither do you.

You pass into the hallway and march down to the front door. You slip your feet into your shoes and snatch the keys off the hook. Your mom always said you were a daddy’s girl and your dad always told you that no matter how shitty it is, you do what needs to be done for the family. At the end of the day, it’s the only thing you can count on.

You leave without looking back. A tremor rolls through you as you open up the garage. You just need the truck to make it there, that’s it. You climb in the front seat and twist the ignition, chanting desperate pleas until it catches. The engine rumbles and you hit the gas, surging out before you can think better of this.

Your mother watches through the window as you steer away from the house. You lean over the wheel as the headlights shine over the dark country landscape. You’ve never been up that way but you know where you’re going.

Tap, tap, tap. At first you panic, thinking the engine’s sputtering out. Then the droplets turn to rivulets and the rain pours down, streaming over the windshield as you flip on the wipers. You’re at the edge of the seat, clutching the wheel tight as the belt strains across your chest.

The tires suck in the mud as the countryside turns boggish. You rock with the truck as it chuffs over the slickening earth, slowing with the incline of the next hill. Not much further. Almost there.

There’s a sudden pop and a chortle that rattles the truck. You yipe as the engine putters out and the headlights dim. You feel the world rolling backwards. You yank on the emergency brake, the old Ford lurching to a halt. You slam your hands on the thin steering wheel and lean your head against the cool leather.

Just a little further.

You raise your head, looking forward at the black road then at the rearview at the void. You’ve come this far. You take the keys and pull on the handle, letting yourself out in the whipping rains. The cold shower soaks through you in an instant as you slip through the mud, arms pumping as you take the last of the hill in a half-sprint.

You’re gulping and gasping as you come in sight of a single light. A rectangle of yellow, the only beacon amid the storm. Your teeth chatter as you will yourself onward. Your feet splash and you tumble over the bumpy ground, staggering and stumbling towards the dark house.

You fall against the stairs and heave, shaking as you fight for air. You put your feet under you and push yourself up. You stamp onto the first step, then the next, and the next. You catch the door frame and heave as you hear noise from within.

You grip the handle of the screen door but before you can pull it back, the door within opens and amber light spills into the blackness. You stare through the mesh as Walter’s broad silhouette towers over you. You gasp up at him and touch the screen.

“I’m sorry,” you eke out through a shiver.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #au #backwoods au #drabble #series #night hunter #the farmer's daughter

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Danny Phantom doesn’t want to be king.

And the Observants also don’t want him to be king.

Frankly, very VERY few people want him to be king, dead or alive.

But opening the sarcophagus, even if it’s closed NOW, disrupted some magic protections. Until those can be fixed, summoning spells need to be answered by SOMEONE. Not all of summons, just like—once a month or so. Because if they don’t let that power outlet happen, all of those summon magics build up and suddenly Pariah Dark reigns again. Answering the summon basically dispels the built up magic, like opening a dam.

Again, Danny doesn’t WANT to do this either, but everyone else involved is a bad choice. He won’t even be named prince, because THEN that implies he COULD be king. He needs a title, of some kind, a position in the court, no matter how tenuous, so he can do the thing. Something where no one in their right or even WRONG mind would think to try to kill him for the position or try to marry him or something equally annoying to deal with.

So.

He becomes the Ghost Court Jester.

He even gets a fancy little outfit upgrade when he’s summoned, all black and white bell hats and shoes, a stupid little ruffle collar and black parachute pants, even face paint with a tiny dot of glowing neon green at the tip of his nose. The works. Better yet, if he hasn’t been ‘unsummoned’, his human form is just the exact same costume with swapped colors. He can change into his normal outfits, but until that circle has been disrupted, the next summon, or the next full or new moon, he’s stuck into the outfit when he first transforms from either form.

The Phantom Jester, which is a title more intimidating than Danny appears to be if we are to be honest, cracks jokes and never, EVER takes the summons seriously.

“Listen, I just had to get my hours in and it’s the last day of the lunar month, you got lucky I came at all.”

“I got the position by virtue of not wanting to go to Time Jail for a crime I technically didn’t commit and technically probably won’t but, well, eyes are the beholder of the grudge or something else equally cryptic to make you mad.”

“Is this a slumber party? … do you have cake? Bummer. Well, enjoy the bleeding walls then.”

“Whether I help you or not is entirely dependent on how well of a run down you can give me on this book I have to read that I have not at all touched.”

“Explain the reason in three sentences or less. I suggest less. And if it’s stupid I’m hitting you—oh you think this circle can contain me? Haha. It won’t.”

“Is that chicken blood? Why?? What did the chickens do to you?”

There are props in his costume but he literally never knows what he’s gonna pull out of his sleeves. Danny can’t even do a balloon animal and knows exactly zero card tricks, which would be more of an issue if the cards weren’t the size of a dinner plate. He barely even juggles and he’s honestly probably just utilizing his rarely-used telekinetic powers, but he does give people flowers if they haven’t been a total jerk. And if those flowers are like, rare and have seeds for propagation, well… he literally wouldn’t know. No, really, he doesn’t. He gets summoned by at least two ecology departments and he has no idea why, I mean, if he had a nickel—

He also had pies and is NOT afraid to use them.

#danny phantom #danny phantom headcanon #I usually do crossover stuff these days #but I deliberately left it out so anyone could chose to do so or not #that said…. could you imagine #there’s so many fandoms where this would just be really fucking funny #rare spell ingredients? super serious situation? life and death in the BALANCE? #and here’s a sassy teenager who isn’t even getting paid for this #you summoned him and now he’s YOUR problem #fair warning he bites #someone calls him a mime and he almost decks them #Mimes and clowns are noble pursuits! #this is like. pun-ishment of some kind

[dollfacefantasy]

Time to Kill

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary: during a night out at a club, you bump into a bounty hunter who has some time to kill.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, heavy dub-con, p in v, fingering, degradation, size kink, public sex, biting, mentions of murder, violence, death, guns, crime, etc.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: i will be back to RE after this i just wanted to try something new :) reblogs and comments mean the world <3 for @nexysworld and @kaitkatme cause they put me on jjk and i love them.

“Watch it, bounty hunter,” you scoff, eyes shooting a glare up at the guy who bumped into you and nearly knocked you down.

He returns your sneer with his own, staring down at you with condescending irritation. The fact that he towers over you is almost enough to make you regret the jab, but you bank on being in a crowded nightclub to keep you safe.

His hair hangs down into his eyes, making it harder to see his expression in the already dark hall. Regardless, you feel his gaze raking over your curves before fixating on your face.

“Maybe you should watch it, princess,” he responds. Even his voice sounded skeevy. 

The unaffected smirk on his face doesn’t elude you either despite the dim lighting. You roll your eyes and snake past him, brushing the confrontation off in hopes of still enjoying your night. Your first move is going back to the bar and downing a few more drinks. Then you make your way back to the main area to dance.

Your hips sway to the blaring music while the lights overhead bathe your skin in a red tint. The music pounds in the ground beneath you, up through your legs and into your heart. You let your head fall back and get lost in the sound of the drums. Everyone around you seems to be doing the same, bobbing to the rhythm. A sea of strangers moving together.

But as all that happens in your vicinity, you can still feel a set of eyes on you. You sense that same gaze from the hall, watching you as if you were prey ready to be pounced on. Acting as if you’re still moving purely to the song, you twist your head to the side and look around. As you expect, you catch his focus and with him in a brief stare.

You keep moving though, trying to ignore it. Maybe he was still pissy. Maybe he was bored. Either way, it really wasn’t any of your concern. He was none of your business beyond the altercation in the hall. And in your defense, you didn’t even actually know that he was a bounty hunter. You’d only heard rumors about him, the guy with the scar on his lip. He just had that look about him.

It didn’t really matter. The liquor was starting to get to your head. You felt less stable on your feet as you moved your body in between the others making up the crowd. Everything was bright and loud, the seams on your top were scratchy, and your head was swimming.

You begin pushing through people, stumbling towards the bathroom as you need a reprieve from all the action. Your attention is on not tripping or breaking your ankle in the tall shoes you wore, so you don’t notice his figure slithering through the room alongside you.

You walk down that same hallway you’d run into him the first time. Teetering back and forth, you push open the bathroom door. Two stalls stand opposite from the door with a mirror and a set of sinks next to them. You shuffle in towards the countertops, both palms landing on the cool surface. There’s red neon lights in the bathroom too. You have to squint while staring at your reflection. 

As you glance over yourself, you realize your sleeve is slipping off your shoulder, and your skirt is a little twisted out of place. You adjust your outfit before leaning closer to the mirror for further inspection. You’re shimmery with a light sheen of sweat, but there’s nothing you can do about that right now. Instead you pull out your lipgloss and swipe it across your pout with a few lazy strokes.

You’re busy tending to your appearance when the door behind you flies open. Your eyes flit to the reflection of the man who walked in. It was that guy. He looked even larger in the confined space of the bathroom. The red lighting shines directly on him, highlighting how his arms bulge as they emerge from his shirt, the way the fabric sits tight on his defined torso. To be real, he was starting to grow on you. But that must have been the drinks talking.

“Wrong bathroom, dumbass,” you say with a roll of your eyes. The drinks were responsible for that line too, dulling the fear that would have overtaken your nerves earlier.

“The other bathroom doesn’t have you in it, does it?” he asks, slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him.

He’s still against the wall parallel to the mirror. You eye him curiously, not making any sudden moves. In sober circumstances, you would be absolutely terrified. Your heart would be pounding, vision blurry, and hands shaking with anxiety at the prospect of a strange guy cornering you in the bathroom. But right now, you just had a muted uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.

“What do you want with me?” you ask, attempting to seem unamused, “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“It’s cute that you think that’s even a possibility,” he responds.

A smirk rises on his face as he steps closer to you. You can nearly feel his body against your back. His face remains clearly visible in the mirror as he stands at least an entire head higher than you. It was obvious from the start, but at this proximity, it was impossible to escape how big he was. Chills erupt across your skin as his hands coast up your arms and rest on your shoulders.

“You weren’t far off the mark before anyways,” he says.

You try to shrug him off, but his hands stay firmly in place. His eyes are locked onto your body, his current target. You were getting a little more jittery, but it wasn’t totally out of fear. Your fingers fumble as you jam your lip gloss back into your clutch.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you reply.

Beyond the strange mixture of emotions inside you, this conversation begins to grow annoying. Remarks that brush past each other instead of making direct hits. And he’s still so fucking smug. It's grating. Apparently your displeasure is visible since he chuckles and runs his fingertips down your jawline.

“Aw, look at that face,” he mocks, fingers coming up to hold your jaw, “Good to know you’re cute while pouting too.”

“What do you want?” you ask with more anger. You try to pry his hand away from your chin, but his grip is tight. There’s no getting it off.

“Impatient,” he chides, though his eyes don’t hold any irritation, “I just thought I’d check on you. Isn’t really safe for a girl like you to wander off all alone. Someone may want to take advantage.”

You try to turn around to push him away, but his hips have yours pinned to the countertop.

“Lucky for you, I have some time to kill before my real work starts,” he says.

His other hand drifts up to your chest, digits lightly dragging over your right breast, slowly moving closer and closer to the center. You hate your body in that moment for the way your nipples instinctively stiffen up beneath your top. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice. Or at least he doesn’t point it out if he does.

“My nerves go crazy before a hit, y’know? I could use some stress relief,” he purrs in your ear, “Judging by how riled up you get, I think you could too.”

A shiver shoots up your spine while arousal simultaneously swirls between your legs. You glare at him through the reflection, but there’s no physical resistance this time. He was really growing on you now. He was pissing you off for sure, but it was starting to circle around to the point where you wanted to take out that rage in a more carnal manner. It doesn’t help when he continues speaking.

“The way you were dancing, I know you wanted someone to notice. Showing that tight ass off, just begging for some attention. Well, you have all of mine now,” he breathes, punctuating his statement with a light smack on your backside.

Heat creeps up your neck as he speaks. It was difficult to prevent yourself from being flustered in these circumstances, but you couldn’t just give in to this shithead. You had to still have some fight in you, right? Trying to keep your voice as firm as possible, you challenge him. “I don’t want it.”

With that simple statement, you jab your elbow back into his abdomen, allowing you to spin around. But that’s all you can do because he acts as if the move didn’t hurt him at all. His hand comes back to your jaw with a harsher grasp. Still despite the rough movements, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by your attempts at rejection.

“Too bad,” he states simply. He boosts you up onto the counter, using your neck as leverage. He slots himself between your legs to keep them spread and maintains eye contact the whole time. “Pretty little brat like you needs someone to show you your place.”

His hand delves between your thighs, pressing against your panties. He watches you closely as he strokes you over the fabric. You tense up a bit at first, a shaky breath exiting your lungs. It felt good obviously, but it was still weird. And on top of that, you couldn’t understand why he wasn’t just getting to the point and taking what he wanted.

He registers the confusion on your face and leans down closer to you. His breath fans across your neck. You can feel his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m not in a rush,” he says simply, “Got some time before my guy gets here. Rather play with you for a bit longer than wait around out there.”

He continues rubbing you through the cloth that separates your skin. He’s breathing heavier as he speeds up his movements, inhaling the scent of your perfume mixed with the liquor you’d both had. A breathy whine leaves you as his middle finger flicks over your clit. You hear him hum in approval before he lowers his head more and lays some sloppy kisses on your neck. He leaves some love bites, more to occupy himself than anything else. His teeth nip at the skin while his tongue laves over the mini bruises.

You’re starting to soak through your underwear. He knows it. He can feel it. The lacy fabric clings to your folds more, letting him feel more of you. A sharp puff of hot air comes from his nostrils, sending a chill over you as it hits the wet skin on your throat.

“You’ve been aching for this since your little tantrum, haven’t you? Probably could’ve fucked you right out there in front of everyone, and you wouldn’t have said a word. Except maybe ‘more,’” he says, his voice low and smooth with his own arousal.

“No,” you object out of instinct. Your words contradict the way your hips begin to buck against his fingers, itching for him to rip your panties off.

“Yes,” he chuckles, taking your hint and pulling the damp article of clothing down. 

His fingers slide through your wetness freely now. You sigh with some semblance of relief. Your head rests against the mirror, and you can only imagine the sinful image displayed in the glass right now. You spread open for this man who looms above you.

You shake your head lazily in response to him. Your already-intoxicated mind becomes less focused as the simmer of pleasure starts melting away the functioning parts of your brain.

“Yeah. Just tell me this. Do you do this often, or is it something special about me?” he mocks.

Your response is cut short as he slips two fingers inside you. You gasp at the stretch. You’re pretty sure you’ve had dick before that was the same size as this guy's warm-up. You spread your trembling legs wider for him as your teeth briefly sink into your bottom lip.

“Just shut up,” you whimper, eyes flutter closed as he massages your walls.

“If I had to bet, I’d say this is the first time. You’re all shaky for me,” he teases and gently laps at your pulse point, “And I can feel your heart ready to beat out of your chest.”

He was right about that. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, thumping through all of your body. Your cheeks burn as he continues pumping in and out of your cunt. You tighten up around him, eyes fluttering at the sensation between your legs. Your slick gathers on his fingers and drips down to the marble under you.

“It’s cute really, knowing you’re not always such a slut,” he goes on.

You whine, loud enough that it echoes around the bathroom. His fingers curl within you, leading you towards the edge. One of your hands is flat on the counter, keeping you up right. The other is clasped around his wrist, your nails forming little red crescents on the skin. They dig in harsher as he keeps speaking.

“Like you better when you’re quiet,” you say between mewls and moans.

“I’d say the same for you if you weren’t making all those cute noises,” he says and starts thrusting his fingers in harder, “Got an innocent little thing like you moaning like a pornstar for me.”

Your head spins as the noise of his fingers inside your pussy starts to fill the bathroom. Your ear rests on your shoulder as you slump to the side in your drunken, lust-fueled haze. He just keeps on with his motions, working you right to the brink. Only when you’re writhing and whining like you’re about to lose it, does he stop and pull his digits out of you completely.

A noise of shock and frustration leaves you as your eyes narrow. He cracks a smile, highlighting that scar on his lip. He then tugs you off the counter by your hips. You nearly topple over, but he stabilizes you and walks you to the wall with the door, perpendicular to the mirror. He shoves you against the hard surface, engulfing your body with his own.

He’s breathing against the side of your head, rutting his hips into yours and letting you feel his hardened bulge. You could already tell it was big. One set of fingers holds your head against the wall while the other maintains a bruising grip on your waist.

“Acting pretty fuckin’ needy for someone who didn’t want it,” he grunts.

You catch your own eyes in the mirror and the image before you only has you getting more turned on. He’s all over you, grinding his hips and teasing himself with your flesh. His cheeks are stained with a light pink tint from the combination of desire and exertion. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the inky black locks out of his eyes. That same hand then ventures South.

He pushes up your skirt over the swell of your ass, bunching it near the small of your back. After a second of admiration, he pulls his cock out. At your current angle, you don’t get a clear view, but from what you do see of how his fist is wrapped around it, you know your expectations are correct.

He taps it against your ass teasingly, and you feel the weight of it. It’s heavy and warm, leaking a bit from the swollen tip. He slides it down and slips it between your thighs. It rubs against your slick folds. You’re already mentally preparing yourself for the stretch, but you still push your hips back at him because you crave it.

“That’s right. You’re learning already. Smarter than you look,” he teases before nudging the tip inside you and inching deeper.

Your guttural moan echoes through the bathroom as you accommodate his size. You feel him pulsing against every part of your insides. You sink further against the tiles on the wall. The bright gleam on them from the red neon lights fades as your eyes droop with lust. You try to say something, but you can’t get any words out.

And cocky as he is, he’s not faring much better. He groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His ragged breaths hit your skin that’s shining with more sweat. He watches your arms stretch out more against the wall, and his trail behind. His fingers chase yours and intertwine, flattening you against the surface.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he mumbles against your skin.

When he bottoms out in you, you’re sure you feel him in your stomach, deeper than anyone before had made it. He takes a second to take in before starting to thrust. His skin smacks against yours in a slow rhythm at first. Your eyes roll back at the motions, and your cunt clamps down on him, trying to keep him all the way in, to keep yourself nice and full. He growls as he feels it and sinks his teeth into the flesh of your throat. He bites, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to create an ache, a complement to the satisfaction you felt in your belly.

You yelp at the sudden feeling. It hurt, but you wanted more. It wasn’t good enough right now, too dull. You wanted it to hurt, to feel as prominent as everything else going on felt. The music in the main part of the club still raged on, vibrating throughout the entire building, including the wall you were trapped against. The bass thrummed against your cheek and made your head fog up even faster.

He hums with pleasure at your responses, enjoying the way you slowly unraveled for him. He bites a bit harder before loosening up completely. The marks now forming on your skin drive him wild. He knows they’ll last for days. You’ll feel ‘em in the shower, while you’re getting dressed, when you’re shifting around in bed at night. They’ll last much longer after he pulls out and both of you have left this sketchy bathroom.

Once he’s away from your neck, his eyes lock in on yours, but they’re not making contact. He’s enraptured by the way your gaze remains on the mirror to the side of you. He stares down at you, as if studying your thoughts just from the look in your eyes.

“You got a thing for watching, little brat? You like watching yourself get used?” he pants, “I know I like it.”

That snaps you out of your daze. You glance back at him with something akin to shyness behind your eyes. He’d describe it as cute if the two of you weren’t in a situation that was anything but at the moment.

“It’s alright, keep watching. Watch me fill this tight pussy better than anyone else ever could,” he grunts.

All you can do to reply is whine and whimper, squirming against the wall. And he laughs at you.

“Yeah?” he mocks, “That all you have to say?”

He hooks his index finger in your mouth and pulls at your cheek, shifting your face to a more erotic expression. Any words you got out now would be garbled for sure. His hips continue clapping against your ass, jolting you forward with each stroke. Drool drips down your chin from how your mouth is pulled open. You don’t bother with trying to speak anymore. You just give in to how good he’s fucking you.

“Pretty baby. Such a slut for me,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. It’s one of the most intense stares you’ve ever felt, like he’s reaching into your soul, rooting part of himself there. He’s gonna be with you long after this ends and you know it. You moan for him, letting all your sounds of euphoria flood the bathroom. He grins and pistons himself into you harder.

“Driving me crazy, dollface. Look at you, all fucked out, whining cause you don’t even know what to say. Don’t even know my fuckin’ name,” he says.

That really gets you cause he’s right, and you know it. And it should make you feel icky. Should make you want to recoil in disgust. But it does the opposite. You feel like your bodies are melting together, becoming one in your haze of passion.

You turn your head to face the other way, not wanting to confront the insatiable desire you felt. He moves in closer and keeps you pinned against that wall. He’s fucking you just how you like, and you don’t think you’re gonna last much longer. He’s not sure he will either with the way you’re pulsing around him.

“Harder,” you whimper, wanting to actually make it to the peak this time, “Want you deeper.”

“Knew you’d be begging for it,” he says. He gives you what you want though, pumping harder and driving himself even deeper. “You don’t need to know my name. All you care about is that I’m giving this pussy what she needs.”

You’re both climbing to the high point, caught up in your lust for each other. You almost don’t notice the door starting to open, a sliver of the world breaking the small bubble the two of you had made together.

All you see is a pair of eyes widening. They probably freeze with shock when they register your face squished against the tile, your wanton moans drifting through the small opening to their ears. They don’t get to see any more than that though because the bounty hunter’s large palm lands on the door and shoves it closed.

Your own eyes widen and watch how his bicep flexes. He holds it shut, and you’re pretty sure it’d stay that way even if the person tried to open it for another look.

“Not gonna let anyone interrupt before I get the chance to spill every last drop of my cum inside this cunt,” he mutters.

He’s going as hard as he can now. At least that’s what you choose to believe because you’re certain if he used any more force you’d pass out. His cock rams into all your sweet spots like entering a cheat code to get you to cum.

You claw at the wall pointlessly, there’s nothing to grab onto. But you hit the high nonetheless, cumming all over his cock. You gush around him with your release. It feels like your body goes limp, but he holds you up with no effort. He keeps you up and safely impaled on his dick, using you like a toy as he works himself up to the high.

He cums with a loud groan and makes good on his word to spill inside you. You’d have to get a pill tomorrow. He fucks it deep inside you, holding still for a moment as if to make sure he got it all in you. Only then does he finally slide out. He watches the sticky white liquid ooze out of you. It’s starting to drip down your inner thigh when he tugs your skirt back into place.

Your legs wobble beneath you as he lets you go. He steps away, turning around to put his cock away and fix his appearance slightly. You slump down against the wall, reduced to a curled up heap on the dirty floor of the bathroom, looking up at him like he’s a higher power.

You try to catch your breath, but your body feels like it’s tumbling down a mountain as you come down. Your glossy eyes watch him walk to the counter and fish your phone out of your clutch you’d left there. He checks the time before glancing at himself in the mirror. He then turns to you.

Crouching down to your level, he reaches out and strokes your cheek. He pushes some of your hair out of your face to meet your eyes.

“Probably best if you stay in here for a while. Don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. I might wanna do this again sometime,” he tells you.

With that, he rises to his feet again and exits the bathroom as quickly as he’d entered. You’re still grappling with the events that took place. You barely even register the shots and the screaming coming from the main area of the club.

About fifteen minutes later, you manage to get to your feet. You pull your panties up again and fix yourself up as best you can. Then you leave the bathroom. The music is still blaring, but it feels quiet. There’s no one else inside; spare the dead body on the stairs leading up to the private rooms.

Bright sirens wail outside and lights begin painting your skin as you walk to the glass doors labeled ‘exit.’ Your shoes trudge through some blood on the floor and crunch on shards of broken glass. You step outside, dodging people’s questions about your wellbeing and avoiding other groups of people crying their eyes out. All of it feels surreal. None of it really has your focus. 

All you’re thinking about is how you could see him again.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro imagine #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #smut

[tkaulitzlvr]

hii, hope you’re doing well :) love your stories <3

ofc you absolutely don’t have to write this one if you don’t want to!

just had a lil thought of some form of enemies to lovers with tom (2009-11) where reader travels with the band on tour & etc & one night while they stay at a hotel somewhere reader is in the pool at night (in like a bikini or some form of swimwear) for like a midnight swim but at some point tom gets in as-well & it’s just them (they can have some bickering or whatever) but it would eventually result in them doing it in the pool 🤭

again you don’t have to do this one if you don’t want to buy i just thought i would ask :)

ty for reading!!

LATE NIGHT - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you and tom had never got on well, some unresolved tension meaning the two of you always clashed. so, when you decide to go for a late night swim alone, what will happen when tom has the exact same idea?

content: angst & smut

a/n: omggg this might be my fav request i’ve ever gotten so thank u sm anon, literally screamed when it came thru this whole scenario is so perfect, as u can imagine i enjoyed every second of writing this, hope u enjoy!!

the night is warm, this totally expected for august in southern spain, where tokio hotel were for this part of their world tour. adjusting to the different climates that i experience around the world is something i am yet to get used to, even after coming with the band since they had started accumulating the fans to warrant travelling from country to country to perform. one day, i would be in somewhere in russia, completely submerged in blankets and still cold, then the next, i would be met with the sweltering warmth of southern europe, overheating despite my clear lack of clothing, only my bra and panties covering me. but tonight, the heat was unbearable, my body sweating no matter what position i tried to fall asleep in.

the rhythmic ticking of the small clock situated on the wall in front of me didn’t help - the sound seeming to get louder each time, the time that it displays reminding me that i should be sleeping. but, i know that it isn’t going to happen anytime soon, sitting up frustratedly with a loud sigh.

i stand up, walking toward the large glass doors leading to my balcony, pushing one open slightly so that i can squeeze through. it is even hotter outside, my body being hit by an intense surge of heat as i step onto the balcony, nearing the edge. my arms rest on the railing, eyes taking in the view in front of me - thousands of lights in each direction from the city ahead. however this doesn’t catch my attention as my eyes fall to the large pool below, a decent sized jacuzzi built into it. it is empty, the body of water completely still, small lights around it’s exterior giving away its tranquility. it could cool me down - there’s no way i’m falling asleep with my body this hot.

my feet turn on their heels, stepping back inside my room, closing the glass door behind me as i head to the small walk in closet in the corner. my hands fumble around, fingers finally touching the small bikini that i am looking for. i take it out, stripping from my clothes, before slipping on the skimpy red bikini, tying my hair in a loose bun. i take a towel from the bathroom, sliding on the first pair of sandals i see, before quietly exiting my hotel room and walking to the elevator, entering it as it is expectedly empty.

the elevator doors slide open as i am met with the empty lobby, the receptionist being the only person in sight. i give her a small nod, walking outside to the pool area. as i near closer, i sigh in relief, seeing that it is still empty, placing my towel on a random lounger. i slide my shoes off beside it, walking towards the pool. testing the temperature, i dip my toes in, shivering slightly at the coldness, the feeling relieving me as i already feel myself cool down. deciding that it is fine to get in, i allow my whole body to slip into the water, my head staying above as i begin to swim over to the shallow end, finally stopping once i reach the edge.

my eyes glance over to the jacuzzi just a few metres away, contemplating whether it would be a better option than the pool. it would certainly make me sleepier, and, reminding myself of how late it is, i decide to get in, quickly stepping out of the pool and climbing into the jacuzzi. the water is much warmer, bubbles emerging from beneath as i take a seat, my entire body relaxing. i feel myself becoming tired as i spread out, laying my head backwards and resting it on the edge. my eyes gaze aimlessly at the stars above, feeling completely content, the water removing any tension in my body as i continue to watch the sky.

but, it only takes a few minutes for my head to whip upwards, becoming quickly alert as i hear footsteps nearing the pool, wondering who else would want to be here this late into the night.

i squint a little, trying to make out the silhouette , an audible groan escaping my lips once it enters the light, letting me work out who it is. broad shoulders, slim yet muscular frame, lips adorned with a single metal piercing - i could recognise him from anywhere. the familiar jet black braids move toward me, a confused expression taking over his face once he spots me.

“the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, setting his towel down and pulling his t-shirt off, revealing his perfectly formed abs, muscles in his biceps flexing as he does so. he was hot, but i hated him, his attractiveness only making me despise him more. after my gaze lingers on his torso for a couple seconds, i look upwards, seeing that he is still focused on me, waiting for a response as he walks towards the jacuzzi.

i roll my eyes, beginning to get up, not willing to engage in any conversation with him right now, especially one in which no one else is involved, the atmosphere already tense.

“doesn’t matter. i’ll go.” i say, standing up, water dripping from my body. his eyes scan my figure, tongue poking from his lips slightly as he messes with his lip piercing, drinking in every curve, my boobs admittedly almost spilling out of my bikini top. yet i didn’t care when i had put it on, not expecting to see anyone else at the pool, let alone tom. his eyes still glued to my cleavage, i scoff, putting one foot out of the jacuzzi.

“my eyes are up here, perv.” i remark as he finally removes his gaze from my chest, a small laugh leaving his lips.

“don’t flatter yourself sweetheart.” he states, stepping into the jacuzzi, sitting down as the water covers most of his body, the top of his chest still on show. he stretches his arms out to the side of him, resting them on the edge, tilting his head to the side before continuing. “why are you leaving?”

“cause i know you’ll piss me off. you already are.” i respond, standing beside the water, preparing to walk away.

“really? don’t be so dramatic. get in.” he says, lifting one hand up and motioning to the empty space in the jacuzzi opposite him, his eyes not leaving mine.

“i’ll pass. have fun tom.” i say sarcastically, finding my towel on the lounger, wrapping it around my small frame, now shivering from the lack of warmth the water had brought me.

“you know, to say you’re the most stubborn person i know.” he starts, his tongue running across his bottom lip. “you’re leaving pretty fast. how come you’re letting me win so easily?”

i stop in my tracks, turning around to face him, wondering why he is so eager for me to stay.

“why do you care?” i question, my expression turning sour.

“i don’t.” he shrugs. “just don’t understand why you’re in a rush to leave. you’re not scared of me, are you?”

i scoff at his question, noting the way he is trying to get under my skin, and, much to my frustration, it is working. i know that if i leave, that means i have let him win. and, he is right. i am stubborn. it is this fact that prompts me to turn around, throwing the towel off of my body as i walk towards the jacuzzi, hesitantly getting back into it as a satisfied grin spreads across tom’s face.

“scared my ass.” i mutter, shaking my head as i fold my arms, irritated by his ability to anger me from the smallest of words.

“hm? sorry, didn’t catch that. you gotta speak up.” he taunts, tilting his head as he raises his eyebrows, a knowing smirk tugging on his lips. he stretches his arms out further as they rest against the stone decorating the edge of the water, adjusting his position and getting comfy, awaiting my response.

“just shut up. jesus fucking christ.” i scold, facing away from him, tempted to get up and leave once again. but i can’t give him that satisfaction, so i stay put, a tense silence between us as he surprisingly listens to me.

my body jolts upwards in shock, feeling his foot brush against mine from underneath the water as he sinks further into it. i make eye contact, scowling at him as he holds his hands up in defense.

“sorry.” he mumbles, his body slowly drifting closer towards mine. i ignore it, letting my head fall backwards, attempting to relax, figuring that if i am stuck here with him, i may as well try to make the experience as comfortable as it can be.

but the second his leg brushes against mine, with too much force to be unintentional, it is clear that his previous movement was definitely not an accident. i look at him, seeing that he has moved much closer, now to the left of me, instead of directly opposite me as he previously was. i stay quiet, trying to pay no attention to his presence despite the noticeable feeling of his eyes burning into my figure.

“red looks good on you.” he says into the silence, my eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, unable to fall for his attempt at complimenting me.

“what?” i ask, now turning to face him, his eyes dark.

“you know what i said.” he states confidently, gaze never leaving mine as his teeth momentarily sink into his bottom lip.

his body inches closer to mine as my own is frozen in place, unable to move or even comprehend what is happening. his finger grazes the knot of my costume from beneath the water, slipping underneath the material briefly before playing with the hem of my bikini bottoms, my hips jolting a little at his touch. he smirks at my reaction, removing his fingers and watching the way my face drops, partly in disappointment.

he sees the desperation in my eyes, dipping his head downwards so that his lips are just below my ear.

“you know you don’t hate me at much as you let out.” he whispers, his breath tickling my neck as i feel him smile against it, goosebumps beginning to form over the skin.

my mouth parts open, no sound escaping from it as my chest rises and falls at a faster pace, completely flustered by his words. he can clearly see this, humming lowly as his face remains inches away from my neck, his slow breathing fanning over it.

“in fact…” he begins, his lips brushing over the skin as he dips his head further downwards. “i don’t think you hate me at all, do you?”

i say nothing, breath hitching once his lips finally make contact with my neck, planting slow, open-mouthed kisses over it. my hands find the back of his head, fingers playing with his dreads as i push him further into me, his kisses become sloppy, his teeth grazing over the skin.

“knew you always had something for me, sweetheart.” he teases, hands grabbing the flesh of my thighs as he uses them to guide my body, placing me on his lap. my chest is now out of the water, lower half completely submerged as it sits on top of him, faces inches apart.

he takes my lack of response as an invitation to continue, attaching his lips to mine in a rough and sloppy kiss. i waste no time in kissing back, overcome with an unforeseen desperation, my hatred for him fuelling desire from within me that had never been ignited - not like this. but i used my anger towards him, keeping it as a motive to kiss him harder, pressing my lips harsher into his. he groans into my mouth, his hands finding my ass as he kneads the flesh, using it to push my hips against his, my lips faltering against him.

the heat around me from the warmth of the night is now nothing compared to the one spreading between my legs, my need for tom only growing as i begin to create my own slow rhythm on his lap, grinding so that his clothed dick, which i can feel hardening beneath me, hits my clit perfectly.

my head falls backwards, unable to kiss back as my hips continue to work against his. his lips find my chest, biting and sucking on the parts of my breasts exposed, my nipples hardening under the fabric of my bikini. he sees this, his fingers running over them as i shudder. his hands reach to undo the knot holding my bikini in place, about to tug on it before i protest.

“you can’t…” i breathe out, not slowing my movements. “someone could see.”

“but they won’t.” he states, keeping his head against my chest, hands staying on my back. “you just have to stay close to me, yeah?”

he tugs on the material, watching as the top half of my bikini falls off, revealing my chest to him. a smirk spreads across his face as he takes it all in, hands cupping my boobs as he squeezes them a little, a low whine falling from my lips in response.

“so fucking hot.” he breathes out, detaching his hands from my breasts, moving them to my back and pulling my chest so it is flush against his. “see? no one but me gets to see. exactly how it should be.”

he whispers the last part as i roll my eyes, becoming visibly impatient. he picks up on this, bucking his hips as i rest my hands on his chest, lifting myself off of him as he takes off his trunks, letting them rest at his knees, not bothering to remove them fully. he moves my panties to the side, the water rushing to my heat as i shudder a little.

he strokes himself a few times, positioning himself at my entrance. “you sure?”

his hands rest on my lower back, looking upwards at me, his expression strangely concerned, my consent mattering to him way more than i had first anticipated. i nod my head, letting out a confident ‘yes’.

that is enough for him as he slowly pushes inside of me, the water giving a foreign feeling as my thighs clench. he lets out a long groan, watching the way my mouth falls open, eyes screwing shut. i feel his tip bottom out inside of me, my walls stretched out further than they ever had been, none of the guys that i had been with being as big as tom. though the discomfort soon subsides, my face twisting in pressure as i nod slowly, giving him the green light as he begins to thrust upwards into me at a steady pace.

“where did the stubbornness go, hm?” he teases, knowing that my entire body is there for him to ruin, long past the point when i would argue with him. “thought i pissed you off, doesn’t look like it right now.”

i let out a loud moan, that the only sound i am able to make as he is hitting angles that have never been felt before, no one ever able to make me feel like this. hell, if i had known his dick was this good, i would’ve stopped hating him years ago. his tip brushes against my sensitive spot, my walls clenching around him as i squeeze my lips shut, trying to stay quiet as i silently remind myself of where we are - anyone able to catch us right now.

“you like that, huh?” he asks, repeatedly hitting the spot over and over as i bury my face into his shoulder, biting it roughly to keep the moans at bay, feeling them dangerously close in the back of my throat. “don’t hide those pretty moans, wanna hear them baby.”

his hands push me away from his shoulder, my head now upright as i can no longer contain my moans, letting them pour from my lips, tom nodding his head slowly.

desperate to reach my climax, i meet his thrusts, hips rotating in an attempt to increase the friction. this clearly has as much of an effect on tom as it does me, his head tilting backwards as he lets out a low groan.

“just like that baby. fuck- yeah, keep going.” he praises, this only fuelling my stamina, his thrusts becoming slow and weak as he lets me do most of the work.

the knot in my stomach tightens, so much that i know i cannot hold on any longer. tom’s hands squeeze my waist, fingers and nails digging in, the slight pain mixed with pleasure turning me on even more.

“getting close.” i manage to say, bringing my lips to messily collide with his, my movements sloppy and uneven. he kisses back, groaning into my mouth as he slips his tongue in. he starts thrusting upwards at a rapid pace, my ability to kiss back faltering as i feel him twitch inside of me.

“me too. cum with me, yeah?” he says against my lips, one harsh thrust into me all it takes for me to come undone, feeling him shoot his load into me. he moves in and out slowly, fucking it into me, his teeth firmly sinking into his lip as his eyebrows knit together. i collapse into his chest, breathing fast and shallow as my entire body shakes, his thrusts coming to a stop, yet he remains inside of me. his lips lazily kiss my shoulder, hands rubbing my back.

“why didn’t we do that sooner, hm?”

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