#Door Status Switch

[babygorewhore]

Daddy issues

After your dad is arrested, you try and beg for his job back. But Rafe Cameron decides another way for you to help your father. And his arrangement is different than you imagine.

Warnings! Daddy kink! Talks of violence! Slight reference to abuse! Choking! Blow job! Rough unprotected sex! Breeding kink! Virginity loss! Dirty talk!

You didnt know if you were more angry or surprised when you got the call from the officer that your dad was arrested and currently in jail for assault. You were finished working your late shift at the restaurant when your phone rang.

You screamed in your car on the way to the station. Your dad was a dead beat. An asshole who didn’t know how to fucking control his temper. Daddy dearest also liked to get loud with you, throw things when he didn’t get his way and one time he slapped you in the face.

You slapped him back and threatened to slash his tires. But the threat was empty considering he needed to work, which you had no idea how he kept his job at the docks while working for Rafe Cameron. It used to be his father Ward until his suicide. You’d met him often while picking your dad up, given you had to share a car.

He was…polite you could say. But he was also scary. He glared at everyone and he was short tempered. You usually heard him snapping or yelling if something wasn’t done right. Your dad complained about how strict he was.

But his status and wealth made everyone obey him and intimidated you. His attractiveness however was on another level. His height made you feel small and his blue eyes cut through people.

You slammed the door at the station and went to the desk. After signing in, you tapped your foot impatiently as an officer came up to you.

“Are you…?”

“My dad is here. He just got arrested.” You ground out. You hated being here. She nodded and looked at paperwork in front of her.

“Are you here to post bail?”

“I’m here to see if there’s any way we can clear this up as a misunderstanding.” You tried to plead but she shook her head.

“Ma’am, he attacked a man at a stoplight. He beat him up to the point he lost one of his teeth.”

You pressed your head against your hand. Jesus Christ it was worse than you thought. “How much is bail?”

She looked again at the paperwork. “Looks like we’re at 6,000 dollars.”

“What? I thought the bail was lower than that!” You shrieked.

“Ma’am. He also had multiple charges. Public intoxication, disturbance and assault. He caused a lot of trouble. I suggest you alert his job tomorrow. But until then, he’s going to spend at least 60 days in jail.”

You started crying. You couldn’t help it. It hurt so much. You couldn’t get a break. And now you’d have to face Rafe Cameron and face the humiliation of your dad being in jail.

You cried on and off the next day as you had to switch your schedule to the evening and make the phone call to your dads manager about his current situation. It was immediate termination and you broke down even harder in your bedroom. You refused to take his phone call, afraid you’d explode on him.

As you got ready for another dreaded work shift, your phone started ringing to a number you didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, you answered.

“Hello?”

“Your dads in jail, huh?” You immediately froze. It was Rafe’s voice. How did he-well he was capable of finding anything out.

“I-um. Yes. And he can’t work for you anymore. But if you’ll please reconsider. I know he’s a piece of shit but this is the only job he’s lasted out and we desperately need the money. I’m trying to get a car and we have to share one. I know this is probably pointless but I can’t help but try. So please, please take him back.” More tears came and you felt like a total cry baby but you pushed through.

You expected him to laugh but instead silence met you.

You bit your lip hard enough it bled.

“Meet me at my house. I’ll text you the address. I have a proposition for you.”

“Why can’t you tell me over the phone?” Your stomach tightened.

“Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Good girl.”

You set the phone down but seconds later his address came through in a text and your breath stopped short. He wanted to see you after work.

Five minutes before closing and after you finished cleaning, the drive to Rafe’s house wasn’t that far and now you knocked on his door. When he answered, you tried not to reveal how much you found him attractive. His hair was in his face and his eyes were glazed as he looked down at you. His fingers twitched and you imagined what he was doing with that hand…

Rafe gestured with his head for you to come in and you followed him inside the massive penthouse. He had everything you imagined. Expensive furniture, floors and lights.

You followed him to the kitchen where he pointed to the bar stool. “Have a seat.” He muttered.

You obeyed and watched as he circled the island in the center of the room. “So. You wanna save your dads job?”

“Yes. I’m willing to do anything-“ You stopped short when a smirk fell on his face.

“Anything?” Rafe challenged. “It looked like you hated him whenever I saw you talk to him.”

“It’s complicated.” You replied and his smirk grew into a cruel smile.

“Looks like someone has daddy issues.” Rafe countered and you crossed your arms.

“I-well when you put it that way-“

“I’m just bringing up what you’re telling me. Your dad beats the shit out of someone. He went to jail-and now you’re doing anything you can to fix it. Tell me if I missed anything.” Rafe’s voice was low and you hated that he was right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound pushy. I’m just in a tight spot.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re in a…tight spot.” His meaning was clear and you swallowed.

That was the exchange.

“Look at you. Being a little smart girl and figuring it out. I’m gonna get to the point. You want me to take him back? Bail him out? I get to fuck you. Anywhere. Anytime. And anyplace I want. No condoms. No hidden birth control. No. I wanna see my cum leak out of that desperate pussy.”

Your mouth opened and closed. “I can’t just fuck a stranger. And no birth control? I can’t fucking get pregnant.”

“I’m a selfish whore, baby. And I can afford one. And those are my terms. Either that. Or your dad rots.”

You bit your lip. You weren’t in a position to say no. You needed the money. And Rafe was hot. There were worse guys. Rafe got closer, his big hands reaching to cup the side of your neck.

“Yeah? You want it?”

Slowly, you nodded.

Rafe crooked a finger, signaling you to come closer. You stepped down and approached him gingerly and looked into his gaze. Rafe then latched his hand around your throat. His grip was so strong your feet almost lifted in the air and your eyes widened as he crushed his lips to yours.

His lips devoured you as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. You weren’t experienced. Sure, you’d touched yourself and made out with people.

But actual fucking? You’d never done that. And you knew that was about to change.

“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” Rafe loosened his hold on your neck and pressed you against the island counter, “need someone to be your daddy?”

Your hands flew to his chest as you brought him impossibly closer, his lips sucked your skin with bruising force. You opened your mouth as he slipped his fingers inside.

“Suck.” He commanded and you listened. Spit gathering on your lips as he kneed your legs apart and lifted you up on the counter.

“Need daddy to help you? Fill you up with my cum?” His dirty words made your cunt twitch as he started toying the end of your skirt. Your thighs dampened as he trailed his thick fingers along your flesh, his fingers grazing the wet patch of your underwear.

You started grinding to give any friction against your arousal as he apparently changed his mind and threw you to the ground by underneath your arms. Rafe gestured to the crotch of his pants. “Consider this your first payment, baby. You ever done this before?”

You shakily remained silent as he huffed an amused laugh.

“Really? A girl who’s such a perv that she’s willing to fuck someone giving her money? Never would have guessed. I guess I’ll be nice and help you.”

Rafe undressed his lower half, his cock leaked with precum and he took your hand. “Swipe it with your thumb, get it all wet.” His massive hand compared to yours was almost comical as he grabbed the back of your head.

“Open your mouth, princess. And remember to breathe through your nose.”

After that, he silenced whatever worries you had by shoving his dick forward. You run your tongue along the thick underside, lessening some of the heavy weight by massaging with your hand. You took the tip through your mouth, shoving down any nerves as you sucked. Rafe bobbed your head up and down as he pushed you further, your head bouncing as your eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, open your slutty eyes and look at me.” He growled. He leaned over the arch of the space between the counter and where you sank on your knees. The skin of his cock was supple as you continued aiding with your hand. It was hot to the touch.

“Good fucking girl. Maybe I’ll reward you by fucking your pussy.” He started thrusting and hitting the back of your throat. “Breathe. Breathe through your nose.” He wiped a few tears away with his thumb as you listened to him.

You knew he was getting closer as he stopped talking, his breathing heavier as he moved your head. His cum spilled inside your mouth, as he released you and you coughed.

“Not bad for your first time. We’re gonna practice some more.” Rafe smirked as his face was flushed and his fist flexed.

He moved on top of you on the floor, hiking up your skirt and ripping off your panties. He spread apart your wet cunt and dipped his middle finger inside your clenching entrance. “You’re such a whore. Never done any of this and you’re already gonna cum. Should have known you’d be daddy’s cum slut.”

Rafe yanked your legs apart, and spit on your pussy. “Not that it needed it, but I’m gonna be a little more kind to you.” You shrieked as he grabbed your jaw.

“Are you on birth control?”

“No.” You quickly answered. “Never-never needed-“

“Good. And you’re not going to. Got it?” Rafe moaned as he pushed his tip in your pussy, “fuck you’re so tight.”

You winced from discomfort but then his knuckles hit your clit, aiding to relieve your tension as he circled them. “Gonna make you mine. Take you away from all that shit.” He grunted as he pushed further.

Rafe let you wrap your arms around his neck as he thrusted.

“Tell daddy you like it.”

“I like it.” You sobbed as he moved harder. “I like it, daddy.”

It was slightly shameful how quickly you came all over him and spilled onto your legs. Rafe also came again and you felt it inside you. He was serious about no protection.

He stayed for a few seconds before getting up. And pulling his pants back on. He extended his hand and pulled you up. You knew you were a sight to be seen, fucked out eyes and messy hair. You just lost your virginity to Rafe Cameron.

You cleared your throat and watched him sweep his eyes over your face. “So. My dad?”

He shrugged. “He’s already out.”

You paled. “What?”

“I posted bail a few minutes before you got here. But as for his job, you’re gonna have to work harder than that. I have conditions.”

“But I already said-“

“More than just fucking you, baby girl. I own you now. You are mine and no one gets to even think about fucking you. I will cross any line you make to keep me away. And if you try, I will punish you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” You whimpered as he loomed over you.

“And?” He mocked. “You already agreed. You need me. Don’t you?” He cupped your jaw. Tightly but not as harsh.

“Yeah.” You leaned in to his touch. Your defenses are completely down. You needed care. You were always working. Always cleaning up after someone’s mess. And now…he was going to take care of you.

And either make your daddy issues better.

Or worse.

@xxhellfirebunnyxx @imyourdaninow @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @slvt4jamesmarch @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @scene-and-dandylover @emsgoodthinkin

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #Rafe Cameron imagine #Rafe Cameron series #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe fic

[hometoursandotherstuff]

In 2002, a flood in Prague caused some streets to collapse into a series of unknown underground tunnels. And just like that, a legit 16th cent. alchemist laboratory was discovered.

10 years of discovery, repair, and restoration later, it’s now open for tours.

On the outside, only a house was visible and it was used as a pharmacy in its time. Alchemists were notoriously secretive, so none but those on the inside knew about the tunnel system below where potions were made.

A room dedicated to herb storage. Many of the herbs in the potions came from China and India. The house was conveniently located by major trade routes.

Notice an alligator (or croc/caiman) above the left side. There were lots of stuffed animals, bottles, and books. Since few people in Europe had ever seen alligators/crocodiles, they were said to be the bodies of dragons, and were thought to guard the alchemists.

The alchemists were so secretive, they did everything themselves, down to making the glassware for their elixirs.

A stone in the wall that covered a hidden vault in the underground tunnels. Historians uncovered that it held a single bottle of ‘The Elixir of Life’ and the recipes for it, and the elixirs of love and memory.

This bookcase is an exact replica of the original, which was too damaged to restore. A statue on the right side (in the dark area on the third shelf from the top) is the door knob/switch to a secret sliding door.

Monks now recreate the elixirs exactly as detailed in the instructions and each of the elixirs (and blends!) are for sale in their shop. The only change is that the Elixir of Life does not contain opium as is instructed, since it’s now illegal.

http://asthecroweflies.co/

#ancient alchemy lab #16th century tunnels in prague #alchemy museum prague #archeology

[kalinysu]

💮 Hello, I was wondering if you could do a muzan × reader where they're married, so he's the demon king and she's the queen, and they have been together way before he was a demon, so he turned her. She's also pregnant, and he won't allow her to go on missions anymore. I would like to know if he would keep her by his side or would he lock her in her room. She can also walk in the sun. Please take your time. 💮

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏. — Muzan x F!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Gentle Muzan with slightly harsh words, stubborn reader.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Very cute request! I’ve never written for Muzan and a pregnant wife, so it should be fun. Might rewrite, this was a little lazy 😭

“Darling, please lay down.” Muzan said with a sigh. You two had been going back and forth all night, and you were keeping him quite busy, busy enough to the point he had to ignore his other tasks and focus on you in the moment. “Stop!! Don’t you have any missions for me to do?— I mean, I can’t just lay here for 8 months straight.” You said, trying to sit up and get out of bed.

Muzan kept you away from the other demons, well more specifically Douma. He was far too handsy with you even if you were of a higher status and deserved just as much respect as Muzan. He preferred keeping you locked inside of his room when he couldn’t have you near him, such as when he worked on experiments or had meetings with the ranks. You were too distracting and required every of his attention, which he was willing to give when you two were alone and he wasn’t busy.

“Woman. Lay down, now.” Muzan said, furrowing his brow a bit. His hands were placed on your shoulders, occasionally switching to your waist, trying to be as gentle as possible with you even if his words weren’t. He let out a exhausted sigh, getting into bed with you. He then wrapped his arms around you, holding you just firm enough so you couldn’t get up from the bed. “Missions—“ You said, still trying to free yourself from his grasps. “Darling, I’ve made it clear that i’m not letting you go on any missions while your pregnant, go to sleep.” He said. He was right, besides, you hadn’t slept in days, but you wanted to do something, anything but be in this room.

“Let go—stop it! Stop!”

Muzan eventually had to lock you up inside of your room, not allowing you out at all. He had practically began to neglect you after the first few days of staying by your side. He did bring you human flesh to eat sometimes, and spend short amounts of time with you before going back to his work. If you got into too much trouble while on your own, he’d have Kokushibo or Akaza watch you. And they watched you like a hawk. They treated you as if you were a human, and any minor injury would be treated majorly.

Muzan wanted to be near you, but he just had too much to do. Today though,Muzan had come to check on you while you were asleep. But when you heard the door open, you forced yourself awake. You felt Muzan pull the blankets over your body completely, before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Muzan..?” You mumbled, turning over to look up at him. He gave you a small smile, before getting into bed beside you. “Upper 1 told me you were crying today. What’s wrong?” He asked, and you could barely believe it. You were about to slap him, but he had caught your wrist. He was just about to lecture and scold you, but you had burst out into tears before he could.

He didn’t know that this was also just your hormones affecting your mood, and thought you were just sad. “Darling, come here.” He said, sitting the both of you up and pulling you closer, allowing you to cry into his chest. “Y-you barely ever stay with me anymore!!” You sobbed, gripping his shirt. “My love, you know I have things to do..” He said, gently stroking your head. He was being honest, but there was another reason. He wasn’t sure how to take care of someone he actually cared for who was pregnant, so he resorted to locking you away to keep you safe and away from others.

“My apologies. I’ll take you with me from now on, how’s that sound, hm?” He asked with a smile when you finally calmed down a bit, tilting your head up to look at him. You sniffled, before nodding, wiping away your tears.

#demon slayer #kny #muzan #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #muzan x y/n #muzan x reader #muzan x you

[nataliasquote]

Midas Touch | n romanoff

Summary: no amount of money will ever save a broken marriage or a broken woman. But maybe the right person can turn everything she touches into gold and this time won’t be cursed to break everything she cares about.

Warnings: affair, cheating wife, forbidden love, small mention of physical abuse (a slap)

Pairings: maid!Natasha x wife!reader

wc: 7.1k 😬

Note: another AU? Why are we even surprised. But this idea fully goes to @katyaromanoffpetrova who does just fuel my need to write every AU possible. If you thought cowgirl Nat was hot… oh just you wait. Also the end got angsty, but you should learn to expect that with me now..

-⧗-

Being up before the sun wasn’t anything Natasha wasn’t used to. Even before she got this job, mornings were her favourite. The way the world looked when it was kissed by the watery sun that rose above the rooftops hours before anyone was awake to see it was one of life’s hidden gems.

And one of the many perks of being a live-in maid to one of the richest men in the America was the views from every window in the staggering mansion. The west side of the house overlooked the bustling city below, which was beautiful at night. But Natasha’s favourite was the east wing that revealed rolling countryside and the perfect place to watch the sunrise over the distant hills.

Her maid duties never started this early, but she didn’t mind being awake. It gave her a sense of peace before the mania of the day began. She wasn’t the only maid in the Barnes residence, but her task was slightly different than everyone else’s. She was Y/n Barnes’ maid and that in itself came with a whole host of other challenges.

Seven am was when her ‘day’ started, for the lady of the house was not an early riser. She usually wouldn’t be seen out of bed until at least nine, but on the days James left for work early, she would always see him off from the front door. And wherever Y/n was, Natasha was never far behind, lurking in the background with her hands clasped in front.

Y/n’s laugh was the first thing Natasha heard of her boss, before she was even seen. Her voice oozed wealth and that laugh practically dripped honey and diamonds as it echoed through the high ceilings of the stairwell. With her arm draped over her husband’s bicep, Y/n lingered on the last step, teasingly trying to tower over James’ muscular frame as he shrugged his suit jacket on.

He muttered something in her ear and Natasha watched as Y/n’s neutral expression suddenly switched to a cunning smile and her fingers fumbled with the small tie holding her feathered robe closed. The front fell open, revealing her nightwear beneath it and it was not hard to see the way James’ eyes fell to his wife’s cleavage for a couple of seconds.

These small moments cemented why they were the nation’s favourite couple, and also why Vogue was so insistent on featuring them on the cover. They were still so lovesick yet utterly perfect in a way that didn’t happen by chance. This level of perfection was almost nauseating.

Y/n stepped down off the bottom stair and looked up at James through her lashes, playing the innocent game despite being anything but.

“Goodbye, my love. Try not to murder anyone today,” she husked in her husband’s ear, draping her arms around his neck with a lazy smile. James’ hand fell to the small of her back and he pulled her into him, kissing her lips hastily.

“No promises. Be good.” Y/n was on her tip toes but hardly felt the coolness of the stone floor on her bare feet. She leaned her face into Bucky’s palm that had risen up to cup her cheek. Soft fingers straightened out the lapels of his pristine suit jacket almost habitually.

“No promises,” she mimicked with a smirk, her eyes sparkling playful up at her husband who was transfixed by her sultry gaze. She was truly a siren, luring him in with a simple glance and a smile. Her power didn’t come from her social status; it came from her. The kind that couldn’t be earned or bought, no matter how much money you had.

With another lingering kiss, James pulled away and reached for the drawer of car keys and selected from the collection of sports cars most could only fantasise about. His dark grey McLaren Senna was today’s pick and he tossed the key in his palm like it wasn’t part of a car costing close to a million dollars. His wealth really was astonishing.

Y/n watched him disappear out of the heavy iron front doors and pulled her robe tighter around her body, concealing the simple navy blue silk slip dress that hung delicately from her shoulders. Her robe matched in colour, of course, and the feathers adorning the trim and cuffs swayed as she wandered into the vast kitchen.

She was the typical rich housewife, but it didn’t look tacky on her. She suited this life. Her wrists, neck and fingers might as well have been crafted to be decked out in priceless jewels, her body to wear only the finest garments. Even just the way she moved oozed grace and elegance subconsciously. A sight for sore eyes.

“Natasha,” she called, knowing the redhead was only a few steps behind her. “I’d like my breakfast on the balcony today please.”

“Yes ma’am,” Natasha replied with a small nod of her head.

“Oh, and don’t bother bringing any of that apricot jam you brought yesterday. I only want strawberry, darling. Only strawberry.” She swept back out of the room in a flash of blue and Natasha scurried down to the kitchen to inform the chef.

Now, if it was anyone else, that pet name probably would have sent them reeling. But Y/n was extremely fond of using those names, so it was basically second nature to Natasha.

The breakfast tray was laden with food and beverages as Natasha brought it out onto the balcony. Y/n was relaxing in a chair, still in her nightwear and robe as she scowled over the newspaper in her hand.

“You know, I do find these world affairs awfully boring.” Y/n didn’t bother looking up from her newspaper as Natasha appeared with the tray. She frowned at the column she was reading before folding it away on the table. “I don’t suppose you read that kind of thing anyway.”

Natasha carefully set the coffee pot down on the table. “I try to keep up with what’s going on in the world. But not as often as I’d like.”

“Do you read the paper?”

“No, Ma’am.”

Y/n hummed. “You can have this one if you want. I don’t care for it and James only complains about the headlines. You’d make much better use of it, honey.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I really appreciate it.”

“Natasha stop,” Y/n held her hand up, making Natasha freeze mid pour. “I’ve told you to call me Y/n. All this ‘ma’am is making me feel old!” Y/n sighed dramatically, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. “I’m not even thirty yet, don’t make me age faster.”

“I’m sorry, Ma-,” she faltered but caught herself quickly, “Y/n, it’s a force of habit.” It wasn’t so much of a habit than it just felt weird to say. This first name basis insinuated they were friends, not two people on drastically different pay grades.

“Well, luckily for you, habits were made to be broken.” There was a heavy intonation in her words, laced with hidden meaning but Natasha just busied herself with setting up the breakfast platter. Various fruits and pastries were laid out, despite Y/n always just picking at a few berries and a croissant. Natasha hung back near the french doors, admiring the scenery so she didn’t watch her boss as she ate.

Y/n slid her sunglasses back onto her nose and stood up to lean over the balcony, the gentle breeze blowing her open robe softly. “Did that package arrive yet? The one from the lingerie company?”

“Yes, it’s in your dressing room.”

“Perfect,” Y/n hummed, her eyes sparkling behind tinted lenses. “I’m going to go try it all on, I think. When you’ve taken the tray, join me, will you?”

Natasha faltered, trying not to look at the outline of her boss’s figure through the thin material of her robe. But with the sun shining through it, it was proving difficult to keep her eyes off the curve of her hips.

“Me?”

“Yes you, Natasha,” Y/n confirmed, smiling to herself. “Who else would I be talking to?”

“My apologises ma’am, I’ll take this right away.”

Y/n didn’t bother correcting Natasha that time, too busy gazing at the rolling landscape beneath her. She found comfort in nature, the way the breeze brushed over her skin and the sun kissed her cheeks making her melt slightly. It differed vastly from the heavy touch of James’ hands, ones she played through a heavy facade to enjoy.

Y/n’s dressing room was that of dreams, just like the rest of her house. But she barely noticed it anymore. Her gaze settled on a white box on the central dresser, smiling to herself. She enjoyed the luxuries of life, and that included lingerie too. She told everyone it was for James, but really it was for her.

She just wanted to feel good for herself.

But those damn feathered sleeves kept getting in the way, so she shrugged her robe off and let it pool on the floor around her feet. She barely noticed the cooler air on her exposed limbs, too busy pulling off the lid and moving the tissue paper aside to reveal the soft coloured lace and mesh, all pastel colours for spring.

Natasha rushed back upstairs as gracefully as she could, passing through the master bedroom to the dressing room at the end. The door was ajar so she knocked three times, as usual, before pushing it open. Her breathing faltered involuntarily.

Was it normal to have that kind of reaction after seeing her boss in nothing but a mini slip dress? There was so much skin and Natasha took a second to gather her thoughts before she announced her presence, keeping her eyes firmly away from the woman in front of her.

“Natasha I want your opinions on these, come here.” The redhead obeyed and joined her side, eyes widening at the items before her. “What do you think?”

This kind of underwear was probably worth Natasha’s entire salary and she was apprehensive to touch it. Her hands stayed by her sides but she tried look objectively, even if she could barely tell the difference between the sets.

“I like that one the best,” she murmured, pointing slightly to a soft pastel blue set. Y/n smiled and plucked it from the box, holding it in front of her.

“Me too, you’ve got good taste.” Y/n slipped one strap of her nightdress from her shoulder and Natasha immediately turned around, almost squeaking at the lack of warning. “You didn’t have to do that, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Except it was. Because this wasn’t just any woman’s body, it was her mistress’s and there was no way she would ever be able to erase the images burned in her mind.

“I’ll just,” she started, trying to fill the silence by picking up the discarded robe and hanging it on a hook to her right. She caught Y/n fiddling with the bra clasp on her back, the hooks not quite fitting together.

“I hate new clasps,” Y/n exclaimed through gritted teeth, the hooks slipping once again. “Natasha, would you-?”

‘Don’t look don’t look don’t look’ was all that ran through Natasha’s mind as she carefully fastened the bra. She ignored the way her fingertips brushed Y/n’s skin, this wasn’t the first time. She was her maid, for gods sake. But Y/n was usually adamant that she could get dressed by herself, so Natasha rarely found herself around her mistress in just her underwear.

With a muttered thank you, Y/n wandered over to the mirror, adjusting the way her boobs sat in the cups before admiring the set. It was perfect for spring, the baby blue mesh and complimenting white and yellow flowers sitting flush against her tanned skin. The way the material hugged her body rivalled that of a custom made piece and Y/n hummed, content with what she saw in the mirror.

“It looks- beautiful,” Natasha faltered, keeping her composure as best she could. “James will love it.”

Y/n chuckled in the mirror, her hair shaking across her back as she laughed. “You really believe I care what he thinks?”

Natasha’s brows creased. Was that not why Y/n had those underwear sets in the first place? The redhead was empathetic but she didn’t have a significant other, there was no time for that. So her judgement was skewed, and it showed.

“I thought-“

“That’s cute.”

Natasha stuttered. “I’m sorry?”

“You,” Y/n locked eyes with her in the mirror. “You’re cute. James doesn’t care about this kind of stuff, it’s all for me, darling.” She adjusted the strap of her bra and didn’t miss the way Natasha’s eyes followed her fingers. “And now you, I suppose?”

“No, I wasn’t-“

Y/n swivelled round, hands on her hips. “I’m teasing you, darling, don’t worry that pretty little head of yours. Frown lines don’t look good on you.” She reached up and softly brushed her thumb between Natasha’s eyebrows, smoothing out the creases that had formed there. The redhead visibly freezed under her touch, the feeling lingering long after her fingers were removed.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Natasha. Who’s the lucky man in your life? Or lady?” Y/n’s eyes shifted, forgetting that she was still in her lingerie set. Natasha breathed out a laugh and darted her gaze to the floor, offering Y/n her robe again.

“I don’t have anyone,” she admitted, missing the look that crossed Y/n’s face. “I spend all my time here, I don’t need anyone.”

“Then I’m honoured to be the lucky lady. And lucky I am.” There was something so alluring about Natasha that Y/n had been hooked on since she laid eyes on her new maid a few months ago. Reserved at first, Natasha was exactly what Y/n needed after years of overbearing and intrusive maids. Natasha was a similar age and felt more like a friend than a maid.

With a confident air about her, Y/n tried on the rest of the lingerie, placing the ones she disliked back in the box with a sigh. Sticking with the blue theme, she slipped on a blue and white sundress, clasped a tennis bracelet around her wrist, slotted her sunglasses into her freshly combed hair and waltzed back onto the balcony. Natasha stayed behind, fumbling with the ribbon around the box before she handed it to the doorman who would organise the return.

The days when James was at work were usually slow and Natasha had some time for herself for a couple of hours whilst Y/n was occupied. Natasha took herself into the city in the late afternoon and ended up in the one store she had never set foot in before.

The lingerie store.

It was a privately owned boutique, of course it was, this neighbourhood didn’t do chain branches, and she quickly walked past the more provocative sets towards the tables at the back. A friendly store worker greeted her but Natasha just kept her head down, politely shaking it when asked if she wanted help.

She was out of her comfort zone, and painfully so, picking up a risky looking set before setting it down a little too quickly. A simple red lace bra caught her eye and she picked it up, only to glance at the price tag and lay it down gently. How could something like that cost so much? Natasha had seen heavier price tags than that of course, she spent her days around Y/n Barnes for god’s sake. But when shopping for herself, everything just seemed too expensive and far too lavish for a plain girl like her.

Natasha was anything but plain, yet she would never see it.

As she looked around the rest of the shop, her mind kept falling back to the red set. It was burned into her mind no matter how many other pieces she saw, and somehow Natasha found herself back at that table again, fingers fumbling over the delicate lace design.

She picked it up, a soft blushing rising to her cheeks at the thought of wearing something so… out there. But the phone in her pocket buzzed and she quickly grabbed it.

Mrs Barnes:

James has set up a date night. I need your help please :)

The red lace set was long forgotten, her mind shifting into work mode in an instant.

Just leaving now. I’ll be there.

When she returned, Natasha headed straight upstairs to find Y/n just leaving the bathroom. Her hair was still dripping and her skin damp, shining in the warm light of her dressing room.

Natasha got to work, drying and styling her hair almost on instinct, having done it so many times. Y/n thoroughly relaxed, adoring the way Natasha felt as she worked through her hair. She softly tugged her roots, but not enough to hurt. Just so it felt like a massage and her eyelids threatened to get heavy.

Date night outfits ranged from lavish to simple, and tonight was a simple night. A little black dress with a deceitful price tag was selected from the closet, a fan favourite of Y/n. She wriggled into the tight material, loving the way it hugged every part of her body as she pulled it up over her chest and slipped the thin straps over her shoulders.

“Where did you go today?” Y/n asked as Natasha zipped up the back of her dress, holding the fabric tight.

“Mostly just window shopping.”

At the mention of shopping, Y/n’s ears pricked up. She wasn’t just making conversation- she was invested. “Did you get anything nice?”

“Not really. Saw a couple of things but-“

“You know you can always take my card if you see something you like,” Y/n insisted, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress to straighten it out. “What store did you visit?”

“It wasn’t anything special.” Y/n shot her an unimpressed look over her shoulder. “I went to the lingerie boutique-“

“No you did not,” Y/n exclaimed, her jaw dropping in excitement as she turned around, clothes long forgotten. “And you didn’t get anything? Oh darling no, we are taking you back there tomorrow and getting you sorted out.”

Natasha moved over to the heels cupboard and selected a classic pair of black patent stilettos. She placed them in front of Y/n for her to slide her feet into, holding onto her hand for support.

“You’ve got that photoshoot tomorrow, so no, we won’t have time.”

Y/n paused, her dangling earring paused in mid air. “And you think they won’t reschedule if I ask them to?” Her brow raised in a ‘try me’ fashion.

“Y/n,” Natasha began to protest. “You don’t need to do that. It’s not like I need anything fancy like you anyway, it’s useless…” she trailed off, a pang in her chest triggering a wave of doubt to shudder down her body. “Vanity Faire won’t be too impressed if you cancel on them again.”

“If they want me, they’re going to have to work around it,” Y/n countered, silencing Natasha as she stalked over, slightly taller than the redhead thanks to her heels. “You are beautiful and you deserve to treat yourself like that. Everyone does, even James and he’s an asshole sometimes. So take this,” she reached into her bra and pulled out her black card, smirking at how Natasha’s brows shot up. “Take this and spoil yourself. I mean it, okay?”

“Thank you ma’am, I’m-“ Y/n almost plucked the card back out of her hand. “Y/n, thank you. You’re too kind to me.”

“Oh stop it, my ego is big enough already.”

The dressing room door flew open to reveal James, narrowed eyes as he stared at the proximity between the two women. Natasha took a couple of steps back but Y/n stayed put, clasping a bracelet around her wrist nonchalantly.

“Y/n, get out here,” he demanded, never one to speak any clearer than he had to. His wife rolled her eyes at Natasha but obeyed, sending her one final look over her shoulder before the door swung shut.

Now they were alone, James grabbed her wrist and shoved her against the wall, towering over her in the only way he knew how to display his power. The power he held over his wife, power that meant he could crush with a single fist if he wanted to.

“James,” Y/n grunted, wincing as his fingers dug into the tender flesh around her wrist. “What is wrong with you?”

“Flirting with the maids now, huh?” He growled, thick brows casting a shadow across his eyes menacingly. “I fire one, you move onto the next, is that how it is?”

“And what if I was?” Y/n baited, not flinching as his body trapped her between the wall and his torso. “Are you threatened? By that cute little thing in there?” She nodded her head in the direction of the dressing room where Natasha was before James gripped her jaw and pulled her face back to his.

“Don’t you dare.” But she did dare. She wasn’t sadistic, but the smile that curled the edge of her lips was downright crazy. But she knew how James was; they fought fire with fire, too stubborn to ever back down.

“Careful, James. Marks, remember?” His grip softened lightly. “Wouldn’t want the paps to spin a story now, would we?”

She saw how he wanted to retaliate, but also knew that she was right. He leaned closer before pulling away, huffing through his nose. “You’re so fucking lucky I love you,” he hissed before he let go of her jaw and allowed her to walk away. His job didn’t help his violent side but James had vowed since day one that he would never harm his wife. Y/n knew it too, and she pushed him to the very edge. Just daring him to.

“Weird way of showing it, but ok,” Y/n mumbled under her breath as she pushed the door closed and took a breath. Natasha averted her eyes, suddenly so busy with a hanger that had been placed backwards. Did she put it there on purpose? That’s not for anyone to know.

She’d seen the strained moments between the husband and wife but often kept her head down, not wanting to fall under James’ wrath. If she was invisible, it was better, but that was easier said than done with Natasha.

Y/n finished clasping her last few pieces of jewellery before accepting her fur shroud from Natasha. The redhead didn’t let on that she had heard every word said next door, but Y/n knew by the way she avoided eye contact that she had.

“You can have the night to yourself, darling,” Y/n winked, checking over her outfit in the mirror beside Natasha. “And you better buy yourself that set.” She gestured to the card in her maid’s pocket, insisting she used it. “I want proof that you did.”

“Thank you, really.”

Y/n blew an air kiss and disappeared to meet James, leaving Natasha once again alone. She felt the weight of the card in her pocket, seeming to grow heavier the more she thought about it. Y/n meant well, but could she really buy something like that with her mistress’ money?

Whilst Natasha debated with herself, Y/n had put on her ‘public’ face. The one that showed she was so madly in love with her husband, clinging onto his bicep as they moved from the car to the restaurant lobby. Paparazzi followed their every move, of course, and James’ bodyguard ushered the couple into the building as fast as he could.

Most celebrities hated the paps with a passion, but James loved them. He loved how much he manipulated them, and they snapped up pictures of the married couple like there was a drought. There was no doubt those pictures would be spattered across gossip sites by tomorrow morning, but that was only more free publicity for him. James Barnes never lost.

However, despite the perfect image they had carefully constructed, more often than not, date nights with James ended alone. He would excuse himself for a phone call just as the food arrived and Y/n could always see him in a private area of the balcony, phone pressed to his ear whilst his other hand pinched the bridge of his nose. Y/n picked at her food in silence, washing every mouthful down with a sip of wine. She ignored the stares and whispers and just played her role to perfection, often sending worried glances out to James.

Tonight she had struck up a harmless conversation with one of the waiters, a young man with a far too eager smile. But she tolerated him for company, politely laughing as he tried to crack an admittedly horrible joke. He was surprisingly good company for the thirty minutes her husband had disappeared for. Although it didn’t help with how sad her situation looked. Y/n was nothing if not flirty, it was in her nature. The way she crossed her legs and looked up through her lashes with a sultry stare had every man, and woman, hooked.

Her siren tendencies didn’t end with her husband, and the waiter hovering by her table was drinking up the attention. It was a big deal for him, one of the hottest women giving up her time to talk to him. He was far too young for her, but Y/n humoured his attempts at flirting, twisting her shoulders so he had a good view from where he was standing. There was a fine line between hot and just plain sleazy, but Y/n would never cross it. She was too good at toying with people.

After a while, James came storming back in, his eyes darkening not only from the outcome of his phone call but also after seeing his wife laughing over another man. His judgement was clouded by anger and he grabbed his jacket, not even bothering to take a bite of his now-cold food. Y/n jumped at his sudden movements but smiled sweetly, thanking the waiter who had stiffened.

“Let’s go,” James growled, throwing down a wad of cash as a tip before storming towards the elevator. Y/n took a moment to gather her things before scurrying after him, her red bottomed shoes clicking loudly against the pristine floor.

“Is everything ok?” She dared to ask once the doors had closed. James looked up briefly, eyed the security camera and clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck shifting too.

“I work with imbeciles,” he grunted, his hand undoing the top button of his shirt in one fluid motion. “How was the food?”

“It was good,” Y/n stated, slightly wishing she could have finished her glass of wine.

“Good? I pay all this money and that’s the best you can do?” Bad phone calls always sent him into this mood, but Y/n had been with him long enough to know how to tame the tiger.

She stepped in front of him and ran her hands up the front of his sculpted chest, brushing over the muscle and up towards his shoulders. “It would have been better if you were there,” she spoke lowly, her hand sliding up to brush the stubble on his jaw.

James slid his hands around her waist possessively, pulling her flush against him. Anyone could walk in, the elevator wasn’t private, but they wouldn’t dare say anything to James Barnes. No one who confronted him ever walked away unharmed.

“Yeah? Even though you had your new little boy toy?” Oh he was jealous and Y/n had to tense every muscle in her body so she didn’t laugh. “I saw you.”

“You really think he had anything on you?” She asked sweetly, playing him just the way she knew. “I was just bored, baby, I missed you.”

“Damn right. I hope that fuckboy knows you’re mine, and mine only.”

“I’m yours, James, I’m yours.”

She was James’, so why did her mind drift to Natasha for a fleeting moment as she said it?

~~~

Y/n had dismissed Natasha for the night earlier than normal, letting her have the evening to herself before they went out. And she praised herself now, knowing James’ rage was just bottled up and sooner or later it would come out. She didn’t want her meek little redhead to have to see that.

And she was right. Whatever James had been feeling, he held it in until they were both nearly ready for bed. Y/n slid her rings off and placed them in the dish on her nightstand, each one clinking against the porcelain as she dropped it.

“What did you talk to him about?”

Y/n paused her movements for a second. “You’re still going on about that? I told you, it was just harmless conversation.”

“It didn’t look harmless, the way you were looking at him.”

Y/n was quite literally at the end of her tether with his accusations. “And how was that? How did I look at him?”

James rounded the bed, the single chain resting on his bare chest catching in the lamplight. “Like a slut.” His eye twitched, a sign he was pissed. “How do you think that looks for me? I step away for two seconds and my wife is whoring herself out to anyone she can find.”

“I find it laughable that you think you were away for two seconds,” she countered, stepping to the side to free herself from where he’d boxed her in. “May I remind you that I had finished my meal long before you even stepped foot back inside. He just came to talk to me and I engaged with the conversation, is that so bad?”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” James spat, his eyes following her figure as she paced around the room. “You shouldn’t-“

“Shouldn’t what? Shouldn’t talk? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? A quiet little wife who only speaks when she’s spoken to and follows you around like a lost puppy.” James set his jaw, hands clenching by his sides. But Y/n carried on, spurred on by his accusations. “Well that’s not me James, and you know that!”

She paused and ran her fingers through her hair, exasperated. “How do you think it looks on you? You bring your wife out on a date but then can’t switch off from work for two minutes to actually enjoy your time with her! I’m saving your ass here, so be fucking grateful!”

That last sentence pushed him over the edge and James stormed over to her like a bull, backing her into a corner. “Grateful? Why should I be grateful? You’re a slut and-“

“Then treat me better and maybe I wouldn’t have to stray so far!”

James’ hand had connected with her cheek faster than either of them had time to process, his rings cutting into her skin painfully. They both froze. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, the sting of the slap blooming across her cheekbone. James was breathing hard, his hand still raised from the recoil.

An apology would come… wouldn’t it? It had to, he didn’t mean that. Y/n couldn’t move, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Her stomach lurched, just urging James to say something. Anything.

A whole host of scenarios of how the next few moments might play out raced through Y/n’s mind, but she didn’t foresee her husband walking out without a word, a button up shirt in his hand.

She watched the door click shut before she sank to the floor, legs buckling beneath her. She didn’t want to cry, he wasn’t worth that, yet the tears still fell, dripping down into the carpet that pressed into her knees. It wasn’t from the pain, but from how stupid she felt.

Why was she still pretending? She played off everything he said to her, claiming it didn’t hurt when in reality it cut deep like a knife. Beneath her defences, she just wanted someone to care and not just because she was pretty. She wanted the slow mornings, the affection that wasn’t just for show. The ‘hey how was your day’ that wasn’t just one sided. But Y/n had sacrificed all of that the day she married James, naive enough to think he’d warm up over time.

The house felt eerily quiet and the blanket of night settled across every room. Ignoring how the clock chimed two, Y/n hauled herself up off the floor and trudged down to the kitchen, barely noticing the icy floor on her bare feet.

The freezer must hold ice packs or something similar, anything to stop bruising and swelling that always leads to questions. Y/n didn’t even bother to check if anyone was around before she pulled the door open and rummaged around, falling upon a bag of frozen peas. Not ideal, but it would do.

Except for the hum of appliances, the kitchen was silent and shadows appeared as the dim fridge light cast a small pool around her. No one was here at this hour, so Y/n dropped her guard and slumped her shoulders, leaning against the side of the fridge with exhaustion.

But she wasn’t alone.

A certain redhead had frozen in place, her spoonful of ice cream hovering somewhere between the pint and her mouth. Natasha was a midnight snacker and her feasts were usually undisturbed, but the sound of footsteps had her retreating into a corner.

It was only when she saw that familiar curtain of hair did she emerge, slowly, as if approaching a small animal, to not scare her off.

“Y/n?” Natasha emerged from the shadows, spoon still in her hand. Y/n did a double take but kept her face turned away, forcing her guard up in a split second.

But it was too slow for Natasha. She saw the vulnerability

“What are you doing down here?”

“I came to get a snack,” she replied with as much conviction as a toddler. Green eyes fell to the bag of peas… interesting snack choice.

“Why didn’t you call for me? I would have come myself.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Natasha.”

“Which is exactly my point, why aren’t you asleep-“

Y/n suddenly emerged from the corner and allowed the fridge light to hit her cheek. Natasha recoiled with a gasp, blinking quickly to wake her brain up. Was she hallucinating or was that what she thought it was? Y/n’s eyes were heavy and looked at the floor, too ashamed to watch Natasha’s reaction

“Did he…?”

The lack of response that followed was louder than a thousand words and Natasha felt her blood boil. She would happily be put away for battery if it meant she could get her hands on James, but she had more pressing matters to attend to.

Abandoning her spoon on the metal table with a clatter, Natasha hurried over and prised the bag of vegetables from Y/n’s hand. She wrapped them in a towel and gently pressed them to her cheek, muttering an apology as her mistress winced.

“What happened?”

Y/n chewed her lip, still avoiding eye contact. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Natasha nodded. “Ok,” she replied, respecting her wishes. You couldn’t push with Y/n, she had to come to you. “Here, sit up on there.” She helped Y/n hop onto the counter and her body instantly relaxed.

A comfortable silence fell between them both, somehow not affected by Y/n’s reluctance to talk. They never needed words, that’s what Y/n liked about Natasha so much. She was a comforting presence, and Y/n felt so at home around her.

With their faces so close, Y/n felt her chest warming at things she’d never noticed before. There were flecks of brown in Natasha’s clear green eyes, almost mirroring the freckles that danced faintly across her nose. The frown lines she had wiped away earlier were back and Y/n fought the urge to brush them away again.

After ten minutes, Natasha set the ice pack down on the side and helped Y/n down, the stone now digging into her butt uncomfortably. “Just let it rest for a bit before you ice it again. You don’t want to damage the skin.”

Y/n nodded, her face already numb. Their proximity was close but neither made an attempt to move. Natasha couldn’t keep her eyes off how red her cheek looked and Y/n desperately needed something to shut up the voices in her head.

Her eyes dropped down to Natasha’s lips, wanting to cry with how soft they looked. How gentle they’d feel on her skin, a stark contrast to the rough lips she was used to feeling dragging across her collarbones and neck. Natasha was soft and Y/n felt herself craving it.

“No, Y/n no.” Lost in her head, she’d failed to notice Natasha catching on, almost reading her mind. And as much as the redhead would love to reciprocate, it was inappropriate and not just because of her job.

Y/n leaned forwards, eyes glossy. “Please, Natasha-“

“You’re hurting, I won’t-“ Natasha shook her head, taking Y/n’s trembling hand in her own. She could make a pretty educated guess as to what had happened and did not want to be a part of Y/n’s inevitable. She pushed her own feelings down, stuffing them in a box and cramming the lid on tight.

But Y/n never made her life easy. She gripped Natasha’s hand, pulling it into her. “Please?”

“No, we can’t, you know that. And you’re my boss, Y/n-“

“Nat, I- I want you. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

The redhead faltered, watching the way her mistress’s chest heaved. Her head screamed at her to stop; it was so wrong. She couldn’t avoid the way her cheek burned red in the dim light, a stark contrast to the rest of her pale face. Never had she seen this much vulnerability in the woman who was full of wit and confidence.

The strength she was so used to seeing had completely disappeared and Y/n peered at her with tears on her waterline, her facade crumbling away with every second that ticked by.

Those seconds felt like an eternity before Natasha slowly reached her hand up.

But it was too soon.

Y/n flinched away, a tear escaping as she let out a whimper. Natasha quickly retreated her hand and let the woman before her turn back, not wanting to push her in any way.

“You’re safe,” Natasha whispered. Y/n’s eyes searched hers, trying to find any sign of a lie. But she came up empty. With a trembling hand, she reached for Natasha’s palm and allowed it to cup her other cheek. The touch was soft, warm, and everything she wasn’t used to. Even on instinct, Y/n couldn’t help but lean into it, eyelids fluttering closed for a split second before she forced them open.

“I’ve got you.”

Y/n glanced at Natasha’s lips and back up to her eyes. She needed to feel that warmth, she needed to kiss lips that didn’t curse her all day long.

“Natasha…”

The redhead couldn’t stop herself anymore and let Y/n lean forwards, connecting their lips in the most gentle kiss. Y/n tasted the sweet dessert on her lips as they moved against each other slowly, the hand on her cheek moving around to the back of her neck to hold her in place.

“Did you have ice cream?” Y/n mumbled against her lips, goosebumps lighting up her skin at Natasha’s touch.

“Maybe.”

The kiss wasn’t anything frantic or passionate, it couldn’t be. It was so featherlight that their lips barely touched, but the way Natasha’s blood felt like it was on fire was enough to convince her that they did touch. She let Y/n lead, moving their lips in tandem and fiddling with the baby hairs at the nape of her neck.

Y/n pulled away, a soft smile on her slightly swollen lips setting Natasha’s heart a flutter. The ache in her cheek was hardly noticeable in that moment; she was too fixated on the redhead in front of her.

She leaned in again, chasing that high she wasn’t ready to come down from yet. But Natasha gently pushed her back, shaking her head softly.

“Y/n, we can’t. We shouldn’t be doing this, you know that.” Y/n’s coping mechanisms were unhealthy to say the least, and as much as it pained her, Natasha couldn’t support that. Clarity had hit her like a ton of bricks and guilt settled in the bottom of her stomach, leaving a nasty taste in her mouth.

What were they doing?

Natasha’s heart shattered as she watched Y/n retreat into herself, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth slightly. Her eyes were glossy but the tears refused to spill over. Every muscle in her body was rigid, almost as if she was scared that if she moved, the dam would break and everything would come flooding out. Y/n may be good at a lot of things, but emotional confrontation was not one of those things.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She lingered for a moment, just willing Natasha to speak, to take back her words. Maybe if she closed her eyes, those lips would be on hers again. Their Midas touch, concealing the ache in her heart for a few fleeting moments was all she wanted.

But when Natasha stayed silent, Y/n turned and left, leaving the makeshift ice pack abandoned on the side. She couldn’t stay and let herself fall apart anymore. Her heart had broken twice that night, but why did it hurt so much worse now? Why did Natasha, her maid, have a stronger grip on it than her husband?

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[steddielations]

- nsfw, age gap, rockstar Eddie, drummer steve

Eddie should not be wearing a plug here.

It’s stupid. It’s reckless. But that inner voice that led to decades of being stupid and reckless says it’s fine, it’s just for Eddie. Steve doesn’t have to know, unless he wants to find out.

It really is just for Eddie. It’s more for confidence than kink. It’s a trick he learned back when he was still getting comfortable on stage, back when he could still handle the fast life. Started way back when he was a teenager, dear old dad made sure to turn his talent into cold hard cash.

Now here Eddie is, way too many years of coping with drugs and never any therapy later, retired rockstar doing the whole studio owner mentoring baby rockstars thing. Someone’s gotta keep rock and roll alive so long as Eddie’s still kicking.

So the first thing that comes with years of being stone cold sober is realizing he spent too much time on the road and in the closet, not enough time growing roots so he’d have someone to settle down with when he stopped being so afraid of it.

The second thing is a dick that doesn’t work half the time because maybe if someone told him doing drugs would land him limp-dick at 40, he would’ve stopped sooner. The third thing is that he’s going to die alone with his floppy dick and trust issues.

So with the wild life Eddie lives nowadays, it’s no surprise that a couple smiles and smooth words from a good looking young drummer sent him into a spiral.

Steve’s a session musician, an independent guy that looked good on paper and even better in person. He’s got more heart and grit than the last few ‘frontmans’ Eddie tried to get something real out of. Steve knows it too, the way everyone does at 28.

He’s got the same cockiness in his skills as Eddie, but he knows he’s more than just his skills in a way that Eddie wishes he could’ve known at that age. He’s confident enough to make his own suggestions to Eddie, calls him old fashioned and he’s smooth about it, strikes up debates about music and he’s fucking sassy about it.

Eddie’s gotta be under some kinda spell to be considering Springsteen is one of the greats like Steve insists.

It’s not just because Steve’s younger, there’s always been girls much younger than late 20s trying to get with him for his name, status, money. Bless their hearts, maybe if he was still 20 years deep in the closet. It’s not just because Steve’s a guy either, there’s plenty of young guys now that dare to bat their eyes and call him Daddy and want to get fucked.

No, it’s because Steve’s different. The opposite, even.

Eddie slips up and calls him sweetheart once and it’s like Steve was just waiting to open that door and let every babe and handsome and honey slip out from his lips.

He notices Eddie checking out his biceps as he’s banging away on the drums once and sends him a wink that nearly makes him flatline.

He’s not intimidated to get in Eddie’s space. He has no reason to ever be in the control room, but Eddie doesn’t question it when Steve’s close, leaning over him with a warm hand pressed to the small of his back for one second. Eddie’s so hot faced and flustered that he gets his long hair caught in some of the board switches.

“Fuck, fucking, god damn it,” Eddie curses, tangling it even more trying to yank it free and vowing to chop it all off later.

“It’s alright, here, let's get you sorted out.” Steve’s steady hand closes over Eddie’s, gentle and warm as he eases the lock of hair free. Eddie’s breath lodges in his throat when Steve reaches up, fingers brushing Eddie’s face as he combs through his long silver streaked waves and says, “Don’t ever cut your hair. I love it too much.”

God. Steve makes Eddie feel like he’s a pretty young thing getting moves put on him in the kinda club that he was always too famous, too busy and too afraid to go to at that age.

It can’t be real. Steve can’t be serious. Eddie’s mean. Bitter. He talks shit about everyone and everything. He’s nothing without a guitar. He’s got the prickly rind of daddy issues and doesn’t even have Wayne to make it better anymore. The whole world adoring him all his life only fed his ego. He’s worth millions of dollars and feels like nothing most days. His only real friends are his bandmates that he doesn’t call often enough because they love each other, but they’re sick of each other, being stuck together all those years.

Surely, Steve’s just bored and playing with him. Eddie needs a kick of confidence to deal with it until Steve’s contract ends and he’s done playing with Eddie.

So that’s why Eddie’s got a plug up his ass at the studio. At work, technically.

It helps. It gives him all the inner fire he needs to ignore when he feels Steve’s eyes burning into him, and push his hand through his hair that Steve loves, and sway his hips as Steve’s gaze follows him walking out to the bathroom.

Oh yeah, Eddie’s still got it.

And he has to piss. Really bad. His bladder just ain’t what it used to be and when he’s gotta go, he’s gotta go and for whatever reason, he can’t do it with the plug inside him.

Eddie’s locked in a stall so he doesn’t hesitate to undo his belt and reach inside to pull it out. He holds it while he uses the toilet, so distracted sighing in relief like such an old man that he doesn’t realize how lube-slippery the thing is.

It’s too late. He drops his plug and it rolls out from under the stall just as the bathroom door opens and shuts slowly.

Then Eddie feels both relief and panic when it’s Steve’s voice that asks, “Eddie, did you drop something, honey?”

#no one look at me #the rest soon!! #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #subeddieweek #sub eddie week

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 — y’all have had it too good for too long. Time to suffer again.

Content warning for angst, nightmares, and non-descriptive panic attack

You’re bleeding.

Can’t tell who shot you, only that it’s hard to breathe. Your chest is a bloody, mangled mess, your entire front painted crimson. A puddle expanding around your boots.

Your head feels leaden as you drag it up, searching for help, searching for —

There they are. The 141. SpecGru. All of them, standing just out of reach. They could help, they could save you. But they’re not, they’re just standing, watching. Could be statues if not for the sneer that twists Soap and Nova’s face when you make desperate eye contact.

Your captain takes a single step forward, crouching as you fall to your knees.

“You’re just not a good fit, anymore,” he explains, shrugging. “Nothing personal, kid.”

“Baby. Baby!”

Keegan’s face is above you, jaw dusted with dark stubble. He’s wide awake, eyes huge and worried, showing you both his hands. His mask is gone, hair tussled.

Bed. You’re in bed. You fell asleep with him tonight.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers.

“K-Keegan…” The shivers start almost instantly, like you really were bled out. Before he can ask, you reach for him. Let him bundle you against his chest, arms tight around you, and legs bent up on either side of you. A cage of safety around you, keeping you safe and close.

“I’m here, sweets. Right here,” he murmurs into your hair. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

You sniffle, press your face against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. Too fast; because he’s worried about you.

“Which one?” he asks.

You shudder. “A new one.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. Drops a kiss on your head. “Just me, or do you need someone else?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears start flowing, guilt gnawing at your tight stomach.

“C-can I see the captain?” You ask. “I-I’m sorry, Kee. I just…”

He shushes you. “That’s why I asked, baby. It’s okay. Nothing to feel bad for.”

He doesn’t even give you the option of walking. Just tucks you into one of his sweatshirts — sandalwood and vetiver — and scoops you up. You tuck your face against his neck against the hall lights as he walks with you.

“Dreams again,” he says to someone — Nikto, probably.

Three sharp knocks. A single beat. Then a door opens. You peek out, relieved to see your captain standing there.

“Hi babygirl,” he rumbles, “bad night?”

Keegan hands you over with practiced ease, your captain letting you loops your arms and legs around him. His skin feels almost burning, warm enough to drive out the lingering chill. He smells good too. Like sleep and home.

“Y-you still… you still want me right?” You whisper, eyes stinging.

“Always,” he answers instantly. “My girl, my soldier, mine. Just like Keegan and Nikto and Nova.”

You cling tighter, but he just hums and smooths his hands over your back.

“Keegan, get Nova and an extra mattress,” he orders.

“On it.”

The captain carries you in, a shadow from the corner of your eye telling you Nikto is still there. You’re set on the bed in a spot still warm; it dips as another body settles with you. Nikto again. Mask on as always, but dressed down for sleep. He’s even got his gloves off and lets you play gently with his fingers while your captain turns on a light and fetches you a glass of water.

“Still with you,” Nikto murmurs.

You sniffle and wipe hurriedly at your eyes, trying to preserve what little dignity you’ve got left.

“None of that now, baby,” your captain soothes, tilting a glass to your mouth. “Cry if you need. Get it out.”

The tears some slow and quiet, only little sobs escaping as Nikto’s arms curl around you. Keegan appears at the door soon after, Nova helping him drag a mattress into the captain’s quarters. She comes to your other side while Keegan and the captain start arranging the other bed.

Soon, they switch you over, drag the first mattress onto the floor as well. After that, arrangements are familiar and automatic. The captain takes one side, fits your back against his chest. Keegan takes your other side, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. Nikto nestles up behind him - needs the access of the end of the bed. And Nova distributes herself on top of you and Keegan, a gentle warm weight soothing you.

“Sleep if you can, babygirl,” your captain murmurs in your ear. His thumb sweeps gentle arcs over your hipbone. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

The nightmares were the worst when you first joined SpecGru. The first six months. You’d wake up in a cold sweat, apologies to an empty room on your tongue.

Nikto would find you out on the obstacle course at all hours of the night, in all kinds of weather. Running and jumping and climbing without so much as penlight. Pushing and pushing until you were panting on bloody hands and knees, driven by the single-minded need to be better, to be worth it.

When he found out, your captain put a ban on you from running the course unless he himself was present the entire time. You were pissed at first — even went so far as to bitch him out one day, exhausted and strung out on stress.

And he’d let you. Just sat behind his desk listening. Unimpressed, but not pissed, either. When you’d finally run out of steam, he’d stood.

“Still mad?”

When you nodded, he nodded towards the door.

“C’mon, we’ll go for a spar,” he explained when you gave him a distrustful look. “And then you’re going down for a nap.”

You frowned, shifted. “What about…?”

He snorts. “All that a minute ago?”

When you nodded, he shrugged. “Nothing, unless you feel like you need a bit of discipline to keep it together.”

You’d wrinkled your nose. “Definitely feel like socking you now.”

He’d smirked. “Good.”

#thoughts™️ #cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #sad fic #angst #former 141 reader #specgru reader #cod nikto #keegan p russ #nova cod #task force 141

[sunderingstars]

So how do you think Zayne, Xavier and Rafayel would react when their s/o has a boy best friend, purely platonic but makes other people have second thoughts about their relationship.

Hehehe have a good day, write this if your okay with this 🪐

boy best friend (l&ds x reader) ♡

what the stars reveal: 1.2k, no gender signifiers used for reader, established relationship, ✨jealousy✨ but with a healthy dose of respect partner juice, surprisingly well-adjusted xav, half-headcanon half-prose, slight allusions to lore if you squint

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ hello !! thank you for giving me an excuse to write jealous rafayel >:3 the love & deepspace brainrot is so real for me right now, hope you enjoy !

— zayne is really good at hiding it, but his tiny mannerisms bleed through enough to make it clear he’s worried. it’s not that he has an issue with you having guy best friends, it’s just that everyone else seems to assume you two are together despite zayne standing right there. 

Zayne just stares. Blinks. Stares. Blinks again. You have to nudge him as a reminder that he is, in fact, in public, and that introductions are usually reciprocated by both parties. As soon as you make contact, it’s like a switch flips.

He breezes through his name, occupation, and a firm handshake (not too loose, not too tight), making it look so effortless that you almost forget he’d frozen like a statue as soon as he laid eyes on your best friend. Almost.

He does his best to hide it, but it’s clear something’s wrong. The slight clip to his voice, the furrow of his brow, the hesitance in his eyes when he looks at you — they may be imperceptible to the untrained eye, but all the telltale signs are there. It’s only a matter of time before you get an answer out of him.

“I’m an adult. I don’t worry about those kinds of things,” he says when you voice your suspicion a few days later.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s true,” he continues when you shoot him a disbelieving look, shuffling the papers on his desk in an attempt to seem nonchalant, “I have absolutely no problem with him.”

You don’t say anything else, simply fix him with a deeper look and cross your arms. He doesn’t crack. It takes a whole five minutes of him pretending to go back to work before he sighs and makes a show of signing something.

“I may,” he says, setting the pen down gently, “Be slightly… somewhat…”

“Jealous?” you finish.

“No,” he says. “Annoyed.” Then, quickly, “Not at you. Or him. Just everyone else.”

You don’t quite understand. “Everyone else…?”

Now it’s Zayne’s turn to fix you with a look. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Notice what? you want to ask, but refrain since you don’t want Zayne thinking you’re more oblivious than you already are. You rack your brain for something, anything that you can remember from that day, until…

“Oh,” you say. You do remember getting quite a few stares even before you and your friend coincidentally ran into Zayne. At first, you thought it was because you were still in uniform, but you realize now that it may have been for a completely different reason.

Zayne doesn’t respond, just taps his fingers against the wood of his desk, a nervous tic.

“Those were people who got the wrong idea,” you continue. Then, when his mouth dips into a frown, you move to stand beside him. “I don’t mind hunting them down and telling them just how wrong they were.”

At this, his frown begins to lift. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I would, though.”

He looks at you clearly for the first time in a few days, a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” you say. You maneuver yourself between him and the desk, falling into a half-straddle. “I’d go to their house, knock on the door, and tell them exactly how Dr. Zayne and I make out every Friday eveni—”

You feel his hand brush against your mouth, closing it.

“Alright, alright,” he interrupts with a small smile, “I get it. I’m secure enough in our relationship not to worry.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Just don’t miss any checkups.”

“I’ll be right on time, as always,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And if anyone asks, i’ll tell them exactly who my boyfriend is.”

“Thank you.”

— xavier isn’t sure why you think he’d be annoyed, since your best friend seems nice enough. if anything, you’re the one that seems nervous, broaching the topic with him only to realize he hasn’t minded from the start.

Xavier looks a bit confused. His eyes shuffle between your face, his phone, and the twisting hands in your lap, a small, awkward smile beginning to spread on his face.

“Am I supposed to be… worried?” he asks.

“Are you?” you respond.

This prompts a light chuckle from your boyfriend. He shifts on the couch, turning until his arm rests on the back and his body is angled towards you. “Not really. What about you?”

You shrug. “Maybe a little.”

This seems to surprise Xavier, and you can’t blame him. You’re a bit surprised, too, given that most people’s roles would be flipped in this context.

Still, you can’t help it. Even though you’ve known your best friend for years — much longer than you’ve known Xavier — you don’t want your boyfriend to feel like he’s being overshadowed in his relationship with you. However, it currently seems like those worries are unfounded.

“Well, the way I see it…” Xavier leans in, brushing his lips against your temple, “… it’s wonderful you have so many people to share your life with.”

“You really think so?” you ask, just to make sure.

“Of course. Although…” He leans back, then, mid-afternoon light filtering through the window and washing his features soft gold. His eyes sharpen like sun rays piercing through a cloud. “… if he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

— rafayel is very loud and clear about his jealousy, and you can count on him to become clingy after you hang out with your best friend. ultimately, you know he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he says he does, so you’re happy to indulge his want for attention if it means you can comfort him when he’s insecure.

Rafayel, as he is wont to do, makes his feelings known immediately and with such startling clarity that at first you think he’s joking.

“You’re serious?” you finally ask, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards into a smile while his stay fixed, pouting.

“Of course I am,” he says. He glares at the empty air beside you head as if it wronged him in a past life. “I mean, it’s fine and all, I guess, but we haven’t seen each other in four days. You haven’t even taken me plushie hunting. And yet…”

“And yet…?”

He crosses his arms and mumbles. 

“Use your words, Raf.”

He sighs. “You were with him all day. People were staring.”

“And so you’re jealous,” you deadpan, “because my best friend helped me with a case.”

“Yes!” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I could’ve helped too! If you keep going around without me like that, you’ll… you’ll…” Something changes in his eyes, and he clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

You know your boyfriend well enough by this point to grasp what he’s hinting at. Putting your own frustration aside, you lean in, the soft fabric of Rafayel’s shirt brushing against your fingertips. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I’m not going to forget you,” you say. Then, you find his arm, uncrossing it so you can take his pinky in yours. “Promise.”

Slowly, slightly, the tension in his shoulders begins to release. 

“Can we go plushie hunting?” he mumbles. Then, “Just the two of us?”

You smile. “Of course.”

🩵 bonus hc 🩵: i mentioned it in zayne’s part, but i like to think he drums his fingers against any available surface when he’s nervous or worried. between that, pushing up his glasses, and fiddling with his pen, you can read his mood based off of how much he messes with the objects in his vicinity.

(also also rafayel is so petty when he’s jealous, i know this one is basically canon but i just love it sm ♡)

© 2024, written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝ #love & deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love & deepspace x you #l&ds x reader #l&ds #love & deepspace zayne #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #l&ds zayne #l&ds rafayel #l&ds xavier

[w2sology]

harry, private but not secret relationship.

(i hope u understand what i mean 😭)

i know exactly what you mean and i LOVE this type of trope so so much 🤭

under the sheets, harry lewis.

summary: everyone knows that you and harry are together, yet no one really knows what goes on in your relationship. but when fans get little snippets, they can't help but fawn over you both.

warnings: mentions of sex

having been together since before harry had started youtube, all his friends knew you, and of your status as his girlfriend. but with his rapid incoming fame, you thought it would be better to shy away from the spotlight.

and of course, harry respected this. but he was still gonna let people know that he was in a relationship.

it started off with small mentions of you in his videos. "my girlfriend got me this the other day... my girlfriend said that... i know my girlfriend would like to..." but never fully dropping your name.

everyone knew you were together, but hardly anything about your relationship was ever revealed unless harry said something or if the boys mentioned you briefly.

whether or not you had a public account on socials varied, you liked to switch between public and private.

harry, bot being the average active social media user, would hardly post things. yet most of the time when he did, it would always correspond to you.

a snap of a restaurant with your plate opposite his, a walk in the park with a dog you were dog sitting, your leg just about in the frame, or if he was bold enough, a mirror pic that you took, your face covered by your camera but his fully visibly as he stared lovingly at you through the mirror.

slowly but surely, you would join in too on the secret snapshots into your relationship.

it would start with a post on your story of a picture you took on harry's phone whilst he was on set with the boys, and it was clearly his phone because of how fucked up it was. then it would progress to making tiktoks while wearing clothes that were so obviously his.

it was cute to see you two showing bits of each other online whilst not giving away too much, but god did it have fans dying for more.

when thy'd run into you two in public, you found it so cute that they'd take the time to speak to you as well as harry, even if you'd shy away so as to not interrupt them and harry.

but harry would still have you close by; a fan once posted a selfie that they took with him, and his hand furthest away from their body could be seen in the corner of the picture still intertwined with yours.

when harry was on twitch, streaking either by himself of with his friends, you'd occasionally peak inside the room to check on him, not realising that you were on camera.

one time, you were so tired when you cane back from work that all you wanted to do was lay in bed with harry, but when you figured out he was streaming, you figured his arms would suffice.

so you quietly opened the door to his room, and found yourself snuggling into his arms. harry was surprised, probably putting two and two together and realising that you didn't really care what was on camera, and so returned your embrace. that stream absolutely rocked people's worlds.

and the dates !!! the dates would be the cutest things EVER. he didn't mind going all out but he also wasn't against the occasion cosy date indoors.

on the odd time you did get out, of course there would be pictures and videos of you two sitting in close proximity in a cosy booth at a restaurant, both you all smiles and harry not being able to take his hands off of you.

and if there was one thing about harry, he loved physical touch.

it pained him to not be all over you in public because you didn't want to showcase your relationship like that, but he still found a way to make sure he was either near you or touching you.

be that a hand on your thigh under the table or linking your pinky fingers together when you stood near him.

and the way he'd kiss you; he'd look at you to make sure it was okay to do so before gently placing his lips on yours, pulling you in closer to him.

and even though he can hear simon and toby's shouts of "ew" or "look at those lovebirds" he simply waves them off whilst you hide your face in his chest.

harry loved to have you as his little secret thing, it gave him an even bigger energy rush than he usually had; the idea of being caught was just so exciting to him.

like when he rocks up to filming with a few hickies around his neck, unable to have covered them with his compression shirt that he mistakenly wore.

the comments under that video were enough to you have you covering your face when harry brought it up, as well as the digs that the boys took at you and harry apparently "going at it like animals."

but harry didn't care, it was the best part of the relationship and he got to keep it all to himself, unless he slipped up in front of the camera that was.

#wroetoshaw #wroetoshaw x reader #sidemen x reader #wroetoshaw imagines #harry lewis x reader #sidemen #wroetoshaw imagine #harry lewis

[ihave-atummyache]

pleasure doesn’t exist without pain

OT8 Imagine

summary: the boys find out a secret about reader that they weren’t expecting.

NSFW (asf)

9.2k ish words

this was the request i just made a post abt (:

in’s was super indulgent and based off this very specific clip from his live bc it had my eye twitching and i almost burst into tears!

https://x.com/afterglowhjs/status/1751074353603653860?s=46&t=pAqDLKEEBzfhkcnjJvRafQ

Bang Chan:

Sex between you and Chan is so soft, so loving, so tender, so perfect. He always makes sure you cum, sometimes (most times), more than once. He gives you the most amazing head of your life and then proceeds to fuck you until you're cumming every time.

But if its so perfect why do you want to ask him to be rougher? Why do you want him to make you cry? Why do you want him to absolutely break you?

These questions have been buzzing around your head for the past few weeks and you feel slightly guilty. Your perfect and amazing boyfriend wouldn't dream of hurting you in anyway and you know this. That being said, it’s also what makes it more appealing. You feel safe with him and know that he would never do something to intentionally hurt you unless you want him to.

You tried to make his animalistic side come out on its own. You thought your best bet was to try to provoke him. You thought if you were able to piss him off that he would fuck you into the mattress, using you like some kind of sex toy but you weren't so lucky.

Your boyfriend is too perfect, too sweet. He is an angel and if he feels even the slightest bit of animosity or frustration towards you, he quickly voices how he feels and forces you to work it out. Then, without fail, he proceeds to make love to you.

But you don't always want to make love. Sometimes you just want to be fucked like a slut and tossed around. Chan definitely has the capability but he doesn't put those perfect muscles to use in the bedroom.

"Chris?" You yell out from the bedroom. You're dressed in one of his t-shirts and his favorite pair of underwear. It was just a light pink thong with lace and flower petals but you’ve always noticed how he especially admires this pair. Even when you're doing laundry, if you have this pair of panties in your hand, he stops what he's doing to watch you fold them.

"Yes?" He calls back to you and you sit back against the headboard, letting one of your legs fall of the edge of the bed, exposing your cunt to him for when he walks into the room.

"Come here," You call back and you hear him get up instantly, and then footsteps making their way towards you. You bite down on your lip when he pushes the door open. His eyes immediately drop to between your legs before they dart back up to your own eyes.

"Y-yes?"

"Are you busy?" you prompt, your hand absentmindedly twirling your hair. He gulps from his place at the door and takes a few steps before he's kneeling on the bed, his body between your legs.

"Not anymore," he replies and leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. You immediately push your tongue into his mouth and he groans against you, leaning forward and pressing his thigh against your core. A shaky breath leaves your mouth at the contact and he takes advantage of the opportunity and quickly switches to being dominant in the kiss.

His hand trails to between your legs and presses against your soaked cunt. You mindlessly grind against his hand, desperate for something to alleviate the pressure of your desperation.

"I love these on you," he speaks against your lips before he does something unexpected. His teeth catch your bottom lip and he pulls lightly. You instantly whimper and grind down into his hand more at the slight sting. It isn't nearly as much as you want but it's definitely a start.

"I love when you get all needy like this, baby. My sweet girl," his voice is gravelly, accent thick and his fingers dip into your core to find you already soaking wet and stretched out. He pulls back and raises his eyebrows at you.

"Oh?" he prompts and you look away, bashfully.

"Was thinking about you but I didn't want to interrupt you so I tried to do it myself but it wasn't good enough," you confess to having just played with yourself moments before he walked into the door and he chuckles.

"I'm never too busy for you, sweet girl," he pops his fingers into his mouth and sucks your essence from them before grabbing your panties and dragging them down your thighs. He wastes no time and immediately plunges into your warm cunt. He feels instantly intoxicated by you and starts fucking into you, dropping to his elbows on either side of your head.

"H-harder," you whimper out and his breath fans across your face while he studies your expression.

"Harder? If I go any harder then I'll hurt you," he replies and you shake your head at his excuse, finally reaching your breaking point.

"That's what I want. Hurt me. Use me. Treat me like a sex toy, Channie. I'm all yours," you confess and he halts for a moment, studying your expression and you just put on your best puppy dog eyes, trying to convince him.

"What if you can't walk tomorrow?" he asks, a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Even better," you reply and thats all it takes. Chan leans back on his heels and presses into you as deep as he can before pulling out, just leaving the tip in and slamming into you again. You scream out at the feeling and he does something even more unexpected.

He places his hand over your mouth then uses his pointer finger and thumb to close your nose, making you actually not be able to breathe. He does it so perfectly, like something he's done before and the lack of oxygen makes a thought suddenly dawn on you.

Has he had this side of him hidden inside of him this entire time but he didn't want to hurt you?

And you were right on the money. Your boyfriend views you as precious china, an antique doll that he doesn't want to break. Instead, he tried to keep his dominant, rough side hidden to avoid hurting you.

Your eyes start to roll back into your head and Chan moves his hand, making you gasp for air.

"If you're just a desperate pain slut, then I can treat you like one. Is that what you want? You want to be daddy's good little slut?" he asks and you moan, clenching around him. He has never refered to himself in such a manner and the complete 180 from your usual angelic and sweet boyfriend has your head reeling.

"Y-yes, daddy. I'll be a good girl for you," you promise and he pulls out before grabbing your hips and flipping you to your stomach, not even giving you time to scramble to your knees. He pushes back into you and wraps an arm under your hips. His other hand finds the back of your neck and he pushes your upper body into the mattress before drilling into you. The position has you flat on your stomach besides his arm beneath your hips and you’re completely and your boyfriend’s mercy, pinned to the bed below him.

"Who's making you feel this good, baby?" he suddenly groans out and you feel your arousal dripping onto the bed. His hand makes contact with your ass and you jolt at the contact before clenching around him again.

"Don't tell me I already fucked you dumb? I'm just getting started, sweet girl,"

Lee Know:

"You're the worst," you grumble out and cross your arms over your chest, making your best friend laugh at you again.

"It's not my fault you suck at everything," Minho teases and you gasp in fake shock and gently slap his arm. You sit down in a chair that had been set up next to the fire pit, your back to your failed attempt at pitching a tent and your best friend.

"I don't suck at everything. How was I just supposed to know how to pitch a tent?!" You grumble and let yourself slouch down in the seat, resting the back of your head on the back of the seat.

"I thought it was common sense. It isn't that hard, princess," he teases you and you roll your eyes at him, "Weren't you a girl scout or something?" he adds on and you let out a chuckle.

"I was a girl scout for one year and the only thing I remember doing is selling cookies. We did not do what boy scouts did at all," you joke and he laughs.

"I can light a fire though," you add on and a smile graces Minho's face. The sun was beginning to set and the way the orange hues from the sky were hitting his face and chocolate eyes was enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

He really is so incredibly good looking. You can't help having some reservation with pursuing anything since you are best friends and he's never done anything to imply that he is as into you as you are into him.

"Looks like you have a new task now, princess," he nods his head towards the fire pit in front of you and you walk over to grab a piece of fire wood. You ruffle Minho's hair, knocking him off balance and making him fall over into the dirt.

"Hey!" He complains and grabs at you but you're quick to dodge his hands.

"Stop calling me that, then," you give a sarcastic smile and he narrows his eyes at you before you turn your back to him and grab two pieces of the fire logs and making your way back over to the fire pit.

You place the logs down into the dirt and grab a fire starter block and a lighter before setting it on fire and leaning forward to put it on the fire. Your hair falls from behind your shoulder but Minho's hand quickly grabs it, making a makeshift ponytail at the back of your head.

You jump slightly at his touch, not realizing that he had made his way over to you.

"Shit! You scared me," you exclaim and turn your attention back to the fire to avoid Minho's gaze on you.

"Does this even count as knowing how to start a fire? You just used a lighter," he raises an eyebrow to you and you shrug.

"Tomayto, tomato. The fire is started, isn't it?" You ask and face him again and he chuckles, his hand still tangled into your hair.

"Yeah and yet you still somehow almost managed to set yourself on fire. If I wasn't here, who would take care of you, princess?" he teases and you scrunch your nose up for a second before turning and blowing on the fire a few times to try to make the flame larger.

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here in the first place. And stop calling me princess. I know what I'm doing!" you try to defend yourself and Minho's grip in your hair tightens, pulling you back to look him in his eyes.

It would have been a relatively innocent action if it weren't for the groan that escaped your throat the instant he pulled your hair slightly. Before you can even process the noise that just left your mouth, your eyes are locked on his. He wears a look of pure surprise on his face and your eyes grow wide as a blush makes its way up your neck.

"I um. I- uh. I just-"

"Did you like that?" Minho's question intterupts your poor attempt of trying to come up with an excuse for your reaction to him pulling your hair. You stare blankly at him as his face drops to an almost stoic one, void of much emotion.

"Answer me, princess," the words leave his mouth as his grip in your hair tightens. The nickname seems to have gained a new meaning and your bottom lip makes it way between your teeth as you fight to keep your eyes open.

"Y-yes," you stutter out and a tiny smirk makes its way to his face before he raises a perfect eyebrow at you. He shakes his head, tsk'ing at you, a fake pout on his lips.

"What a shame. Who would've known that someone with such an innocent face had such a dirty side. Turns out you're a little pain slut. Is that right, princess?" he instigates you and your jaw goes slack at the tension that has suddenly fallen between the two of you. You let your eyes drop, focusing on the hem of his sweat shirt instead.

His hand wraps tighter into your hair and he pulls, forcing you to turn your head up and lock eyes with him once again. He's still standing over you while you sit on your knees. Warmth from the fire begins to cover the side of your face mixing with your blush and making you even hotter.

"I told you to answer me when I talk to you. Is it that hard of a concept to comprehend?" His tone has suddenly changed and you quickly shake your head to which he tightens his grip in your hair more, making tears spring to your eyes.

"Use your words." This sentence comes out like a command more than a suggestion and you can't help but to immediately obey him. Something about him just makes it impossible to not submit to him.

"Yes sir. That's right," you can't help how whiny and pathetic you sound. The position he has you in has you sinking into your subspace quickly.

"Pathetic."

The word bounces around your foggy brain and more tears fill your eyes at the degradation and pain of his grip in your hair before a tear forces its way out and down your cheek. Much to your surprise, Minho leans forward and licks the salty liquid from your cheek.

"You're in luck. You like pain, and I think you look so pretty when you cry. I think this will work out great for the both of us," he whispers out before leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours in a hungry, desperate, and long awaited kiss.

Changbin:

You just had to be at the studio. Changbin just had to get a little too carried away, not even noticing or simply just not caring about his actions towards you.

He had just slapped your ass, completely absentmindedly. Nobody else in the room but you two, thank God, or else anyone else would've been able to read you like a book. You have been harboring the fattest crush on Changbin for the longest time but you're just friends.

You weren't even necessarily closer to Changbin than any of the other boys but you often found yourselves alone together. The first time you ever hung out just the two of you, the crush developed in your chest and you have been down terribly bad ever since.

He pulls the headphones back onto his head and you stay in your spot, leaned over the desk. He was showing you a part of a song that he had been working on for the past thirty minutes and finally made it sound the way he wanted. You told him it sounded good and he said thank you while gently patting your backside.

It would've been an otherwise innocent gesture if A) you didn't have a massive crush on him and had been soaking wet since you got alone with him, B) you didn't notice how big his hand felt against your ass, and C) you weren't the biggest pain slut in the world.

He didn't even hit you hard enough to hurt but the action itself was enough to remind you that he could. It was enough to make you imagine how his hands would feel.

"Binnie?" You speak up and look down at him, his gaze is focused on his screen and his headphones are on his ears but he still senses you looking at him. He quickly pauses the music and pulls the headphones down around his neck.

"You need something?" He asks and you clear your throat before speaking up, trying not to sound as pitiful as you feel.

"Do you have a water bottle?" You ask and he shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet.

"No. Here go to the vending machine though. Bring one back," he hands his wallet to you and you take it from him.

"Yes sir," you reply and walk out of the room towards the vending machine. You fail to notice the way Changbin's breath hitches in his throat at the comment.

You get to the vending machine and open his wallet, putting two dollars in and getting the water bottles. When you go to close the wallet, something falls out.

"Shit," you bend down to pick it up and freeze right before your hand grabs the wrapper on the ground. A condom. Not just any condom, you would notice that gold wrapper anywhere. A magnum.

You gulp and grab the condom, stuffing it back into his wallet. You can't stop your brain from going to the worst route it could pick for you in your state and you start imagining Changbin's cock. A magnum? He's big enough for a magnum? The thought alone has you biting down on your lip and letting your mind wander as you make your way back to the studio.

"Here," you speak up. Changbin's back is to his computer now and his headphones are off while he's typing on his phone, facing the couch you have been sitting on for most of the night.

He looks up and hold his hand out as you toss the water bottle to him and then his wallet. He catches both with ease, hot.

You feel your face heat up and quickly open the water bottle, taking a few gulps.

"You okay, pretty? You look a bit flushed," His eyebrows drop and your heart speeds up at the nickname and the question. He always calls you flirty little nicknames, most of the boys do, but right now it was too much for you to disregard or tease about as your face gets even hotter.

"Y-yeah. Just a little bit warm," you confess. You clear your throat again but your eyes stay locked on Changbin's.

"I have a question," he suddenly speaks out and looks down at his phone again, breaking eye contact. You appears to be typing on his phone again.

"Okay," you reply, anxiety bubbling in your stomach.

"Did you like it when I spanked you?" His words catch you off guard and you choke on air, coughing a few times and reaching for your water.

"W-what?" you stutter and take a gulp of your water, soothing the burn in your throat. He puts his phone back down and looks up at you again.

"Lix told me something about you the other day and I was testing a theory," he replies and stands, making his way over to you. He kneels in front of you, pushes your thighs open, resting his hand on either one of your knees.

He reaches forward and rubs a thumb up where your cunt is dripping and you inhale a sharp breath at the contact. He nods in approval before standing back up and leaning over you, making you lean back on the couch. His arms are on either side of your head and you can't stop your gaze from observing his perfect biceps and chest right in your face.

"Look at me," he commands and you immediately obey, turning your face to lock eyes with him.

"You're pretty. I'm never joking when I tell you that or call you pretty. I would love to see you ruined under me," he suddenly speaks and your mouth drops open in shock at his words.

"Then ruin me. I know what Felix told you. It's true. I do want you and yes I used to have a dominant," you confess. You already know what Felix told him since you had just recently confessed this to him when you had been drinking too much.

"What do you like?"

"I like pain. I like to cry," you confess, your voice low as he leans in closer to you. His arms flex as he puts more weight on them and you can't help thinking about how easy it probably is for him to just toss you around like a ragdoll.

His hand trails down your body until he reaches the top of your shorts and he stops. He pulls his hand back slightly before landing a slap to your soaking pussy. A moan leaves your throat and your head falls back against the back of the couch. He hand settles on your thigh, preventing you from letting your legs close.

"You want me to use you, pretty? Use you until your body is spent? Use you until the only thing on your mind is my name?" His lips brush against yours when he speaks and you have to stop yourself from moaning at his words. That's exactly what you want.

You lean forward and bite gently on his plump lower lip, "I want you to use me until we get a noise complaint," you speak up and he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours.

Hyunjin:

"You want to play a card game?" You suggest to Hyunjin and he nods eagerly. Everyone else had turned in for the night but you and Hyunjin were still having a good time and weren't ready for bed yet.

"Do you have any here or do we have to go to my house?" you joke and he stands and opens a cabinet, where there were many stacks of board games but only a normal deck of cards.

"I have regular cards but that's it," he replies and you stand, grabbing your sweater and slipping it on then grabbing your keys.

"Looks like we're going on a field trip. I have a bottle of wine if you want to help me drink it too," you suggest and Hyunjin smiles, pulling his own hoodie on and you both slip your shoes on before walking out the building and making your way to your house. It was only about a five minute walk so you often would just walk between the two houses.

This is the first time you and Hyunjin have been alone together in a while. Well at least since you accidentally hooked up...

How does one accidentally hook up with someone, you ask? Well, a big group of both your and his friends and the boys' friends went and stayed at the beach in a beach house a few months ago.

Because there was a few more people than there were beds so some of you had to double up in a bed. You were at the store with one of your friends when they made the sleeping arrangements and somehow you ended up getting partnered in the bed with Hyunjin.

You didn't think you were attracted to Hyunjin in that way until you were faced with him at night. Sure, he's a handsome dude and everyone knows it but you didn't realize just how handsome he was until you were laying in a bed with him.

It was the last day of the vacation and you had just settled into bed, scrolling on your phone when Hyunjin came out of the ensuite bathroom, just sweatpants and obviously no underwear. His dick print was basically screaming at you and it took everything in your power to not look.

He had water droplets all over his chest and torso, his hair still dripping from the shower and you just asked him if you could fuck. Straight forward, like you always were and he agreed. He was, of course, a sex god and sent you to another realm.

The part that made it bad was the fact that everyone in the house heard you two banging and constantly brought it up, which kind of drove a wedge between you two. You drifted slightly apart after that because of your friends' constant teasing and you're hanging out again because everyone has finally decided to let it go.

You punch in your code and walk in, locking the door behind you and tell Hyunjin to go sit down on the couch, which he does. You go to your closet and grab all your card games that you have collected over the years and carry them to the living room before sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. Hyunjin melts off the couch and settles onto the floor across the coffee table from you.

"Which one, Jinnie?" you ask as you start to take all the card games out of the container that they're in. Most of them are drinking games and he mindlessly looks at all of them before you stand.

"Okay, you pick and I'll go get the wine," You suggest and walk out of the room. When you come back with the bottle of wine and two glasses, he had picked some random game and you two started playing.

A while later, the wine glasses are completely forgotten about and you're both just taking turns taking swigs straight from the bottle.

"I wanna play something else," Hyunjin suggests and looks over at the games again. A black and pink box catches his interest and he grabs it, placing it on the table while you finish cleaning up your previous game.

"What's this one?" He inquires and you chuckle as you put the other box back in the container and open the new one. 

"It's like a super raunchy truth or drink," you explain and pull out the first card.

"Have you ever had sex with a friend's partner and not told them?" You ask and Hyunjin's eyes grow wide as he immediately shakes his head.

"I would never!! That's so fucked up!" He exclaims and you burst out laughing at his reaction.

"Okay, okay, Prince Charming. Your turn," you push the box towards him. He wiggles his fingers above the cards before picking one and pulling it out.

"Have you ever had a partner refuse to indulge in one of your kinks?" His brows furrow as he reads the card and you sigh before nodding.

"God, yeah. All the time," you roll your eyes and reach for the wine bottle, wrapping your hands around the neck and bringing it to your lips.

"Really? What was it?" Hyunjin's voice is suddenly extremely curious and you chuckle at his enthusiasm.

"Um... a few different ones actually. I found out I'm into some really interesting stuff in my years of being sexually active," you joke and put the wine bottle back down and Hyunjin's hand wraps around yours on the neck of the bottle.

"Tell me," he insists and you chuckle again before glancing up at the ceiling.

"Um, the one that most people aren't into is masochism," You reply and his eyebrows furrow again.

"What is that?" He asks, his head tilting cutely to the side.

"I like to be in physical pain, sexually. Sometimes if something hurts me, it'll turn me on. Like I accidentally burned myself the other day and then I had to go get myself off because it turned me on so much. I've always been curious about wax play because heat always turns me on for some reason. Gettting burnt and stuff? Ugh. It just hurts so good," you ramble and the more words that leave your mouth, the harder Hyunjin finds himself getting.

"I'll help you," he suddenly suggests, the wine and few shots from earlier talking for him. You immediately snap your mouth shut and lick your lips.

"Hyunjin..." you start but he shakes his head, stopping you from speaking anymore.

"Hearing you say all that has turned me on so much. I just imagined your face covered in tears and you begging me to stop. I imagined all the marks left on your body afterwards and... I'm so hard right now, y/n. Plus, we've already fucked. We don't have to get past that awkwardness," he suggests and you bite down on your lip again, pressing your thighs together.

"Are you sure?" you ask quietly and he immediately nods, standing from his spot and grabbing the top of your arm, pulling you up with him. You follow along as he guides you to your room. Honestly, he's right. You already trust him and you know he wouldn't hurt you intentionally so why not?

"Hyunjin, we don't have to if you don't want to. I mean it," you try to speak again and Hyunjin turns quickly, placing his hand over your mouth and pushing you against the wall. Your body slams against the wall, making a moan reverberate through your chest.

"Stop talking. For the rest of the night, you will ask for permission before you do anything. Ask permission before you talk, ask permission before you move, ask permission before you cum. Do I make myself clear?" His tone is dripping with authority and his eyes are dark, in a way that you have never seen them.

"Crystal," you reply when he moves his hand and he gently strokes the top of your head.

"Good girl," then his lips are on yours.

Han:

"I mean he's so perfect. Like everything about him is perfect. I mean it!" you insist on video call with your friend while you put on makeup. You had came over to Han's for a date and decided to do your makeup here instead. He left the room a while ago to go work on some stuff with one of his roommates in their room so you called your friend to keep you company.

"How the penis-ing?" she asks and you burst out laughing, letting your head fall back.

"Penis-ing? The sex is so good. He's so gentle and it feels like it's like... all about me y'know? It's...nice," you bite down on your lip. Your best friend can read you like a book and she also knows all your deepest, darkest, kinkiest secrets so she already knows what you're thinking before you can say it.

"Not rough enough?" she asks, her voice going a bit quieter and you let out a sigh before leaning back in to finish your eyeliner.

"Talk to him maybe? He is so sweet. Maybe he doesn't want to hurt you, y'know? You said it's all about you so that's nice," she tries to give you advice and you look down at her again.

"Don't get me wrong! I do love it! But sometimes like... I just want to get used like a sex toy, y'know. He's so like muscle-y and he is like genuinely scarily strong. I know he could just toss me around if he really wanted to. Do you know what I'm saying?" you squint at her and she gags at the comment.

"The thought of you having sex genuinely grosses me out, I hope you know that," she replies and you roll your eyes at her before continuing your thoughts.

"How do I even bring that up? 'Hey, Hannie. I love how you have sex with me but I was wondering if maybe you could use your pretty hands and slap me around a little bit? Can you use your big muscles to throw me around? Oh and make sure to leave marks that don't go away for weeks! That's my favorite!' like I sound like a perv," you groan and she laughs, obviously amused at your predicament.

"Honestly, fuck it. Yeah say it just like that. He knows you're an idiot already so that won't surprise him," she shrugs and you flip her off and then there's a knock at the door before Jisung enters.

"Hi, jagi," his voice is soft when he enters and you grab your phone, turning your best friend to face your boyfriend.

"Hi, Jisung! I have a question. Can you fuck y/n like a sl-"

"OKAY! BYE LOVE YOU!" You yell out, quickly and hang up the call.

"What did she say?" Jisung asks with a chuckle and sits behind you on the floor, resting his head on your shoulder and looking at you through the mirror.

"N-nothing," you feel the blush rise up your neck and it doesn't help when he presses a kiss to the reddening skin.

“You’re so pretty,” his voice is muffled as he nuzzles his head into the side of your neck, making you giggle, his breath and eyelashes tickling your skin.

“You’re prettier,” you reply, almost like a reflex. You genuinely believe that he is the prettiest person in the world, even when he doesn’t think he is.

“You love me so bad,” he replies and rests his chin on your shoulder to look at you through the mirror again. You let out a sigh and nod.

“Unfortunately, that is true. But you love me worse,” you raise an eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes at you and wraps his arms around you waist. Your eyes dart down to his hands that are playing with your shirt absentmindedly. Those same pretty hands that you want to slap you and choke you.

“You really think my hands are pretty?” He asks and you nod before you freeze. How did he know you thought his hands were pretty? Did you just speak out loud?

“Did I say what I was thinking out loud just now?” You suddenly ask and your eyebrows drop to a furrow and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“It’s nice to know you think about my hands that much, though,” he winks at you through the mirror and you roll your eyes. You put your lip gloss on before leaning back into your boyfriend, resting the back of your head against his chest and looking at the two of you in the mirror.

You quickly pull out your phone, snapping a picture of the two of you in the mirror before tossing it onto the floor again.

“You love the way I have sex with you but you want me to use my pretty hands to slap you around a little bit? You want me to use my muscles to toss you around and you want me to leave marks every where that don’t go away for weeks. Is that right?” He asks, completely nonchalantly but your eyes grow wider with every statement he adds onto his sentence.

“Y-you- I- I- um,” you start to stutter out and a mischievous smirk covers his face. You start to sit up but his grip around your waist tightens, keeping you in place. The way he so easily overpowers you really puts into perspective just how strong he actually is. Just how much stronger he is than you.

“You could’ve told me that, my love. I will fulfill every single one of your wishes until the day I die,” he speaks into your ear, his eyes still locked with yours in the mirror. His hands move to the top of you shorts and hook into them before pushing them down your thighs and letting you take them off the rest of the way by yourself.

He places his hands on either one of your knees and pushes them open, exposing yourself to not only him, but to you as well. You get a clear view of your dripping pussy in the mirror in front of you. He gently drags his nails up and down your thigh and you let out a shaky breath every time he gets closer to your core. You can see your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for his touch and you quickly turn your head, looking away in embarrassment.

“I didn’t tell you to look away,” Jisung grabs your chin and turns your head harshly to look at yourself in the mirror. He finally lets his other hand inch down and he dips one finger into your begging pussy, making your eyes fall shut.

A sharp sting and slapping noise make you snap your eyes open.

“I don’t like to repeat myself,” his gaze locks with yours and you look at yourself, a red mark already forming on your cheek before your eyes make their way back to your dripping cunt wrapped around your boyfriend’s finger.

“Clenching around me so hard when I hurt you. Such a good an obedient pussy. Too bad it’s attached to such a disobedient girl,” he bites on the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and you let out a groan as he sinks another finger into you.

Felix:

“I mean it’s common for a lot of women to not cum with men. I mean most men don’t really know what they’re doing and they’re just trying to get a quick nut, y’know?” you explain and stir the pot, your back to Felix.

“Really? If the girl isn’t cumming, then what’s the point of even having sex? That’s so selfish of the man,” he replies and you chuckle.

“So you’re telling me that every girl you have ever slept with has came?” you inquire and look over your shoulder at your friend, scrolling on his phone while he waits on you to be done with dinner.

“As far as I know. I know its easy for girls to fake it though. I like to think I’m pretty talented. I have a great tongue,” he teases and you chuckle and turn your attention back to the pot in front of you.

He gives good head? God, what you wouldn’t give to experience that first hand… the thought of Felix touching you in any kind of sexual way has you dripping into your panties beyond belief.

“It’s more fun if everyone cums. Oh! That was good. I should put that in a song,” he trails off and you chuckle at the statement.

“I think Chan would be highly against that as a lyric,” you counter and reach across the stove, turning the top to simmer and grabbing two bowls to prepare the meal for you and Felix.

You grab the two filled bowls and sit across the table from him. He pours you a glass of juice before digging into the meal in front of him.

“So why do girls even have sex with men? I mean if it’s usually disappointing, then what’s the point?” He suddenly speaks up and you furrow your eyebrows for a second before shrugging and shaking your head.

“Honestly, I’m not even sure. I mean I do it, too. I think it’s kind of like that thought of ‘maybe finally he’ll know what he’s doing’ but in the end, it’s usually disappointing. Most men don’t even know where the clit is and if they do, they don’t really know what to do with it,” you explain and Felix let’s out a little sound of acknowledgment, nodding as he continues to eat.

“Has a man ever made you cum?” He suddenly asks and you shake your head, deciding to be honest with him.

“No. I mean, I have came during sex before but it was like… my job to get myself there. Does that make sense?” you ask, tilting your head to the side, which Felix can’t help but thinking is quite cute, despite the conversation.

“Like you had to touch yourself?” he asks and you nod, taking another bite.

“Thats pitiful. I would have been so embarrassed if I was him. Having to watch a girl get herself off when I’m literally right there?” He makes a disgusted face, like he was genuinely disgusted by the idea of you having to get yourself off while having sex with someone else.

“It is what it is. He used to-” you cut yourself off when you realize what you were about to say, a bit embarrassed that you were getting so comfortable around Felix.

“No. Now you have to tell me,” a smile makes its way to his face and you can’t help but mirror it before looking down at your bowl to avoid eye contact.

“He used to… fulfill one of my kinks so I let him stick around for a while. It was kind of like the lesser of two evils I guess?” you end the sentence in a question and look back up to Felix, his eyebrows raised at you.

“Can I know what the kink is? If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” you can tell he is genuinely curious but also doesn’t want to overstep.

“As long as you promise not judge me after you know,” you point your fork at him and he puts his hands up in surrender.

“Swear I won’t. I’m into weird shit,” he insists and you chuckle at him trying to make you more comfortable to tell him.

“Okay, if I tell you one of mine, you have to tell me one of yours. Deal?” you propose and he nods again. You sit your fork down and smirk a little at the memory of your ex who used to slap your pussy so well.

“I have a bit of a pain kink. He was able to give me that without it being weird. And the aftercare was so good, but he just never made me cum…” you place your chin in your hand and let your eyes wander around the room.

“I have a kink that goes hand in hand with that. I guess it’s dacryphilia? I like when my partner cries or gets teary eyed,” he says and you look over at him, his eyes already on you.

“It would appear we may be sexually compatible, y/n,” he jokes and you chuckle but you can’t help wondering again… what would his hands and tongue feel like all over you.

“Are you imagining us having sex right now? Or is it just me?” Felix’s voice pulls you from your thoughts and you tongue runs across your teeth as you nod in agreement.

“You’re not the only one,” you reply and he chuckles, leaning back in his chair to look at you better.

“I have an idea,” he suddenly speaks up, his voice impossibly deeper than before. You raise your eyebrows, prompting him to continue, as you lean on the table, folding your hands together.

“How about I make you cum so many times that you can’t think straight? So many times that it starts to hurt. So many times that you can’t tell if you’re begging me to keep going or begging me to stop?” He asks and leans forward onto the table as well, studying your expression.

“You really think you can make me cum? I won’t fake it,” you instigate and a smiles covers his face.

“Oh, I know I can, angel,” he insists, a cocky smirk on his face.

Seungmin:

You push your hips harder against Seungmin's bulge and he lets out a shaky breath, pulling one of the headphones off of his head.

"Y/n," he warns you and you freeze at his tone, "Stop it now," he concludes before pulling the headphone back over his ear. You let out a frustrated sigh and let your legs spread slightly further, pressing your core against his bulge and letting the pressure try to bring some sort of release.

Since you had originally straddled Seungmin a few minutes ago, you regretted the decision. He looks so good when he's focused and hearing the curses leave his mouth every once in a while had you throbbing. You could easily pull his cock out and ride him into the sunset right now... but you were trying your best to behave.

"Y/n is there? Tell her I said hey!" You hear Felix's voice through the headset and you chuckle. Seungmin shakes his head grumbles something about you being annoying, earning a gently slap from you.

"You two need to go ahead and get married. Your tension is crazy," You hear Han's voice and you feel yourself blush at the comment, if only they knew the truth.

You and Seungmin's relationship had escalated past the point of no return a while ago. You two have always had an undeniable tension and would often bicker but a few weeks ago, in the middle of one of your usual disagreements, Seungmin had kissed you and then proceeded to fuck you against the back of the couch in the living room.

You hear him chuckle at Han's comment but he doesn't respond. You grind against him again and you finally feel yourself winning when his hips subconsciously buck up into yours. He still doesn't take his eyes off the screen and continues to click away on the mouse.

"What did I say?" His tone is thick with annoyance and dominance and it makes you subconsciously sink into a slight subspace.

"Huh? You talking to us?" You hear Han's voice through the headset.

"No. I'm talking to y/n. She's being a fucking brat," He says it so nonchalantly before finally muting his mic and taking the headset off. He places it on the desk behind you and looks up at you for a moment.

The only light on in his room is from the monitor behind you. It casts a glow around your head, almost like an angel. He would've called you an angel had it not been for your constant and desperate rutting against him while he was playing the game. He turns his focus back to his game over your shoulder and continues to click before he speaks again.

"I told you to let me play one game and you're too desperate to even let me do that? You need cock that bad, sweetheart?" his tone is condescending and it shoots straight to your core, making you whimper.

"This isn't fair. You're turning me on on purpose, Min!" you whine and he chuckles. He knows how easily you react to his words and how wet you get when he degrades you or talks down on you.

"It isn't my fault that you're such a slut. I'm sitting here being mean to you and you're humping me like a bitch in heat," he replies, his eyes still not leaving the screen behind you. You moan again, feeling tears of frustration prick at the back of your eyes.

"Please? Just put it in, Minnie? I'll be good. I promise," your frustration bubbles over and you find yourself, begging for his cock, desperate for his touch.

"I'm supposed to believe that when you've been nothing but bad for the past hour? Behave before you get yourself in trouble," he demands, but you don't listen, instead rutting against him again. He lets out a deep groan and then a humorless laugh.

"Fine. You want cock that bad?" He asks and sits back in his chair to look at you. The way you were straddling his thighs and you only having on a t-shirt and underwear was enough for him to finally give in and let you get what you want.

You nod vigorously as a smirk covers his face he lifts his hips, forcing you to put your weight on your own knees and pulls his sweats down enough to free his painfully hard cock, already leaking with pre cum from your insistent teasing and grinding.

He grabs your hips and positions you above his cock and slides your drenched panties to the side before pulling you down in one motion, giving you no time to adjust before he starts to thrust up into you at a brutal pace.

You let out a scream as he begins to ravage you, the stretch feeling so good and so painful at the same time. Seungmin isn't small by any means and between the burn of your unprepared pussy and the tip of his cock bruising your cervix, tears were already steaming down your cheeks.

He wraps a hand around your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your neck to him. He leans forwards and bites down on your neck, making another moan leave your mouth. He chuckles against your skin and whispers out 'I knew it' before releasing your hair and grabbing both of your hips, forcing you down until your clit is flush against his pelvis and his cock is pushing into your cervix.

"This was meant to be a punishment for acting like a brat but I think you like this a little too much. Does this hurt?" He asks and experimentally thrusts up into you, pushing against your cervix again and makes your whole body jump as you let out a yelp.

"Y-yes," you cry out and he pulls you off of him slightly to give you a relief. His nails dig into your hips and you grind your hips, his cock exploring your insides for a moment and making your legs shake.

"Then why are you clenching around me and moaning like some horny slut? You really are just my pretty little whore aren't you?" He asks and suddenly stands, laying you back against the desk beside his monitor and wraps a hand around your throat before he's fucking into you again.

His hand makes it's way to your ass that's hanging off the edge of the desk and he smacks, sure to leave a mark in the morning.

"You're my favorite hole to use," those were the last words that you hear leave his mouth before your ears are ringing and you feel yourself scream out, cumming around Seungmin. However, his brutal pace doesn't pause for even a moment, forcing you to ride out your high and get sent into painful overstimulation.

"You like it to hurt, don't you, baby? I'll keep fucking you until you're crying and begging me to stop," he speaks through gritted teeth as he continues to use you on top his computer desk.

I.N:

You and Jeongin are sitting on the couch, your legs tossed over his lap and some random show playing. Honestly, you couldn't tell a single thing that was going on in the show.

You can't peel your eyes away from Jeongin's hand as he mindless plays with your fingers. His other hand is scrolling through some social media on his phone and he hasn't noticed your fixation.

He has such pretty hands. And he leaves them so nicely decorated with rings and bracelets. He'll even sometimes wear nail polish and has no problem letting you paint his nails if you're bored which just heightens the obsession that you have found with your boyfriend's hands.

You imagine them wrapped around your throat, choking you until you see stars and being able to see the imprint of his hand around your neck the next day. You imagine him forcing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and soaking them before he plunges them into your waiting pussy. You imagine him leaving handprints all over your ass and thighs that last for days from him grabbing you and hitting you.

You get lost in your thoughts and Jeongin noticed a few minutes ago that you had zoned out, which he didn't think anything of. It wasn't until you subtly rub your thighs together when he realizes you were probably not having the most pure thoughts.

"Babe?" His voice breaks you from your thoughts, making you jump slightly and a blush rises up your neck. He knows he's caught you red handed by your subconscious reaction.

"Sorry. I zoned out," You smile at him and he locks his phone, placing it on the table in front of him. He leans back and rests his head on the back of the couch, his gaze remaining on you, now looking at the show playing.

"What were you thinking about?" He suddenly asks and you don't look away from the t.v., although you can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your face.

"Nothing," you shrug and still don't face him. He reaches towards you grabs your jaw, forcing you to face him. His thumbs rubs gently across your lower lip and you have to suppress a moan at the action.

"You weren't thinking about the things my hands could do to you?" He deadpans and your eyes grow wide. How could he read you so well. A smirk covers his face and he lets out a chuckle, sitting up and letting his hand rest at the base of your neck, he was practically covering your entire collarbone with just one hand.

"You didn't even notice how you were rubbing your legs together on my lap, did you?" His fingers start to gently play with the "J" pendant on the necklace thats sitting against your neck. It's a gift he had given you a while ago and you rarely take it off. You don't reply to him, trying your best remain grounded and ignore his touch against your neck.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Your voice is quiet and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

"You're not a very good liar, y/n. What were you thinking about? My hands on your neck? I can feel your heart pounding every time I graze along your pulse..." he trails off, rubbing your neck gently with his fingers before letting his hand wrap around the column of your neck and squeezing.

A shaky breath leaves your throat and he sits up more, pressing his other hand against your chest and feeling your pounding heart.

"Yes," you confess, breathlessly and he raises his eyebrows at you. He was getting you into a space now where you would be able to admit or say whatever he wants you to.

"What else, baby?" he prompts you to continue, releasing his grip slightly and instead grabbing the back of your neck and leaning in to press a kiss to your throat. You let your head fall back to give him more access. His other moves down and rests on the outside of your bare thigh, toying with the hem of your shorts.

Suddenly, a light slap to your thigh breaks your concentration from his heavenly lips on your neck and you let out a strangled moan.

"Tell me. Tell me what you were thinking about," he rubs at the spot his hand made contact with. It was just meant to grab your attention but from the thoughts you were just having, it did much more than grab your attention.

"Harder," your voice is breathless and your boyfriend's entire body freezes for a moment. He pulls back and studies your face.

"Harder?" he raises his eyebrows at you and you nod.

"Please? Hit me again. Harder. Please?" Your words are slightly slurred and he lets out a chuckle before pulling back and landing another smack to your outer thigh, a bit harder than before and you let out a groan.

"I was thinking about your handprints all over me. I was thinking about you choking me so hard I start blacking out then I saw myself choking and gagging all over your fingers and crying. It hurts so good..." you babble and he lands another slap to your outer thigh, much harsher.

He lets out a chuckle at your pitiful state and lets his hand gently knead over the reddening flesh. Your eyes are already glossy looking back at him and he has to fight every urge to crawl between your legs and fuck you right here, right now.

"Why didn't you say that, then? I don't mind giving my spoiled slut whatever she wants. You want me to hurt you?" he asks and you immediately nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you.

"I do," you confess, still a bit foggy and he chuckles again, dragging his nails down the outside of your leg and making you whimper in response.

"How could I deny you when you look so cute like this?" He roughly grabs your face and smashes his lips into your own.

#skz #skz changbin #skz fanfic #skz felix #skz fluff #skz hyunjin #skz imagines #skz jeongin #skz minho #skz scenarios #stray kids bang chan #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids minho #stray kids seungmin #stray kids hyunjin #seungminnie #stray kids #seungmin #skz smut #skz x reader #skz stay #dom!skz #dom!straykids #stray kids headcanons #stray kids one shot #stray kids scenarios #skz seungmin #skz hard thoughts #ihave-atummyache

[lolapiastri]

his sinful secret | p. gasly

warnings: smut, heavy religious imagery and themes, a sinful amount of dirty talk, like pierre cannot stfu, heavy degredation, everyone gets head, choking, a some praise, spitting, this is like actual filth maybe being ill makes me horny idk

author's note: i'm blaming this filth on the fact that i'm under the weather rn but jesus christ be fucking warned, she's a roller coaster

pierre prided himself in his religion. it was important to him, that belief in a higher power was the faith he needed to live the life he did. it seemed the driver life was one full of jealousy, gluttony and lust, but he was determined not to fall victim to the sins like so many before him.

so he payed his dues. he went to church whenever he had a free sunday, said a silent prayer for his friends and family every night, gave thanks to the lord before every meal as a token of appreciation.

his religion wasn’t a joke to him, it never would be. it was a belief that kept him sane, kept him in order, kept some sense of purpose and responsibility in his life. it wasn’t something that he would pick and choose whether to follow or not. he was all or nothing with his belief, and he chose all.

until he met you.

you were his sin personified, his dirty little secret. whenever you two were together all thoughts of his religion left his mind, as he now existed to serve you, to worship in between your thighs, listen to your moans as if they were gospel. it was like any holy thought left his mind the second your skin brushed over his.

he never wanted to give into the temptation. he saw you as a challenge, a sign to resist sin and stay thinking holy thoughts. but when you showed up at the club in a tight white dress, hair tumbling over your shoulders as your hips swayed provocatively to the music, he knew that nothing could stop him taking you home that night, and many a night after that.

which is how he ended up knocking on your flat at 9pm on a monday evening, the day after a tough race where he just felt useless. a double dnf for alpine followed by a race without points. he felt horrible, felt like a failure, and all the comfort that his producers and members could give him could never make him feel as good as you could.

the warm orange hues of a southern french sunset lit up your apartment as you swung open the door, the golden hour glow accenting the faint highlights in your hair. you were underdressed for pierre's standards, normally revealing yourself to him in a lacy set he bought for you, or sometimes even nothing, looking like a greek statue as you left nothing to the imagination.

today was different. you weren’t expecting him; you had no warning to any chain of events about to follow. so you opened the door to show yourself in a white linen shirt, almost certainly his, that was so large on you it was practically a dress, that you had been lounging around your flat in.

pierre didn’t care, however, thinking you were still as stunning as ever. the white made your tanned skin seem darker, and with a few buttons undone your cleavage was truly out on display, a teaser at what he would truly see later. a pair of large hoops hung in each ear, with a small chain around your neck with ‘10’ engraved on it finishing the look. he loved that necklace, a sign that you and him had some kind of connection, even if it was only through a piece of jewellery.

“you alright?” you asked, eyes scanning from head to toe. it was rare for pierre to show up without telling you, if he ever had. there was a silent agreement that he would let you know when he needed to release energy, to be in your presence, to succumb to the sinful energy you supposedly emitted.

he shook his head. “fucked the race yesterday. now wanna fuck you.”

and there it was. the switch that flicked where pierre ignored his religion, ignored the purity and goodness he was supposed to uphold, and you became the deity he worshipped.

his hands grabbed your face as he pulled you into a needy kiss, calloused fingertips rough against your smooth skin. the kiss held a thousand emotions: anger, upset, disappointment, lust, love, and enough passion to knock you back on your feet, needing the stability of pierre's hands to stay upright.

he always kissed you like it was his last on earth, like he may never get to do this again so he was going to savour every second of it. and he was so passionate - maybe because he was annoyed, maybe because he was stressed, or maybe because you were the only person who got to see this pierre. this raw, untamed, animalistic pierre who you adored seeing so much.

he slowly edged you back into your room, hips pushing against yours ever so slightly, enough to encourage your hips up against his, creating the tiniest bit of friction to ease the growing need between your thighs. you heard him shut the door behind you, never once taking his lips off of yours, befor his hands slid from your face to your neck.

you let out a quick gasp as he squeezed into your skin, feeling him smirk into the kiss as your breathing got shallower and shallower. he often did this. pushed your boundaries as far as he could push them. watched as your slowly cracked under the euphoric torture he performed on you.

he pulled back from you, letting out a chuckle as you chased his lips. he looked down, easily towering over you, a look of fake-pity etched all over his face.

“look so pretty with my hands wrapped around your neck, huh?” he asked, almost certainly a rhetorical question as he squeezed that slight bit harder, looking down at your thighs rubbing against each other, determined to find some relief from the ache in your core. “and you love it as well, love it when i choke you, when i treat you like a slut.”

his words went straight to your core, and you couldn’t rebute them without the lie showing all over your face. pierre eased up on your neck, hands now trailing down your body, over your rib cage, counting down with such an intent focus you would think it’s the first time he’s ever seen your body.

“wearing my shirt, must have missed me?” he asked, tone nonchalant but undertone the opposite. the agreement is that you don’t miss each other. you don’t have feeling for one another. you fuck. that’s it.

you took in a deep breath as one hand crawled under the white linen and felt the material of your underwear. lace, of course. pierre's favourite. you were aware of how his race went yesterday, and you were planning on sending him some photos to ease the pain. you did that often, when things weren’t going so well for him in the f1 world, a little pick me up in the form of barely lit lingerie pictures and videos of you moaning his name.

“never,” you teased, your hands rising over his shirt, pulling it off his body and exposing him in all his glory.

my god, was he stunning. you had never seen another man like him, one so broad and muscly yet slim and defined. his skin had grown darker in the past few weeks, undertone becoming more and more golden as his hair lightened under the european sun. he’d been keeping his hair long lately, and though you weren’t a fan at first, when you gripped it while he was your legs it was safe to say it grew on you. his eyes had a chill behind them, one only you were lucky enough to see, which told you that he had one hundred wonderful and wicked ideas to try out with you.

“white lace?” he questioned, having a peek under the shirt, the colour not normal for you. pierre liked navy, so that was what you normally wore, as well as black and red. he didn’t even know you owned a white set, and he had seen a lot of lingerie on you.

you hummed. “you like it?”

he loved it. loved the way the white material contrasted your skin, the way the quickly fading light bounced off it making you glow, the way he could already see the wetness collecting from your arousal. and most of all, he loved the way you looked angelic in it, look like the heavens yourself had sent you, because nothing you ever did was angelic. you were never angelic when you sucked him off, let him fuck you into oblivion, enjoyed being degraded and teased, and when you dressed the part, it somehow made everything more dirty for him.

“would love it more if you got on your knees.” the suggestion was an order, and of course you obeyed, sinking into the cold wooden floor of your bedroom and looking up at him with blinking eyes.

he looked majestic, light pouring out from the window behind him. and when he went to unbuckle his belt, your mouth already starting salivating in preparation, knowing what was coming. pierre must have been able to sense your eagerness, as he let out a wry chuckle looking down on you.

“always so fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?” all you could do was nod in response, leaning forward as mark slid his trousers down to pull his dick out from his boxers.

you were still in awe every time you saw his cock. sure, you’d been big dicks before, but pierre's was something in of itself. it was as majestic as his body was, and taken care of the same way.

you went to take it in your mouth, but pierre quickly tangled a hand in your hair and pulled you back, letting out a soft chuckle as a pout appeared on your lips.

“honestly, i don’t fuck you for two weeks and you forget all your manners. you think you just get to suck my cock? you think you’re worthy of that? dumb little girl.” his degrading words went straight to your core, you having to resist the urge to squeeze your thighs together as you looked up at him pleadingly.

“please, pierre,” his hand tilted your head up, nothing stopping your eyes from baring into his, seeing the devilish glint in his eye, “please.”

“please what? come on, good girls know how to beg properly,” he teased, watching down evilly as you whined at his harsh words.

you took in a deep breath. “please let me suck your cock, pierre.”

he nodded. “keep going.”

“please, just wanna make you feel good. please let me suck it, all i wanna do,” you were unravelling, slowly losing any previous willpower you had to resist his charm, diving headfirst into the depths of hell you two created together. it was a beautiful chaos, a place the two of you could completely unravel and just be morsels of sex and passion. “please, pierre, just want your cock in my mouth.”

“fuck, your such a whore for me. never seen such a lovely girl want cock so bad. but you’re not a lovely girl, are you?” you nodded, so desperate for him. “that’s right, baby, you’re a desperate little slut who’s only thought is dick, so why don’t you show me how much you love this one, yeah?”

his words would be the death of you. they were your bible, you would have done anything he asked you do when he was speaking in that deep, honey tone, french accent getting thicker and thicker as he lost himself in the moment. whatever he preached in church, said as he prayed, these were the opposite of that. these were the thoughts that hid in the back of his mind until he was around you, and then they were an unstoppable spew of sin and lust and as many other unholy emotions he could think of.

you sunk down on his cock as soon as you had permission, taking as much in as possible before starting to bob your head, swirling your tongue when you rose to the tip of his dick. he let out a deep groan when you choked around him, his length still too big even after a few months of sucking him off. his hand tightened around your scalp, guiding you up and down and up and down.

you pulled back to catch a breath, a string of saliva still attached to his dick, creating a link between you. pierre watched as you licked it up, before replacing your mouth his your hand, throwing his head back as your thumb rubbed over his tip.

“tell me how much you love this cock, baby,” he grunted, his words not surprising to you. when everything seemed to be going wrong in his life, pierre thrived on the praise of others. his parents, his mechanics, his engineers, and in this state you. any words that made him feel appreciated, needed, loved, he thrived on.

“love it so much, baby,” you panted, “so so much.”

and with that you started sucking again, still using your hand on everything you struggled to fit. his breaths got shallower and shallower as you kept going, feeling the muscles in his chest tensing as he got closer and closer to his high.

“look at you on your knees for me,” the hand in the back of your hair tilted your head towards the mirror you had in your bedroom, and the sight was one you were sure would be engraved in your memory for years to come.

it was like a renaissance pairing, the way the two of you looked. both glowing in the sunset light, sweating clinging loose strand of hair to your foreheads. pierre's mouth was hung open, defined abs clenched, looking completely gone with pleasure. your back was arched while on your knees, thighs clenched together as your mouth swallowed pierre down, tears slowly building in your eyes, threatening to break loose and paint your cheeks with mascara stained water.

“want me to finish in your mouth?” he groaned, obviously so near to the edge. but he always asked. no matter how intense anything was, pierre always asked.

you hummed in agreement around his cock, sending vibrations through the sensitive skin and bringing his orgasm that little bit closer. he took complete control now, fucking your face with sporadic, wild thrusts, before pulling back and waiting for the orgasm, your hand guiding him through it.

“open your mouth, baby,” he grunted, on the brink of the most sinful euphoria he could feel, “stick your tongue out for me- there you go. pretty little slut on her knees for me. never seen such a beautiful girl act like such a whore-”

and with that he came, covering your tongue and lips with his cum, groaning as he finally got the high he’d craved after the last two weeks. you carried him through it, keeping your mouth open until he’d completely finished.

“show me your tongue, baby,” he panted, a maniacal laugh appearing when you eagerly showed him your face. “god, you’re so good for me, you look so pretty covered in my cum, huh? go on, look at how messy you are for me.”

you turned you back to the mirror, and you got a proper look at how gone you were. your tongue was still out, eyes dazed over, nose to chin covered in pierre's cum, with your cheeks stained with mascara tears.

he pulled your head back, forcing you to look back up at him, before he leant over and spat in your mouth, the most sinful action of the night.

“swallow it up, yeah, there you go,” he almost whispered, and you did as he said, taking everything he had given you and the rest that he swiped in from your cheeks. “god, you’re always such a good girl for me.”

he was always softer after an orgasm, like he suddenly became aware of how harsh his words were, how you could easily take them the wrong way. you never did, but you appreciated the effort, and you appreciated him.

wait. no you didn’t.

“up you get, baby,” he cooed, helping you stand up and immediately wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying your through your flat like it was his own. he had spent so much time here it might as well have been.

he placed you down on the bed, letting you lean against the frame as he dimmed down the lights, leaving the room in a small, romantic glow. he finished undressing himself, before finally turning all of his attention to you.

this is where it became a sin.

see, pierre didn’t believe that pre-marital sex was a sin. well, whether or not it was he was more than happy to partake in it. what was a sin, however, was worshiping false deities. yet that’s exactly what he did to you.

after the agression you had just experienced, pierre knew it was time to turn his attention to in between your thighs, somewhere he could sit for hours and never get bored. it was a form of worship, how he treated you, one that he could never admit to the universe, a secret shared between the two of you.

his hands ran up your bare thighs, kneading them as his mouth followed, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses along your skin. your legs spread automatically, a sigh of pleasure already coming from your mouth, just the motivation pierre needed to keep going.

"fuck, baby," he gasped, as one of his fingers stroked over your panties, feeling your sticky wetness caused from pierre's dirty words earlier, "fucking soaked for me, huh?"

"yes," you sighed as one of his fingers found your clit, making ever so light circles over the lace, "only for you, pierre."

"i know, baby, god you look so beautiful like this."

and he wasn't lying. with your back arched, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, his shirt bunched up around your ribcage so he could see the rise of fall of your stomach as your breathing got shallower. he thought you were majestic, undenyable beauty, something to be worshipped.

so that's what he did.

he pulled your panties off and dived straight into your pussy, nose hitting your clit as his tongue worked wonders, lapping up the wetness and causing pornographic sounds to emit from your throat. god, was he good at eating you out, and when he added to fingers and curled them against that spot inside of you, you knew you were not lasting long.

"baby- oh my god, pierre- i'm gonna cum," you whined, hips bucking so much pierre had to use one of his arms to hold you in place.

pierre chuckled against your clit, the vibrations just bringing you closer to the edge. "yeah, i'm making you feel good."

"so good, pierre, so so so good."

and that was enough for him. sometimes he would make you beg, have you crying from the edging he would put you through, but he knew he was harsh earlier, and you had been so good your deserved to come.

"come for me then, baby," he grunted, fingers speeding up their pace, "come all over my fingers, make a mess of me, baby."

he words tipped you over the edge, the feeling of euphoria washing over you as pierre carried you through your high, breathing finally slowing down as pierre abandoned your pussy and staring leaving open mouthed kisses against the soft flesh of your thighs.

"think you can go once more for me?" he asked between kisses, and however tired you were you always wanted to please him, always wanted to make him feel good.

so you pulled him over you and braced yourself as he pushed inside of you, the stretch making you hear colours as his lips finally connected with yours for the second time that night, tongue exploring your mouth until he was fully inside of you.

"never gonna get over how good you feel wrapped around me, baby," he mumbled against your lips, pleasure evident on his face, "so fucking warm and wet, this pussy was made for me, wasn't it?"

you couldn't even respond, mouth stuck in an o-shape as he began to thrust in and out, his tip hitting your cervix as he picked up the pace.

"don't know what i would do without this cunt, think i would go insane not knowing this is always here for me, because it is, isn't it? this is my pussy."

pierre told himself he would hold back but he just couldn't help it, the feeling of being inside of you driving him crazy as his hips snapped against yours. only pierre's sinful words and the sound of skin against skin filled the room now, the feeling ever so dirty and sinful, just the way you both liked it.

"my fucking pussy to do whatever i want with, my playtoy, that's what you are, yeah?" he teased, and all you could do was whine in response as you grew closer and closer to your second orgasm.

"just a set of holes for me to use, aren't you? can't even speak because i'm fucking you so good, huh? just a cumdump for me, a slutty, pretty, cumdump. you want my cum, my pretty little whore?"

all you could do was nod, hoping that was enough for pierre right now. he chuckled, but you could tell he was close by the way his thrusts were growing irregular. and he could tell you were close by the way you clenched around him.

"you wanna cum? tell me who's making you feel this good."

you mustered up all the energy you had left to speak, hoping the words came out of your mouth. "you, pierre, only you can make me feel this good."

"tell me you belong to me," pierre didn't even know what he was saying at this point, the words leaving unconciously, his sinful desires becoming more and more evident in the world.

"i'm yours, pierre. every part of me is yours, i belong to you. god-"

"yeah, that's right, i'm your fucking god," he grunted, and that word, even though it's not what you meant, made both of you come undone together, a moan leaving both of your mouths as pierre collapsed against your chest, chests rising and falling as you attempted to calm down.

pierre pulled out, ever so gently, and knelt on the floor at the end of the bed, watching as some of his cum escaped from your swollen pussy. gently, he used his finger to scoop it up, and push it back into your cunt, before leaning back over to meet your lips in a kiss.

"thank you," he muttered, "for this. hope i wasn't too harsh."

you chuckled. "a little, but you know i like it. shit, though, i would have called you god sooner if i knew it would get that reaction."

with those words, pierre froze. those words should have never been said, should have never been put into the universe. it reminded pierre of his sin, of everything you tempted him towards. with no other option, he chose to escape your lustful allure, and made a mental note to pray tonight.

"gotta get back to the office, usami will be expecting me," pierre left one final kiss on your cheek before leaving.

you pouted, so many unspoken words floating on your tongue. stay. be mine. i love you. yet none of them were said, instead sending him a sad smile before grabbing your phone from your bedside table, just hoping deep down he felt the same way.

if only you knew you were just his sinful secret.

#f1 smut #formula one smut #formula 1 smut #formula 1 blurb #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #pierre gasly #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly blurb #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 x reader #f1 fic

[lustlovehart]

scara has been the boy of the month for so long now i am just so desperate for sfw scara content id kill for any crumbs

A/n: Wasnt sure if you meant Wanderer or Scaramouche, so I sorta assumed you meant Scaramouche.

Summary: The ballader has quite the habit, and you're curious as to how deep into it he is, so you take it upon yourself to find out.

Warnings: I don’t think there’s anything?

Scaramouche has always had this odd habit of... Staring at you. At the begining you found it quite odd, but as time went on you didn't seem to be bothered too much by it, in fact, it'd be unnerving if he wasn't staring at you for once.

When you're not around for him to look at, his eyes will always fall on to something that reminds him of you, whether it be a book you had an acute interest in, or a mess you had left in his room because you had went out in a hurry. To him, if you're not there by his side, perhaps the next big thing is to cling onto whatever remnants you had left behind for him.

Whenever you walked through the streets of Snezhnaya, you ears can't help but pick up on his subordinates whispers, the cold wind carrying them through to you.

"Are you sure Lord Scaramouche and [Name] aren’t... You know... Seeing eachother...?"

"Whenever they're together, his eyes never leave them! It's like his pupils are physically attached to them!"

"The Lord even has a picture of [Name] in his pocket, though it changes everyday… I can't tell if he switches the photo out or if he just has multiple photos of them on hand..."

“Lord Scaramouche will surely kill us if he hears what we’re saying of him! Quiet down!”

Their discussions make you pause, you’re sure most of them are just exaggerations, but nonetheless you continue with your day, it's not like you could confirm or deny these accusations, considering you yourself dont even know that status between you two.

Though, you are quite curious as to what these photos he has of you are... Perhaps you can find out, a rare harbinger meeting had been issued as of today, so maybe now is your chance.

Your shoes click against his office, the cold from outside still being felt but not too much.

Your fingers slide open the drawer of Scaras desk, while not too neat, it’s not horrendous either. Your eyes immediately catch on to a little picture book, one he had always held on to but has never let you seen through, well almost always, he never trusted bringing any valuables to meetings, lest they be discreetly taken from him by a certain banker.

When opened it seemed to be photos of you, and some trinkets and hobbies you had mentioned to him about enjoying. Coincidentally enough, they were all photos you took awhile back with a kamera you had in possession before it had broken down. Each photo has a tiny date written in the corner, as well as a little descriptions of the events that had happened.

“[Name] and me walking through Snezhnya”

“[Name] looking at flowers”

“A butterfly [Name] took a picture of, it reminds me of them”

They all weren’t too descriptive, but they warmed your heart to see anyway. Your fingers flipped one more time before you were greeted by a photo you didn’t take yourself.

“Everything I want to give [Name]”

In the photo, several items you had expressed a liking towards were in frame, some expensive and others cheaper. This time, the description had been on the back of the film, neat handwriting engraved into the back.

“If I look at them long enough, they’ll be engraved into my memory, and I won’t have to be left with nothing again.”

You’re not too sure on what he meant by it, sometimes he seems to say something cryptic to you and then never explain it ever after that.

The more you think about it, that seemed too short to be something of his that he wrote. You put the photo book back into the drawer, moving your hand to open the next one before the door swings open at an immaculate speed.

“What do you think you’re doing [Name]”

“Uhm… Waiting, for you…?” The expression his face shifts into obviously tells you he doesn’t believe it, but all he can really do is walk towards you and grab your wrist, swiftly pulling you away from his desk. “Where are we going Kuni?” The both of you quickly dash out the door, a loud thud echoing through the halls with how hard the man closed it.

“We’re getting dinner of course, having to meet with those bastards has given me a headache.”

“I don’t have money on me right now…”

“What? I’m paying for you obviously, now hurry up.”

He doesn’t need to tell you about how he knew you were looking at his belongings of you, he just thinks of how lucky he made it before you could find the drawers, filled to the brim with letters he wants to give you, all of them in which, if someone else had laid eyes upon them, would have no doubt every single page is a love letter.

You don’t need to know how weak for you he truly is, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“So, do you really keep photos of me with you all the time-“

“Stop speaking.”

———-

Scara who is super in love with reader but never wants them to know that>>

#genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin impact x reader #askves #vesperwrites

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

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#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #call of duty #mw2 #mw2 2022 #call of duty mw2 #x female reader #john price fic #john price #captain john price #captain price #cod mwii #john price x you #john price x reader #captain johnathan price #cod fanfic #cod price #cod john price #cod x female reader #captain price x female reader #x fem!reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you

[rinhaler]

hii!! i just read your jjk fics/drabbles and im literally in lovee ❤️_❤️ i was wondering if you could write barou or ryusei from bl with a crybaby/bratty virgin sister .. and they non con her into behaving !!

I LOVE Barou and as badly as I want to write him one day, I'm picking Ryusei this time. I feel like Barou drinks his respects women juice so I can't imagine him doing this 😭😭 Ryusei however...

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, noncon, reader is drunk, step/incest (not specified), praise, petnames (baby), readers pussy described as chubby :3, fingering, clit rubbing, vaginal sex, creampie.

words: 1.1k

“Who are you trying to impress?” Ryusei asks, looking you up and down as you prepare to leave your bedroom. Your friend is waiting for you, she’s taking you to meet up with your other friends so you can go and see a movie together. You tell him as much, though he looks at you sceptically.

You aren’t about to tell him there might be guys there, too.

“Change your skirt.” he commands, tugging it down. He’s a little taken aback when he feels you slap his hand away. He doesn’t comment on it though. “I don’t like this, either.” he tells you as he tugs at your tube top.

“Why not? It’s cute!” you tell him, moving away from him to check yourself out in the mirror again. It’s simple, white, with a pair of cherries embroidered in the centre.

“I can see your nipples.” he informs you, tugging it down until your tits bounce free.

“Hey!” you yelp, pulling it back up and protecting your modesty once again. You flush with heat, feeling nothing but shame and embarrassment knowing that your brother has now seen you, however briefly, in such an indecent state.

“Why are you being shy, now?” he asks. “I can still see ‘em poking through. Y’don’t care about guys seeing you like this?” he wonders. And you shake your head. “Get changed.”

“No!” you argue. “Leave me alone, my friends’re waiting for me!”

You barge by him and rush out of your room. He doesn’t get a chance to argue with you anymore before you’ve already ran down the stairs and out of the door to the safety of your friends car. He watches the two of you drive away, a glimmer of malice in his eye.

--

When you return home late, and drunk, he can’t say he’s surprised. He knew you were downplaying what your plans actually were. Getting hammered under the guise of a movie. Maybe the day started that way, maybe you didn’t know what was going to follow afterwards.

But he knew you’d be home late, especially in a little outfit like that.

“Who did you fuck?” he asks, coldly, switching on the pink, fuzzy lamp on your side table like a camp supervillain. It scares you, so much so that you jump at the sound of his voice booming throughout the room. Your heart is too busy pounding to notice how hard he’s trying to conceal the smirk on his face.

“Move, Ryu.” you groan, pushing him on your bed so that you can get under the duvet beside him. “’m drunk ‘n tired.”

He grabs the lower half of your face and forces you to look at him. Your heart beats rapidly as you see anger flame behind pretty pink hues. You’ve never seen him like this before. Not with you, anyway.

“I asked you a question.” he reminds you, his forehead presses against yours as he waits for you to answer. You aren’t sure what he wants you to say. You didn’t fuck anyone. But you worry he’ll take your answer as nought but a lie.

“R-Ryusei…” you whimper. “’m a virgin.” you confess, that very same feeling of humiliation washing over you that you had felt earlier in the day. You aren’t sure why your virgin status makes you feel so ashamed. Maybe because you know you’re the only one of your friends who hasn’t done it yet. Maybe it’s because you know Ryusei fucks a lot, you’ve met countless one night stands he’s brought home after hours that you can’t help but feel sorry for.

Instead of ridiculing you, though, he groans in satisfaction. His eyes roll back into his head as your words replay in your head.

“Good girl,” he praises you. Your eyes widen as he captures your lips with his own and he kisses you deeply. “You’re still mine.”

“W-What…” you trip over your words. “What are you doing?”

“Baby, today was too close a call,” he whispers, kissing you again. “Almost lost you today ‘cause you wouldn’t fucking listen to me.” he continues, his hand travels down your sternum and cups your chubby cunt. Delight fills him as he feels how divinely sticky your panties are.

He moves them aside, wasting no time plunging his fingers into your tight heat. You hiss, you sob as you feel his thick, heavy fingers stretch your virgin hole open for the first time.

“Ryu, s-stop!” you cry, “You’re my brother! ‘n it h-hurts…” you whimper, but he doesn’t care.

You wince as he continues pummelling his fingers into your aching hole, slow and deep. His. He watches you throw your head back in ecstasy as he stimulates your clit with his thumb. He feels him self growing harder and harder, watching you wrestle with the guilt of enjoying the touch of your big brother.

“Ryusei, p-please, stop…” you beg, but he won’t listen.

“You don’t mean that.” he tells you. He’s your big brother, he knows best. And better still, he knows what he wants. How can he expect you to behave and listen to him if he stops now. He pulls his hand away from your slippery flesh, tasting them briefly before shoving his fingers into your mouth. You dare not argue as he looks at you with a determination you only see when you attend his football games. So you suck, beautifully. “Good girl… wanna know something?”

You nod, humming sweetly as you continue to suck and lick his fingers clean.

“Don’t care if it hurts… don’t care if you don’t want it.” he warns you, spreading your legs apart as he climbs in between them. He lines his cock up with your twitching hole, teasing your entrance with his tip. He pushes in and out, softly, barely pressing in at all before he finishes talking. “Your little cunt needs to know who she belongs too.”

And with that, he bullies his cock into you. All of the way to the hilt until he’s snuggled inside of your warm wet walls. He holds your face and doesn’t let you look away as he destroys your virgin cunt. His thick cock batters against your sweet spot repeatedly and he can’t allow you to look away from what he’s doing to you.

Despite your whining, despite your protests.

He wants to see how your face contorts as you’re despoiled by your big brother.

You hate how he rubs your clit so exquisitely, so celestially, while he jackhammers his length into you. He cums with a strained moan and you hate that he somehow forces you to do the same.

Your once pure slot now wholly impure, stained with your elder brother’s sperm as he ejaculates rope after rope into your tremoring walls. And despite being so rough, so uncaring, he gifts you with a romantic, soft kiss.

“Don’t defy me again,” he warns you. “You’re not a virgin anymore, I’ll be rougher with you next time.”

© 2023 rinhaler

#💌 — luxe mail #📨 — requests #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #shidou ryusei #ryusei shidou #ryusei shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #blue lock smut #shidou ryusei smut #ryusei shidou smut #bllk smut #bllk x fem!reader #tw virginity loss #tw noncon #tw alcohol consumption #tw stepcest #tw:incest

[1800titz]

18+

potteryinstructor!Harry who has bulging arms covered in ink, and a fun little, red-tinted pearl earring dangling from one ear, and dried clay over his lengthy fingers all the way up to his forearms.

He owns the unit below his apartment, but instead of a restaurant or a bar the staircase from his front door leads down to a pottery shop. It’s tucked away in a busy plaza downtown and when he washes his hands in one of those big utility sinks in the back the muck rinses away to reveal red polish decorating his nails.

The first time Y/N meets him she’s just wandered into the store alone — it’s empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels to admire the variety of little statues adorning the shelving, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and some lopsided efforts that probably deserve one of those meme you trieded stickers. She’s just about to head out, but then a very, very — ludicrously, practically — handsome man steps out from some room in the back, bi’s and tri’s working with rigid muscle as he wipes his hands off into a navy little rag. His skin is tanned and clean but streaks of dry clay still coat his white graphic tee. The gray staining on white feels sort of like a sin, but something about his nonchalant nature in the way that he regards her gives her the impression that he doesn’t really give a fuck.

potteryinstructor!Harry who convinces Y/N to hop on the wheel for a lesson because he's bored, and she's pretty, and no one's come in for the last two hours, and he's just been messing with clay. Who tells her, “Take your bracelet off for me,” in this totally innocuous manner, solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry, but the way he tacks on the for me in combination with his sexy, sexy, sexy demeanor has this warmth blooming in Y/N’s chest.

potteryinstructor!Harry whose jade irises bounce from the lump of clay as he cups over her palms with his own warm grip and works it into a shapely cylinder to her own concentrated expression.

potteryinstructor!Harry who manspreads on the little stool across from her and explains the different stages of pottery making, who laughs softly when he stands up and turns away for a second and the cylinder Y/N’s cradled starts to wobble and collapse, who helps her by pressing his much larger hands back over her own and sculpting it back up into something more even.

potteryinstructor!Harry who makes charismatic small talk — who the fuck can manage to make small talk charismatic? — cheek propped in his hand behind the counter as he watches her shape the clay.

potteryinstructor!Harry who doesn’t disrupt Y/N’s work as she carves swirls into the clay after its torched despite the fact that the shop has been closed for half an hour.

potteryinstructor!Harry who does great work with his hands on a wheel and possibly even greater work with his fingertips roaming between her sticky thighs. Who sinks the digits into her and thumbs over her clit. Who licks a stripe from the outer border of her collarbone all the way to her ear, nipping back down over her jugular.

potteryinstructor!Harry who bends her in half and grapples over the back of her left hip with his right hand as he tucks his cock into her, whose red-lacquered fingertips scratch at her scalp when he bunches her hair, when he tugs on it as he twists her head to the side to share a sloppy, open mouthed kiss, licking into her mouth. Who switches positions and sits back in a chair and coaxes her until she’s leant back with her palms propped over the sturdy muscles of his thighs, who cradles over her throat with ring-covered digits and seemingly effortlessly ruts up into her, brows pinched and strawberry mouth parted in ecstasy.

potteryinstructor!Harry, potteryinstructor!Harry, potteryinstructor!Harry.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles concept #harry styles smutty concept #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #fic idea

[themaclean]

We Don't Have To Be Friends (2/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 4,244 words, Post Season One -- character study with porn. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two | Part Three <

If Cooper were an honorable man, he wouldn’t have yanked Lucy’s hair like that.

That thought had buried itself deep into the back of his mind as he wound and unwound the stained rag in his hand. He remained on the marked table in the corner of the hotel room, the evening air musty but quiet. Dogmeat had taken to the bathroom when they’d arrived and Lucy…

His brow twitched as he adjusted his shotgun, his thumbnail dug into the etchings on the side.

Fuckin’ Lucy.

His hand flexed at the thought of her soft hair tight in his grip.

If he were half the man he’d been before the bombs fell, he’d never have done it. Never even thought to do it.

But then she’d slung the word ‘family’ around and started making assumptions about his life. Call it gut instinct or benign cruelty, whatever you like, but he needed her to back off. He didn’t have the words to make her back down, as everything became a debate or a conversation like she needed to know every little thing.

Without words, there aren’t many options left.

He yanked her hair to make his point and shoved her away just as quickly. She hadn’t cried or shouted or done much of anything. She just gawked at him like a child who’d never been scolded, and then she shot off to the bathroom.

Lucy hadn't come out of the bathroom yet.

But then the mental math kicked in, of how the world is how it is now, and it’s hard to care much about honor. It’s that back-and-forth of how he could have done much worse and how he’d gone easy on her, really.

He flexed his fingers around the phantom ache in his palm, that whipcrack decision to push into her space. Worse yet, it wasn’t anger or frustration that spurred him on. It was the underlying hunger that held a light hand against the back of his head, pushing him towards the living.

He thought he might bite into her, to savor her, but he hadn’t.

This time, at least.

During his stint as a Hollywood heartthrob, his friends traipsed with whatever starlet they could get their talons into; Cooper loved Barb. Never strayed, never so much as looked at another woman with intent. He’d been the model husband and kept himself trained on Barb.

All for her, everything for her.

He loved her so much he'd been blind to the shit she'd helped make happen within Vault-Tec. That's its own phantom ache, how being a loving husband rippled out to the end of America as he knew it.

But he isn't in the old world. He isn't even married to Barb; he hadn't been since before the bombs dropped. Divorce, alimony, public humiliation, the loss of his status after Vault-Tec caught on that he’d heard too much.

And yet...

After two hundred years, it’s not living anymore; can’t be. You get numb to the tastes and smells of things and nothing is new anymore. There’s no novelty, no experience you haven’t had. Except in how people die, he supposed. But the day-to-day of life for two hundred years became something else a long while ago.

It's pure instinct, doing whatever you think will best serve you in the moment. Everyone you know dies, and you stop attending funerals or even sticking around long enough to see if they leave flowers for the fallen. Not really any flowers anymore, come to think of it.

With enough time, you can forget most people.

Maybe that was what made the empty thoughts so tempting -- the ones that told him to bite down on Lucy's throat and tear her apart. It wasn't like the zombie shit you see in the movies where it's a switch, where you die and come back with a hunger for brains.

That hunger guided him, even now.

“I wanted to apologize.”

Cooper’s jaw ticked to the side, his head twitched to shake out the instinct to growl. “No.” His gaze flicked up from the shotgun to Lucy’s slim silhouette in the cracked bathroom door. 

“You can’t just say no,” Lucy said with a scoff. “Look, I clearly overstepped and upset you. So, I’m sorry if I was prying or pushy. I won’t bring up — that, again.”

Cooper rested his forearms on the edge of the table. The girl had the survival instincts of a goddamn cat curled up in a wheel well in the middle of winter.

“So, I’m sorry. Do you accept my apology?”

“Y’ain’t ever let a thing lie in your life, have you, girl.”

Lucy gave a tight-lipped smile and a slight shrug as if that were a point of pride. “When you’re in a vault, it’s kind of hard to hold a grudge. You have to see people every day and depend on one another, so you — you have to talk it out.”

Cooper’s gaze rolled to the ceiling as he begged for whatever powers above to give him strength. He let the silence sit between them as he clicked his shotgun back into place and ensured a few rounds were ready to go.

He roughly scratched at his neck before he popped his hat back on. His joints clicked and cracked as he got to his feet, the day’s aches setting in. In a few long strides, he set his shotgun on the bedside table.

In all this time, he refused to look at her, even as she implored him with those wide hazel eyes.

“We’ll take shifts,” he said, flat on his back in one heavy thud. He angled his hat over his face, though he could see the door to the room if he tilted his head just right.

“You can’t go to sleep mad.”

Cooper exhaled into the hollow of his hat. “I ain’t mad.”

“You are.” Before Cooper could do much about it, she’d snatched his hat off his face. She stood beside the bed, his hat held hostage as she stared down at him. “I can tell.”

“Yeah, I’m startin’ to get mad; you’re onto something,” Cooper shoved himself onto his elbows, unhappy with her looming over him. He shifted his weight, and his legs snapped out over the edge of the bed. She didn’t have a chance to adjust, now stuck between his knees.

Lucy held his hat high as if he couldn’t stand up and take it back from her. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to have a hostage situation; I just need to know we’re okay.”

“Why’s it so fuckin’ important to you, that we be friends or — or somethin’?”

“Why’s it important..?” Lucy made a raspy noise from the back of her throat as she tried to hold the hat higher. It was pathetic to watch, in all honesty. As if it were something worth bargaining for. “Because it’s about teamwork and caring about each other. And we have to trust each other.”

“Trusting you to keep watch while I sleep is plenty enough to show I trust you,” Cooper said, his tone flat. He wasn’t sure he should trust her now, given how erratic she was being over something as petty as him accepting her apology.

“What if—“ Lucy rolled her lips between her teeth, something painful going on behind her eyes. “What if you decide you don’t need me around and leave me? Then what do I do?”

Cooper caught her hip in the flat of his palm, and his fingers dug into her cotton-clad flesh.

“It happened before, and — and don’t think I forgot how you wouldn’t give me water, and how you sold me for drugs, and — I know there’s going to be a day when we fight and you decide I’m worth more as a bartering chip than as… As someone that you care about.”

“Give me my hat back, darlin’.”

Lucy strained her arm into the air, her gaze fixed down at him. “Just, promise me you aren’t going to hold a grudge and… And that we’re a team, or co-workers, or something.”

Cooper felt his patience hit critical mass as the hand on her hip shifted her weight to pivot her onto the bed. It wasn’t hard to do, to shift his free hand to her throat as he hovered above her.

“Now, darlin’, I hate to say it, but you are bein’ five kinds of hysterical right now.” His grip on her throat wasn’t hard, with most of his weight on his knees and by her hip. His index finger toyed with the hard column of her throat, gentle enough to not hurt her.

Lucy looked strangely relieved by the shift in position. All the prey fear in her eyes had simmered down to something patient and distant. It was like she’d been waiting for him to snap, to turn back into this facet of the man she knew. All the anticipation fizzled out to a stern word and a hand on her throat.

“All I said was,” Cooper adjusted, a deep breath taken for the sake of softness. “Don’t talk about my family. Simple rule.”

Cooper could tell it took everything in her to stay quiet, given how her muscles twitched beneath his calloused fingertips.

And then things shifted around him like he hadn’t been able to see the parts for what they were. They were alone, for one, in a cheap room in a glorified brothel. It’d been weeks since he’d been in anything close to a real bed, albeit moldy and threadbare. Lucy was pressed against him, their knees notched together, one beside the other.

Cooper couldn’t think when he’d last been in this situation. It might’ve been when he still had hair or a nose. The murky haze of shapeless bodies couldn’t compete with the warm-blooded woman with frantic abandonment issues beneath him.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

Lucy had a damn complex about being abandoned again. Hard to miss a wound that he himself bore. His jaw clicked as he caught the faint smell of soap and sweat on her skin. The cavernous gap where his nose had once been couldn’t pick up much, a small mercy, but it hung in the air between them.

Maybe it was because of a human scent, something about that ghoulish instinct to track down beautiful things and shred them with his teeth.

Lucy didn’t move to push him back, and he didn’t want to move much either. She hadn’t been so quiet since he’d first sent her sprinting to the bathroom out of fear, even though she’d come crawling back with unneeded apologies.

But then he caught it — that redoubled heartbeat as she glared up at him.

Her slim shape beneath him was as fine as any steak. He'd eaten some foul corpses and torn apart bodies to survive. He'd eaten fallen friends and pets. And the longer this went on, the easier it was to commit such acts.

But this hunger wasn't so simple.

"Cooper?" Lucy exhaled, the fine shape of her sternum taut with pale skin and bone.

Cooper trailed his fingers along the bone, dismally aware of how much force it'd taken to pry open her ribs and fish out her organs. Red and gushing and filling — but not worth it. It wasn’t worth it. Cooper’s head twitched to the side as he bit down, that malicious ache for carnage twisted up with the need to bury his cock in her.

“You wanna be something, huh?” His breathing rasped like sandpaper as his fingers slid beneath the faded white button-down.

Lucy gave him a puzzled look but nodded all the same.

His palm lay flat against his tit, in search of her heartbeat. He didn't think about how his scarred skin grazed her nipple or how her rib cage twitched in response. Force of habit drew his thumb back, toying with the sensitive bundle of nerves as a half-smirk kicked the corner of his lips up.

Lucy wouldn't even look at him. Her lips were pursed tight together as she strained her head to the side like she didn't know if she should scream or moan.

It's an unfair trade, as are most in the wasteland if you’re smart.

He's rotten and falling to pieces while she's fresh from a vault. The difference in radiation alone should be enough to make him back off, but he doesn’t care much. And neither does she from how she arched into his hand, despite how angry she looked.

"Sweet thing, your heart's going a mile a minute."

Lucy widened her eyes at him, and her head snapped towards him. “You’re touching me, of course it is.”

"Barely touched you," Cooper said, not sure be cared if it was fear or arousal.

“Sex doesn’t involve this much talking normally.”

“Normally, as per the one time you fucked your husband,” Cooper said as he continued to thumb the soft flesh of her breast. She keened into each movement, not shy or unsure as he’d feared she might be.

“You just like the sound of your own voice,” Lucy said under her breath, her eyes fluttered shut. 

Cooper had to laugh, even though he didn’t much want to. If he’d known how easy it’d be to bridge the gap between traveling companions and this, he might’ve tried something sooner.

“You’re reactive,” he said with a tweak of her nipple.

“That’s so weird and gross,” Lucy stumbled over words, her voice too thin to mean what she was saying.

"You're the one who wants to fuck a monster."

"You aren't a monster."

Cooper smirked, unable to help it. "That's the part you wanna argue?" He had her on his back and at his mercy, but she still wanted to argue for his humanity.

Lucy stayed silent, glaring up at him.

Cooper grabbed her by the hip and, in one firm tug, had her cunt flush against the hard shape of his cock through his jeans. His hand snaked from her hip to the soft spot behind her knee, pushing her leg back to angle her to his liking.

"Can we..." Lucy exhaled, her question lost as his hips canted against her.

“Can we what?” Cooper pressed harder against her, his arm twisted around her thigh so he could crack open his belt. He didn’t bother beyond unfastening it, and his jeans peeled aside enough to free himself. He couldn’t hide the hiss of satisfaction as the sensitive head of his cock met the soft fabric and heat between her legs.

“Can ghouls and…” Lucy’s words continued to stick to the roof of her mouth, her eyes trailing over him in the shadows. It was better this way, in the dark, where she couldn’t make out the rough skin and frayed edges where the radiation had hardened and rotted him.

Again, his end of the bargain was far sweeter than hers. He wasn’t sweating it, of how she might recoil and pale at the sight of his mangled flesh. It wasn’t the same as when he’d been human, but the instinct to resist her certainly faded easier.

Cooper couldn't even recall a time he'd jerked himself off. The drive to bury himself in something warm and soft had faded long ago. 

It was nice to be in a room with a lock, alone, not surrounded by sand and open air. Dogmeat was asleep in the disused bathtub, with a bunch of blankets Lucy had thrown in there for her.

Nothing to interrupt, the kid down the hall -- 

No.

Like lightning, deja vu grabbed him by the throat. His face twitched as he put his mind right. There was no kid, and this wasn't his wife. It was the uppity brat from a vault, the product of every fucked part of the old world.

“Like, are we allowed to fuck?” Cooper asked, incredulous.

“No — I mean, I… For the future of humanity,” Lucy stumbled over her words. “If I got pregnant — ”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Cooper said in a flat voice. If she was worried about some fucked up little irradiated babies, so far as Cooper knew, it wasn’t possible. 

“Oh, well, okey-dokey.”

“Okey… Jesus,” Cooper snorted.

Cooper caught the sides of her pajama pants and yanked them out of place in one firm tug. He caught her calves and set her legs over one shoulder, a hand on her ankle while the other settled on the bed beside her. From the look on her face, she was curious to see how this worked — whatever they’d been taught in the vault mustn’t go further than missionary.

In an act of pity or chivalry, he slid back, his eyes narrowed up at her. Some fucking gentleman he had to be to give a fuck, even now when she had no idea what she was after. Not really, not beyond the act of repopulating the Wastes. He hitched her thighs over his shoulders, tongue and radiation-thinned lips flush against her wet cunt.

So much wetter than she should be, given they’d done little more than grind for a few moments. He rattled out a growl from low in his throat, unable to really taste her but wishing that he could. Scent and taste were long-dead, but he’d catch moments of it, faintly, and he was buried between her folds now.

His fingers slid along where his tongue teased, and his gaze fixed up at her. She couldn’t stay still, writhing and desperate, and her pajama shirt pried free now. The slight swell of her breasts and the sharp jut of her jawline were all he could make out as he did his best to get revenge on the fucks in room five who couldn’t stop screaming.

Cooper dipped back, tonguing his lips as she twitched and tensed. “Can feel you holding back.”

“It’s — I can’t, it’s too much.”

His hand stilled. “Should I — ”

“No,” Lucy caught his head, her fingers skating over his leathery scalp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Then you stop holding back,” he said, his fingers curled inside her. “Make a mess of it, ain’t our fuckin’ bed.”

Lucy looked horrified, but Cooper didn’t stop. He kept the same pace, his fingers thudding against that spot that made her tense and shove at him. If he pulled back, she’d drag him close again. His name fumbled past her lips here and there, like she was mad at him, and he just worked her harder.

And then her thighs snapped and near cracked his damn head off, her back arched against the bed, and a desperately wet patch formed beneath his chin between them. He couldn’t hide the shit-eating smirk as he rested his cheek against her thigh, a rumbling noise of satisfaction that some things couldn’t leave you.

Cooper didn’t leave her a chance to recover, owing to the heavy throb at every little noise she made. His cock damn near hurt, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Well.

It took a moment, but he had her thighs settled around his hips as he kept it simple for her sake. It stopped being about sex or need and became something even more abstract, that hot ache for warmth and to be inside her. She whimpered with that dazed, empty-faced bliss as he caught her behind the knees. His ruined, rough hands had no place near her pristine vault-grown flesh.

And yet he had his ex-wife to thank — much obliged Barb, you fuckin’ snake. It’s a lashing thought he bit back, that constant push between loving the woman and hating what she’d done. But this was simpler, a pretty young thing slick and waiting for whatever he sought to do with her.

All the times he could have done this shit back when the world was whole. But he never would have. Not back then.

Now…

That lead-weight heat in his stomach spurred him on; a few shallows thrusts were all he could manage before he buried himself inside her. It was such a bone-deep satisfaction he couldn't recall why it'd been so long.

But then he was face to face with her, that pretty, doe-eyed shock as she played catch up with him. He caught her cheeks between his finger and thumb, pushing her head back and pouting her lips.

"This what that vault of yours taught you? Lay back and think of America?"

“It was — our duty…” 

“To get fucked?” Cooper couldn’t help but laugh, each long, slow thrust, another scratch to an impossible itch. “Bet your daddy will be real proud when he finds out you fucked a ghoul.”

Lucy mumbled in protest, her fingers digging into his forearm’s patchy flesh. She kept pace with his thrusts, the bruising bite of his fingers on her hips. His other hand remained on her face to keep her looking at him as he bore down.

Their room quickly became guttural noises, his exertion an undercurrent to her yelps and pleading noises. She clawed at his hand, the one that was keeping her honest and facing him. She didn't get to look away and pretend this was some other man fucking her.

Lucy fought against his grip, stuck between glaring and panting. The orgasm she’d squirmed through before and broken to had her dazed and gentle like she was on cloud nine. But the slow increase of pace and pressure had her writhing again like when he’d had his tongue and fingers deep inside her.

Cooper slid his hand lower, his grip fastened to her throat. He gave a few shallow thrusts before he set into a steady rhythm, focused on how damn good he felt. The tighter he pinched the sides of her neck, the tighter she got. That slick flutter of her cunt out of fear and adrenaline, of whether he'd let the blood go back to her head or not...

He really could do any number of terrible things to her, and no one would know. But she came to this seedy hotel room and lazed around and trusted him like the fucking moron she is. And he clung to what thin shred of honor he had to not hurt her beyond what she might enjoy.

It isn’t some big, beautiful moment where they rode out a climax together — it’s far messier, the juts of his hips all the warning he got as he cracked his hips closer to hers. And then there was that tug low in his stomach, the jitters in his pelvis so desperate he couldn’t catch it.

Cooper tucked his head against her neck, his teeth buried into her shoulder as he came. His fingers dug deep into the mattress, a heinous growl between gnashing teeth. They’d stopped the banter long ago, probably due to his comment about her dad — he didn’t care much. He appreciated the silence.

But she was breathing, long and soft, and his teeth were still buried in her shoulder. He couldn’t breathe as easily, a rasping, rolling sound from low in his throat. He swallowed a few times and coughed out of habit.

“You need your meds,” Lucy said, her voice drifting and gentle.

For a moment, he wanted to let go all the way. But he left it at the deep bruise on her shoulder, that crescent of teeth swelling from the pressure. He thumbed the mark and drew back, dressed enough that he was able to tuck himself away in a moment, ready to run or fight if needed.

Lucy…

Cooper coughed into the crushed shape of his fist, her body marked with his grip on her hip, her leg, and her throat. He didn’t feel anything at that, no pride, no guilt. He couldn’t even muster that satisfaction of seeing a naked woman.

Lucy’s hand dipped between her thighs, her fingers tested against herself. He’d come inside her and hadn’t really thought to pull out or ask. Another cough caught him off-guard; his mind shifted to the RadAway in his pack.

“It’s a shame,” Lucy said, a distance in her gaze. “That you couldn’t get me pregnant, even if you wanted to. I feel like you’d be a good dad.”

Cooper had no idea what to say to that.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Lucy said as she moved to get dressed. She didn’t meet his eye but didn’t seem angry.

Cooper strode over to her, his hand on her cheek and his thumb on her bottom lip. He met her eye for a long moment. He bent down to place a kiss as gently as he could manage on her forehead, the cavity of his nose bumping against the top of her head.

Lucy bounced up to peck him on the lips, so chaste you wouldn’t believe he’d just fucked her into the mattress. She smiled that same empty-eyed Hollywood smile. She touched his cheek, her thumb brushed against the hollow of his cheek and over his hairless brow.

“You aren’t mad at me anymore, right?”

“No,” Cooper said, unwilling to get back into it.

“Good.”

There isn’t any room to cuddle, not that he’d want to. Not that she would want to, either. He can’t quite make out what happened between them. But it seemed like it’d put Lucy’s mind at ease, that he wouldn’t turn on his heel and leave. Maybe this was the ‘something’ she needed from him.

Just something that they shared, something deeper than a shared destination.

Just, something.

#vaultghoul #cooper howard #cooper x lucy #my writing #lucy maclean

[kvtie444]

⋆‧₊˚ TEACHERS PET pt. 3

A/N: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18!! ITS ESCAPISM SZNNN, sorry this was late I had a bubble bath and zoned out

Summary: Reader has a new teacher and finds herself falling for him blahblahblah teachers pet by melanie vibes xoxo

Warnings: NSFW, alcohol, swearing, smut?????!!!!!!

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Madi F:

What are you doing tomorrow night? x

Navigating the familiar path to my dorm, keys in hand, I type my response with a single hand.

Y/N:

Hey! Nothing why?

Upon entering my dorm, I secure the door and toss my keys and bag onto the bed. My journey continues to the bathroom, where I prepare for bed. Placing my phone on the sink, I secure my hair with a headband as I cleanse my face, as I hear to Madi's text buzz.

Madi F:

Some of us are going clubbing. I know it's not really your scene, but wanna come? X

Contemplating the proposition while washing my face, the enjoyment of clubbing has faded, but the realization of my limited social circle nudges me to consider the offer. Another unexpected message interrupts my thoughts, expecting it to be Madi, my jaw drops upon seeing Matt’s name.

Matt S:

Did you get in okay?

His simple yet endearing message prompts a smile as I respond, tapping my nails against the screen.

Y/N:

Yeah, thank you. Thanks for the lift, by the way. Can I send you money for gas?

Returning to Madi's chat, a surge of confidence prompts me to embrace the social opportunity.

Y/N:

I think I'll come. If you want, we could do pres at mine.

A sense of pride accompanies the message. Madi's enthusiastic reply further boosts my spirits.

Madi F:

YAY!!! 😁😁🩷

After completing my night routine, I collapse onto my bed. Leaning over and retrieving Matt's book from my bag, I begin reading, engrossed in the story for hours. As the clock strikes 12:05, I get a notification with Matt's delayed reply, a smile creeps over my face.

Matt S:

No, don't worry about it. It's fine. You're a student Y/N, you need to use your money wisely.

His reminder of my student status elicits a slight frown. Seeking a change of topic, I send a lighthearted message.

Y/N:

I like the book.

Matt S:

I knew you would.

A smile graces my face, and despite my inner voice to end the conversation, the thrill of talking with him literally makes me kick my feet. I decide to just leave it, switching off my phone, I toss it aside and close my eyes, embracing sleep.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Saturday night arrives, and Madi is on her way. Nervous anticipation lingers as I gaze into the full-length mirror, carefully selecting my outfit. Wearing my hair straight with a full face of glam, I don a black deep V-neck cropped tank and my favourite mini skirt, complemented by mini black platforms. The rare chance to dress up invokes a sense of confidence. I capture a few pics before I hear Madi knocking.

Walking to the door, the clacking of my heels announces my approach. I open the door to find Madi and six other girls. "Hey!" Madi exclaims, initiating hugs. Pleasant introductions follow, and the girls bring drinks. With music playing from my speaker, we engage in small talk whilst I sip my Malibu and pineapple juice.

About an hour and a half later, we decide to head to the club. Ordering Ubers, we gather outside the club, reputed as the biggest one frequented by college students. As we queue up, the effects of our drinks start to kick in, dizziness taking control of me. By the time we enter the club, the music resonates loudly. Heading to the bar, one of Madi's friends engages the bartender, securing 7 shots for us all. Jaeger bombs in hand, we down the shots, and the pulsating taste lingers on my tongue. Next thing I know, Sexyy Red starts, and we are pulled onto the dance floor. Madi and I sway and sing together, but a presence behind me interrupts the moment – a hand on my hip. Turning, I encounter a random blonde guy. Am I drunk enough to lower my standards to a 6/10? No.

Looking back to Madi, I s hoot her a look before she drags me back to the girls. after a few more songs, I decide to get another drink. Approaching the bar, I order a double vodka Red Bull, tapping my card and waiting. I look around and my heart drops – no less that 3 feet away, I see Matt, paying for a drink. Our eyes lock, and I grab my drink, attempting to walk straight past him, but he’s quick to stop me.

"Hey," he says, placing a hand on the small of my back. The touch sends shivers down my spine. Looking up at him, I smile, "Hey. What are you doing here?" I ask, tilting my head. He downs his shot before responding, "Clubbing?" he replies with his brows furrowed, chuckling at my apparent surprise. I giggle, feeling a blush creep up.

"I didn't see you as the clubbing type," I say, leaning in slightly due to the loud music. He shrugs, "I enjoy my drinks, I feel his eyes scanning almost every inch of my body due to how little I was really wearing. He licks his lips before looking back up to me. He leans as his hand remains on the small of my back, warm breath teasing my skin, "Wanna go somewhere more quiet? Can barely hear you." He asks me, I nod, absolutely dumbfounded by his presence, and he guides me through the crowd, hand on my waist.

The realization hits me – maybe this isn't a delusion. He leads us to a quieter hallway, still audible with music, and a few others scattered around. His hand leaves my side as he leans against the wall opposite me. I mirror his stance, facing each other. Crossing his arms, his slightly cropped shirt rises, revealing the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers. He had such a slutty waist. My gaze drops to my hands, fiddling with my nails. He breaks the silence.

"Did you come here with a guy?"

"No, just some of the girls. Can't stand guys my age," I mumble, meeting his eyes. His gaze moves down my body before staring deeply into my eyes.

"Why’s that?"

"They're all immature," I start. He begins stepping closer, narrowing the already small space.

"And they don't know how to treat me right," I continue. He hums in agreement.

"Is that it?" he asks, now standing directly in front of me. Our bodies would be touching if I stood up straight, I bit my lip.

"Guys my age don't know how to touch me," I say, the alcohol boosting my confidence. His jaw clenches as he lets out a heavy breath. His tattooed hand moves to my waist, the other reaching up to my face, thumb rubbing my cheek. Panic sets in - what have I gotten myself into? Am I really going to cross this boundary?

"Want me to show you how good I can make you feel?" he says, his grip firm, eyes locking onto mine. I nod, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah."

Before I know it, he grabs my arm and drags me to the accessible bathroom stall, kissing me passionately. The euphoric sensation of the kiss overwhelms me as he pushes me against the wall, kicking the door shut behind him. Pressed against the wall, I willingly surrender to his dominance, allowing his tongue to explore and claim every inch of my parted lips.

His kisses travel a path down my jaw, leaving a trail of hickies. He explores down to my collars with a mixture of gentle sucking and teasing bites, each touch setting my skin ablaze. A soft moan escapes my lips as his hands find their way to my hips, pulling our bodies together bruisingly tight.

Returning to my lips, he intensifies the kiss, his hands sliding up beneath my thighs effortlessly. He picks me up, making me gasp, he hoists me up as though I weigh nothing, seamlessly carrying me across the small space to the sink.

Sitting me on the smooth surface, he maintains the seamless connection between our lips. The heat of the moment pulses between us, his hands trailing down to my hips, pulling me closer. The rhythmic dance of our bodies becomes a symphony of desire, with his lips never parting from mine. The sink counter becomes a temporary throne of passion as our connection deepens and the world outside the stall fades away. His hands trace a heated path down my body, gripping my ass with an assertive pull, drawing me tightly against him. The pressure of his hard on against my stomach sends a shiver through me, and a soft whine escapes my lips in response to the overwhelming desire.

My hands instinctively find their way into his hair, entwining my fingers as he pulls away, his gaze locked with mine. His hand boldly ventures up my skirt, fingers cupping my pussy, teasing, and pressing against my entrance. The sensation elicits an involuntary moan from me, and I tilt my head back, lost in the intensity of the moment.

"M-Matt, please, “I whimper breathlessly, aching against him. "Please, what, baby?" he teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches my desperate state. "Please, I need you," I shamelessly beg. He smiles, his pink lips pressing a quick kiss to my jaw, before pulling my underwear to the side. I wince as the cool air meets my exposed skin, his thumb brushing against my eager lips. "Open," he demands.

Parting my lips, I willingly comply, and he slides his thumb in. I suck on it as he pushes further, evoking a heavenly groan from his lips. "Good girl," he murmurs, withdrawing his thumb and shifting it down to my clit. Initially, he presses against it, not yet moving, drawing a whine from me. I grab his arm, yearning for more contact. He smirks as he gradually begins circling my clit with his thumb, causing me to throw my head back against the mirror behind me.

His pointer finger slips inside me while he continues to circle my clit with his thumb, making me let out a loud moan. "Look at me," he orders, bringing a momentary pause to his movements. I open my eyes to meet his gaze, and he bites his lip, smiling, resuming his movements. "So wet for me, angel," he remarks, moving down to kiss my neck. I tilt my head to grant him better access, gasping as he adds another finger and proceeds to suck hickeys into my sensitive skin.

Tugging at his hair, he groans, the knot in my stomach growing tighter. I clench around his fingers, whimpering, "Matt." He urges, "Shit, come for me, princess," against my collarbone. I moan, releasing my pent-up pleasure, his fingers slowing down in response. I grab his wrist, pulling him out of me, then guiding his fingers to my lips, sucking them clean.

As I look into his eyes, his once blown-out pupils abruptly contract. He withdraws his fingers from me and steps back, muttering a soft curse to himself. I stand up, my legs slightly aching, and adjust my underwear. He turns away and begins walking toward the door. What the fuck?

"Matt?" I almost yell. He freezes for a moment, turning his head to glance back at me. However, he doesn't linger, opening the door and leaving. Confusion floods me. I can't help but feel tears welling in my eyes. Everything happened so quickly—what the fuck did I do wrong?

I remain frozen until a man barges into the bathroom, heading for the toilet and gagging. I scrunch my face in disgust, walking out, my heels loudly clacking against the floor as I make my way towards the exit. I need to get out of here. The music grows louder, and a tightness grips my chest, making my breathing difficult. Someone grabs my wrist, and I turn around, relaxing when I see it's Madi.

"Where have you been, girl? Shit- Who gave you those hickeys?" she says, smiling and inspecting my neck, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation. "Don't worry about it. I'm just getting some air," I lie, quickly turning away and walking out of the club. Fuck. I open my phone and book an Uber. While I wait, I open Matt's chat, debating whether or not to text him. Fuck it.

Y/N:

Wtf happened tonight? Can we talk?

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Read. He left me on fucking read. It's been three days, and I've been dreading today - I have a lesson with him. I walk to my class, pushing the door open to find he's not in yet. I take my seat next to Madi, who stays silent. I think she knows I need space just judging by my presence - hoodie up, headphones still on, slouched in my chair with no books out.

About five minutes later, Matt comes in. He teaches as if nothing's happened, and throughout the lesson, he doesn't even look at me once. What a dick. The final bell rings, and I get out of my chair, walking behind everyone else. Right as I reach the door, our eyes meet. Shit. I quickly look away, pettily slamming the door shut behind me. Hold on. You know what? I'm not going to let this man USE me and then completely IGNORE me? Who does he fucking think he is? I turn around, slamming the door open. He looks up as if he's just seen a ghost, and I hear the door shut behind me.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I say, my brows knitted together. "Y/N, you need to go," he says. "No, I deserve an explanation. Do you think it's okay to just use girls, then fucking leave them?" I yell, stepping closer. He looks down, tongue in cheek. "I've got essays to mark."

"I don't give two shits, Matt," I reply hastily. He looks up at me, and his face softens at the sight of the hurt on my face. "Did I do something wrong?" I ask, feeling more vulnerable. He sighs, stepping closer, his hand coming up to my cheek.

"No, Y/N, shit, I panicked. I like you, Y/N, like a lot, but you're my student. You saw what happened to Kennedy. You think I want to get fired?" he says sweetly. I sniffle and look down, before he lifts my face back up with his hand.

"I'm not stupid, Matt. You're the one who told me how smart I am. No one's gonna find out about this," I reply, biting my lip. "It was just a one-time thing, right?" I continue. He looks at me.

"Would you like it to be a one-time thing?"

"No."

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

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#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #imagine #angst #chris sturniolo x reader #fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #smut #Spotify