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ellieslittlewh0re · 5 months

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ִ ⋆｡ °✩ ❝ 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐄 𝐋♡𝐕𝐄 ❞ ✩°｡⋆

(𝒘𝒌) 5k

〚𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒〛 ✰ rockerstar! ellie x groupie! reader ✰

〚𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒〛 ellie williams. her name was everywhere- the underground music’s next breakout star, and for a good reason too- a honeyed voice mixed with gravel, her passion, energy, the fact she was everything rock and roll should be. also, let’s not forget the sex appeal.

〚𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒〛 sex, love, drugs, and rock and roll. !!TW!! for descriptions of drug usage ( c0cain, L$D) fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), strap on usage (r! receiving) overstim kinda, dom e!, sub r!

It started with a video- a grainy, shity quality one at that, but still a video. She was center stage of some grungy bar from the looks of it, spotlights illuminating her face enough to see stands of her hair sticking to her forehead with sweat, and a chipped cherry red electric guitar hanging from her shoulder. She was magnetic, hypnotizing- not just with her performance, but her looks as well.

From that day on, you just had the desire to get closer to her in any way you could.

It had been two months since you started following her band while they toured across the West Coast. You had been to every show, seen every performance, and Ellie was starting to catch on.

The first time she saw you, you immediately caught Ellie's attention- I mean, how could you not? You were by far the hottest girl in the venue that night, swinging your hips so effortlessly it put the rest of the girls to shame. Ellie remembers that night vividly because she was so pissed she couldn't find you after the show to bring you back to her shitty motel room and have her way with you. But Ellie quickly forgot about you when the company of two other girls took your place that night, along with a few too many hits of whatever her drug of choice was during that time.

So, that's how you ended up here- at a run down gas station bathroom touching up your makeup in the middle of the fucking desert, and a van full of strangers that you were currently hitching a ride with waiting outside at the pumps.

And Ellie? Well, Ellie was doing what she always does before a show- drugs, and lots of them, whether it was molly, coke, weed, tabs, or maybe even a deadly concoction of all the above, she didn't care as long as it made her feel alive- claiming it made her perform better or something, but really she just liked being fucked up while fucking girls after the show.

While Ellie was living this "glamorous" rockstar lifestyle, you were on the complete opposite end- quitting your day job to follow some girl around who doesn't even know your name and catching rides from people who definitely look like they have seen the inside of a prison cell- AKA, you were a groupie.

The air was hot, stale. A thin layer of orangy, rust-colored sand coated the windows and the van's gaudy upholstery. The landscape outside flashed like an old fashioned reel movie, cacti, shrubs, Joshua trees, and repeat.

It was desolate, and if the road and occasional mile marker wasn't there to remind you, you would've thought you were on a different planet.

"Your stop is next, daisy." The man with a handle bar mustache yelled from the drivers seat, meeting your eyes in the review mirror.

Daisy. A nickname given to you by the group when they first picked you up further up north. You had a daisy tucked behind your ear, and from then on, you were daisy.

It was dark by the time you arrived at the venue, venue isn't really how you would describe it. It was more like a diner turned bar turned into whatever the fuck it was currently. You waved your goodbyes to the the group of not-so-strange strangers, all of them bidding you 'farewells' and 'good lucks' before you watched the red tails fade into the pitch dark of the desert.

For once, you were early. Turns out a bunch of traveling hippies and outcasts aren't on a timed schedule, who knew?

Even though you were early, the dirt patch of a parking lot was packed, cars in various stages of deterioration lining the sides of the building, and people gathering outside to avoid the cramped interior. But you weren't here to socialize or drink and get high- you just wanted to see her, dance to the strum of her guitar, and let her voice consume and overtake you.

It was 40-ish minutes past midnight, meaning Ellie and her band were late, but that's not a surprise. She had a bad habit of keeping the people waiting, but she was a busy girl- hanging out backstage or at a hotel, a room full of girls for her to pick from, and no shortage of drugs and alcohol. But tonight, she went a little too overboard. Her band mates were practically carrying her across the motel parking lot to their van, trying to get her to sober up on the way to the venue with water and motivational speeches that mostly consisted of "get your fucking shit together".

The short 30 minute drive to the venue was barely long enough to get Ellie back in the right state of mind. She was slightly unsteady on her feet, and her speech was a little slurred, but she's used to preforming under these conditions.

You waited patiently of course, babying a strong cocktail mix since you didn't dare get drunk and risk not remembering every detail of the night- every detail of her.

When the crowd shifted their attention to the back entrance of the building, silent murmurs at first before a load cheer erupting was when you knew, she was here, and she looked like heaven- a black tank top that was torn near the neckline, a studded belt loosely securing a pair of baggy, black patchwork cargo pants.

The crowd parted a pathway for her as she made her way through the room with her bandmates following behind, a cigarette tucked between her lips as she'd occasionally stop to sign whatever was thrown at her- a piece of paper, cash, a pair of tits- which she'd always happily comply, but if she saw a girl she liked, she would lick her pointer finger and index, smearing part of her signature on their cleavage while the marker was still wet to subtly let you know that she wanted your company for the night- at least, that's the rumor you've heard.

You found yourself holding your breath- she was so close, a mere body or two keeping you at arm's length from her. You could smell the cigarette smoke, and see the details of her chipped black nail polish holding the marker between her fingers.

Ellie hands the notebook and marker back into the wave of hands, looking up while blowing out a cloud of smoke, and that's when she sees you. She was about to walk off, but she stopped for a second. You don't look like you belong- you were different, sweet, and innocent-looking compared to the rest of the audience. But she doesn't let her eyes linger long, she has a show to put on after all.

She turned, and walked towards the stage stairs, and centered herself behind the mic. She shifted her weight on her feet, and took one last drag of the cigarette before suffocating the embers on a ashtray near the edge of the stage.

"How's everyone doing tonight?" She barely could make out before the crowds hollering drowned out her voice. She laughed into the mic while plugging a cord into her guitar that was connected to a beefy looking amp.

Her ego was at its biggest right now- just her mere appearance could make a group of strangers act like dogs, and she fucking loved it.

She played a few cords on the guitar, ensuring the tune was where she wanted it before looking back up into the crowd, "c'mon, you can do better than that." And even though her mouth was covered by the mic, you could tell she was smirking.

The crowd cheered louder, fists clenched high above the sea of heads, and chanted her name over and over exactly how she wanted them to.

And for you? Well, you were also chanting her name, maybe not as loud, but you were too busy squeezing your way through to get to the front.

She needed to be able to see you.

And she did see you- you were front row, playfully singing and dancing along, your bright, twinkling eyes boring into every little thing she did- from the way she'd run her hand through the front of her hairline, ridding her face of the baby hairs and bangs, down to the way her fingers curled over the frets of her guitar. She made sure to look elsewhere into the crowd, interacting with everyone, but her eyes always found themselves back on you.

Ellie closed out the show with an encore, most of the crowd was overly intoxicated at this point, stumbling, and starting meaningless fights with whoever was closest- aka the usual time you'd leave, but you couldn't, at least, not when Ellie was walking towards you, her eyes set on you. You glanced to your right then your left- confused, and definitely was searching for an explanation as to why she was getting closer. Surely, it was someone else who caught her attention, but it was only you nearby.

You take a step back from the stage as the tips of her dirty converse near the edge. She bends down at the knees before sitting all together, dangling her legs over the edge. She doesn't say anything, and you didn't either, maybe from intimidation mixed with confusion as to why she chose to sit here out of all places.

She reaches her tattooed arm behind, shifting her weight to pull out a pack of cigarettes, and offering the carton to you, but you shyly decline. She smirked, a dimple deepening on the one side of her cheek, "So-" She said, her voice momentarily muffled by the cigarette between her lips, "-you don't look like you're from here, where'd you come from, baby?" She ignited the end with a metal lighter, holding a free hand up to cover the flame which only amplified the warm glow of the flame on her face.

You chuckled a nervous laugh, looking down at your fingers as she blew out a puff of smoke, "M' not. I'm from up north. " Your voice trembled, leaking with submission and uncertainty which only fascinated her more, but also she was frustrated- most girls wouldn't need a conversation to know what Ellie wanted from them, and you weren't looking at her.

She grabs your hand, and pulls you closer to the space between her knees. A sharp breath gets caught in your throat as she does this, your cheeks hot, and your gut feels like it's jumping being this close to her- enough to smell the fumes of her cologne mixed with ash. You watch her fingers come up and hover over your chest, her fingers gently dancing along the skin of your clavicle to examine the charm of your necklace, but really it was just a flirtation tactic to her.

"What's a girl like you doing in the desert in the middle of the night, huh?" She asked, dropping her voice down to an almost whisper- raspy, and thick with suggestion. You shake your head side to side, a nervous tick of yours when you felt uncomfortable, but being uncomfortable isn't always a bad thing.

"I uh-" you paused, mentally wavering if you should tell the truth since it does seem a little pathetic. "-I wanted to see you play."

Ellie's eyebrows raise, her bottom lip puckering into a frown with a slight nod. "Is that so?" She hummed, rolling the edges of the charm between her fingers. Ellie was certain she had seen you before. It wasn't a trick of the light or getting your face confused with some other hot chick- you were unmistakable. But she didn't want you to know that she found you out, not yet, not now.

Ellie learned in further, your knees almost buckling out from under you, feeling her breath against your lips. She played it off like she was getting a closer look at your necklace, extending the religious symbolic charm out so the chain tugged on your neck. "Do you believe?" She asked, still looking at the damn necklace, furrowing her brows like she was in a deep philosophical thought.

You swallowed dryly, wishing you still had your drink from easier, "N-not really-" you stuttered, "it was a gift from when I was younger."

Ellie chuckled, but it wasn't lighthearted or sweet- it was dark, methodical, and a tad bit sadistic.

She released the charm from her fingers, letting it hit your bare chest with a muted thud before looking up. Her eyes were a darker shade than you remembered them being- irises blown out and framed beautifully by a thick band of dark eyelashes.

Her hand reached out and gently grabbed you by the wrist before yanking you closer so your tummy was flush with the side of the stage, leaving only a few inches between your tits and the denim of her crotch.

You inhaled a sharp, breathy yelp as she did this, your hands not knowing what to do or where to divert your eyes- her hands on you, her face so close to yours that you could count the freckles on her cheeks, even the ones that are faint enough to miss- or maybe how her thighs were drifting apart, and you were in between them.

Her hand comes up, which causes you to squeeze your eyes shut, but the wrinkles around your eyes relax as you feel her hand on your face and her lips on yours. You moaned instantly at the contact, resting your hand on her thigh where it felt most comfortable. Ellie took this opportunity to slip her tongue inside, using the muscle to work against yours. Her hand snakes down your side, squeezing the soft flesh of your hip before pulling away, leaving you breathless, and hazy.

Her eyes were intense looking into yours, her lips wet and craving a deeper satisfaction.

She only said one thing, a simple sentence that would separate you from being just some regular fan,

"Come with me tonight, and I'll show you something worth believing."

So that's how your night shifted- how one decision to follow some band across the state had finally paid off because now you were here- a hotel room, alone with the band's most valuable member snorting lines of a white powdery substance off of a mirror topped end table.

Ellie held the rolled 20 between her fingers, putting the end of it to her nose while the index on her other closed the opposing nostril shut. She dragged the end of the cylinder across the smuggled surface, inhaling deeply until the white line disappeared behind it.

"Fuuck-" She sighed, throwing her head back, and swipes the bottom of her nose with her thumb,

"Here-" She held out the rolled 20 for you to take, but you lean away,

"I don't do that stuff."

She looks at you curiously, a furrow between her brows that suggests she found your refusal even more entertaining.

Ellie leaned forward and turned her body to face you on the edge of the dusty duvet, "What-" She scoffed, "'think you're too good for it?"

You shook your head violently, indicating a 'no', "No- no, that's not what I meant-"

Ellie laughed, causing you to stop mid-sentence, "I'm just fucking with you, doll. I should've known." She smiles, and you return the smile in relief that you didn't actually offend her.

Your eyes divert to the wallpapered walls- a faint pattern of stripes with cream-colored baseboards, a warm yellowed lamp on the bedside being the only source of light in the room to contrast the night outside.

You felt her hand creep up your thigh, tempting the skin below the hem of your dress before it disappeared underneath the fabric altogether. She leaned in, her other hand on your face to encourage you closer, whispering a "so soft" in a raspy breath before connecting your lips with hers.

It started slow- her lips overlapping yours like a soft current on a still morning before it turned into a ranging one during a windy cast. You moaned into her- soft and delicate mews between each detachment, and it fueled her.

Ellie's body overpowered yours, using her strength to her advantage. But it's not like she needed it- you were putty in her hands, fully committing yourself to her, letting her push you into your back, and her body hovering on top of yours.

You squirmed beneath her- each bump, and drag of her knee between your legs left you feeling more desperate.

"Ellie-" you broke the kiss in a breathless euphoria, looking up at her with a needy expression. Ellie knew that face well- it's not like she had all this experience and didn't know what to do with it, so- she got up, leaving you alone on the bed, and walked over to a black duffle bag decorated with pins of miscellaneous logos and bands.

She riffled through it, pulling a small clear plastic bag out before joining you back on the bed.

She opened the baggie, pulling something out no bigger than the size of a postage stamp, and tearing it into smaller halves before looking up,

"Do you trust me?" She asked, her green eyes piercing into yours, causing a wet sensation to spill from the heat between your legs. You swallowed, not really sure what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway, "Yes, Ellie... I trust you."

She placed the colorfully decorated paper on her tongue and held the sides of your face, kissing you and slipping her tongue inside, transferring whatever it was into your mouth before pulling away. "Swallow." She demanded, tilting your face up by your chin, and you did it without hesitation- straining the walls of your throat as the mystery stamp slid downwards.

She smirked, and swiped her thumb over your bottom lip, "good girl."

She followed it up by doing the same, placing the tab on her tongue and swallowing, but she made it seem so much more intentional like a ritual of some sorts.

Ellie leaned away from you in the bed to rest her back against the headboard and pillows, "C'mere" she said nonchalantly, patting her thighs.

With shaky knees, you did as you were told and crawled your way up her legs until you were straddling her waist.

Her hands come up to rest on your hips, her thumbs tracing circles through the flimsy fabric of your dress, "so obedient" she said lightly, almost under her breath to herself and not at you directly.

Her hands started to wander- first on your hips, then down to your thighs, gliding them up to the plush beneath your skirt. You felt her fingertip squeeze and caress, sending chills up your spine and a hot/cold sensation throughout your body.

Next, her lips were on yours, and her fingers were tightening the follicles on the back of your scalp as the kisses became more intense. Your back instinctively arches, and you reach a hand between your legs to soothe the ache, but she stops you with a firm grip on your wrist, "Gettin' impatient, huh?" She said in a cocky tone, smirking against your lips. You whimpered- nodding your head, and grabbed her hand, inching it closer to your core.

Ellie chucked at this- the kind of chuckle that was half way a scoff, and half way felt like an insult.

"Damn- you need me to fill you up that bad? 'thought you were one of them good girls."

She tisked her tongue against her teeth, but still let you guid her hand where you needed her.

The back of her knuckles grazed between the pillowy folds over your panties, going agonizingly slow before turning her hand over to fully palm your cunt.

You melt on top of her, resting your head against her shoulder, all the while dragging your hips against her hand.

She turns her head, her warm breath fanning against the helix of your ear, "You're so wet and I've barely touched you."

Her words echoed throughout your brain like her voice waves were sending signals to every part of your body. And her touch was magnified- each cell, fiber, and pore was experiencing a new sense of heightened, whether it be because of the drugs or not, you couldn't be sure.

"El-Ellie, please... need you."

Your words rang a siren song to Ellie's ears, creating a sticky pool between her own legs. She muttered a guttural "fuck" before she grabs you by the sides of your thighs, flipping you over so she was on top of you.

She was already yanking down your underwear, and tossing them to the side before you could comprehend what was happening. You felt her fingers stinging to the flesh of your thighs, prying them apart like she couldn't wait to see you, to taste you.

You sucked in a sharp breath as her tongue lightly traced a line down your folds before her lips met your clit where she pulsated the bud between her lips, letting out a moan as she made contact, "fuuck-" She curses before flicking her tongue over your bundle of nerves, igniting a colorful array of shapes behind your tightly closed eyes.

She was messy but precise- using her tongue along with the motion of her head to send you that much further. Your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging harder the closer you got which was the perfect time in Ellie's eyes to add a finger.

She slowly pushed her middle finger inside, stopping halfway at her knuckle to let you adjust before slamming it all the way till her knuckles were snug against your puffy lips.

You wriggled beneath her, reaching out to push her away with a palm to her shoulder, but that only makes her add a second finger.

You cry out loudly through heavy breaths, the veins on her forearm coming to the surface of her skin from how much force she was using, and her mouth putting in just as much work.

You were climbing higher and higher, the peripheral of your vision going white-

"Ellie... I'm- I'm gonna-" You don't have much time to warn her before your body starts to spaz, starting at your hips and up into your chest like volts of electricity through a highly active current.

Your knees close around her head, your back arching high off the mattress, and your eyes rolling into the back of your head. She slows her pace as you come down before pulling her fingers out and lifting her head.

With your eyes closed, and an arm draped over your face, you feel her pat the inside of your thigh before her weight leaves the bed.

She comes back a couple of minutes later, only opening your eyes when you feel her weight return to the mattress.

Your eyes go wide as you take notice of the new attachment- a black, strappy harness with buckles near her hips, and a crude shaped silicone cock bulging at her crotch.

She lowers herself over you, her hands on each side of your head before she leans down to kiss you, slipping her tongue inside. She pulled back, momentarily admiring the way you looked just from something as simple as oral and some fingering- glossy eyes, puffy lips smeared with her spit, and if she looked down- how your inner thighs glistened.

Her lips trial from yours, staring at your neck, then your chest, and finally your tits which Ellie had absolutely no problem with pulling the straps down to expose them, leaving the fabric bunched around your stomach. In her eyes, everything she wanted- no, needed was accessible this way.

Ellie looks up, placing a delicate kiss on the skin of your lower stomach, "Got one more fr' me, pretty girl?" She asked softly, tenderly, but it still managed to come off more intimidating than a question should sound.

You nodded shyly, a small whine emitting from the back of your throat, looking down at her with your breasts out for her viewing, grabbing pleasure, and your legs spread wide, ready to take her.

She lifted her upper half up, slim fingers holding the base of her cock, and lined the artificial tip with your entrance. She glided the tip up your folds, coating it with your slick, and let out a sultry exhale since she could practically see your walls clenching around nothing in preparation for her.

She teased you for a bit- only giving you a couple of inches before backing away and repeating, each time causing you to whine harder and harder out of frustration. Sure, Ellie was having her fun watching you squirm, grab for her, and fuck- how your hole gapped each time she pulled out, a clear, viscous fluid leaking from it, but she was growing just as impatient- feeling your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer, pleading variations of her name and "please" and who is she to deny you when you ask so nicely?

She thrusts her hips forward until her crotch was flesh with your ass, your legs in the air, and her hands pushing on the back of your thighs.

"Is this what you wanted, huh?" She gritted, pulling her hips back only to snap them forward again.

You cried out loudly, curling your fingers around the bedsheets until the blood stopped circulating, turning the skin there a lighter shade than the rest of you.

She pushed harder on the back of your thighs- your knees pressed up against your chest, and using what you can imagine is all of her strength to thrust into you. She was reaching the deepest part of your cervix- grunting and moaning on Ellie's end while you mewled high-pitched noises mixed with the wet slapping of her cock repeatedly slamming into you.

Ellie's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly upward, and her lips parted as insufficient, short breaths seep from them. Her hips started to falter from the endless abuse her clit was suffering behind the base of her strap, her boxers now a sticky, cold mess that stuck to her cunt and thighs.

She collapses on top of you, snugging herself between your legs to connect her lips to yours in a desperate effort, overpowering all your senses with her. She continues to fill you over and over again, both of you moaning in between breathless lips.

You wrapped her arms around her as her head hung low into your neck, digging your nails into the skin of her shoulder blades.

"El... mmhm- I'm gonna-" You babbled before biting your lip to silence the cry that was bubbling in the back of your throat, and Ellie wasn't far behind.

The pistoning motions of her hips turned into a grinding one- keeping a steady pace and rolling her hips forward, "M-me too- fuck... stay with me, yeah?" She said in between soft pants, the warmth of her breath brushing against your lips as her hand came up to gently but firmly wrap around your neck.

Ellie's head goes fuzzy as you looked up at her with your half-hooded gaze and your perfectly rosette lips that are just begging to be wrapped around something, so- she released the hold she had on your neck and brought her two fingers that were previously inside of you to your mouth.

She didn't even have to say anything for you to part your lips wider, slipping her fingers inside and rolling them over your tongue.

You moan, closing your lips around her as her fingers reach further back, causing tears to fall from the corner of your eyes.

"That's it-" She coaxed, her eyes focused on the split trailing down your chin,"-such a good girl."

She motioned her fingers in and out in a vulgar manner, bitting her bottom lip before pulling her fingers out all together to fist the bed sheets beside her.

"Fuckfuckfuck-oh my god-" She grunted incoherently, dropping her head to space between your neck and shoulder. Her forehead glistened with proof of her efforts as she rushed the pace to ease the itch between her legs.

You tightened your legs around her waist, pretty little noises falling on Ellie's ears as you both peak.

She rolls her hips- making it slow and deep until your voice grows tired and quiet before pushing her upper half away from you.

You wince at her absence, feeling your walls retract back to its original shape like the sand inside of an hourglass.

She plopped down beside you with an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion, pulling up the bottom of her tank top to wipe the slick/sweat mixture from her chin and nose, giving you a few seconds to admire her hardened stomach and prominent 'v' which lead your eyes down to the fake dick still standing high between her thighs.

She catches you looking, the corner of her lips tugging into a smirk as she lets out a low chuckle.

You meet her eyes, realizing you have been caught, which causes you to look away quickly, but her hand grabs yours.

"Gettin' shy on me now after all that?" She said, pulling at your hand to silently instruct you to get on top of her, so you did.

Her hands rub up and down your thighs, and her bottom lip snug between her teeth. She eyes your body, starting from your tits down to her cock that is resting against your lower stomach.

"Wanna do me a favor?" She asked, palming the fat of your thigh that spilled over the heels of your feet. You hummed at her- a sweet, genuine hum that was full of eagerness to assist her, which almost made Ellie feel bad for what she was about to say- key word almost.

"Put that pretty little mouth of yours to use and clean me up."

1K notes · View notes

ifeeltoofuckingmuch · 6 months

Text

NSFW ALPHABET d.f

Requested by anon <3

Warnings: NSFW headcanons, smut.

Dominic fike NSFW headcanons.

Not my gif ^

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A: Aftercare, how are they like after sex?

Dominic is a loving partner during and after sex. You and him will most likely take a warm shower after, then you two would lie down with your head on his chest and legs intertwined. He loves checking up on your and making sure you're okay afterwards.

B: Body part, what's their favorite body part?

Dom LOVES your thighs. Whenever, wherever, he will touch your thighs (ofc if ur okay with it). He loves to place his hands on them, whether its a long road trip or a short drive, or you two are out on date. He loves them.

C: Cum, anything to do with cum.

He LOVES to cum inside of you. Just to feel your warm pussy pulse around him as he cums. He also loves to cum on your face, while you look up at him with your beautiful doll eyes.

D: Dirty secrets/Dirty talk, self explanatory.

I feel like he secretly likes to jerk off in public restrooms?? (Ofc washes his hands before and after).

He is such a dirty talker, and I mean SUCH a dirty talker. He'll whisper the dirtiest things that he's gonna do to you into your ear in public, then he'll take u home and do all those things. He DEFINITELY talks you through your orgasm/orgasms, saying things like "I know" and/or "it's okay, i got you, just let go".

E: Experience, how experienced are they?

He's pretty experienced. He definitely knows what he's doing. One of his best skills is pussy eating. He loves to eat your pussy any chance he gets.

F: favorite position.

He loves missionary, your legs wrapped around his back to pull him closer. He loves to look into your eyes as he pounds you senseless.

G: Goofy, how goofy are they?

He's pretty goofy, he makes jokes here and there. He'll let out giggle or two after he cums or when you squirt. (Lol)

H: Hair, are they well groomed?

He likes to keep it short, but he doesn't mind if you do or not. Whatever your comfortable with.

I: intimacy, are they intimate during sex?

Dominic loves to hold you while y'all are having sex, whether its holding your hand or holding your body close to him while your riding him.

J: Jack off (masturbation) How much do they do it?

He likes to do it, but prefers your hands instead. Whenever he's alone or on tour and horny he decides to call you. If ur not available he probably goes through the pictures and videos you send him and gets off that way.

K: Kinks, what are their kinks?

I'll just list them here.

- I feel like he has a daddy kink??

- not necessarily a kink but I feel like he loves your clit like yes please 🙌🏻

- I'm getting a sense he loves to cuff you. Just something about him being in full control.

- voyeurism?? Like he loves to watch you get off.

- light exhibitionism, like car sex in the back of a parking lot.

L: Location, where is his favorite place to have sex.

He will have sex ANYWHERE, bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, living room, car.. but his favorite is the classic bedroom.

M: Motivation, what turns them on?

Like earlier, your thighs. God he loves them so fucking much. Or you sitting on his lap.

N: No, what they won't do.

He obviously won't hurt you, if he sees blood anywhere he will stop and see if your okay.

O: Oral, do they enjoy giving or getting?

Like I stated earlier, he's such a pro at pussy eating and loves the way you whimper the second he licks at your clit. He enjoys getting head too, hearing you gag around his dick as your eyes fill with tears 😩.

P: Pace, slow or fast?

Depends on how you both feel, if he goes slow it's a very intimate, vanilla moment. If he goes fast, it's a very rough moment where your hands are probably handcuffed while he hits it from the back. 🙌🏻

Q: Quickie, how does he feel about them?

He doesn't mind them, but he enjoys spending more time with you while having sex.

R: Risk, does he take risks during sex?

Like I said he likes to have sex in the car, he gets off on the idea of someone finding out.

S: Stamina, how long can they go?

3/4 rounds on a good day, most of the times probably 2.

T: Toys, do they enjoy using toys?

Yes. He loves to use them on you or himself. Y'all probably have a (small) collection of toys, not to extreme but they still get the job done. (Vibrators, a Fleshlight etc..)

U: Unfair, how much do they tease?

He doesn't tease to much..but he likes to get you going before the sexual acts.

V: Volume, are they vocal during sex?

He is very vocal, he whimpers, moans, groans, all that jazz. He does not hold back.

W: Wild card (random headcanon)

He definitely wakes up hard. Most likely has wet dreams of you.

X: X-ray, what going on down there?

He's above average, he's thick and around 6.5 inches. (Although people think anything under 7 inches to 6 is small it isn't.)

Y: Yearning, how high is his sex drive?

I would say it's pretty normal. He loves sex, especially with you.

Z: Zzz, does he fall asleep quickly after?

Yes, you and him both. Y'all are usually tired out after. You both get cleaned up and lie down. He caresses your hair and you two talk a little before saying your 'i love yous' and 'goodnights'.

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A/N:... I don't know what to say lmfao, first time writing smut in a while, lmk what you all think. Also I saw someone say 20 rounds for stamina 😧 (for someone else) like damn..anyways love yalllll

Tag list: @taintandviolent @lilthbunny @itsznanabanana

#dominic fike x you #dominic fike fan fiction #dominic fike smut #dominic fike #dominic fike x reader #headcanon #alphabet headcanons

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hardly-an-escape · 1 month

Text

what's in a name? | Dream/Hob | 9300 words | rated E

this is my submission for @designtheendless's 3K commission giveaway: a Dreamling fic based on their fanart above!

tags: alternate universe - human, photographer Hob Gadling, artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, model Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, strangers to lovers, snowed in, only one bed, light dom/sub, oral sex, face fucking, anal fingering, anal sex, anonymous sex, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, and Hob is no less of a horny little weasel, brief Princess Bride references, alcohol consumption, impulsive decision making, callous disregard for the geography of northern California, they go from 0-60 because they’re both nuts, neither of them are in a great place but they do make each other better rather than worse

Hob is on an ill-fated road trip through California. He’s making his way slowly down the coast toward Los Angeles when, trapped by a snowstorm in a small town near Mount Shasta, he meets a mysterious stranger in a diner. They share a night of anonymous passion – but when the sun rises, Hob finds that he can’t just leave the stranger behind…

this story developed partially from Picture Perfect, one of my Fluffbruary 2024 fills. I also incorporated some of designtheendless's other suggested image prompts, so do make sure you check their original post! and thank you so much for extending the deadline, it meant I had time to get my CHBB fic submitted before pivoting to finish this... and even so I'm still barely getting it done in time just because of who I am as a person :D

Hob leans forward over the steering wheel, brows furrowed as he peers through the driving snow at the street ahead. The windshield wipers are going like mad; he’s seen a plow or two out, but they seem to barely be making a dent, so traffic has slowed to a crawl. Which is, frankly, for the best, since the weather is bad enough that only a true nutter would be out in it at all.

Well… nobody’s ever accused Hob of being sane.

His GPS instructs him to take the next right and informs him that his destination will then be on his right. He can just make out the neon sign through the thick flakes: Townhouse Motel. “Vacancy,” it says below the old-timey script, blinking on and off. In the distance, the sun is just beginning to settle behind some mountains that he’s sure would be beautiful if they weren’t hidden behind such inclement weather.

He pulls in the driveway. The lot is nearly empty, so he parks right next to the office door and jams his winter cap on his head before hurrying through the flurries.

The bored teenager behind the front desk barely looks up from the reality show playing on her tablet as she runs Hob’s credit card and gives him his door key – an actual, physical key. Room 1389. He decides it’s not worth it to ask why the room number has four digits when the motel has maybe a dozen rooms total.

He does ask if there’s somewhere nearby to get a bite to eat and a drink.

“There’s a diner across the street and down a block,” the teenager says, “but they don’t serve booze.” Then, finally looking up, perhaps seeing the bags under his eyes and his generally downtrodden demeanor, she relents. “There’s a liquor store about two blocks past that. You can bring stuff back to your room, I guess. It’s not like anybody is going to ask questions around here.”

That, Hob thinks as he heads back outside and moves his rental car a little closer to his door, is obvious. There’s a general air of neglect clinging to the motel, and indeed to the whole street, from what he can see: the buildings are a little more weatherbeaten than can be plausibly explained by a cute vintage aesthetic, and at least one storefront seems to be permanently boarded up. The recession has clearly hit Northern California just as hard as it has the rest of the United States.

What a time to be playing tourist. What a time to be – well, he won’t think about that right now.

His room is clean, at least. Someone, at some point in time, has made a half-hearted attempt to decorate it with a seaside theme. The bedlinens are various shades of blue, rather than your typical beigey-white. There’s an unfortunate painting of a mermaid hanging over the outdated television, and a slightly less unfortunate painting of a lighthouse above the bed. The bathroom wallpaper has little seashells on it.

Hob leaves his camera bag on the desk and his duffel on the end of the bed, grabs his wallet, turns his collar up against the cold, and heads back out into the snowy evening.

The diner is, as promised, only a short walk down the street, but Hob is shivering by the time he gets there. The wind cuts right through him – silly British man that he is, he thought California would be warm, even in winter. He hadn’t really reckoned with unpredictable mountain weather, or with the cold front that was chasing him down through the southern end of the Cascades. The weatherman on the radio had been calling it “freakish.”

A little bell tinkles merrily when he pushes open the door. A waitress calls out a greeting, tells him to sit wherever he likes and she’ll be right with him. There’s only one other person in the diner, a slender man dressed all in black who is hunched over a cup of coffee at the counter. He glances up and immediately back down as Hob stomps the snow off his boots and takes an empty booth far enough away from the front door that he won’t feel the rush of cold air if anyone else comes in.

The waitress bustles over, bringing him a cup of coffee without even asking. Hob wraps his fingers around it gratefully. He doesn’t normally drink coffee this late, but it’s been the kind of day that calls for it: so cold, so uncomfortable and distressing, that the sturdy ceramic mug is exactly what he wants. The bitter note of slightly burnt coffee is tempered by the cheap, artificially flavored vanilla creamer he only ever uses at this kind of greasy spoon diner. He breathes deep and feels something inside him start to thaw.

When the waitress comes back with a menu, he warms up even more. She is middle-aged and comfortable, nice and no-nonsense, the sort of person with an indeterminate American accent who could have come from anywhere: Illinois, or Florida, or five minutes down the road. She recommends the olive burger with fries, and a side of fried pickles, because they’re the best in the county, and then her excitement simply bubbles over.

“I’m just so darn tickled to have two Brits here in the same night!” she enthuses. “Oh gosh, is that okay? Can I call you Brits or is that rude?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Hob laughs. “Two of us, eh? That is a coincidence.”

“I know, right? Okay hon, lemme just get your order in and I’ll be back to warm up your coffee in a sec.”

She bustles away again, and Hob looks curiously at the man at the counter. He must have heard her comment, but he hasn’t turned around, or indeed acknowledged Hob in any way since he came in. He shrugs mentally and turns away to look out the window at the thickly swirling snow. It’s dark enough now that streetlights have come on, casting cones of light in which the flakes dance like a very slow sodium-tinted tornado.

He wishes he had a book. Or a crossword puzzle, or one of those packets of crayons they give to kids at restaurants. Something to keep his hands occupied and his mind off of everything that was threatening to consume it, off of the last few days, off of her –

Then the man from the counter slides into the booth across from him.

“Hello,” Hob says.

“Hello,” the stranger says. His voice is surprisingly deep and resonant, coming from his slim frame, and he looks to be in his late twenties, perhaps a few years younger than Hob. He is very pale. His dark hair is sticking up rather wildly and his eyes are a cold, clear blue that reminds Hob of the way the sky had looked this morning, before the clouds had descended.

“Who are you, then? Aside from a fellow Brit?” asks Hob.

“No one of consequence.” He’s lugging around a small backpack, which now rests on the bench beside him.

“I must know,” Hob says in a very bad Inigo Montoya accent.

“Get used to disappointment,” the stranger says with a smirk, and Hob laughs.

“Oh, we’re going to get along just fine,” he says, holding his hand out across the table. “My name’s Hob, yes that’s my real name, and yes, it is a long story.”

The stranger shakes his hand briefly. His palm is warm from cupping his coffee cup, but the tips of his fingers are cold. “Pleased to meet you, Hob.”

“And do you have a name, stranger?”

“I do. Several, in fact.”

“Any of them for public consumption?”

The stranger shrugs. “Will you forgive me if I maintain a certain level of mystery?”

Hob shrugs too. “That’s your lookout, mate. No skin off my nose.”

They chat. About the weather, and how odd it is, and how different to England. About books – the stranger appears to be a voracious reader, and Hob had loaded up an old iPod with audiobooks in preparation for a lot of driving, which sparks a lively debate on the merits of printed books vs reading aloud. In the midst of this, Hob’s food arrives, and he is derailed momentarily from the conversation by an overwhelming need to unhinge his jaw and stuff as many chips into his gob as humanly possible. The stranger watches in amusement.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hob says, muffled by his burger. “Been driving pretty much all day and I didn’t really want to stop, so…”

He’s suddenly self-conscious, very aware that the man sitting across from him is slender and willowy and dressed all in black, and that he himself is very much… not that. Dressed for comfort and warmth in slightly baggy jeans and a flannel shirt and his puffy jacket balled up on the bench beside him. But the stranger seems unbothered, simply smiling slightly and snagging a fried pickle off the plate between them, which Hob had invited him to share moments after it had arrived.

They are good; crispy and salty and uniquely American. Hob is certainly prepared to believe they’re the best in the county.

“So are you staying here in town, or is that shrouded in mystery as well?” he asks, once he’s slowed down a bit.

“I’ve been staying in a cabin up the mountain, a little way out of town. With my family.” He said the word family as though it is faintly dirty. “One of my siblings thought it would be good for us to get away together. But I have found it… trying.”

“Up the mountain, eh? Are you going to be able to get back in this?”

Hob tips his head toward the window. It is very dark now, and the snow is falling more thickly and wildly than ever. A crease appears between the stranger’s eyebrows.

“To be honest, I had not thought that far ahead.”

“Do you have much experience driving in the snow?”

To Hob’s surprise, the stranger actually blushes, just a gentle stain of pink across his cheekbones. “I… walked.”

“You walked?”

The waitress, stopping by the table to warm up their coffees, echos Hob’s surprise.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “In this? How are you fixing to get home?”

“I was planning to walk back,” the stranger says with some asperity. “But I admit I was not anticipating this kind of weather.”

“Let me check on the roads for you,” the waitress says kindly. “Which cabin did you say you’re at? My brother-in-law lives up that way, I’ll give him a call. I’m sure we can find you a ride.”

She goes back behind the counter and picks up the phone.

“I’m happy to give you a ride,” Hob says quietly. “If she thinks it’s safe.”

“You do not have to do that.”

“‘S okay. I want to.”

“Bill? It’s Jan. I have a question for you,” says the waitress.

Hob realizes, suddenly and with some surprise, that it is quite true, that he is not just being polite: he does want to help this mysterious stranger, who talks like a 19th-century Byronic hero and dresses like a college goth. His stomach is doing the tiniest little swoop every time they make eye contact, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

The waitress calls over to him.

“You got four wheel drive, hon?”

Hob thinks about the little Honda Civic in the motel parking lot. Thinks about mountain roads and snow. Shakes his head no.

Scraps of the waitress’s conversation float across the diner and Hob takes another bite of his burger.

“– well they’re foreign, Bill, they don’t –”

He snickers just a little; can’t help himself, really, because the waitress is just so kind and helpful and also clearly more than a little bit befuddled by their presence in her diner. These two Brits, total strangers, so unalike one another – and yet here they are, sharing a booth and a plate of fried pickles, five thousand miles and change away from home. He exchanges a look of camaraderie with the stranger and eats some more chips. They’re good too.

“– and tomorrow? What’s the overnight –”

After another minute or two the waitress thanks her brother-in-law and hangs up the phone. Her face is serious when she comes back to their table.

“Well, boys,” she says, “I don’t think anyone is going anywhere tonight. Bill says it’s pretty bad up there, and only getting worse. The plows aren’t even going out yet on account of the snow’s still coming down so hard, it doesn’t make sense to try and clear anything. You going to be able to find a place to stay?” she asks the stranger.

He looks at Hob. “Did you mention a motel?”

“Yeah, the Townhouse?” Hob says, and the waitress nods along. “I don’t know for sure if there are rooms available, but it didn’t look like the parking was full.”

“Probably not, this time of year,” interjects the waitress. “It’s a fine place, and Paulie can certainly use the business. I’ll bring your checks by in a minute, guys.”

She leaves them again. Her sensible sneakers squeak against the floor tiles as she walks.

“Thank you again for your offer of a ride,” the stranger says quietly. “That was very kind of you.”

“Course. I’m just sorry you won’t be able to get home tonight,” Hob says.

“It is my own fault. I should not have behaved so impulsively. But my siblings…” The man frowns. “As I said, they can be difficult. I would have done something regrettable, had I remained in the house.”

Hob waves a hand. “Ah, it happens to the best of us. Especially around family. You should hear some of the fights I’ve had with my sister, we can scream the paint off the walls when we get going.”

“Indeed,” the man says darkly.

“I’m glad you did come to town, though. It’s been kind of nice,” Hob says tentatively. “Having someone to talk to tonight.”

“Indeed,” his stranger repeats. But this time one corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny smile. “It seems to have worked out in my favor.”

Hob smiles back. “So, are you really not going to tell me your name?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun, eh?” Hob glances down at his own hands, folded on the table, back at the stranger. “Is that what this is?”

The stranger smirks. He leans forward and plucks another fried pickle from the plate. He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue just a little bit farther than necessary to pop the slice into his mouth. He chews, and smirks some more, and gives Hob an unmistakable up-and-down appraising glance, and underneath the table he presses one ankle against Hob’s instep.

Oh. Hob feels a surprising but not unfamiliar spike of arousal in his gut. So that’s where this is heading – has been heading, since he pushed open the door and the stranger had glanced up at him. Had he blushed, when his eyes met Hob’s? Or is he applying more detail to that brief interaction after the fact, now that he thinks he knows what his stranger is thinking?

And when had the man become his stranger?

“I see,” he says, and presses back against the bony ankle under the table.

Ten minutes later, they’ve settled their bills – his stranger had apparently eaten a club sandwich before Hob had arrived, and he’s weirdly relieved that the man has consumed something more substantial than coffee this evening – and are gearing up to head back into the cold. Hob is zipping up his coat when he realizes the other man appears to have only a thick black hoodie and a knit beanie (also black, of course). He glances out the window, where it’s still snowing pretty hard, and raises an eyebrow.

“You going to be okay in just that?”

“You said it is only a couple of blocks? I will be fine. I tend not to feel the cold. And,” he adds defensively, “when I originally walked down the weather was not quite so… inclement.”

“If you say so,” Hob says as he opens the door. The waitress calls out a good night and he waves to her over his stranger’s shoulder. Wonders, just for a moment, what she thinks of the fact that they’re leaving together, or if she will ever think of them again at all. They step out into the snowy evening. “The girl at the motel said there’s a liquor store down the street. Mind detouring there? I was thinking of picking up some whiskey, or something. Something to keep a man warm.”

The man chuckles and they head down the street. It’s not until they’re away from the diner windows that he takes Hob by the elbow and gently draws him just outside the circle of a street lamp.

“Surely,” he says, voice low, stepping into Hob’s space, “there are many ways for a man to… keep warm.”

And he kisses him.

His lips are warm and dry, a little chapped. It’s a simple kiss, a chaste one, just their lips touching and the barest pressure of the stranger’s belly and chest pressed against Hob’s, swathed in layers of winter gear. It lasts for a heartbeat, two, and then the man steps back with a hum of satisfaction.

“Oh?” says Hob, giddily. “It’s like that, is it?”

“Obviously,” responds his stranger.

“Well, I don’t know, mate,” says Hob as they make their way down the street. He resists the urge to link their arms together. “Maybe you play footsie with every guy you meet in random diners in Northern California.”

“Perhaps.”

The liquor store is a brief respite from the wind and the snow. Hob selects a mid-range bottle of whiskey and they trudge back to his motel room. The snowflakes and the streetlights and the swirling wind make everything feel more than a little bit surreal, like something out of a dream or a fairy tale. The two of them could be adventurers, explorers, wading through an arctic wasteland in search of shelter. The mountain looms behind them, dark and mysterious, like a great castle or some monstrous beast.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” asks his stranger, kicking off his boots dropping his backpack by the desk. “I’m afraid I did get rather sweaty, hiking down earlier. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up.” His gaze, beneath his long eyelashes, feels heavy and significant.

“Go right ahead.” Hob gestures toward the bathroom. “I’m just going to nip down to the lobby and get a bit of ice.” He retrieves the ice bucket from the desk, brushing close to his stranger as he does. The brief contact jolts him back to the real world. They’re not in the arctic waste; this handsome, ethereal man is here, in his motel room. He is pulling off his somewhat sodden hoodie and draping it over the back of the chair, and sniffing dubiously at the sweater he wears underneath it. He is real.

Hob waits until he hears the shower turn on to slip out the door.

Although he has his moments of cluelessness, Hob is not a stupid man. He knows where this is going. He recognizes the signs, the coy little dance they’ve been doing around each other for the past two hours, and no, he’s not a stupid man, but if he were a better one he might be able to resist the temptation of falling into bed with a beautiful stranger who won’t even share his name.

But there’s something about this man. Hob wants him. Already can’t resist him. Wants to wrap him up and keep him warm and kiss his collarbones and, yes, wants to fuck him, wants to feel him shudder and moan and wants to watch his cheeks flush and his head fall back in ecstasy. He hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time, and now it’s come out of nowhere to slam into him and hook into his gut, this wanting.

He throws a few scoops of ice from the machine in the motel lobby into the bucket and goes back to the room.

He’s kicked off his boots, unwrapped one of the shitty plastic cups, and poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey by the time he hears the shower shut off. There’s the usual shuffling noise of towels, a brief blast of the cheap hair dryer mounted to the wall. Then the door opens and the stranger emerges, and Hob is slammed from the real world right back into a surreal dream.

The man is even more beautiful without his clothes on: Hob would compare him to an elf or a fairy prince, but he’s too busy choking slightly on the spit that’s suddenly flooding his mouth at the sight of long, slim limbs, a narrow waist, and a temptingly well-defined Adonis belt that disappears under the cheap motel towel wound around his hips.

There’s a long moment of silent eye contact. Hob’s leaning up against the desk, cup cradled in one hand. His face heats as he watches his stranger’s eyes travel slowly down the length of his body and back up, pursing his lips slightly. His mouth is very pink, with the kind of full bottom lip that’s made for nibbling on, and the rest of his skin is as pale and smooth as… well, as snow, with just a touch of redness from the heat of the shower spreading across his chest.

Hob downs half of his whiskey without even thinking about it. He can’t look away. He can’t think, can’t even blink. He’s afraid that if he does, this vision will disappear and it’ll just be him, alone, a saddish man alone in a motel room with a bottle of booze and a bag of expensive camera equipment, and then who knows what will happen?

His stranger gives him one of those tiny half-smiles, suggestive, not quite a leer, and stalks across the room toward him.

He widens his legs and his stranger steps in to stand between his feet. He takes Hob’s drink out of his hand and tosses back the last swallow of whiskey before setting the plastic cup aside. Then he hooks one finger into the collar of Hob’s flannel shirt and pulls him into a kiss. His mouth is a study in contrasts: warm from the whiskey and cool from the ice, soft tongue and sharp teeth. They sink briefly, gently, into Hob’s bottom lip, and Hob pulls the man close against his chest and returns the favor.

The kiss is turning wet and messy when the man pulls back far enough to start fumbling with Hob’s shirt buttons. He’s pulled the tails of the shirt out of Hob’s jeans and has it about halfway unbuttoned when a phone starts ringing.

It’s not the room phone – it’s coming from a pocket of the man’s backpack.

“Ignore it,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck. “We are busy.”

The phone rings three times; four times. The stranger has finished with Hob’s shirt and is pulling the tee beneath it out of the waistband of his jeans by the time it finally stops.

His fingers are toying with Hob’s belt buckle and ghosting over the seam of his fly when it rings again.

The stranger groans audibly.

“Do you think,” Hob says with the carefully deliberate cadence of the very turned on, “that your family might be worried about you?”

“I do not care,” his stranger grumbles, and sinks gracefully to his knees.

Eventually the phone stops ringing again.

He’s worked Hob’s belt and fly open and is nuzzling into the opening of his jeans, nosing at the base of Hob’s cock through his underwear and Hob is panting, his stranger’s hot breath so close to where Hob wants him most – when the phone rings a third time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snarls the stranger, and stands.

He fishes a slightly battered-looking BlackBerry out of an outside pocket of his backpack and stabs at the call answer button.

“What.”

He turns away, so all Hob can see is the furious, stiff line of his stranger’s back. He can’t hear the other half of the conversation, and he doesn’t think he wants to; every fibre of the man’s body radiates anger and discomfort and perhaps a little bit of shame. Hob adjusts himself discreetly, rezips his jeans, and tiptoes over to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Obviously I am alive. I am fine.” A pause. “I took a walk.” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, I know what time it is. No, I am assured that the roads were too bad to make it back to the cabin. I am in a motel room in…” He looks over to Hob. “What is the name of this place?”

Hob supplies the name of the motel, and that of the town as well, just for good measure. The man relays the information into the phone. There is another long pause.

“That is none of your business. Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. And if you speak to me like that again I will hang up the phone.”

There is another, longer pause, during which the stranger’s face grows progressively redder. He is very deliberately not looking at Hob.

“No. I said no. I will arrange for my own transportation in the morning. I –”

The person on the other end of the phone must say something truly outrageous, because his strangers eyes bug out in a way that looks almost uncomfortable.

“Do the entirety of the known universe a favor and crawl back into whatever slime hole you emerged from and leave me alone,” he hisses. “Goodbye.”

Hob can’t quite muffle a snort at this crowning line. Siblings.

His stranger hangs up the phone with a vicious jab of a button and slams it down on the desk; then seems to reconsider, retrieves it, and shuts it off entirely before throwing it into his backpack. He sighs, a surprisingly tired sound.

“I will have another drink, if you don’t mind,” he says. “And then I would like it very much if you would fuck me. Please.”

Hob’s cock, which had been feeling distinctly neglected, gives a twitch.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says. “Are you –”

The stranger waves a dismissive hand. “I am quite sober enough to have sex with you. And I could easily afford my own room, if that’s a concern. I am here because I want to be.”

“Glad to hear it, but that actually isn’t what I was going to ask,” Hob says mildly.

“Oh,” the man says. A faint blush rises on his cheekbones. He scoops up the whiskey bottle and uncorks it, taking an unceremonious swig. The towel hangs dangerously low around his hips. “What were you going to ask?”

His stranger pauses with the whiskey bottle against his lips. Hob watches the long line of his neck work once, twice, as he swallows, and figures he may as well put his cards on the table.

“I was going to ask if latex condoms are okay. For when I fuck you into the mattress in a minute here.”

The man clears his throat. “Oh,” he says again. “Yes. Latex is fine.”

“Good. Anything you don’t like? Hard boundaries?”

He pauses. “I do not enjoy being choked. Or having my hands restrained in any way. But I like… I like it a little bit rough. It feels good. To be used.”

Hob leans back on one elbow. “Is that what you want me to do? Use you?”

“Yes.”

The word drops into the quiet room like a handful of snow might drop off a tree branch – soft and muffled and sending the same delicious shiver down Hob’s spine.

“I can do that.” Oh, yes. Hob can use this beautiful man, if he is offering himself up to be used. “C’mere, then.”

His stranger walks slowly across the room to where Hob is half-reclining on the bed, feet still planted on the floor. He kneels between Hob’s legs and runs his hands slowly up and down his thighs from knee to hip. “And you?” he asks. “Your boundaries?”

Hob considers. “I’m with you on choking, not a fan,” he says. “I’m not big on pain, generally, but I can give it to other people, if they need it.”

“Alright.” His hands are still rubbing up and down Hob’s thighs, a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. When he speaks again his voice is thick. “Would you consider the preliminary negotiations to be concluded now?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your mouth than spout off like a horny nineteenth century robber baron?” Hob counters.

His stranger smiles, a proper smile that crinkles the corners of his blue eyes, and unzips the fly of Hob’s jeans.

In short order he’s pulled them open and pushed Hob’s boxers down just enough that he can get his cock out. He’s not quite hard, not yet, but he gets there quickly between his stranger’s gentle, surprisingly soft hands and the way he immediately buries his nose in Hob’s pubic hair and breathes deeply as he looks up through his eyelashes.

Then he opens his mouth, and wraps his tongue around the head of Hob’s cock, and Hob’s brain makes a noise like radio static.

Oh, he is good at this. Unfairly good. Supernaturally good. He teases Hob for long, long minutes, working up and down his shaft with light touches of just his lips and tongue, ducking down now and then to mouth gently at his balls, until Hob is twitching and swearing and straining, perched on the edge of the bed. When he finally has mercy and takes Hob’s cock fully into his mouth, it is barely a relief. He is so wet, so hot, and he sinks down on Hob with no resistance, no trace of a gag reflex. Before he can stop himself, Hob’s hips jerk forward that final fraction, and suddenly his stranger’s nose is brushing his pubic bone and his throat is contracting around the head of Hob’s cock.

He’s expecting the man to pull back, to splutter in indignation, but instead he makes an encouraging noise and squeezes Hob’s thigh before folding his hands almost primly in his lap.

“Fuck,” Hob mutters. He makes an experimental shallow thrust into the tight, wet heat of his stranger’s mouth. “Really?”

His stranger can’t nod, not with Hob’s prick in his mouth, but he moans. Hob feels it vibrate all along the length of his shaft and has to stifle a whimper of his own. He sinks one hand into the soft riot of the man’s hair, still a little damp from the shower, and cradles the back of his skull. The bone feels sweet and finely formed in his hand.

“You want me to fuck your pretty face?” he asks, soft and just a tiny bit mean. “Yeah? That’s what your mouth is good for, isn’t it?”

He thrusts again, in and out, and the stranger’s eyes roll back a little in his head, so he does it again, and again. Soon he really is fucking his face, not too hard but deep, fingers tightening in his stranger’s hair as his eyes fall nearly shut, narrowing to crystalline blue crescents.

Hob pulls back briefly to let his stranger breathe. Runs his thumb along his bottom lip, dripping with spit, before he pushes back in. He doesn’t stop until he can feel the first tendrils of orgasm beckoning to him; but as tempting as it is to keep going, to empty himself into this perfect mouth, he’s made a promise. And Hob is a man of his word, so he pulls the man off his cock by the scruff of his neck. He makes an obscene noise as he goes, and another thing string of saliva dribbles from his puffy mouth. His eyes are slightly glassy as he looks up at Hob.

“Get up on the bed, baby,” Hob orders gently.

When the man stands up the towel is just barely clinging to his narrow hips, and his erection is stiff and straining against the terrycloth. He’s so hard, Hob thinks wonderingly, just from having Hob’s cock in his mouth for a few minutes, and his own prick throbs in sympathy.

“Hands and knees,” Hob says, and the man crawls up on the bed. The towel falls away as he goes, languid but obedient, so that he’s entirely naked when Hob positions himself behind him. The contrast between Hob’s clothes and the other man’s nudity is delicious – Hob’s rough denim against the man’s soft thighs, Hob’s hairy wrists poking out from worn flannel as he runs his fingernails along sharply elegant shoulder blades.

He allows himself one long, gentle caress, from the nape of his stranger’s neck down to the shallow dimples in the small of his back, before he grabs at the man’s buttocks and unceremoniously spreads him open.

His hole looks surprisingly loose and relaxed already. Hob runs the pad of one thumb over it.

“Were you prepping yourself in the shower?” he asks, delighted. He presses gently and the furl of muscle gives, just a little, pink and fluttering.

“Hng,” says his stranger, shuddering. “Yes. I thought – I thought about your hands. Oh. I liked the thought that you were just outside the door. While I had my fingers inside myself.”

“Impatient little minx,” Hob says fondly. He kisses one of the lovely knobs of his stranger’s spine and pinches his backside for good measure before pulling away. “Stay here.”

He has to dig down to the bottom of his duffel bag in order to find the box of condoms and the little travel sized bottle of lube. He’d felt a little self-conscious when he’d packed them back in his flat in London – like he was presuming something – but then again he had been preparing for a supposedly romantic road trip with his girlfriend.

He’s glad, now, that he has them.

His stranger has remained on his knees, pitched forward to rest on his elbows, face pressed into a pillow and cock hanging heavy between his legs.

“Good boy,” Hob praises, and runs his hand along the man’s flank. “Beautiful. Oh, darling, I’m going to make you feel so good. And then you’re going to make me feel so good, aren’t you? You already have,” Hob coos, drizzling lube directly onto his arsehole. “And I know you’re going to keep being a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Before the man can answer, Hob slips a finger inside him, right up to the first knuckle. He’s rewarded with a whimper and the feeling of his stranger pushing back against him, silently begging for more.

And then not so silently. “More,” moans the stranger. “Fuck. More, please.”

Hob strokes his finger in and out, petting the velvet inside his stranger.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll get more.”

He tries to spend as much time torturing his stranger with his fingers as his stranger had spent torturing him with his mouth, but by the second finger he finds his resolve dissolving like so many snowflakes on warm skin. The man is making such wanton sounds, and his knees skid wider and wider on the slippery motel bedspread, opening him inexorably to Hob’s hungry eyes and questing hands.

“Oh. Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes, fuck,” he moans. No more well-crafted phrases or erudite words; the only thing dropping from that perfect mouth are noises, guttural and breathy by turns, only half-muffled by the pillow his face is smashed into.

“Please,” he begs, “please, in me, I – please, I need –”

Hob obliges.

He’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life as he shoves his jeans down around his thighs and rolls the condom on. He has to do it one-handed, clumsily, because some frantic corner of his brain is convinced that if he lets go of the stranger’s hip then the man will disappear, between one blink and the next, and this whole night will turn out to have been some snowblind fever dream.

But his stranger stays where Hob has put him, desperate and writhing, begging for Hob’s cock, and when he finally pins the man down to the mattress and pushes into him, that first hard thrust is enough to silence both of them.

The room is utterly still for a heartbeat, and then another, and then one more, until Hob pulls out in order to thrust in again and his stranger wails and then Hob is fucking into him in earnest, fucking him hard, until the sound of their skin slapping together almost drowns out the sounds his stranger is making beneath him.

Almost.

His stranger moans and pants, and Hob answers him, thrust for thrust and moan for moan, Yes and Ah and Christ and Fuck, fuck me, use me, yes. He grips his stranger by the hips, so hard that his fingers leave little white divots behind when he shifts his grip, so hard that he worries he might leave bruises, and still the man pushes back against him and begs for more.

He comes, when he finally comes, untouched, rutting gracelessly against the mattress. Hob stills, grits his teeth, not wanting to overwhelm the other man as he seizes in pleasure, but his stranger continues to move against him, if anything even more desperate, even in the throes of orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “don’t, oh God, fuck me through it, don’t stop –”

So Hob hauls him up and pushes him down, one hand on his waist and one shoving his chest down into the mattress as the man’s hands scrabble at the sheets and he sobs and Hob pistons into him until he empties himself, until his prick is oversensitive and his stranger is twitching around and beneath him, and the room is finally quiet.

Then Hob takes the condom off, knots it and tosses it towards the wastebasket. He rolls them both away from the wet spot with only middling success, but he’s too tired to care. He shucks the rest of his clothes off. He is boneless and spent, and his stranger is inserting himself relentlessly into Hob’s personal space. They lie there for a long, long moment, sweaty and panting, until their breathing starts to even out and the desperate closeness has receded into normal cuddling. Hob presses a kiss to his stranger’s sweaty temple and marvels at his luck.

“I realize I neglected to ask you why you find yourself in Northern California,” his stranger says, tucked against Hob’s side, voice drowsy and hoarse. “Do you care to share?”

“It’s a long story,” Hob says. “I was – well, I am – on a road trip. With my, ah. With my girlfriend. Well. Ex-girlfriend, now. Actually.”

His stranger tenses slightly, and Hob doesn’t blame him; he knows how it must sound. “It sounds like there is a story there?” the man says, almost tentative.

“Yeah, we… we came over together, about two weeks ago. We flew into Seattle, were planning this whole big trip, right down the coast and all the way to Los Angeles. See the redwoods, do some wine tastings, the whole bit. I’m a photographer, I was thinking I could turn the whole trip into a photo essay, maybe even a book.” He sighs. “Then she heard about this yoga retreat, ashram sort of place. Bit culty, I don’t really go in for all that, but she absolutely had to check it out, so we did. Two days later, out of the blue, she tells me our chakras are misaligned and gives me the boot. Turns out Guru Todd Thingummy, who ran the retreat center, was very aligned with her chakras. As well as other, less… metaphysical things.”

There’s a sound from the vicinity of Hob’s armpit that he realizes with delight is a snort. The snort blossoms into a chuckle, and then his stranger is laughing, a frankly horrible honking sort of laugh, shaking in Hob’s arms with it, and Hob laughs along.

“I’m sorry,” his stranger gasps. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t laugh at you. It’s just… Guru Todd.”

“I know!” Hob snickers. “You can picture him, right? White boy dreadlocks and a fucking… shell necklace. Utter tosser.”

“I feel like I’ve probably met someone almost exactly like him, truly.” Eventually his stranger’s horrible laugh subsides. He shifts against Hob, playing idly with his chest hair, curling it around one finger. “In a way, I am also escaping a recent ex. She was the first person I dated after some… difficult experiences I had about a year ago. But in the end I was far more invested in the relationship than she, and she became. Uncomfortable. With my ardor.”

“She’s a bloody idiot then,” Hob says automatically, and his stranger looks up, startled.

“Do you think so?”

Hob briefly considers backpedaling. Don’t come off like a madman, he thinks to himself. Not when he’s finally talking to you. But there’s no hope for him. “Well, yeah. I mean, I’d say your ardor is my favorite thing about you so far.” He lets one hand drift down and gives his stranger’s arse a cheeky squeeze, and is rewarded with a squeak and another snort.

“You are kind to say so,” the man says, and interrupts himself with a yawn.

“It’s true. I… I’m really glad I met you,” Hob says honestly. Too honestly. He can’t help himself; the man is just so beautiful, mouth kissed red and limbs loose, fucked out and soft everywhere he’d been hard and prickly before.

Hob still doesn’t know his name.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” the man says softly.

Hob snuggles them both down into the lumpy motel pillows and pulls the blanket up firmly around their shoulders. The wind blows outside, he reaches up to switch off the lamp, and they fall asleep.

He wakes in the night and stumbles to the bathroom to take a piss. When he comes back, his stranger has starfished out and is taking up a full two-thirds of the bed, sleeping like a stone. Hob manages to reinsert himself into the remaining third and then simply lies there for a long few minutes, looking at the other man.

The skies must have cleared, at least a little, because there’s a few strips of moonlight filtering through the blinds. The pale light turns his stranger into marble, a work of art; he practically glows against the blue sheets. Hob’s fingers itch for his camera.

“You’re going to fuck me up,” he whispers. “I’m going to wake up next to you and never want to leave, and it’s going to fuck me up so bad.”

The sleeping man does not respond, of course; doesn’t even stir. Hob lies there, and gazes at him, until he slips back into sleep himself.

When he wakes again it’s fully morning. The sun is that peculiar thin shade of blue that you get on very cold mornings, but when Hob peeks out the window, the sky is clear and the snowplows have clearly been out making the rounds. He tries to tamp down a sudden feeling of disappointment.

He gets a drink of water, and when he returns to bed his stranger is stirring. First one blue eye opens, then the other.

“Morning,” Hob says.

The man hums and stretches luxuriously, rolling from his belly to his back. The sheets fall down around his hips, revealing one elegant hipbone and a tempting glimpse of dark curls. His pale skin practically glows against the blue sheets in the morning light.

“Enjoying the view?” his stranger asks, and his voice is rough with sleep and slightly hoarse.

“You could say that,” Hob says. He puts one knee on the bed, reaches out to run a hand lightly down the long, lean line of the man’s thigh. “God, you’re… you are so beautiful.”

“Come here to me,” the man says, beckoning to Hob.

Hob ducks his head and kisses up the ladder of the man’s ribs, takes one pert nipple gently between his teeth.

“Can I take your picture?” he says suddenly. “Not in a creepy way. I can even keep your face out of it if you like, I just… there’s something about you, in this light.”

“I don’t mind,” the man says.

Hob’s heart leaps.

A few minutes later, he’s gotten his camera out and adjusted. The room is so quiet, so still, that each click of the shutter sounds almost sacrilegious. He shoots in black and white. He thinks the sheets will show dark, almost black, and the man’s skin will show light and luminous against them. His stranger poses like a dream, languid and biddable, moving here and there on the bed, wherever Hob arranges him.

“You’ve done this before,” Hob accuses. He’s kneeling above the other man, shooting straight down, and his stranger has one arm thrown over his face so only one eye is visible. “Posed, I mean. You know how to move for a camera.”

“I have,” the stranger admits. “Mostly for life drawing classes, though I imagine the principle is more or less the same.”

“Incredible. Are you an artist, then?”

“I suppose.”

Hob tugs the sheet a little lower, so that it’s just barely covering the stranger’s prick, which has plumped up a little – whether from the attention of Hob himself or of the camera, he’s not sure, but it’s one of the sexiest things Hob’s ever seen. The neat patch of dark hair blending into the dark sheet. The gentle swell beneath it. His mouth waters.

“You suppose?”

“I find it difficult to call myself an artist. To claim that title. But I make art. If that is the same thing.”

“Hmm. I reckon so.”

Hob pulls the sheet another fraction of an inch lower. He can feel himself getting distracted. The itch he’d felt to photograph the beautiful stranger, now mostly satisfied, has transformed into an altogether different kind of impulse. He takes one more shot, barely paying attention to the framing. Catches himself licking his lips.

“Hob.”

“Yeah?”

“Put the camera down.”

He hastens to obey.

He’d pulled his boxers back on at some point last night, but they do little to hide his arousal as he slides under the sheets and slots himself in behind his stranger, rubbing his nose in the riotous bedhead and kissing his neck as the man tilts his head to one side to give him better access.

“I like how you say my name,” Hob murmurs. He grinds against his stranger’s narrow arse and reaches around to make a loose fist around his hardening cock. “You’re really not going to tell me yours, are you?”

“Mine?”

“Your name.”

“I –” The man’s breath hitches as Hob tightens his grip, stroking slowly up and down. “I haven’t – decided yet.”

“Well,” Hob says against the smooth skin between his ear and his shoulder. “Let me know what you decide.”

They writhe together under the sheets for a few minutes, until they’re both fully hard, until Hob’s chest is slightly tacky with sweat where it’s rubbing against the stranger’s sharp shoulder blades. He’s grunting, underwear pulled down, making quick little thrusts in the crease of the other man’s thigh, sticky and warm and so good.

“Fuck me again,” his stranger says. “Please.”

“Don’t be a madman,” Hob chides. “You’ll be so sore.”

But he doesn’t say no. And he slides a finger between the man’s arse cheeks and pets over his hole, still a little loose from the night before.

The stranger twists his neck around to look Hob in the eye. “I don’t care. I want you,” he says. “I want to feel it.”

And Hob tries his best to be a good person, he really does, but when confronted with this bald-faced desire he is only, after all, a man. So he mumbles Fuck, okay, yeah, okay against his stranger’s shoulder, and tears himself away to retrieve the lube and a condom. He fingers him open, as slowly and as carefully as he can bring himself to do it, and rolls the condom on, and he fucks him again. Face to face, this time; one knee hooked over his elbow, and long arms clinging to him like a drowning man, and panting, open-mouthed kisses that are as much simply breathing the other’s breath as they are real kisses.

The stranger comes first, his beautiful face screwed up in ecstasy, and Hob follows him over the edge mere seconds later.

The other man falls back into a doze almost immediately, drifting off as soon as Hob has disposed of the condom and wiped them down with a handful of tissues, but Hob is buzzing with too much energy to lie back down. He cleans himself up, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth quickly, before dressing quietly and creeping down to the motel lobby to look for breakfast.

There’s a coffee machine, a few muffins – prepackaged, not fresh – and a rather sad fruit bowl with some mealy-looking apples. He assembles what he can and shoves some creamers and sugar packets in his jacket pocket. He asks the bored teenager at the front desk (a different one than the night before, although bearing a distinct family resemblance) about the weather report, and learns that although it’s supposed to stay cold, no more precipitation is in the forecast. Then he goes back to the room.

His stranger stirs again at the rush of cold air when Hob lets himself back into the room.

“I come bearing provisions,” he says, setting the coffees on the bedside table and dropping the rest of his meager bounty in the man’s lap.

“Foraging for our survival?” he asks dryly.

“Something like that. It’s slim pickings out there, I’m afraid. But hey –” he picks up a muffin and wiggles it “– chocolate chip!”

His stranger snorts and mutters something about being spoiled.

Hob is very careful not to say anything about how he’d like to spoil this man very much, actually, for the foreseeable future and possibly beyond that, because Hob has so longed for someone to care for, and because this man so obviously needs it. Hob eats his muffin, and very carefully does not say anything reckless or emotional.

They finish their motel snacks, and drink their coffees (Hob’s with a little creamer and one sugar; the stranger’s with no cream and an absurd amount of sugar). And eventually Hob broaches the subject that’s obviously hovering between them.

“So,” he says. “What do you want to do now? I’m still up to give you a ride to your cabin, if that’s what you want. The roads are supposed to be cleared by now.”

“I suppose I should,” the stranger says, fiddling with his styrofoam cup, not meeting Hob’s eyes. “I did tell my sibling that I would return in the morning.”

“Okay.” Hob clears his throat. “Alright then. Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes them another hour to leave the room. Hob showers, and then his stranger decides he needs to rinse off as well, and then there’s a frustrating search for car keys that turn out to have been kicked or dropped halfway under a bedside table at some point the night before.

Then the stranger stops Hob in the doorway with a hand on his elbow and kisses him, long and slow and wordless, before they step out into the brilliant snowy sparkle of the late morning.

The drive is very quiet. The stranger directs Hob out of town and along a rather steep road that winds up the thickly forested mountainside. It’s certainly not a road that Hob would have wanted to drive in last night’s weather, and even with clear skies and plowed roads he takes it slow, acutely aware of the grip of the rental car’s tires on the snowy highway.

Only one time does the stranger wince and shift uncomfortably when Hob cannot avoid a bump in the road. Hob smiles, and swallows his smile, and deliberately wrenches his mind away from the vivid memories of just why his stranger might be wincing and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

His stranger is silent, except for when he briefly tells Hob when and where to turn. The farther they drive up the mountain, the stiffer he becomes, until he’s gripping the seat with white knuckles and his mouth is one firm line.

Hob doesn’t think it’s the wintry roads that are making him so tense.

They pull over, eventually, at the base of a long driveway. Through the trees Hob can see a large house – not really a cabin by any stretch of the imagination, but built of logs, and with a wisp of woodsmoke floating up from a picturesque brick chimney. They both gaze up at it through the trees. Hob puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off.

“Well, here we are,” he says.

“Indeed,” his stranger says, and his voice sounds tense and slightly strangled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Hob waits for him to open the door and walk away.

The man does not move.

A minute stretches by, and another, and another, and still his stranger has not opened the car door.

Hob dares to hope.

“Come with me,” he says suddenly.

His stranger looks up, startled.

“I mean it. Come with me. Go get your stuff and we’ll just. Drive away. Go down the coast, find somewhere it’s actually warm. Or don’t even get your stuff,” he adds hurriedly, aware that his voice is sounding increasingly unhinged. “Say the word and I’ll just turn the car around. We’ll go. Anywhere you want, just… come with me.”

The man looks at Hob with an unreadable expression for a long moment. “You know nothing about me,” he says finally.

“I know I like you. A lot,” Hob says. “I know last night was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, maybe one of the best nights of my whole life. I know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask. So, I’m asking. Come with me.”

“I haven’t even told you my name,” says his stranger. “I could be a serial killer.”

“You could be, yeah. But I don’t think you are. I think… I think you just want someone to want you.” Hob reaches across the gear shift and briefly touches his stranger on the cheek. The man’s eyes flutter closed and Hob doesn’t think he’s imagining the way he leans ever-so-slightly into the gentle touch before he looks down. “I want you.”

There’s another long silence, punctuated only by an occasional call from the chickadees flitting through the trees.

“My name is Morpheus,” he says to his hands, clenched in his lap. “But some people call me Dream. People – people close to me. Call me Dream.”

Hob smiles. “Can I call you Dream, then?”

Dream nods. “Let’s go,” he says. Hob’s smile widens.

“Want to get anything from inside?” he asks.

“No. I think not,” Dream says. All of a sudden it’s like the tight strings of his body are loosened: he leans back in his seat, crosses his ankles, looking relaxed for the first time since they’d gotten out of bed. He lolls his head to one side and peeks at Hob and his face looks fey and happy in the afternoon light. “I believe I have everything I need for now.”

Happiness wells up in Hob’s chest, a rushing feeling like a mountain spring swollen by melting snow. He puts the car in gear and reaches over to take Dream’s hand.

“Right then,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Read on AO3 >>>

#dreamling #the sandman #my writing #designtheendless

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lokigonnakmsforbucky · 9 months

Text

Dean Winchester NSFW Alphabet

We made sammy one, we gotta make dean one! This was also requested by an anonymous user! Enjoy!

Rating: MINORS DNI!! 18++

Warnings: Its NSFW thats a warning enough;)

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GIF NOT MINE

Check out my masterlist

A= Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Dean is definitely a cuddler, He is always holding you and making sure you are okay. You come first in his mind.

B= Body part (Their favorite body part on themselves and their partners.)

Dean's favorite part of his own body is his smile. He knows he could get what he wants in seconds with one flash of it. On his partner he loves their thighs and mostly when they are around his face ;)

C=Cum (What does he do with it. I AM disgusting)

Dean loves when he sees his cum all over you. Your face, your stomach, but he loves it when it drips out of you.

D=Dirty talk (How much do they dirty talk?)

This Man's mouth is DIRTY, he could get you on your knees in no time.

E=Experience (how experienced are they?)

Dean is definitely experienced to say the least, so rest assured he knows what he is doing.

F=Favorite position (goes without saying)

Cowgirl- Dean is a SUCKER for this position. He loves when you take him how you want him, plus a face full of tits? Yes please.

Doggystyle- Dean loves looking at you taking him, pounding into you to show you who you belong to.

G=Goofy (how goofy or how serious they are in the moment?)

Dean can be goofy or serious. Depending how you both feel or the heat of the moment.

I=Intimacy (How are things during the moment, romantic aspect.)

Deans eyes never leave your body, his hands are on you at every moment.

J=Jack off

Dean gets off at least 4 times a week, his sex drive is high and when he isn’t around you he has to release that frustration. Maybe even calling you for some sexy phone sex ;)

K=Kinks

Dean loves to be dominant with you, but what a lot of people don’t know is that he loves to be dominated by you. He loves when you take control over him and take what you need.

He also has a knife kink… he doesn’t get why he does but just the thought of having it out against your skin or his skin… he loves it.

L=Location (where you guys would do the deed)

Dean would do it anywhere you would be game to do it at, but his favorite is in Baby the sweet 67’ Impala…. Mostly when you give him road head.

M=Motivation (what turns him on, or gets them going)

Dean loves seeing you in his flannels… plus eating pie, having whip cream all over your face? He is ready to pounce.

N=No (Something they wouldn’t do, or turns them off.)

ANYTHING that hurts your or puts you in harms way. You are his world, he won’t let that get hurt.

O=Oral (do they like giving, receiving, both?)

Dean LOVES giving you head, eating you out like a cherry pie. Your his fav flavor though.

Dean loves when you give him head, it relaxes him instantly.

P=Pace (Are they slow? Fast? Rough?)

Depends on Deans mood, he loves taking you rough and fast. But he loves being nice and slow.

Q=Quickie (Their opinion on it, how often would they have one)

Dean is always up for quickies, anytime you both need one he is up and ready.

R=Risk (Are they risky)

In deans line of work, risk is dangerous. But if your down…so is he.

S=Stamina (how long can you last? How many rounds?)

Sessions with a Dean are long, hot, and heavy. You can take 3 rounds but Dean… he can make you do as many rounds he wants.

T=Toys (Do you guys own toys? Do they use them?)

You guys explore with vibrators and sometimes restraints.

U=Unfair (How likely would they tease?)

You would be the one that would be a tease, Dean would definitely have his way with you later ;)

V=Volume (How loud are they)

Dean breathes heavy, low growls and grunts

X=X-ray (what’s going own down there)

Dean is beyond average…he is definitely bigger than most guys.

Y=Yearning (How high is their sex drive)

Deans sex drive is VERY high, you can’t deny that.

Z=ZZZ (how fast he would fall asleep)

Dean would wait till you were taking care of and asleep before even getting comfortable. You come first.

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buccini555 · 2 months

Text

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

♡ What would it be like to have a secret relationship with one of the city's most dangerous gangsters?

♡ H e a d c a n o n s/I m a g i n e s .ᐟ .ᐟ

♡ 𝑭𝒕. Ran Haitani

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐨 . 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐨 . 𝐊𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨 . 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢 . 𝐑𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢 ♡ . 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 . 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢

tw: amost none, but, excessive jealousy mention and control/manipulation mention

𝗥𝗮𝗻 𝗛𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗶: Ran isn't very sociable when he's in a bad mood, but as soon as he saw you pass by him, He can't deny that he was interested in you, Ran's the flirtatious type so he immediately went to start some conversation with you, Ran knew that ge wouldn't be able to forget you after the first time, so he wanted to repeat the dose by maintaining a secret relationship with you.

He is somewhat detached and often doesn't seem to care, even so, he cares a lot about you, even if he denies it, he truly loves you, Ran is jealous, ends up often being controlling, he ends up wanting to take over he takes control of his life and becomes easily enraged when he feels that you are not treating him exclusively, the tall one likes attention, thus demanding a lot of your precious time.

A few months into your relationship, he invited you to live with him in a large, extremely well-decorated house, even though he intended to keep your relationship a secret, Ran is very discreet about it, even so, he rarely ends up taking you on dates outside from home, you usually go to the mall together, especially to stores, Ran loves the fact that she can choose your clothes and is meticulous in the way you chooses to dress you just to please him visually.

Not everything is sweet in your relationship, Ran makes a point of reminding you how dangerous he can be every time you argue and you think about leaving, sometimes he even shows some signs of aggression towards you even though he's calm most of the time, another fact about Ran is that he often ends up being extremely demanding, he wants you to have the perfect relationship but often doesn't even make an effort to achieve that goal, he just keeps you a secret for safety's sake, but, secretly, it's also out of jealousy, he doesn't want other guys to know who his one and only is.

tw: pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, dollface, sweet, hottie), car in sex mention, sex in public place, unprotected sex, words like (bitch, slut and others like), creampie, pregnancy mention(?), cigarette use

That night alone in your house, Ran had committed to taking you to dinner after another tedious meeting at Bonten's, later, as soon as the older Haitani returned to your home, he felt admired as soon as he entered the living room door with you the waiting dressed in a black dress covered by an overcoat that he had bought you last week, Ran gave you a kiss and soon after went to take a shower, ending up not taking long to return to the room where you were still anxiously waiting for him to the date in night.

"You look so beautiful, honey, were you waiting for me?" He questions, looking you up and down, passing the tip of his tongue over his own lips, leaving aside the suit he was carrying on his arm to hug you.

"Yes, baby." You replied as he cupped your face to kiss his cheek. "You're perfect, my princess, queen..." Smiling again, Ran exclaimed right away. "C'mon, sweetie?" You questioned, looking into the taller man's eyes. "C'mon, sunshine." Holding your hand and kissing it subtly, he gently held your arm and took you to his new car that was already on the street.

The place was a bit far away, Ran preferred to take you to more distant places, so they soon ended up taking some kind of road, the weather wasn't as cold that night as you thought, so he ended up taking off his coat and the kept in the back seat of the car, meanwhile, you can notice Ran watching you from the corner of his eye a few times, your dress was really short and with a little cleavage, so, drawing the taller's attention, the wind blew through your hair as you watched him drive intently.

"C'mon, honey, tell me what you want in that pretty dress." Ran said laughing as she increased the speed of his newest luxury car.

You smiled back, placing your hand on his thigh and squeezing it subtly. "What do you want, Ran?" Looking at him, you questioned.

"What do you think? I definitely want my future wife, preferably, on top of me." He responded in a serious tone, stopping the car on a shoulder on the side of the road where there was little lighting. "You're a pervert..." Laughing, you said in a low tone.

"You already know what to do, don't you my princess?" As soon as the car was parked, you unbuckled yourself and climbed on top of Ran who soon covered your mouth, sealing your lips with a warm kiss, you could feel his member through the tailored pants he was wearing at the moment, doing so you become even more euphoric.

"Don't play with your boss, babygirl." Holding you even closer to him, he slapped you on the ass while pressing your hips into his lap, then Ran wasted no time and lifted your dress, keeping your underwear visible while you were still kissing him, then he put on your panties aside, opening his pants soon after.

"A-are you sure you want to do this here, R-ran? Isn't it... Dangerous?" Feeling how excited Ran remained, you exclaimed, trying to contain your emotions slight noises that you let out.

"I need to fuck right now, fuck if it's dangerous or not, have you forgotten who I am baby?" Ran laughed, slowly lifting his hips and fitting his member inside her without thinking twice. "That tight pussy... Fuck." He said amidst a brief sigh.

"I'll fuck you wherever I want, you know that." Holding your waist while you sat on him, Ran said, also trying to contain the light sighs that he eventually let out, so he ended up keeping your mouth busy with a kiss, holding your hair while you went up and down on his dick and also forcing your hand even more and hips, making you feel him inside you completely.

"I-I can't take it." Holding the taller man's shoulders, you said with your face flushed, each thrust made your intimacy become numb amidst so much eminent pleasure received.

"Be a good bitch, fuck it." Ran just put her hand over your mouth, making you shut up in that instant and made you end up going even faster and putting more force into each sit.

"You didn't ask me to fuck you, huh lil slut?" Ran questioned with a whisper in his ear, making his body shiver.

"N-now... Hold on, my little whore, hold on tight like a good whore." Commenting on his speech, Ran grabbed his hair again, throwing it back slightly and leaving his reddened face visible in front of his eyes.

"You want to cum on my dick, don't you dollface? Tell me, Mmm?" While masturbating you slowly, Ran questioned looking into your eyes.

"R-ran... F-fuck" You shook your head in affirmation, intensifying the act even more.

"Cum for me, c'mon, cum for me, my fucking hottie." Licking his own lips again, he said, Ran was also overcome by lust, it wouldn't take long for him to reach his limit, even so, he wanted to go faster just to test the limits of his body.

"R-ran, please, please..." Moving your hips back and forth, you couldn't take the pleasure anymore, you just felt your intimacy soaking with each movement.

"S-shit, babygirl, you drive me fucking crazy." Ran said tilting her head back.

"Fuck me completely, Ran" Soon after, you responded.

"You're insatiable, aren't you?" He looked you up and down, watching every movement of your body, no longer able to contain his excitement.

"If you don't get off me I'm going to fill you up, bitch..." Panting, Ran exclaimed.

You continued, keeping the taller man's speech uninhibited. "I told you to fuck me completely, Haitani."

"...Disgraceful bitch." Before finally reaching your limit and dumping all that hot liquid inside and deep inside you, Ran spoke.

After that, you remained on top of him for a moment, you were both exhausted after that sex, so Ran just wanted to drive home slowly.

"If we have a son, at least he will be beautiful like me, don't you think?" Opening the window and lighting a cigarette while you faced the passenger seat, Ran said jokingly. "Fuck you, Ran." Sullenly, you responded immediately. "...I'd rather fuck you." Taking a drag of cigarette, he told you in a testing tone.

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blurredcolour · 3 months

Text

Born To Be Yours

[One-shot | Sequel to We'll Meet Again]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader

Despite the end of the war in Europe, violence still finds its way to the men of Easy company. Thankfully, Eugene knows just where to find you to get them help.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Questionably Written Cajun Accent, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Kissing, Necking, Dry Humping] - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: Slight warning - the events of this fic are centered around the shooting of Sergeant Charles E Grant. The title of this fic is based off the song 'Yours' by Vera Lynn. For your reference, the Cajun pronunciation of cher, Eugene's term of endearment for the reader, is 'sha.' Just to help you really imagine it in your head. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 3887

-------------------------

This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not here in Austria after the surrender of the German army. Not today, the anniversary of D-Day. And yet here Eugene sat, balanced over a stretcher bearing a motionless Grant, holding an IV of blood above his head as Speirs sped down the road toward Saalfelden where the 47th Field Hospital was set up on the edge of town. Talbert rode in the front seat, frequently glancing back at them over his shoulder.

It was a miracle Grant was still breathing after receiving the headwound, continued to breathe through the frantic bandaging and loading onto Speirs’ jeep.

“Where’s the nearest surgeon?” The Captain had barked and Gene had answered easily, known it immediately, because the nearest surgeon was with you.

After parting ways in Titz, following that very eventful Easter Sunday, your hospital had stayed precisely where it was intended to be – twenty-five kilometers behind the line as they advanced across Germany. You had surprised Eugene by sending your next letter not by post, but in the pocket of an ambulance driver who had been all too happy to receive a pack of smokes from you for his trouble. Your ingenuity had opened his eyes, and he’d sent his own reply back two days later, postage paid with chocolate from his rations.

Being able to write one another without the censors having a say, to share every detail of your daily lives without fear of the letter going missing – as long as you each chose a trustworthy deliveryman of course – was a relief after all the delays in communication the pair of you had previously endured. Eugene was admittedly disheartened when he learned that your station in Austria would be in Saalfelden with the majority of the 101st Airborne while Easy and the rest of 2nd Battalion found themselves a further seventeen kilometers down the road in Zell Am See.

There remained a remarkable number of things for him to do, and the lack of ambulance traffic, while a blessing, severely impeded your correspondence once more. In short, Eugene was feeling awfully guilty about the fact that he had not managed to visit you since the war in Europe had ended. As the jeep pulled up outside the requisitioned gymnasium that had been turned into the 47th Field Hospital, he was not certain if he hoped you were there or not.

He jumped off the back of the vehicle as Speirs and Talbert grabbed each end of the stretcher and the three of them rushed toward the building. Eugene hurried a few steps ahead to pull the door open, wincing a little as Speirs shouldered it open fully, sending into the wall with a ‘bang.’ There was a scurry of footsteps from down a hallway to the right before you stepped into view, clad in your white and brown striped hospital dress, a brown cardigan over top with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows. Concern etched your features.

“Follow me.” You said quickly, rushing to pull open the next door into the gymnasium itself. “On the table right there please, sir.” You gestured to a makeshift exam table built of filing cabinets and a cot.

“Chief Nurse?” A young woman poked her head out from behind a privacy screen and Eugene nearly tripped over his own feet.

Last he’d heard you were Assistant Chief Nurse, promoted after your natural leadership of the group of nurses during your nine hours of capture. You’d gone and gotten yourself promoted again. He fought the urge to grin at you proudly as they carefully set Grant down as instructed.

“Shirley, go fetch Dr. Brock from his office immediately.”

“We need a surgeon.” Speirs rasped and Eugene watched the girl halt her progress across the room and look back to you questioningly.

“Dr. Randall then, quickly.” You amended, shifting to begin triage on the patient by checking his vitals as Speirs took Grant’s hand in his tightly.

Shirley fled the room, returning in less than a minute with a dark-haired man wearing a white coat in tow – surely Dr. Randall. A cigarette hung for his lips as he looked to Eugene for the hand off.

“Shot in the head with a pistol, maybe twenty minutes ago? Bandaged and given blood by IV.”

He saw Shirley hand you a chart out of the corner of his eye and you quickly noted these things along with the vitals you’d been taking when the surgeon had walked in. Dr. Randall leaned down to lift the bandages, inspecting Grant’s wound.

“Jesus.” He muttered.

“What?” Speirs asked, looking to him quickly.

“He’s not gonna make it.” Dr. Randall said, taking a slow drag on his cigarette.

“Ya can’t operate on him?” Eugene asked incredulously. This man was a surgeon, this was his job.

“Not me. You’d need a brain surgeon. And even if you had one, I don’t think there’s any hope.” Dr. Randall rubbed at his eyes, obviously just as worn out from the endless number of casualties he’d born witness to, before walking off.

Eugene’s eyes slid to meet yours where you remained next to the spot recently vacated by Dr. Randall; felt his throat clench painfully at the look of deep sympathy you were sending him.

Speirs took a breath and turned to Talbert, breaking the stunned silence that had fallen over the group. “You find the shooter, I want him alive.” He pointed at him for emphasis before turning back to Eugene. “Come on help me.”

“What’re you doing?” Talbert asked, grabbing the end of the stretcher.

“We’re gonna go find a brain surgeon!” Speirs declared before they were off and running back towards the door.

“There’s a German hospital further into town, follow this road for five blocks then hang a left.” You spoke quickly, hurrying to hold open the doors to ease their progress back to the jeep.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” Eugene nodded quickly, ducking slightly as it had begun to lightly rain while they were inside.

“Take care.” Your voice shook a little and Eugene looked back to you once he’d resumed his perch on the back of the jeep, watching you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself as you stood in the rain, staring at him intently until the vehicle jerked into motion as Speirs took off in the direction you had instructed.

The hospital was easy enough to find, thanks to your directions, and Talbert secured another jeep there to carry out Speirs’ orders to find the shooter. The brain surgeon was not currently on duty, but Speirs was undeterred and demanded his home address, from which he fetched him out of bed to operate immediately.

“It will take several hours.” The German surgeon had warned them when Speirs had asked where the waiting room was.

“We’ll wait.” He had replied flatly, and Eugene had followed after him as a nurse led them into an empty room filled with worn chairs and a few side tables with outdated German periodicals.

Eugene watched Speirs sink into one of the chairs while he found himself unable to sit down, wandering the perimeter of the room quietly, mind turning over all manner of things, but always coming back to how reluctant you had looked to see him go. The guilt within him had multiplied astronomically – he had been a fool to not rush to see you the instant he could, and now your first interaction since Easter was purely professional and surely terrifying. Precisely why he had been so very reluctant to admit his feelings to you in the first place.

“Doc, if you’re not going to sit down, go talk to that pretty Chief Nurse, would you?” He muttered, pulling the garrison cap from his hair.

Eugene’s head whipped up to look at his commanding officer in shock. Shock at the fact that Speirs had had the wherewithal to notice the looks you had been exchanging over Grant’s prone form. Shock that he was allowing him the liberty to visit you. Pure shock.

“Otherwise, it’s going to be a very long couple of hours.” There was a dangerous edge to the man’s voice that made Eugene swallow nervously and nod sharply.

“Yes sir, I’ll be back in a few hou’s then, sir.” He moved to slip out of the waiting room.

“Be careful out there, Doc.” Came Speirs’ parting command and Eugene nodded once more before heading out into the street, thankful that the blackout was no longer in effect and he had the assistance of streetlights to retrace his steps back to the Field Hospital.

He made a much quieter entrance this time, finding the nurse, Shirley, at the desk near the door in the gym.

“Oh, you’re the medic from earlier – how is your man?” She asked in a hushed voice as she stood.

“In surgery with a German brain surgeon now…I was wonderin’ if I migh’ speak ta you’ Chief Nurse?” He tilted his head, and she nodded quickly leading him down the hall to an unassuming office door.

“She’s still here, working late again.” She laughed softly and knocked.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He nodded as she nodded in return before heading back into the gym as your door swung inward.

“Gene…” You breathed in surprise, peering into the hallway as if to confirm he was truly alone.

“Cher…” He murmured in response, tremor in his own voice this time, and your fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him into the moderately sized office.

Your arms pulled him into a tight embrace as you nudged the door shut with your foot. He buried his face into your hair, fingers curling into the knit of your cardigan against your back.

“I’m right here, Gene.” You sighed soothingly, arms holding him so tightly, so warmly, Eugene was convinced you might actually be able to fuse his broken pieces back together. To make him feel whole again.

“Merci, cher.” He managed to find his voice after a moment, pulling back slightly only to press his lips to yours tightly in a physical expression of his gratitude.

Eugene felt the tremble that rolled through your body in response, his hands gripping you tighter as your fingers wended their way into his hair making him shudder in return. There was something about your touch tonight that felt like he was playing with fire, your entire presence loaded with explosive charge that could set him off at any moment. He pulled his lips back quickly before he did something wildly inappropriate in your office and panted against your mouth.

“M’sorry I haven’ come ta visit ya.”

Your response was a breathless laugh that made him bite the inside of his cheek.

“I’ve barely left this office. I’m beginning to think this promotion was a curse disguised as a blessing.” You smirked and stole one more kiss from his lips before straightening to look over his face warmly.

“It’s late, and I know ya don’ work nigh’s no mo’e…” He tried to keep the admonishing tone in his voice light, but he was admittedly upset you were working after midnight, something that even he was aware was unusual for a Chief Nurse.

“You know too much, Gene.” Your fingers smoothed his hair gently, restoring order to the strands you had put into disarray, a fond smile stretching his lips as he truly adored hearing you call him ‘Gene.’

His heart had nearly stopped when it had appeared in your letters but to hear it leave your lips was heaven itself.

“Let me walk ya home, tha man who did tha’ is still out the’e.”

He watched your eyes widen before you frowned deeply, shaking your head in dismay. “Did you find the hospital?”

“German brain surgeon’s operatin’ now…”

You took a slow breath before nodding. “I usually have an MP escort me, are you sure you don’t have to get back?”

He shook his head. “Grant’ll be in surgery a few hou’s longah. Cap’n Speirs won’ leave ‘till it’s ovah. Told me ta ‘go talk to that pretty Chief Nurse’ if I wouldn’t sit still.” Gene smirked ruefully and you blinked rapidly before biting your lip.

“Perhaps we have not been nearly as subtle as we thought, Gene…”

He laughed softly under his breath as he watched you turn to collect your things, sliding a small utility bag over your shoulder before turning out the desk light. The desk itself was still covered in stacks of files and he couldn’t help but frown as it seemed that your late nights had barely made a dent in the work your new position had foisted upon you.

“Wait here.” You said once you’d locked your office door and walked a little further down the hall to knock on another door.

He could barely make out another man’s voice, it didn’t sound like Dr. Randall, so presumably Dr. Brock, before you swung by the desk in the gymnasium to wish Shirley a good night. One last stop at the MP office to the left of the entrance where you informed your usual escort you had someone to walk you home before the pair of you were able to step out into the damp night. Thankfully, the rain had stopped falling but the puddles on the ground were plentiful as Eugene offered his arm. He could not help his fond smile as you took it without hesitation, hugging his elbow close as you walked side-by-side.

“I’m quite close to the hospital actually.” You gestured down the road and he nodded, turning that way.

“Tha’s how ya knew…”

Your soft laugh made his stomach quiver slightly though he did not miss the yawn you tried to smother.

“Ya been workin’ late a lot, cher?” He prompted softly, vigilant to your surroundings but so far, the streets were quiet.

“Mm.” You nodded slowly before sighing. “Seems the Chief Nurse before me was not such a fan of paperwork. Maude was a fantastic leader, we’re lucky to have her as the Assistant Director of Austria base, but if I had known what was awaiting me in that office…well I’d probably have asked to help her more when I was her assistant.”

He felt you tug on his arm and looked down to you quickly to see you pointing across the street to a modest apartment building.

“We’re quartered here.”

Eugene nodded and led you across the street as you fished for the keys in your bag. He couldn’t help but notice that you were in fact only a few blocks from the German hospital where Grant was still undergoing surgery. He said another silent prayer to guide the hands of the surgeon to success as you led him up to the building entrance.

A pair of sharp cries cut through the night, making the both of you freeze briefly.

“Hey!”

“Stop right there!”

The voices were still a block or so away, but belonged to men that Eugene knew a well as his own family.

“Inside cher, now.” He said quickly, pulling you toward the building.

“Second floor.” You uttered quickly and he pushed you up the stairs front of him, hands on your hips as he could hear the voices of Talbert and Malarkey growing closer, accompanied by footsteps splashing through puddles and the rumble of a jeep engine close behind.

You stopped at an apartment door and Eugene noted your struggle to line the key with the deadbolt, gently but firmly taking it from you to unlock the door and push you inside. He was quick to close and lock the door behind him, wanting you nowhere near the drunken madman who had already killed at least two people tonight. He heard you take a breath as you turned back toward him and he gently covered your mouth with his palm, shushing you softly as he listened for further noises from the street below.

They sounded as if they were right outside, their voices rising up through the stairwell as his wide eyes bored directly into yours.

“Yeah, that’s him!”

“Get in the jeep you son of a bitch.”

The sound of the engine faded off into the night and Eugene waited a full minute before lowering his hand from your mouth, the only sound remaining being the pounding of his heart in his ears. He heard you suck in a breath, the only warning he was afforded before your lips collided with his. He stumbled slightly, startled a moment, before the adrenaline in his veins was transformed into white hot desire. His hands clutched at your lower back, pulling you tightly against him as he blindly stumbled toward the doorway he had glimpsed upon entering your apartment.

He felt your body impact with something behind you and pulled back from your lips quickly to see he had backed you into the kitchen table. He felt you rise up onto your toes, seemingly intent on sitting on the tabletop and his hands quickly seized your hips, aiding you in your efforts by hoisting you the last bit of distance. He could not help the smirk that graced his features as you gasped at his strength; hard-won through years of training and carrying wounded from the battlefield. His mouth quickly returned to yours, shuddering as your tongue met his eagerly, your fingers once more burrowing into his hair.

Eugene’s lungs began to ache from a lack of oxygen and he reluctantly pulled back from your lips only to begin trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your throat. Your shaky exhale filled his ears as your fingers began to tug at the buttons of his OD jacket, sending his own in search of the same on your cardigan. As he pushed the fabric out of the way, he slid his hands along your sides, sucking at the hollow of your throat, exhaling hotly against your skin as you parted your legs for him.

“Cher…” He rasped against your skin, gulping at the whimper that fell from your lips as he stepped closer, nestling between your thighs.

Your body felt so hot against him, even through his ODs and wool trousers, he was helpless not to press as tightly to you as possible, not even leaving a hairsbreadth of space. Your fingers curled into the front of his wool shirt, hips bucking against his slightly as you whimpered again.

“Gene!” Your gasped and he kissed you fiercely as his lower abdomen grew heavy with arousal, blood rushing to his already hardening length as he rutted against you obligingly.

The moan that rattled from your throat into his mouth had his head swimming, his baser instincts immediately taking over, demanding he do anything and everything to draw that sound from you again and again. His hands shifted to grip your thighs, pulling your body even tighter to his as he continued to move against you, delighting in your repeated cries of pleasure which he devoured hungrily. He barely noticed your persistence against the buttons of his uniform shirt until he felt your hands sliding around his torso with only the thin barrier of his undershirt separating your skin, a groan falling from his lips as he tore them from yours.

“Merde.” He hissed, screwing his eyes shut against the salaciously delicious friction between your bodies.

“Mm! I know that one…” You giggled breathily against his neck before your lips were on his skin, making his hips rock sharply against yours.

“Feel so good, cher.” He groaned again, hands shifting beneath the hem of your dress, beneath the hem of your slip, to find the bare skin of your thighs. Quite possibly the softest thing he’d ever touched.

“Yes, Gene.” You whined against his kiss-dampened skin. “Don’t stop.”

He grunted in agreement, fingers tracing higher to grip your hips, increasing the friction yet again as he rutted his fully hard cock against your underwear. The moan that fell from your lips contained an almost anguished tone and he had to grit his teeth against the desire to climax at just the sound of it. Your fingers were digging into his back through the cotton of his undershirt, hips echoing every motion of his as his fingers delved past the edge of your underwear to curl into the soft flesh of your buttocks.

“Oh god Gene I’m…” You panted, head rolling back, and he nodded vigorously, eyes latching onto your face, desperate to watch you fall apart in his arms.

Eugene had long been convinced that you could do everything with grace, and you once again proved his assumption correct as your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, your mouth falling open to emit a soft wail of pure ecstasy. Burying his face against your neck, he cursed harshly as his hips bucked sharply, all sense of rhythm and control abandoning him as his orgasm immediately overtook him. Sliding one hand out from beneath your skirt to brace against the table lest he collapse onto you, he smiled sheepishly as you grinned up at him, your lower lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sorry, Gene…” You murmured, running your hands along his back soothingly, your chests brushing against one another as you both struggled to catch your breath.

He shook his head quickly and then tensed. “Do ya….are ya the only one billeted in he’e?” He glanced back toward the hallway, suddenly aware of how much noise the pair of you had made.

Your bright peal of laughter caught his attention, and he turned back to you quickly.

“You ask me that now, Gene?!” You teased, gripping the back his neck to pull him down for a lazy kiss as he huffed a laugh against your lips in reply. “No, just me. Chief Nurse perk.”

He relaxed with a nod, straightening slowly as his legs finally felt like solid muscle and bone once more.

“The washroom is just down the hall if you wa–”

“Be my wife.” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He had intended to make more of a spectacle of it. Hell, he had intended to have a ring to put on your finger. But the way you were looking up at him now with glossy eyes still hazy with pleasure, crinkled at the corners as you smiled his favorite smile to date – he was helpless to hold them back.

Eugene held his breath as he watched your eyes widen, your mouth drop open, as his unexpected statement hung in the air.

“Are you…proposing to me Eugene Roe?” You exhaled and he gulped roughly.

“I understand if ya don’ wanna marry me, I still have ta go ta tha Pacific an’…”

“How could I say no, Gene, when I was born to be yours.” You eyed him softly but there was something about your words, and the way your lips were twitching with mirth, that tugged at the back of his brain.

“Cher are ya quotin’ Vera Lynn again?” He huffed and grimaced playfully at your answering laugh, yet felt his heart begin to beat double time as your hands cupped his cheeks and your expression grew serious.

“Eugene Roe, I would love to be your wife.” You nodded firmly and sealed your acceptance with a firm kiss that made his heart soar.

-------------------------

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @phyllisthefirst, @footprintsinthesxnd, @she-wolf09231982

#eugene roe x reader #eugene roe imagine #eugene roe imagines #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #hbo war fanfic #hbo war fic #eugene roe #band of brothers

187 notes · View notes

aroseformyself · 11 months

Text

who would fuck you during your period !¡

⚠️warning: mentions of blood, cramps/menstrual pain, periods (afab! reader), nsfw, not in order

. L E O N A K I N G S C H O L A Я !¡

this is one of the rare times he will make love to you gently. you are in pain and being rough will only make it worse if you aren’t feeling pleasure. leona personally lets you choose if you just want to take it slow all the way, or not even that. he would let you cockwarm him while he rubs your stomach if you desire. and if you don’t want it slow and you want to take it quicker he’ll comply without you having to tell him twice. he isn’t going to be a dick and just say “does that mean we can’t fuck???” he’s trying his best. the blood makes him a little nauseous since it’s blood and thats bad, but then again it’s sweet…

he may slip up and get the wrong kind of pads/tampons or snacks, but he doesn’t know anything about this so cut him some slack. once he’s back with all the sanitary items he’ll let you do your thing. and after is when he’ll ask you if you want to make love. he said “he looked it up and it can help the pain if you fuck” so he wanted to ask you if you want to try. if you say no its a no, but if you say yes… it’ll be slow and sensual (surprisingly) and he will try to put you sleep with a fluffy blanket if that’s what you feel like.

9/10 -1 point for bringing lays instead of doritos :(

. T R E Y C L O V E Я !¡

would fuck you like usual. brings you to the kitchen at midnight when he knows riddle is asleep, masages your stomach while giving you a pastry. one of your favorites. he gently rubs his thumb on your stomach, and it feels good because his body is very warm and his hands are rough from baking- (I SWEAR I DONT HAVE A HAND FETISH). you end up falling asleep on the couch, curled up with a fluffy blanket. trey flips up your shirt (its his) which was a little too big for you. and moves your panties aside seeing a little red on your pussy. isn’t exactly scared of blood, but he doesn’t like it so he puts protection on so lesson the amount on his dick. he’ll bare through it for you.

when you wake up you feel warm, a little too warm down there, you open your eyes and see trey, in all his glory. softly kissing your stomach. “gonna breed ya nice n good…” you can only help but moan.

8/10 -2 bc he didn think of gettin u pads just of breeding you-

. Я O O K H U N T !¡

rook fucks you slow and sensually, letting you hang on to him if a cramp comes on and rubs your back while rolling his hips into you. lets you lay on him and watch tv if you desire. he into everything so whatever you want to do he’s up for, rook isn’t bothered by the blood at all. remember he is a hunter so he has dealt with it much more than most students. and since he has better smell than the average human he can smell it as well. period blood is a special kind to him since it smells so sweet and addictive. he doesn’t worry to much about blood getting on him. isn’t entirely opposed to eating you out, in fact he’ll do it with delight. rook is an odd ball and a freak so it is no surprise when he asks you if you would want that.

if you say yes, you’ll be shaking and sensitive because he refused to stop after one orgasm and the blood wasn’t that bad either, is was actually rather sweet! after getting you cleaned up (n fingering u in the bath) he lets you lay down while he goes out to get you pads, snacks, and a stray kitten he found on the side of the road.

8/10 -2 refused to say where cat is from 🙄

. F L O Y D L E E C H !¡

ultimate freak, scarier than rook, he didn’t even ask if you wanted to get eaten out, he was just like “ayo spread” and you couldn’t refuse. he has no problem with blood and honestly thinks red looks good on you. floyd fucks you how he does all the time, fast and hard with no sign of stopping. floyd either a. eats you out liked a starved man and only stops when your crying out for him to stop, or b. fucks your brains out on his cock. and now he doesn’t even need to prep you, he just goes straight in. if he registers your in pain he will praise you on how good your doing and kiss the bite marks he left. almost as if saying hes sorry.

after, he’s not going to clean you up, he’ll just lay down. now he’s all fucked out he can’t get up~ makes you cockwarm him while cuddling.

5/10 bros acting like u arent bleedin onto the bed💀 also when he squeezed u blood came out

. J A D E L E E C H !¡

jade requests you take it easy and lay down so you don’t hurt yourself or he softly fucks you to tire you out. he will gently hold you against him, and whisper sweet nothing into your ear. places his coat on your shoulders so you will be reminded of him as you sleep. jade is over all just really sweet when it comes to your period, which is such a contrast to him being a sadist with you. helps you with sanitary items and lets you cling to him as you sleep. places his hand/heating pad over your lower stomach if he feels your in pain.

so sweet and gentle and caring and loving with you and he takes days off working in the lounge to assist you

10/10 -0 bc he did nothing wrong

nvm 0/10 he fed u shroom juice

. M A L L E U S D Я A C O N I A !¡

doesn’t care at all, will only care if your in pain. of course he asks for consent, saying that lilia told him it would be pleasurable if you make love. if you say no he won’t pry, just cuddle until you feel better. but if you say yes, oh boy… he won’t let up until you pass out, he won’t go easy on you just because of some period. (also i doubt fae have periods) malleus wouldn’t be repulsed by the blood or anything he is an old fae who has seen a lot, a little blood is not going to effect him. after malleus fucks you into overstimulation he will cuddle with you and clean everything up. he’ll even allow you to wear his clothes for comfort.

when you wake up if your feeling it he will eat you out, he actually likes the taste of your blood. it’s sweet yet metally.

9/10 -1 bc u were sore in the morning

. L I L I A V A N Я O U G E !¡

the vampire himself. he eats you out without a second thought and doesn’t feel the least bit of shame when you say thats gross since your bleeding. a huge tease, lilia definitely strokes your stomach and says, “m’gonna put a little baby in you…” then he goes, “wdym u dont want that? dont u want ur period to stop???” lilia rubs your stomach while muttering about a child into your ear. he has no regard for the blood and acts like everything is normal, when blood gets on the sheet’s he’ll fix it with magic. loves the smell your blood gives off-

lilia 🤝 breeding

7/10 -3 kept sayin u were going to be silvers mom and yolo everytime he came ☹️

#lemon0bear11 #smut #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland smut #malleus x reader #lilia x reader #floyd x reader #jade x reader #leona x reader #trey x reader #rook x reader

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winterhalters · 3 months

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K I N G S I D E, a tale of seven kings

first season 1514-1520. Claude and François finally get married, a vacant seat for Mary Tudor, Louise of Savoy's stubborness to keep her son in check. A new King arises, the New Order, François' quest for glory in Italy. Another crown, another campaign.

second season 1522-1530. The inheritance dispute that leads Bourbon to treason. The pursuit of the italian dream, Claude dies, all is lost in Pavia. Süleyman and the unthinkable alliance, captivity in Spain. The Ottoman fleet. Royal depression. The inheritance dispute that led Bourbon to treason. The ladies' peace, Henry VIII flinching, a price for two princes, a New wife for the King.

third season 1531-1537. Louise dies, tensions between François and Marguerite. The wedding of Catherine and Henri. The rise of Pisseleu, the battle at Court between Charles and Henri and their people. War between Diane and Montmorency. Placards and the anti-heterics frenzy, another war in Italy. Wedding and death of Madeleine.

fourth season 1539-1547. Mending tensions between France and Spain. A very stubborn niece. All eyes on Henri and Catherine's sterile womb. Death of Charles. The duel in Jarnac. The King is dead, long live. Diane de Poitier's absolute triumph over Anne de Pisseleu. The Guises make their move.

fifth season 1553-1559. Diane of France's not so typical royal wedding. Catherine giving birth to the twins, Chenonceau goes to Diane, the cordial hate between the two. Rohan VS Nemours. Montmorency mess and a remarriage for Diane of France. The death of Henri, everything falls down.

sixth season 1560-1564. François II barely hanging on, Catherine's almost giving up, Elisabeth married off, the Guise family's counterpower, Montemorency's political exile, the Amboise conspiracy, preparations for the grand tour.

seventh season 1565-1572. The end of the grand tour, encounter between the royal family and Elisabeth, queen of Spain. The rise of Charles IX, a new queen, Marie Touchet and her bastard boys. Catherine's plans to get a match for Marguerite. Rising tensions between Charles and Henri after Jarnac and Montcontour. Marguerite's nuptials amidst tensions and Coligny's attempted murder.

eighth season 1572-1575. Coligny and the Protestant leaders rallying the troops. The Saint Barthelemew Massacre and the promise of Marguerite to never forgive her family. Catherine finds out Anjou's possible involvement. A new king for Poland. Marguerite's toubled married life. Death of Charles IX. Henri's escape from Poland and slow return to France.

nineth season 1581-1584. Catherine's illusions shatter. New King, no heir. Marguerite returns to Paris. Louise shows some spine against the King's favorites. Quarelling with Anjou, tensions with Elizabethan England, Anjou's election and subsequent death and Catherine's anger. The Guise family veering off the road.

tenth season 1585-1589. The mounting war of the three Henris. All eyes on King Henri who has no sons, Catherine's political exile, the slow burning of the last Valois children. Hunting down Marguerite from stronghold to stronghold, ending with her house arrest in Usson. Assassination of the Guise brothers, the death of Catherine, Henri III breaks down in Diane's arms. Marguerite in exile, Diane the only "true" daughter of Catherine's, as she sets out to (successfully) pacify the kingdom on her own.

#historyedit #perioddramaedit #mine #*#*kingside #16th century #so yeah this took me a whole month instead of a good week #we love crappy laptops

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darkurgetrash · 12 days

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Music Tag Game🎵

I was tagged by @commander-krios - thank you!! I decided to hit shuffle on my Spotify ‘liked’ songs because I don’t have a brain, so let’s see what comes up. 👀

RULES: write one song for every letter in your url and then tag as many people as there are letters in your url

D Duvet — bôa

A Alien — Thumpasaurus

R Road to Joy — Bright Eyes

K Keep the Car Running — Arcade Fire

U United States of Whatever — Liam Lynch

R Ready To Go Steady — The Go! Team

G Grapeface — Warmduscher

E Exeunt — The Oh Hellos

T Tachycardia — Conor Oberst

R Remember My Name — Mitski

A Apple Tree — AURORA

S Seven — Sunny Day Real Estate

H Here Comes Your Man — Pixies

A good selection I think! No pressure tags (also spelling my url except I don’t follow anyone with a k name so c will do hehe 😘) @drizztdohurtin @attackofthefangirl @rinbeastie @charmedcleric @underdark-dreams @rolanpilled @gender-in-a-blender @el-tur-el @tadpolebrains @rolansrighthorn @a2zillustration @savriea @heytheresunflower 💕

#music tag game #tag game #tagged

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rhiannswork · 11 months

Note

a smut request where eddie finishes a d&d meeting and then yk what happens hehehee

e. munson || nobody’s out here.

warnings: fem!reader, alternative reality where he doesn’t take chrissy home after the d&d campaign, fluff, oral (fem receiving),

It was a great night for Eddie, the campaign ended successfully. It made you equally ecstatic knowing this meant more time with Eddie.

You honestly didn’t understand D&D but it made him happy and that’s all that matters. When you saw him walk out of the school with that winning smile, you knew tonight was going to be amazing for you both.

“Looks like campaign went well!” You spoke with a wide smile, holding your arms out for a hug. “Better than that,” Eddie exclaimed, lifting you up and playfully spinning you around. “Eddie!” you squealed. “We had a crit hit from Lucas’ younger sister.”

You had no idea what Eddie was talking about. “That’s awesome, baby!” You grinned. “Come on, let’s go to the lake.” He took a hold of your hand a led you to the van. “Now? Tonight?” You asked, following behind. “Yup. It’s a beautiful night,” He chuckled.

You got in the passenger side of his van. You looked in the back of the vehicle, you saw fairy lights and blankets along with fluffy pillows. Before you could take it all in, Eddie playfully protested, “Hey! Don’t look back there.”

“Is all that for me?” You giggled. “Maybe.” Eddie’s eyes remained fixed on the road. “Alright~.” You flopped your back on the seat.

Soon enough, you had arrived to lovers lake. “It’s so pretty at night.” You sighed. Eddie got out of the car and walked around to open the door for you. “M’lady…” He extended his hand for you to hold onto.

“Thank you kind sir.” You replied with a smile, stepping out of the van. “I was kind of hoping you didn’t see the back, it was supposed to be a surprise for you.” He said, leading you to the well-made backseat.

“Sorry ed… I have to ask though, what’s all this for?” You crawled inside. Eddie joined you. He laid on his side, propping his head up with his fist. You copied his mannerisms. “Because, I adore you.”

A grin began to spread across your face. “Especially that smile. That pretty smile.” You didn’t know how to respond. “Eddie~”, You playfully called out his name.

“I’m serious! That smile, your skin, your body~” Eddie couldn’t resist temptation and moved closer, hovering you. His hair tickled your neck and your face. “Your hair!” You laughed as you tried to push him away.

“What? Is it tickling you?” He teased, shaking his head deliberately to make his hair tickle you. “Stop! Cut it out!” You giggled as you began to kick your feet around. “Alright alright… I just wanted to hear you laugh.”

You hummed as you began to wind down from laughing. “God you’re beautiful.” He muttered before leaning in closer his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. His hand meeting your face, cupping it perfectly.

His lips were soft and warm, molding perfectly against your own. Each kiss left you a sensation of being cherished and adored.

Eddie’s free hand wandered around your body, going under your pink body-con dress. “You know, I’ve always loved when you don’t wear bras. It’s just so sexy.” The sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine.

“You’ve noticed?” You breathed heavily. “I always notice,” He muttered, latching his lips on to the skin of your neck. “I think other people notice too. Why do you think all the other boys come up to you huh?” He mumbled into your skin.

“Gotta let them know you’re mine.” Eddie softly bit at your skin. You groaned slightly as you felt him grow harder.

“You are insane, Munson.” Eddie pulled up your dress, exposing your body to him. “Only for you…” He smiled before placing his mouth on one of your breasts and his hand on the other.

You felt as if you were entering Euphoria. The cool air from the cracked windows pouring into the van, yacht rock playing in the back, the feeling of Eddie’s mouth on your chest. It was perfect.

“Is it alright if I move down?” He looked up and into your eyes. You nodded rapidly. “I’m gonna need some words baby.” He chuckled at your neediness.

“Yes!” You whined with a soft whimper to follow behind. “Alright, love.” He moved down to your clothed warmth, his fingers hovered over the wet patch that was showcased to you.

The pad of his fingers carefully slid down the fabric. “Eddie, please do something…” You breathed. “Okay, honey.” He smiled, Eddie pulled your panties down. “Lift your hips, baby.”

You did as told, raising your hips up. He slowly pushed you back down. He laid kisses on the insides of your thighs, inching closer to your heat.

He finally attached his lips to you, harshly sucking down on your bud. Rolling his tongue around it. Eddie slowly inserted his middle finger inside of you, searching for the spot that would make you see stars.

“Shit!” You winced as you tightened around his finger. “You alright?” Eddie looked at you, concern etched on his face. “Yes Eddie, please don’t stop.” Your eyes shut tightly. He smiled, pleased with your response. He went back to what he was doing before.

His lips never left your clit as his finger continued to work inside you. He added his ring finger and you felt the cold ring repeatedly hit your lip. You bit your lip, holding back your moans. “Don’t hold back, doll. Nobody is out here.” Eddie slurred.

“Fuck Eddie… I- I think I’m close.” You spoke, breathlessly. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation. He sped up his fingers. “Yeah you gonna come for me?” Eddie smirked.

“Mhm…” You squirmed around in his hands. “Go ahead, love. Go on and be a good girl.” That’s all it took for you, those words and that voice.

“Eddie!” You exploded into a wave of pleasure, your body convulsing as you rode out the orgasm. You laid there panting and spent. Eddie leaned in to kiss you. “You did so good for me…”

Suddenly, there was a sharp tap on the glass of the van and a bright light coming through the window. You gasped as you searched for a pillow to cover your naked body up. “Shit!” Eddie looked back.

“Pack it up, kids.” The officer spoke as the glass muffled his voice. “Yes sir.” Eddie replied as he saluted. The officer walked away and drove off shortly after.

“At least he was polite enough to wait for you to finish.”

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Text

Partners in Crime

Pairing: Mob!Nick Fowler x Female Reader Summary: A night out with one of your father's most trusted associates puts you on a new and dangerous path. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Implied e/xplicit s/exual content, d/runk s/ex (con-sensual), d/rinking, talk of v/iolence, p/ossessive behavior, possible soft!dark vibes if you squint, engagement, not-so-great dad, Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?). Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Nick edit - Nix, Moodboard - yours truly A/N: Welcome to my Wicked Arrangements AU! For @the-slumberparty 's April Writing Challenge (prompt in bold italics) and we'll see a few other characters down the road. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby and pre-read by @slyyywriting , but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The first thought that entered your mind when you woke up was that you were never drinking whiskey again. You couldn't even remember how much you had, but you weren’t going to bounce back immediately from this hangover. You tried to avoid getting drunk whenever you could. At least it wasn't at your dad's party.

Not that you stuck around for most of it anyway.

Nick Fowler, one of the most powerful men in the city and your dad's most trusted associate, was waiting by your car when you left.

"Why don't we have a real party?

A man as ruthless and dangerous as he is beautiful, there was a reason why so many wanted him on their side. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty or the kind of man to cross. Though he didn't say much to you with your dad around, it didn't stop him from eye fucking you every chance he had.

It was only natural that you wanted him.

"Sure. I could use a distraction."

"Oh, sweetheart, I'll give you much more than that."

With a groan, you cracked one eye open and then the other. The pounding headache made it difficult to see as you tried to blink away the spots in your vision. If you had to choose an equivalent to what your throat felt like, sandpaper would be the closest. At least you didn't get sick. The bed you laid in was also comfortable and the sheets kept your naked body warm enough.

You forgot about the pain in your head as the ache between your legs grabbed your attention.

Oh, yeah. That happened.

Closing your eyes, a blurred vision of tangled limbs surfaced, the blue eyes of Nick piercing through the fog.

“Knew you’d take my cock like a good girl.”

And you did over and over.

Doing your best not to move too fast, you carefully turned your head and opened your eyes again. You expected to see him sleeping beside you, but he wasn’t there. Gently touching the spot, you noticed it still had a bit of warmth. Maybe he went to the bathroom or decided to get breakfast.

It took a moment to register that something sparkled on your left hand as sunlight peeked in through the curtain. “What the hell?” you mumbled as you stared at the diamond ring on the fourth digit.

A ring that looked suspiciously like an engagement ring.

No, no, no, we did not.

“Morning, sweetheart,” a familiar voice gently pierced the air as you kept staring at your finger. "Surprised to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

You tore your gaze away to look at Nick, who had an all too smug look on his eyes.

"I don't know yet," you said honestly, clearing the scratch from your throat.

Nick hummed as he walked across the room in just his underwear. A hint of a smirk formed on his handsome face as you admired him. The black suits he normally wore hid how broad his shoulders and chest were. They also hid most of his tattoos, which you vaguely recall tracing a few with your fingers and tongue. Your gaze trailed down his chiseled abs to the front of his boxers, the throbbing ache between your thighs intensifying.

No. Focus.

"You did say too much whiskey would give you a headache," he said, handing you some aspirin and water.

You quickly took the pills with a generous gulp, the cold liquid soothing the slight burn in your throat. "Did we…?" you trailed off.

"Did we what?" he asked, running a hand through his short hair. You were pretty sure you tried to pull it while you rode him. "We did a lot of things last night, so you'll need to be more specific."

Your cheeks flamed as you held up your hand, proud when it didn't shake. "This."

He slowly ducked down and you couldn't stop the hitch in your breath as his lips touched your forehead. "Get married? No," he said, pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

You could breathe a bit easier. While your dad wouldn't lay a hand on you if you married without his permission, he could and would wreck the life you tried to have beyond the bubble he put you in. Piece by piece.

"But you also said I couldn't have you unless I put a ring on your finger, so I did."

"I was kidding!" you said. No way he actually believed that.

"I took it seriously," he murmured, moving his mouth to your ear. "And it's a perfect fit. Just like my cock inside you."

"Oh, my god," you whispered.

"You said that, too," he whispered, dragging his lips down the column of your neck. The scruff on his chin left a delicious burn in its path. "I reminded you to say my name instead."

The gravel of his voice sent a shiver down your spine before you moved to the other side of the bed and out of his reach. "I need a minute," you said, feeling his eyes on you as you stood up.

"I'll be waiting."

You didn't bother to cover yourself up as you went to the bathroom, your head not spinning as much as you expected it to. Nick saw everything last night and into the early morning, so you had no shame if you watched your hips sway. Splashing some water on your face, you had no idea where to go from here. While Nick was fun and a wonderful distraction, you couldn't help but wonder if last night was a calculated move.

It wasn't a secret that your dad wanted a son to take over his empire one day. He got you instead. He should have been a good father who loved and cared for you, but he treated you as an investment. You had a good education after you chose a college from the options he provided you. The same with your job as he limited the places you could apply to.

While he didn't keep you in a cage, he certainly kept you on a leash.

Maybe if mom was still around, things would be different.

You would only take over his businesses with a man of his choice by your side. He usually only had you around his inner circle of men long enough for them to flirt and leer at you. You were certain he was prepping you for the highest bidder.

Are you that bidder, Nick?

"Why were you waiting for me last night?" you asked once you went back into the bedroom where Nick was now on the bed. "Did my dad ask you to?"

"I was waiting for you because I wanted you. I thought that was obvious," he answered, unashamedly looking you over as you joined him. He reached for you, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he touched your cheek. "And I got tired of waiting."

Nick Fowler got whatever he wanted.

"But did he ask you to?" you repeated, showing him your hand again. "And how the hell did you just happen to have a ring on you my size?"

"Your dad had nothing to do with it. I've had that ring on me and my eye on you for some time," he said, kissing your hand and drawing a gasp from you as he put you on your back. "In case you forgot, I slipped it on after you drank the rest of my Jack Daniels and gave me a lap dance in my private booth. You didn't complain."

You recalled grinding to the beat as Nick sat back and watched. He looked like a modern king on a throne as the lights pulsed around him. No one would have bat an eye if he fucked you in his VIP section.

Which he did.

"We're not actually engaged, Nick. I said I was kidding about putting a ring on my finger."

His eyes darkened as he stretched over you, his muscles rippling before his weight settled. "You said you'd be mine."

Your heart raced, but it wasn't out of fear. "You don't even know me. Not really," you said, thankful that tears didn't fill your eyes.

How could he when no one was able to get close to you?

His knuckles caressed your cheek and you tried not to lean into his touch. "Told you I've had my eye on you for some time, dulceata. I know you better than you think."

You wanted to believe he did, but could you trust a man who worked with your dad? Did he want you simply to gain access to more resources? Gain more power?

"You're manipulative."

"I prefer calculating and there isn't anything wrong with that," he said before his lips touched yours.

His kiss brought back a reminder of the pleasure he gave you, your body humming with the promise of more. The man had layers to him, but something inside you said he wouldn't hurt you. He may be more inclined to hurt anyone who hurt you.

Maybe.

"I guess you have to be in your line of work," you said, a bitter laugh escaping. It was better than crying. "But if you're serious about whatever this is, do you really think my dad will let us be together? Well, he might if he thinks he can get something from you. He does value you. Pretty sure he even likes you more than he likes me."

It didn't hurt to say that as much as you thought it would.

"I don't give a fuck what your dad thinks," he said, his handsome face gazing down at yours. "I know he thinks he can control your life, but he's in for a rude awakening. And I can promise you I would never be that kind of father to our daughter."

"Please, don't talk about us having kids," you begged. You still had too much of a headache for that, but your womb clenched of its own accord.

"Why not?" he smirked. "You're going to be my wife."

I'm not even going to argue for the time being.

"Well, I need to rest, future husband," you said before he suddenly slid down your body and parted your legs. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just looking at the pretty pussy I ruined," he said, tracing a finger along your slit. Your body quickly responded to his touch and you weren't ashamed of the small moan you let out. "Which belongs to me now. If it wasn’t meant to be, you wouldn’t fit me so perfectly.”

"Is that right?" you asked, clenching around nothing.

Should I beg him to fuck me or play a little hard to get?

"You know it does. And if you want to go back to sleep, go right ahead. I'll fuck you until you're stuffed with me and wake you with my tongue," he said, making your back bow as his warm breath skimmed your folds. "You'll be begging me to fuck you all over again."

Your body went pliant against the sheets. "Nick?" you breathed out. "How do I know I can trust you?" You questioned before you would allow him to distract you.

"I guess I'll have to prove my loyalty to you," he replied, his eyes dark and calculating as he looked up at you. "I'll start by killing your father".

Surely Nick doesn't mean that. Right? Hehe. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Nick Fowler Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x y/n #mob!nick fowler x reader #nick fowler #mob!nick fowler #navy and roo's sleepover #nick fowler fanfiction #nick fowler imagine #nick fowler au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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denaliwrites · 6 months

Text

f i c m a s t e r l i s t

p o l i c i e s (please read before making requests!)

b a d s a m a r i t a n The Best of You, Honey, Belongs to Me Blackthorn Cover Myself in the Ashes of You Dumb Ways To Die Enough of You to Dull the Pain (18+) Hellbent Looking For A Godsend Hit Me With Your Best Shot I Got This Feeling On A Summer Day (18+) I'm Gooey in the Middle Baby Let Me Bake In His Eyes A Flaming Glow Intrigued and Afraid Keep You Like An Oath (18+) Killing Me Softly My Baby Shot Me Down (18+) Not Much Between Despair and Ecstasy (18+) Only Touch That Gets Me Melting (18+) Run Rabbit Run (18+) Say My Name Send a Thousand Kings Away Shia Surprise Something Good to Celebrate Stop, Look and Listen, It's Halloween! Taste of a Poison Paradise Trust in Me, Just in Me With Your Scars and Your Lonely Heart Your Body's a Secret Girl and You're About to Spill It (18+)

t h e b o y s Watch That Butcher Burn

b r o a d c h u r c h Always Leave Me With a Hungry Heart Am I Doing This Right? An Art to Life's Distractions Beating Like A Kick Drum Catch & Release Girls Like Girls Like Boys Do It's Been a Long, Long Time Love's Perfect Ache Now and Again We Try to Just Stay Alive Regale You With A Gourd-geous Tale Say You'll Remember Me Say You'll Remember Me (Denali's Version) Tell Me It's A Nightmare

d o c t o r w h o Cuddle, Meet Puddle Cute Things Don't Blink (Part 1) Don't Turn Your Back (Part 2) Don't Look Away (Part 3) Dreams See Us Through (Part 4) Hate the Feeling of Falling Have a Holly Jolly Christmas Horrible Things Isn't That Wizard It's How I'm Made Let Me Come Home Little Creepy House On the Brave Shit The Origin of (Love Bug) Species What Beautiful Things I'll Wear When the Crypt Doors Creak You Know That I Would Jump Too

d u c k t a l e s Tales of Daring

g o o d o m e n s All I Want For Christmas Aziraphale's Favorite Author Dance on a Tightrope of Weird Free as My Hair His Love is All in Me How the Wine Plays Tricks on My Tongue Lockdown Blues Making Biscuits My Heart's a Stereo Naked in That Garden (18+) Out There Making DuckTales Pickin' Up the Pieces of the Mess You Made Road to Hell Something Meaty For The Main Course Step Too Far Tongue Tied Your Love is Holy (18+)

f a l l o f t h e h o u s e o f u s h e r Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless (18+)

f r i g h t n i g h t Emptiness to Melody Everybody Scream in Our Town of Halloween Fixed Up to the Nines Howl Like an Animal in the Darkness I'm So Hot I'd Fuck Myself (18+) I'm Starvin', Darlin', Let Me Put My Lips to Somethin' Late Night Devil Put Your Hands On Me (18+) Make Me Glow Night of Long Fangs (18+) Parade of Dancing Skeletons Talk So Pretty (18+) Who Are You Supposed To Be, Criss Angel? (18+)

h a u n t i n g o f b l y m a n o r ???

j u r a s s i c p a r k / w o r l d Best Behavior The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

p r o d i g a l s o n But Then My Stupid Phone Beeps Never Fallen From Quite This High Office Supplies Rude Boy They are the Hunters, We are the Foxes Trigger Happy With a Sense of Poise (18+)

#denali writes #masterlist #broadchurch #doctor who #good omens #fright night #bad samaritan #prodigal son #reader insert #fanfic #alec hardy x reader #tenth doctor x reader #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #peter vincent x reader #cale erendreich x reader #martin whitly x reader #michael sheen #david tennant

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year

Note

hi there!! hope you’re having a good day today :D not sure if you’re taking requests but if you are would you consider doing an angst/comfort follow up to the chrissy scene ask, where reader needs eddie to come pick them up because of their stepdad or something? ♡

Here’s the first part for anyone who is looking to read it! I have to thank the lovely and wonderful @dearest-readers for helping me with this when I hit a wall. I hope you all enjoy this 💗

Warnings: drunk assholes, mild violence, language, reader has shitty home life

Words: 2.6k

The strum of the same few chords repeats itself over and over again like a broken record. The notes echo through the empty trailer as Eddie tries for the hundredth time to get the guitar solo in Master of Puppets just right. His fingers are sore from practicing for so long, but the irritation in him won’t let himself quit.

The ringing of the phone jostles Eddie out of his latest attempt and he sets his sweetheart down on his bed. Eddie’s eyes slide over to the alarm clock on his desk that lets him know it’s 11:44pm in bright neon green. He knew it had been a little while since Wayne left for work, but he hadn’t thought this much time had passed.

Who could be calling this late? Eddie thinks as he pushes himself off the bed and heads down the hallway. Leaning against the wall next to the phone, he plucks the receiver off and holds it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“E-Eddie?”

Your voice, so small and scared, has Eddie straightening up and holding the phone a little tighter.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Eddie asks, already mentally calculating the quickest route to your place. Then he hears the raucous laughter in the background and what sounds like glass shattering.

“I’m, um, I’m okay. S’just that m-my mom’s boyfriend brought some friends over and they’re all wasted. I-It’s so loud and the way that one of them looked at me scared me.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” Eddie says. “Lock yourself in your room. Is it on the ground floor? Your room?”

“Yeah, why?” you ask.

“I’ll meet you at your window. That’ll make it easier to get you out,” Eddie says, already grabbing his keys and shoving his wallet into his pocket.

“Thank you, E-Eddie.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Metallica song long forgotten, Eddie rushes to his van and prays it comes to life on the first try. He really needs to take a look under the hood and figure out what’s going on in there. Luckily, it catches, and Eddie is pulling his loud bucket of bolts onto the small streets of Forest Hills before pulling out onto the main road.

His heart is pounding as he races down the road. It’s because he’s worried about you and the situation you’re in, he tells himself. But there’s a part of him that he’s trying to keep way down that knows his heart is also racing because he’s excited to see you.

There are hardly any cars on the road this late at night, so Eddie zooms through the dark roads quickly. When he pulls onto your street, he immediately notices the gathering of cars parked in front of your house. At first, he’s afraid to have his van join the bunch, but remembers that everyone but you in the house is drunk and won’t notice another random vehicle parked at the curb.

He kills the engine and hops out of the van, taking care not to slam the door behind him. The loud laughter and cacophonous shouting from inside the house bleed out into the street, to the point where Eddie could hear every word being said by the drunk men.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie curses under his breath as he walks across your lawn, over towards the side of your house. The closer he gets to the side of the house, the more Eddie bends down to avoid being seen by anyone inside. He chances a peek into a window and quickly ducks back down again when he sees what appears to be your mom’s room. Moving onto the next window, Eddie releases a sigh of relief as he sees you sitting on your bed. The way you’re gnawing at one of your thumbs, legs tucked up to your chest, obviously terrified, has Eddie seeing red. If he wasn’t so hell bent on getting you out of this place, he’d be inside beating the shit out of some people.

Softly, not wanting to scare you even further, Eddie reaches up and raps a knuckle on your window. Your head snaps up and the way relief floods your face when your eyes land on him has Eddie’s stomach flipping at the most inopportune time. Before coming over to the window, you slide a backpack on. Once you have the window cracked, Eddie helps you lift it enough for you to crawl out of.

“Hi,” you say, giving him a grateful smile.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks as his eyes scan over you, trying to assess for himself.

“I’m fine. No one’s bothered me since I called.”

“Good,” Eddie says. “Throw your leg over, I’ll help you out.”

You do as he instructs and Eddie’s hands find your waist, helping to guide you down to the ground before he pulls your window closed.

“My van is out front,” Eddie says.

“Okay, let’s go.” You grab Eddie’s hand and he almost trips over his own feet as he leads you around the side of the house. Just as he’s opening the passenger side door of the van for you, the front door of the house opens, the drunken voices becoming even louder.

“Hey!” Both your and Eddie’s heads shoot in the direction of the door, your eyes widening at the intoxicated, belligerent man who’s staggering out onto the lawn.

“T-That’s the one who was looking at me funny. He scares me the most,” you say, cheeks heating up at the admission.

“Get in,” Eddie says, helping you into the van. “Lock the door.”

You nod and jam the lock down as soon as Eddie closes the door behind you. Assuming that he’s going to run around to the other side of the van, your eyes widen and your heart rate spikes even further when you see him step onto the grass and make his way towards the asshole.

“Eddie!” you yell, banging on the window.

“Stay there,” Eddie calls back, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Eddie! Get back here!”

Whether he can’t hear you anymore or ignores you, you’re not sure. Reaching for the crank that will roll the window down, you only open it an inch before you can hear your mom’s boyfriend's buddy taunting Eddie.

“Where do you think you’re going with her, Van Halen? Hey! I’m talking to you, pissant.”

Eddie doesn’t respond as he keeps striding towards the man.

“Martin!” the drunk calls for your mom’s boyfriend.

Eddie’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, sending him stumbling back a few steps just as Martin comes outside.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” Martin asks. He takes in the scene before him: his pal stumbling and holding his face, Eddie fuming mad and a clenched fist. “The hell are you?”

“He’s taking the g-girl,” the creep slurs.

Martin looks up and he locks eyes with you in the van. Your blood turns cold and your hands begin to shake where they rest against the window.

“Get out of that van,” Martin yells.

Eddie huffs a humorless laugh and shoots a sneer Martin’s way before backing up towards the van, not risking turning around and having his back to the drunken low lives.

“Hey, you little whore! I said get out of the van!”

Eddie stops, boots stilling against the grass beneath him.

“The fuck did you call her?” Eddie practically growls.

“Eddie,” you plead. “Please, let’s just go.”

“You her boyfriend, Eddie?” Martin asks, nose turning up as if the younger man’s name is offensive.

“Eddie, please,” you call again. “I just want to get out of here.”

These words seem to break through to Eddie, as he begins to back up again, only turning his back to the assholes when he’s in the street, far enough away from the both of them. He jumps into the driver’s seat and starts the car. You quickly wind the window back up as Martin heads towards the van, stumbling and weaving as he walks.

“You’re in deep shit,” Martin shouts as Eddie puts the van in drive. “When you get back here, you’re in for it.”

Despite yourself, you tremble at his threat. As soon as Eddie pulls out onto the road, he reaches over and puts his hand over yours. Instantly, you flip your hand over to lace your fingers with his. When he feels the way your hand is shaking, he gives it a soft squeeze.

“Don’t listen to him,” Eddie says. “You’re okay now.”

You nod, despite knowing it’s not quite that simple. But for now, Eddie’s right. You’re okay.

When you get to Eddie’s, you change into a pair of the pajamas you’d stashed there. He’s in the kitchen, boiling water for “tea or hot chocolate or whatever you want.” Padding down the narrow hallway out to him, he gives you a small smile when you walk into the kitchen. You’re not sure how to tell him that you need a hug, so you’re grateful when he opens his arms as you get even closer. Eddie’s hold tightens around you and you bury your face in his chest. You inhale the comforting smell of laundry detergent and Eddie’s deodorant as you slip your arms around his small waist, holding yourself closer to him. The weight of his head rests against yours and the safety and contentment you feel almost overwhelms you.

“What’s your hot drink of choice?” Eddie mumbles against your hair.

“Chocolate,” you speak against his shirt. “But don’t let go yet.”

“I’ll hug you as long as you want me to.”

Eventually, you loosen your grip on Eddie, and he lets you go as well. Grabbing two mugs that were hanging on the wall, Eddie prepares a hot chocolate for each of you and leads you over to the couch. Holding the steaming mug in your cold hands, you snuggle up to your friend’s side, which causes him to hide a smile behind his mug.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you say softly.

“I’m glad you called me,” Eddie says. “Was afraid you would think I was just trying to be nice and didn’t really mean it.”

“I know you did.” You take another sip of your hot chocolate and lay your head on his shoulder. “You’re pretty amazing, Eddie.”

It feels like the hot liquid he’s just swallowed breaks off and turns into butterflies as it meets his stomach. He feels his face heat up and he’s glad you can’t see him from your angle.

“So are you. And you deserve so much better than living in a house with that insanity,” Eddie says. When you stay silent, Eddie asks quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

A soft sigh leaves your lips before you respond. “I feel like if I don’t talk about it then I don’t have to deal with it. But I know that’s not true.”

“Unfortunately not,” Eddie agrees.

“I just don’t know what to do,” you admit. “I’m scared in my own home and my mom won’t listen to me about it.”

“Do you want my advice or do you just want me to listen?” Eddie asks. He’s slightly disappointed as you lift your head from his shoulder; he already misses the contact.

“Actually… You know, I don’t think I really want to talk about it at all. I know I have to deal with it. But not right now. Right now, I want to relax. I’m not sure when the last time I did that was.”

“Relaxing?” Eddie asks with raised eyebrows. “I think that’s most of what I do.”

A small giggle leaves your lips as you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

Frowning, Eddie shakes his head. “You didn’t ruin anything. Saved me, actually. I was practicing this damn solo over and over again on the guitar. Pretty sure one more time and my fingers would’ve started to bleed.”

“Can I hear it?” you ask, a hopeful smile lighting up your face. As if Eddie could ever say no to you.

“As long as you bandage my fingers when they’re bloody.” Eddie sets his mostly empty mug down on the coffee table and pushes himself off the couch.

“Deal,” you say, standing up next to him. He leads you to his room, where his beloved sweetheart is still resting on the bed where he laid her before. Gingerly, he picks up the instrument, as if it was made of glass or porcelain. You go to take a seat on his floor but Eddie nods at you to sit on the bed next to him.

Eddie pokes his tongue out of his mouth as he concentrates on where his fingers need to be positioned for the start of the solo. He begins to play and your eyes can’t help but watch as Eddie’s hands glide effortlessly over the strings, each note ringing out into the air in pure perfection. The way his fingers dance along the neck of the guitar, contorting to change chords has your mind drifting to some less-than-innocent places. But the music itself is mesmerizing. You’d be the first to admit you don’t listen to a whole lot of the same stuff that Eddie does, but there’s no denying the beauty in what Eddie is playing.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie says as he messes up. Truthfully, you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t berated himself over it.

“Eddie, that was amazing,” you tell him. He’s about to tell you that you don’t have to lie to him, but when he turns his head to look at you, he can see the awe on your face. No one has ever looked that way when he’s been playing guitar before. It makes his head feel light and his heart all fuzzy.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, feeling his face heat up. “Um…are you tired? Because I’ll just set myself up on the couch and you—.”

“No,” you interrupt him with a frown. “Eddie, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“And I’m not making you sleep on the couch,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor,” you say with a shrug.

He lets out a bark of laughter and shakes his head. “No way, sweetheart.”

The pet name flusters you more than you’d like to admit. But it doesn’t mean he’s going to get his way. “Fine. Then we can both sleep on the bed.”

“No,” Eddie says again, and this time you roll your eyes.

“And why not?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says sheepishly.

“Eddie,” you say with a giggle. “I’m the one who suggested it.”

“Fine,” he says with an over dramatic sigh. But he gives you a wink to let you know he’s only playing. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

You watch as he snatches up some pajamas from his bedroom floor and heads off to the bathroom. Meanwhile, you pull down the blankets of his bed and slip underneath them. You’ve never slept in the same bed as a boy before. The tingling in your tummy tells you it’s more about sleeping next to Eddie in particular, rather than just a boy.

He steps back into the bedroom and quickly climbs under the blankets with you, making sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of you.

“You okay?” he asks.

“All good,” you reply.

Eddie nods and turns off his lamp before properly getting cozy next to you. He’s so close to you, yet so far. All you want to do is reach out and touch him, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable now.

“Eddie?” Your voice is tiny and you’re surprised he hears it at all.

“Yeah?”

“Can I move…closer? Just, for comfort, ya know?”

“Of course.” Eddie lifts an arm, and you don’t hesitate to snuggle into his side. The smile on his face tells you that he’s enjoying it too. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Eddie. You’re the best.”

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