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#Nick sounds terrible
starwikia · 22 days
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what’s this…? are… are you telling me… the man who has grifted hundreds of thousands of dollars… and has lied about the crimes he’s committed… lied in an attempt to escape the consequences?
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thestarsarecool · 1 year
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Rolling Stone ranking Bob Dylan as a better singer than Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Paul McCartney, Marvin Gaye, Nina Simone, Etta James, Smokey Robinson, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Janis Joplin, Tina Turner, Elton John, Stevie Nicks, Diana Ross, Michael Jackson, Karen Carpenter, Jeff Buckley, Barbra Streisand, and many, many more has got to be some sort of hate crime.
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evieolo · 1 month
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Passenger Princess — Matt Sturniolo x Reader
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In which Matt is a terrible “Uber” for Chris and Nick because he can’t keep his hands off you
Contains: SMUT!/car sex
“Matt. Eyes on the road.”
Matt’s quick to rebuff your claim of him not being a hundred percent focused on driving, his eyes dart back to the front windshield before he claims he was only looking in your direction to see the right-hand rear-view mirror.
His left hand hadn’t been on the steering wheel since the last stoplight, he claims he ‘doesn’t need two hands to steer’, instead he drapes his palm over the flesh of your plump thigh and leaves it there, rubbing his palm back and forth at every stoplight and emitting the growing fuzzy feeling in your stomach.
“I am watching the road,” Matt claims, pleading innocence with his voice. ‘I just…” He trails off rubbing his hand down to your knee and back up to the bottom hem of your shorts, “I like feeling you.” He mumbles.
You can’t tell if his words are innocent or not but your body reacts to them and the words are sent straight to your sex. Part of you wants him to take his hand off your thigh. This is the rational part of you that knows you two are on the way to pick up Chris and Nick. The other part of you wants him to keep his hand on your thigh, no, trail his hand up your leg and see how much he can get you off while driving—you suppress that side of yourself.
Matt pulls the car into the gravel driveway where Chris and Nick’s location was. Matt rarely asked questions anymore, Chris knew you and him were in the area so he asked to be picked up. Matt agreed and pulled you in tow with him.
“We’re early.” You claim, clicking your phone off after checking the time. Matt leans his head back and reclines his seat slightly. “You’re so impatient,” he tuts. His hand is still on your thigh, this time moving further up, nearing your stomach. “I’m not impatient, I just didn’t expect our date night to end with Nick and Chris in the back of the car.” You quip.
Matt leans over the dash, looking into your eyes with his wide gaze. He puts a palm to your neck, tilting it slightly for easy access to the other side. “Sorry baby.” He hums, pressing a kiss to your jawline.
You press your thighs together. Fuck.
You look at him unaware if he’s teasing, playing innocent, or completely unaware of what he does to you.
“How long until Chris and Nick are coming out?” You ask, insinuating something sensual.
Matt looks at you, keeping his eyes on your thighs well he speaks. “I’m not sure. But I do know one thing…” he leans into you wedging your thighs apart with his palm. “You want to get fucked right now.”
Your cheeks flush red at his bluntness but you nod, pausing a moment before speaking up. “I need you so bad Matty.”
Matt stiffens in place, suddenly uncomfortable in his jeans. “You can’t wait till we get home?”
You shake your head, “No.”
Matt stares for a second, his eyes trailing up and down your body twice before he unbuckles his seatbelt and clicks his door open — stepping out of the vehicle one foot in front of the other. You’re left guessing for a moment before he climbs in the backseat and shuts the door quickly behind him.
“Matt what—“
He cuts you off. “Get your ass back here.”
Your cheeks flush at his change in demeanor and you shamelessly knee yourself over the center console to meet Matt in the backseat.
He pats his lap and your eyes dart to his thighs, a growling bulge imprinted in his jeans. You follow his silent instruction and position yourself on his lap, swiveling your hips as you “get more comfortable”
Matt groans at the growing pleasure you cause him and pulls your lips to his, making sure to capture any sounds either of you make between your lips.
You pull away gaping for air and Matt tangles his hands in the waistband of your thin shorts.
“Matt…”
He pecks your lips. “Matt, I need you so bad.” You whine, the intensity of your throbbing heat only growing with every press of his lips to yours.
“I know, baby.” Matt coos, he gropes the underside of your thighs so your lap hovers above his, with his now easy access he tugs your shorts down. You help with this, shimmying your bottoms off once they’re past your knees.
Matt drinks in the sight of you in front of him, with you on his lap your head is nearly bumping the car’s roof. You’re breathing heavily with every rise and fall of your chest and this only perks your tits to his attention more.
You reach for Matt’s belt, undoing the metal clasp before he makes a ‘tsk’ sound with his lips and firmly grips your wrist, shooting you a steely look. “Did I say you could take my belt off?” He sterns, radiating dominance off his figure.
“M’sorry,” you mumble giving him the best pleading eyes you can, “just need your cock so bad Matty.”
Matt smirks at your wanton expression, the filthy words from your mouth going straight to his cock “Turn around princess. Hands and knees.”
Your stomach knots in anticipation of his words and you oblige, swiveling on your knees to face the window, giving Matt a fair view of your nearly exposed ass.
Your breath is tight as he slips a hand under the band of your panties, he draws them down your thighs slowly, admiring the slick that coats the fabric. “You’re dripping baby.” Matt gushes as he starts undoing his belt, your chest flutters as you hear fabric and leather shuffling.
Matt pulls his boxers off in tow with his jeans, letting them loom at his ankles. “You’re so good baby, so patient f’me.”
“Matt, stop teasing, please.” You mumble, hoping he'll drop any foreplay.
He palms his dick, pumping it back and forth in his hand, coating his shaft with his spit and pre-cum.
Matt runs his dick against your wet folds pressing against you as he coats his shaft with your slick. “Shit baby—I’m gonna slip right in.”
He alines his tip with your hole and pushes in in one solid thrust - this causes your entire body to jolt forward, your palms press against the nearest window to stabilize yourself and this is only his first thrust.
Your yelps and whimpers fill the car as Matt sets a relentless pace after giving you no time to adjust to his size, his hips slamming into your ass every time his tip kisses your cervix.
“M-Matt-“ you whine, fingers clawing against the dewy window as his dick finds your gummy spot.
Your palms press against the window for stabilization whilst he pounds into you relentlessly, his cock head pressing your g-spot with every hit.
“S-such a good girl,” Matt groans, “such a n-needy girl.”
He snakes his hand up your stomach and rolls his thumb over your clothed nipple, the stimulation brings you closer to your high, and your walls squeeze around his cock.
“M-Matt.” You moan, repeating his name like a mantra. You’re sure the car is shaking - visible from the outside, you don’t know how long you’ve been pressed against the windows, half aware Nick and Chris could come back at any moment but Matt fucks you dumber with every thrust.
Matt tries to keep his thrusts steady, but with the way your walls are milking his cock he can’t help but slow them slightly - growing sloppier in hopes of lasting longer.
“F-Fuck Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” He groans with a guttural moan leaving his lips.
You feel his cock twitch inside of you, his sounds setting you ever the edge, “M-me too.” You gasp. “Mmm m’cumming.”
“Me too baby, me too.” Matt groans letting his hips stutter against your ass and he pulls out, pumping his dick twice and spilling his seed onto your back, staining your top with his seed.
“Fuck Matt.” You cry, he places a palm on your stomach to steady you and pulls your shorts off the rug, turning you to face him.
You creen yourself in the crook of Matt’s neck, catching your breath from your crushing orgasm. Matt rubs circles on your lower back with his thumb, helping to bring you down from your high.
You prop yourself on shaking legs while Matt loosely pulls his boxers and jeans to his hips.
He pans your shorts out making them easier to step into. “Put these back on baby.” He mutters, putting a gentle hand on your thigh while you step into your shorts.
You readjust the fabric, pocketing your panties because you don’t want the dampness of the cloth against your core.
“Back to the front seats?” Matt asks in a hum.
“Yeah.”
Matt smirks lightly “You going to crawl over the console again?”
You shake your head “No m’legs are too sore.”
You and Matt both click your doors open, returning to your respective seats in front.
“Matt,” You hum, reaching your hand down to his crotch to rearrange his belt. Matt nods, shimmying into a more comfortable position in his seat. “Turn the AC on to the highest setting.”
Matt fidgets with the knobs in the dashboard until you feel cool air tickle your skin through the slotted vents.
Matt bites his bottom lip before pulling his hoodie out of the backseat.
“Put this on, your shirt is wet.”
You tilt your head lightly to the side, “wet?” You inspect the front side of your shirt for any liquid stains but find none. Matt laughs at this and his voice lowly meets your ear, “I came on the back of your shirt.” He deadpans.
Your cheeks flush crimson and you twist in your seat, trying to see the damage done to your tank top. “Baby just put the hoodie on.” Matt smiles holding his sweatshirt up to you.
You sigh and shimmy yourself into his hoodie, the cotton warms your skin, contesting the AC playing on full blast.
You lean into Matt and study him gently. A patch of sweat dots the arch of his nose as a result of your intimacy.
Cupping his face in your palm you press your lips to his tenderly. ‘I love you’
Matt quickly reciprocates the kiss tilting his head against yours to gain easier access to your lips - swollen from your former kisses.
He palms the small of your neck, pulling you closer to him so your chests meet as you kiss.
Your tits are pressed against his chest in a non-carnal way. The way that gives Matt easier access to explore your mouth with the given comfort of your body head against him.
“Gross.”
The car’s backseat door clicks open revealing Chris and Nick. The car shakes lightly as they tumble into the backseat with their bags in tow.
You pull away from Matt when they close the doors, getting one final breath of his cologne before you recline to the chill of the passenger seat.
Nick settles in the car, clicking his seatbelt in the clasp, “Thanks for picking us up Matt.”
Matt sighs lightly, letting out a breathy puff of air as he does so. “Of course Nick. I love driving twenty minutes out of my way on my date night to pick your lame ass up.”
Chris laughs at Matt’s response but doesn’t fight the urge to voice his complaints. “Why is it so fucking cold in here?” He belts.
Matt fidgets with the knobs on the dash yet again this time turning off the AC.
Matt shifts the gears of the car and presses his foot to the gas, tracking the car out of the parking lot.
The ambient noise of the blinkers occasionally switching in and off fills your ears until drizzles of rain start plunging from the sky leaving a dewy mist around the car.
Nick shuffles in the backseat, he glances at Matt then at you — then back at Matt. Matt’s shirt tag was flipped out against his neck, and his belt was looped around his waist but set three sizes too large. Then he knowingly glances at you, your hair is pulled back into a frizzy ponytail and your shorts are inside out.
He silently facepalms, turning his face to the window to attempt to erase what he’d just half discovered - the fact that you and his brother had most definitely just fucked.
The second he views the window he wishes he opted to look at his phone instead. The dew of raindrops outside along with the car’s lack of AC had caused the windows to fog again - the fog of the windows bringing back the imprints your palms left on them.
The prints your palms left when Matt was fucking you.
Nick makes an almost animalistic squealing noise drawing everyone’s attention to him. “What the fuck was that?” Matt exclaims, briefly changing his focus from the steering.
Nick clamps his hands together and with disgust written across his face mutters out an, “Ew, ew, ew.”
Chris, being tired of Nick’s dissemination, speaks up - shutting off his phone, “Spit it out, Nick!” Chris’ voice is laced with aggravation.
“D-did you guys fuck in here?!
Matt’s cheeks puff up at the accusation and his lips purse into a small smirk.
Nick studies Matt's face and then looks at you, a similar shock-driven expression on your features.
Nick's stomach churns at your silence. “What the fuck! You guys had sex in here before you picked us up!?” Nick nearly screeches.
Chris’ eyes widen and he too takes his turn investigating. “And I thought them sucking each others’ throats was gross.”
A/N: In my defense I did say it was going to be “really weird”
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Anyone else watch The Real Bling Ring on Netflix? Christ does ANYONE in LA tell the truth? Every single person in this different lies like at least 50% of the time.
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apclyptc · 3 months
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TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN— matt and chris sturniolo x reader
synopsis— you and your friends decide to play a dirty drinking game. but with matt on your left, and chris on your right, how will you ever be able to decide who you want more?
warnings— suggestive themes, drinking, brief suggestive moment with waylon felipe (that man is FIIIIINE) use of a dirty scenario card game, ysb tril and brandon (gwhip) are in this but there’s not really anything suggestive with them (even tho they’re FIIIINE and underrated as fuck), basically the most ooc dumb shit ever, just use your utmost imagination pls lmao
foreword— i got this idea from a card game i own. it’s called kinkies get legless if anyone would like to know. voila!
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why, on god’s green earth, did you agree to this? you knew exactly what you signed up for when nate had organised a party— nothing big, just all your close friends— and revealed a card game for everyone to play.
“if anyone wants to back out now, this is your only chance.” nate chuckled when nick and madi both stepped back. he’d already explained the card game to everyone:
complete the dare written on the card, or skip the dare and take a shot. straightforward, until he gave an example of said cards.
“choose which person in the group you’re most likely to have a wet dream over.”
you laughed, but deep down you knew this was not going to end well.
after all, you were sat between matt and chris. you were close friends with the triplet brothers, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t harbour a crush for the two you were currently sandwiched in between. you’d already admitted these feelings to madi, who gave you the sound advice to choose one.
but it wasn’t that easy, was it? they were both so… great, and yet so different at the same time.
maybe you could use this opportunity to decide.
as it stood, matt was on your left, chris on your right, and waylon, another good friend of yours, directly opposite you.
nate, being the host and also the orchestrator of this hellish game, pulled a card first, and read out loud.
“give the player of the person on your left a lap dance? hell yeah!” nate exclaimed, standing from his seat and giving trilly the most dramatic lap dance of his life. everyone laughed at this, knowing nate would most likely do all of his dares.
before you knew it, it was coming up to your turn. but first, chris had to pull a card.
you prayed to every god you knew that he didn’t pull a card that involved you.
“oh my god, this game is crazy.” chris laughed, before reading out his card, “act out the doggy style position with the person to your left.”
you could die of embarrassment. this was truly a terrible, no good, awful idea. why did you agree to this?
the room was filled with ooh’s and aah’s, waiting to see if chris would take a shot instead of doing the dare. he glanced over at you, as if to say you could choose.
you shrugged nonchalantly, despite the fact you were screaming inside.
“come on, let’s get this over with.” he motioned you over with his hand, and you hesitantly stood.
you felt chris behind you, his hands moving to your waist as he pushed his hips up to yours, though he didn’t move.
immediately you laughed, and everyone else followed.
“this is literally the dumbest thing you’ve ever suggested, nate.” you shouted through everyone’s laughter.
“agreed.” chris sat back down, but not before placing a pillow over his lap.
“but it’s so funny!” nate replied.
it may have been funny, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about chris’ hips pressed up to your ass. you almost wished he moved.
regardless, it was your turn to pull a card.
“choose three… okay, what the fuck.” you covered your mouth, giggling.
“let me see,” matt leaned over to read the card and pulled a face, “choose three players you’d make a sex tape with.”
how could you even begin to answer that? why did you agree to this?
you weren’t going to skip the card, you didn’t want to be the first to do it. so you’d have to answer. and lie.
“i guess if i had to pick, i’d say tril, waylon aaaaaand… this is hard actually…. brandon.” you spoke.
the three boys dapped each other up, which made you chuckle.
“don’t get too excited, it’s never gonna happen.” you teased.
“i guess it’s my turn,” matt piped up, grabbing a card from the deck.
“oh this one’s easy, it says confess the least sexy thing someone has said to you. one time a girl asked me if she could call me nick while we were, you know…” he clicked his mouth and whistled.
“wait, what the fuck?” nick perked up from the other side of the room.
chris cackled loudly, “shit, i remember that. you told me not to tell him.”
“well, did you let her do it?” tril asked jokingly.
“that’s fucking gross! i swear to god matt you better have said no.” nick yelled, which only made chris laugh more.
“obviously i said no, you moron.”
by now, the deck of cards had gone around the room a couple of times.
waylon pulled the card, let the person opposite you sit on your face which you accepted gracefully after successfully sneaking yourself a couple of shots.
at some point you pulled the choose the players you’d most likely have a threesome with card which you chose matt and chris immediately took a shot.
nate had rank the asses of the players from best to worst, and while chris was number one, you were satisfied with your ranking at third— he placed himself second.
already it was back to chris.
“i actually don’t think i can do this one.” chris covered his eyes.
“what does it say?” you asked. you wished you didn’t.
he turned the card over to you. it read, whisper the dirtiest thing you’d do to the player on your left.
“chris, don’t be a pussy, you already skipped the last one.” nate raised his eyebrows.
“dude, i don’t care how close we are, i’m not passing you an ice cube from my mouth.” chris spoke incredulously, which made everyone chuckle, though you were too busy wondering what chris would even say to you.
“new rule, if you skipped your last card you can’t skip the next one.” nate shouted, to which chris flipped him off.
“you good with this?” chris turned to you.
“sure. it’s just a game right?” you pretended to be unfazed.
chris leaned into your ear, as everyone watched.
“if we were alone right now, i’d fill you up so deep that you’d forget how to talk.”
oh.
“what did he say– oh my god, y/n’s face has gone red!”
oh.
“damn chris, you’re looking kinda red too.”
oh.
“okay move on, please.” chris laughed it off.
but you wanted to do anything but move on, partly because you were sweating— is it hot in here?— and partly because it was your turn again.
let the person to your left give you a love bite.
you weren’t sure you could handle this game anymore. you were barely over the words chris had whispered to you, and now you were supposed to let matt give you a hickey?
and to make things worse, because of the new rule (thanks a lot, nate) you couldn’t skip your turn.
“this game is getting intense, i can’t lie.” waylon mumbled to brandon, who agreed with him excitedly.
“sorry matt, i can’t skip.” you said awkwardly.
matt quickly downed a shot, before replying, “don’t worry about it.” and moved his lips to your collarbone.
he made quick work of sucking on your skin while embarrassment waved over you.
there were a million thoughts running through your head at once but the one that stood out most was how good it felt to have matt leaving a trace of his lips on your body. you were acutely aware of the slight pain mixed with the considerable amount of pleasure that came with his bite.
after what seemed like way too long, he soothed your collarbone with a lick and parted ways with it.
“i didn’t know matt had that dog in him.” tril joked.
briefly, everyone had split into their own conversations, leaving you to your own chaotic thoughts.
but matt placed a hand on your thigh.
“you okay?” he asked you, and of course you were not.
“mhm. just didn’t think this game would be so insane.”
matt smirked ever so slightly.
“me neither. are you having fun, at least?”
“yeah, it’s pretty entertaining. are you?” you responded honestly.
matt’s thumb softly caressed your thigh while the rest of his hand squeezed lightly.
“definitely.”
how could you be expected to choose?
yet another around had gone by and it was regrettably your turn to pick a card.
you slowly picked up the card on top of the deck and read the words.
“what does it say?” matt and chris spoke in unison.
you cleared your throat, looking between the two boys on either side, then at everyone else eagerly waiting.
“go into another room with the player of your choice for ten minutes.” you sighed.
“i was hoping someone would get that card. who are you picking, y/n?” nate asked you.
you should skip this round. you should definitely skip this round. but something was telling you that this was your opportunity to finally choose which brother you wanted, just like madi told you.
the choice was too difficult.
but if you were honest, you knew who you really wanted.
so, you went with your gut.
“i pick…”
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a/n this feels so ASS but i love this idea so much so idc. the part two’s for matt and chris will be linked below once they’re written. hope u enjoyed!
p.s PLSSSS follow my tiktok yall 🙏🙏 same username apclyptc ill prob take some requests on there
if you choose matt if you choose chris
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© APCYLPTC 2023. do not repost, translate, or duplicate any of my works here or any other websites.
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discreetmusic · 2 years
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so i finally got to see duran duran live last night and it was incredible. i know im not really on here any more and dont interact with the dd fandom as much as i used to but i love this band with all my heart. 
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rosedom · 21 days
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Hi!!! i'm obsessed with your works, they are really good!!!! :3 Could i maybe request a stomach bulge/omegaverse dom!male!reader x tighnari? >w<
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"an unnamed player has invited TIGHNARI to play . . . my delicate, palm-sized lotus
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✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!tighnari, omegaverse, alpha!reader & omega!tighnari, size difference, stomach bulge, dirty talk + praise, cumming inside .
A/N : i am so soft for sweet omegas and tummy bulges o(*^@^*)o
"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."
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Tighnari's always smelled sweet—this you cannot deny. Today, though, he's sweet enough to make your teeth ache; and he's making sure to set his claim on you, scenting you and smearing his scent all across you.
Throat, wrists, face, and your sternum—all of you gets covered in the rich scent of lotus flowers, staking his love across your skin.
"Eager lil' fox," you murmur, giggling at the way his nose tickles at your throat. A low purr is rumbling from his chest, ricochetting through your chest, pressed as it is to Tighnari's. "Gettin' me all smelly."
His purrs increase, drowning out your laugh. "'m not stinking you up," he says through it all, nipping at the jut of your chin to hush your laughter, kissing the nick away. "Makin' you smell like me."
You coo. "Everybody's gonna know I'm yours, huh?"
The smile pressed into your throat makes your hindbrain sing, and you allow your own gentle purr to rise and meet his.
And then Tighnari starts grinding down. "Alpha," he whines, his wettened cock rubbing against yours. He leans his forehead against yours 'til his breath fans across your cheeks, oh-so terribly drenched in the scent of his arousal.
All the while, his tail curls around your thigh, the soft fur rubbing against your bare skin. You smile, taking hold of the base of it and dragging your hand down the length. "What izzit, honey?" you drawl, as if you hadn't teased him, earlier, as if you don't already know how needy he is. You can smell his want, after all—heady on the tip of your tongue.
He whines, and the sound comes out buzzing after it travels through his purrs, syrupy slow. "Fuck me," he says, sealing it against your lips. Easily, you take control of the kiss, and Tighnari gives it up easily; he sinks into the drag of your lips and tongue, quiet lil' sounds spilling from his throat.
Fucking him, then, is easy. He's loose and wet and open, and you sink two fingers in immediately. Two turns to three turns to four, because you're large, and Tighnari is awfully small, compared to you.
Your hands—one lube-slick and one slick-slick, thick and heady with his arousal—hold tight but tender, firm but achingly soft to the gentle jut of each hip. Buried down to his neck like this, his scent is even stronger, a mix of horniness and abject love and entirely drenched in lotus-scent. It makes your cock throb, buried as it is deep n' snug in his small cunt.
"'m ready, please," he whispers, begs, voice already broken. He's cum once, already, spread wide across the knuckles of each finger and drip-dripping down to your wrist.
"I know you are, sweet boy," you whisper, giddy, licking across the protrusion of his scent gland, of the healed imprint of your teeth, of his mating mark. "Your body is rather telling, y'know? Your lil' cunt is clenching so eagerly around me."
Tighnari whines at you, grinding down to the subtle swell of your knot. It's not formed, yet, but it'll grow quick, spurred on by your mate's scent and the eager bump-thump of his hips. You guide him smoothly, letting him ride you without giving his thighs too uncomfortable a strain. "Easy, 'Nari. I gotcha."
He nods as he falls into your soft n' sensual rhythm. "Okay, okay," he whimpers, greedily sucking in your scent right at the base of your neck, at the matching mark he left on you all that time ago.
Looking at him, he's an absolute mess.
His ears are pinned back, melting into his mussed-up curls. You've got his bangs tucked back and over, exposing his forehead for you to tilt up and kiss, the skin of his face below it flushed red and ruddy. His eyes are shut, thick tears popping up at the corners of his waterline.
But, below, is where your attention is drawn. "Oh, small sweetheart."
Tighnari moans, airy and soft, as you push him back to sitting straight up on your cock. He stops, sat perfectly astride your lap with your cock swallowed up to the hilt; your knot is snug between his labia, pressing against his opening, but neither of you are paying attention to it.
No. No, rather, you're watching the ripple of his soft, muscled stomach, and, particularly, the bulge below his navel.
He whines, again, dropping his hand to press into the protrusion. You can feel the pressure at the head of your cock, and Tighnari must, too, feels the way his body gives way for you. "Oh, oh," he murmurs, cries, the tears you thumbed away earlier coming back with a vengeance. Grinding down, pressing harsh against the bulge—it all makes him sob before he collapses into you. "Alpha, my mate, my—my love, please, please—"
"Don't beg, you don't need to beg, sweet boy, sweet omega, my omega," you coo, beginning to grind into him and bringing his hips down to meet yours. Your knot sinks in easy, in and out, popping out noisily before you thrust it back in with each downwards pull. "I'll give you everything."
Sweetness envelops you, stronger than before and all-encompassing—a natural reaction, activated by the orgasm washing over Tighnari in waves and sending you heard-first into your own. Your knot swells, slow, filling him up in only as fast as he can handle, stretching his loose cunt and keeping your cum from leaking out even as you keep on filling him, bulging his navel.
"'Nari," you murmur, enraptured, nuzzling at his throat as he falls into you. He puts his hands back on your shoulders, holding you tight, and you finally get the opportunity, now, to press against the bulge in his stomach. Feeling it beneath your own hand is entirely different—you feel your own palm, you feel the press into your own cock.
Overstimulated, Tighnari whines, trying to jerk away from the touch but only serving to jostle your knot and cock and cum all muddled up deep. "Easy, now; don't hurt yourself."
"'m not gonna," he whispers and he settles down on you more comfortably. His cunt gentle milks you, an unconscious thing, and another purr starts in his chest. Your own purr mirrors it, a pretty melody and scent all in one, the two of you so intermingled in every possible way.
You know you'll have to pull out, clean up—later. Right now, you're perfectly content rubbing your mate's back, caring for him like a good alpha ought to.
Though he may smell sweet on his own, he smells perfect, now, mingled wholly with you.
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i blacked out writing this, so i apologize for any mistakes, and for how long this sat in my inbox . . . this was so much fun (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) sweet and loving abo my beloved !
7 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .
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acowardinmordor · 5 months
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You Left Me - You Miss Me - Six
Sup, I finally wrote the next part. Mostly because of someone trying to find it via the fic finder blog, which gave me a big ol spike in anxiety about the lack of update.
Part One .... Part Four - Part Five
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“Rob, no.”
“Don’t you tell me ‘no,’ Steven Dingus Harrington!”
“You can’t drive to Hawkins and kill the guy.”
“Oh yes I can! I'll take your bat with me!”
“Babe, you still don’t know how to drive, and I have work in the morning so I can’t take you.” 
“I’ll figure it out on the way!”
She wouldn’t. She wasn't going to drive to Hawkins. She would definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent kill Munson if she had the chance and Steve didn’t talk her out of it, but Robin wasn’t going to leave him alone when he’d had a breakdown an hour earlier. She wouldn’t let him sleep alone for the next few days, and she would go to work with him in the morning, and she’d probably skip her Stats class so she could stick by him after work too. 
It took Robin about thirty seconds to realize something had happened. 
That was the gap between her opening the car door, and Steve speaking. All he said was “hey, Robs” and she cut off her ramble about chlorofluorocarbons. The same way he could tell by the sound of her stirring soup, or which color eye shadow she wore, she knew immediately something had happened. 
She touched his arm.
And he had a breakdown in the college parking lot. 
Steve updated the tag on the side of the box and put it back on the shelf. He was,technically, working. Robin was ranting and using a tie-dye shirt as a prop. 
“You don’t need to crash our car trying to go kill a guy I’m not even mad at.”
“Ugh,” she flapped the shirt at him and slouched against the edge of the shelving unit. “Why not? Why are you not mad at him? How? I’m mad at him! He took the kids away from you! They’re annoying little shitheads but you loved them and he jus---”
“Rob,” he interrupted softly. He couldn’t get into that side of it right now. 
“Sorry. Sorry. But you’re not this nice, Stevie. You’re wonderfully bitchy and petty and it’s one of my favorite things about you, and I don’t get this. He sucks! This was super shitty! Why aren’t you mad at him for being an asshole?”
“It’s not his fault.”
“He said it was his fault!”
Eddie blamed himself, and maybe it was his fault, but it didn’t matter. Not in comparison.
“Are you going to inventory anything tonight, or is this just going to be me?”
“No! And why are you working?”
Because if he stopped, if he let himself turn his full attention towards it, he was going to fall apart again, and stupid as it was, checking inventory used up just enough of his focus that he couldn’t drown. Steve flicked through the stack of size smalls, and wrote it down on the list. “Uh, because we’re at work?”
“We both work tomorrow tonight and there is no way that Mary or Nick have ever looked at the stock sheets in their life, they aren’t going to look tomorrow either. No one will know.”
“I’ll know.” He glanced up to make eye contact for a second, and she caved with a groan. 
“If you were anyone but my soulmate, buddy…” She folded the shirt terribly, shoved it into the gap between the cardboard and the other shirts, and finally closed the box. 
Letting the silence settle gave Steve a minute to breathe, and reset himself without the rising tension. She knew that, and waited until, unspoken, she knew he was ready to keep going. 
“Steve.”
“I am mad, Robs. I am. You know that it’s.. At the kids, and at Hopper, and at myself for agreeing to this stupid idea, but I’m not mad at him.” 
“Why does he get special treatment?”
Hearing how that sounded, he tried again, “No, uh. I’m mad at him, but, like, the same way you get mad when the grandma in the crosswalk is going really slow and then drops something and goes back, and you end up stuck waiting again even though you should have made it through the light before. Yeah, it sucks, but it’s not like grandma was doing it specifically to fuck with you. She’s just, you know, shopping or whatever. 
“It wasn’t like there was a friendship there that he betrayed. He did something for his own life and it was sorta sucky, and it sucks for me, but he feels really shitty about it, so I don’t think he meant for them to, you know, vanish.”
Robin thumbed down the stack of Levis, whispering the count as she went. Three more sizes got counted before she responded. 
“You carried him out of there. You saved his life.”
Steve hummed absently. “He wasn’t bleeding that bad. His trash lid kept most of them off. I panicked when I saw blood and picked him up.”
“And that doesn’t make you friends?”
“It’s not like I only saved him because it was him. Not like I stopped and thought about whether I should get the bleeding guy to the hospital. Lifeguard, remember?” 
The other half of the thought, he bit back. He’d had nightmares about Billy after Starcourt. Dreams where he could have saved him, and didn’t. Where he could have saved Max from having to see that, having to recover from that. He saw Eddie bleeding, he saw one of his kids screaming, and there wasn’t a thought in his head. Just the need not to let it happen again. Not again. Not Dustin too. 
He kept his eyes on the inventory form so she didn’t see that part. 
“Still think it should have mattered more. Life saving creates friendships.”
“He was unconscious. I know you don’t know much about how guys act with each other, but generally both dudes are awake when they become friends.”
She snorted at his weak joke, throwing her pencil at him. It wasn’t anywhere near her. 
“New record, champ,  that one wasn’t even close enough for me to pretend to dodge it.”
“Ugh, I hate you.”
“Love you too, Robs.”
He got through a full set of kids dress shirts in peace, counted and listed. Then he pulled down the crate of kid’s dresses, next on the list to check. 
The whole can of worms would tear open when, if, when Eddie showed up with something from the kids. There was no version of that day that wouldn’t end with him falling apart. If he skimmed them, if he burned them, if he read them, if he wrote back, if he refused to take them at all, it didn’t matter. He was going to fall to pieces. 
If they wrote and it was real, if it was petty, if it was anger, if it was grief, if it was gloating he was gone, if it was begging him to come back, if it was proof that it was always fake, always a temporary placeholder until they found someone they actually like. The imminent breakdown was going to be bad no matter what. 
Like those safety videos in school about seat belts. 
Like knowing the car crash was coming, knowing it couldn’t be stopped, and knowing that nothing he did was going to make it any easier to bear. Slow motion, watching a car come -- a beat up old van come towards him. No time to put on a seat belt, no way to brace for it, just accept that it was going to happen and hope you survived.  
Robin cleared her throat to get his attention, and Steve blinked back to himself. 
“Did, uh, did you say something?”
Robin watched him for a minute. He let her this time. It was easier to let her see what he was feeling than try to turn it into words, and he needed her to let it go for now.. 
“I’m going to skip my bio lecture on Friday afternoon.”
“Birdie, you don’t--” 
“You are going to call in sick at the skate rink. We are going to make snickerdoodles and brownies and the cracker bark thing, and order pizza, and we’re going to make ourselves sick eating too much, and we’re going to watch some random movie on mute and make up our own story and dialogue. Got it?”
“Got it,” he smiled.
And it wasn’t going to make it all better. Eating two pounds of butter in a day wasn’t going to make it easier when Eddie showed up, but it was like hitting pause on that video. Car crash was still coming, but he could look away for a while. 
***
Steve clung to the pass shelf from the kitchen as the expected car crash hit him on Monday. John, always eager for the chance to throw someone out of the diner, looked over Steve’s shoulder. It was a nice moment. A nice little thought before he had to face what he’d agreed to. If he asked, John would throw Eddie out. Literally. Nice image, but not the one he got to see.
Instead, he declined the offer, and grabbed the plates. 
“Gimme a minute,” he mumbled to Eddie, heading to the sweet elderly couple celebrating the birth of their second granddaughter with a leisurely breakfast. If he spent an extra minute talking to them, complimenting the polaroid of what seemed to be some kind of mashed potato swaddled in white and pink, it was to get a good tip, not because he was stalling. 
Eddie hadn’t moved when he got back. He was a step back from the counter, stiff, holding a paper grocery bag under one arm, eyes trained on the ugly teal of the stool’s seat.
“Well?” Steve asked bitchily, “Did you bring milk and eggs and bread, honey?”
He put it on the counter, clutching the folded top hard, like he was making sure it stayed shut. 
Like it was full of spiders or something. Mutual sentiment.
Steve grabbed it, tossing it onto the shelf where they kept personal belongings and the leftovers they’d called dibs on. He hadn’t expected Eddie Munson to be up to Franklin at eight am on a Monday. Eddie wasn’t a morning person. Steve thought he’d have a few more hours to brace. Now he had to deal with customers while that bag burned a hole in the back of his head. 
Luckily, Rebecca was serious when she said he could get mean with guests if he wanted to. Today wasn’t a want. It was going to be a necessity. 
Eddie was still standing there. 
“You can tell them I got it, or whatever,” he tried to dismiss him.
Something that looked like the tortured remains of a smile flickered on Eddie’s face. He gave up after a second and nodded too many times. “Thanks. Thank you. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, right?”
It took a minute for Steve to catch up to the question. 
“I haven’t said I’m going to answer them. Or open them. Or keep them.”
Eddie was quiet for a minute, still not looking up, and Steve’s Travel-Size-Robin was vibrating with the need to make him so they could guess what the hell he was thinking. 
“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday mornings?” he repeated. 
“Yeah. Sure, yeah,” Steve gave up. 
Eddie left, and Steve did the entire day’s front of house prep before Susan got in, trying to keep his head away from that damn bag. 
***
Steve didn’t open it. 
He fell asleep in Robin’s bed, grateful he didn’t have other work that evening, and doubly grateful when she made him eat some crackers and drink some water before they passed out for the night. 
If he was waiting for the impact the day before, seeing Eddie again the next day was so unexpected that the crash whooshed past him without an impact. He didn’t sit down, and he looked a little rough, probably from driving to Franklin in the early morning twice in two days. 
“Do you have…?”
“No? No,” Steve boggled at him, “How could I have anything for you to even -- No. Man, no.” 
Eddie nodded. 
Eddie left. 
***
Steve stared at the bag instead of taking a nap before their shift in the stockroom. Didn’t open it, that was way, way beyond him, but he did manage to look directly at it, and it was only a few saltines, but he did successfully eat. 
Robin, angel, light of his life, soulmate and perfect person got in the car after class, handed him a kinda gross protein bar that she stole from an athlete in her class who she didn’t like, and made him eat it. 
She didn’t make him talk about the bag shaped elephant in their apartment, and she spent the entire shift explaining the way Ann Carson’s translations of Greek plays had totally shifted how people read them, making them more accessible, and how the push to do the same with Shakespeare was incredible. 
When he went to crawl into his own bed that night, she grumbled, brought her favorite pillow, and climbed in after him. 
***
Eddie walked in at quarter to seven, right after three four tops seated.
“No.”
“Okay. Yeah.” Eddie looked small, probably because he was speaking at a normal volume, sounding like a normal human, which ran opposite to how Eddie was in Hawkins. He also looked like crap. 
“Why are you here, dude? You hate mornings. You don’t have to leave that early, I work until one.”
Eddie scrunched his face, but didn’t answer that. 
“No?” he asked instead.
Someone at table six shouted ‘waiter!’ 
“I’ll bring your coffee in a damn minute!” Steve yelled back, half turning with the carafe in his hand.
“Steve?”
“Look, I don’t have anything for you. Nothing. You don’t need to waste your time. I haven’t opened it.”
“There’s more than one -- oh,” Eddie scrubbed over his face. “Okay. Yeah. Okay. Do-- Are you going to? Open it.”
Thinking about opening it made him want to run away to Canada. 
Thinking about never knowing made him want to puke. 
Whatever weird face Steve made was something Eddie could translate. He only raised his head for a moment, just long enough to look. But then he covered his face with both hands, taking a deep breath that shuddered on the exhale. 
“See you Monday,” he said as a goodbye.
“Where’s my coffee?” the same guy yelled. Steve didn’t have the energy to deal with customers and whatever the fuck was going on with Eddie’s early morning emotional mess. 
“Wait a second,” he complained to both of them at once. Steve grabbed one of the big mugs, the ones they used for the expensive hot chocolate, filled it with coffee, and set the pour jar of sugar next to it. He looked from Eddie to the cup, pointedly. “Don’t crash. Bring the cup back with you.”
The asshole yelled for him again, and Steve turned on the terrifyingly polite smile that Robin had helped him hone. Then he deployed it on the asshole at table six. 
---------------
We are headed towards Steddie, on a path that will, hopefully, not feel like I brushed off all this to get there. However. Wow, they're hurting right now. You can't have Eddie's pov yet, it would spoil things, but. just. trust me. ow.
Still don't do tag lists. Once I know how many parts it'll be, this will go to Ao3, promise.
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mangosrar · 2 months
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call it what you want pt5
matt sturniolo x fem reader.
y’all…….
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“hurry up we’re gonna be late” matt yelled out the car window. watching as you stomped down your drive way towards the car.
you got in the passenger seat, slumping down and throwing your back in the back. matt glanced over at you as he started to drive away. he took note of the way your eyes looked a little darker and droopier than normal and your skin looked duller than usual.
“what’s up with you today? you look uglier than usual” he asked.
you just sighed, keeping your gaze fixed on the world going by out the window.
he glanced over at you again, waiting for you to bite back.
“damn, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed” he laughed
“not today matt i’m not in the mood” you muttered, still not looking at him.
you closed your eyes for a second, preparing yourself for the insult that never came. sure matt was a douche bag but he was nice enough to not push you too far, and he knew you well enough to know when to stop.
you really just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. today was the 4 month anniversary of tours and elijahs breakup. it had completely knocked you off of your feet and it wasn’t even 9am. you weren’t sure why it was affecting you this much, but part of you knew it was the fact that you missed him deeply, you missed the way he always used to kiss the top of your head, the way he smelt. but you didn’t miss the way he used to lie to you, the way he manipulated and embarrassed you, and that was the only thing stopping you from letting this dark, cold feeling swallow you whole.
“i’ll pick you up before the game tomorrow” matt spoke, breaking the silence.
“i told you i’m not going” you snapped back at him.
“you can’t be serious y/n, jess went to all of my games you have to go” he said, raising his voice slightly.
“well then how about you ask jess to watch you instead of me” he kept his eyes trained on the road as you replied, turning to look at him with a sharp face.
“trust me if i could i would” he muttered.
“poor matt, jess won’t be there to kiss your boo boos when you get your ass beat at the game” you said, faking sadness.
“what like you used to do for Elijah?” matt said so quietly it was almost a whisper. he knew he struck a nerve, and honestly, he felt fucking horrible for what he had said.
there was a brief pause, you just stared at him with widened eyes, desperately trying to pull yourself together. even the sound of his name rolling off of matts tongue made your heart ache a little. matts jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping the wheel, he didn’t even spare you a glance, keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead.
after a second of gawking at him, you swallowed and turned back around, once again staring out the window. you weren’t sure if it was the fact he was talking about elijah, or the fact that he knew what today was, that upset you more.
he knew and he still fucking said it, he knew how heartbroken you were when it ended, he knew what a terrible boyfriend he was to you, he knew just how bad Elijah claw marks were and he still said it.
and there wasn’t any way he could deny it, everyone saw how distraught you were when he left, even matt who hated your guts, had never mentioned anything about your ex boyfriend until this moment, so why was he doing it now?
-
the whole day had dragged. the second you arrived at school, you had leaped out of the car and headed as far away from matt as you could get. you couldn’t even stand the sight of him on a good day, let alone when he was throwing insults like that at you.
you had tried your very best to avoid seeing elijah all day, out of fear you might break down and start wailing in the middle of the hall, but to your demise, you had caught a glimpse of him coming out of his home room, laughing with his friends, he hadn’t even noticed you.
how was he not destroyed. you knew he probably didn’t even remember what today was.
“hey you okay?” nick whispered, nudging you.
you turned to him and nodded with a smile before turning to look at everyone else sitting around the table in their own conversation.
“you sure? you’ve been staring at the wall for almost 10 minutes” he spoke in a hushed voice, trying not to bring attention to the fact you were barely even there.
“yeah i’m just tired that’s all, english took it out of me” you said, breathing out a laugh through your nose while looking at him.
he didn’t even crack a smile, he just sighed and looked at you with a sad expression.
“i know what today is y/n” he paused, staring into your soul, “you don’t have to pretend your okay”. he brought his hand up to rest on you shoulder, giving it a small squeeze and nodding his head at you.
you just whispered a small “thankyou” and smiled at him before getting up and heading towards the bathroom. you just needed a moment to yourself, to recollect, a moment that no one could interrupt.
“y/n!” god no please spare me.
you kept on walking, desperately trying to get out of whatever situation he was about to put you in.
“i need to talk to you y/n don’t walk away from me”
“what elijah?!” you bawled. finally stopping and turning around to look at him as he walked towards you.
“matt sturniolo?” he questioned. you just rolled your eyes and looked away from him, crossing your arms over your chest. he didn’t even deserve a glance let alone the entertainment of this conversation.
“what have your parents said about this” and there it is.
“that’s none of your business eli” you snapped, still not looking at him.
he paused for a second, you could see him out the corner of your eye, studying your face.
“i mean this whole thing is a little suspicious, it’s only been what? 2 months since we broke up?” 4 months today actually. “and now you’re with this guy? was there something going on when we were together?” he too crossed his arms over his chest while leaning down towards you and squinting his eyes, condescending you.
you could see this coming from a mile off, he was always like this. he always tried to make you seem like a bad person just so his mishaps would be kept in the dark, it was just that now you could recognise it.
“i wasn’t the cheater elijah, you were.” you said, looking up and jabbing a finger at him.
he pulled back, letting his arms fall while laughing. what could possibly be funny to him?
suddenly it was like a flip had been switched, he had turned cold. he moved a step closer to you, before opening his mouth to speak.
“maybe if you weren’t so fucki-“
“hey baby”. if there was ever a moment that you were happy to see matt, it was this one.
he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close to his side, planting a kiss on your temple.
Elijah looked like someone had just slapped him straight across the face. his mouth was slightly agape, and eyes a little wide, staring at matt.
your whole body tensed and you sucked in a breath, patiently waiting for the ticking time bomb that was of matt sturniolo to go off.
matt kept his eyes trained on elijah, sending him a deathly glare. it was like they were wordlessly battling each-other, as you all stood there in complete silence, both of them having a death glare off and you, just frantically switching from watching one then the other, praying to god that this ends soon.
you couldn’t take the anticipation. you had to end whatever moment they were having and fast.
you placed your hand on matts chest and spoke up.
“you ready to go?”
“yeah” he replied instantly, not taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. matts face was stoic and cold, and if it wasn’t for a good cause it probably would have scared you a little.
just as you thought this was never going to end, you heard elijah scoff. you snapped your eyes to him as he began to walk away, but not before throwing you a disgusted look.
your body relaxed against matts, watching as he walked off and out of sight, letting out a breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding.
matt switched his gaze to you once elijah was out of sight, giving you a nudge as if to say “you good”. you couldn’t look at him, you just blinked at the spot where elijah used to be, before pushing matt off and beginning to hurriedly walk away, holding a hand to your forehead.
you heard him shout after you, but turning around and answering all of matts questions was the last thing you needed, so as soon as the school doors were in sight, you may had well have sprinted at them.
why did matt look so angry at Elijah? you knew he was supposed to be your fake boyfriend but that wasn’t fake. he looked like he wanted to rip elijahs face off.
how is he so good at this whole fake thing? you had one question from your parents and you almost crumbled there and then. and here matt was, silently threatening your ex boyfriend like it was an average friday activity.
why was elijah speaking to you? why did he care? he wasnt even upset when you guys broke up so why kick up a fuss now. maybe he just wanted to upset you, or maybe he finally regrets what he did.
you’re mind was moving at 100 miles per hour. matt, elijah, the game, your parents. there was too much going on, but somehow your thoughts couldn’t move an inch without bumping in to matt, and it was making you dizzy.
——————————————————————————
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yanderemommabean · 6 months
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Yandere backrooms idea: you are fleeing from the latest abomination, monstrosity, or other manner of creature when you stumble through a wall or portal that looks exactly like the one you entered the backrooms through. You're right back where you started. You're so relieved, you almost don't notice the little details that don't add up. Electronics missing cords. The carpet is the wrong texture. The blurred view out the windows. Maybe you're finally tipped off when you get to the front door and find that it won't budge no matter what you do-- it's built into the wall. The sound of static, a familiar noise in the backrooms, fills your ears as you turn around. The entity staring at you smiles as you meet the dull "eyes" of the mockery of a human form it decided to take. Just like your home, it was only the creature's best approximation. It had you backed into a corner now, advancing with its too-sharp grin as your ears rang. No escape. No escape. It caught you in its web, it's not going to let you go. Oh, how they do hope you enjoy the human nest they made for you. After all, you're never leaving again.
You don't believe the door is right there in front of you. There’s no way, no fucking way salvation is just there and for the taking. Somethings wrong, the hallways became too still but Jesus there’s still that feeling that something is watching you, and it makes fear crawl all over your body as if you’re on the verge of running off again to avoid whatever was behind you. 
Something is here and fuck, You don’t  know what to do. What you do know is  if you turn around You’ll find what’s making your senses overloaded and on the verge of self destruction, and Jesus Christ you wouldn’t survive facing that thing. So, forward it is. Turning around right now is a death sentence. 
You step lightly into your kitchen, not daring to call out to your family. No, something tells you to be silent. That something like that could harm them. The majority of it looks the same as you left- was the outlet always that weirdly shaped? Does it matter? Fuck it, keep moving forward, that eerie feeling of you being watched isn’t going away if you stand still. 
You take another light step, and then another, feeling like a being was right behind you and you're surprised you didn’t just break down crying as you managed to flick on a light. Every step was agony, fear taking over your body as you slammed your eyes shut and flipped the switch, the breath of another being brushing against your shoulder like it was just hovering over you. 
You expect a blood bath, a dead corpse, anything to make your paranoia worthwhile but no. Nothing. Everything looks the same. Perfect. Too perfect. The sink is too shiny and the lights had no dead bugs in the bowl, the counter even seemed spotless with no noticeable nicks and cracks from the use over the years. What does it matter? This had to be home, right? Why else would the room be so big and so…quiet? 
Huffing out a breath, you rub your hands down your face feeling like you’re about to throw up. Water sounded amazing right now. Like it would make everything go away and you could just relax and forget the past few events even happened. You head to the kitchen sink to grab a drink of water, settle your nerves and maybe think about taking some anxiety meds you keep for emergencies. 
Maybe you really had made it back? Maybe you’re just shaking from the terrible experience the whole- whatever that place is- did to you. A working sink? That’d never be in that place! Right? It’s just…so still. Not even a breeze from outside, which oddly enough didn’t seem real to you. Just a dark window with nothing beyond it, but perhaps that’s just the adrenaline talking? But not even a shadow or even a cricket chirp…How odd. 
As you sip, the water cooling your body and making your heart rate drop just a bit, your eyes dared to look up to the window above the basin, and your heart stops in your chest as you meet the same inhuman eyes from the endless hallways
The being just shows its unnatural smile, grinning wide and uncanny as a voice right behind you croons  “Do you like it? I worked so hard to make this nest perfect. Now you won't have a reason to leave”
-Mommabean (Sorry mine was kind of short, but still, a wonderful prompt bean!!! 100/10!!!)
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zepskies · 3 months
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Smoke Eater - Part 18
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Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
🔥 Series Masterlist
Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, brief mentions of the events of Part 13, some ADA Sam, Detective John, and a cliffhanger…
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Part 18: “V for Vendetta”
After that first rocky month, Dean started to improve physically, and so did you emotionally, as he tried his best to let you help him when he needed it. 
In turn, you did your best to gauge his moods; when he truly did need help, and when it was best for you to just be his girlfriend, not his caretaker.
January rolled onwards, and the resulting winter cold snap brought a kind of calm before a storm. Nick Savage still hadn’t been found, but that didn’t mean your worries were over.
Dean knew that this would hang over all of your heads until both Nick and his father were caught and exposed.
Today Dean walked with Sam on his day off, doing a few laps around the neighborhood as part of Dean’s rehab. They knew a police car was stationed nearby, watching them for their safety. It was a bit unnerving, but necessary.
They were walking back into the building when Sam stopped to check the mail. The box for their unit was along the wall in the corridor with several other locked boxes. Sam unlocked theirs and pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, some coupons, and a stray folded note addressed to Dean. Sam’s brows furrowed.
“What’s that, a love note?” Dean asked dryly. He took it from Sam and unfolded the scrap of paper.
20579. Your badge will join your dad’s on the wall.
Both the Fire Department headquarters and the 84th Precinct had a wall to commemorate firefighters and officers who had given their lives in the line of duty. Each of their badges had their own display plaque hung on the respective walls.
In short, the note was a threat.
Sam’s worried frown deepened as he watched Dean’s good mood evaporate. He crumpled up the note and pocket it, before he met his younger brother’s eyes.
“Keep this between us,” he warned. As in, don’t tell you.
Sam shook his head. “Dad needs to know, at least. And you two need to be careful.” 
“That goes for you and Eileen too,” Dean replied. He reached for Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t matter that you’re an ADA. Azazel goes after cops and their families. He’s gonna be gunning for an opportunity to get to one of us.”
Sam’s lips pressed together, but he acknowledged that with a nod.
They went back upstairs together, where you were dressed casually and gathering up your purse.
“Heading out somewhere?” Dean asked. Sam shot him a glance, which Dean silently answered with a short nod. He looked back at you when you offered him a smile.
“Yep, we need a few things. Milk, eggs, more Twizzlers, apparently,” you quipped, lightly smacking his stomach. Dean quirked a smile.
“Give me a sec. I’ll go with you,” he said.
You made an uncertain sound. “Didn’t you just get back from a walk? You sure you don’t just want to shower up and relax?”
“I’m good,” said Dean. He knew you didn’t like the idea of him overexerting himself, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting you go out alone. He could tell by the look Sam once again threw his way from the kitchen that he didn’t think it was a good idea either.
Dean slid a hand up your arm. “How about this. I’ll stay in the car. I just want some more fresh air.”
You tilted your head at him, but you conceded. He followed you to the door and held it open for you.
“Can I drive?” Dean hedged.
You chuckled. “Don’t push it, Lieutenant.”
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On the way back from the grocery store, you discreetly eyed Dean’s profile. His knee was bouncing as he stared out the window.
Sometimes he checked the rearview mirror of your Camaro. Sometimes he fiddled with the radio or checked his phone.
It was all nervous behavior you took a catalogue of. By the time you pulled back into the parking lot of Dean’s apartment building, he finally seemed to relax a fraction. You parked the car and turned to him. 
“Okay, what’s the matter?” you asked.
Dean gave you a curious look, but there was an unmistakable tension in his demeanor.
“What do you mean?”
You tried your question a different way. “What’s got you all on edge?”
He didn’t seem to want to answer at first.
“Dean,” you prodded. “Does it have something to do with why you insisted on coming with me, even though I can see that you’re tired?”
His face tightened, but he reached over for your hand. Your fingers curled around his. Now you were getting worried.
“We’ve got the police watching us here, but anything could happen out there,” Dean said. “Until this blows over, I don’t think you should go out by yourself.”
Until this blows over. You wanted to ask when that would be, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.
“Zachariah called me this morning,” you admitted. “He’s standing in for Nick as CEO. He said I have a job waiting for me when I get off medical leave next week. Everyone’s been working from home since the fire, but we’d be going to a new building the company owns downtown.”
Dean tightened up, just like you knew he would. His eyes closed as his head tilted back against the headrest. He let out a long breath through his nose. You stayed quiet, both waiting for what he might say and preparing for him to get upset.
He surprised you by calmly looking over at you again.
“It’s not a good idea. If Nick’s still alive, it means his dad probably knows you know who he is,” he said. “And not for nothin’. Even with Nick out of there, that place’s probably been built on blood money.”
Both were fair points.
“I know. I’m going to find something else, as soon as you’re better,” you said. Dean shook his head and held your hand tighter.
“Don’t let me be an excuse,” he said. His gaze was firm and direct meeting yours. “I need you to start taking care of yourself too, all right? Please.” 
Faced with his earnestness, you couldn’t help but soften. After everything he’d done to save you, to protect you, was it fair of you to keep making him worry?
In the past, you’d felt justified. You couldn’t quit. You needed the money. You could handle it, whatever came next. You would deal with it because you had to.
But maybe this time, you didn’t have to. It wasn’t worth all this.
With that resolve, you let out a breath.
“I’m going to call Zachariah,” you said, “and tell him that I’m working from home, or I quit.”
Dean stared back at you with a measure of surprise.
“I’m not going back,” you said, squeezing his hand. “If he has a problem with that, I’ll use whatever I have left in my savings. Hopefully that’ll be enough until I find a new job.”
After a moment, Dean expelled a breath of relief. He beckoned you over, and carefully as you could over the upholstery, you leaned over and caressed his cheek before you went in for a kiss. He welcomed you, with his hands slipping up your sides and around your back, pressing you into him with a heady warmth.
He paused against your lips after a while. His forehead rested against yours.
“You don’t need to drain your savings. I can help you,” Dean started to say, but you pulled back and held your fingers to his lips.
“You’ve helped me enough. You’re already letting me live with you rent free,” you pointed out. “Let me figure out the rest.”
After a moment, Dean wordlessly agreed. He wanted to argue that you wouldn’t have had to move in with him if not for Azazel putting you in his sights, but at the same time, Dean understood that you’d been providing for yourself for a long time. He respected you for it.
So he just guided you back to him for another slow kiss.
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John Winchester owned a condo approximately 20 minutes from his sons’ apartment. It was the home they’d grown up in after the house fire, over thirty years ago.
John had learned a lot since then. In fact, some might say that he’d become a paranoid bastard.
Aside from a professional alarm system, he’d installed hidden cameras inside and out of his home, and at every window. It meant that even when he was asleep, his eyes were never truly closed.
When the intruder took his first steps into John’s bedroom, the man himself was waiting with a gun cocked and loaded. The safety clicking back made a small sound, but in the silence, it might as well have been a gunshot.
The masked man swiftly turned and ducked, throwing a punch. The scuffle that followed was quick and covered by darkness.
The cameras on “Night Mode” picked up every moment.
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And that was how John later showed video evidence of Alastair Rolston breaking into his condo, and subsequently getting his ass handed to him.
Both men had their fair share of bruises, but at the end of the day, Alastair was the one cuffed to a chair in the bowels of the 84th Precinct. He sat beside his court-appointed lawyer.
Meanwhile, Cas watched the scene from behind the one-way glass window of the interrogation room. Rufus Turner, their Lieutenant, was beside him, along with ADA Sam Winchester. He watched the man his father questioned very carefully. 
“Well, I think you know what this means, Mr. Rolston,” John drawled.
Alastair’s stance in the chair was relaxed, almost unfazed. He gave the detective a wry smile.
“What’s that, John?” he asked.
“I’ve got you dead to rights on attempted murder of a cop,” said John. “It ain’t a good look, my friend.”
“Don’t answer that,” said the lawyer. Alastair glanced at the man, unimpressed, to say the least.
“No shit,” he replied.
“I’d say you’ve got two options,” John pressed forward. He leaned on the table between him and Alastair.
“Did Azazel…excuse me, Daniel Savage, put you up to this? You can answer that question, or I could just skip to the part where you sit in a cell for 20 to life.”
Alastair’s face gave away nothing but calculation and amusement. John nodded, with a grim smile.
“I’ll bet you set the fire at Savage & Co. Trying to get Nick to look like a victim in all this—the consequence of doing business with the likes of Azazel,” he said. “Better yet, I think you’re his favorite hitman. Clean, precise, no tracks left behind, no traces of evidence. Perfect kills. I’ll bet you consider yourself a goddamn artist.”
Alastair lifted his gaze, and John saw the familiar depths of a killer.
“I don’t like setting fires,” said Alastair.
John was nonplussed. “I’m sure you don’t.”
The other man rolled his shoulders.
“It’s all very…messy, you see. Unpredictable.” A smile graced his lips. “But I know someone who does.”
“He’ll give you his employer,” the lawyer said. “The person who ordered the hit.”
“Which hit?” John arched a brow. “I can’t be the only special one. What about Paul Richardson, Jerry Stillwell, Amanda Waller?”
The lawyer shared a look with his client. Alastair rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper in his ear. After a moment, the lawyer nodded and met John’s gaze.
“He’ll tell you what you want to know, but only for a blanket deal of immunity.”
John could’ve guessed. Alastair smiled once more and leaned back in his seat.
The detective held up a finger and exited the interrogation room. He met Sam’s gaze, and the latter already knew what his father was thinking.
"Give me a minute," Sam said. He went into the room and tried to negotiate with Alastair and his lawyer, but the man wouldn't accept a plea of 20 to 25 years, even to serve all the murders they could charge him with concurrently. Nor would he accept 15 to 20, or even Sam's best deal: 10 to 12.
Sam exited the room and hid his discouragement. He met his father's waiting gaze.
“We can’t give him immunity,” Sam said. “He’s likely the one who committed Azazel’s hits. Not just for the past six months, but for God knows how long, and how many bodies.”
“At this point, it’s the only way we’re getting a chance at Daniel Savage,” John said. “Not just finding him, but pinning him as the mastermind behind the whole operation. Drug trafficking, arson, murders…the whole thing, Sam.”
Sam didn’t like it. No one did, for that matter, but even Rufus heaved a sigh.
“You can’t move forward without a trigger finger willing to testify,” he said.
“Yeah, because hitmen make notoriously credible witnesses,” Sam retorted.
“Do think he set the fires as well?” Cas asked John. “He seemed to imply that he committed the murders, but not the arson.”
John hummed in contemplation.
“We’ll find out. But first, I want a confirmed name from the horse’s mouth,” he said, shifting his attention to Sam. “Can you get me that, son?” 
Sam’s lips pursed.
Within an hour, the paperwork was drawn and the plea deal was arranged. Father and son sat side by side on one side of the interrogation room, while Alastair and his lawyer sat on the other. Alastair finished signing the final document as the cuffs on his wrists jangled.
“All right,” said John. “Tell me what I want to know.”
Alastair smiled and spread his hands as wide as he was able.
“I’m an open book, Johnny. Ask away.”
John leaned forward.
“Let’s start with this,” he said. “Who ordered you to kill me?”
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Nick Savage was unearthed from a luxury apartment in the south of France. He was extradited back the United States and hauled into a courtroom in Lawrence, Kansas for arraignment.
Sam Winchester was the prosecutor on the case. As luck would have it, one of his favorite judges was also assigned for this docket.
“What do we have here?” asked Judge Devereaux. He was a portly man, short and graying, with square black glasses that framed his perpetually surly face. The man now adjusted his glasses so he could read the slip of paper the clerk had just handed to him after reading off the docket.
The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.
Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.
When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.
Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.
Today was not that day.
“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”
At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.
“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.
“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.
“The primary charge is a murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied. “Mr. Savage hired a hitman to murder at least five people, and succeeded with four. He also masterminded several arsons. This includes a fire at his own company building, which claimed the lives of ten people and injured several others. This is all part of a larger connection to organized crime, which the People intend to prove in our case. Due to the nature of the charges, and the defendant clearly being a flight risk, we seek his remand to custody without bail.”
The judge raised his brows. He turned to the defendant’s lawyer.
“What about it, Miss Richardson?”
Amelia shot Sam a glance, but she replied to the judge.
“What we have here is a conflict of interest, your Honor,” she said. “Detective John Winchester has a vendetta against my client. Therefore, Mr. Winchester should recuse himself. It’s a family affair, Judge, and they have no evidence for any of these charges, except for the testimony of a confessed murderer.”
“It’s called prosecutorial discretion,” Sam cut in. “Our evidence goes beyond Mr. Rolston’s testimony and will more than support our case. I’ve also tried my father’s cases before, your Honor. This defendant is no different.”
The judge peered closer at the docket with incredulous eyes.
“Except for the fact that one of the attempted murders was on your father. John Winchester?” Judge Devereaux actually chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Savage. Many have tried and failed on that regard.”
“Judge,” Amelia tried, but Devereaux waved her off. Sam took in that small victory without giving anything away outwardly. The fact that John was on the docket as a “victim” was easily Sam’s biggest challenge in this arraignment, but he just couldn’t hand this off to another prosecutor.
“And what’re these last charges about?” the judge asked.
“Mr. Savage attempted to sexually assault one of his employees at a company Christmas party in the defendant’s home, your Honor,” Sam replied. His gaze once again cut over to Nick, who glared back at him with a sneer.
“That’s a goddamn lie!” Nick shouted.
Amelia grabbed his arm and tried to shut him up, but Nick jerked out of her grasp.
“Put a gag on your client or I will, Miss Richardson,” Devereaux warned with a deepening frown.
“Hey,” Amelia hissed a whisper, grabbing the sleeve of Nick’s suit jacket this time. “Get it together and shut your mouth. Remember where you are.”
He ignored her to try and speak to the judge himself. 
“That bitch tased me. Did she tell you that?” Nick levied Sam a look, before he turned back to Devereaux. “Yeah, she assaulted me, Judge. So that charge is fucking bogus.”
“I’ve heard quite enough!” Devereaux snapped. He raised his gavel and slammed it down loud enough for Nick to flinch. “The defendant is remanded to custody, without bail.”
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It was more satisfying than John would admit.
While the development wasn’t exactly what he had expected, having Daniel Savage’s son dragged out of his new prison home to sit in another musty holding cell was the highlight of the new year.
This was the poor excuse for a man who’d given him such a headache these past few months. This was the little shit that nearly got his son killed, and who’d been terrorizing you for months, if not years.
But he would be a means to an end.
“I’ll tell ya what, Nick. You don’t look like a man that could organize a handful of murders and arsons, but here we are,” John said.
He scratched the back of his head and sat on the corner of the desk. Sam was seated across from Nick, and Cas was hanging back within the cell, watching the exchange (and watching Nick’s reactions for any tells).
On the other side sat Nick himself, dressed down in his gray prison garb. It was a far cry from the $5,000 suit he wore in the arraignment. Next to him was his lawyer, Amelia Richardson.
“Is there a question in there somewhere?” she asked. She shot Sam a glance.
They had dated in law school for a few months. It had ended abruptly when her husband returned from Afghanistan. It had been a shock to both of them, since the man had been presumed dead.
Clearly, Sam had moved on since then. He was happier with Eileen than he ever was, but he could tell that Amelia had never quite recovered from the “what could’ve been” of their relationship.
Still, Sam had set all that aside the moment he stepped into this room. He watched his father work.
“Why did you set fire to your own building?” John asked.
He’d expected Nick to be more explosive with his denials, but the man was quietly simmering, like he just wanted the questioning to be over. It reminded John of when his sons were teenagers. Maybe he hadn’t been the perfect father, but intuition was telling him something…
“You didn’t do it, did you?” John mused. “At least, not that fire.”
It was interesting, however, that Alastair had pinned the Savage & Co. fire on the son—that Nick had started it himself, along with the other arsons. Alastair had just been the muscle, committing the murders and the brandings on the victims.
John wasn’t so sure he believed that. He leaned in a bit and gave Nick a wry smile.
“Did Daddy do that one for ya?” he asked.
At that, Nick held firm. “My father has nothing to do with this.”
Hmm, a bit of familial loyalty? Maybe trying to prove himself, John detected. How far is he willing to go to protect his dad?
“So you did do it, along with the other arsons,” John said.
“Are you trying to get him to confess without a plea deal?” Amelia snarked.
“I’m trying to figure out how badly this kid wants to stay out of jail for the rest of his life,” John said.
“I’m not a fucking kid,” Nick grumbled.
“If you have something for us on Daniel Savage, then we’re willing to listen,” Sam added. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in jail?”
Nick crossed his arms, clearly uncooperative.
Sam narrowed his gaze. “This is your last chance, Nick.”
“You don’t have anything on me except for the word of a murdering felon,” Nick retorted. “I’ll beat this trial in a few months and I’ll be out free…but if you really want to know, I’ll let you in on a little something.”
He leaned in, meeting John’s eyes.
“Dad retaliates,” said Nick. “I think you know that best of all, Detective. This time, I think it’s one son for another. And you’ve got two to pick from.”
“Nick,” Amelia warned, but he ignored her.
He glanced at a carefully stoic Sam before he smirked in John’s face, which had become devoid of all humor and revealed the stoniness underneath.
“If I were a betting guy, I’d put my money on the one that had a fucking building fall on him.”
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After leaving the county jail, John drove Sam and Cas back to his sons’ apartment. They couldn’t treat Nick’s warning as an idle threat.
Sam was the prosecutor on the case. He wasn’t willing to step down, so the best they could do for him was give him a police security detail that would have to be with him at all times. However, all three men agreed that you, Dean, and Eileen needed to be put in protective custody during the trial.
“Damn it, Dean,” Sam muttered. His brother wasn’t answering his cell.
“Try him again,” said John.
“Is Eileen still at work?” Cas asked.
“Yeah, but she’s talking to the principal now about a temporary replacement for her classes,” Sam replied. He was worried about her safety, but he was also worried about you and Dean. Neither of you were answering your cell phones.
He later let John and Cas into his apartment, where all looked normal and clean.
“Dean!” Sam called out. He was just about to search the apartment when the man came out of his room, looking freshly showered.
“Hey, what’s up?” said Dean. “The gang’s all here, huh?”
“I’ve been calling you for an hour. Where’ve you been?” Sam asked in annoyance, though it was edged with a hint of more that tipped off Dean.
He sensed the tension in the room between his brother, his father, and his friend. He frowned.
“I had a doctor’s appointment. Why?”
John explained the latest round of questioning with Nick Savage, and his most recent threat. John asked where you were right now, if not in the apartment. Dean’s expression shifted to one of worry as he went to find his cell phone.
“She had a job interview,” he admitted, scrolling through his phone to find your name. “She couldn’t reschedule it, else she would’ve gone with me.”
He’d been uneasy about you going to the interview by yourself, but you hadn’t wanted him to change his appointment, and you had assured him it was only a few minutes away…
Dean held the phone to his ear and waited what felt like an eternity as it rang.
Pick up. Pick up, damn it.
Finally, the line connected.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.
“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.
The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”
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AN: 🫣 Sorry lol.
But the next chapter will bring the final showdown...
Next Time:
Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.
“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.
“I think you know, son,” the man replied.
Keep Reading: PART 19
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Dean Winchester Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Series Tag List (Part 1):
@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @a-very-supernatural-christmas @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb
@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91
@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19
@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420
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annabelle--cane · 2 months
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so I don’t have the knowledge of details that you have (complimentary) but is there anything in the computer code Colin looking into being written in German and Jonah Magnus’ buddy living in the Black Forest and finding that crypt that one time? Or is that Too far a reach?
vibrating at the speed of sound. so there are a couple of floating details around from the podcasts, the arg, and some promotional materials that may point back to germany having particular relevance. some of this is absolutely me going full pepe silvia, but there are enough threads here that I feel like it has to amount to Something.
so. germany.
archives 'verse:
-> point 1: johann von württemberg. while staying with his nephew in the schwartzwald in 1816, albrecht von closen finds an old mausoleum with the inscription "johann von württemberg" over the door, and it is guarded by a man with no eyes who nonetheless seems to be able to see. in a deep chamber well beneath the ground is johann's coffin, and the room is completely lined with books so old that they'd all rotted through and fused together, the marble shelves they're placed on having little carvings of open eyes all along them. the only two objects in a good state are an illuminated manuscript in arabic that had been kept apart from the rest of the books, and a gold coin with an engraving of a young man with flowing hair, the initials "JW," the year 1279, and the words "für die stille" (google translate tells me that’s “for the silence”). albrecht asks around for any information about johann because the name is unfamiliar despite his quite good knowledge about local history and nobles, and someone says they remember him being called "ulrich's bastard," likely referring to ulrich the i or ii, two counts of württemberg from the 1200s. with that information, in the present day jon is able to find some historical records that point to ulrich i having a son out of wedlock in 1255 who was rumored to keep the company of witches.
-> point 2: the von closens. it seems that a servant nicked the coin albrecht found before he could go home with it, and that was probably for the best for albrecht, because that servant Died Badly from what was ruled to be an animal attack. albrecht did take the book with him, however, and presumably went on to show it to jonah magnus. he then must have gone back for the rest of the rotten books at some point, though, because when doctor jonathan fanshawe visits his estate in 1831, albrecht has a full library of recently re-bound books that he tells fanshawe he got from the tomb, and owning them has done terrible beholding-esque things to him. fanshawe, in his capacity as a doctor, says they should return the books for albrecht's health, and they do so, but just as the last book is returned, albrecht dies, and fanshawe realizes that all the books were blank and finds out that jonah arranged to have them all swapped out by the book binder. when fanshawe performs an autopsy on albrecht's body, all of his insides are covered in eyes.
in his statement from 1816, albrecht says he and his wife carla have been unable to conceive, though in 1831 fanshawe mentions that all of albrecht's sons were away at school when he came to visit. not something that's impossible, they could have managed to have children shortly after 1816, but it does make me raise an eyebrow. magically blessed fertility? dimension shenanigans? fanshawe does mention a tree being burned on the von closen estate that feels remarkably similar to the tree on hilltop road.
anyway, wilhelm, albrecht's nephew, has some children, and the family stays in germany for about another century, but one branch eventually moves to england, and their descendants include mary and gerard keay. according to gerry, mary was big into mythologizing about the von closens and really tried to get him to continue her idea of a legacy for the family, but he thought most of what she said was made up.
protocol 'verse:
-> point 3: colin's comment about source code being written in german. nothing much to explain here, just that it's Weird that source code for some Weird bespoke program for the british civil service is written in german, right? Bit Odd.
-> point 4: the usenet forum. okay so I'm an avatar of the idiot and only read up about the arg after it was already over and don't know anything about code and whatnot, but as best as I can understand: on the OIAR's official website, if you try to submit a form, you get an error message, and if you look into the source code for the error then you find Some piece of code with an IP address shaped hole in it, and there's an IP address hidden in an OIAR advertising video, so you put that IP address into the code, do something else (???), and then find yourself at an old defunct usenet forum from the 90s/00s for people who left east germany.
(it is from here that I got too verbose for my own good, so the rest is under a cut)
notable things about the forum: most of it is pretty normal, and, naturally, it was pretty much all in german, massive shoutout to everyone who helped to translate all 21k words of it. there are threads about finding work in various countries, weird cultural idiosyncrasies, resources, reminiscing about berlin, yknow, normal stuff. the mod “SandmannS” (translates to exactly what it looks like) ran the forum with a bit of an iron fist, which I guess makes sense, it’s the kind of forum that attracted people who wanted to say some heinous stuff and he was really serious about not letting anyone solicit personal information, but he was also kind of overzealous about keeping threads on topic and locking any discussions that he thought were “pointless.” he was eventually strongarmed into opening a thread for cat pictures, and that’s as good an opening as any to talk about some of the Weird things about the forum.
one of the cat photos was posted in february 1994 and shows a cat standing in front of the thames, with what looks like the completed o2 arena in full view (great choice of a red flag landmark to include @ whoever chose it. nice big landmark that was called “the millennium dome” when it first opened, a handy reminder that it was made to celebrate the turn of the millennium and construction wouldn't even have started in 1994). several comments across the threads are dated as earlier than the comments they’re replying to, one person references the content of the phantom menace a few months before its release, and several comments were somehow made after the mod locked the forum in dec 2001/jan 2002.
and okay. the forum locking. I’m going to condense this to all hell because this is already [redacted] words long but basically, “einsamernarr” (translation: lonely fool) was an active user of the forum with a big conspiratorial streak, real paranoid about “the government” spying on him, always getting warnings and just dodging getting banned just before going too far, yknow, a Type of Guy. in december 2001, he mentions in a book rec thread that he was trolling through some databases and found a bunch of old records and he can’t tell if they’re fictional or not, but he’d like to share them if he can. about five days later, he starts posting in several threads that he did something really dumb, people are after him, the meetup they were planning is not safe and this forum is being watched, people should look for him if he doesn’t come back within a week, and he’ll try to leave some info behind for them just in case. a few days later, a couple of people post worried messages asking if anyone’s heard from einsamernarr and that they’ve been getting weird cryptic emails about an “institute” from him, and sandmanns says that he did everything he could, but he can’t keep doing this, and he closes the forum.
marina “avatar of the idiot” annabelle--cane showing my face here again, I don’t know how this next part happened, but it’s possible to retrieve the email einsamernarr sent, open it with a password found in colin’s code repository (that’s a whole ‘nother thing), and find inside: 1. some pictures of bonzobucks, 2. a weird pdf of an old german book on alchemy with a lot of symbols and codes in it, and 3. a spreadsheet of the names, ages, and test results of the hundreds of children the protocol 'verse magnus institute was performing psych studies on. which finally brings us to our next, much shorter section.
-> point 5: “gerard kaey” (sic). gerry’s name is on that spreadsheet, which I think is relevant to this conversation given mary’s obsession with the von closen legacy. archives ‘verse mary keay resented the magnus institute for what she felt it stood for comparison to what she felt she stood for; she saw jonah magnus as a thief who stole away her family’s honor, so what might be different about the protocol ‘verse situation? why would mary keay in this universe send her only heir to go get scrutinized by a bunch of self-important academics?
-> point 6: the berlin dead drop. more arg stuff, we’re getting into things that I’m sure probably have more to be said about them than I’m capable of saying, but from some clues in a picture of cookbooks that einsamermarr posted in the cat pictures thread of the usenet forum to annoy the mod, and a voicemail on the OIAR’s telephone line, people found out the date and location of the first irl arg event, and it was for somewhere in berlin. a newspaper covered in alchemical symbols was found in a bookshop, and from that people somehow derived coordinates, and those coordinates lead to the last irl event where a battered old video tape with a video of a creepy ritual was found (note: the tape was too badly damaged, so another copy of the video came from an arg affiliated tumblr account).
-> point 7: klaus.xls. from a floppy disk found in the second irl arg event, klaus.xls is a spreadsheet originally written in german with about 100 dates and times of potentially paranormal sightings. a lot of it is corrupted and unreadable, but there are columns for category, rank, “TSHU,” and notes. translated into english, notes sections that aren’t corrupted say things like “mr. b,” “war people,” “avoid, “unhappy child,” “ink,” “lady m,” “cats lol,” and “I hate witches.”
-> point 8: albertus magnus and the philosopher’s stone. right, this is where I go a bit off the rails, and credit to this post by @misfitmagpie for discovering some of this. first, nearly every official visual we’ve had for tmagp has been covered in alchemy symbols. they’re all over the logo, they’re all over the in-universe OIAR and magnus institute websites, they highlighted hints in the arg, they’re everywhere, and the end goal of alchemy was the pursuit of the mythical philosopher’s stone, a substance that could turn base metals into gold and produce an elixir for eternal life. the tmagp logo/the coat of arms for the OIAR is centered around an upside down alchemical symbol for the philosopher’s stone, a circle in a square in a triangle in a larger circle. 
albertus magnus (aka saint albert the great) was a bavarian philosopher and scientist who did some writing on alchemy and has been widely rumored to secretly have been a master alchemist, mainly as a result of a lot of people attaching his name to writings about alchemy that he never touched. some have credited him as discovering the actual philosopher’s stone, and while he never made that claim in any way that survives, he did record that he’d witnessed seeing base metals be turned into gold. something of which to take note is that he didn’t go by the name “magnus” during his life, that was appended to him posthumously, it’s just another way of calling him “the great” with a fancy latin word, but it does kind of remind me of that edmond “reimer” halley -> maxwell rayner thing from mag 140. if you discovered the elixir of life and became immortal, you would probably need to nab a new identity at some point, and if people have already been nicknaming you “albert the great,” well…
anyway, the thing that’s really cemented his potential relevance in my mind is his birth and death dates: c. 1200-1280, lining up perfectly with the time period of johann von württemberg (thought we’d moved on from him, didn’t you?). I know magnus timelines are notoriously a bit unruly, especially the further back into the past we get, but it’s scratching at my brain. besides that, I think it would be a really cool move if the magnus this podcast is named for was a completely different person than the magnus the last podcast was named for.
if albertus magnus isn’t directly relevant then I’ve got another theory about the title that I’ll be posting in a hot minute, but it’s not germany related and this ask is already long enough. 
just, to sum up, a lot of protocol content so far has been germany-adjacent, and even if nothing more comes of it I think there are a lot of interesting threads here to speculate about.
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lilyswrittenworks · 8 months
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(RoTB) Optimus Prime Headcanon
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I wanted to give in to my self-indulgence towards a certain Prime cause--YES (I’m currently simping for this man and I ADORE HIM with every fiber of my being.) 
Confessions
Warnings: slight angst, heartwarming fluffy moments
It started out as a harmless crush towards the Autobot leader, until it gradually escalated into something more. You never intended to grow so attached and it scared you.
So, you made the painful decision to admire him from a distance and your visits to the warehouse became less frequent.
Your absence didn’t go unnoticed, however.
When you didn’t show up for the fifth day in a row, Optimus was the first one to inquire about your whereabouts to his fellow Autobots. None of them had the slightest clue why…except for Mirage.
He knew you had a thing for the big man, which he totally used this knowledge to tease you.
Whatever you were trying to do, it was clearly affecting his leader.
Optimus would stand just by the entrance of the warehouse patiently waiting for your arrival, and when you don’t—well, Mirage has never seen him look so crestfallen. Yet, he still waited for you hoping that you would come by.
Mirage has never seen him so… lost without you.
And on the tenth day seeing Optimus in his usual spot and you not showing up was when Mirage decided that enough was enough.
He tried getting ahold of you from the landline number that Noah provided him with only for it to ring three times before it sent him straight to voicemail.
Mirage transformed and made a beeline to your apartment.
When he arrived into an alley that was just outside your apartment window. Making sure no other humans were around before transforming and peering inside your bedroom window.
Seeing you lying in bed with a book in your hand really upset him as he furiously tapped the window, doing his damn best not to break it.
You scrambled out of bed, opening the window to see a not so happy-looking Mirage.
Mirage didn’t allow you to speak as he began to reprimand you.
“You better stop whatever you're doing–no, don’t,” He points his finger towards you when attempting to speak. “Don’t try to lie to me Y/n. I know what you're doing and it’s doing more harm than good, you hear me? Prime is always waiting for you. Every. Single. Day. Dammit! Do you have any idea how much this is hurting him?”
Your heart stung at the realization.
“You might not realize it, but Prime genuinely loves you. I can see it in the way he looks at you. And it hurts me seeing you two hurting each other when instead you guys should be talking it out!”
He was right.
Fuck. You made a terrible mistake.
Your heart yearned for his presence since you distanced yourself from Optimus. Oh how your feelings from him only grew the longer you stayed away. You missed the sound of his deep baritone voice calling your name, his gentle touch when he picks you up, and those beautiful bright blue optics of his that held so much emotion to his otherwise stern and authorities demeanor.
With this newfound determination, you didn’t think twice as you climbed out of your window. Mirage wasted no time in scooping you up–transforming before speeding off to the warehouse.
Mirage arrived at the nick of time just as Optimus was walking away. He swerved to a halt, opening the drivers side door open propelling you out. You almost tripped over your feet but the adrenaline keeps you upright running towards him.
“OPTIMUS!”
The sound of your voice made him stop abruptly, turning around with wide eyes to see you running towards him, closing the distance fast. He knelt down on one knee already reaching out to you. Once you were within his reach he scooped you up, bringing you close to his chassis. You threw your arms to hug his face, feeling his hand adjust so that you were in a more comfortable position. Those simple little gestures was all it took to crumble whatever composure you had.
You were a mess. Sobbing into his cheek and hiccuping out apologies.
“It’s my fault. I-I shouldn’t have stayed away. I hurt you–I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
You weren’t sure when it started but you began to hyperventilate.
Optimus leaned into you, pressing his metal lips on the crook of your neck where he spoke under his breath to you in Cybertronian. 
You obviously couldn’t understand what he was saying. The soothing rumble of his voice and the warmth of his breath that left goosebumps on your skin. It had a calming effect on you and your breathing slowed back into a normal rhythm. Your focus was on his mechanical breathing—inhaling and exhaling. 
You pressed your cheek against his cheek, “I’m sorry I hurt you, Optimus. I wouldn’t blame you if you were upset with me.”
His hold on you tightened, his baritone a whisper that sent chills down your spine. “I would never. It made me realize how much I took your company for granted. Without you, there is a void that cannot be filled if you aren’t a part of my life.”
A sudden warmth spread throughout your chest at his words, a soft hum escaping your lips. “If you let me, can you be a part of mine?”
You could feel him smiling into the crook of your neck. “Of course,” He presses a gentle kiss into your shoulder, the metal surprisingly warm to the touch. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”
Mirage didn’t mean to watch, but he couldn’t resist himself.
In the end, he made the right call in dragging you out of your apartment.
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luveline · 1 year
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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧
Steve doesn't really like the holidays, but he likes you. So, he makes some concessions. Rainbow lit, tinsel-covered, pine tree-smelling concessions.
6k words, christmas centric, fem!reader who celebrates christmas, mutual pining, gingerbread houses, mistletoe, ugly sweaters, friends to lovers, idiots in love, allusions to s4.
Steve hates Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it and he won't, not when you love it the way that you do — quietly, and yet every movement hints at your excitement. 
Your hands are basically shaking when he lugs the new box onto the desk. It's adorable. 
"Thank you for doing this," you say, meeting his eyes and sending him one of your too-nice smiles. Kind that makes him nervous and sick and excited all at once. 
"I don't know why you're so eager. They're the same cheese-fests this year as last year," he says.
You lean over the counter enough for him to smell your perfume. "That's not true. You said you have The Christmas Star, right?" 
"Ten whole copies." 
He pulls open the cardboard box and digs for your desired tape. The case is cardstock and crisp with newness, and it squeaks as he pulls it up and displays it against his chest. 
You beam. "Yes. How much? Expensive 'cos it's new?" 
"Not with the employee discount," he says, placing the tape down neatly. 
Your smile turns shy. Steve has always thought you were pretty, in the same way he thinks that grass is green and stars shine at night, but lately you've turned to a sweetness that has his teeth aching if he thinks about it, all manner of terrible emotions flooding his idiot brain. Jealousy, protectiveness, and — he shudders — affection. Even now he's tempted to round the desk and make up an excuse to touch your arms, or your hands. Your face. 
"Thanks, Steve," you say softly. 
"Of course. There has to be one pro to working in this dump, right?" 
"Is it a dump? It looks super clean." 
He hesitates. "We had to fix it up. Holiday decorations are coming in tomorrow." 
"Make that today!" 
You both turn to see Robin struggling out of the back room, two boxes held in her arms and hiding her face. She stumbles to the desk and Steve leaps to help her, unveiling her grinning face. There's a meanness to her eyes that Steve abores. 
"Well, yesterday. Keith says they got here last night, which means today is officially the first day of Family Video Christmas." 
"It's November," Steve says, narrowing his eyes. 
"Thirty first!"
Robin pries open one of the huge boxes and thrusts both hands in unafraid, pulling out streams of green and silver tinsel like festive innards. Her eyebrows jump up. "Nice," she says appreciatively. 
"I almost wish I worked here." 
"You can stay and help," Steve says. 
Your laughter makes his chest hurt. "I can't. I have decorating to do all by myself next door." You straighten your Palace Arcade polo and your black, plain skirt. "Do I look okay?" 
Steve has a terrible lapse in judgement wherein he thinks about telling you exactly how you look, lips pressed together ready to make a 'b' sound, but he stops himself in the nick of time. Friends don't really do that. 
"You look fucking adorable," Robin says, having wrapped the tinsel around her neck in a makeshift scarf. She sparkles as she turns to Steve. "Doesn't she?" 
"Adorable," he says tightly. 
You scratch under your ear. "Thank you.” 
You promise to come back at the end of the day for The Christmas Star and escape before Robin can poke fun at your shyness. 
The door closes behind you and Steve buries his face in his hands. His cheeks are hot. 
"That was pretty bad. Better, though," Robin says, an air of genuineness about her that he knows she doesn't truly possess. 
Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, temper welled to the surface quick and uncomfortable as usual. He pushes it down and turns away from Robin and the glaringly bright Christmas decorations rather than say something snappy that she doesn't strictly deserve. 
"Maybe by Christmas you'll be able to look her in the eye." 
"Maybe by Christmas I'll have friends I actually like." 
"Points for quickness," she cheers. Steve can feel her moving to stand beside him. "But ultimately weak." 
"It could happen." 
"Could it?"
He rolls his eyes and starts to log The Christmas Star under his name for you. Employees get pretty good privileges, like reduced rates and nulled late fees. You could keep it 'til the 25th, if that's what you want. 
Robin drapes tinsel over his shoulders. "I really, genuinely think that, despite your bad posture, your hair, your clothes," — Steve scoffs — "and your dismal taste in movies, she likes you." 
He's so distracted by her (mostly) joking insults that he doesn't quite hear the end. Then, when it sinks in, his incredulity lends itself to a new target. 
"What?" 
"Steve," Robin says flatly. 
"She likes me?" 
"I think so. She's not coming in here every day for me." 
"How should I know? I'm not exactly a good judge of it." 
Robin taps her foot against his. They're overly familiar if not overly affectionate friends, and he relents in his bad mood, pulling the tinsel from his shoulders with a dejected sigh. 
"I doubt it. She was excited about the new movies." Not me. He doesn’t think you'll be back tomorrow.  
"Why aren't you excited?" Robin asks.
"You know I don't like the holidays." His agitation is clear in his annoyed hand gestures, fingers furling and unfurling. "Weeks of torture. Cranky moms walking around like somebody shoved a candy cane up their-" 
"Steve, that's like, ten percent of the holiday season! There's a bazillion other things to like about Christmas." 
He snorts. "Like what?" 
Steve doesn't know how she managed it, but Robin has someone orchestrated the older gaggle of their friends to sit down anywhere but next to him. When you arrive, late and full of abashed apologies, the only seat empty is the chair to his right. 
You collapse beside him and the December chill outside follows you. Cold emanates off of your clothes. You peel out of your black denim jacket and press the back of your hand to his. 
"Cold, huh?" you ask. 
He swallows around nothing. "Cold." 
Your touch lingers. If he were your boyfriend, he'd take your cold hands in both of his and blow on them generously. He'd rub your stiff knuckles until they were loose and your fingers limp. 
Robin opens her arms and a half a dozen boxes clatter into the middle of the table, upside down and on their sides. Steve turns his head to read the font, and then promptly sits up. 
"No," he says. 
"Steve," Robin pleads, already turned away to retrieve a wicker basket full of candy. "Don't be a loser." 
"Too late," Eddie says, painted nails digging into the cardboard flap of his box. 
"You don't want to make one?" you ask Steve. 
"Gingerbread houses are a little elementary school, aren't they?" Steve turns to Jonathan imploringly. "You agree, right?" 
"No," Jonathan says with a laugh. "Me and Will still make them every year. El's getting good at them, too." 
"Will made one with a door that opens last year," Nancy says, pride for her boyfriend's brother clear in her pert smirk. 
Steve rolls his eyes. "That's good for him, and I mean it, but why are we doing this? Tell me there's beer, at least." 
"Yes!" Eddie cheers, slapping his thigh. "Harrington, you're finally saying something I can get behind. I have a little something extra in the van, just say the word." 
"There's beer," Nancy says emphatically. 
Eddie pretends to die in his chair. You giggle like crazy at his dramatics and set about opening your box, fanning gingerbread walls and roof panelling out over the table. 
Steve feels old resentment for Eddie bubble up like it never left. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, all sweet and secret like you're trying not to make a fuss but you just can't help it. The resentment fades when you reach across from him and open a second box, laying supplies out in front of him one by one. 
"I think we should be a team," you tell him. 
"That's not fair," Eddie says.
"Can it, Munson-"
"We can all be teams," Robin says, returning with a blessedly cold six pack, three piping bags, and a handful of metal tips. "You two, me and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan." 
Steve doesn't miss her suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and neither does anybody else. You turn to Steve in confusion. He shakes his head vigorously in a rapid and untrue show of I don't know, arm weaving under yours to bring your attention to the bigger piece of gingerbread. "This is the floor, right?" 
Steve’s surprised by how good of a team you turn out to be. Your gingerbread house takes shape slowly. Steve holds the pieces in place and you apply the icing seams like caulking, smoothing the lines out with your index finger and licking it clean. You’re a picture of happiness, happy jabbering interspersed between singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio and warding off insincere insults sent your way. 
"My grandma can decorate better than that, and she's pushing ninety. She has glaucoma."
“Cut the shit talking, Eddie,” you warn, flicking him with a jellybean. It hits his neck, and his retribution comes in five more aimed at your gingerbread house. 
The sides wobble unsurely.
Steve frosts the roof, assuming it’ll be easy. It isn’t easy at all, and soon any cuteness you’ve made is ruined by his ugly hatching. He winces, then frowns, then glares, eyebrows furrowed in agitation. 
Jonathan and Nancy are the ones to beat. Both nerds, both neat. Jonathan’s an artist and it’s obvious he does this every year, their house made up of pretty white swirls and gem decorated doors and windows. They're bantering quietly, insincere declarations that make Steve jealous — not of Jonathan, exactly, but of their relationship as a whole. They fit together in a way Steve and Nance never had. They’re effortless. 
Robin and Eddie make a good go of it, surprisingly. Steve had expected Eddie to throw the competition before he could lose, and hates to be proven wrong. Dorks combined with too much imagination, their gingerbread house has become a sort of macabre scene with a dead gingerbread man outlined in the snow surrounding, and icing stalagmites rise under the roof’s overhang.
You pull your chair in as close to Steve’s as you can, your knee pressed into his thigh and your elbow glancing off of his bicep every time you place a jellybean.
“There,” you say, pulling back. “That looks awesome, doesn’t it?”
It’s a hot mess. Unbalanced, too much icing on one side of the roof and not enough on the other, you lean back into Steve’s chest, your skin to his skin and your hair smelling of jasmine, appraising the work you’ve made just as it begins to fall apart. The weight of the roof becomes too much and the walls split either side of one another, in both slow motion and fast. Steve sees it happen incrementally, and it’s too quick to stop. 
Your gingerbread house collapses. 
“Fuck,” Steve says. “Fucking fuck.”
You get second place. 
“It looked good when it was actually standing,” Nancy reasons, her lies obvious in her raised pitch, her queasy shifting. 
“It did,” you agree. 
Steve’s self-loathing abates ever so slightly. 
“Pity win,” Eddie says with a cough. 
You laugh like crazy, and Steve decides gingerbread houses are for kids. 
After the gingerbread house disappointment, Steve thinks things cannot get worse. He is swiftly proven wrong. 
It's his turn to host a party, Robin's idea, and Christmas crawls ever closer. When he closes his eyes at night he can see the faces of every annoyed mom asking for The Christmas Star. Carols play in his ears unbidden. He finds himself humming songs he hates out of nowhere and clamping his mouth shut hard enough to chip a tooth every time. 
You love decorations, and so he and Robin have spent the last hour making his big empty house something fit for a rom-com, wreaths and tinsels and rainbow flashing lights. You love Christmas music, and so the stereos dialled to a cruel thirty in preparation for your arrival. You love cookies, and so, to Steve's amateurish expense, plates of sugar cookies line the kitchen countertops, along with all the finger foods one could ever desire. 
Though in Steve's case, that's none. He hates Christmas parties, reminded of his parents' misaligned efforts to earn favour with equally pompous parents. He and Tommy would hide out in backyards with stolen booze, and when that got too cold they'd shuffle inside, warm in their chests and numb in their fingers. 
He frowns at the memory and wizzes it all away. Tommy was an asshole. Steve was an asshole, he still is. This party isn't for his parents. 
It's for you. 
Not that anyone can ever, ever know. 
"What do you think?" Robin asks, pulling at the edges of the sweater she's changed into. 
It's a movie reference he should understand, but doesn't. "I love it." 
She smiles. Rare for them to operate above dry sarcasm and quick wit. Christmas makes Robin squishy, like she's forgotten how shitty the world is, and Steve wants her to have a good time tonight. This includes being nice (which he should be more often, anyway). 
"Go change. She'll be here soon."
"Who, Nance?" 
Robin tips her head back. "Oh, yeah, Nancy. Definitely who I meant." 
He flips her the finger, putting an end to their Christmas niceties. She's still laughing as he climbs the stairs and barrels into his room. He doesn't bother closing the door even as he hears the doorbell ring. The pizza should be getting here around now. 
Steve doesn't rush. He’d left cash on the countertop. Robin can deal with it. 
He ducks forward and pulls his polo up the length of his back, hair puffed out like a cloud. He'd set aside his ridiculous reindeer sweater on the top shelf of his closet. Or, at least, he'd thought he had. He searches once, twice, and then gives in to his short temper and drops his face into his hands. 
Stupid Christmas. Stupid sweater. Stupid party.  
He hears your inhale like a whisper. Breath caught in your throat. 
"Steve," you say, sounding surprised. 
It's his room. He's not sure what's so surprising. 
You're standing in the doorway looking angelic, all things considered. Your features softened by powder, wearing a white Christmas sweater with dainty beaded snowflakes and a plaid skirt. You look pretty, and Steve's not one for dramatics but he wishes he was dead. 
"You look nice," he says pathetically. 
"You, too," you say. You clear your throat. "I mean. Uh-" 
"You okay?" he asks, pushing hair out of his eyes. 
Your smile falters. You look at his naked chest. Steve worries he's making you uncomfortable and turns as nonchalantly as he can to his closet again, says, "I can't find my sweater. It's…" He lifts a bundle of jeans up. "Horrifying." 
"I can help." 
You step into the room. Each footstep silent, you've already discarded your shoes. He looks down to your stockings and then up again, ignoring the blush that wants to emerge at the sight of your thighs. 
"It's brown, and it has a weird red thing hanging off of it. Rudolph's nose." 
You step close enough that he can feel the heat of your arm and run a hand down the shelves. It takes a couple of seconds at most and you've found it, pulling it from the pile carefully. He loves the way you move, each inch deliberate. 
You press the sweater into his chest. His hands come up, his fingers cover your own. 
When he's with you, Steve feels as though everything — every movement, every moment — is broken down into its finest details. He thinks he could draw your fingerprint if asked, each miniscule line embossed into his skin as you touch him. 
"Steve?" 
But that's ridiculous. 
"Thanks. I think I got tinsel in my eyes or some shit," he mutters, averting his gaze.
"You're welcome. Robin sent me to see what was taking you so long. I'll tell her it was a Rudolph related crisis." 
You stroke his arm. 
He loses his shit internally, hand reaching for your retreating figure as you turn your back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he would’ve kissed you.
"Steve?" you ask, now standing in the doorway. 
He recalibrates, muddled. "Yeah?" 
"Get dressed,” you encourage. You give him a short smile, blinding, and laugh quietly as you leave. 
He's hopped up on hope as he gets dressed, a smile plastered over what had felt to him like a seasonal scowl. He's no idiot; arm-touching, your tinkling laughter. Maybe his crush isn't as hopeless as he'd thought. 
He smooths down his hair for much longer than necessary, listening as the door opens and closes and opens again, friends trickling in with happy hellos and complaints about the weather. It's cold but too wet for snow, and evidence of it trails in from the front door through the hallway where shoes lie discarded in clumsy pairs.
He picks over them and finds his friends, ones he made willing and otherwise, draped over his living room like old throws. Max and Lucas have stolen the couch where they sit laughing, clearly gossiping about something. The rest of the lunch club stick close by, bowls of snacks already claimed and in cross-legged laps. 
"Steve," Jonathan says, "what the fuck is that?" 
"Fucker," Steve says. He's the butt of too many jokes, then, and he glares at Robin even as she plates him some still-warm pizza. 
"Sorry," she mouths. 
You curl up on the couch next to Max. He appreciates the unlikely friendship you've formed, sort of a sistership. You only know her through Steve but he genuinely thinks you'd pick her over him, and that makes him like you more. 
That's all he does, lately. Finds new ways to fall in love with you. 
"That is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen," Max says.
Fucking Christmas. 
Steve's been in a bad mood since he came downstairs, and you're not okay with it. Despite your shameless meltdown in his bedroom at seeing him shirtless, you don't quit. You spend some time with Max on the couch, and when she seems a little less agitated you track him down. 
He's definitely hiding. 
"I think Max's glasses are hurting her nose," you say. 
Steve looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles, the slopes of his face kissed by the open refrigerator light. "They'd hurt anyone. The lenses are like, five inches thick." 
“Poor girl,” you mumble, more to yourself than him. 
He turns back to the fridge and pulls out a two litre of coke. “You want a drink?” 
You shake your head. His hair looks incredibly sweet from this angle, and you don’t mean that in a condescending way. It curls toward the bottom of his neck, that tiny bit too long compared to his usual cut. His neck moves as his head swivels, and there’s ligaments, there’s muscle, the bump of his Adam’s apple, all of it commanding attention. You think about stepping forward to touch him, his neck, to curl your finger around the side of his throat and hold him in place. If there’s one thing about Steve lately, it’s that he’s always fucking moving. He can’t sit still. He looks between you and the empty glass in question, twice, a third time. 
“I don’t read minds,” he says eventually, near pleading. 
You decide some flirtation is in order. 
“I’m glad you can’t,” you say lightly, crossing what’s left of the kitchen tile between you to stop at his side. You pretend that you’d wanted a drink, taking a glass down from one of his cabinets so he can fill it for you. Something he could’ve done himself. You hope that’ll be clear enough for him — the blatant want to be close. 
It isn’t, unsurprisingly. 
“What’s that mean?”
“Well, I think…” You lower your voice,a private confession. “That sometimes what I’m thinking, it might be- Uh, telling.”
Poor Steve. That hadn’t come out anywhere as smooth as you’d anticipated. It’s harder to tell him now you’re confronted with him, his every detail. And Steve, sweetheart, angel Steve, he misses the mark. Forget different pages, Steve’s reading a separate chapter, and your flirtation reads as a deeply unromantic confession. 
“Is there something wrong?” he asks. 
“No,” you say. “Of course not.”
His eyebrows jump and his forehead crinkles. “You sure?” His protective tone melts into something softer. “Let’s hear it, whatever it is.”
Steve isn’t patient. You know that about him. His temper is short and fierce. You like how hot he runs, love his agitated pouting and his dark-eyed scowls — he’s handsome in every expression. 
He isn’t patient, but he tries. He’s kind, and if you wanted to sit and talk about the hypothetical that isn’t bothering you, he’d listen. 
“I actually wanted to ask if everything was alright with you,” you say gently. 
His hand wobbles, fastening the coke cap. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’ve noticed you don’t really like Christmas.”
He smiles, and soon the smile catches, a shy lip bite that has you fighting with your hands to keep them where they hang at your sides. 
“You got me.”
Steve pushes the twin glasses of coke back and then turns around, resting the small of his back against the countertop. You step in front of him without thinking, head ducked to catch and keep his eyes. They’re such a lovely brown, light and earthy, potted with white dots from the fluorescent kitchen light like falling snow as his eyes slip down. You swear, Steve is looking at your lips. 
“Is there something I can do?” 
It’s a terrible time to ask because you genuinely mean it, you’re not just trying to cop a feel. He doesn’t smirk or laugh as you’d thought he would, he only smiles. 
“Thanks, but I’m good.” He tips his head back, criminal, neck arched and ever-enticing. “Fucking sick of this itchy straight jacket,” he groans, pulling at the collar of his sweater like he’s hot. 
He is hot. You’d both benefit from a sudden winter breeze. 
His head drops, eyes lit with confusion. “What? Something on my face?”
“Something,” you agree. 
You look behind you to check what you’d thought you’d seen was truly there. When it is, you turn back to Steve with a feigned concern. “Here, come step into better light.”
You hurry into the doorway, frowning. 
Steve frowns in turn and follows you. You give the game away without meaning to, looking up at the sprig of mistletoe pinned sloppily above you. 
He sees it. He lights up. The happiest he’s looked all month, Steve scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he comes to meet you. Your stomach flips with excitement, because oh shit, he looks like he wants to kiss me. 
“Butler, I’m in need of one of your finest cokes, please.”
Oh, no.
Eddie bounces into view with a certified shit-eating grin, hair decorated with tiny metallic baubles. His sweater is surprisingly normal, a black and white knitted affair with reindeer and snowflakes. 
He comes to a stop beside you. “What’s happening?”
Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look-
“Shit, hey! Mistletoe.”
Eddie opens his arms. You sigh, to his delight, and lean in so he can give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You try to look at Steve and find your view blocked by a mass of hair.  
“Wow, sweetheart. And I thought we were friends,” Eddie says good-naturedly. 
You scrunch your hand in his sweater to push him away, not unkindly. Guilt gets the better of you and you pat the place over his heart. “We are.”
He makes a kissy sound and dives in toward your neck. Startled, you squeal, stumbling away from his rabid affection and back into the kitchen. He follows, though he doesn’t try anymore kisses. 
“Harrington! I wasn’t joking about the coke. Can I-“
“Help yourself,” Steve says. 
He sounds miserable. 
There isn’t time or opportunity to smooth things over with Steve that night. Actually, a week becomes two, and neither do you kiss nor talk about kissing. You want to explain to him what he probably already knows — you really had been standing there for him, hoping for a kiss, a proper kiss. 
He’d looked crushed. You don’t use the word lightly. Steve looked as though somebody had stepped on his chest and pressed all of their weight against his ribs. Frazzled, unhappy. You can’t get the look out of your head, and Christmas doesn’t feel so cheerful with the gap that yawns between you, an icy crevice. 
You try to explain and things get in the way. At the video store, you show up with a plate of apology cookies hoping for a second chance and suddenly the radio breaks and gets stuck blaring ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ like a storm siren. You meet up for games night with a twig of mistletoe in your purse hoping to be a tad more brazen about it and he sits on the opposite sofa, doesn’t take any pee breaks, effectively foiling your plan with inactivity. You ask him out for hot chocolate over the phone and he can’t come. 
“My parents are flying home. I gotta pick ‘em up from the airport.”
You don’t know whether he’s lying or not. His parents actually being home feels outlandish. If he is lying, he doesn’t want to see you, and if he doesn’t want to see you… 
He doesn’t like you. Not the way you like him. 
You worry you imagined the whole thing, his enthusiasm, his starry eyed smile. 
So you’re giving it one last shot. If it doesn’t work you’ll spend your Christmas heartbroken and sulking, but if it does you might actually get to kiss him. It’s a huge thing, and your hands are shaking with more than the cold as you bump up the small step to Steve’s front door. 
The green wreath hanging below the peep hole jitters as you knock, a fragrant twining of pine and cinnamon sticks. 
The door opens all at once.
“Hi,” you say, biting the tip of your tongue. “Hi, I’m, uh-“
The man who’s answered, who you summarise to be Steve’s father despite never having seen him, looks disinterested. “Steve,” he calls. “One of your friends.”
He walks away with nothing else to say, a dark brown liquid lapping at the sides of his small glass. You pull the wrapped box in hand closer to your chest, shifting from one numbing foot to the other as a small tumbling sound comes from upstairs. A pair of hinges squeal, and Steve is halfway down the stairs before he’s even looked up. 
He slows as he approaches the bottom. 
He’s in pajamas. Sweatpants, nondescript, but his too-tight shirt clearly of the Christmas variety. A snowman smiles over his chest. 
“It’s laundry day,” he says. 
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t go out with you-“
“Steve,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Is that… for me?”
The box in your hands is wrapped modestly. You hadn’t wanted to shove Christmas down his throat, trading reds and greens for a shiny silver paper pressed with fine glitter snowflakes. 
“Yeah. It’s for you.”
Steve stares at you. You stare back. 
“I’d invite you in, but…” He shakes his head. “Let me get my coat.”
Steve doesn’t close the door, to his father’s annoyance, deep grumbling echoing from the kitchen area. You watch him shove his socked feet into a pair of sneakers and scramble to grab his coat and a scarf. 
“Okay?” he asks, stepping out onto the path and closing the door behind him. 
You don’t answer, distracted by his hands suddenly held up, the scarf thrown neatly around your neck. He does a single knot and tucks it under your jaw. “Awesome,” he says. 
You walk down his street. Hawkins is half woods, and soon you’re weaving between naked trees, no destination in mind, not one unspoken feeling acknowledged between you. 
“Why do you hate Christmas?” 
It’s just dark enough for Steve’s clouded breath to show against the sky. “I don’t,” he says.
Your footsteps break over leaves so frosted they crackle. 
“I mean, I guess I do,” he says. “I don’t know. I think I want it to be better than it is.” He stops under a tree that’s clinging to its last handful of leaves and gives a low-hanging branch a playful shake. “I never enjoyed it, as a kid. Or, I don’t remember. I’m sure I liked it when I was still snot-nosed.”
“So, last year?” 
He chuckles warmly. “Exactly.”
You walk a little further, too awkward to hand him his gift. 
“I don’t hate it. But it’s cold, and everyone’s rushing, and the bad outweighs the good.” He sounds tired. 
He breaks your heart like that. 
You stop walking and Steve takes your cue, the two of you toe-to-toe, your sneakers dirty, his socks odd. One white and one grey. 
“I got you this because… um, I have something to tell you. I don’t think I can say it out loud, but- but I hope it adds something to the scale.” You extend the box slowly, your fingers stiff with the cold. “You deserve some good. You deserve a lot of good.” 
You laugh, flustered, and Steve joins in, chest lifting with it as he accepts his gift. 
He rips off the wrapping paper, at first carefully and then less so, shoving little pieces into his pocket as he goes. You take the bigger scraps from him so he can look at the box itself. 
Your gift is actually multiple gifts contained inside, and the first isn't technically a gift at all. The Family Video copy of The Christmas Star.
"Is this-" 
"I've been meaning to give it back to you. I'm sorry, I know it's not a real gift, I just figured- I mean, you've never seen it. I thought we should watch it, and that you'd like it if you did. Or maybe you'll hate it, and that would be fine too." 
He nods and moves to the next gift, lips twitching with an emotion he won't share. 
"That's your size, hopefully. I asked Robin but she didn't know. I kept the receipt." 
Steve smiles at you. "Would you hold this?" he asks. 
You put your hands out and take the box back, worried, but he's only unzipping his coat. Quick as a flash he's shrugging into the sweater head first. It's a simple thing, red wool, soft to touch. A Christmas sweater, though there's no decoration beside a tiny holly leaf embroidered at the collar in dark green. 
"This is fucking sweet," he says. 
You agree. He looks good. 
A shiver racks his spine. 
"Put your coat back on, you're gonna freeze," you say gently. 
He beams at you. "My dead body will be the best dressed in the morgue." 
"Don't joke about that!" 
He laughs and gets back into his coat, zip right up to his neck. He still looks cold. 
The third present is a gingerbread house kit. The fourth, a sprig of mistletoe. They're obvious now the sweaters in action, and Steve seems mildly confused by them. You leap to explain. 
"I thought, I mean- I want a do-over." You tilt your cheek toward your shoulder, scared and fond at the same time. "I wanted you to kiss me. I think you wanted to kiss me, and then Eddie," — you laugh loudly, cheeks burning with the cold — "was being himself. And Steve, I brought that stupid plant with me to Robin's house last week hoping we'd be alone, and to work the week before. But you're hard to pin down." 
You take a deep breath before continuing, eyes determined at his collar, "If you don't want to kiss me, that's okay. That's why I brought the gingerbread house, because ours was awesome before it fell apart, and I'm pretty sure Robin gave us a dud on purpose. We made something really cool together, and I think we can do it again." 
"I did want to kiss you. I do." 
You bite the inside of your lip, nose scrunched up in happiness. "You do?" you ask, and there's this feeling in your chest like you could burst, and all the cold shrinks into nothing. You're warm in your arms, your fingers, your fingertips. 
His hand comes up to his face briefly, shielding his eyes. "Am I obvious?" 
"Am I?" 
His exhale tickles your cheeks. "No," he says breathlessly.  "No, you're not." 
He says it like it's a good thing. A great thing. 
"Everybody else knows," you say similarly. 
"I know." 
He brings a hand to your cheek. It's cold, cold as your face, but he still winces and rubs at the apple with his thumb. "You're freezing," he says as he inches forward. 
His lips are warm. More gentle than you'd imagined, hesitant, and the box you're holding stops him from getting as close as you want him to get. He kisses you once, then he pulls away and kisses you again, his lips slightly parted. 
It's better than you'd thought it would be. His palm stroking your cheek, the pressure, the heat. Knowing he wants to kiss you now as he wanted to then. 
"No fucking way," he says, tilting his head back. 
You tip your head back too. Something wet falls in your eyelashes, a drop of rain. 
Not rain. "It's fucking snowing," Steve says. 
It's snowing. Because it's Christmas, and the powers that be are on your side. 
"Happy Christmas, Harrington," you say jovially. 
You're given another kiss in reward. Reward, or to shut you up. You're not sure. 
Steve is impartial to Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it but he will, because you love it. 
The snow — the snow, which had fallen thick and fine as powdered sugar, which you adore, and which makes coming to see you in the days leading up to Christmas near impossible. It's something out of a movie, Steve, seriously, and you need to appreciate what's happening. 
The music you play when he comes to see you, records on your record player and cassettes in your tape deck lying on your chest, knee to knee and thigh to thigh with him. Your quiet humming; you won't sing, but the small sounds alone are enough to make him want to kiss you (though everything does now). He can't hate Here Comes Santa Claus when you hum along under your breath, lips skipping over the skin of his bicep, your hand scratching a rhythm into his hair. 
Everybody knows Santa's coming, I don't see why they have to have a whole song about it. 
Are you jealous? I'll write a song about you. Or maybe I can steal one. You ever hear Santa baby? We can make it Stevie baby. 
Christmas music? Not his thing. You calling him baby? Fine, he can get behind it. At least until January. 
Christmas sweaters! He fucking hates them. They're ugly, they're scary, he doesn't wanna walk around with a pom pom on his chest thank you so much, but he has to allow them. Has to. If only so he can watch you get dressed with one eye hidden in your pillow and the other wide open. Thank little baby Jesus in the manger for Christmas sweaters so you have something to tuck into your skirt, so you have a reason to wear a skirt at all, and a reason to take one off. 
Christmas snacks he can get behind. Or, he can get behind this. You on the couch, a needle threaded in your hand. A bowl of popcorn in his lap, and your face as you lean back. 
He throws a kernel and it lands in your open mouth. 
You both holler, twin expressions of unadulterated joy, popcorn spilling over the sides of the bowl. You just look so happy, he climbs on knees to steal a kiss. A smiling kiss, the very best kind. 
"Aren't you supposed to do this stuff before Christmas eve?" he asks. 
"I've been a little busy." 
Steve digs his face into your neck so you won't see him blushing, hands curling around your waist in an impromptu hug. Yes, he supposes you have been. 
You kiss his temple sweetly. 
"Merry Christmas," he murmurs. He really, really means it. 
thanks for reading! im so out of practice but hopefully this is okay!! i meant to post it yesterday but anyhow, i hope you enjoyed <3
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withcrossesandframes · 4 months
Text
A Little Hazy
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Pairing: Nick Folio x f!reader
Word count: 3.6k
A/N: Had this idea stuck in my head and had to get this one together for y’all. I appreciate all the support and feedback
Warnings: cursing, drug/marijuana use, sexually explicit content - MINORS DNI 18+ (unprotected penetrative sex, oral m!recieving, oral f!recieving.)
You had been stuck with the closing shift tonight, making you far later than you initially promised him. After running home to shower, change, and pack an overnight bag, you drove over to your boyfriend’s house. 
Using the spare key he had given you, you unlock the door and step inside. Just as expected, most of the lights on the first floor are turned off, leaving it in darkness aside from the hood light in the kitchen. It may be dark, but far from quiet. You hear the muffled thumping of a kickdrum and the crashing of cymbals coming from the basement.
You shrug off your bag and purse to hang on a kitchen chair before opening the basement door and descending the carpeted stairs. 
Before you make it halfway point, he stops abruptly and yells, “FUCK!”
You’ve been with him long enough to know he’s showing his frustration, a sign that he’s pushed himself and needs you to yank him free from the hyper-focus state he’s in. As soon as you reach the bottom of the staircase and come into his view, you greet him from across the room, “Hey,”
Your voice is a sweet gift, and he lifts his head to the sound of it, smiling the second he lays eyes on you, “Hey, baby,”
You close the distance, asking with a hint of concern in your tone, “Everything okay?”
He shifts on the seat and drops the sticks into the caddy on his kit, blowing out a tired sigh, “Yeah. I’ve been working on this new track Noah sent this past week and I just can’t get it right. Something is just off and I can’t figure it out.”
You hum softly, circling the kit to stand behind him. “Have you been at this all day? Did you even eat?” You question lovingly, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and placing a kiss on his cheek.
You feel the apples of his cheeks round against your lips as he smiles. “I think I had a Slim Jim for lunch.”
“Nick,” you scold, headbutting him affectionately. 
“What?” he giggles, melting into your embrace. You pull away slightly, only to massage the overworked muscles of his shoulders. 
He responds instantly with a low groan and stretches as you knead the tightly wound knots. Even though he’s becoming a ball of putty in your hands, you’re mindful enough to press too hard into the taut muscles. “I think you should give yourself a break,” you suggest, rolling your thumbs over the nape of his neck as you lower yourself closer to his ear, “Relax with me for a little bit.”
He gives in by taking a heavy breath and releasing the day’s stress from his stiff body through a slow exhale. “You do make a strong argument.”
“You make it so easy to win,” you click your tongue teasingly.
“Maybe I just like to see you happy.” He reaches down beside him, breaking the contact of your fingers on his back, to grab the rolling tray off the floor and set it on the top of the snare. Looking over his shoulder, you watch him place a few fresh buds inside the small silver grinder that was resting on the tray. “How was work?”
You blow a raspberry while you continue to scratch his back with a soothing drag of your nails over his t-shirt. “Awful. Fucking sucked that they made me close tonight.”
He starts filling the rolling paper carefully, shaking his head. “Fucking pricks. You tired?”
“A little, but the shower really helped wake me back up.”
He huffs, half-spinning on his stool to face you more. “Showered already? Here I thought you loved me.”
“I’m sorry!” You laugh, watching him dramatically pout his bottom lip. Shower sex is one of his favorites, and even though it’s your playful banter, a pang of guilt strikes you knowing that you deprived him of it tonight. “I’m such a terrible girlfriend. How can I ever repay you?”
A devious smirk curls on the corners of his lips just before he licks the edge of the rolling paper. “I can think of a few things.”
Once he pinches it closed and finishes up the final touches of the joint, you gently puck it from his fingertips while leaning in for a kiss. “How about…we take this upstairs and smoke in your room?”    
He lets out a whimpery hum to the idea, mumbling against your lips, “Just full of good ideas tonight.”
Your fingers dance across stubbled his jawline, as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth. You’re just as needy, waiting all day to finally have him like this, but that part of you wants it to be perfect. You fight your own temptations and finally pull away from the kiss, just far enough to bite into your own lip. “Take a quick shower and meet me up there.”
“Babe, wait—“ But before he can complain further, you break away, making it halfway toward the stairs when he whines, “You’re such a tease!”
“Better hurry!” You call out over your shoulder, skipping up the staircase. 
You’ve been sitting at the end of his bed for about fifteen minutes, listening to the running shower while you wait for him. Anticipation makes you jittery and impatient with your imagination roaming free. You’ve already admired his rolling skills as you’ve been left to fidget with the joint and lighter between your fingers. He shouldn’t be much longer, but every second feels like it’s dragging on more than the last. 
The water eventually cuts off, followed by the muffled sounds of him stepping out and drying off. After a few minutes, he steps into the bedroom with his towel wrapped around his waist and gives you a confused look once he sees the intact joint in your hand. “You didn’t light it yet?”
You shrug, answering matter-of-factly, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Instead of digging out clothes from the dresser, he walks over to you and stands between your legs. Water droplets fall from the wet hair falling in his face and onto his toned torso, flowing down the smooth contours of his body in streams. He pushes back his barely-dried hair with a sweep of his hand, revealing the glow of his freshly washed face. “Oh? I guess I can’t waste any more time then.”
He bends down and presses his wet lips that are starting to chill to yours. The contrast of his warm tongue greeting your own clouds your thoughts, and for a second you succumb to the feeling. Before he has the chance to distract you further, you whisper to him, “Sit down.”
You’ve gotten his full attention now, making him pull back and quirk a curious brow at you. With the towel still wrapped snug around his hips, he trades places and settles on the edge of the bed. You offer him the joint and lighter before you slowly drop to your knees. 
At first, it takes him by surprise, making him giggle, “What are you doing?” 
You play coy, staying silent as you tug the tucked corner of the towel to free it from its knot and pull it off his lap. He doesn’t stop you, but rather leans back and watches as you reveal his naked lap before you. The sight of him consumes every ounce of willpower for you not to crawl on top of him and slip him inside of you.
He sucks in a shuddered breath through his teeth when you lean in and kiss up his tattooed thigh, “Baby…you don’t have to do that.”     
“I want to take care of you. Help you relax a little,” you insist, mumbling the words through your open kisses. You take your time worshiping him, dragging your parted lips across his skin. 
His open hand finds a place to rest on the crown of your head, gently guiding you closer to where he wants you. His cock has already responded to your touch, hardening within mere seconds. You’ve teasing around it, nipping at his inner hip and massaging the muscles of his thighs while kissing everything else.
He considers setting the joint and lighter that’s been hidden in his hand on the bed, but you catch him before he’s able to. Looking up to see head rolling back and eyes closing, you say, “You get green tonight.”
A grin spreads across his face and he brings the unlit joint up to hold it loosely between his wet lips. While it hangs there you’ve decided you’ve waited long enough and finally take him into your hand to slowly stroke him, watching as his brows furrow. A hushed whine leaves him as you feel the velvet-softness of his skin with the heavy beat of his heart pulsing against your palm. It’s becoming clear that his ability to concentrate is rapidly diminishing the second you press your lips to the head of his cock. He uses the last of it he has to flick the lighter and hold the flame to the end of the joint before pulling in the first drag. 
You grace him with the tip of your tongue, causing him to exhale through a low groan, “Fuck, baby.”
Peering through your lashes, you make eye contact as he takes the second drag and brings the fire-red cherry of the joint to life. Staring into his half-lidded eyes, you put on a show, licking up the length of his cock while the dense cloud of smoke hangs between you. It feels dreamlike — his heavy breaths and the sensation of his calloused fingers slipping through your hair. 
You guide his cock past your lips, gliding him over your flattened tongue and enveloping him in the wet warmth of your mouth. His taste with that faint hint of his body wash melts into your senses. The more you treasure him, the less he can stay silent, and eventually, moans escape him and his hips start to act on their own, sending his cock deeper toward the back of your throat.
“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he confesses with a breathy laugh. You then hear the crackling sound of his next hit, followed by the muffled coughs he’s trying to suppress. Knowing that he’s looking down, you make it sloppier, allowing a trail of your spit to dribble down his cock. “You’re fucking amazing.”
You become high off the praise alone, bobbing your head with more purpose now. His room is so quiet, the only noises filling it are his labored breathing and you. 
“That’s so hot,” he huffs, breaking his silence as his fingers snake through your hair once more. He’s trying his best to be gentle, but he’s starting to lose the battle. They start to curl with the rolls of your tongue, tugging at your roots as pleasure overrides his brain. 
Before he completely unravels, you pull his cock from your mouth with a satisfying pop and go back to stroking him now that he’s slick with your saliva. A violent shiver rolls through him while a whimper echoes in his throat. It’s when you notice the joint resting in the glass ashtray beside him and the water droplets that still haven’t dried from his inked chest. His eyes are heavy with lust, dazed from the cusp of the orgasm you’ve withheld from him. 
Like looking through the lens of vintage film, the room has this haziness with plumes of heavy smoke suspended in the air. For this moment, the outside world ceases to exist. There’s nothing to distract either of you. As he looks at you with unfiltered admiration, you soak up these seconds of intimacy without the pressure of an end goal in sight. 
“C’mere,” he instructs with a slight tip of his chin. You climb to your feet with his guiding hands, letting him lift and pull you onto the center of the bed. You collapse in a fit of laughter, spread across the center of the mattress on your back.
He ditches the damp towel as he crawls over you, sending it onto the floor to be picked up when it will matter later. He settles between your knees and his warm breath tickles the inside of your legs. You try to snap them closed, giggling, “This was supposed to be about you.” 
The attempt was weak at best, and he’s able to keep them open with a hand placed on your thigh. He nips at the sensitive flesh, sucking a mark of his own. “Who said this isn’t?”
“Nick, please,” you whine, weaving your fingers into his damp hair. The sensation causes your memories of him coming off stage drenched in sweat to flicker behind your closed lids. 
The thought makes you ache desperately and you can’t resist the urge to tighten them, tugging the roots to silently beg him for more.
“Be patient, baby girl,” he coos, keeping his voice at a soft rasp. “I always take care of you, don’t I?”
You let your line of sight drift to the ceiling and hum your answer while he lets his tongue linger on each kiss up your inner thigh. You’re squirming with anticipation, and if it wasn’t for his arm draped across your stomach to keep you still, you would lift your hips into his face. His fingertips skim over the surface of your skin until they reach the edge of your panties. His face is so close that you can feel the heat of his breath fanning over your covered pussy. It clings to every part of you with every panted exhale, making your clit throb for more. 
“Here.” He raises the half-smoked joint that's been burning in the ashtray to you. You carefully bring it to your lips and take your first hit just as he licks a languid stripe up your center, wetting the thin fabric. 
“Oh, god,” you moan, but the sound catches in your throat. You cough, blinded by the weed saturating your senses. He continues to tease, lapping at your hidden clit through the cotton barrier. 
He hums into you while his fingers roam over your body, finding his favorite features instantly. He cherishes the details — the supple softness of your tummy, the round curve of your hips to the feeling of your breasts filling the palm of his hand under your shirt. 
“You’re so perfect,” he whispers sweetly, giving away the telltale sign that he’s high by the drag in the words. He finally hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your panties resting on your hips and shimmies them down your legs so you’re able to kick them off. He wastes no time lowering his head between your thighs again.
It could be the THC swirling around in your mind, but the second his lips touch you, a pitched whimper escapes you. He chuckles, sending the fluttered breath over your pussy, “So sensitive tonight.” 
A response dissolves between the synapses of your brain when his tongue dips into you, and with lazy flicks, spoils your clit with its velvet warmth. He groans as he tastes you, lapping into you like you’re the sweetest meal he’ll ever have. It’s so gentle at first, drenching you in intoxicating bliss as he gradually adds more pressure. You can’t hold back the whining of his name and the clenching of your thighs around his ears. And before the joint ashes onto his sheets, you make sure to rest it in the glass bowl. 
“Sing to me, baby. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours.”
With one hand buried in his thick hair, you blindly search for his own with the other, holding his fingers that have been pressing little indents into your skin. Feeling across the divots of his knuckles and the calluses of his fingertips grounds you to him as he continues circling your clit.
He uses your favorite patterns, ones he’s learned since being intimate with you. He could tease you with them, edge you for hours upon hours until you’re on the brink of tears. Tonight, he’s pampering you — bringing you to the tipping point of your climax far quicker than you realize. 
Regardless of whether you’re paying attention, he can tell just by the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way you hold back your moans or the way you desperately squeeze his hand. Just when you think he’ll drag you under, he breaks away to shower the inside of your thigh with kisses. 
You whine out of frustration, making him huff a cocky laugh, “Oh, I’m sorry, babe. Did you want it to be over already?”
“Please, Nick. I need you. I’m right there,” you plead with a pull of his hair. You feel his smile before his tongue makes a reappearance and to your benefit, he doesn’t hold back and drowns your swollen clit. 
A more powerful drug than the one burning away by your side — an indulgence you’ll never take for granted. You get lost in it within the depths of your foggy mind. He takes you by the hand and guides you through it in a place where time is a foreign concept. You swim in its bliss, ready to succumb to the crashing waves of your impending orgasm. 
It’s when you start to shake from overstimulation that he lifts his head from you. He nips at your skin, joining your laughter as you throw your hands to your face. He kisses a trail up your stomach and between your breasts as he crawls over you. 
“Your turn,” you say, gesturing for him to flip over. 
An even more confused expression flashes across his face, but he obliges without protest. You roll with him, straddling his lap as he settles into the bed. You’re happy to know that he’s still perfectly hard as before, nestled against the curve of your ass. 
He’s smiling, beaming as he looks up at you in amazement, watching as you balance yourself on his chest. “Hi.” 
His lust-blown eyes glimmer in the low lighting, but his face is completely drenched from you until he wipes it dry with the back of his hand. You lower yourself until you’re hovering just a few inches above his kiss-swollen lips. “Hi.”
You kiss him, licking into his mouth with more urgency as you reach between you. Holding his cock by the base, you line him up with your entrance and slowly start to ease yourself onto him. He’s made a mess of you already, ensuring that he’d slip effortlessly inside you. 
You bottom out, and the way he nudges against your cervix causes you both to let out a groan in unison. “Fuck, you feel amazing,” he grunts as his hands gain purchase of your hips. After adjusting to the full feeling he’s giving you, you start to roll them, letting him slip out of you slightly before you rock back. 
You fall into an unhurried rhythm, watching his eyes flutter closed and him forcing his head back into the pillow, extending his neck for you. You take advantage, kissing and leaving your fuschia-colored marks down the column of his throat. He swallows thickly, causing his Adam’s apple to bob against your lips.
You pepper his sharp jawline with open-mouthed kisses until you eventually meet his lips. Based on the way he kisses you, you can tell he’s holding back, fighting the drive to take over and fuck into you. You take the cue of his impatient tongue and start to bounce on his cock. 
You ride him the way he deserves, and the response you receive is a string of broken curses muffled into your skin. His hands wander from place to place, unable to stay still for more than a second, revealing to you that his composure is starting to crumble. 
His eyes blink open, but struggle to focus as he pants in a strained breath, “I just can’t get enough of your pussy. Don’t stop.”
You pet his stubbled cheek, cradling his face in your palm. “Feel good?” He nods, making you add, “Thought about me riding your cock today, didn’t you?”
“Keep going, I’m so close,” he begs because while he’s not much of a talker himself, he loves hearing the depravity coming from you. 
“Hmm, well I thought about you all night while I was at work.” You begin, slowing your pace to emphasize your words with the rocking of your hips. “How good your cock feels…how hard you get even from kissing me.” He whimpers loudly, letting you know you might only have seconds left. “I like to think you imagine fucking me when you play. Is that true, baby?”
The delicate lilt in your voice was all he needed from you to coax him off the edge. He wraps his arms tightly around your waist to hold you close against him, and after a few shuddered thrusts, he cums inside you. You lay still across him, feeling the twitch of his cock as warmth pools between your thighs. It’s an addicting sensation — one that you both will always shamelessly chase. 
With nothing but your ragged breathing and racing heartbeats, you stay locked together like this until he begins to soften inside of you, but by now, exhaustion has greeted you like an old friend. Your tired muscles begin to ache as you lift yourself off of him and reposition to lay by his side. 
“Well I can say that definitely took the edge off,” he jokes, breaking the silence as he relights the joint that has burned out in the ashtray. 
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skz317cb97 · 1 year
Text
The Haze
Jisung x Thick female reader
Word count: 4.6K
Synopsis: You call your friend Jisung and ask him to smoke with you after having a terrible week.
A/N: 18+ ONLY! A little idiots to lovers for you all! We're already half way through another thick reader series! How? Thank you all for always being so supportive of this series and my writing in general. If you enjoy this one please reblog, like, comment, jump in my asks, your feedback fuels me! As always warnings and smut below the cut!
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Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI! Casual drug use/pot smoking (it centers around it quite a bit), cursing/strong language, pet names (gorgeous, pretty etc), dry humping, protected piv sex, choking/breath play, oral (m receiving), cum eating/cum shot, masterbation/guided masturbation (m&f), slight Jisung dom/MC sub dynamic. I think that's all but if I ever miss anything please let me know and I'll add it asap!
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You were not a stoner. You weren’t even a social pot smoker but every now and then, after a particularly bad week, you would call your friend Jisung and ask him to get you stoned. Not that he was a pothead either but he always had something set back in case of a party or, like today, you needing to unwind. This week your boyfriend broke up with you in the most heinous way and you cried in the bathroom at work at least once a day. You needed to turn your brain off for a minute, you needed to get high, you called Jisung.  
“Heyyy!! What’s up gorgeous!” Was what you heard when he answered. Jisung was sweet, he always called you little nick names like that and it made you smile. You were bigger and a little self-conscious about it and Jisung always seemed to know when you needed a compliment. It made you smile this time too but only momentarily and then you sighed. 
“Hey Ji...” He could hear how down you sounded. 
“What’s wrong?” He was concerned immediately. You sighed again trying to fight off tears while also trying not to think about every horrible thing your ex had said to you. 
“Can I come over and smoke with you?” His heart broke a little. You sounded really upset and he knew you only smoked when life had been too rough to handle. 
“That bad?”  
“I... I can explain everything when I get there.” You sighed again.  
“No no you don’t have to explain anything to me beautiful. Of course you can come over and smoke, I’ll unlock the front door and just walk in when you get here okay?” 
“Okay Ji, thanks.” You could hear his smile in his voice. 
“Really it’s nothing. I’ll see you soon, bye!” You hung up with Jisung and tossed on some comfy clothes, a pair of sweats, a cropped band t shirt, zip up hoodie and slides then you hopped in your car and drove to Jisung’s place. When you got there you let yourself in and Jisung was sitting on the couch in his living room watching anime. When he saw that you had walked in he paused it. 
“Hey you made it!” He got up and gave you a hug squeezing your soft body with his strong arms. Jisung was always warm, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and when you rested your head on one, he held on to you understanding that you needed a little skinship. Jisung was one of your best friends and he was affectionate and sweet, he rubbed your back up and down, holding you for a moment. 
“You wanna talk about it.” You shook your head and nuzzled into his warmth a little more. 
“Not really...but... TLDR Chase broke up with me. He said he felt that I was ‘letting myself go already’ and that ‘we should see other people’, which I assume means he already has been. He said other things but that was the gist of it.” You got a little choked up at the end and Jisung squeezed you tighter. 
“I haven’t even gained any weight...” You said softly fighting tears, embarrassed and upset that the body you already weren’t confident in was the reason your ex gave you for leaving. 
“Fuck that guy, you look great, and so what if you had gained weight. Shit like that doesn’t matter if you love someone.” You nodded quietly against Jisung’s shoulder 
“He’s fucking idiot...and... and a verb!” You giggled a little. 
“A verb? Sungie what are you talking about?” 
“Chase, it’s a verb. Who wants to date a verb and not even a very good one. I can think of a hundred other verbs that are so much better than Chase.” Jisung finally managed to get a genuine laugh out of you. 
“We should smoke and forget about that dick head. What do you say?” You nodded as your laughter died down to a chuckle and Jisung could feel you smiling against his shoulder. Good, he thought. He loved your smile. He let go and offered you a seat. 
“Here sit there, it’s warm I was just sitting there.” You giggled and sat down in his spot. Jisung sat next to you and pulled out a joint. 
“I took the liberty and prepared this on your way over.” You didn’t think you’d ever been so ready to smoke and just relax, slow down. 
“I could kiss you! I’m so glad you have that ready.” Jisung puckered up and made a cute kissy face at you, leaning in pointing at them. 
“Well come on then ppoppo!” You laughed pushing at his firm pecks to stop him. 
“Light that you goofball.” He gave you his big toothy smile and pulled out his lighter, flicking it and lighting the joint. He inhaled then passed it to you and you took a drag. You unzipped your hoodie and sat back. Jisung couldn’t help but notice how good you looked, that crop top showing a flash of your bra underneath. What was that Chase guy even thinking? Jisung thought your body was perfect, ideal even. He’d flirted with you for years but you always shot him down so he assumed you only wanted to be friends.  
In your defense it wasn’t like you were trying to shoot him down, you just thought he was being nice when he said the things he said. You didn’t think someone like Jisung would go for.... well a big girl like you but when Jisung called you gorgeous it’s because he thought you were gorgeous. Even sitting there now on his sofa, wearing sweats and a t-shirt, just regular lounge wear but you were beautiful. You sat up and passed the joint back to Jisung. 
“Got any new playlists?” Jisung inhaled again and held it, nodding his head then blowing out the smoke. 
“Yea actually, here take this...” He passed the joint back to you and ran to get his laptop. Jisung’s job was in the music industry, so he always had the inside scoop on the new stuff coming out. You and Jisung finished smoking the joint while you listened to the first few songs of his new playlist. You were starting to feel better, calmer. Your head was the fun kind of fuzzy and the muscles of your body felt so relaxed. Then you heard the beginning of a song that you actually knew. 
“Oh my god I love this song.” Jisung was more than a little surprised. It was pretty new and not the type of music he thought you listened to. He’d forgotten it was even on the playlist. 
“Really?! You know this song?! Are you sure?” You were feeling good now. You jumped up took off your hoodie and threw it on the couch. 
“YES!” You started to dance and sing along as the lyrics began. 
“Don’t look at me like that, ohh unless you really like that, you know my body I don’t have time to waste oh no...” To say that Jisung was utterly shocked would still be an understatement. One. You could actually flow. Two, he’d never pegged you for a raunchy bump and grind r&b type and three, you had started to move your full body to the beat as you went on reciting the lyrics perfectly while he struggled to breathe. 
“If I seduce you bae, will you come take the bait? Is you gon’ do that thing, that makes me wanna say, got me like ooh...” You rolled your soft body along and Jisung’s mouth was dry, he wasn’t sure if it was from the weed or you. 
“She wanna ride me while she smoke weed, she said keep your chains on while you choke me...” Jisung was trying to be a good friend and not get a boner at the sight of you moving your curvy body and singing such provocative things, that line about choking definitely not helping, he was only a man, flesh and blood and your ass was swaying eye level. He watched hypnotized until the song ended and he snapped out of it as you slunk back down on the couch with a smile. 
“I think that would be so much fun to try...” You said not really thinking. Your filter had kind of gone out the window as soon as you jumped up and started dancing. Jisung’s eyes shot over to you laying back on the couch. 
“What? What would?” You looked over at him and saw the way he was looking at you wide eyed. You sat up straighter realizing what you’d just admitted out loud and you started to feel a little self-conscious. You pulled your zip up hoodie back on covering yourself. 
“Nothing never mind forg-” You just wanted to drop it before you made a complete ass of yourself. 
“What would y/n?” Jisung wasn’t dropping it. Not if you were saying what he thought you were saying. 
“I... well... you know have sex and smoke weed at the same time. My body is always buzzing after I smoke so I can only imagine it would heighten the experience.” Jisung’s dick was definitely hard now. He fidgeted in his seat trying to make sure it wasn’t obvious. 
“And... you’d like to try that some time, with... uh someone?” Jisung swallowed hard, his Adams apple bobbing and you nodded shyly. You couldn’t believe you were telling Jisung this. The two of you never talked about sex or preferences or anything like that before, so this was all new territory and you were a little embarrassed. You weren’t sure exactly why he even was asking you this. When you looked at him again, Jisung looked as nervous as you and then cleared his throat. 
“Uh.... would you... I mean... would you... want... to... do that with me?” Your jaw dropped. Was he... did he... hold on. 
“Jisung... I’m sure it would be a lot of fun...” He was already feeling the sting of rejection and like an absolute ass for suggesting it. You’d always ignored his other advances, why would you suddenly want to fuck him just because of some lyrics? 
“I really like you Ji... a lot... more than I probably should... more than a friend. I just don’t think I’m in the right head space to handle casual sex right now, not after the things Chase said and especially not... well not with a guy I have deeper feelings for.” Wait a minute, feelings? Deeper? 
“You have feelings for me?!” You hesitated. Your mouth was betraying you left and right. You started biting your lip but you had already admitted it so you nodded. Jisung couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 
“y/n I flirt with you all the time! You always shy away. I thought you didn’t like me!” Now you couldn’t believe your ears. 
“I thought you were just being sweet!” Jisung shook his head trying to get it on straight. 
“y/n I’m crazy about you and if we ever did anything it would be anything but casual for me.” Your brain was lagging from the weed and you were struggling to keep up with what Jisung was saying. Your filter was still not working also. 
“Why would someone as beautiful as you want to be with someone that looks like me?!” Your ex’s words still echoed in your head and came flying out of your mouth. Jisung’s face scrunched up and he turned his whole body towards you, sitting on one of his legs, letting the other dangle off the couch. 
“First off don’t say things like that. y/n not that it really matters, because you are kind, funny, and smart as fuck, and that’s enough but you’re also the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.” You shook your head and looked down at your hands in your lap feeling underserving of such feelings from such a beautiful man inside and out. 
“Jisun-” You stopped talking when he tilted your chin to look at him in the eyes. His big sparkling brown eyes. 
“Can I kiss you?” He asked as his eyes flicked down looking at your lips, his hands sliding your zip up hoodie off again. 
“Y-yes...” He pressed his lips against yours, then pulled away and looked at you. You were flushed, hot, he pressed his lips to yours again more forcefully and this time your hands rested against his jaw and neck and his cupped your face. He pecked your lips over and over again then his lips parted and his teeth nibbled and his tongue invaded your mouth, forcing a breathy moan from you. Jisung’s arms wrapped around your squishy midsection and pulled you over onto his lap as he sat with his back against the couch again, one juicy thick thigh on each side of him. You pulled away from the kiss to protest. 
“No no Ji I’m too heavy...” He grabbed hand fulls of your big ass and made you sit down on his lap completely. 
“There’s no weight limit on this ride beautiful so sit down.” You’d never heard him say anything like that before, it made you flush with arousal.  
“Ji!” He smirked and you did what he said. The moment you sat down you could feel Jisung’s hard on pushing against your clothed core. He pulled you down into another make out session as you gently moved across his lap. Both of you were still buzzing from the joint you’d smoked so you were enjoying kissing, groping, grinding. Jisung started to drag his lips down your neck, nipping and licking. 
“You’re so cute in this little crop top...” His hands traveled up it and squeezed your full breasts over your sports bra, then pulled it down freeing them. Your nipples were already hard from how worked up you were getting dry humping Jisung. He started sucking on your nipples, gently biting every now and then as you rode his clothed erection. You were a little breathless and Jisung loved the soft pants coming from you while you tugged on his hair with both hands. 
“J-Ji I’m g-gonna...” He hummed sweetly at you then let go of the nipple he was sucking on. 
“It’s okay, it’s okay, cum, I want you to cum.” You held on to Jisung’s strong broad shoulders and rode him faster until you reached your peak. Jisung pulled you down into another kiss swallowing any moans coming from you as you wrapped your arms around him tightly and rode out your orgasm against his cock. You sat there for a moment to collect yourself and Jisung waited, giving you a minute, his hands gently holding your wide hips. Once you had firmly landed back on earth Jisung nuzzled his nose against yours. 
“You know you make the prettiest little faces, it's so cute when you scrunch up your nose and cum on top of me like that.” You were blushing and out of breath, you buried your face in his neck, hiding. 
“Jiiiiii...” He giggled. 
“So shy, cute. I saw how your body moved to that song, how those words affected you.”Jisung lifted your crop top off and then removed your sports bra. You sat on top of him naked from the waist up, every curve of your body intoxicating to him, your big soft tits right in his face, begging to be sucked on again but he controlled himself... for now. Jisung took his own shirt off and your mouth watered. His muscular broad shoulders, his pumped-up pecs and toned biceps. He was firm but still soft somehow, his skin smooth and warm. 
“Can I take your pants off?” Jisung asked toying with the waist band of your sweatpants. You nodded. 
“Stand up for me gorgeous.” You got up off Jisung’s lap and he drug your pants down to your ankles. You stepped out of them and he tossed them aside. You stood there and the only thing stopping Jisung from burying his face in your pussy was little cotton boy shorts with pink hearts. He stood up in front of you making you take a step back. 
“How are you so damn cute!?” One of his hands gently wrapped around your neck, his thumb softy caressing the side. 
“Do you have any idea what that does to me?” He leaned in closer and you shook your head no. 
“Makes me want to teach you how to do the dirtiest things to me, teach my sweet girl how to be bad for me. Would you like that pretty?” His hand let up off your neck and you ran your hands across Jisung’s chest and shoulders, feeling his soft skin under your fingertips. 
“Y-yes Sungie.” He cooed at you. 
“There’s my good girl.” Jisung dropped his own pants and underwear and stood in front of you, his cock firm and long. You bit your lips, it looked delicious. He cupped your face and softly pressed his lips against yours. 
“You wait right here okay? I’ll be right back! Lose the undies!” Jisung winked at you and dashed off, his cute bare ass disappearing down the hall and you giggled, taking off your panties as told. When he came back he had a condom and sat down on the couch like he had been only a few moments before only now completely naked. He patted his lap. 
“Come on now princess, sit on your throne.” You laughed shaking your head at him but climbed onto his lap again. Jisung ripped open the condom and rolled it down his cock, then held it up for you to sit on. 
“Go on jagiya show me how you take my dick.” The tip slipped into your wet hole and squeezed Jisung making him moan. 
“Ooh fuck so tight...” You slowly slid down his shaft taking more and more of him until your juicy cunt was resting on Jisung’s lap. You both sat there for a moment enjoying the feeling of Jisung, hard and full inside you. Jisung’s hands were on your hips, steadying you. He went to grab something from behind his ear and that’s when you realized he’d grabbed another joint when he’d gotten the condom. He smirked at you as he lit it. 
“Do you wanna ride me while you smoke weed?” You pushed him and giggled at his use of the lyrics but Jisung felt you clench too. He turned the joint around getting ready to put the end burning in his mouth. 
“Come on then, lean down here gorgeous...” He put the joint in his mouth backwards and you leaned down, his cock sliding inside you, your lips almost touching as you puckered yours around the other end of the joint, allowing Jisung to blow you a big shotgun. You braced yourself against Jisung’s shoulders and held it in before breathing out, your head getting that immediate hazy feeling, your body already buzzing. Jisung took the joint out of his mouth, flipped it and hit it before setting it aside. Then both of his hands were holding onto your thick hips again as he looked into your glassy eyes and smiled that big cheesy grin of his. 
“How you feeling pretty?” You held onto his shoulders, rolled your hips a little and let out a soft moan. 
“Sooo good Jisungie.” Jisung had to choke back a moan himself feeling you grind your hips against him with his cock deep inside you. 
 “Fuck, you feel good wrapped around me too. Go on ride me jagi.” You started riding Jisung as he set the pace with his hands on your hips. 
“Oh my god! Ji!” It felt so intense. Like someone took the dial on pleasure and turned it way up. One of his hands came up and his fingers wrapped around your throat gently as you continued bouncing on his cock, your big ass jiggling each time you sat on him. He gave your neck a gentle squeeze and you let out another little moan. 
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” You shook your head, the feeling of his hand around your throat was sending electricity throughout your body as you anticipated what was next. 
“N-no Jisung, it’s okay.” He nodded and added just a little pressure. 
“What if I wanted to squeeze harder?” Jisung could feel your arousal coating him. 
“You like that huh? God you’re so wet.” You nodded biting your lip. 
“Y-yes Sungie.” He squeezed just enough, not enough to restrict air but enough to add to the buzz in your head the weed had provided. 
“Good girl, keep riding me now, don’t slow down.” His other hand let go of your hip and then both of his hands were around your neck, again, not enough to prevent you breathing just enough to make your cunt throb around Jisung’s cock as you continued bouncing on it. He pulled you down by your neck face to face with him and kissed you. It was insane how tender it was in comparison. There you were riding Jisung’s dick like you were president of the porn star’s union, both his hands wrapped around your throat and he kissed you like he might break you. Jisung let go of your neck and wrapped his arms around your full body then flipped you so your back was on the couch and he was hovering over you. He lined up with your gushing plump pussy and pushed into you again. He rolled his hips and his cock hit every mind numbing spot inside you. 
“Yes! Oh fuck! Ji right there!” He rolled his hips again, harder, faster. It was like every few minutes that pleasure dial was getting turned up higher and higher. You were about to scream Jisung’s name as he hit your g spot again. 
“Ji-” His hand clamped down over your mouth as he kept fucking you, his hips thrusting into you. Your breasts jiggled when he started fucking you harder and you moaned into the hand over your mouth muffling your screams. 
“Shhhshhhshh, keep it down now jagi I’m not even fucking you hard yet.” Jisung whispered as if someone would hear him, he kissed the back his hand that was planted over your mouth firmly and gave you the most mischievous look before he started absolutely railing you. He slammed into you, rolling his hips, knowing exactly what he was doing to you because his hand clamped harder down on your mouth as you screamed for Jisung, your eyes rolling back as you came so hard the stars you saw were full on constellations.  
Jisung’s hand came up off your mouth so you could get a full breath of air as you rode the wave of ecstasy he set you on. The wave he prolonged as he continued thrusting into you slower but deep. Jisung pinched your chin between two fingers and made you look at him. He was starting to sweat, the veins on his neck becoming more prominent. He leaned forward caging you between his muscular arms and continued slowly rolling his hips as you held on to his shoulders. He kissed down your jaw and neck then hovered by your ear. 
“Pretty?” You hummed your eyes closed, your whole body felt like it was filled with bumble bees between the weed and the orgasm. 
“Can I cum in your mouth?” You nodded and Jisung looked at you to confirm. 
“Yea?” You opened your eyes, kind of, and smiled at him nodding again. 
“Yea Sungie. You can.” He was having a hard time figuring out just how you managed to look so cute all stoned and fucked out on his couch. He gave up trying and took off the condom then helped you sit up. 
“Here jagiya, use this pillow and get on your knees.” You put the pillow down then knelt on it. Leave it to Jisung, sweet even when he asks you to get on your knees for him. Jisung’s dick was in his hand, holding it out for you to wrap your lips around. You started gently sucking on the head of his cock and Jisung let out a soft moan. It sounded so sweet you wanted to hear more so you took more of his cock into your mouth. 
“F-fuck gorgeous, feels so good. Can you take a little more?” You looked up at him with his cock in your mouth, you hummed and nodded. Jisung had died and gone to heaven it’s the only way that cute face was stuffed with his cock and looking up at him. You let his tip hit the back of your throat and it gagged you. You pulled off and spit trailed from your lips to Jisung’s dick that he still held steady for you. You took him into your mouth again until he bottomed out in the back of your throat gagging you again. Jisung moaning louder as you deep throated his cock a wet squelch coming from your throat every time his tip hit the back. 
“Oh... oh fuck I’m gonna cum jagiya... I’m gon-” Jisung’s warm seed started filling your mouth, you tried to swallow fast enough but there was so much it dribbled down your chin a little. Jisung pulled out and you wiped your mouth. He made you stand and he kissed you his tongue sliding into your mouth quickly. He was worked up still, hot, already half hard again and he’d just blew a big load of cum into your mouth. 
“Bet that cunt is so wet from sucking my cock. Is it beautiful? Are you dripping?” He wasn’t wrong you were wet from blowing him mainly those moans and the soft panting.  
“Get up on the couch there, spread those thick thighs and show me that juicy pussy.” You did as you were told, your legs spread wide. 
“Spread those pussy lips too gorgeous... wanna see you tease your clit.” You started rubbing your clit softly and Jisung sat across the couch from you watching, stroking his cock. 
“That’s it two fingers... real slow, circle it.” You did as directed and Jisung kept tugging on his dick. 
“You want to watch me cum on myself while you play with your pussy?” You nodded. 
“Y-yes Ji wanna see you cum.” He hummed and focused stroking the head and twisting his wrist. 
“Spit on your fingers rub it around... fuck yes like that... now stick them inside your hole... fffffuck yes...” Jisung was jacking off fast and started tugging on his balls gently. 
“There you go jagi fuck yourself with your finger, don’t forget your clit gorgeous, use that other hand and play with it.” You started rubbing your clit with one hand as you pumped your fingers inside you with the other. Jisung was sweating, panting, blushing, he looked like he was ready to blow any time. 
“FFFFUcck! Cum for me pretty want to see you cum on your fingers, wanna see that cute scrunched up face you make when you cream for me.” You focused on rubbing your clit until you were coming and clenching around your fingers. 
“Ji Ji Ji Ji Ji...” Was all you chanted as he watched your hole contract around your fingers, your juices dripping from you. Jisung let out a strangled moan as he jerked his cock and came on himself the sight of it almost enough to make you cum again. You crawled across the couch between Jisung’s legs as he stroked his dick slowly. You leaned over and started licking his abs, slurping and savoring the cum from his perfect body until he was clean again. Jisung pulled you on top of him and you both laid there basking in your high from the sex and the weed. He huffed out a big breath wiping sweat off his forehead and looking down at you. 
“Feel better?” You giggled and nodded against his chest nuzzling in closer. 
“Yea Sungie, I’m better now.” He smiled and rested his head back on the arm of the couch, squeezing you and letting out another heavy breath. 
“Fucking... now THAT’S a verb!”  
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