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#pliable bones
l14099l · 1 month
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“I don’t see much of a reason to hang around,” Bryce said coldly. “I don’t see why you’d want to, either. You’re chattel to them. To the Autumn King, to Morven, to your dad. Your only value comes from your breeding potential. They don’t give a f*ck if you’re smart🌸 or brave🌸 or kind🌸. They only want you for your uterus, and Luna spare you if you have any troubles with it.”
- Bryce Quinlan (House of Flame and Shadow)
The one thing SJM did right in this book.
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elrielffs · 25 days
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“Nesta didn’t change Elain’s anatomy!! Pliable bones win!!!”
Despite the fact that the ability to have children is not the standard we should be judging these relationships, just break out the magic bean. Y’all really think the same woman who made a character make an antidote for a parasite in 3 days and solve a language barrier with convenience can’t magically bean her way thru Illyrian pregnancy?
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psychologynerd · 3 months
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Women are being arrested in America after having miscarriages and I still see “Elain will die having Azriel’s babies” popping up all over the place. Engage in a little introspection.
Read the room.
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thesistersarcheron · 1 year
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I hate to bring up the pliable bones theory (no, really, I hate it), but like...
Elain's a Seer, and canonically, not every child conceived between a winged faerie and a High Fae female will have wings. Even if Nesta didn't take steps to protect Elain like she normally would and ask the Mother to change the shape of Elain's pelvis as well, knowing that there was something brewing between her sister and Azriel after Solstice party in ACOSF...
What's to stop Elain from training her power and using the magical rhythm method to predict which conception would result in wings vs. which wouldn't, if she wants biological children with an Illyrian badly enough? Ultimately, it's foolish to think it actually matters what her reproductive system is capable of one way or another, but I'd put money down that she can still neatly sidestep the whole mess anyway, widened pelvis or not.
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silverdreamscapes · 2 years
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I think everyone can agree the pregnancy plot in ACOSF was shit and problematic but what people have a problem with isn’t so much the changing of uteruses. It’s that a certain side of the fandom took one line about pliable bones and extrapolated a whole theory that pitted one woman’s uterus against another’s as evidence of a ship. (I can’t believe I even I have to type this out). And how do we know the line about Gwyn’s pliant bones is even about her womb? Maybe it’s proof she’s a lightsinger.
The line occurs when Gwyn is discussing her background and we found out what mythological creature she’s related to so we know that this passage holds a certain amount of importance. We find out she’s a nymph but not just any nymph…a river nymph. Then her eyes are compared to the sea, all of which connects her to a body of water. And what else is connected to a body of water? Lightsingers who are basically a rebranded version of a siren…mythological creatures who live in water and lure men with their voice. We know lightsingers appear one way, and then their “true face” is revealed. It could be they can change form. We don’t know because we get so little information but it seems that lightsingers have the “appearance” of one thing and then can change into something else. Pliant bones could play a part in that.
Then it’s revealed that she’s 1/4 nymph on her grandmother’s side. Her grandmothers as a river nymph who “seduced” a male from the AC. What’s another synonym for seduce?
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To lure, beguile, charm, bewitch, enrapture, captivate, to tempt.
Doesn’t sound too dissimilar from lightsingers (aka sirens)
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Azriel confirms that he sings in the POV when Gwyn of all characters asks if he can sing. And he replies that it isn’t just a title someone gave him which leaves the impression that if shadowsingers can sing, then perhaps lightsingers do as well.
We know Gwyn sings. There are tons of light imagery surrounding her. Nesta feels lured and beckoned and her power grumbles in answer to Gwyn. Then she has visions. Likewise Azriel’s “power” his shadows feel beckoned and lured by Gwyn. His shadows don’t “warn” him of her presence which sounds odd in and of itself. His shadows curl towards her breath, which is emitted by her mouth, and then curls back. Azriel never has a reaction to Gwyn, just his shadows. Then at 7 pm, when we know Gwyn would be singing, Azriel has a vision of sorts just as Nesta did.
So while people are using misogynistic theories about pliant bones so they can pit women against each other as proof of who has the best uterus to match up with Azriel and who can pop out his children, how are you so sure Sarah wasn’t actually setting her up to be a lightsinger?
(I’m not actually saying she is 100% a lightsinger but rather pointing out how ridiculous it is to use one line as proof of anything. It was one throwaway and people ran with it in the worst way possible)
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ohcaptains · 6 months
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𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲.
pairing. simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader.
synopsis. simon comes home. he's too tired to fuck you right. eventually, he manages to find the energy.
warnings. 18+ this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy or use ai on my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving penetration, blonde simon lol, somnophilia, dry humping, pussy smacking, and crying during sex. i am not responsible for your media consumption.
an. :) life sucked so i found a new animated character to obsess over. please comment & reblog if u enjoyed !
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When Simon comes back, he’s dog-tired.
As soon as his feet touch the welcome mat of your quaint little apartment, he feels all of his muscles relax – as if they’re unpinning themselves from his bones – and he has to give himself a pep talk to muster the energy to drag his hand up to ring the bell.
But he doesn’t have to, because you’re ripping the door open – shining like the sun – and pulling him into your body, rendering all 6,4 ft and 240 pounds of the super soldier to complete mush.
For five minutes, you don’t speak. Just hold him, as you gently rub the corner of his jaw, and brush your fingers through his dirty blonde hair. He clutches you to him.
His fat, paw-like hands hold your upper back, and you hold him with the same vigour. His body – wrapped in his black compression shirt and army pants – is rock solid.
It’s a weaving of muscles that have been tensed for the last two months. It’s going to take a minute for them all to soften, but like he always does when he’s been away, Simon lets out a deep and resolute sigh.
The breath warms your neck, causing it to tingle, and you grasp him tighter, your body waking up.
It’s been a long two months.
He manages to push your intertwined bodies through the doorway, using his boot to kick the door shut. His house smells like home -- funny how you can’t smell it until you’ve been gone a while.
Vanilla and a citrus fruit, mixed with the savoury scent of his favourite meal. He hums again, and you scratch the back of his head, sending shivers down his locked spine.
He knows the route to your bedroom like the back of his hand, and he maneuvers the pair of you inside.
The curtains are closed and the bed is made. You know him. You know him so well.
You let him push you back onto the bed – a blur of familiar limbs and hair – and he settles lower, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Immediately, you drag your legs up and cross them over the curve of his ass.
You’re all warm and soft and pliable. Dressed in a pair of simple cotton shorts and a vest top, he wants to grab fistfuls of you and remind himself of how you feel in his palms. Wants to drag his lips over your skin, bully his way between your legs and remind himself of how you taste.
Fuck, he wants you, in a carnal, almost primal sort of way, and you the same. He can smell it. A sweet but sweaty longing that melts from you and causes his senses to wake.
But he’s so God damn tired.
You know. Know this routine. Know that he has to settle back in.
In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait.
You fiddle with his hair. “There’s dinner if you want it,” you whisper into the dark bedroom, looping the strands between your fingers, committing the soft feel to memory.
Simon shuffles just an inch on top of you, but still, the slight movement of his clothes and hard, clenched body against yours makes you take your bottom lip between your teeth.
It’ll be chewed raw by the time he has enough energy to take you. He grunts something into your skin, and after a second, you gather it’s, tired.
His scent clouds you.
When Simon comes back, he always smells the same.
The soap at the barracks is pine scented – shampoo a strict lemon.
But there’s always a leftover grit to him. A hidden layer the soap can’t clean off, and it makes you delirious. Makes you flex your ass up – just an inch, a sweet, gentle inch that has you feeling the hard lines of his thighs and the metal of his zipper, and Simon’s breathing hitches.
You freeze. With your hips pushed tight against his, you stare at the ceiling, hoping that your worn-out soldier hasn’t felt you move.
Simon stays quiet. His breathing settles. You go to apologise, but Simon doesn’t grumble or make a sly comment. Listening closer to his breathing, you gather that he’s asleep.
Jesus, you think, that’s a record. Barely in the door and he’s asleep, he must be burnt out. Figuring that you won’t be able to crawl from under his weight, you decide it’s your bedtime too.
Sleep comes fast.
Hours later, you blearily blink awake. Not much has changed – the room is still dark, Simon is still heavy on top of you, yet now, you’re sticking to him with sweat.
He’s usually a human furnace, but this is different.
Your skin prickles, vibrating at a frequency that has nothing to do with heat. No, this is…you feel a pulsating between your thighs, and wiggle, feeling your slick coating your underwear.
Fuck, why are you so wet? You clench, and the resulting ache forces you to hiss and push your head back against the pillows. What did you dream about? Thinking back, you come up short. Then why--
Simon shuffles on top of you. It’s a slight movement, but it continues, and all at once, your heart clenches.
Holy fuck, he’s—
“Simon?” you whisper, and your boyfriend whines into your neck.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezes, the words wet and desperate. The puzzle pieces lock into place.
He knocks his hips into your crotch once more, and you gasp, clenching, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Simon’s apology comes out again, except this time, it’s christened with a “s-shit – fuck.”
Blinking at the ceiling, you huff and try and glance down, and in the dark, you just about manage to see the outline of his burly body grinding into yours.
You take stock of the situation.
Feel his fat palm around your hip, and squinting, see that he’s got your shorts pulled down around your thighs, and has the band of your underwear looped around his fingers.
Jesus Christ. You fall back into the pillows. “How long have you?” you whisper. “Five – fuck – minutes,” Simon grunts, continuing to roll his thick hips against you. His bulge knocks the edge of your throbbing clit, causing you to gasp again. There’s been no build-up to your want, it’s just there, humming electric, and spread tight over your thighs.
Simon meshes his wet mouth against your chest. He’s tugged your vest top down, too, and his lips close around the skin of your breast. Jesus. He was undressing you as you slept.
“Thought about fuckin’ you, but couldn’t get my pants down, so – shit -- tired. Jus’ woke up and you were just so fuckin’ soft. And wet, Christ, felt you through my trousers.”
Your whole body goes numb. “You were gonna fuck me as I slept?” you whisper, belly flipping. You’d told him – ages ago – that he could, but he hasn’t been here. You’d forgotten.
The image of him pulling your underwear down as you slept streaks across your mind. Imagine waking up with him inside of you, so full and wet and just on the precipice of coming.
Simon grunts. He tugs at the band of your underwear, “I’ll fuck you right, at some point. Just –”
In your delirious state, you manage to finish his sentence, “Tired, I know – I know baby.”
You kiss the crown of his head and whimper into his hair. “Just use me until you’re ready.”
Simon groans out deep and loud. It rumbles against your chest. Echoes through your heart, and you’re so turned on that you begin fidgeting.
You try and squirm away from the stifling ache of your pussy, but Simon’s built like a brick shithouse, so you can’t run from it, just gotta take it and take it and take it, until you can’t anymore, and you break.
You’re so fucked that you don’t even announce that you’re coming, but Simon knows, shit, and as your pussy clenches up tight, he growls low and hard, mumbling, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, until his movements go sloppy, and his breathing goes laboured, and he’s coming into his pants and mewling your name.
When he finally does manage to get inside of you, he doesn’t last long. No, he pushes all the way to the hilt, and you tighten up.
“Stay” you gasp, clenching your pussy around his shaft, and Simon grunts deep and long into your throat.
“S-Stay there,” you moan, then, in case he didn’t hear you, “Stay,” you whisper, and push the ball of your palm into his thick, scarred shoulder. 
You were teetering on a knives edge.
You’ve come once since Simon was home, and your second orgasm of his return was right there.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Simon groans into the shallow of your throat, “Did we do enough prep?” 
“Yes,” you immediately whisper, not wanting him to pull out. 
He’s thick and pulsing inside of you, hard and heavy on top, and God, he kisses at your throat — soft and gentle. You try to swallow down the ball that has swelled in your throat, but tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill. 
No no no no, you think. Not now. Not now not now. You try to stifle the tears, but you unconsciously sniff, and despite Simon being perfectly still, he still manages to freeze.
“Sweetheart?”
You inhale, “Yeah?” 
Simon looks up; and seeing tears on your cheeks, his face falls, “Did I hurt you?”
You furiously wipe the tears away, shaking your head.
“M’just overwhelmed,” you whisper, and he presses his forehead against yours, going to kiss you, but the movement causes his hips to flex against you, nudging his cock, and you whine, immediately gripping onto the back of his dirty blonde locks. 
Simon drops his face into your chest and lets out a pained rasp, “Tightening around me, kid.” 
You unclench, “m’sorry.” 
“Gonna come quick.” 
“S’okay.” 
“I’ll fuck you right, just gotta…” he trails off and grabs fist fulls of your hips.
“Fuck,” he huffs wistfully, “This pussy. Missed this fucking pussy.”
You go dizzy with need. Shake your head, and bend to kiss him, tasting his wet and swollen lips. Gently, you knock your hips up into his, and when he lets out a surprised grumble, you flex your hips higher, trying to stuff his cock deeper, further – till you can see it pressing into your belly.
Catching onto your plan, Simon grunts and pushes your hips with his fat palms, pinning your ass to the mattress. 
“Stop,” he orders, and the demand goes straight to your cunt. Jesus. He hasn’t been very dominant since his return, and that little instruction has you chomping on the bit.
“Want you, Si.”
“One stroke and I’ll be fucked.” 
“Just gotta practice.” 
He chokes on a laugh, muttering, “Practice.” 
You try another tactic. Clench around his cock and pout, “Want you to come inside me.”
“Fuck,” Simon cuts. You curl your legs back his back and push your foot into the dense muscle of his ass, at the same time rocking your hips up. Simon lets you. Let’s you try and fuck yourself on his cock. With wet lips, you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering his name.
“Gonna fill me up, Si?”
“Fuckin’ filthy, you know that?”
Simon pulls back, and your heart stutters.
You think he’s going to pull out, until he uses your hips to pull you tight against his cock -- your ass nearly sitting on his thighs. His thick, scarred chest is puffed up.
Cheeks red, and he’s got that animal glint in his pretty eyes.
It knocks you for six.
“Where you want it?” he asks, and you’re confused, until he presses the heel of his palm into the middle of your tummy.
“Shoot my load here, huh?”
Your body goes numb. Eyes white out. It happens so suddenly that it scares you, and you’re a mixture of turned on and frightened, but the fear turns you on even more.
All you can do is blearily look up at him as he slides his paw to the other side of your tummy, “or shoot it here. Fuck it so deep that you can taste it.”
He pretends to think about it. Even hums, before he drags his palm up and stuffs his thumb into your mouth. “Or just directly here, huh?” He snarls a smile, “know you like it when your mouth is full.”
You suck at his thumb, and tighten your cunt around his cock, causing his mouth to open, and eyes to flutter, and just like that, you’ve won.
He comes in record time.
But Simon keeps his promises.
A couple of days later – on the seventh day he’s back -- he fucks you so good, that when you wake up the next morning, you get shy just thinking about it. 
Lay in bed, staring at the ceiling – your boyfriend fast asleep on your chest -- remembering the debauchery you’d gotten up to the night before. 
The pair of you are a little tipsy, drunk on beer and wine, but all it’s done is heighten your senses, and made you fully aware of your desires, so much so, that they pulsate behind your eyelids like a migraine.
Simons got you face down, ass up, and as he pushes you face first into the mattress, he presses his thumb against the tight, fluttering hole of your pussy.  
“Gonna let me inside, baby?”
You sink into your thighs and spread yourself wider for him, humming into your crossed arms. Simon watches your pussy spread further, and he can’t help himself, he has to slide his thumb deeper.
He presses, just barely pushing the tip of his thumb into your wet hole, and you gasp, trying to chase the feeling by inching back against his fat palm.  He laughs at you. “Look at your pussy sucking my thumb in, baby. Wish you could see what I’m seeing. So fuckin’ sexy.”
You hum, the words making you wetter – dripping over his thumb.
“Been dreaming of fucking you right, gonna take you whenever I want.”
“Okay,” you whisper, so delirious that you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. Simon raises a brow,
“Yeah?” he asks, tone breathless. Thought he’d get some pushback on that one, but for a second, he forgot that you said the nastiest shit with his dick inside of you.
You nod into your crossed arms, and Simon laughs again, “Free use pussy,” he sounds, then lightly smacks your sodden folds, causing you to flinch, bucking forward. 
“Oh fuck,” you choke, eyes rolling back. Heat ricochets through your crotch and swamps your belly, before settling back in your aching pussy. Once you manage to collect yourself – and it takes a second -- you huff. “Bein’ mean.”
Simon snorts, grabs your hips, then rams the underside of his cock against your pussy, grinning so big that his scars stretch, “don’t know the half of it, babe.” 
You sob, real tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Your desire is visceral, enough for you to taste it on your tongue. Simon pulls back, and your slick coats the length of his dick, earning yourself another light smack to your cunt.
“Soakin’ me,” he grunts, and you sob into the sheets. “Please,” you whisper, then, please please please, and Simon hears your breathing hitch. 
This time, instead of checking up on you, he chuckles, “Crying again, baby?”
You sniff and wipe your eyes on your wrist, face heating.
“No,” you mumble, and Simon sighs.
He reads you like a book. Always has. Always will.
“Lying to me,” he grumbles, then he steers the uncut head of his cock between your folds, whispering, “Lie to me again, and I’ll give you something to cry about,” before bottoming out in one thrust.
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glossgojo · 9 months
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haven’t i given enough?
sex pollen miguel o’hara x afab reader
| cross-posted from ao3 | 4.5k
18+
cw: breeding, multiple orgasms, PAST THE POINT IT STINKS, mean dom!miguel, mating press, man-handling, use of “girl”, big dick miguel, size kink, blood, marking, squirting, come eating, dumbification, it’s filthy this is getting rated so fast
plot: miguel comes home infected with s*x pollen and p0rn with barely any plot ensues
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“doll are you awake?” miguel stumbled through the front door of his shared apartment. sweat lined his forehead as he held his mask in his hand, his whole body felt hot. the spider-man raked a hand through his dark curls, his head throbbing along with other parts of him. no matter how much water he drank he felt thirsty. he needed to shower, needed to wash off whatever illness was seeping into his bones and taking rest there. ever since he left the lab he had broken into, he had felt this inky feeling take residence in his stomach and spread. he had missed the spot by a hair, only driving frustration deeper into his bones. he gripped his mask tighter as he made his way across the living room to where you most likely slept. it was late and you probably fell asleep waiting for him. besides the fact that his body was like a tightly coiled spring, there was another issue he was ignoring. it felt heavy between his legs and he knew you’d be able to help him in the morning but a cold shower would have to do.
he hopped into the shower, dealt with the ache in his bones and released the coil that felt like a permanent resident in his core. as he stepped out of the shower, toweling off his body and trying to ignore the incessant buzz in his body he noticed his issue had returned. miguel was able to satisfy you multiple times in a night but this was the first time he was hard moments after coming. was it related to the sickness? was it why he had nearly broken a lamppost on the way over after he imagined you waiting up for him to return home?
whatever it was his feet moved to their own accord to where you lay peacefully asleep in your shared bed. miguel pulled on his boxers over his now painfully hard issue and slowly crawled into bed, pulling back the covers enough to see you sleeping only in his shirt. the sight alone made him shiver, a sweat back on his brow as he forced his body to slowly move towards you and pull you as gently as he could back against him. you stirred in your sleep, ever the light sleeper and turned your face towards him. miguel could see in the pitch darkness of the room, regrettably he could make out how your lips parted and upturned at the knowledge that he was holding you.
“you’re home, hi baby.” you mumbled, the sleep subsiding in your body as you felt the hard line of his member pressed against your back. he could feel your body tensing, could hear your heart rate pick up and it took everything in him to not pull your mouth to his. he could even smell your perfect little cunt getting wet for him. you turned fully towards him, your breasts pressed against his bare chest. he pulled in a breath between his clenched teeth, his whole body sensitive to any touch from you. the throb he felt earlier was back in full force, in fact it had only gotten worse since he got closer to you. he couldn’t sleep, not when he could feel his fangs getting sharper and his hunger for you insatiable.
“migs-you are you okay?” you brushed back his hair, feeling the sweat there and placing the small delicate hand on his tensed arm. miguel couldn’t formulate a response he was staring at your soft lips and your gentle hand looking oh so small compared to his arm, and how pretty it would it look around-
a growl escaped his lips and he pulled your lips to his by the back of your neck, you were so pliable, so willing to give him anything, that you kissed back with just as much fervor as him. his fangs scraped your lips and his tongue fought to taste every inch of you, sucking the air from your lungs. finally you pulled away to breath, his lips still insistent on tasting you. he kissed your cheeks, your nose and then finally your neck, his sharp canines grazing the skin there and making you gasp. you shoved at his chest gently, and miguel pulled back to see your flushed cheeks and confused expression. you could still feel his member pressed between you two, long and thick and painfully hard.
but despite that you couldn’t understand miguel’s actions. he usually was so spent after a mission he wanted to cuddle up and sleep, at the most he’d want to wake you up with an orgasm. you switched your bedside lamp on, withdrawing from his hold and taking a look at him, trying to see if his eyes were more red than black. you didn’t see what you expected, you thought perhaps he was hungry and that’s why he was acting like this.
”migs?” you were sat up, letting the lamplight illuminate his features. his eyes were flickering between your chest, your neck and your eyes in rapid succession. his shirt was too large on you, draping on your shoulders and exposing the top of your breasts. you weren’t even sure he was listening, until he stared you in the eyes and sat up too, moving closer as he did.
”think i got infected during the mission, it’s the reason for-“ he looked down at where his hard-on created a tent in the covers. you gulped and nodded. “i tried dealing with it in the shower, but i need you.”
“i’m yours, you know that, use me.“ miguel felt like he fell in love with you all over again as he registered your words. in a fluid movement he pulled you under him, laying you flat on your back as he hovered above you. he pushed his shirt up your body, revealing a lack of underwear. no wonder he could smell your saccharine sweet musk as soon as he touched you.
“dirty fucking girl, were you waiting for me to find you like this?” miguel tutted, getting comfortable between your legs and blowing hot breath over your core. you whined at his tone, knowing you were in for a long night that would no doubt leave you sore. his eyes were a mix of red and brown, pupils blown wide from want and sweat dripping down his brow, you combed his hair out of face wanting to see your handsome boyfriend’s expression before he feasted on you.
he hummed in delight as he saw the bite mark he’d left next to your cunt, scarred and distinctly his on the soft flesh of your inner thigh. his plump lips pressed against the sensitive skin, looking at you as you gasped out, silently asking for permission for what he loved doing every so often. as if you’d ever want any other man like you needed him, miguel liked to keep your scar fresh, let it ache and sting as a reminder of who you belonged to. and you didn’t much mind the sting. you nodded, clutching his strands for something to ground you, silky smooth and soft in your hands as you felt his fangs graze your flesh. he never made the pain last long, biting into your skin quickly, not too deeply. just enough to let his bite mark pebble with fresh blood, lapping at the addictive taste of you, growling as you whined at the sting and rush of miguel fervently drinking you up. he’d told you once that no one in the world tasted as good as you, of course that didn’t just include your blood. “so sweet. me vuelves loco .” you shuddered as he hummed against your skin, still not where you needed him, his sharp jawline grazing where you were practically dripping and you tugged at his hair.
“i get it doll i get it, fucking needy huh baby? do you need my cock that bad?” he lapped up the remaining blood and kissed the raw skin, his hot breath blowing over you throbbing clit. you knew miguel, knew he wouldn’t let you get what you wanted until you begged, until you gave in. he watched your pretty little cunt glisten and clench around nothing, so desperate and wet all for him, all because of him.
“yes yes! i’ve been thinking about it all day!” you finally gave in when he blew cool air on your cunt.
“hmm, about what?” he kissed your clit as a reward, but didn’t move any further, you gasped and bucked, his hands were on his hips in a split second, holding you down. you felt like you were dripping onto your silk sheets, you supposed it didn’t matter, you’d have to change them after he was done with you.
“about your c-cock, wanted you to fuck me until i can’t walk. miss you all the time, need you inside me all the time.” you were babbling now, you meant all of it of course but you’d never admit it unless you were under your lover on the brink of tears. miguel growled at your confession, pulling you by your hips towards his face, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue pressed flat against your dripping folds. you whined out his name, his tongue delving into you and cleaning up the mess you’ve made of yourself. miguel was relentless in tasting you, wanted your taste imprinted in his mouth and wedged between his teeth. he’d stay here forever if he could, drawing his name from your lips and drinking in all your ichor.
“m’ close.” you were gonna come just from his tongue alone and miguel could feel his hard-on straining in his pants. he didn’t feel too far off from his own release, the grind of the bed sheet against his clothed cock combined with your pleasure was getting him so inexplicably turned on. whimpers slipped past his canines. just as you arched your back, one of his hands moved down to stroke himself and with a few pumps he was coming in his boxers as you released onto his tongue. he drank you in, fucking you through your orgasm until you were pushing at his forehead. miguel moved back and the dim light reflected over his wet chin and lips. you felt dizzy at the sight and felt like fainting when you looked past his chiseled jawline and chest to where light reflected off the cum on his stomach. you couldn’t ignore the still hard and throbbing cock that was pressed against his stomach. his eyes were narrowed and his chest heaving, he licked his lips and you couldn’t help the whine crawling up your throat. you crawled over to where he kneeled on your bed, pressing kisses to his face, his hands finding your ass and gripping tightly as you cleaned him up. you trailed kisses down his chest, down his abs to where he made a mess of himself and you licked him clean. your mouth watered as you moaned at the taste of him, moving south to press a kiss to his large tip.
“not so fast,” he you pulled away by your hair, your follicles screaming for release. loosening his grip, miguel pushed you down on the bed, crowding you against the bed frame until the top of your head bumped against it. “wanna fuck this pretty pussy, remind you who you belong to.” you nodded fervently, looping your arms around his thick neck and pulling him for a kiss. miguel huffed a laugh at your desperate actions. he was going to ruin you, make sure you couldn’t walk properly for a couple days without the reminder of him and here you were begging for a kiss. you were his sweet dumb little puppy, so willing and needy for him. he appeased you, kissing you deeply as he lined up his tip with your entrance, his slick combined with yours let him slide up and down your cunt drawing all your ichor and catching on your clit. you dug your nails into his back at the feeling and begged for him to move, to do something.
the feeling of your pretty cunt getting wetter just for him and the smell of sex in the room was enough for miguel to push into you, his fat tip bullying your hole and stretching it wide. you gasped at the intrusion, always so big and wide it never got easier when he shoved in. had miguel been a little more in control of himself he would’ve waited more than the three seconds he gave you to adjust but instead he plunged his entire length in, his tip brushing your cervix as he stretched you wide. your cunt ached from the stretch and you felt him throbbing inside you, filling you up. you twitched from the feeling and miguel growled at how tightly you were clenching him. “you’re made for me, fucking slut clenching me so hard i cant move.” he murmured into your flesh and you clenched even more at his words, your slick leaking out of your hole, the base of his shaft wet from your ichor. miguel pulled out slowly, you weren’t easing up your grip, and pushed back in. you went dumb as his cock grazed the spot that made you crazy. he came inside you with a grunt, filling you up and making you leak down your thighs and making even more a mess of himself. but almost as if it never happened he was hard again, your eyes widening at the feeling of him going limp inside you and then filling you back up. miguel didn’t mind, he’d use your sweet little cunt just like he wanted to, no matter how many times he had to.
with that he pulled back out and plunged back into you, the sound of your slick coating his cock and his sticky balls slapping against your ass filled the room. he set a brutal pace, making you scream and claw at his back. he was fucking you harder than ever before, using his strength and speed to mold your walls to his length, your cervix bruising from his pace. you felt a coil tighten in your stomach, unlike any orgasm you’d felt before and without warning you were losing control. before you could realize what was happening you were squirting down miguel’s chest. it was the hottest thing miguel had ever seen, his dick twitching inside you. “que maravilla. pretty baby, i didn’t know you could do that.”
“me neither i’ve never-ah fuck miguel,” the thought of you being driven to squirting because of him made him all the more feral, he shoved your legs over his shoulder and angled down deeper into you, his curved cock taking what was his and hitting that fleshy spot inside of you, making you forget the words that were on your tongue. your head lolled backwards, the expanse of your neck all too tempting for him to ignore. he fucked your harder watched you squirm and cry his name as his teeth graze your unmarred skin. miguel found the soft spot on your neck that made you clench around him even harder, his lips and tongue laving over it making you gasp and whimper his names. before he could warn you, he was coming inside you, plunging deep and filling you up again as his fangs bit down and drew blood from your neck. he fed from you as his cum flowed out of your tiny cunt, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. you gasped at the feeling of him draining you of blood, the sting quickly replaced by the dizzying feel of him feeding. miguel used his toxins to quell the pain all the while releasing his load inside you. you were a complete mess, blood trickling down your inner thigh mixed with both of your releases and saliva dribbling past your lips.
after a few more seconds he unlatched from your neck, pressing a few more kisses at the sore skin before pulling out and looking at the mess he made. you were sprawled out, his come slipping out of you in spurts and you had never looked more beautiful. he quickly remedied the first issue by fingering his come back inside, not letting any go to waste, the feeling of you clenching around his finger made his cock twitch. the burn in his body has lessened but it was still there, the need to keep taking you incessant as he hardened again. you whined at the sight.
“you can take it whore.” and you would, you’d let him fuck you for the rest of your life if you didn’t have obligations and other needs. you whined at the feeling of his cock sliding against your entrance again, you were sure your cunt was bruised by how rough he was being.
“let me-“ you moved to sit up, shoving at his hard chest and making him sit. miguel watched your breasts shake as you shoved him down and straddled him, his come slipping out and onto his bare thighs.
“you’re wasting sweetheart, how many times do i have to breed you?” miguel slapped your ass in warning, growling out at a warning and you whimpered, not feeling any more in control even in this position. you slowly lined him up with your entrance and sank down, the stretch not being the issue but in this position he felt even deeper. you felt like he was poking your heart, you couldn’t bottom out, could only take what felt comfortable. you set a slow pace, your thighs burning as you moved up and down his length, the sound of your cunt milking him was obscene and made you flush even deeper. miguel felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment and the way your eyes glazed over in arousal.
“dirty fucking slut, milking me for all i have, you hear that? that’s how wet i make you, that’s my come inside you keeping you full.” he growled into your ear, guiding your hips to move as the sounds filled the room. you couldn’t ignore them, your eyes shutting in shame and miguel huffed out a laugh. you decided to take pay back as your thighs were getting sore and took all of his length, sitting down and grinding on his balls, his cock catching on your cervix and pressing against your most sensitive part. your clit ground against his hips, raw and throbbing from what it’s been through and miguel could feel it against him, could feel you dripping onto him and another whimper escaped his plush lips. you smirked at the sound, reaching up and pulling his lips to yours. he kissed you sweetly, letting you take your time as you grinded on his length. when he pulled back and saw your fucked out expression and felt you clench around him when you looked in his eyes he lost his resolve again. his hands gripped your hips as he pulled you up and down on his length, fucking up into you. you went dumb in his hold, head and eyes rolled back as you clutched his shoulders for support you were babbling and squirming in his hold, tears leaving your eyes from the sting and his rough hold. he was being so mean, so rough you couldn’t help the silent tears slipping down your face as you cried out his name.
finally he came inside, grinding you down and against him where he knew your clit was, drawing you to orgasm as well. your legs shook and you lost sensation in them as you came, leaning against his chest for support as you whined at the overwhelming feeling. “ me tratas tan bien. pretty baby, my princess, my doll.” he moved to lay down, his cock still inside you. you were like a toy, his cock and cum stuffed inside you as you rested on his chest. you brought your legs to lay fully on top of him, looping your arms around his waist as best as you could.
“love you” you murmured into his chest, you were exhausted and miguel could feel it in your voice but he didn’t know when this feeling would go away, you were the only thing making it subside.
“i love you too,” you could feel him hardening again, you knew this small reprise wouldn’t last long but your bones ached and you would revel in the rest. his large arms easily pulled you tighter against him, against the hard planes of his chest and he grunted at the feeling of your nipples grazing his skin. he could feel all of you, he could feel you clenching on him, could smell your sweet ichor and your distinct musk, he could hear your shallow breaths and reveled in the soft plush of your skin under his hold. miguel wished he could just stay here like this with you, but lately he was so busy he felt like there was never enough time.
with his cock hardening again and you catching your breath he switched your positions, you lying down and this time he flipped you onto your stomach. he pulled a pillow under your hips, elevating them as he shoved back into your fluttering hole. you were so wet and messy from his come, the room smelled of sex and you thought you would have to air out for a week for the scent to clear. it didn’t matter, you’d do it all again. miguel was slow this time as he used your body for his release, his hips slapping against your ass every now and then, when you could feel him close he picked up the pace, smacking your ass lightly as he came inside again.
“good girl, taking everything i give you huh?” you nodded fervently, he turned you over to look in your eyes, loved seeing your pupils dilated and watery with unshed tears. his thumb wiped your saliva from the corner of your mouth, prompting you to moan his name, scratchy and desperate. god how would he ever stop coming if you looked like this, all for him. miguel quickly moved your position again, man-handling you once again and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. he placed you on one of his strong thighs as he sat back against the headboard, his hardening cock nudging your own thigh. you were angled so that your legs straddled his thigh instantly coating the hard muscles and dark hair with a layer of slick. he clenched under you, drawing a gasp from your lips and he chuckled at your reaction.
miguel’s hand slowly moved down your chest to between your legs, spreading them and tracing your puffy clit with his fingers. you held onto his arm for support, in disbelief that you could possibly orgasm again. but you didn’t want to be alone, not when his 12 inch issue was back again. you reached out a shaky hand, scooped up some of the come dripping out of you and coated your own hand. miguel watched your small hand wrap around his length, groaning and throwing his head down onto your shoulder as you slowly teased the tip and moved down. his fingers lazily circled your clit, matching the rhythm you set as you traced the veins of his cock and moved your hand up and down. miguel wanted nothing more than to devour you whole, watched as your tiny hand struggled to wrap around him and still meticulously stroked him like you knew he liked. he drew his hand up to his mouth, licking clean the mess your cunt had made on his long thick fingers before plunging three of them deep inside you. you stuttered out a moan, your hand loosening it’s grip but recovered quickly as you picked up the pace. you matched how fast he was fucking you, his large arm caging you against him as you squirmed on his thigh. he plunged his fingers in and out so quickly you were sure his movement was blurring, you gasped and cried out but still you squeezed and stroked his length. you were miguel’s best girl, you took what he gave you and still gave it back, god he loved you.
miguel felt close, stroking your clit with the thumb that wasn’t inside you and watched as you squirted all over his sheets and leg. the sight made him growl, possessive to no end and he pressed a kiss to your neck as he came from your touch. he spilled all over his chest and your hand, eyes closed and groaning into your shoulder as he felt himself unravel. the itching and burning in his bones was subsiding more and more, maybe this would be the last time, he didn’t really want it to be.
“look at the mess you made, límpiala ahora.” you licked his abs clean, then your hand and miguel watched as you did it, grasping your chin and making you hold his gaze. once you were done and satisfied he pulled you up to kiss him, craning your neck to meet his lips as he tasted himself on your tongue. he slowly moved you to get on all fours, your arms and legs shaking from exhaustion and screaming for release as he moved behind you.
“gonna fuck a baby into you, make you walk around with my kid so everyone knows who you belong to.” he was rambling to himself, watching his come still drip out of you and fucking it back in with his cock. miguel fucked into you from behind, you screamed at the feeling, every new angle ripping you open and making your walls flutter. your head bumped the headboard as he pulled back and fucked into you, clapping against your cheeks and making you skid forward on your knees from the force. he was relentless, using you like the pretty cunt you were, coming into you once, twice, and the third time he thought was enough, especially since your arms had gone limp and your voice was barely above a whisper, only his name on your tongue. you were sure you were bloated from how much come he’d pumped into you now, you’d feel him inside you for days to come, feel the ache for at least a week.
maybe subconsciously that was enough for miguel because then finally, he could feel at peace. the disease or virus or whatever it had been was easing out of his body, he was carrying you to the spare bedroom and wiping you both clean. tomorrow he’d let you do whatever you want to him, let you yell at him for the legs that surely wouldn’t work and dots on you like you deserved. but right now he wanted to sleep with the feeling of you stuffed full of his come, still deeply inside you and imprinted on your walls.
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stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months
Note
For the Jason drabbles, what about Jason conforting/taking care of reader while they are sick or even on their period?
We love a supportive man. What he receives he gives back tenfold.
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“Show me where, baby.”
His hand roamed along your lower abdomen, imagining the soreness in your tense muscles. The spikes of pain that riddled you bedridden during your most heavy days.
“Here?” He applies pressure, fingers rubbing circles down just under your stomach, along the spot near your hip bone.
“Oww, yes,” you whine, wincing from the pain before being soothed by his massage.
Jason knew what periods were. He knew it’s a natural thing women dealt with. He’s worked with women for years, alongside doing his own research on it during one time you hadn’t left your bed for a while, thinking you were sick at first. It was an.. interesting conversation with Babs over what more he could do to help that the internet didn’t tell him about those relentlessly heavy cycles.
Pain like this took a lot longer to be rid of than a heating pad would allow. Especially the good quality ones with different settings.
Or, if you want something different, something fun that he wouldn’t mind shoving into the microwave for a minute, he’d get you a heatable, plush teddy bear. Or a duck. Or a menstruation crustacean.
He had no idea what the hell that was until you showed him on the site. You received whatever you chose in a box nearly three days later from Prime shipping.
Don’t freak out about blood. Accidents happen. If you got some on the sheets, along his lap when he held you, or on the couch, he could’ve cared less.
He wouldn’t even point it out, if you didn’t know. If you did notice it, he’d immediately shush you in an consolation attack, hiding your shameful expression in the crook of his shoulder.
“Shh, baby,” he’d murmur in your ear. “Easy. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. S’alright, it’s okay.”
With advice from Babs, he cooks a lot more iron rich meals for you a lot more during this time. Usually, it’s been a team effort. You cook, he cleans up, you wash dishes together. Vice versa.
This week, regardless if you suffer from irregular periods, he does it all. He’ll do it even if he was a walking zombie, he doesn’t care.
Jason will not, no matter what you say, let you lift a finger if he knows you’re in pain. He’s an expert of masking his own, he can tell when you do it.
This even goes if you’re not used to being babied, get used to it. You tend to him for weeks at a time in a single month alone, this is his way of saying thank you for it all.
“Bed.” Jason demands, not even having to turn around from his attention on the stove to hear your shuffling to the kitchen.
“But I’m—“
“I brought you a drink,” he replies. A cup of warm raspberry leaf tea sitting on your bedside.
“No, I mean—“
“I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything until after you eat,” Jason peers over his shoulder, seeing his olive green shirt loosely draped over your body. “Go back to bed, Princess.”
“Can I stay here?” You plea, making his shoulders slump with a sigh. Try as he may, your weakened state makes him more pliable to your every request.
Might as well, since you’re already up. Stubborn girl.
“Go sit on the couch,” he sighs, knowing a few comforters were folded up on the cushions. “Get comfortable, an’ stay there. Dinner’s almost done.”
Jason has pills, plenty of them. From plain Tylenol, ibuprofen, to doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, morphine, etc. All thanks to Alfred.
Broken bones or severe, suture required injuries would be the only times Jason felt complied to take them. He knew addiction, watching it first hand and being involved in it at one point himself. He only took them when he absolutely, positively needed it.
For you, if you needed something stronger, he’d give you half of one pill, or a full, single pill at most. No way would you ever fall victim to such a cruel, toxic routine. He’d keep them locked up, for both your safety and his.
After your said hearty, iron rich meal, you remained on the couch snuggled up together like true lovers.
His guilty pleasure during your period of vulnerability was how much you relied on him for comfort. Positions varied, but his most favorite would be your body laying in his lap as he lounged on his reading recliner.
A gray comforter over your shoulders, some fuzzy socks on your feet. The furnace you called your boyfriend leaving you nice and toasty, his hands settling along your hair and back, preparing to soothe and massage when needed.
He adored when you needed him, he loved catering to you. You were his woman, his little nurse turned patient.
This also sort of gave him an excuse to skip out on patrols, but he never voiced the reasons why he’s gotten calls about it. He just didn’t feel like it, refusing the idea of abandoning you late at night, leaving him tense and unfocused on his routine on if you needed something, and he wasn’t there.
The others, with their detective mindsets could figure it out for themselves as to why Jason didn’t show up on a Saturday night. Or a Sunday, and definitely not a Monday.
He had important priorities, after all.
Just him, you; snuggly comfortable and content, and your herbal scented, menstruation crustacean.
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Text
older!simon 'ghost' riley x inexperienced!girly!younger!reader where there's a size difference and u two finally have sex..
(pt 2 to this)
warnings: size difference (simon is 6'10 in this hehe reader is a good amount shorter and smaller than that), fem!reader, afab!reader, nicknames, penetrative sex, cowgirl sex position, p0rn without plot basically, some ddlg usage, reader calls simon 'daddy' a few times, talks of oral sex (fem receiving), age gap (about 10 years but READER IS LEGAL) , fluffy type of smut, dirty things beware >.<
note: this is more of a blurb n less of a full fic but hope u enjoy!! more stuff is comin out with simon n konig !! my requests r open so feel free to send any ideas there ALSO I KINDA HATE THIS BUT whatever<3
૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
your brain already was coaxed into a mush after your first orgasm where your boyfriend sucked and rubbed on your engorged button until you were squealing and seeing stars.
now, you sat on ghost's hardened cock, ur wet cunny dripping onto it which made his light pink tip twitch with hunger.
"remember, bunny," he had whispered as he moved your pliable body to your current position. "we'll just go slow, mkay?" his gruff voiced cause ur skin to prickle with goosebumps as you nodded, your mind not all there after your numbing climax.
u absent-mindedly rubbed ur sopping, hot cunt on his erect cock, bitting ur lower lip and closing your eyes. you accidentally tuned simon's words out--hyper fixating on the pulsing that pounded between the apex of your pudgy thighs.
your toes curled in your thigh-highs as you stabeled yourself on your boyfriend's large tattooed, scarred chest.
your hole clenched around nothing as your needy cunt dragged its swollen lips and engorged button on simon's length. you were so, so gone until--
"baby," ghost hissed gently, stilling your movement on him with his large hands. "'m talkin' to ya..did y' hear what i said?"
u whined softly, a quiet protest to him stopping you from pleasure.
he kissed your pouted lips, taking one of his hands off of you to wrap his inked, muscled bicep around your body as you replied back with a shy and squeaky, "..no.."
a deep rumble in his chest from his short chuckle made the blush on your face deepen.
"was just sayin' that if it gets ta be too much for ya we can try again later, mkay?" his voice was so incredibly gentle and soft that you weren't sure if you wanted to cry or cream (lol). instead, you sighed dreamily, chewing on the fat of your swollen lower lip as you admired him. the scar at the corner of his mouth that made his smile more prominant. his blonde hair that was almost a darker brown. the tattoos that inked his body. his plump, pink lips--dark eyes and strong jaw and nose. the stubble on his jaw. you absent-mindedly played with his hair (eyes almost in the shape of cartoon-hearts if it were possible), and you could feel the way he leaned into your hand abit as his fingertips gently ran along your spine, soothing your desperate trembling. you finally nodded to his question, your chest pressing against his tattooed and scarred one. god, he was so strong and warm. "mk daddy.." you whispered, and that was a tell-tale sign for simon that you were already gone. he smiled softly, gently squishing your cheeks to create a pout, inked hand--bringing your lips closer to his.
"gonna be gentle with ya, but you hafta trust me, okay bunny? love y' so much." he murmured against your lips, his own hunger for you growing to a dangerous rate as you kitten-licked inside of his mouth. you nodded, your voice high as you whispered a mushy little, "mk. trust you, si.. lub u too.." against his mouth.
simon made his way from your soft lips down to pepper light kisses on your collar bones as his large palms held your body so nicely.
he leaned back a bit, your lips attached to his as he held your hips; lifting your lower body up a bit as you grinded gently on him like a kitty in heat.
to allow himself to adjust his cock with your sloppy hole, he lifted your hips up a bit more, and in your floaty state you could not help but grind against nothing--desperate whines and mewls escaping your kiss-bruised lips. simon meanly chuckled, his cock throbbing as he instructed you to sit up a bit.
"daddy, 'm achey.." you sniffled, pouting. simon's left hand massaged your side as he stroked his cock three times before bringing you forward briefly to plant a kiss on your lips.
"i know sweet girl, gonna make ya feel better, m'okay?"
you nodded sitting up a bit so he could line his tip up with your messy cunt.
he rubbed his hand over your right nipple, squeezing the fat of your tit as your hands groped from his chest to his hand, to his tattooed forearm.
he could feel the heat coming off of your cunt, and he tried not to lose it and immediately pummel his cock into you.
you were just so delicate.
he would never want to hurt you.
"alrigh' slowly.." his voice sounded so soft and grumbly, it made you want to rub your button against him until you saw stars. but you had to focus.
you began to sink down, simon holding you up as you whined. a bulge already forming in your belly as you whimpered at the ungodly stretch.
your boyfriend sat up, taking your lips in his for sloppy kiss before you interrupted it with a small little squeak, "a-ah!" eyebrows pulled upwards as you cried. he kissed your lips slowly but hungrily--as if trying to eat you whole.
his big hands held your hips and waist, stopping you for a moment so you could take a breath.
"shh, slower, bunny, sink d-down slower," you began to sink down again, slower this time as you took all of him. "good girl, bunny. tight cunny takin' me s-so well.."
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inkykeiji · 3 months
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Sukuna def calls you princess if he decides you belong to him. <3
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oh absolutely, and it’s a term he uses both condescendingly and lovingly. he is the king of curses, after all. it’s only natural you’re his princess.
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, master kink, rough sex, marking, toxic relationship, mention of spanking, fem!reader words: 738
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you’re his stupid little princess when you do or say something so adorably dumb, gazing up at him with absolute idiocy smeared across your face, contorting your features—mouth open and downturned, brow scrunched and heavy—as you whimper out but Daddy, why?, head quirked cutely to the side and confusion reflected in your eyes. because i said so, he usually responds with a condescending little pat to your head. oh, you don’t have to worry your pretty little brain about any of that, princess, he promises you. Daddy will take care of it all, Daddy will do all of that pesky thinking and contemplating and deciding; you don’t have to think about a goddamn thing. 
you’re his pathetic little princess when you’re sobbing after being split open by his cock and spanked raw by his hand, face buried in folded arms as salt stains your cheeks and claws pierce your hips, holding you high, holding you still. is your Master’s cock too big for you, princess?  he’s murmuring in your ear, the words hot and breathy as they curl around the shell, his question infused with a smirk. does Daddy’s cock hurt you, princess? he’s cooing out, sick and sadistic and sardonic, against the back of your neck, forehead pressed flush to the base of your skull as his hips pound, cockhead ramming against your sensitive cervix. can you take it for me, princess? he’s laughing as he nuzzles his nose against the hinge of your jaw, placing a chaste kiss to the bone. he wants you to show him how well you can take it for him; he wants to watch the way your sweet lil cunt struggles and stretches and swallows his girth. 
you’re his pouty little princess when you don’t get what you want, when he doesn’t give you what you want, eyes glittering with a thick coat of tears and lip jutted out in a trembling scowl, so deep it crinkles your forehead and puckers your chin. aw, is the poor little princess going to cry? he coos out through his own over-exaggerated pout, brow warped with false worry. is she going to stomp her feet and throw a fit because she isn’t getting her way? he kind of hopes you do, you can tell, can see it glimmering bright and sharp in his eyes, a sort of exhilarated anticipation that begs you to take on his challenge; go on, give him a reason to punish, make his fucking day, baby.
you’re his precious little princess when you stare up at him with adoring eyes, awestruck and shimmering with stars, and murmur out about how much you love him, delicate little fingers tracing his markings in clumsy caresses. the words are melty with affection, gooey and thick with spit as they dribble from your lips after he’s fucked you past the point of lucidity, mind turned to pleasant pink mush under immense pleasure and immaculate pain, body gone pliable and painted in strokes of him—ragged lines of red, blooming blotches of blue, purplish indents carved so deeply into your flesh that they’ll never fully heal, the tiny craters overflowing with sticky crimson. i love you too, princess, he tells you, the words quivering with quiet sincerity even as a sour sickness twists behind his sternum, true and real even as they are unfamiliar and unnatural.
you’re his pretty little princess when you giggle and twirl and strut for him after every single shopping trip, putting on a little fashion show and modelling all of the luxurious lingerie he bought you, lace clinging daintily to supple flesh, silk straps curling lovingly around all of your curves and edges, pieces encrusted with jewels and sparkles that catch on the light as you twist and turn for him. unblinking eyes watch you with a sort of conscientiousness, pupils blown huge and gaping, pitch black and ready to swallow you whole in a single glance. a smirk smears across his face, lopsided, leaning to the left and steadily spreading, as he relaxes back into his favourite armchair, thighs spread wide and a crystal glass of sweating amber dangling from his fingertips. c’mere, pretty princess, he demands gently when he can hardly take it anymore, when you’ve tried on several sets, when his smirk has grown into a grin and his cock is starting to ache, a large palm patting thick muscles. come give me a kiss.
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tinycozycomfort · 5 months
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i found the door
pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader
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day seven of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: edging -> read her day seven here
summary: Joel is a beacon, the warmth sloughing off his chest keeping you in that hazy place between tired and restless—the brightest slice of your vision.
warnings/tags: edging, daddy kink, c*ckwarming, touch of somno, unprotected piv, age gap (joel is 50s, reader is not), dom/sub dynamics, the tone of this is: they're in love, bulge kink, name calling (slut) + pet names (sweetheart, honey, etc)
word count: 1.8k
rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni
a/n: i am so hashtag nervous about this one but very big thank you to @pascalisbaby for encouraging me and listening to me complain every day 🖤
main masterlist
“What is she, sweetheart? What do we call her when she’s drooling like that?” 
Joel noses at your chin, puffy stripe of scarring across the bridge dragging colder than the rest, lifting a field of goosebumps in its wake.
You can barely mumble at first, the swipe of his thumbs along your ribcage doing little to ground you, focus washed out with the low light that pools in from the window. His hands are firm—even in their spread—pinkies dipping into the crease of your side as he keeps you seated atop him, sweat-damp sheets taut where they weave between the folds of your knees. 
You’re pliable over him, hiked up and lopsided where he’s fixed you high in his lap, the shape of his cock outlined inside you to the hilt. 
Nights like this—right before the onslaught of Wyoming winter—he likes to just let the time pass, to make use of his body while it’s still skin-warm, no cold to slow his joints or frost to stiffen his muscle. He wants to prove himself capable, spry, even in his climbing age, to make sure you both know how in control he still is of this vessel, of your pleasure. 
He does it in the slowest way—the only way he sees appropriate—unwrapping you in pieces, biting away at the minutes like they’re endless, peeling away at the doubts he only thinks you have for him. 
Joel is a beacon, the warmth sloughing off his chest keeping you in that hazy place between tired and restless—the brightest slice of your vision. The valleys of his hollowed cheeks are deep, his restraint bound there in the tense sinew between his molars.
Only when he feels you deflate does he rock up gently, nudging at the apex of your womb, never touching—just the suggestion of what he’s able to find within you. He lets you whine and plead until you’re at the steep slope of your orgasm before stopping altogether, letting it wane, over and over, the pause to recoup shortening with each near-miss—a loop of ‘almost’s and ‘just-so’s that remind you he can take away as much as he can give.
“Hm?” He’s encouraging as he draws you from your stupor, a lapse in his unkindness—some space for you to right your wrong.
“A slut.”
Joel rolls back on the knob of bone that ends his spine, curling his hips up to give you just the slightest bit of friction. 
“That’s right. Little pussy’s being such a slut for me.” He shifts up again, just a beat to punctuate his point, the squelch that follows sounding out in the silence as if on cue. “Don’t know how you don’t fall all over yourself dripping like that.” 
You’re humming again in response, the last two full words taking more of a toll than they’re worth, voice scratchy from just how much crying you’ve done. The little analog clock on the nightstand ticks, tallying the painfully long stretch that’s passed since he promised to fuck you; that and the hour, maybe—or well over—since he decided he was going to make you wait for it instead. 
He savors this—the chance to make you up like some sleepy, weak thing that he can dote on, that he can thaw between his hands and mold into all of his beloved shapes, syrupy and unwound and enamored. He loves you like this, at his mercy, the heft of his strength and his promise enough to carry you through to the other side of content. 
He needs you like this. 
Joel reaches down to where your middle scrapes the start of his chest, grazing his knuckles over the swell in your lower tummy, rubbing at the wide protrusion that evidences his excitement. He flattens his palm over it like a bandage, uses it as leverage to put some space between you so he can get a better view, carving out more room where he’s hooking into you.
“Look at that. Got me so deep inside you it’s trying to come out. You gonna keep it in for me?” 
You’re nodding before he’s even finished, ready for him to bring you to another barely-peak, shoulders slack so as to not work yourself up, hope strapped to the last notch. 
“Poor thing. Had enough, honey? Ready to beg for it?” 
You huff before thinking, “I have been.” 
“No—crying at me isn’t begging. You have to ask.” 
“Please.” 
“Please…?” 
“Joel, can you pl–” 
He scoops up the meat of your cheeks with his free hand, fingers scalloping the flesh in a tight grip, wedging the points between your teeth until it feels like he’s inside you; he has you by your soul at this point, his hold runs so deep. 
“I know my girl isn’t that dim. How many times have we practiced this, sweetheart? Still can’t get it right on the first try?” 
He’s dead serious—frown severe—but you can’t help the curl of your mouth, laughter bubbling at the base of your throat. What a horrible, mean man he wants to be. In reality, he loves you more than he’s able to say most days, only leaning back on this game of obedience and correction and reward as a crutch when he can’t find the words. 
“Sorry, daddy.” 
Joel angles his fingers back so that he’s hanging onto the hinges of your jaw, the broad U of his middle-to-thumb long enough to give you room to speak and breathe and scream. 
His hips start to cant, the sticky swing of his cock inside you pulsing outwards, a fresh wave of arousal pooling at the joint. 
“There we go. Go ahead with the rest, then.”
“Daddy—fuck, please.” 
His resolve begins to melt at just the mention of his newly-appointed favorite title, a thing that slides between completely earnest and a silly pass at something new, not completely settled into habit. Even so, it’s sticking fast, the sheen over his eyes and abnormal measure of his breathing proof enough. 
“Please, what, sweet girl? You need daddy to make that slut pussy happy? You need to come?” 
Your mouth is wide open, nothing coming out but brief, irregular puffs of air that keep you conscious. He’s enjoying it—hoists his chest up so he can get close to your face, unhinge his own jaw, mock you that much more. He fails to not smile, head bobbing has he continues to fuck up into you with all the effort his body, and this position, are willing to allow. 
The hand pushing into your stomach falls, twisting at the wrist so he can toy with your clit, struggling not to slip in the web of slick that’s yet to dry where you’re connected. He’s determined, though—switches his thumb for the flat section of skin between his last two knuckles, gliding along the bead of skin at your core until you’re slumping forward, unable to take the whole brunt of him at full mast. 
“Oh, honey. Can’t even get fucked right anymore, can you? What’s gonna happen when you can’t take this cock? What do you suppose I do with you, then?” 
“No, daddy. ‘M just tired. Don’t stop, please.”
“Half-awake and the only thing you can think to do is ask for more. Now we’re getting somewhere.” 
“Yes, more, more.” 
“That’s right. Tell daddy how grateful you are. Tell me how much you need it.” 
“Fuck, yes. I need you.”
The fingers on your face pinch harder, throbbing as your cheek contours to the line of your teeth. Joel shakes his wrist, your neck lolling in his clutch as he commands your attention.
“Hey, I let it slide the first time. Don’t use that kind of language with me, girl. Be polite to me for all I do for you.” 
You’re too close to the end to say anything other than sorry, sorry daddy, the pitch rising in time with his movements, the burn of your climax worming its way up your spine. He’s equally as close, descending into the force of his movements so quickly he abandons his half-hearted reprimand, lashes clumping and wet, the line of his brow shining with sweat. He works at your clit with unwavering effort, sliding ten-fold as you begin to meet his thrusts, the two of you fighting to be on-beat in the work-up.
“I’m gonna come. Please. Please, can I?” 
“What am I going to want to hear from you before you do, sweetheart?” He tucks the bow of tissue that separates his thumb to your chin, his longer fingers plucking at some of the hair that's tacked down with wet—another show of sympathy.
“I love you.” 
“How sweet are you, hm—when you want to be? That’s my perfect girl. Just one more time, now.”
“Joel, I love you. More than f—more than anything.” 
He manages a exhale—his best attempt at amusement in this state—at the way you fumble to catch your own error, too close to the edge to afford another mistake. 
You clamp down with both hands on the forearm clutching your face, like more of you on him can better emphasize your statement and he moans, a high, ragged thing that falls out before he can contain it. 
Eventually, he accepts, “I love you, too, honey. More than you know.” 
You’re right at the cusp now, cunt seizing around where he’s driving up into you and he aims to bring you there before he falters, “Come on, let me have it. Show me just how much you love me.“
It's just a slew of yes’s after that, body locking up as the crest of your orgasm washes over you in flashes of white, so intertwined with him you don’t realize he’s made his way there as well, the sear of his release a welcome addition to the flurry. 
He doesn’t stop until your breathing evens, dropping his grip to wind his arms at the small of your back. He envelops you the way he wishes he could have to begin with, with all of the raw affection he needs courage to produce. 
“I mean it. Really.” He thumbs at the bumps of your spine, a swirl of something like guilt threading through his voice. 
You’re quick to dismiss it, dropping your head into the slope of his neck, the chill of September flooding in now that you’ve halted. You bring an arm up, fingers pleating into the hair he’s grown out in preparation for the season—a cut you suspect he’s kept because you’d mentioned taking a liking to it. You shuffle closer, knees slanted inwards to cradle him.
“I know, Joel. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”
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trashmouth-richie · 22 days
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the raven told me of you
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eddie x female reader
crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq
summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?
8.1k
tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.
releasing: thursday 3/7
Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again. 
  The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’ 
  Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected. 
  On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man. 
  At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.  
  He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 
  Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.
  Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option. 
  Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet.  It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends. 
  Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation. 
  And you, he had you. 
  Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you. 
  It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect. 
  The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead. 
  Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness? 
  His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily. 
  And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl. 
  You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul. 
  His gem. 
  It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise. 
  It was you. 
  Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest. 
  He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner. 
  Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak. 
  He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.
  Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored. 
  Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried. 
  A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park. 
  Eddie was living on cloud nine. 
  He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number. 
  You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him. 
  “Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.” 
  A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.” 
  “Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?” 
  He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.” 
  An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink. 
  You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.  
  He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls. 
  “Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave. 
  “Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!” 
  “Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.
  But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history. 
  He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school. 
  —
  Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes. 
  He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.
  A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.
  The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field. 
  His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight. 
  A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once. 
  He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears. 
  —3
The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker. 
  He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school. 
  “Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.” 
  It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness. 
  Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change. 
  The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.
  It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand. 
  A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time. 
  “My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman. 
  He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out. 
  “And that?” 
  “That’s.. my room.” 
  It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him. 
  Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing. 
  You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula. 
  His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick. 
  “Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.” 
  He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but. 
  Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye. 
  A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem. 
  Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips. 
  You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.” 
  “Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.” 
  “Should I close my eyes?” 
  He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,” 
  Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?” 
  He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else. 
  He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach? 
  He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.
  They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension. 
  A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same. 
  “Hey kid.” 
  —
  Eddie was nervous. 
  The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight. 
  He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.
  Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms. 
  “We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”
  His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant. 
  Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.” 
  He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers. 
  His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign. 
  And it happens like clockwork.
  Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”
  The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.
  The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?” 
  Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights. 
  Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago. 
  Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.” 
  Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin. 
  A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?” 
  He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails. 
  “Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?” 
  The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him. 
  His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath. 
  “ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”  
  He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours. 
  —
  Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie. 
  The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear. 
  “Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”
  Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it? 
  He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope. 
  “It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.” 
  Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup. 
  —
  Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake. 
  He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.
  Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm. 
  He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease. 
  He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw. 
  “Where have you been my whole life?” 
  Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight  further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.” 
  He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.  
  He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.” 
  “wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”
  —
  “Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?” 
  Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot,  needs time to recover, find out who he is again.” 
  Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.” 
  Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.” 
  — 
  Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart. 
  Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him. 
  And he felt the same. 
  Together you set the plans into place. 
  He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle. 
  You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’. 
  It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours. 
  Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly. 
  You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder. 
  “There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him. 
  The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room. 
  “Got everything you need? Toothbrush?” 
  You smile a little nervously, “check.”
  “Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.” 
  “Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling
 his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.” 
  He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.
  “Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.” 
  You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue. 
  “I want you.” 
  —
  Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream. 
  “Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead. 
  He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport. 
  The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne. 
  The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe. 
  Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.
  “Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.” 
  He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage. 
  Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait. 
  —
  Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead. 
  It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before. 
  A pep rally you never attended.
  Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand. 
  “We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.
  His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?” 
  His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans. 
  “For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.” 
  He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall. 
  Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up. 
  “Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat. 
  Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out. 
  He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”
  It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt. 
  He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this. 
  But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once. 
  “I love you too, Eddie.” 
  —
  Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.
  He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway. 
  “Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?” 
  He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table. 
  Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound. 
  The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone. 
  Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.
  —
  “.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”
  He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed. 
  To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair. 
  French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls. 
  “Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”
  “You think?” 
  “Definitely.”
  Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear. 
  “After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.” 
  Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?” 
  The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86. 
  Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed. 
  Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later. 
  —
  Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report. 
  The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.
  The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff. 
  He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him. 
  He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months. 
  “Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.” 
  Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.
  “It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.” 
  Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes  a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.
  “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down. 
  —
  Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked. 
  The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you. 
  You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful. 
  Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right. 
  The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred. 
  A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.  
  Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside. 
  His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust. 
  He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.
  The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing. 
  The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes. 
  He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast. 
  Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe. 
  It smelled like you.
  You. His best friend.
You. His first girlfriend.
You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him. 
  You you you. 
  His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface. 
  Gone.
  “Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”
  He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months. 
  “She’s gone.” 
  —
  “Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” 
  “You live here alone?”
  Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”
  Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form. 
  He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.” 
  He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin. 
  “I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?” 
  Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”
  “Really? That’s.. impressive!” 
  “It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year. 
  “Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.
  Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”
  “What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!” 
  Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.” 
  Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed. 
  “Do you even have it?” 
  “Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.” 
  “Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch. 
  “I can talk to her while you find something?” 
  “That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love. 
  —
  Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other. 
  He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords. 
  “I need to see her.”
  Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?” 
  Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.” 
  With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t. 
  Nothing was the same. Not anymore. 
  —
  The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest. 
  Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones. 
  Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered. 
  The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you. 
  Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life. 
  Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real. 
  Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain. 
  He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now. 
  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had. 
  The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.
  The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.
  Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence. 
  He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as  ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true. 
  Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had. 
  Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt. 
  His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground. 
  His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.
  —
  The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure. 
  Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay. 
  “Yeah, course.” 
  Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right? 
  Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior. 
  “Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear. 
  He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.” 
  You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent. 
  “It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.” 
  He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?” 
  Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.” 
  —
  He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.
  He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.
  Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name. 
  It was comforting. 
  Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave. 
  But you did, and he was alone. 
  Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name. 
  “Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”
  He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.” 
  Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was. 
  “See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.” 
  —
  The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame. 
  “Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.” 
  “Kinda cold for September, right?” 
  “All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.” 
  Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”
  Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?” 
  Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.” 
  They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind. 
  He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes. 
  Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room. 
  Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key. 
  “Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!” 
  The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern. 
  A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft. 
  “I promised you forever.” 
283 notes · View notes
3rachaslut · 7 months
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late night car sex with lee know
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SMUT minors DNI !!!
warnings; dom!lee know & sub!fem reader, dirty talk, slapping, consensual !! kinda rough sex, oral fixation, gagging on fingers, choking, pet names (kitten, doll, babygirl etc) daddy kink, slight dumbification, degrading, praise if you squint. let me know if i’ve missed anything
(reader is wearing a dress and lipstick) xox
i cant stop thinking about car sex with lee know like it’s actually giving me brainrot
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“But somebody might see..” you say cowardly, alertly scanning your surroundings from inside the car, straddling Lee Know’s hips in the drivers seat.
“I didn’t think you would mind too much baby girl, not after seeing how you put yourself on display for the other members tonight wearing this little number” Lee Know slyly comments, beginning to unzip your dress from behind you, trailing wet kisses all down your neck and collar bone. The moans you were letting out only encourages Lee Know to become rougher with you, marking you. His hands find the straps to your dress and pull them down, caressing his way down to your tits, your nipples getting hard as soon as they hit the cool air. He rubs across your sensitive nubs and you throw your head back in bliss.
“So pliable aren’t you kitten, look at you.” You feel the tent growing in Lee Know’s suit trousers underneath you and you begin to grind on top of him. Lee know scoffs. “Pathetic..” he says as you let out a whimper.
“Daddy...” you whine and his hands find your throat, squeezing hard and your mouth gapes open, your clit throbbing.
“Words kitten” he responds, glaring up at you through hooded eyes and a smirk on his face.
“Wan- you” You utter breathlessly, the grip on your throat only getting tighter and you felt yourself slipping further into subspace. Your absolute favourite place to be with Lee Know.
“Oh darling..” he whispers up at you and you feel your pussy getting wetter at his tone. His hands find his zipper and he is quick to undo his pants, shimmying them down a little along with his boxers. “You wanna ride daddy? hm?” he tilts his head at you and waits for you. The restraint of his hand around your neck only lets you reply with a long, desperate whine.
“Ride me then baby girl” He says, loosening the grip on your neck in order to let you position yourself on his cock, now fully hard at the sight of your beautiful figure on top of him.
“Hmm sir..” You mumble, feigning cautiousness.
“I said, ride. me.” Your eyes meet Lee Knows and he’s staring back at you with a daring glare. You absolutely loved this side of your boyfriend and feeling so at his will. “or did you not fucking hear me?” He grunted out the last few words as he pushed you down onto his cock, groaning as your pussy took him in entirely. You moaned at the amazing stretch his dick caused and you buried your head into his shoulder. You stilled on his cock as you adjusted to his size and he grabbed your chin, moving your face to look at him. “Grind kitten”
And you do, like a bitch in heat. Your eyes are locked to each others and your mouth falls open as his free hand finds it’s way under your dress to rub at your clit.
“No panties? Naughty slut” He swiftly slaps your face and you moan in response, the sting going straight to your pussy. His fingers find your mouth and you happily let them in, swirling your tongue around his digits desperately. “Such a whore” He says, shaking his head in faux disapproval. “So desperate for daddy’s dick? Gone fucking dumb on my cock like a real slut hm?”
“Mhm mhm” you quickly reply in desperation, all ability to form a coherent sentence lost. You gag as his fingers began to deepthroat your mouth, your body lurching forward slightly, his other hand still rubbing mercilessly on your cunt.
“Gooood girl” He coos as he continues to gag you on his fingers and you speed up your movements on his cock. He takes his spit covered fingers out of your mouth and wipes them on your lips, smearing your lipstick across your chin.
“C..close..sir” You utter and he begins rutting into you.
“Yeah? You gonna come on daddy’s cock baby? Good girl. Seeing you so dumb on my cock like this makes me wanna fucking ruin you doll” He says as he drills into you.
“Com..coming daddy! ahh!” you nearly scream out. Your pussy tightens around Lee Knows length and his thrusts begin to falter.
“Come with me kitten- fuck” Lee Know grunts. And you do. Both of you letting out swears and moans as you ride out your highs. You rest your forehead on Lee Knows as you breath in sync, catching your breath.
“My good girl” Lee Know says lovingly. He plants a soft kiss on your lips and you smile.
“I love you baby” You whisper.
“I love you too. Let’s go home angel”
600 notes · View notes
ervotica · 4 months
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early morning loving
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pairing; john b. routledge x fem!reader
summary; john b counts your freckles in the early morning light; 0.5k words
tags; fluff, established relationship (mans is underrated in his own show so here’s some john b love!)
obx masterlist
The morning is still young in the Chateau.
You wake slowly, in a tangle of tanned limbs; your neck is strangled by a firm grip, cheek smushed against something hard and warm. Your eyes feel glued shut, and when you peel them open, sticky lashes kissing at the corners, you're met with a soundly sleeping John B.
You shuffle sideways and prop yourself up on your elbow to gaze at him through tired eyes. You think this might be the longest he's slept in a while. Even unconsciously, he chases your warmth, brow knit as he follows you on your short journey to the other side of the bed. You watch his face, the change in his expression again as you work your way into his chest, the way his jaw falls slack as you press a kiss to his cheek with honey glazed lips.
You fall back into his arms like second nature, just settling to succumb to another bout of sleep when he stirs, groaning.
"Hi," he murmurs, a deep croak stuck in his throat as he rolls to face you this time. The light that pours in through the cracked window casts shapes and shadows over his smiling face.
"Hi, handsome," you tease, still tucked in tight against his chest as he stares down at you with an intensity that has the power to unnerve; you only grin in return, used to his unwavering passion towards everybody he loves. "Sleep okay?"
He hums noncommittally and traces a faint line across the bridge of your nose with his finger. Your face scrunches with unbridled affection, hands finding their way to his unruly mop of hair as they often do; you card your fingers through the dark tresses, nails scratching at his scalp, thumbs working out the frown lines in his forehead.
His palms are warm against your face as he smooths your worry lines. You lean into his touch, soft and pliable with sleep when he tilts your chin up and towards him for a kiss.
Your lashes flutter at the feeling of his lips on yours and you push into his space, crowding him with an arm either side of his head. He pays no mind, just happy to have you close. When you pull back, you needle into his warm body, under his arm with your temple against his shoulder. From this angle he can see your whole face, every freckle and blemish, every crease and twitch of your features. His pinky finger strokes up and down, side to side, coasting every inch of your face. You catch him mumbling to himself.
"What're you doing?" you laugh, your smaller fingers splaying over his wrist and rubbing a circle into the protruding bone.
"Counting your freckles. You've got lots of 'em."
Your eyes fall closed at his adoring touches and you hook your arms around his neck; foreheads together, noses bumping against each other. He smiles, big with all his teeth, and pulls at your eyelid until you're looking at him again. You're smitten, all sticky soft and lovesick.
When he tilts forward for another kiss, who are you to say no?
288 notes · View notes
silverdreamscapes · 2 years
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THE PLIABLE BONES THEORY AND WHY IT NEEDS TO DIE: A RANT
One day when this series is finished, we are going to do a deep dive into why a character who has largely kept to herself and remained in the background, receives the hate that she does. But first we need to talk about the “pliable bones” theory which is without a doubt, one of the worst theories to come out of ACOSF.
It amazes me that the very people who say that people can’t theorize about Gw*n being a lightsinger because it’s demeaning to SA survivors (even though lightsingers aren’t even a thing that exist in the real world) are the very people who do (or have in the past) support the theory that because Elain wouldn’t be able to give Azriel biological children, they can’t be together.
The majority of Elriels who posted about the lightsinger theory took great care in not painting Gwyn as a villain. Most went out of their way to make sure people knew they believed that lightsingers were misunderstood, that we don’t know enough about them, that Gwyn and lightsingers aren’t evil. But we took textual evidence (of which there was a lot) and made carefully crafted theories…and then were ridiculed (and sometimes harassed) for it. Meanwhile people took one throw away line about Gw*n’s pliant bones which was an explanation for why she did well during training and Feyre’s pregnancy, and extrapolated an entire theory that because Gw*n could give him biological children (news flash: gw*n isn’t Illyrian either) and Elain supposedly can’t then Gwynriel was endgame.
And I bring this up only because the pliant bones theory is is far more prevalent and accepted. I see comments and posts almost daily about. I saw a meme about Nesta not changing Elain’s womb get hundreds of likes in two separate groups on FB. People laughing about Nesta not changing elain’s body because she was a Gwynriel. Saying, that’s “why they shipped Gwynriel…because she can’t give him children”. People straight up telling me that the memes were a joke, but then saying in the next sentence “Sarah likes to give couples happy endings which include children and Elain didn’t have an Illyrian uterus” (that is almost verbatim what they said). As if the reason Elain should be with Lucien is because her uterus somehow matches up with him.
Infertility is a problem that many women and many couples suffer from. It’s horrific, it’s traumatizing, and it’s utterly heartbreaking. I witnessed my aunt struggle for years trying to conceive until the day she decided to adopt two wonderful children. I watched my sister in law struggle for years until she finally conceived and suffered a very difficult pregnancy and decided this was the only child she would ever have and she was so very grateful for him and considered it a blessing. I talked for hours to my cousin as she struggled to get pregnant and spending thousands on IVF that never worked out, and then ultimately making the decision to adopt.
And the most difficult I’ve done is cried and held my two best friends’ hands as they both suffered through multiple miscarriages, only to finally get pregnant again and suffer still born pregnancies at 8 months after trying to conceive for years. Both of them having to go through couple’s therapy. One of them terrified her husband was going to leave her because she couldn’t “give” him children, and the other wondering if she was being punished for mistakes she made when she was younger.
The pain people go through because of infertility is intense and heartbreaking. And it’s something that affects so many people. And I only bring it up because the pliable bones theory is such a prevalent and widespread theory. I actually saw posts and comments about it on other SM platforms on Mother’s Day. I see it everywhere. And I have to wonder why people are so comfortable basing ships on womb shape and reducing a woman’s worth to biological children when the author herself is adopted. When she has made “found” families such a huge theme of the series. When Rhys said it’s not the family you’re born into that matters but the one you make. When Rhys found his family with Azriel and Cassian. When Lucien has found a place and perhaps a family with the Band of Exiles. When Feyre found her family with the IC. When Nesta found family with the the valkyries. When Elain has been befriending N&C and perhaps finding a family of her own as well. I highly doubt that this author would really base a couple and families and endgames on reproductive organs.
Do better fandom.
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Our Little Love part five - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au
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Trigger warnings:  toxic yandere men, sub drop, guns, crime, violence, borderline abusive behaviour, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, a bad and failed attempt at aftercare, and I don't know if this counts as a warning but MC is naked through the whole thing
A/N: It's been a long time guys, I apologise <3
“I would love to kill him but you know it’ll upset little love, and I can’t stand the idea of her crying over another man.”
You start to rouse into consciousness, feeling multiple hands on your skin, stroking softly, a number of bodies sitting by your side as you sleep, their words starting to come into focus.
“We could make it look like an accident?” Another voice mumbled.
“She’d know.”
“Could you imagine her not speaking to us because we stomped on an ant?” Seokjin shakes his head in disbelief, a thumb rubbing the crease between your brows soothingly as you frown. “Part of me wants to do it out of spite.”
Your eyes open then, seven figures coming into view, all looking down on you with intense obsession that for a second it makes something on your skin crawl before you remember who they are in a daze. You inhale deeply, starting to stretch as you yawn, the sight has them cooing with adoration, their perfect little love. The ache begins to settle, the evidence of their ownership felt in your bones. 
Your body is pliable as Jin pulls you up with ease, resting your head on his shoulders as he adjusts you to straddle him, stroking your back soothingly as you come back to consciousness. You don’t know how long you slept for, either not enough or too much with how heavy you felt. They did a number on you, that much you knew, you had never felt this gone after a session or punishment, but you put that on the emotional toil it had on you rather than the physical aspect of it. 
You feel hands secure yours to Jin’s neck before he stands, taking you somewhere but you’re too tired to question anything, barely able to open your eyes. Your face is warm in his neck, the rest of your still naked body exposed to the cold air, you inhale him, his scent making you feel safe even as you shiver against him. You only realise their intentions when you’re lowered into hot water, Yoongi having checked three times it wasn’t scalding before letting Jin put you in the tub. There’s a hand on the back of your head, like a cushion as you lie back, as if there was a risk you could drown in your current state. 
“Maybe we should’ve let her sleep some more first,” you can hear someone mumble, it sounded like Kookie.
Slowly the warmth of the water eases your muscles, your head still aches at the front but you feel yourself returning, becoming more coherent and aware. Your eyes open, the brightness of the light making the men appear like dark shadows until your vision adjusted. They were all still staring, a mixture of different emotions in their gaze that put you on edge. This was supposed to be your recovery, you had regained enough thought process to realise that, so then why did they look like they wanted you back on that bed tied to it. 
You frown, the words from your dream coming back to you in their voices, slowly reconstructing as you realise it wasn’t a dream at all. The looks on their faces were murderous, you could see the remnants of rage still bubbling away under the surface. The setting was supposed to relax you, but the promise of blood put you on edge. Your heart thumped in your chest faster in warning, the ache in your limbs subsiding enough for you to run if you needed to. Your body recognised the signs of the oncoming danger, but it didn’t realise it wasn’t for you, it was for another. You swallow down the lump lodged in your throat, trying to find your voice enough to subdue their anger.
“What’s going to happen to him?” You dare to ask.
Jimin scoffs, his fists scrunching beside him, the first thing you ask about is another man, the first thing on your mind isn’t them but another man, didn’t you realise that was the wrong button to press? How could you even think of another after they monopolised you? He looks over to Taehyung, his face set in stone but Jimin could see through it.
Their silence makes your anxiety spike, wanting to fill the empty space with something even if it was your own voice.
​​“I know you’re angry but don’t do that to me,” you whisper, tears involuntarily slipping from your eyes. “I don’t care about him the way you think I do, but if you hurt him you put the guilt on my shoulders, and I can’t bear the weight.”
Your lower lip trembles, your chin wobbling and you look at them with innocent pleading eyes. 
“Don’t do that to me,” you breathe, begging them.
There’s a flash of irritation on some of their faces, a despondency in others.
“Please,” you whimper, fearing their decision had been made and you were fighting a battle already lost. You wouldn’t be able to handle it, you wouldn’t be able to look past it, everything they had done had somehow not crossed an invisible line of no return, but this, this would shove you over the edge. 
“You’re too good, little love,” Namjoon says, taking a seat on the rim of the tub, looking down at you, his presence forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. Your knees are to your chest in the water, arms wrapped around your legs like you were hiding yourself from them again and he hated it. “Crying over another man.”
The insinuation is crystal clear, even in his calm delivery of his words, you could see a storm ready to crash down on you. 
“I’m crying over you,” you admit, imploring him. “Over us.”
“Is that a threat, love?” Hoseok’s voice can’t hide the venom.
“No,” you can barely breathe, something seized your chest as the darkness in their gazes grew. Strums of panic start beating into your limbs, you couldn’t talk them down, you were useless but you will the words out. “For me, Hobi, for me, don’t do this.”
“You’re acting like we haven’t killed anyone before,” Yoongi states, scoffing at how ridiculous this was. 
“Not over me.”
He laughs and your blood turns cold, amusement written all over his face as it mocks you. 
What difference does it make, his expression says but you can hear it all clearly, if we kill for you or at all?
You turn back to Namjoon in panic, praying that they hadn’t, they didn’t, because it did make a difference. As stupid and naive as it sounded, it made a whole world of difference. 
“Joon,” you whimpered, wanting him to reassure you Yoongi was just messing with you, just being mean because you hurt him. 
“We won’t lie to you little love,” Namjoon states with a sadistic smirk.
You shake your head, eyes closed, refusing to believe it. It was a test, that was it, they were testing your loyalty, your love. 
“Get out,” you didn’t care if you failed.
Fingers under your chin force your head up, your eyes meeting Namjoon’s cold hard stare, but that smirk was still playing on his lips. 
“Do you regret coming back?” he asks.
You bite back bile, piercing him with as much anger as you can muster on your face.
“I regret not doing my job,” you say through gritted teeth, wanting to hurt them back just as much, petty rage fuelling your words. 
To your surprise he chuckles under his breath, an abnormal admiration in his gaze at your fire. Another hand overtakes his, turning you to face Hoseok’s glare, his nostrils flaring. 
“Tell me again you don’t care about him,” he dares you as if every word you had uttered was a lie just to save Suho, like all your feelings for them had been a lie. You tried to pry his fingers away, but they gripped your chin with such force, his fingers would make dents in your skin. You push against him but he doesn’t budge.
“Sounds like you care too much,” Seokjin pipes in, “Enough to regret what you have with us.”
“You’re threatening to put blood on my hands!” You yell back, pissed now that they didn’t see this from your perspective, that they didn’t care what it would do to you. Despite wanting to hold strong against them, you can feel more tears prick the corner of your eyes. “You say you don’t want to hurt me but you all do it again and again.”
“Careful love,” Yoongi warns, not liking your accusation at all even though he knew there was some truth in it. 
“Or what?” you scoff shakily, the tears making you tremble as you tried so hard to hold them in. “You’ll just find some way to make me learn my lesson, you’ll hurt me again, you’ll push me away, it's the same shit on repeat.”
You take a long shuddering breath, losing the battle to keep from crying. You were so exasperated, didn’t they see what they were doing to you?
“I love you,” you sob, “why isn’t that enough?”
The water had turned tepid and you blame that on why you were shaking. Hoseok finally lets you go, turning away from you before he let his anger get the better of him, biting his tongue.
One by one they leave you, no words of reassurance or love, just cold eyes turning away from you as if they couldn’t stand you. As soon as the door closes behind Jimin you let out the tears as silently as you could. 
Namjoon knew that was the wrong timing to bring up such a delicate subject, especially after a session like that. They all knew it, but in their eyes and in their defence, you were the one to bring it up first. They knew after Hobi’s theatrics you needed thorough aftercare, especially to bring you back up from the bottom of whatever hell or heaven they took you to, but in that moment they had to walk away.
Their anger was getting the best of them, they couldn’t swallow it down. To salvage the situation they had to keep their mouths shut, otherwise you would leave again. Not physically, they would never allow that, but emotionally, and as much as they could train you to love them and accept them, it wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be real. They didn’t want a doll, or a toy, despite what many believed, they wanted you, the fire that came with you, but they wanted it to themselves. 
“That went well,” Seokjin grumbles, guilt starting to make its way to the surface of his thoughts as he remembered how much aftercare you would need, and they just deserted you. Panic starts to strum under his skin, the urge to go back and comfort you pushing his legs towards you but he stayed still, only his eyes travelled towards the room you were in a floor above them. 
“We just need a second to breathe,” Yoongi groans as if he could read Jin’s mind. His hair covered his face as he leaned on the back of the sofa, his eyes to the ground but his fists clenched to the fabric.
“Who knew it would be so hard to resist a kill?” Hoseok laughs mockingly at himself, he wanted Suho’s neck crushed in his hands, he wanted that body beaten and blue until there was no breath left in it. But you asked them not to. 
Make no mistake of it, they had in fact slaughtered many because of you before, but the difference was your ignorance to those crimes. You didn’t need to know, so they didn’t tell you. That man that snapped at you for knocking into him by accident? Gone. The guy that stared for too long when you went on a date in the park? Buried. The woman who looked at you in disgust when you were receiving their affection in public? Well long story short there was a trail of bodies never to be found, the only thing that connected them was their wrongdoings to you. 
This was a bit more complicated. You outright asked them not to, and now their two rules clashed - Destroy anyone that hurt you. Do everything you asked. 
“We can’t leave her for long,” Jimin pipes up after a moment of silence, starting to worry about your mental wellbeing. There was no movement from the floor above, it didn’t take a genius to figure out you were where they left you.
“I’ll go,” Jungkook and Taehyung were the quietest since you woke up, the youngest was the one to move first, the others watching him leave wishing they could trust themselves to follow without bringing about another argument. 
“Hyung you should go too,” Yoongi says to Jin, knowing he would control his emotions better than the rest of them and keep Jungkook in check. Seokjin nods once and follows the maknae. 
The silence between them only grows, their ears stretching to hear your movements, your voice, something that reassured them you were still here, still theirs. The sounds are muffled but they can hear the shower start, the soft mumbles of movement. There was a collective sigh of relief, though shoulders stayed tense. There was still an obvious problem that needed solving, not to mention undoing the damage they had inflicted with you.
“We don’t have to kill him,” Taehyung spoke for the first time that day, his deep timbre commanding their attention. “But we can’t just leave him.”
You couldn’t move, your bones felt cemented, they didn’t want you anymore. You ruined their perfect perception of you, you fought for another man’s life and now they discarded you. You didn’t want to move, to move would be to accept it and you didn’t have the strength left to. Would they kick you out? Kill you? You knew too much, they wouldn’t leave you alive. 
All you could see were their cold eyes, no ounce of love in them, it left you so empty and terrified. A subconscious part of you was tearing apart your insides as it tried to pull you to them, to beg them to forgive you, let them end Suho’s life… It was a dark part of you that suggested it but you wouldn’t, just because their morals were nonexistent didn’t mean you would give up all of yours. Even if they were the cost?
You close your eyes at the question, not wanting to answer it even in your mind.
You felt broken. But worse than that, you felt unwanted, by people who swore they would never let you go. 
Never say never, you internally scoff before releasing a deep shuddering breath, the fear gripping you again with fresh new tears escaping. You struggle to swallow down your whimpers, knowing they were an innate part of you that was trying to call out to them, but you wouldn’t, not when their rejection would seal the end like a casket closing. 
There’s a soft knock on the door, but they don’t wait for you to answer before it opens. The hardness in his doe eyes were gone when they stared at your form still in the tub, you thought about how pathetic you must’ve looked, no wonder why they didn’t want you anymore. He sighs to himself, was he disappointed in you? Did he want to use the bathroom but you were in his way? Any rational thought you tried to have to reason his reappearance swirled into a cloud of negativity above your head, even Jungkook could see it. 
“Love…” he said softly, approaching you slowly like you were the one who would run. Your hair was a mess, your knees still brought up to your chest with your arms crossed on them, like you were trying to disappear in yourself, or protect yourself. He kneels beside you, hand on the back of your head, stroking it gently like he was trying to tame it, and whatever thoughts he knew were spiralling inside. 
You were shivering, eyes closed at his touch when the door opened again, you didn’t open them to greet the new presence, trying to get your breathing back under control now the sobs stopped. 
Jin pulls back his sleeve before he puts his hand in the water, confirming what he already knew, it was frozen. His eyes are fixed on you when he pulls the plug, grabbing the shower head and turning it on, finding the right temperature. There’s a second of a violent shiver cascading through you when he runs it over your cold form, before he can visibly see you start to warm.
There’s an unspoken thought between the two when they glance at each other, they need to pull you out of whatever bottomless pit they threw you in fast, an idiot could tell you were still falling in it. 
“We’re sorry little love,” Jungkook whispered to you, loud enough that you’d hear him through the water, his own eyes starting to tear up at your form. It wasn’t just about physically pulling you out, after the damage they inflicted you needed reassurance. 
“Jungkook take her out for a second,” Jin instructed, passing him a towel before he stopped the water. “Let’s try this again.”
With the way you were sitting it didn’t take much effort for the maknae to carry you out, his own clothes getting soaked in the process not that he cared. The towel covered you instantly, not to dry you but to keep you warm, shielded. You moulded against his chest as he sat on the bathroom floor, waiting for Jin to refill the bath, muttering to himself as he added different salts and oil, something about eucalyptus or whatever, Jungkook wasn’t listening to him, his voice faded to the background to your breathing, every inhale and exhale, he focused on it.
“We’re sorry,” he repeated himself, arms firm around you, trying his hard not to constrict you too tight even though the fear of you disappearing had his muscles aching with a fight against his instincts. “We’re idiots baby, you know we’d do anything for you, forgive us hmm?”
He needed something from you, his own heart starting to panic at how quiet you’d become after the fight. 
“You don’t have to worry love I promise,” it may prove to be empty words depending on Namjoons decision how to proceed, but he’d tell you the sun was green if it brought you out of this free fall. He strokes your arm through the towel, trying to soothe the ache he knows they caused.  
“You know what we’re like,” he tries to chuckle but he can barely manage it, “our anger gets the best of us sometimes, but we’re trying baby.”  
You were right, it was a fleeting thought, one he tried to push away but he couldn’t, not with the way you were trembling against him. They did hurt you, time and time again, their love for you was stripping you of everything they loved about you. Toxic wasn’t the right word for it, they were a disease.
He keeps making gentle promises to you, softly spoken without an ounce of his previous anger or jealousy. Hell, with the way the fear of losing you had suddenly gripped him, he would throw the fucking Captain a birthday party just to see you smile again, the feeling was dramatic, but after losing you once… 
“Say something to me, hmm?” he kisses the side of your head, just below your temple. “Just one word, please Y/n.”
He nuzzles his head against yours, begging you to give him something even if he didn’t deserve a single syllable. 
“Jungkook,” Jin pulls his attention, the water ready. The oldest tried to ignore the tug he felt with you in the youngest’s arms, trying to focus on the task in front of him, but your state was the worst distraction. He wanted to call Namjoon, but he knew that may not have been the best idea right now. 
For the second time that day you’re placed back in the bathtub, like they were restarting the day, wiping away the wounds they left you with, but wouldn’t that be too easy. The warmth starts to ease your bones, your muscles relaxing visibly as your eyes close. For a second you could pretend everything was okay, that the men you loved were as soft inside as they were with you now. 
Jin pulls your arm out of the water gently, working the loofah on your skin like you were made of the most fragile glass. Jungkook pulls your head back, wetting your hair with his hands forming a barrier so not a drop would fall on your face. His hands work through your scalp. You kept your eyes through it all, content with feeling them, their hands transpiring their love, or so you wanted to believe. Was it love or just possession?
Now the seed of doubt presented itself, you couldn’t stop it growing, manifesting its vines around your chest, you could feel each thorn, each prick brought a new uncertainty. Jungkooks thumb rubs away the frown that formed at your thoughts. You look up at him and he swore he could see you coming back to them, the despondency starting to leave your eyes as you gazed at him in wonder. He smiles softly, pressing a kiss between your brows, but he didn’t run with relief just yet. 
Jin holds up a fresh towel then they’re done, you wobble slightly as you stand, but he wraps you in it before you can stumble. He lifts you out, making sure you stand steady in front of him as he dries you, Jungkook doing the same for your hair. There’s a soft kiss on the bridge of your nose, Jin testing the waters before the urge to cover you with his lips overtakes him. He doesn't meet the stare you have on his face, he doesn’t think he can hold himself back if he does. 
“Come on heaven,” he keeps his voice gentle, coaxing you out of your shell. “Clothes, food and bed. Everything else can wait for tomorrow.”
He knew he was being followed, it was inevitable, he knew that, didn’t mean he didn’t fear death. He was wondering when Kim Namjoon was going to put his head on a silver platter, he wondered if it would be served to you. What bullshit did those men fill your head with?
Your friendship with Suho ran deep, your respect ran deeper, he knew that, that’s why he couldn’t give up on you. It happened in his line of work. He had seen it, call it brainwashing, an identity crisis, stockholm syndrome, there were a thousand labels for the conditions that messed up the brain. He never thought it would ever touch you, but he’d been wrong before. 
Kim Namjoon wasn’t the only person who wanted his head, his higher ups were questioning everything. How did the task force fail when they put their best asset on it? That asset now fell into the hands of what they were trying to take down in the first place, the universe had a fucked up sense of humour. 
Suho paused at his door, the poor concealment of the broken lock stood like a dare, almost as if it were calling him a coward. He kicked it open, gun already drawn and aimed in front of him.
“You can put that away Captain,” a voice called in the darkness of his apartment. “Your death isn’t on the cards tonight.”
He doesn’t lower his weapon despite the reassurance, criminals were known liars, and he wasn’t an idiot. One hand reached for the wall, roaming blind until it found the switch. 
The figure of Kim Namjoon looking too comfortable in his humble home presented itself with the lights, the head of the syndicate sitting on the worn couch like it were a priceless throne. 
“Your death might be,” Suho replies, his gun aimed at Namjoon’s head. 
He only laughed, like the threat out of the police Captain’s mouth meant nothing, a joke. Fury burned underneath his skin, first the piece of scum takes his best detective, and now this. 
“You shouldn’t underestimate me,” his gaze turned deadly in a second, his own warning carrying more weight than anything Suho could say. 
“Believe me, I didn’t,” Suho admits, remembering how much resources they put into their task force, how he always knew it wasn’t going to be enough. Yet he still sent you into the firing line, foolishly hoping you would be the answer to everything. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t come near Y/n,” his eyes assess his opponent, calculating him accurately. He knew exactly what the Captain wanted, and he would let the whole nation burn before he ever allowed it. 
“Why? Are you scared I’ll speak some sense into her?” It was Suho’s turn to chuckle, the patronising sound mocking his enemy.
“Truly, yes,” the corner of Namjoon’s lips lift for a second, humouring the ant in front of him for a moment. “But you upset her with your last unwanted visit, and normally that would mean I detach your soul from your body but unfortunately our little love has a soft spot for you.”
Disgust worked his dinner up his throat, the idea of these men sharing you like you were some sort of fuckdoll, didn’t you see that was the biggest slap in your face? The fact they were probably doing it to show the entire police force a massive fuck you, how did they pull the wool over your eyes? 
“I won’t let Y/n become a pawn in whatever game you’re playing,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster, his hands tight on his gun, his finger aching to pull the trigger. 
“Pawn?” Namjoon seethed, that’s all you were to the authorities that threw you into the syndicate like fodder. “I can assure you in this analogy she’s the queen, but I think you already know that, otherwise why would you be so concerned?”
“She’s my best detecti-”
“Was.”
Their glares intensified, the original intention of peace fading fast. 
“She was a detective,” not your anything you fucking cockroach. 
A part of him wished he followed through with his earlier plan of bringing you to this meeting with him, he would show the arrogant fucker exactly where you belonged. He’d eat you out on this very couch, kneeling in front of you, not letting the ant see a single sliver of your skin, but your voice would tell him exactly what was transpiring, exactly how it was you that held them in your clutches, you that drove them mad with a despicable desire.
It was an empty thought, fuelled by irrational jealousy that Namjoon didn’t previously think he was capable of, but when it came to you… No, there was no way he’d let anyone else witness you that way, he’d kill them, and even if Hell froze over there was no chance that your old friend would ever see you again. 
The silence grew heavy, even with the rage in Kim Namjoon’s eyes, the Captain thought he looked too relaxed. 
“Obviously a verbal warning isn’t going to make a dent in your thick skull,” he sighs, motioning in the air with two fingers.
Suho can’t differentiate what came first, the shattering of glass or the bullet in his hand knocking the gun out of it. Sniper. Curses tumbled out of his mouth loudly until he bit his mouth shut, there were civilians in the building. The pain seared through his hand like an invisible fire. 
“Look at me Captain,” the weight of real power commanded him. Through tear filled eyes he saw the evil in front of him, gleaming with a promise. “You let Y/n go.”
A second bullet whistled into his knee cap, the message understood; he couldn’t follow you if he couldn’t walk. 
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