#wooden musical rattles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oneforthemunny · 6 months

Text

christmas (baby, please come home) |cowboy!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: it's not the most wonderful time of the year for everyone, including you and eddie.

apart of my munny's merriest that you can read here!

contains: angst. eddie is mean. past parental trauma. grief. holiday grief and sadness. angst really.

Heavy boots, covered with slush and snow from the frozen ground below, pounded up the creaking wooden porch. Eddie huffed, his breath clouding around him, a gloved hand reaching for the screen door. The toe of his work boots knocked against the doorway, kicking off the remainder of the snow from the icy, winter wonderland that arrived overnight, just in time for Christmas Eve. With it, came an icy chill that had Eddie working overtime to make sure the horses were warm.

It was an odd feeling, walking into the mud room, plopping on the bench to pull off his boots. Eddie waited, inhaling in the cold, crisp air, waiting for the warmth to flood back to his system. That cozy heat to thaw out the chill that shocked his system, left his cheeks red and frost bitten from the cold. The euphoric feeling of relief that coated him every time he walked in from the snow. It never came.

In fact, it felt colder in the house.

In the house that was decorated, halls decked and every square inch covered with Christmas. The usual homey contentment that came from looking at the decorations was gone, replaced with a miserable, heavy feeling settled deep in the pit of his stomach, feeling him with a sickening guilt.

Visions of your fight, hateful words piled on with yells and slamming doors, right there in the kitchen. A kitchen that should be filled with Burl Ives’ Christmas album on a loop was missing its merry music; it was missing you.

“We always spend Christmas with my family.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s always about you, what you wanna fuckin’ do!”

Eddie could see your face as if it was in front of him again. The way your expression fell, crumbling before him, the betrayal in your eyes rimmed with flecks of hurt. It made his stomach turn all over again.

“You don’t- I thought you liked spending time with my family.” Your voice was small, far too small for your usual tone. “They always love spending time with you, Ed.”

“Oh, yeah, to you they do.” He scoffed, eyes rolling so hard he gave himself a headache. He could feel it now. “You always leave me with your asshole uncle, who always wants to tell me the same goddamn story about how he used to ride horses growin’ up, like I give a shit-”

“-Eddie! He’s trying to be nice and talk to you, so you’re not-”

“-So I’m not miserable? Well, guess what, honey. I’m fuckin’ miserable!” His voice was so loud it shook the wooden cabinets of the kitchen, your tin snowmen rattling on top of the shelves. “I am fuckin’ miserable every Christmas! I would rather be here alone, shovelin’ shit all goddamn night and day than be there!”

The hitch in your breath rang loud and clear in Eddie’s ear, his own face crumpling this time, a shaky hand rubbing across his eyes to try and keep his composure. But how could he? How could he stop the ache in his chest when he remembered the way you looked at him? The way your eyes filled with tears, lip quivering in fear. You hadn’t cried, not in there, atleast. Instead, you waited until you got to the bedroom, pulling out your own little overnight bag and filling it silently.

He’d been so furious, so unfathomably filled with weeks of pent up rage, Eddie had to step out. Fury filled steps, a swinging fist to a post that left his knuckles bloody, splintering into the pale skin that was already blooming with bruises. Eddie really regretted it now, sure he’d broken a knuckle at the way it had swelled, doubled in size and kissed with dark purple, welt-like bruises. Oh, what he would do, what he would give, to have you fuss over it, patch it up and huff at him for doing something so immature.

You didn’t.

Instead, you stayed silent, save for the heart wrenching, hiccupy sniffle you gave when loading your bag into the trunk. Eddie’s body was still buzzing, electric with every ounce of bitter grief he’d tried to ignore.

“Where you goin’?” Eddie gritted, tone sharp, it left you shuddering at the unfamiliar sharpness directed at you.

“You want to shovel shit, since it’s so much better than being with my family.” Your breath stuttered in your chest when you took that breath. One that had Eddie’s heart lurching, nervous system flooding with a damning shock that left his head reeling in fear.

“Better than being with me.” The crack in your voice matched the crack in Eddie’s own heart, splitting it right down the middle.

“I don’t want to make you any more miserable than you already are.” You spat, and suddenly, Eddie longed for the sadness in your tone because the bitterness that replaced it was worse.

Your own boots crunched on the ground, bare with snow and ice, but frozen from the cold. “Have a Merry Christmas by yourself, Eddie.” A hard yank of your car handle, and you were gone.

Eddie watched you go in a horrified stare, your car disappearing down out of his sight in a red flash, feeling like he was watching a movie- a fucked up movie through his own eyes, but not in his own body.

Then he was alone.

Eddie was alone, standing on his family’s land, holding his throbbing hand alone. He was alone then. He was alone later that night, when he crawled into bed, teary eyes and shaking hands grabbing at your pillow, smothering himself with it because it smelled like you- terrified it might be the last time he could smell you. And he was alone now. Sitting in a too still kitchen, in a too quiet house, on Christmas Eve, alone.

The burning threat of tears choked him, bubbling out of his chest and crept up his throat. Through blurred vision, Eddie could see the time. A little past four. He wondered what you were doing, what your family was doing. If your dad had started a card game yet. The same Rummy game he always made sure to deal Eddie in to- always made sure to include him.

If your uncle was on his fourth or fifth glass of eggnog, spiking it with an extra pour of Woodford. He’d always offer Eddie some, slurring and spilling a little onto the festive tablecloth. Drunkenly tell him about his childhood, how he grew up riding horses, the same droning story that Eddie would always nod politely at. He was sloshed through the holidays, but never mean- always a jolly drunk, bellowing laughs through shining eyes. No smashing of plates or bruising grips like Eddie’s childhood Christmases always had.

Or if your mom had got a chance to breathe, pull herself out of the kitchen with your aunts. She’d always hug him so warmly when she’d greet the two of you at the door, fussing over taking your bags and jackets, so happy the two of you were there. She’d even embroidered a stocking for Eddie last year, surprised him with it proudly. He’d nearly cried.

It was a weird feeling. This feeling that he was becoming a part of your family. That they wanted him to be a part of it.

He only had Wayne left, the rest of his family was long gone. It filled him with a grimy, gross feeling how much he enjoyed his time with your family. The sickening thought that he was betraying his own, replacing them and filling in their spots with shiny, new replicas.

Wayne would laugh at him, tell him he should enjoy it, he better enjoy it. “You know Darlene and me go to Florida ev’ry Christmas, boy. You better stick it with ‘er. She’s a good’en.”

Wayne would be furious at him if he knew. Probably take him ‘round back for the way he spoke to you, about your family. Eddie wouldn’t blame him, he was furious at himself for it.

Eddie’s eyes found their way to the mantle, your stocking and his lined side by side. His was full, stuffed with small gifts and goodies you’d cheerily slip in, tongue clicking at him when he’d try to peek. Yours was deflated, sans for a small pair of cabin socks Eddie had got in early November.

The bile in his throat brought him back to his very cruel reality in front of him. He’d been mean to you- he acted like his dad.

Eddie’s stomach lurched, moving to the sink, a shaking hand pulling his hair back, retching into the sink at the revelation. Parallels of his mom and dad, his childhood, how his mom would decorate the house from top to bottom, make it nice and festive for Eddie. His dad would come in, tear it down, mock her for it in a drunken slur. She’d always buy him a gift, make sure Eddie’s stocking was filled with what she could: penny candies, knitted gloves, dented wacky packs from the discount store. Eddie would make her an ornament, his Mamaw Munson would get her a little gift, but never his dad. Her stocking was always empty.

A choked sob caught in Eddie’s throat, vomit spewing into the shiny surface under him. Clammy forehead pressed to the cool countertop, he took a deep, shaky sob to try and keep the cry in. The mangled sob that shook his core, rattled his lungs, burned all the way from his stomach to his nose.

Calloused hands wiped at his wet cheeks, chapped from the cold, giving a fierce sniffle. Eddie felt eight again, noticing for the first time the way his mother’s eyes dimmed, how she tried to hide it when she opened the empty stocking. She had been hopeful that there had been something in there, that this year his dad would remember her, be better. He never was.

Eddie couldn’t be him, he wouldn’t be. He’d already reflected him in every way, too much for his own comfort lately- screaming at you, that rage that tore through him, bloody knuckles and aching throat that was leaving you in tears.

As his shaking fingers turned the dial, cradling the phone to his ear, he hoped you would answer- that he could just get to you, talk to you. Your mother’s cheery voice rang over the phone instead, a happy roar of chatter mixed with music playing behind her voice.

“Oh, Ed?” Your mother’s voice sounded concerned, he could practically see her frown, one you inherited. “Are you feeling better, hon? We miss you. I’m sending your stocking and gifts home- well, not the stocking, I’ll keep that but what’s inside.”

You’d told them he was sick, covered for him- just like his mom used to do for his dad. The kindness in her tone nearly sent Eddie over the edge, pulling the receiver away to take a breath, to keep the sob from coming out.

“Ed?” Your mom tried again. “Are you there?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry. I just… Is s-she around?” Eddie’s voice was tight with emotion, and he knew if he said your name, it would break whatever facade he’s mustered at the moment.

“Uh-huh, one second.” A staticy rustle filled the receiver, your name muffled and falling from your mom’s lips.

Eddie didn’t realize he was holding his breath, until he released it, a desperate sigh of relief when you took the phone. “Hello?”

“H-Hi, baby.” Eddie tried, hoping his voice was soft enough, gentler now- than the last time he talked to you.

“Hi.” You bit, through gritted teeth, dragging the chord of the phone into the hall with you. “What do you want? I’m with my family.”

His water line brimmed again, overflowing with angry tears. “Yeah, I know, honey. I’m sorry, I just,” Eddie took a deep breath, stuttering in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Your own lip wobbled, fresh with tears. You’d pulled into your parents drive the night before, eyes red rimmed from your cry, telling them something about the hay and your allergies. They’d believed you, pulled you in with a warm hug. It was nice, comforting at your home, surrounded by your family until you were asleep. A bed had never felt so cold.

“I don’t-” You grit, trying to keep your own emotions in. “This is why you called me?”

Eddie flinched at the venom in your own tone. “I am sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby, you don’t even kno-ow.” Eddie’s chest stuttered. “I didn’t mean any of that, I swear. I was- I’m just… I’m not doing great this year, baby.”

Your heart jumped at the shake in his tone, the rawness of his words. “You really hurt my feelings, Ed.” You admitted, your voice smaller. “I don’t- I don’t know why you don’t like my family. They love you-”

“-I don’t.” Eddie shook his head, fist balled around the phone. “I didn’t mean any of that. I love your family, I-I love you.”

“So, you said all of that, why?” You scoffed lowly.

Eddie’s knee bounced. He hadn’t expected you just to forgive him, but it was still hard- hard when you weren’t here, when you were away and hurt, and he was alone and miserable.

Miserable, the single word in the world he wished to never say or hear again.

“I…” Eddie’s hand threaded through his matted locks. “I don’t know. It’s weird. Not- no, no, no, not you or- fuck, that’s not what I meant.” Eddie rambled stupidly.

“I feel weird about being with your family on Christmas because…I like it.” Eddie’s vision was blurred, watery with tears. “It’s just different from what I grew up with, and… and I don’t know, sometimes it’s just, it’s overwhelming, baby.”

You stayed silent on the other end, the only sound signaling you were still on the line was the faint yells and mummers of your family, only making Eddie’s heart ache even more. “They’re all so nice, it-it makes me… I didn’t have that. My family didn’t have that, and-and every time I’m there it just makes me wish they did.”

The both of you fell into a silence, one that was becoming far too common. Eddie’s heart hammered behind his ribcage. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. This- nothing is your fault, you know that? This is on me. I shouldn’t have ever talked to you like that, said that shit. I’d beat the dog walking shit out of anyone who said that shit about you, and then I say it? That’s just-” Eddie let out a humorless, watery laugh, fist pressed to his forehead in an attempt to extinguish that fury burning through his chest again.

A cleansing breath later, Eddie’s head was in his hands. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, wobbly when he told you. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s… We can talk later, Eddie.” Your voice finally rang through, shaky and unsteady, clutching the phone like it was your life long. “Thank you for calling me. For telling me that.”

The silence settled again, both of you unsure, scared to make the next move.

“I, uh, I wish you were here.” You broke the silence this time. “My family keeps asking about you. They miss you, a lot.”

“I miss you.” Eddie sniveled, wiping his running nose with the back of his hand. “I mean, I miss them too, but I just… I miss you a lot.”

A pause, the slight clear of your throat. “I have to go.” You whispered, voice tight and Eddie knew you were close to tears. “I have to help my mom set the table, but… I’ll call you tonight.”

“I love you.” Eddie blurted, sacred he might forget to say it with how his head was swimming. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

“I know.” Your voice was soft. It made Eddie’s stomach lurch all over again.

The line droned in a steady beep after your receiver clicked. Eddie held the phone there, eyes shining dully with unshed tears in the lights of the strung decorations. A defeated slump in his shoulders. He didn’t feel any better, worse if anything.

Eddie was surrounded by a deafening silence, the house too quiet. Too quiet to be Christmas. Too quiet without you.

The soft glow from the barn pulled Eddie’s attention, the doors pulled to keep the heat in for the horses. He twisted the phone in his palms, turning it over in his hands gently before jabbing his fingers back into the dial.

The line rang once, twice, nearly a third before it was answered.

“Gare, hey, I’ve got a big ask…”

“Honey,” Your mom’s eyes squinted, yellow rubber gloves dunked into the soapy warm water in front of her. “I thought you said Ed wasn’t coming.”

You nearly dropped the plate you were drying, breath caught in your throat. “What?” You hissed, leaning to look out the small window over the sink. Sure enough, there in the dark, snow covered driveway was Eddie’s truck.

“I-I didn’t think he was.” You shook your head, setting the plate down gently. “He said he wasn’t feeling well. I’m just- I’ll be right back.” Slipping on your boots, not bothering to lace them, you stepped outside into the frigid cold of the night.

Eddie didn’t see you, back turned, grabbing armfulls of bags out of the back seat. “What are you doing here?”

He jumped, nearly dropping your aunt’s present, eyes wide when he turned. “Shit, I-I…” Eddie’s tongue tied, jumbled and thick in his mouth. He didn’t expect to see you, standing there, in your little Christmas sweater that had his heart swelling. He wanted to kiss you, coo at you for being so cute, get you all blushy and giggle at his compliments.

Your lifted brow, arms crossed over your chest protectively stopped him. “I wanted to give your family their gifts. I-I was just going to leave them on the porch and tell you when I called tonight.”

Your foot twisted into the snow, eyes cast downward. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did.” Eddie nodded firmly. “They’re not- It’s not great. The mall was closing early so I had to kinda rush, but, uh, I wanted to get them something.” He looked at you, eyes shining with emotion. “Wanted to get you something too.”

Your stocking was hooked onto his left pointer finger, a crooked bend of the knitted fabric, hanging heavy and filled with tiny trinkets and things that ruffled. You looked at it carefully, face quipping just barely, but Eddie caught it. “I didn’t want you to think I forgot about you.” Eddie muttered lowly, breath showing under the glow of the lights.

“Thank you.” You nodded, swallowing thickly around your words. “I can help you take them in.”

“No,” Eddie shook his head. “I don’t want to… I know you don’t want to be with me right now, baby, and I get it. I’ll just drop them off-”

“-Come inside.” You sighed, arms still tight around his chest. “My mom already saw you. It’s just easier for you to come in.”

Eddie tried to hide the hurt he felt with a simple nod. “I don’t want to ruin your Christmas.” He muttered softly. “More than I already have.”

“Eddie,” You sounded tired, words heavy with emotion, exhaustion maybe. “Come inside.” Your eyes lifted to his, so sweet, nearly pleading he was sure he might sob. “There’s still leftovers. I’ll heat them up for you.”

So Eddie followed you inside, gifts under his arms, letting your family greet him warmly, chocking his red eyes and matching nose up to the hay fever he’d been having. Your mom fixed him a plate, poured you both a glass of mulled wine.

In the tiny bed of your childhood room, the two of you talked in hushed voices, silent apologies traded over soft touches.

“I didn’t mean it.” Eddie whispered, nose pushing into your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You nodded, and you did. Even if it still hurt, still wounded from the words, you knew that was true.

Eddie’s cheek pressed against your shoulder, hands grabbing at you, pulling you closer and closer like at any moment you might disappear from his clutches. “My mom,” His voice cracked, eyes pinching shut. “She used to love Christmas.”

“Really?” You hum, tone as even as it could be with the shock. Eddie never spoke about his mother.

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “She, uh, she used to decorate every Thanksgiving. Pull out the tree after dinner, put it up. My dad,” Eddie swallowed around the bitter title. “He was always passed out by then, so she could do it pretty quickly. Get it up and ready before he’d wake up and bitch. It wasn’t a lot, a tree and some other stuff, but I’d always help her. She-She always let me put the angel on top.”

You weren’t sure what to say, what you were supposed to say. Eddie’s mom was a sensitive spot. One he didn’t talk about much, at all, really.

“She would really like your family.” Eddie’s voice was small, a rarity. Always the loud, rough and tough cowboy, commanding wild bucks all day. Small wasn’t in his vocabulary.

“They would have really liked her.” You said slowly, vibrations from your voice tickling Eddie’s ear.

Eddie knew it was true. He felt stupid, really, waves of horrible guilt crashing over him again as he clung tighter to you. Your family wasn’t the enemy, wasn’t one to try and replace his own family, just an extension.

He meant what he said, that his Mama would like your family. He already knew she’d love you, simply because he did. He hoped it was true, that your family would’ve loved her. He knew deep down they would have, that they would welcome her with the same warmth that they gave him.

That they’d always make sure her stocking was full on Christmas morning, because they always made sure his was.

641 notes · View notes

redcoralpot · 5 months

Text

Tougher Than Nails - Mike Schmidt X M!Reader

Warnings/Details: NSFW content, implied substance abuse, alcohol, cowboy!reader, hankie/cowboy hat code.

Summary: Mike goes to a bar downtown in hopes of getting his mind off of court, but instead finds something much healthier.

A/N: Everyone should thank my boyfriend for this idea; he's always the one that reminds me that I am technically a 'cowboy'. He saves a horse very often.

Word Count: 1.8K

Bars weren’t really Mike’s thing. Any alcohol he’s ever had tasted like crap, and becoming an alcoholic would just be another check on Aunt Jane’s list to prove to the court that he wasn’t suitable for custody. Hell, he swore her perfume was still clinging onto his nose hairs, and all he wanted to do was escape her. Escape reality, too. Mike remembered when his father used to do just that after Garret disappeared, drowning himself in the bitter liquid at night, his speech slurred. That’s why he was here, at a bar in downtown Afton, while Maxine stayed with Abby. He was desperate.

The building was crowded, delightful chatter and jazz music filling the air. Lights were strung along the wooden walls, narrowly dodging the black and white photos hanging by themselves. More customers squeezed in behind him; Mike frantically searched for any open spot in the room. Hallelujah– a single stool was left vacant near the serving counter, and Mike shuffled into it, shoulders tense. The bartender seemed to notice his presence, as she leaned towards the man, still shaking another person’s drink.

“You’re a new face,” she rattled, “may I see your license?”

Mike fumbled with his wallet, sliding the card for her to see, “Uh, sure.”

“Right, you’re all clear; would you like to open a tab?”

A man cut in before he could answer, and for the first time, Mike got a good look at the person sitting beside him, “Just add whatever he orders to mine, Molly.”

She shrugged, the key hanging from her left pocket jingling, “Easier for me.”

You chuckled, the brim of your hat covering your eyes. It was decorated with embroidery and leather, complimenting your purple button up shirt, though that was partially hidden by a black vest. Two hankies hung out of your back, left pocket, similar to Molly’s keychain. One was rust colored, but the other was a complimentary gray; Mike thought it was an interesting stylistic choice.

“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

As the bartender turned, scribbling in a notebook, you inquired, “So, what’s a fine boy like you doing ‘round these parts?”

Mike grabbed the foaming beer that was placed in front of him, “I live nearby.”

“That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He hesitated to answer, instead choosing to take a long sip of the beverage. It burned down his throat, the flavor making his lips curl and his head a little more dizzy. Somehow, it loosened his will, and he found his lips moving without his permission. Your energy was just hypnotizing; he felt himself being pulled in.

“Needed a break from stress,” Mike admitted, picking at the glass’ label.

You cocked your head to the side, your hat tipping upward, “Just ‘cause you’re in a hole, doesn’t mean you gotta keep digging. Alcohol isn’t the cure to what you’re feelin’.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not even my medicine works anymore.”

“I go here for stress relief too,” you assured, downing a shot, “but not necessarily for the drinks.”

Your hand hovered over the small of his back, looking at him for consent. When he didn’t move away, you settled your fingers there, feeling a shiver run through Mike’s body. Some of the previous tension released from his shoulders, and he almost leaned back in relief. Many of the customers in this bar were paired with the same sex, unlike most of the movies he’d seen that included the subject. So, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird if he did.

You elaborated, “People can be cruel, can’t they, sweetheart? Comin’ to a place like this, where everyone’s like me in some way or another, is a damn good bonus.”

“Like you?”

“Y’know,” you gestured to your handkerchiefs, “queer and such.”

He paused, “Ah.”

“You didn’t know this was a boy bar?”

Mike replied, “I kinda just looked up the closest bar to my house.”

…

“Good to know.” Your hand fell away from his back.

He almost chased it. Mike liked the feeling, the weight of your fingers pressing into such an intimate spot. However, he wasn’t tipsy enough for that, and controlled himself. He watched as you spoke to Molly, the lady’s eyes flicking towards him and back, and you slipped her the money needed to cover the tab. You tipped your hat towards Mike, a respectful way to put distance between you, before disappearing into the suffocating crowd. Molly side eyed him, sweeping away his bottle, before leaving as well. Mike swallowed, pulling loose skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. It was now, or never– perhaps alcohol wasn’t the only way, after all. You were right.

Mike could still see the very top of your hat swerving above the crowd, and he trailed after it to the best of his ability. A random girl almost elbowed him in the face, and he was sure his shins would be bruised after tonight. Your shadow was reflecting in the glass door, growing fainter and fainter as you walked further away, your hips swaying. Mike pushed it open, the vision dissolving, and cold air stung his cheeks. The moon reflected off of car hoods, the only way he was able to see where he was running. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, as you flinched.

Mike’s ears were red, probably from the alcohol, and you stared at him, “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer you got before your collar was jerked forward.

Your lips crashed violently with his; your teeth clicking as he struggled to pull you closer. Mike was still fisting your shirt as you brought your hands to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, trying to gentle the kiss.

You mumbled against his mouth, “Better not be some experiment of yours, pretty boy.”

“Nope,” he whispered, the aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue.

His back hit the side of your car, and his hands moved from your collar to swinging his arms around your neck. Your knee found its way in between Mike’s thighs, pressing against his crotch, and his groan was swallowed by your lips. Mike whined when you trailed down, aiming instead for his neck. Dark marks and bites soon decorated the pale flesh, his blood dripping a contrasting splash of color.

Tugging on his earlobe, you challenged, “Gonna come back to my place?”

Mike doubted he ever agreed to something so quickly.

The drive was long, too long in his opinion. Though, it was most likely only fifteen minutes, at most. Mike didn’t even have to walk up the driveway to your cabin; his legs were locked around your hips as you carried him through the door and up the stairs. He ground his groin against you, searching for any possible friction. You tossed him onto your bed, unbuckling your belt, holding it taut. The man in front of you wiggled back and spread his legs to make room for you. You snickered at how willing Mike was, considering his hesitation when you first met.

You regularly kept lube on the bedside table, just to be prepared for when you brought men home from the bar. However, this one was different in a way you had trouble putting into words, other than positive. His thighs shook as you massaged the liquid into his hole, a hand covering his mouth to prevent you from hearing his noises. Ah, now that wouldn’t do, would it?

In response, you tugged his hand off of his mouth, “Lemme hear you.”

Such pretty sounds from a pretty mouth, it was truly a shame. When Mike immediately went back to covering them up, you slid your fingers out of him, instead reaching for your abandoned belt. His eyes trailed after your hands as they bound his wrists together in front of him, almost akin to handcuffs. Mike couldn’t see much of your expression after your head dipped down, only the shit-eating grin playing on your lips. Of course, that was before you took your hat off by the crown and placed it firmly on his head, though it was a tad too big for him.

“Why don’t you keep that safe for me, sweetheart?”

For a second, Mike was confused. Keep it safe? Just what were you planning on doing? He felt a grip on his waist, right before his world spun around him, and the positions were practically reversed. The guard was now sitting on top of you, or more so your crotch, his thighs caging in your hips. Mike’s hair was disheveled and the light on the ceiling created a sort of halo around him, and fuck, did you think he was pretty. Only a few select people had ever gotten to wear your hat, and you could confidently say that he was the most beautiful in it.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting your cock slip through the opening, “You ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

You had a grip on his waist again, slowly guiding him down. You didn’t thrust, didn’t force him to go fast, and allowed him his proper time to adjust, “How’s that feelin’?”

“G-good,” he shuddered, precum leaking from his tip, “think ‘m ready.”

“You haven’t seen the brunt of it yet, boy!” You grunt, thrusting the rest of you inside, brushing against Mike’s prostate.

The man on top of you moaned, and the sound was so uncharacteristically loud that even he seemed surprised by it. Mike leaned down, resting his tied fists on your chest in order to keep his balance. His sweat dampened your collarbones, his drool smearing on your neck, and the pathetic excuse of a guard tried leaving kisses over the areas he could reach. You soon found a rhythm to your thrusts; groans were punched out of your throat on their own.

Mike could feel heat rushing through his brain, bringing tears that stuck to his eyelashes, covering any thoughts or hesitance he may have had before. That wasn’t enough for it– it spread like wildfire down his body, down to where your fingers were leaving bruises, and down to his red, leaking dick. Something deep was brewing inside of him, nothing he’s felt since his hormonal teenage years. Hell, he didn’t even have time to process it when you kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that he’s such a needy slut; it exploded.

When he finally came to, he could feel his thighs twitching and your heaving, sticky abs below him. His eyelids felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was stay there with you. You were rubbing circles into his back, attempting to pull out, but a grumble from Mike made you stop. In fact, you were saying things, but it sounded muffled and far away. He took great comfort in your voice, no matter what you were talking about. It was getting farther and farther away, yet still managed to follow him into his dreams. For the first time since the incident with Garret, he did not have a nightmare.

Taglist: @cannabrisano @kai_beanz @fandomz-brainrot @slimemakermas

#x male reader #male reader #lgbtq #male y/n #gay #cowboy reader #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddys #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x male reader #x top male reader #top male reader #x dom male reader #dom male reader #bottom character

1K notes · View notes

jjkeremika · 4 months

Text

AoT men favorite places with you

description: AoT men’s favorite place to be intimate with you

pairing: Eren, Jean, Connie, Reiner, Porco, Levi, Erwin, Armin, Zeke, Bertolt // x reader

nsfwww

Eren

• prefers public places, not well hidden, like fingering you under the table or having you suck him off behind the racks at restaurants and shops

• risky, likes the thrill of potentially being caught, swears the adrenaline makes you look and sound sexier

• loves sucking on your neck and leaving hickeys, bites your shoulders enough to leave a visible mark for days

• shushes you while he strokes your hair, tells you that you need to be more quiet when you swallow him whole, that you need to bite your lip when he rocks his hips

Jean

• at home, in the kitchen, while prepping for dinner or while baking desserts

• likes lifting you onto the countertop, kissing and fondling you until his preset timers are going off

• always takes his shirt off before putting the apron on, just in case he spills something on it anyway

• smacks you with a spatula or wooden spoon when you walk by, threatens to do it again when you squeal

• watches you lick the batter off your finger with dilated pupils and starts palming his erection through the apron, staring at your lips the whole time

Connie

• well if it wasn’t the arcade, it wasn’t anywhere but home

• hes winning prizes and tickets at every game, smiling and handing you the gifts to keep, smacking your ass and kissing your cheek intermittently

• sometimes asks you to blow on his hands before ski-ball or air-hockey for good luck

• reminds you of that when he asks you to blow on his cock later, behind the pac-man operator, when he’s unzipping his jeans and you’re dropping to your knees

• sometimes will push up against you from behind, pushing your hips into the game as you play, as he teaches you

Reiner

• rents cabins so you two can be conpletely alone because he loves to hear you scream, and doesn’t want a soul to hear or see you (only him)

• likes you on your hands and knees, his hand roughly pulling your hair

• situates you so both of you are facing the wide window, overlooking the natural scenery as his hips slap against yours

• smirks at you in the reflection in the window, blows kisses when you both make eye contact in it

Porco

• could always find him hanging out under the bleachers, and he greets you with open arms and a big kiss each time

• wraps his jacket around you when he takes your shirt off; puts your shirt over his backpack so it doesn’t touch the ground

• holds you so close and so tight, protects your head with his hand if you two get too close to the metal benches

• loves the rattle of the bleachers when you grab onto the metal bars or benches as he fucks into you from behind

Levi

• hates doing it in bathrooms and kitchens

• prefers taking you to expensive hotels with clean sheets and fluffy towels, usually rents a room with two large beds so you can rest and relax on spotless sheets

• cleaning up is his favorite part, lapping up your streams of fluid from your thighs like a parched dog

• loves shoving his cock down your throat when he’s about to orgasm, loves feeling and watching you swallow his cum, enjoying everything more thoroughly with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to dirty a towel

Erwin

• back of the car, like you’re both hormone-crazed teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other

• has a huge car, so sprawling you out into any position isn’t an obstacle

• always wraps his tie around his wrist, dangling it slightly, and sometimes sharply slaps it against your ass

• plays music through the speakers every time, always drives to the ocean or the lake

• likes the visual of you beneath him, his cock pushed between your breasts

Armin

• likes to be in private, at home BUT the back room at the public library comes quite close

• works there part time, so acquiring the room was easy, and there was something about seeing you amongst unbound books that evoked something inexplicable within him

• loves when you bend over him like an open book, especially when you’re asking him to lick you out while you suck him off

• always reminds you to be quiet when he’s louder than you are

Zeke

• likes to take you to plays and musicals and theaters and operas, “to enjoy the sounds and symphonies of art,” he’d say

• his hand is crawling up your thigh before intermission, tracing the tights pattern up your skirt

• hides the playwright over your lap so those in neighboring seats can’t gawk (but he also kind of likes it when they do)

• rushes you to the bathroom during intermission, hiking up your skirt and ripping a hole in the crotch of your tights

Bertolt

• plays basketball, so meeting him in the locker room after practice is the routine

• explores different positions on the benches and in the showers with you, bending you over it or holding you up

• loves holding your butt cheeks like two globes, moaning every time he compares his hand and dick sizes to the size of your ass

• blushes when he sees you at his games because he knows what will happen later in the locker room, what you’ve both practiced for

305 notes · View notes

crushmeeren · 7 months

Text

Bakugou/Kirishima/Fem Reader

Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+; continue scrolling or block if you’re not into this

Warnings; Angst w/ Happy Ending, Vaginal Sex, Blow Jobs, Kissing, Jealous/Possessive Bakugou & Kirishima, Cursing, Bit of Degradation (by that I mean Bakugou calls reader a nasty little bitch, in a loving way), Cream Pies, Mentions of Being Nauseous, Fluff sprinkled throughout

AO3 Link; Lights Out🍓💥

Word Count; 9.6k

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You lean your elbows on the bar top in front of you, causally moving your head from side to side. Taking a moment you study your environment. The flashing lights are fucking blinding you. The base of the music is loud enough you can feel it rattling your rib cage. It’s a lot, and as you wait on your next shot, you think this may have been a mistake. All you wanted was to drink a bit, dance with your boyfriends, and head home before it’s too late. As this bullshit usually goes, that isn’t what happens.

You look down as you notice the bartender place your shot in front of you. You nod in thanks wrapping your fingers around the small glass. Standing up, you raise the liquid to your lips. You throw your head back as you down the shot. It’s gross. It threatens to come right back up— so you swallow fast, nose scrunching in disgust. It’s a lemon drop, which isn’t the worst, but it’s still alcohol.

Regardless of the sweetness, it still burns, making your stomach swirl nauseously. It tastes like an alcohol wipe and you shiver. Sitting the shot glass on the wooden counter top, you turn around and scan the room for your boyfriends, back leaning against the bar. It’s hard to see in the dimly lit, crowded room. You can feel your cheeks heat up, from the alcohol and from the atmosphere. The air is thick with the warmth radiating from all the dancing bodies.

You step away from the bar, standing on your tip toes for a second. You curse, because you’re too short and there’s too many damn people in here. You can’t spot the red head or the blonde anywhere. A flash of irritation runs through you and your lip tugs into a sneer. You think that it shouldn’t be so hard to find two men with such outrageous hair. To be fair, you are a little tipsy, that may be impeding your search a bit.

You step further away from the bar and you sway slightly, hand shooting out to grip the bar stool next to you. Okay, maybe you’re more tipsy than you thought. You let out a irritated huff, the alcohol fueling your frustration. It makes your skin feel hot and itchy as you remember the argument you had with Katsuki. The three of you had already been here an hour, truly on your way to being buzzed when you started arguing.

Which had resulted in you stomping off to the bar alone. Their protests had fallen on deaf ears as you walked away, needing a moment to cool off before it turned into a shouting match. You know you’re being petty, plus this all happened less than 10 minutes ago. You can hear the blondes gravelly voice in your head, arguing with you about some dumb shit that happened at your hero agency today.

You know it’s highly logical that the two of you are just arguing because you’re all a bit drunk. That whatever happened wasn’t a big deal. A decent size part of you knows you just should find him and Eijirou and just dance until they’re both rock hard, squishing you in the middle of them. The other, larger, and more in charge part of your brain at the moment, thinks Katsuki can pound sand.

You laugh to yourself, even though it wasn’t funny. The thumping music is making your head pound in time with the beat. You gradually start to make your way towards the area of the bar where it seems everyone is dancing in their own worlds. Against your better judgement, being stubborn as fuck, you’ve decided you don’t need either of the boys, you can dance alone.

You reach the edge of the crowd, seeing everyone woven together and you start to squeeze your way into the sea of people. The further in you get, the more you sweat. Material of your clothing sticking to your chest and back. Your only saving grace is that you’re wearing a mid thigh length, tight, black dress. So your legs can breathe and it’s short sleeved so you have some sort of air flow up top.

You look around, feeling just drunk enough that you have a pleasurable buzz. Luckily, you haven’t started slurring yet and you can still walk. Maybe not a straight line, but you can walk nonetheless. They call it liquid courage for a reason, because you feel no fear as you start to sway along to the beat. Elbow to elbow with the strangers around you.

There’s about five centimeters of space between you and everyone else. It’s one giant pile of bodies. So you don’t really notice when someone slides up behind you, until their chest is pressed right up against your back. Whoever it is is trying to dance with you. You jolt, your eyes fly open. Fuck, you hadn’t even realized you closed them. You assume it’s one of your boyfriends, forgetting you were even mad at Katsuki in the first place. God, you really hope it’s the blonde, you’re yearning to dance with him. Besides, who else would be so bold to get that close to you?

An unbearably warm arm wraps around your waist. A hand splayed on your belly and you’re yanked back into the chest of the person behind you. It dawns upon you, with frightening sobriety, that the arm wrapped around you does not belong to either of your boyfriends. Your expression twists, your heart kicks into overdrive as a chill runs down your spine. You curse internally, already pushing to get out of the iron grip. Who the hell is this person?

Fuck, if they see you like this— you don’t want them to get the wrong idea. You look up, frozen in place. Not even five feet away, standing there with a look on his face that could strike fear into the heart of God, is Katsuki. You make eye contact with him, his scarlet eyes wild, glassy from being tipsy. His face is twisted, lip pulled into a cutting sneer and his hands are curled into fists at his sides. You quickly look at Eijirous face, and god, his expression is worse than the blondes.

His face..he looks betrayed. Eyes filled with hurt, a frown marring his usually cheerful expression. A whirlwind of anxiety and guilt hits you in the chest and your hands start to shake. You take a step forward in their direction immediately. It had only been about 15 seconds since the random asshole pressed up behind you. It felt like much longer.

As soon as you were about to turn around to make sure it was Katsuki or Eijirou, is when you realized the arm belonged to a fucking stranger. It’s like steel around your middle as your forward motion is halted. You look down, stunned to see the stranger has the audacity to keep holding onto you. You clearly don’t want this, wiggling to get away.

You turn your eyes back to your boyfriends, pleading, reaching out a hand in their direction. Katsuki’s cheeks turn blood red with anger. He’s at your side in an instant. He grips your outstretched hand and rips you out of the strangers unwelcome grip. You yelp, stumbling into his chest before turning around in Katsuki’s hold.

You press your back against him, desperate to feel his warmth, and you take a look at the guy who was holding you. It’s some random, younger guy, who you’ve never seen before and you feel a bit ill. You feel a woosh of air and then Katsuki is in the mans face in less than a second. Fisting the front of random guys shirt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Katsuki yells, voice rough, but he’s loud enough to be heard over the blaring music. He clenches his jaw. The other man puts his hands up in surrender, smirking mockingly, almost laughing at him. At this point you notice a presence looming behind you. Turning your head, you notice Eijirou has joined the party. He lays a large hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, stepping up just behind him.

The man’s face drops when he sees Eijirous large form, an unwavering rock, standing behind Katsuki. You haven’t seen the red head look this terrifying for a long time. You shift on your feet nervously. His face is blank, except his eyes. They’re icy. The guy starts to stutter. You’re watching all this unfold, eyes flitting back and forth between Katsuki’s red cheeks and Eijirou’s murderous gaze. You want to feel like you’re helping, so you lace your fingers with Katsuki’s free hand to help keep him grounded. The blonde squeezes harshly in return.

“H-hey! No harm guys! I didn’t know she was your girl,” the guy stammers, stepping back. Katsuki, to your extreme surprise, lets the man go. You notice the muscle in his jaw twitching. If you weren’t so on edge, you would laugh at the fact that there’s a burn print on the front of said guys shirt. The blonde stays quiet, Eijirou keeping a steady hand on Katsukis shoulder, anchoring him in place.

“You better leave while you can. You’re lucky I’m holding him back,” Eijirou threatens, voice cold and low. Yet you can all still hear his voice cutting through the music. The man pales, nods once, and disappears into the crowd. It leaves the three of you alone. It’s awkward for a second and the realization makes you want to cry.

You hear an angry noise leave Katsukis mouth as he yanks his hand from your grip. He shrugs Eijirous hand off his shoulder, turning to look at you with burning eyes. The action punches the breath from your chest, it stings. A cold feeling trickles into your belly. You open your mouth to try to explain to him, but nothing comes out. Frantically you try to step closer but he gives you a searing look and turns to stomp off from the crowd. The back of your eyes sting with tears. You take in a stuttering breath, feeling your heart squeeze watching him leave. Quickly, you look to Eijirou, moving towards him. You grip his forearm.

“Eiji, please, I wasn’t dancing with that guy! It was two seconds and then I realized it wasn’t either of you and I was going to push him away. That’s when you guys saw me! I swear!” you choke out, voice watery. Tears well up in your eyes. This is not how you wanted this night to go. You can feel your whole arm shaking as you dig your nails into his flesh. He glances at where your fingers bite into his skin. He tries to give you a reassuring smile, but it comes out too tight, his eyebrows are pinched. Anxiety twists your stomach. He holds up a hand when he sees you’re about to speak again.

“I know, I know you weren’t baby. Just—please, not here? I’m sure Kat is already outside, about to blow something up. So can we just talk at home?” Eijirou pleads, voice lined with frustration. You swallow around the lump in your throat, dropping your hand from his arm. You nod once, feeling numb.

Eijirou turns from you and walks out of the crowd, presumably to find Katsuki. You feel the ugly emotion of hurt migrate to your belly, it makes bile burn in the back of your throat. Your heart still pounds, fingers trembling as you wring them together. You watch Eijirou walk away. Hot tears spill over your lashes, tracking down your cheeks. You sniffle, wiping your tears with your hands, heart in a vice. They didn’t even wait for you.

💥💥🍓🍓

It was a long, silent, ride home in your Uber. You trail behind the other two, shuffling your feet on the way to your front door. You pretend the cracks in the sidewalk are interesting, eyes trained on the ground, following the boys by instinct. It’s still humid outside, your palms damp as you lace your fingers together in front of you. You’re all sober at this point. Adrenaline from the previous situation flushing away the buzz.

It’s freaking you out though, that Katsuki still hasn’t said a word. Usually he’s spewing insults. He would be on a tangent about a guy like that. Yet, he’s quiet. Once you get inside you know you’ll have to talk, you can’t let this go on all night. It feels like this has been made into a much bigger deal than it needs to be. You stop at the door and wait for Eijirou to unlock it. He does, pushing it open and letting you and Katsuki go in first. He comes in last, shutting the door behind him and locking it. The blessed, cool air of your home chills your overheated skin. You sigh in relief.

You study the blonde, noticing he’s about to walk off towards your room. Before Katsuki can get far, you catch his wrist, wrapping your fingers delicately around the bone. He doesn’t move and you chomp into your lower lip, nerves creeping down your spine.

“Kat, wait please. I swear baby I wasn’t dancing with that guy. I thought it was one of you. It was only a few seconds before I realized it wasn’t and I was trying to get away when you saw me,” you explain, voice wobbly, fingers tightening. You hear Katsuki let out a sigh, shoulders sagging. He turns back around to face you and you let go of his wrist. His expression, it looks like he’s fighting with himself. You’re hopeful, when after a few seconds the sharp edges of his expression smooth out. Your heart skips a beat when you feel his calloused hand come up to cradle your cheek. You lean into the heat of his palm, nose nuzzling slightly at his wrist.

“I know, I wanted to punch that motherfuckers lights out. I believe you, I’m not mad at you pretty thing,” Katsuki murmurs, voice low and gravelly. His eyes are gentle as he runs a thumb over your cheekbone. You chuckle, knowing this is his version of an apology for overreacting. You, undeniably, melt into his hands. He always has that effect on you.

“I wish you would have,” you joke lamely, small smile appearing on your lips. Katsuki smirks, eyes full of mirth. You hear Eijirou’s cute laugh ring out from behind you. You feel a tug in your chest and you yearn to see him. You turn out of the blondes hold, gazing softly at Eijirou. He’s standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed over his chest. He’s grinning brightly again, watching the two of you interact.

Eijirou’s sharp teeth are on display. You adore the way he smiles. You take in his grin and a warm, comforting feeling builds up in your chest. You can’t hold back as you throw yourself at the red head. He immediately opens his arms to catch you, eyes widening in surprise. Your arms snake around his waist and he wraps you up by the shoulders, hugging you tight. You bury your face in his chest, feeling his squishy cheek rest on the top of your head.

“I’m so sorry Ei! I know I hurt your feelings, but I swear I would never touch anyone but the two of you,” you promise, voice muffled in Eijirou’s broad chest. You feel a chuckle vibrate through his chest and your head raises, gaze leveling with his. He frames your face with his hands, eyes bright and full of love. He coos at you.

“It’s alright, my sweet baby girl. I know you wouldn’t. Besides,” he purrs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t let anyone put their hands on you. You’re ours, aren’t you? Pretty girl,” Eijirou murmurs, voice soft and sweet. You inhale sharply, arousal hitting you like a freight train. Warmth pools in your belly, sending a shiver down your spine. A side effect of his low, soothing rumble. You squirm, hugging him tighter, feeling the heat from his chest through both your shirts.

“Yes of course, I only belong to the two of you,” you reply slyly, knowing it’ll rile up both men. Katsuki is immediately behind you, lean body pressed up against your back. Their figures make you feel small where you stand between them. It makes your pussy throb. The air between the three of you is starting to blaze. You know they can feel it too when Eijirou lets go of your face, resting his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them briefly. Katsuki’s hair tickles the back of your neck and then his lips are on your ear. He flicks his tongue out and runs it along your earlobe. A low moan escapes your throat in return.

“You belong to us huh? Glad to hear you know your place, kitten. Mm, maybe you wanted us to see you dancing with that guy. Make us jealous. So that when we got home, we could remind you who you belong to. Isn’t that right Ei?” Katsuki whispers, breath dancing over your skin. A shiver runs down your spine and they both press closer, leaving no space for you to move. You watch Eijirou’s expression turn heated, lustful. A pretty pink blossoms on his cheeks at Katsuki’s words. He bites his bottom lip and tilts his head slightly, eyes piercing as he speaks.

“You know what? I think you’re right Kit Kat. Our sweet girl just wanted to be put back into her place all along. You want us to show you who owns you baby?” he teases, voice sweet like candy. He tickles his fingers down your arms, giving you goosebumps. You swallow, feeling like cotton balls are lining your throat. Your hands have come up to rest on the red heads chest. You’re so turned on now, breath coming out a bit faster. Your pussy clenches around air, rhythmically.

“Fuck, yes, show me you two own me. I want it. After tonight, I want to forget the feeling of that guys hands,” you whine, pressing your ass back into Katsuki’s pelvis. His half hard cock pushes into your lower back and he lets out a groan. His large hands grip your hips from behind and he bites a kiss into your neck. You yelp, a sharp flash of pain radiates up to your jaw, feeling his teeth dig in. He lets go, a soft huff, which you think is a laugh, touches your skin. It tickles.

“Sound good to you, red?” Katsuki asks, raising his head to meet Eijirou’s eyes. The red head nods, looking exceptionally eager. He looks like an excited, overgrown puppy. Yet you know, despite his appearance, he can be quite mean in the bedroom when he wants too.

“More than good Kat,” he laughs, bouncing lightly on his feet. You glance down at Eijirou’s waist, seeing he’s already hard, thick cock straining against his jeans. The want you feel is blistering, skin entirely too hot. Katsuki snickers meanly and lets go of your waist, backing away. Your back feels cold and then Eijirou lets go too, taking away all of your heat. You whine, pushing out your lower lip to Eijirou, knowing you can get him to give you what you want. As usual, he’s unable to resist your pout. He steps back up to you. You can physically feel Katsuki’s eyes roll from behind you.

“What is it baby girl?” Eijirou coos, voice airy. He’s unable to stop himself from placing a hand on the back of your neck, tilting your head up. You bat your lashes at him slowly.

“Carry me please?” you plead, reaching your arms up to him. You hear Katsuki snort from behind you. Eijirou giggles, immediately bending down, waiting. You jump up, securing your legs on his waist, arms tangled around his neck as he stands up straight, holding your thighs. He strides forward, walking towards your bedroom, winking at Katsuki when he passes by. The blonde raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t be like that Kat, I know you would’ve carried her if she asked,” he comments , grinning at the blonde. Katsuki rolls his eyes, but he grins coyly, knowing he would in a heartbeat. You stick your tongue out at Katsuki playfully over Eijirous shoulder as you get further away. Katsuki smirks wickedly at you, eagerly following along. He’ll show you who you belong to alright.

💥💥🍓🍓

The low overhead light of your room casts them in a soft yellow light. They’re making you watch. They’re teaching you a lesson, you suppose. You try not to show how much you’re enjoying it. You’re all naked now, clothes scattered on the floor. Everyone’s piled on the bed. They’ve got you sitting on your calves, facing them. You have a perfect side view of Katsuki sucking down Eijirous cock. It’s not fucking fair and you can feel your pussy pulsate, slick lips gliding together every time you shift your thighs. A low heat warring in your belly.

You decide to let Eijirou’s pretty face take away the attention from your aching cunt for now. The red head’s cheeks are a soft pink color. He bites his bottom lip, watching his cock disappear over and over in Katsuki’s wet, velvety, warm mouth. His dick pulses, knowing they have your undivided attention and you can’t do anything but sit and admire the view. Watching Eijirou’s smug expression makes your mouth dry.

It’s unbearable, how hot they are together, you struggle to keep still. They’ve decided you can’t touch yourself or them—yet. You want nothing more than to trail a hand down and rub circles into your clit. You try to distract yourself from the strong urge to tug the blonde off Eijirou’s cock and get him to make out with you over the red heads leaking tip. Instead you let your eyes roam Katsuki’s form, taking extra time to admire the perky swell of his ass.

Your hand twitches, wanting to smack the shit out of Katsukis pale flesh, to leave your handprint there. You watch as your boyfriend lays on his belly, between the red heads large thighs. He’s resting the weight of his forearms and hands on Eijirous legs. He shallowly rubs his cock against the mattress beneath him. It makes you want to roll him over and swallow his cock until he cries.

He’s easily bobbing his head up and down on Eijirou’s thick dick. He looks like a fucking pro. Which, he always excels at everything he does. Sucking cock is no exception. It makes your clit ache listening to the sounds Eijirou let’s out, they’re undeniably sinful. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off Katsukis stretched, red lips, making Eijirou’s cock vanish into his mouth. You just know the blonde is enjoying putting on a show for you. His nails bite into Eijirou’s skin. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was smirking.

The thought causes a flash of irritation to shoot through you and you really start to get frustrated, as your pussy fucking aches to be filled by one of them. It clenches around air continuously. You know if you ran a finger over your pussy it would come back drenched.. It has your hands clenching tightly into fists.

You watch the hand Eijirou has laced through the blondes hair tighten, as his head tilts further back on the pillow. A sweet, low moan spills from his lips when Katsuki’s pink tongue pokes out to massage at his cock, as he swallows Eijirou whole. You let out a whine, your clit throbs and it starts to hurt. Your belly is twisted tight, blistering arousal pooling at the base of your spine. You’re contemplating on complaining, breaking their rules, when the red head speaks.

“Baby girl,” Eijirou calls you, moaning softly. You reluctantly tear your gaze away from Katsuki’s hot mouth, head quickly turning to meet Eijirou’s eyes. You take in the even darker shade of flush on his cheeks and chest. You squirm, uncomfortably aroused as you meet his gaze.

“Yes Eiji?” you ask, voice strained. He hums, listening to the way you sound and he smiles coyly at you. Your skin burns when he speaks next.

“Enjoying the show? It feels so good, ya know. Kat’s warm mouth. It’s amazing. Bet ya wish he was eating your pussy, don’t you? Too bad you were such a bad girl tonight,” he says meanly, smirking, as he tilts his head on the pillow to look at you better.

You hear Katsuki moan around Eijirou’s cock in some form of agreement and Eijirou laughs brightly. His hair has fallen from its spiky style, splayed around his head on the pilllow. You love when his hair is down, easier to pull on. Embarrassment radiates through you, cheeks heating up and your lower lip trembles. You don’t know how Eijirou is able to keep a steady voice.

“N-no, I’m fine,” you pout, remaining stubborn, crossing your arms over your chest. Eijirou raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing your lie. Katsuki pulls off the red heads cock with a pop, letting it slap wetly against Eijirous lower belly. Eijirou lets go of the blondes hair and you look at Katsuki, who has a catlike grin on his face.

All you want in that moment is to shove your tongue down Katsuki’s throat and get railed by Eijirou’s thick cock. You swallow, involuntarily, and study Katsuki as he sits up slowly. He crawls out from Eijirou’s legs, maneuvering until he gets to you and sits on your left side, his knees touching the outside of your thigh. When his skin brushes against yours, your heart rate speeds up.

His cock looks so hard it could cut diamonds. It stands up straight, twitching when he catches you looking. You notice his lips are swollen when he grins lopsidedly and you can’t keep looking at him. The sight makes your brain turn to mush. So you glance back over at Eijirou, to read his expression.

He’s sitting up now. Eijirou abandons his spot against the headboard and comes up to mirror Katsukis position, on your right side. Your heart pounds in your chest, feeling like it’ll break through your sternum. You can feel the warmth radiating from both boys and you feel a bit of nerves, waiting for what will come next. Katsuki makes the next move, leaning close, brushing his nose over the heated skin of you cheek before whispering in your ear. His lips tickle your earlobe.

“You sure about that? Because I think you’re lying, kitten,” he purrs, voice low and smooth. The feeling of frustration builds up in your chest again and it wants to force itself out of your throat. It pushes at your esophagus, clawing at the inside. You stave it off for now, biting your lower lip so hard it might split. You can’t help but lean into the blondes touch, wanting to rest your temple on his forehead and your eyes flutter. He apparently has other plans, because he only kisses your cheek briefly and leans back. You whine loudly, eyes snapping open. They both snicker, acting like bullies. It’s too hot.

“I just- I want,” you let out a frustrated noise, rubbing the tops of your thighs with sweaty palms. “I want my pussy to get filled,” you say quickly, face burning with sheer embarrassment. You don’t look at either of them now. Until you feel Eijirou’s pointer finger on your chin, forcing you to turn your head to face him. You look at him through your lashes and he grins, all sharp teeth, as he drops his finger.

“Mm, I don’t know pretty girl. Do you deserve to have that sweet little pussy stretched?” he mocks you, now running his hand up your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive crease of your leg next to your cunt. You twitch, eyes widening as he gets closer to your aching pussy. You feel hot, irritated, and unbearably horny.

“Yes Eiji! Please, oh my god, I swear I know who I belong to,” you beg, moaning when you feel Katsuki’s plush lips pressing soft kisses into your neck. You tilt your head slightly and his canines sink into your flesh. You squeal, hand shooting out to grip the blondes thigh, nails digging in. The sharp pain radiates up to your ear, edging on pleasure. He soothes his tongue over the angry flesh.

You know there’s no way you can keep your hands to yourself anymore. Keeping one hand on the blondes thigh, you raise your other hand to tangle it in the soft red hair at the nape of Eijirou’s neck. His grin gets even wider and he has mercy on you, letting you tug on the strands. His fingers tease your outer pussy lips, playing with the soft pubic hair there. He tickles your skin and you groan, tilting your head back a bit. Your clit throbs but he ignores you and addresses Katsuki now.

“What do you think Kat? Have we tortured her enough? Think we should show her she belongs to us now?” he purrs, talking about you like you aren’t even there. It makes your blood pressure sky rocket. You grip Eijirou’s hair and he doesn’t even flinch. You huff, squirming in place and look over at Katsuki. He’s grinning wickedly, gazing into Eijirou’s eyes, very much looking like he’s in love.

“I’m feeling generous. Go on, Eijirou. Touch her, I know her pathetic pussy is begging for it,” he says condescendingly, glancing at you to wink. Your breath catches, watching Eijirou’s hand moving to the side slowly. He hovers over your cunt, stretching out the charged moment. You’re having a hard time not closing the gap and just thrusting your pussy into his hand. He leans he forehead against your temple as you tilt your head, watching his large hand.

Time seems to only exist here with the three of you. Atmosphere electric, making your blood rush. When Eijirou slides a finger between your folds, separating them and collecting the slick there, your mouth drops open. When he presses that finger against your clit, moving in slow circles, you choke on a scream. The relief makes you lightheaded, hot pulses of pleasure blistering through your limbs. You can feel Katsuki’s leg twitch under your hand.

“Eijirou, ooohh fuck, that’s so fucking good,” you sob, looking up into his ruby eyes. It forces his head back from your temple and you study his expression. His eyes are hooded, lazy grin tugging on his lips. You feel Katsuki’s groan vibrate through your shoulder. He’s resting his cheek there, watching Eijirou play with your pussy. You hear the schlick noise of the blonde pumping his own cock beside you. The sound almost kills you. It makes the smoldering heat in your belly blaze into an inferno. Your eyes flicker down to Eijirou lips. The red head tracks your movement.

“Please Eiji,” you whisper, groaning as his slippery fingers continue to circle your clit. He grants your wish, leaning in and pressing his pillowy lips against yours. They’re warm, the pressure is soft. One of his sharp teeth catches your bottom lip, like a pinprick. You love it. You kiss him like you’re starving, lips moving together over and over. It’s a messy kiss, trading saliva back and forth.

You whine sweetly into his mouth when you feel his fingers put more pressure on your clit, moving faster. He greedily swallows your noises and slips his tongue into your mouth easily. You let your tongues play together in between kisses. The sounds of Eijirou’s mouth on yours is making Katsuki’s cock throb repeatedly in his hand and he can’t take it anymore. His blood is on fire.

“Fuck, fuck this. I’m gonna fuck you now kitten. You can suck on Ei’s cock and let him fuck you after I’m done,” he growls, right next to your ear, tugging on your wrist forcing you to break the kiss. You gasp and immediately feel the red heads hand leave your clit. You don’t want him to stop, but you’d rather let Katsuki fuck you into the mattress. You let go of Eijirou’s hair and turn your head towards Katsuki.

“Yes, okay, show me who I belong to, please,” you say, breathless from the kiss. You hear the sounds of rustling sheets as Eijirou assumes his previous position, using pillows to prop up his lower back. He props up one leg and lets his thighs part for you. You stare at his cock. It’s resting on his belly, pink and flushed. Your mouth waters.

“Blow her back out Katsuki,” Eijirou says, sounding way too cheerful. Katsuki laughs, placing a hand on your back to get you moving. You feel a hot shiver roll down your spine from the words leaving Eijirou’s mouth. The gentle pressure of the blondes hand on you sets you into motion, you maneuver until you can settle in between the red heads thighs.

Once you sit on your calves, Katsuki pushes you forward with a large hand in the middle of your back. He’s rough about it and your hands flail out, catching yourself on Eijirou’s pecs. You blush, unable to help but love the way they’re treating you, almost like a toy. Eijirou smiles sweetly and in contrast to his expression, he takes the opportunity to grip both your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers, squeezing harshly.

“Katsuki!” you say warningly, moaning at the warm hands embracing your tits. They both ignore you, moving fast, because in the next second the blondes grabbing your hips and yanking you backwards. He moves you like a rag doll until your ass is propped in the air and you’re on your forearms. Face inches from the red heads thick cock. You hiss through clenched teeth when Katsuki’s palm rains down on your ass. He spanks you harshly. The flesh there heats immediately, pain flaring brightly. You look up at Eijirou, panting, cheeks red, and you notice he’s got a hand around the base of his cock. He’s pumping it slowly and watching your face intensely.

“Don’t whine. I know for damn sure you like being treated like this,” Katsuki says condescendingly, gripping both your ass cheeks and spreading them open. Cool air dances across your skin and you gasp, nuzzling your face into the crease of Eijirou’s thigh. It makes the red head groan throatily. His hand leaves his cock, threading through your hair and yanking your head up. His eyes are burning, face looking a bit more predatory.

“Tell Katsuki you love it baby girl. Ask him to fuck you and show you you’re ours,” he commands, low voice smoldering through you. You can’t really move your head, forced to make eye contact with Eijirou. So you speak.

“Kat, I love being treated like this, please fuck me baby, I love you,” you whine, fingers gripping the sheets below you. You hear the blonde laugh meanly. It feels like you’ve been shocked, jolting when the thick tip of Katsuki’s cock slips inside you easily. The small stretch is so fucking good, you moan, struggling to keep your eyes open and on Eijirou. The red heads mouth is open slightly, fingers tightening in your hair. His other hand grips the base of his shaft again, squeezing. It sends tingles of up his spine.

“That’s what I like to fucking hear kitten. I love you too, filthy girl. You’re gonna take my cock so well tonight,” Katsuki moans, steadily pressing his dick all the way in, until his hips are fit snugly to your ass. You whimper loudly, eyes fluttering shut at the delicious feeling and stretch of Katsuki’s cock. Your neck aches from being held in this position, at such an intense angle. The red head keeps you there as Katsuki starts to fuck you. He moves his hand up and down his cock leisurely, enjoying the show.

Katsuki digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and sets a brutal pace immediately, making you cry out loudly with each movement. The drag of his cock along your walls creates a friction so delicious, it sends heatwaves of pleasure rolling through your limbs. Each thrust pushes you forward a little bit, forcing your hair to pull in Eijirou’s unrelenting grip.

The blondes calloused palms starts to press down on your lower back, bending you further so he can thrust deeper. Your eyes shoot open, howling when his dick starts to rail your g spot. It feels like a lightening strike, radiating to your toes each time he hits it. The hand in your hair tightens and you hear the sharp intake of breath from Eijirou.

“Katsuki! Oh fuck! E-Eiji, please, let me - ah fuck,” you squeal, trying to get Eijirou to let you suck his cock. His dick is right in front of your face and you desperately want to feel him stretch your throat. The red head already knows what you’re asking because he immediately lets go of your hair. Your scalp tingles in relief and your neck cracks when you stretch it. Eijirou uses the hand on his shaft to rub the tip of his cock over your lips, precum smearing. You let your hands rest on his thighs, leaning your weight on him. Your mouth opens obediently, tongue hanging out.

“Shit baby girl,” Eijirou laughs. “I get to have two pretty people suck on my cock tonight. Yet, you’re the one who deserves to choke on it,” he grins, devilish look on his face. He guides his cock into your slick, warm mouth and you meet him halfway. Letting the heavy weight of him rest on your tongue as you wrap your lips around the middle of his shaft.

You groan, sending shockwaves through his groin and you give him a quick, harsh suck. He cries out, letting go of his cock and tilting his head back. He grips the sheets, trying not to let his fingers harden and rip the material. His hips jolt upwards, Katsukis thrusts push you forward and his tip hits the back of your throat. You gag, pulling your head back to suck on his tip. Katsuki growls from behind you, pressing on your lower back more, nails biting your skin.

“That’s so fucking hot. Choke on Eijis cock, pretty kitty. She sucking your cock well, baby?” he coos to Eijirou, panting, watching your head bob up and down. The red head lets out a pretty moan and Katsuki marvels at the pleasure taking over Eijirous face. It forces the knot in his belly to wind up tightly, his cock throbbing. Eijirou pants, chest flushed as he rests a hand on the back of your head to guide you. He looks into the blondes eyes. The contact sends pleasure sparking down both their spines. Eijirou runs his free hand through his hair, brushing the sweaty strands off his forehead.

“Hell yeah baby, she’s such a good cock sucker. She knows she’s made just for us,” he says breathlessly, eyeing the way the blondes abs flex with every thrust. You dig your nails into Eijirous thighs until he yelps lightly. You should’ve known he wouldn’t let you get away that. In a heartbeat, he rests both hands on the back of your head and he shoves you down until your nose is nestled in his dark pubes.

His cock presses past your uvula, into your throat. It stretches and burns. You can’t breathe, eyes starting to tear up. Spit trails down from the sides of your mouth to his balls and your jaw aches. You’re whining loudly, feeling the building sensation of your orgasm start to pool in your lower belly as Katsuki continues to fuck you.

Eijirou takes notice, resting a hand on your cheek. He’s merciful and he lets you up, his cock easily slipping from your mouth. You gasp, swallowing air to ease the burn in your lungs. Eijirous cock slaps against his lower belly, glistening from your saliva. You lean forward, resting your forehead on one of his thighs. You’re letting out little ah’s with every thrust. Pussy starting to flutter around Katsukis cock, orgasm climbing to a peak.

“You’re about to cum aren’t you pretty kitty? You want Kat to make your pussy feel so good?” the red head asks, cooing at you and running the backs of his knuckles over your cheek. You raise your head to look up at him, eyes glassy. Eijirou likes to watch your face when you cum and you’re almost there. Pleasure swelling to an unbearably hot degree.

“Yes! Kat please! Make me cum, make me cum baby. I wanna feel you cum inside of me,” you call out to him, jaw clenched so tight your teeth creak. You hear the blonde moan throatily. You feel his hips smack harshly into yours and you wail. The blunt head of his cock is kissing your cervix when Katsuki crushes you beneath him.

He lets his weight press onto your lower back. Your knees are barely holding you up at this point. It’s as if the blonde is trying to shove you through the mattress. You find a way to rest your cheek on Eijirous thick thigh, looking up and making eye contact with him. You can barely hold back your orgasm.

“God, you want me to fill you up? Claim you and mark you? Shit, I bet you want Eiji to paint your face at the same time,” he says, voice wrecked. His body is flushed, sweat gathering on his forehead. Eijirou seems intrigued by the idea, but his ultimate goal is to cum in your sweet pussy after Katsuki does, giving you sloppy seconds. His cock twitches against his belly in anticipation. Your eyes start to roll back as you clench all the muscles in your belly.

“No, no, want Eiji to fill me up too,” you choke out. Your words make Eijirou burn with want. You can hear Katsukis smirk when he speaks.

“Really? You want to feel Eijirous sloppy seconds? Let him cream pie you,” he says mockingly. Your belly swirls dangerously, his tone of voice forcing you to the edge, toeing the line. His sinful mouth ultimately sends you over the edge, pussy clenching like a vice around Katsukis cock. Your hearing gets fuzzy as your orgasm bursts. It’s like a water balloon, filled to its limit. It pops and the warm pleasure gushes through you. Toes curling, fingers tingling. You’re silent as your mouth opens in scream.

Katsuki almost chokes on the feeling of your silky, slick pussy suffocating his cock. He’s huffing out little growls and his hips are stuttering as he works you through it until your cunt releases him. He slows down just a little, savoring the moment right before he orgasms. His groin is tightening, he knows he’s about to cum.

Eijirou is stroking his own dick quickly, trying not to paint your face as he watches you cum. Your eyelids flutter as you come back down from your high. Eijirou is still waiting for your answer. Your limbs feel gooey but you make sure to maintain eye contact with him as you respond.

“Y-yes, need both of you,” you moan lowly, voice wrecked. Eijirou bites his lower lip, squeezing the base of his cock so he doesn’t cum. Katsuki starts yanking you back into his movements, unable to stop rambling. He feels his balls start to tighten up.

“Nasty little bitch, needing both your boyfriends to fill your pussy with cum. Double stuff you, right kitty?” he says mockingly. Before you get the chance to respond, he’s shoving himself all the way to the root inside of you, cumming hard. Pleasurable heat tingles up his spine and he shivers. The movement makes you yelp as your face is shoved into Eijirous hip. Katsuki lets out a high pitched moan as he lets ribbons of sticky, warm cum fill your pussy. Your heart pounds. You whine, nosing at the red heads hip bone.

“Fuck Kat, you stuffed her nasty little pussy didn’t you?” Eijirou teases, petting your hair gently. He’s still hard, cock twitching in his grip. Katsuki snickers, smacking your ass once, before pulling his hips backwards. He lets his his half hard cock slip out of you. He places his thumbs on the outside of your pussy, spreading you open.

He admires his cum dripping from your cunt and he hums approvingly. He slides one thumb through your folds, bringing up to massage your clit with his release. You whimper as his finger presses into your swollen clit. He laughs at your reaction before he lets go, crawling to sit on the right side of Eijirou. You let your knees collapse, laying on your belly and stretching your legs. Your entire body feels relaxed.

“Of course I fucking did Eiji. We’re reminding her who she belongs to aren’t we? You better fill her pussy with your sloppy seconds,” he says, pinching the fat of Eijirous thigh. The red head laughs, patting your cheek to get your attention. You raise your head from his thigh humming softly. Despite their aggressiveness tonight, they both want to make sure you can keep going.

“Can you keep going baby girl?” Eijirou asks gently, running his fingers over your cheek. You nod, pussy already clenching again at the thought of Eijirous thick cock. He always feels unbelievable. He’s a little thicker than Katsuki, but the stretch is what your dreams are made of. Not that the blonde doesn’t fuck you just as well, he absolutely does. Plus, Eijirou is always easier to take after you’ve let Katsuki fuck the hell out of you.

“Can you get up for me pretty baby?” Eijirou asks, sitting up. You groan in protest, elbows cracking as you push to sit up on your knees. The blonde to your side grabs your jaw and turns you to him, kissing you once quickly on the lips. Your cheeks burn form his attention. He raises an eyebrow, smiling sharply. He doesn’t say anything when he lets go of your face and Eijirou wraps his arms around your shoulders and rolls you both, until he hovers over you, getting between your legs.

“Eijirou,” you moan, hands gripping the pillow under your head. The larger man, grins, showing his teeth again, before placing a palm on the underside of your thighs, pressing your legs backwards into your chest. You’re effectively pressed in half, Katsuki humming in approval as he watches.

“What nasty girl? You ready for me to double stuff you?” Eijirou teases, eyes full of mischief. You whimper and nod, tightening your hold on the pillow. Your pussy is open for him, Katsukis cum trailing out of you. His dick throbs, knowing he won’t last long once his cock is swallowed in your tight cunt. He inches closer, letting his cock head line up with your hole. He presses in slowly, letting just the tip pop in. He chokes on a breath, letting out a soft whimper as your pussy sucks him in.

“Keep going, please Eiji,” you sob, wiggling under him. He can’t say no to such a sweat plea. He pushes forward, hissing as his whole cock is swallowed by your slick pussy. It’s even wetter with Katsukis cum inside. Eijirou thinks he may pass out when he starts with a teasing pull of his hips backwards, until just his tip remains.

You’re twitching, moaning in his grip. He can see Katsukis cum coating his cock as he fucks it back into you. His mouth hangs open at the filthy, lewd sight. Even with his slow start, you can’t help but feel overstimulated. Your pussy is puffy, swollen and each time his cock fills you, you whimper.

“Eiji, closer please,” you cry, releasing the pillow and reaching your hands out to him. You hear Katsuki snort from where he lounges next to you. You see he’s palming his cock and you stick out your tongue at him. He smiles fondly at you and you can’t help but grab his wrist and tug him closer as well.

He goes easily, letting go of his half hard dick. He props himself up on one elbow so his face is just above yours. He looks down, sticking his tongue back at you and you giggle. You feel Eijirou hook your knees over your elbows so he can bend to you, planting a hand on either side of you shoulders. Your eyes widen at the change of angle. It feels like he’s in your stomach and you quickly look back at his face.

“You just want both your boys close while you get fucked, don’t you baby girl?” Eijirou teases, nuzzling his nose with yours. You nod your head, crying out as he starts to fuck you again. This position lets his chubby cock bully your g spot beautifully.

Your nerves are on fire, flames of pleasure shoot to your toes with each thrust. You feel Katsukis soft lips pressing kisses into your cheek as he snakes the hand from the elbows he’s leaning on under your head. He grips your hair tightly to keep you in place. You’re starting to sweat, hands resting on Eijirous shoulders.

“I like having both my boys pay attention to me at the same time,” you say shyly, feeling your cheeks turn pink. Your head jolts in Katsukis hold, scalp stinging as he holds your hair. You cry out, holding onto Eijirous forearms as he starts to thrust faster. They both seem to like the answer you give because Eijirou is leaning down to bite kisses into your chest, sharp teeth like pinpricks against your skin. Katsuki leans over you and presses his plush lips to yours.

You moan, kissing Katsuki messily, lips slick and tongues playing together. You groan into the blondes mouth when you feel Eijirou littering your chest with dark marks. You suck on Katsukis bottom lip, chomping on it harshly before letting go. The blonde breaks your kiss with a sweet moan. Your eyes are hooded, letting out little ah sounds over and over again as Eijirou fucks you. Katsuki admires your flushed cheeks, leaning down to lick the salty sweat off your collarbone. He moans at your taste. You inhale sharply, his warm tongue making your clit twitch.

“Fuck you’re hot, are you gonna cum again you nasty little bitch?” Katsuki teases, smirking down at you. Your eyes flutter shut, Eijirou is trailing kisses up to your neck. He kisses your pulse point and pants against your skin. His breath is hot. You wind your arms around his neck, holding him to your chest. He’s starting to get really close really fast. The hug of your sweet pussy is so fucking good and his balls start to tighten up, heat flaring at the base of his spine.

“Yes-fuck! I’m gonna, hah oh god, I’m gonna cum again,” you choke out, pussy fluttering around Eijirous thick cock. Katsuki uses his free hand to tickle your lower abdomen, placing two fingers on your puffy clit. You see stars when he rubs tight, fast circles into your bud, making your toes curl, thighs tensing. You curse loudly.

“Red,” Katsuki calls out softly. Said red head raises his head from your neck, giving Katsuki a dopey smile. You let go of his shoulders, gripping his forearms again instead. Katsuki pauses his fingers as he smirks, leaning closer to him and he slides their lips together. You whine in protest, Katsuki takes the hint, continuing to rub your clit.

Eijirou moans, kissing Katsuki hungrily. You watch them kiss, seeing quick flashes of their tongues, and it makes your pussy throb repeatedly around the red heads cock. The blonde kisses him once more before leaning back. Eijirous head falls forward. His hips smack into your ass wetly, steadily. You’re being pushed into the mattress again and again. You’re so close, coil wound tightly in your belly. Katsukis fingers rapidly bringing you to the edge.

“Fuck Kat, she really liked watching us kiss,” he groans, hips stuttering.

“I know, she’s such a pretty little whore,” he says, wicked grin on his lips. You can’t take it anymore, listening to the filth that leaves Katsukis mouth, it makes you cum. The knot in your belly releases. Your back arches, hair pulled to its limit in the blondes hold. Your nails dig into the flesh on Eijirous arms as your pussy suffocates him. You howl as your orgasm rips through you, entire body taut. Once again, an almost unbearable wave of pleasurable heat gushes through you.

Eijirou is enamored by your face. The way your mouth is open in a silent o shape, eyes squeezed shut tightly. He’s barely able to fuck you through it. He’s gasping and moaning, orgasm taking him by surprise. Blistering pleasure burns through his veins and he pushes his hips all the way up against your pussy as he suddenly cums warm, sticky ribbons.

“Fuck yes, that’s it kitty. Make Eiji cum with your pretty pussy,” Katsuki praises with a rough voice, taking his fingers from your clit as Eijirou cums. You open your eyes, looking at the red heads pretty face twisted in pleasure. You bring a hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to rest your foreheads together. You stare into each others eyes and you feel a warm, tender feeling blossom in your chest.

“I love you Eijirou,” you whisper, watching his cheeks turn pink. He moans, before biting his lip when his cock throbs once more as both of you relax into a pile of jelly and Eijirou lets your legs down. He sit back on his calves, breathing heavily.

“I love you too baby girl,” Eijirou purrs, pretty smile on his lips. You give him one in return, humming softly as Katsuki lets go of your hair. Head throbbing where his nails were digging in. You’re gonna have a headache later. You look over at Katsuki, who was palming his half hard cock. He smirks and winks at you. You know it wasn’t quite enough for him to jerk himself off again, but he enjoyed the show. Eijirou slips his softening cock from your pussy and you squirm at the sensation. Your cheeks burn as you feel like you’ve been bred.

“Mm, now you’re really double stuffed, like an Oreo!” Eijirou says, voice cheerful and a smile on his face. You and Katsuki look at each other, before you both laugh. Eijirou giggles in return, scooting backwards and sitting to the side. Katsuki takes the opportunity to get between your legs. He plants his hands by your head and hovers over you, grinning like a deviant.

You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t answer. He’s quick to snake his arms under your waist and roll both of you until you’re on top of him. You squeal when you’re suddenly up right. Feeling like the blood is rushing from your head. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. You cling to him, arms and legs wrapped around him.

“Katsuki, what are you doing?” you gasp, as he grips your ass and stands up with you. You hug him tight and he smacks one of your ass cheeks as he starts walking you to the bathroom.

“We’re taking a shower dumbass. Just because Eiji and I reminded you who you belong to and stuffed you with cum, doesn’t mean I want it all over the bed. That’s disgusting,” he explains, as if you should’ve known. You roll your eyes and place your chin on his shoulder, looking at the red head and reaching out a hand to him.

“Eiji, come on baby,” you purr to him. His tail would be wagging if had one. He slides off the bed, bouncing up to the two of you.

“I’m right here pretty girl. I love you too Kat, just by the way,” he coos, smacking the blondes ass, which earns him an icy look. Katsuki grumbles an I love you back to Eijirou and you laugh, amused. The three of you make it into the bathroom. Katsuki sets you down on your soft, squishy bath mat. You wiggle your toes in the material as Eijirou turns on the water. You take your time, enjoying the warm water and letting them wash you clean. You wash Eijirous hair and massage Katsukis back. You all take the moment to soak up the post sex intimacy together.

After, when you’re all in bed, whispering sweet nothings and more I love yous in the dark, in the middle of the night Eijirou rides Katsuki slow and sweet. The blonde has you sit on his face while you trade sticky, honey like kisses with Eijirou. You’re unbelievably glad you belong to them. Better yet, they belong to you as well. You end up back asleep in a pile, thanking your lucky stars you found one another. The last thing you hear are Katsukis soft snores as you drift off, dreaming in colors of yellow and red.

666 notes · View notes

cal-flakes · 8 months

Text

╰┈➤ cigarettes out the window

warnings: swearing, angsty themes, drug use.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

“my girl liddy used to always smoke, cigarettes when she couldn’t sleep„

“rafe? what are you doing?” she mumbled, her feet padding lazily against the wooden floor of the balcony as she rubbed her groggy eyes. “shit..” he mumbled, fumbling around quickly, hoping the dark sky was enough to shield him from her glare as he slipped the half empty bag into his back pocket. “why are you out here?” she asked again, this time stepping closer while the cool air left goosebumps along her exposed legs.

“i just— uh, i couldn’t sleep..” he lied, turning away as he sniffled, subtly wiping away the excess lingering on his nostrils. sighing, she shuffled towards him, arms outstretched— utterly oblivious to the powdery residue left on the glass table. “c’mon, come back to bed..”

“yeah, just uh— gimme a minute, alright?” he asked, nodding gratefully as she gave him a small smile before heading back inside.

his head whipped around the door frame, ensuring she was gone before rushing back over to the table, pulling out a very, very used credit card. his eyes flitted to and from the door as he hurriedly scraped together the remains of his last bag, scooping them onto the edge of the plastic card before holding it up to his nose, throwing his head back in delight as he felt the granules brush against his skin.

“she’d disappear for an hour and a half, and when she’d come back she’d brush her teeth„

“hey topper, have you seen rafe?” she smiled sweetly, holding her own arms in comfort as her eyes searched the party for him. “shit man, i haven’t seen him in a while actually— if you find him, tell him i gotta speak to him” topper called back, struggling to hear over the thumping music. “oh, okay— yeah i’ll tell him” she sighed, watching him disappear into the crowd before scurrying upstairs, still searching.

“hey—sorry, have you seen rafe?” she asked politely, soon frowning as the group of girls shook their heads. turning away, y/n’s features contorted as an eruption of giggles assaulted her ears, quickly whipping back round, she met their pitiful looks.

mentally cursing the flight risk himself, she continued rattling numerous door handles until she reached the end of the corridor, where the bathroom was. using her knuckles, they turned white as she banged aggressively on the door, rapidly losing her patience.

“but i could still smell it on her raggedy tee, and taste it on her lips when we kissed”

y/n yawned incessantly as she floated about tannyhill, taking advantage of rafe’s family’s absence as she played housewife— tidying where she could, cooking dinner for the both of them, as well as doing the laundry. oh, how she loved when the cameron’s went on holiday.

sighing, she rested the plastic laundry basket on her hips while she headed back downstairs, thankful for rafe’s washing hamper being nearly empty. y/n hummed to herself as her sandals clicked against the marble flooring of the kitchen, swiftly moving passed the island, through to the laundry room.

rummaging through the numerous garments, she sorted them by colour before emptying out the pockets of his clothes, vividly remembering the time she’d accidentally left twenty bucks in one his pockets, essentially ruining his favourite shorts.

the rustle of plastic pierced her ears, quickly intriguing her as she disregarded an old hoodie, setting it aside to pick up the culprit— a pair of blue suit pants, worn to that years midsummers. y/n relished in the memory for a moment, remembering the way she giggled as he spun her around, whispering sweet nothings into her ear all night.

smiling to herself, she slid her hands into the left back pocket, soon frowning as she came up empty— yet quickly moved to the other. “a-ha!” she smirked, listening to the satisfying rustle as she moved her hands around, before sliding her fingers between the hem, reaching for whatever rubbish he’d left in his pocket.

her mouth quickly fell agape as she pulled out the plastic bag, filled with white powder. “what the hell?” she muttered to herself, tossing aside the expensive trousers as she stood up properly.

“poor little liddy used to always quit, but she never really quit, she’d just say she did„

“are you fucking kidding me right now?” she shrieked, slamming the door behind her as her heels clicked angrily through the house, storming up to his room. “what the fuck?” he snapped, taken back by her dramatic entrance as he lay comfortably in his bed, suddenly startled.

“pope saw you trying to score coke from barry again, what the hell rafe? i thought we talked about this?” she wailed, tossing her bag aside, her previous friday night mood dissipating rapidly.

“pope— what the hell are you talking to him for?” he retorted, shaking his head in feigned confusion. “never mind why i was talking to pope, why are you going back on how good you’ve been doing?” she seethed, her frame jittery from anger. “well your little friend—pope, is a fucking liar, i’ve been here all day, being a good little boy like your psychotic brain wants me to be!” he bellowed, pushing off from the bed to face her fully, quickly towering over her.

“oh, psychotic? fucking psychotic, really? are you serious right now?” she cried, tears brimming along her mascara coated lash line as she glared up at him, struggling to stay strong beneath his intimidating gaze.

the tension in the room could be cut with a blunt knife as they both fell silent, glaring at each other. “you know what, empty your pockets— c’mon” she spoke, ushering him to turn them out as his eyes widened. “i’m not— you’re fucking insane” he spat, turning away from her.

“don’t turn your back on me rafe, i’m trying to help you!” she cried, pleading. “i don’t want your fucking help” he sneered, sitting back on the bed. her bottom lips quivered as she watched him, taking note of his unmoving gaze.

“you don’t want— okay, fine. have it your way” she spat back, rushing to grab her bag before storming out, slamming his bedroom door behind her.

hot tears flooded her flushed face as she rushed downstairs, heartbreak pooling in her stomach as her chest tightened.

“y/n?” a soft voice called, laced with concern. turning back, she smiled weakly as she met rose’s eyes. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry— i tried, i really tried” she sobbed, falling into the woman’s outstretched arms. “i know sweetie, i know” she cooed, stroking the girls tangled hair.

“i love him so much rose, but i just can’t do it anymore— he doesn’t care” y/n cried as she pulled away, sniffling. “he does care sweetheart, i could go on forever about how much that boy loves you, but he’s not himself, and you shouldn’t have to put your life on hold for someone like that”

“we’ll find moonlit nights strangely empty„

his chest tightened as his bottom lip trembled, tossing and turning restlessly through the night. “fuck..” he muttered, abruptly throwing the covers aside, allowing him to slide out from the bed, grabbing his phone before quickly making his way through to the main balcony.

he’d never longed for warmth so bad he couldn’t sleep, all these emotions were so unfamiliar. but all he knew— was that he had to get out of that bed, out of those sheets. the same sheets he’d stuffed in the washing machine numerous times, desperately trying to rid the material of the smell. the smell of artificial strawberry, and coconut shampoo, her smell. it had invaded his senses every night since she left.

“just do it— man up” he snapped at himself, smacking himself lightly as he ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, brushing back the curtains lingering in his eyeline.

shaking his head frustratedly, he reached for his phone before laying back against the cushioned chair, his chest heaving in anticipation.

his vision grew cloudy with salty tears as his thumb tapped away at the screen, scrolling through his contact.

“because when you call my name through them, there will be no answer„

hot tears streamed down her flushed cheeks while she clutched the soaked covers, stained with numerous weeks worth of tears. she shook her head as the incessant buzzing on her nightstand overwhelmed her, yet she couldn’t help but watch— watch the light fall from her screen as he seemingly gave up, probably shaking with anger as she let him go to voicemail, again.

“i’m sorry..” she whispered, hoping the bond they shared still lingered, carrying her message to him through the cloudy sky looming over kildare.

his head fell into his hands as he groaned, quickly scrambling to the floor, gathering the pieces of his now smashed phone, holding them gentle in his hands like a piece of his own heart. “i’m so sorry y/n..”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

524 notes · View notes

angelique-of-the-volturi-guard · 1 month

Text

Thinking about Angel Dust Age Regression headcanons so I’m gonna spew them all on this post. To those who like or want them: Enjoy!

Angel often sucks his second right thumb when he doesn’t have a pacifier so that he can easily hide it by moving his gloved hands.

Fat Nuggets can tell when Angel needs a break and will often nudge objects he associates with Angel’s regressions toward him, like a baby blanket or stuffed animal. Even a pacifier if it’s within reach.

In an older headspace Angel tends to be a brat, but anywhere under the age of three and he becomes sweeter and more sensitive.

Angel’s attachment to his pacifiers runs deep and traces back to his human life both when he was a baby and when he had issues with addiction. He gets very upset when they are taken away.

Interests (across various ages) include: tea parties, stuffed animals, coloring, building with blocks, watching kid’s shows, his pacifier, blanket, rattle, and (of course) playing with and cuddling Fat Nuggets.

Angel Dust trusts Alastor the most as a caregiver because he knows Alastor is Asexual and he doesn’t have to worry about being touched in ways that aren’t platonic which was the most important thing to him. Charlie’s enthusiasm often overwhelms him when he’s littler, and Husk and Vaggie aren’t exactly the warmest people. Niffty often plays with him well, but is often too focused on keeping things clean to do play with him, and Sir Pentious had to spend a lot of time explaining things to the Egg Boiz though he is nice but awkward with Angel himself. Alastor’s better emotional control and smile combined with knowing he isn’t interested in any sort of sexual relationship helps Angel regulate himself better. Alastor’s disdain for technology also helps Angel feel safer knowing that he’ll never have to worry about being watched by The Vees.

Because of this, Angel often refers to Alastor as “Papa” when he’s little and “Pops” when he’s older while calling everyone else by either their name or a variation on it. To name a few: Husk becomes “Husky”, Sir Pentious becomes “PenPen”, Vaggie drops the V in her name, and Fat Nuggets is lovingly dubbed “Nuggies”.

Triggers in headspace include the use of the word “Daddy”, cameras, unexpectedly being touched, and the sight or smell of cigarette smoke.

Angel has a difficult relationship with touch in his headspace. From ages 0-3 he is very affectionate and loves being held or cuddled as long as it remains platonic. Anywhere above age 4, and touch is something that he has to initiate or else it is unwelcome. Alastor and Husk are the only exceptions to this rule. Alastor for the role he has in his life, and Husk because he knows Husk hates having his boundaries pushed and would never do the same to him.

Alastor has given Angel a few special gifts that he cherishes both in and out of his headspace and would be distraught to lose. The first being a pink baby blanket that he gave him upon accepting his headspace and his own caregiving role. The second is a wooden music box that plays a tinkling rendition of a lullaby that he plays to go to sleep every night. The third is an old fashioned camera that Alastor uses to take pictures of special moments in his life or what they do together, all of which go into a scrapbook that he keeps in his room that he looks at whenever he’s having a hard time or feels nostalgic.

Angel isn’t a particularly picky eater but will not eat longer foods like celery, carrots, zucchini, asparagus, or eggplant unless they’re sliced or cut up.

Angel will wear and use diapers from 0-3 in headspace due to a mix of necessity and getting so involved in whatever he’s doing that he often forgets to ask to be taken to the bathroom. However, Alastor is the only one allowed to change him.

The only person Angel has told about his regressions outside of the hotel is Cherri Bomb (“RiRi”), who will often sneak him candy or ice cream when no one is around.

Apart from the TV, Alastor maintains a strict no screens policy when Angel regresses, leading the pair of them to spend most of their time together reading stories together. Angel’s taste in books skews toward fairy tales, and Alastor frequently reads him Grimm fairytales while Niffty often tends to listen in.

After Angel initially regresses, he is very prone to tears soon afterword, and processes any pent up emotions that way. The residents of the hotel are used to this and often keep a tissue (or handkerchief) handy to give him if he needs it, while someone else alerts Alastor if he isn’t there already.

Angel suffers from intense anxiety around strangers in his headspace and (particularly in a baby or toddler headspace) experiences separation anxiety from Alastor.

Temper tantrums happen more frequently in his older headspaces, but when they do occur in his younger ones they are far more intense and difficult to soothe.

Angel skews toward using bottles in his headspace as opposed to sippy cups or regular cups because he finds being fed by someone else to be both an expression of love by them and a moment of intimacy for himself that doesn’t have any sexual connotation.

Alastor tends to limit his use of his powers around Angel per his request (as he wants the experience to feel more realistic). However, there are two things Alastor uses his power for to enhance the experience. The first is conjuring Angel a nursery that he can make disappear in the blink of an eye. The second is to enhance his own strength to be able to pick Angel up or carry him in a way that everyone else cannot.

Niffty and Charlie are his favorite playmates, and Cherri Bomb is usually his favorite babysitter.

If it seems as though Angel is spiraling in his addictions, Alastor will sometimes purposefully help him regress in order to keep him clean. It has proven a helpful tactic in keeping him sober.

Angel will not sleep without his pacifier, baby blanket, Fat Nuggets, and his music box.

Alastor can change the music of the music box at will and will sometimes sing him to sleep without his radio filter.

Angel specifically picked innocuous pieces of clothing for his wardrobe that, when put together, look childish.

Nicknames given to Angel include: “Sunshine” (Vaggie (often used sarcastically)), “Dusty” (Charlie, Niffty), “Kid” (Husk, Vaggie), “Hatchling” (Sir Pentious), “Sonny Boy”, “My Dear Boy”, “sweetheart”, and “"mon petit chou" (Alastor, translates to "my little cabbage").

#mun post #outofguard #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #age regression #headcanons #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel agere #sfw agere

119 notes · View notes

sunonyoreface · 1 year

Text

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 10

an: this is my favourite part yet! Thanks for your patience!

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2700

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language mentions of torture, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

I can still hear ringing from hours of relentless whirling of the helicopter engine beating against my eardrums. Ghost pulls me through the snow with one rough hand wrapped around my arm and the other on his pistol. In the time it took us to fly here, he only riled himself up more. Searing, red anger radiates from beneath his suit. I dread the moment we pass through that door.

Ghost doesn’t clear the safe house. He doesn’t have to. A thermal imaging camera attached to the chopper told him no one’s been there in hours. The night vision lenses reveal to him that no one’s trampled through the slushy snow or left tracks of any kind in days. The tiny cabin is between one of their bases and a large town in Latvia. It isn’t accessible by road. Only a helicopter, ATV, or 40-mile hike from the nearest settlement will get you here. This place isn’t meant to be found. The Ultranationalists won’t have suspected us to leave the country. No one will. Even the other task members have no clue where we are. Only Price. We’re completely alone.

It’s supposed to be safer, but I feel far from safe.

The cabin shakes as he slams the door shut and flips three deadbolts. There’s no escaping him. Even if I somehow miraculously made it out of the cabin, I’d be shot dead before I could make it ten feet away. Inside I am completely blind. There isn’t an ounce of light. Ghost releases me and blood rushes to the spot on my arm he was gripping. I can feel the bruises forming already. He brushes against my back as he steps further into the dark. It’s eerily silent. There’s no traffic outside or music from neighbouring rooms or wind gusts rattling the windows. Everything is completely still. Only my heavy breathing fills the dreadful space.

A small table lamp clicks on as Ghost lets go of the chord. The tiny metal chain clinks against the glass base. He paces around, looking completely out of place. We’re in a small room with a burgundy futon, a wooden table with two chairs, a tiny wood stove, and several cabinets on the far side of the wall. This is the only room in the whole building. It’s cozy and quaint; the kind of place new couples spend too much money on for a weekend getaway. There’s also another lamp standing in the corner of the room that Ghost now switches on. The lamps cause two jagged shadows to follow him around the room. Its warmer here than at the base, but not because the heat is on. This building doesn’t have heat, but we’re closer to the ocean so everywhere’s warmer. It’s just cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground in a slushy consistency.

I stand by the door, watching as Ghost undoes the clasps on his helmet before taking it off and placing it on the wood table. His skull mask is still covered in the bloody remnants of our interviews from this morning. Next to it, he places the large assault rifle. He doesn’t offload his handgun or any of the other various weapons strapped to his person. No, he might need those yet.

Ghost pauses for a moment as he scans the room, taking in our surroundings until his eyes land on mine. As much as I want to, I can’t look away. There’s something about his eyes. There always has been. They hold so much depth it’s hard to describe. So much horror I physically can’t describe. A type of desire that I’m afraid to describe.

He silently stalks across the wooden floor, holding my gaze the entire time, holding onto his anger even longer. Ghost stops only inches away. I shift back toward the door to put some distance between us.

“Are you scared of me?” his eyes narrow as he examines my face. Ghost is a well-trained bloodhound. There’s no hiding my fear from him. He can smell it pulsing through my veins. He can hear the muscles in my heart thundering at a terrifying speed.

“Should I be?” already, my voice is unsteady.

“I would,” he says plainly. My throat tightens and my mouth runs dry.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why’d you lie to me?” he ignores my question, jumping right to the very thing that is fueling his anger. Ghost is already standing too close for comfort, utilizing his size just like he does during the interrogations.

“I didn’t lie to you,” I lower my voice. Maybe if we’re both whispering, he won’t start shouting.

“You did,” there’s venom in his voice. I can hear the rattles of a snake hiding in tall grass. If I take the wrong step, I’m sure to be bitten.

“I told you what he said. Just not all of it,” I press my sweaty palms to the side of my thighs. Ghost’s brooding eyes are shadowed by the bloody skull mask. He’s so close I can smell the tangy, metallic scent. I taste it on my tongue as I bite the inside of my cheek. I feel it in my veins as it pulses through my racing heart.

“That’s rubbish,” his brows furrow and his lower lids tighten.

“Is it?” I ask. What would he do if he were in my position? Are my actions truly that unforgivable? “Why don’t you just interview me like you do them? Then, you’d find out.”

“Because you’re not one of them,” he says with certainty. Maybe not, but are we so different? For years, people told me I was just like my father and he’s “one of them”. How different can we be?

“Maybe I am,” I push back. The rattling sounds closer. My mind is warning me to step away from the snake, but some morbid part of me wants to see what’ll happen.

“You’re not,” he states.

“How do you know?” I ask. What makes him so certain? Sure, 141 does their research before kidnapping someone, but maybe I could be an Ultranationalist. Maybe he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks. Maybe I’m the snake.

Ghost reaches into a pocket on his thigh. He pulls out his switchblade and snaps the blade out. My eyes widen as I step further back, trapping myself against the door. Ghost stalks even closer. His movements are slow and predatory. I have nowhere to go as he presses his chest into mine. The hard equipment strapped to his vest hurts as it rubs against my clothes, jutting into my flesh. One hand harshly wraps around my mouth as the other presses the tip of the blade against my cheek.

I jolt away from the pain and try to wriggle from his grasp, but it’s no use. Ghost has me pinned against the door with no escape. The pressure is sharp and I feel the skin threatening to break, any harder and he’ll draw blood.

“Simon,” I try to say his name but the words are muffled. My hands wrap around his forearm and squeeze. Not in an attempt to pull him away, but just to get him to stop. His skin is hot under my cold fingers and his tense muscles ripple beneath my palm.

When I finally make eye contact with him, my heart skips. His eyes are dark and analytical. This isn’t about hurting me. He is simply gauging my reactions. This is a test.

The skull mask leans in closer. “An Ultranationalist wouldn’t flinch. They’d lean into the pain,” he whispers. Ghost releases me, taking only a small step back. I don’t wait to catch my breath before asking my next question.

“Do you like hurting them?”

“I do,” he says with a sense of pride. It’s now that I realize he doesn’t see these men as people. In his eyes, as soon as they joined the Ultranationalists, they abdicated all their human rights.

“That’s sick.”

“Maybe,” he says, taunting. “But it’s nothing in comparison to what they do.”

I ignore his attempt at changing the topic.

“Do you like hurting me?”

“Y/n,” something in his voice changes. It’s strained, almost. I see his brows furrow at the edge of his mask. He leans back at this. “Do you think that low of me?”

“In Price’s office, the two of you mentioned intercepting a high-ranking Ultranationalist’s family member. That’s what you did to me,” I wait for him to tell me I’m wrong. I want him to tell me I’m wrong. That the families of the men they hunt aren’t being punished for their crimes. Deep down, I know I’m not. “Did you know about that?”

“I helped plan it,” Ghost admits. My throat tightens even more and I fight the urge to cry. Of course, he did. It’s all some stupid vendetta. They don’t care who’s hurt in the process. Part of me can’t help but feel betrayed. I should’ve expected it. When I look into his eyes, there’s no regret. I’m just collateral to him. There’s a larger plan at play and my life is just a small game piece.

“Were you there when it happened?” I ask. I need to know. How much of my suffering was directly because of him?

“No.”

“Do you know the things they did to me?” my voice cracks. “How they pumped me so full of drugs I couldn’t stay conscious? And when I was awake, I was sick for hours. I was so drugged up I could barely stand, let alone walk. My body didn’t feel like my own. They locked me in a dark room alone for weeks. The only time I saw another person was when I was fed just twice a day. I didn’t know if my family was okay! I still don’t! I had a bag over my head ninety percent of the time and when I couldn’t keep up, they’d grab at me and push me until I’d hit a wall or the floor. Did you know that, Simon? I am covered in bruises! Even now,” my eyes start to water, but my sadness begins to transition to anger. “You planned all of that, Simon?”

Ghost takes a moment to watch the emotions flicker across my face and weigh his options. He takes a deep breath before saying “It was a part of the plan. You were supposed to believe you were taken by the Ultranationalists, so you’d be more willing to cooperate with us. We contracted the job to one of our Russian allies so it couldn’t be directly traced back to us. The fact that you were looking into your family’s past was just a coincidence. A convenient one, but a coincidence nonetheless,” his voice is reserved. He’s holding back again and it only hurts more.

“You’re no better than them,” I hiss at him. “At least they’re honest about what they do.”

Ghost scoffs at me and when he looks at me his eyes are narrowed and his brows furrowed. “Honest,” he laughs in patronizing disgust. “You don’t know a fucking thing about them.”

“I don’t know a damn thing about you either! Everything you’ve told me was a fucking lie!” I hate to admit it, but I break first. I’m the first to raise my voice and now all bets are off.

“Have you watched the news lately? Don’t you-”

“It’s hard to watch the news when you kidnapped me!” my face is red and I feel a burning rage. I feel like I’m on fire. Like Ghost has soaked me in gasoline and struck a match.

“Shut your fucking mouth for two goddamn seconds,” he snarls. There are flames in his eyes. “Haven’t you seen the bombings? The shootings? The fucking airport attacks? Any of it? That was all them! They’ve killed thousands of people for political power and they’re only getting started,” his fists are balled at his sides as he pushes into me again. I so badly wish I was closer to his size. At least then I’d have a chance.

He’s becoming just as worked up as I am. Good. He deserves to feel what I feel. The anger. The pain. The betrayal. How fucking unfair all of this is. Ghost’s breathing becomes faster as his chest heaves with disdain. I imagine a scowl on his face as he tries to justify his actions. As he tries to justify all of the violence he is responsible for. 141 isn’t as righteous as they’d like to believe. Their hands are caked in layers upon layers of years worth of blood. Their skin underneath is stained a type of red that won’t wash off in the sink.

“If we take out Makarov and his top generals, we can disband the Ultranationalists. We can stop this utter madness from becoming any worse. If we do that, we’ll save thousands of people and stop wars before they begin,” Ghost rests both his hands on the side of my neck, his thumbs just under my ears. His grip is light, but I feel the urgency under his fingers. “I will do anything in my power to see that happen,” he says, reigning himself in as he steps back.

“Even kill my father,” I whisper. His eyes flicker back to mine. He doesn’t need to say anything to confirm my suspicion.

“He’s a bad man, y/n,” Ghost’s voice lowers.

“You don’t know him,” the pain is evident on my face. My heart aches and I miss him.

“No. But I know what he’s done,” he watches my expressions, calculating how much he should tell me. “Last month he coordinated a shooting at a refugee camp. Could call that his specialty. Refugee camps and immigration centers, sometimes homeless shelters. He targets vulnerable people and causes that the Ultranationalists know will get people riled up. Your father is responsible for the death of hundreds of innocent people. Do you know who lived in those camps? Young families. Children who had their whole lives ahead of them. He killed them y/n.”

My face scrunches up in disgust and disbelief. I feel the bile creeping up my throat as my stomach twists itself into an impossible knot. My knees want to give out. That can’t be true. He wouldn’t do that, not the man I know. My father is an introvert who likes to buy loaves of expired bread and feed pigeons in Central Park. He runs my mother baths and cooks too much pasta and kisses me on the forehead every time I visit. He is not that man.

“You’re lying,” my bottom lip trembles. “Everything you’ve told me is a lie, why would you tell the truth now?”

“I have video,” he says coldly. “Four of these attacks alone have detailed surveillance footage of him present during the events. But he’s not always present. Often, they’re planned at a distance. He’ll have coordinated most of them from your home.”

“That’s not true,” I mumble into my sleeve as I wipe my nose. “It’s not,” the tears finally spill from my eyes. It can’t be true.

“So no, y/n, I don’t like hurting you,” Ghost cups the side of my face, his thumb brushes along my hair as he gently guides me to look at him. “But I’d do it a million times over if it means stopping Makarov.”

“Where does it end?” my voice is pleading “Makarov, then my uncle, then my father, and all of their generals. Who else do you have to kill before it can finally end? Me? Am I on that list, Simon?”

“I would never do that to you,” he murmurs as his other hand brushes away my tears. All I want is to lean into his touch. To have him hold me and tell me everything’s going to be alright.

“How can I believe you, Simon? How can I believe you after everything you’ve done? After all the lies you’ve told,” my soft voice cracks.

His thumb soothingly brushes up and down my cheek. With each deep breath he takes, his vest pushes further into my chest. Before the pressure was alarming but now, I find a strange comfort in it. I want him to say that there’s a way out of this. That maybe he was wrong about my father. That when I go home, it’ll be like I never left. Simon leans down and rests his forehead against my own. My mind drifts to the blood sprayed across the white skull.

“You can’t.”

PT11:

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #simon riley fanfic #cod ghost #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #COD MW2 #cod imagine #cod ghost imagine #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic

1K notes · View notes

tetragonia · 17 hours

Text

Masters of the Air characters as aesthetics

John 'Bucky' Egan

Bucky was a golden hour, warm hues of gold and amber casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything. Giggles and banters over a sip of liquor. He was a low hum in a pub, filled with chatter and joy. Bucky was a worn sheepskin jacket, familiar and comforting. Waves crash against rugged cliffs, vivid colors pop against a backdrop of blue skiess. He was gentle and dominating, yet he asked to be taken care of behind closed doors. Back arching high against the bed sheet, hands pinned and left marks everywhere. He was a smoky jazz club alive with the sound of saxophones and clinking glasses, the sound of people laughing so loud until the stomach hurts. Grass stained knees. Running through the rain without an umbrella. He was classical music blasting from a cheap speaker. He was Apollo playing his instruments.

Gale 'Buck' Cleven

Buck was a calm before a storm. A misty forest enveloped in fog, with towering trees draped in moss and winding paths leading to hidden glens and secret clearings. He was both silent movies and thunderstorms that you'd feel inside your chest. Raised eyebrows and cold hands, pinching the bridge of your nose. Watching a painting a bit too long before the gallery was closed. Long walks to the library. Winter winds and freezing hands, subtle glances across the room. He was soft murmur of reassurance and a gentle touch behind the doors. Consensual and always asked if it's okay. Dark red lipstick, chilled red wine. A quaint cottage nestled in the countryside with a thatched roof and ivy-covered walls, surrounded by a garden bursting with fragrant herbs and vibrant flowers. He was Hestia tending the sacred flames.

Harry 'Croz' Crosby

Harry was the swirling feelings in your stomach night before a trip. A vintage typewriter sitting on a weathered wooden desk, surrounded by stacks of yellowing paper and antique books. The soft autumn sun. He was handwritten letters and cracked statues. Silver waves lapping at the shore and seashells scattered across the sand like scattered jewels. The rattling of rain against the window, messy and needed direction. He was scribbles and ink stains, messy notebooks, and the tea kettle whistling in the silent morning. He was urgent and hurry, but comforting afterwards. He was everything about pleasure behind closed doors. A disheveled bedroom with rumpled sheets and discarded clothing strewn across the floor, with posters peeling off the walls and sunlight filtering through grimy windows. He was Poseidon guarding with his trident.

Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Rosie was a vintage record player spinning vinyl records, filling the room with the warm crackle of music. He was sweet smiles and clear eyes. Paper planes. Overgrown rose bushes. That one song you always skipped but ended up loving it. He was tweed jackets and loose blouses. A field of wildflowers stretching out as far as the eye can see, with colorful blooms dancing in the breeze and the scent of earth and pollen filling the air. Gentle and nurturing, caring and soft behind the doors. He was a giver and always maintained satisfaction. He was pink-tinted blush. A pair of combat boots scuffed from countless adventures. Smiling at strangers on the street. He was all kind and modesty, but also Athena leading battles.

76 notes · View notes

rainforest-daisies · 6 months

Text

Day 23|Exhibition Kink

Character: JJ Maybank x afab!reader

Tags: public sex, PIV, reader wearing a dress

A/n: i don’t really have anything to commentate on tbh

Kinktober masterlist

The sound of faint pop music rang in your ears, “C’mon, if you’re quiet, no one will hear.” His hands slid against your waist, pushing you farther into the dressing room, letting the door close behind him, “It’ll be fun.”

As your calves met the wooden bench, his desperate kisses peppered your lips as his hand trailed up your hip, bunching the short ruffled fabric of the deep burgundy dress up. “I love it, but take it off. I don't wanna ruin it.”

————————————

His hand met your mouth, muffling your pants and whimpers as his forehead pressed against yours. Sweat began collecting at the backs of your thighs, which caught JJ by surprise when he reached to pull your leg up, wrapping it around his waist. He was almost completely supporting you, thrusts getting gentler to not rattle the mirror.

“That dress looked so fuckin’ good on you, babe.” His hot breath fanned against your face, the scent of mint gum filling your sinuses as he reached in for a gentle peck to the lips, bucking his hips harder.

“Fuck it, ill buy it for you, as long as I get to see you in it again.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank imagine #outer banks #x reader #smut #kinktober

215 notes · View notes

adore-healy · 1 year

Text

The Birthday Party.

Matty and y/n have a heart to heart.

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, addiction and rehab (nothing graphic) and occasional bad language.

The Birthday Party.

You’re not drunk.

At least not drunk enough to do this. Even with your judgement partially clouded in your hazy mind thanks to the shots of tequila and vodka combined (you know there will be violence in your stomach later) and the feeling of carelessness that washes over you after a few too many, there’s no way that enough alcohol has passed your lips to even consider taking part in your friends’ party ritual.

So instead, you excuse yourself; conjure up a lie; not that anybody cares; they’re far too gone to notice your absence anyway; and you’re not complaining.

Using the bannister to support your swaying body as you lean against it, you manage to singlehandedly climb the stairs where the words to the music become incoherent and all that’s heard is the thumping beat reverberating throughout the house.

Reaching your bedroom, you make a beeline for the ensuite, the white wooden door the last obstacle to combat before your destination. Fiddling with the doorknob, it takes a couple of attempts before you’re able to twist it enough to be able to open the door and stumble into the bathroom.

“‘Hey, poppet,” a soft voice sounds behind the shower curtain.

There’s a hint of huskiness and a slight edge to the tone and you’d recognise that northern accent anywhere. Your hand reaches for the material that hangs above the bath and you pull it back, revealing your best friend, Matty, laying in the bathtub.

He peers up to you through the curly hair that flops over his forehead — you’re surprised he can see anything through the mop — although perhaps more impressed that he’s in his thirties and is yet to start the balding process.

“What …” you breathe softly, stunned to see that the usual life and soul of the party is the most withdrawn tonight.

“Good job I’m not naked, innit?” he smirks up at you before taking a swig from the bottle of red wine he clutches in his hand. “Could’ve been ‘aving a bath and all sorts, love.”

You stare down at him, speechless, drinking in his demeanour. You hadn’t seen him arrive at the party, none the wiser that he’d even attended as of yet, so it confirms your suspicions that he was running late as usual, since timing had never been his strong point, and you’re left wondering how long he’d been hiding; adorned in his stripy jumper (albeit slightly moth bitten) paired with his black skinny jeans; looking every inch the soft boyfriend.

Running your tongue over your bottom lip, the lingering taste of tequila haunts you and you’re berating yourself for being in this situation because you’re not drunk — at least not drunk enough to do this.

“You’re blushing.”

It’s not a question but rather a statement; and one that leaves you feeling a little rattled at his observation.

“Thinking about me naked in the bath, are ya?” he asks with a smirk, taking another mouthful of the crimson liquid.

“Oh fuck off,” you roll your eyes and dismiss his banter, before taking the bottle effortlessly from his hand and helping yourself to his drink. One mouthful is enough for you to cringe at the taste, the burning sensation hitting your throat instantly. “Fucking hate Merlot,” you grimace, defeatedly handing him back the bottle.

“I know,” he sighs in understanding, accepting the bottle back into his hand and taking another sip as he intently watches you lower your body to the floor and shuffle back to lean against the radiator to support your drunken state.

A comfortable silence washes over you both and for a moment it feels as though you’re living in a coming-of-age movie where the protagonist and the, usually somewhat unaware love interest, transition from friends to lovers — although you know it’s your mind playing tricks on you since you’d accepted very early on in your friendship that you and Matty would be nothing more than friends.

You’d often be in the background of his lifestyle choices; forced to watch on each time a ridiculously hot girl would leave his apartment the morning after the night before; or stood in the VIP section during tours and seeing Matty kissing some of his most devoted fans at the barrier. It was painful then; and agonising now. Whilst you know Matty holds you in high regard (and you would never doubt that), selfishly, it wasn’t enough for you.

“Hiding from your own birthday party?” he asks knowingly, raising an eyebrow.

His question snaps you out of your daydream and you’re only too grateful to be distracted from your idealistic notion. You nod and let out a breathless laugh, simultaneously hoping that the chemicals in your brain would diffuse the fantasy that was playing out inside your mind.

“Yeah, too much attention,” you shrug nonchalantly. “Can’t all be like you, you know.”

Normally your joke — admittedly at his expense — about his egotistical self-indulgence would result in some back and forth banter but he’s been your best friend for years, and despite your disbelief, he knows you (probably better than you know yourself at times) and he’s not willing to accept your excuse.

“You’re forgettin’ who you’re talking to, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he observes your features. “Can tell me, you know? ’s just me, innit?” he reassures you, in an attempt to put your obvious nervousness at ease.

Your eyes avert to a spot on the floor as you try to focus your brain into working in tandem with your mouth; something that proves to be more challenging having been the one to down the most shots during a game of Drunk Jenga in your kitchen less than an hour ago.

“Drugs,” you blurt out.

Matty’s attention span is heightened at just one word alone — fear being the forefront emotion.

“What ‘ave you taken, love?” he quickly asks, panic evident in his voice as he sits up suddenly at your revelation.

You shake your head and hold up your hand, hoping to diminish the uncomfortable thoughts that plague his mind.

“It’s not me,” you quickly clarify. “Sorry.”

You can’t mistake his sigh of relief but his eyes still scan your features despite the physical distance between the two of you. He relaxes back into the bath, resuming his previous position, once he’s satisfied that you’re safe and not under the influence of any illegal substance.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s not fair.”

“’s fine, love. ’s not your fault. Seems we’re both in here for the same reason though,” he tells you, a small smile dancing on his lips at the irony of the situation. “I heard Greg saying everyone was fucked up. Some of the girls were asking me to join them, too.”

You subconsciously roll your eyes.

“Mel,” you exhale, shaking your head, knowing the culprit. “I’m so sorry, Matty, I didn’t know …”

“She offered me heroin,” he interrupts you.

Your eyes find the ceiling, disbelief consuming you as you lean your head back against the radiator, processing the delivery of the information; shocked at the audacity of a so-called friend and how she could be so inconsiderate.

“Oh, Matty,” you sigh sadly, pulling your knees towards your chest and hugging them tightly, resting your chin atop of them.

“‘m glad you’re here,” his voice is laced with sincerity. “Didn’t want you to think I was hiding from you. You mean the world to me, love, but all your friends in one place is … it’s a lot,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair. “They take that shit recreationally and can stop whenever they like …”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me … or to anyone,” you reassure him, softly.

“I want to,” he gulps, a slight nervousness at the direction this conversation has taken. Pointing his forefinger to his head, he continues; “’s jus’ always there, y’know. Can’t be around it and not want it, ’s why I needed to get away from it all. I … I don’t think I could control it if I went back there and when I haven’t got full control of it, it takes over me … and it’s hell. Can’t be stuck there again. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t ever want to be that person again, doll. I can’t be that person again.”

He closes his eyes, running a free hand over his face and you know that both shame and guilt are consuming him this very second. Matty’s heroin addiction was highlighted upon his admission to rehab and whilst he and his family never hid from the truths of his illness, the devastating effect it had on him and the people around him was the constant living reminder that a relapse could affect his recovery and jeopardise everything he worked so hard to achieve.

You nod in understanding and shuffle forwards towards the bathtub. You reach for his hand, removing it from his face, and you grasp his ring clad fingers within your own, subconsciously fiddling with the jewellery.

“Matty, look at me,” you encourage, and he does so, almost instantaneously. “You’ve come so far and we’re all so proud of you. You’ll never go back to being that person,” you assure him. “You recognise when things are … a lot … and you remove yourself from that situation. You know how to stop that desire from escalating and you know that you have friends, real friends, that you can talk to about this. You’re never on your own, Matty. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, emotion overwhelming him as he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Needed to hear that,” he mumbles. “’s just sometimes I feel like a shitty friend to you; I rely on you so much to stay clean; ’s like I take advantage of knowing you’ll always be there to pick up the pieces. You’re a safe space for me, y’know.”

“You’re not a shit friend, Matthew,” you give him a small smile, knowing that the use of his full name will tease him and diffuse any tension throughout this circumstance. “I’m glad you trust me enough to share that with me. And just for the record, you’re a safe space for me, too.”

He presses another kiss to the back of your hand, a soft whisper of, “Made you cry, love, ‘m so sorry,” bringing you back to reality — although you hadn’t even noticed the tears that pooled in your eyes during the conversation.

“Honestly, look at the fuckin’ state of us,” he snorts, shaking his head disbelief. “We look a right scene, ‘specially you, crying at your own birthday party.”

Your fingers remain interlocked as you wittily remark, “Me?! Sorry rockstar, but you used to do coke in the bathroom at parties, and now you’re hiding in them!”

“Touché,” he smirks, winking back at you. “We should probably get back, love. People will start talkin’.”

Let them you want to tell him, but you don’t. Instead, reality hits you like a ton of bricks as a quick glance around the bathroom ensures the porcelain toilet in your peripheral has you begging to release the vast amount of alcohol you’d consumed throughout the night.

“Need a wee,” you state simply.

“Go ahead,” Matty nods towards the toilet in encouragement.

“Not with you in here!” you gasp in disgust.

“Promise I won’t look,” he tells you, holding his free hand up in defence.

“Too bloody right you won’t look!” you shriek as you stand from your spot and pull the shower curtain closed, separating the two of you once again. Now out of sight, you feel a little more at ease; although one more thing would make you totally comfortable with urinating in his presence.

“Have you seriously turned the tap on?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, lowering yourself onto the toilet to ease the ache from your bladder that had been building up.

“Why?” he confusedly asks.

“Because I don’t want you to hear me pissing.”

You hear Matty laugh and you just know it’s the sort of giggle that has him throwing his head back, dimples etched deep within his skin, as his wide smile shows off his ridiculously perfectly teeth. How you wish you could kiss those dimples he’d been blessed with; your lips brushing over his rough stubble. You shake your head at the intrusive thoughts — thoughts you shouldn’t be having about your best friend.

“Been bringin’ you on tour wi’ me for the last four years, doll. Think ‘m over hearing ya piss by now.”

You roll at your eyes at his comment before being satisfied that you’ve emptied your bladder. You flush the contents of the toilet bowl, sort yourself out, and wash your hands, before pulling the shower curtain back to reveal Matty once more. Holding out your hand, you encourage him out of the bath.

He gratefully accepts the gesture and climbs out of the porcelain tub. His other hand steadily holds the red wine and once both of his feet are firmly on the cold tiles, despite your hatred of the alcoholic liquid housed within the bottle, you can’t help but crave the taste of something other than the lingering tequila and you reach forwards. As you do so, you lose your balance and Matty’s timely reaction has you stumbling into his embrace.

“Whoa, steady love,” he giggles.

You don’t even process what you’re about to do. Perhaps its the liquid confidence; spirits running through your veins; or maybe it’s the vulnerable emotions and overwhelming conversations that have taken place tonight that make you think fuck it as you reach up onto your tiptoes and press your lips against Matty’s.

It’s soft and tender; admittedly, not a kiss that holds much conviction.

“Whoa,” Matty repeats, pulling his mouth away from yours. His hands remain around your body, his hold on you exhibiting the reality of oxymorons; delicate (as though you’re a piece of glass ready to break with the slightest touch) but also firm (preventing your body from swaying in your drunken state).

You gaze up at him breathlessly, before murmuring a quick apology.

“S…sorry,” you stutter, shaking your head, pathetically attempting to remove yourself from his hold.

“You’re wasted, darlin’,” he states the obvious as he places his hands either side of your face, his eyes intently scanning your features. “So fuckin’ wasted,” he whispers under his breath as he leans towards you, lips hovering just above yours, close enough for you to inhale the lingering smell of his cigarette smoke.

You’re disappointed, however, when he instead opts for resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I can’t,” he mutters sympathetically, breathless as he licks his lips, before continuing, “Can’t stop myself if I go there darlin’ and you’re drunk. Can’t take advantage of you, love, not like this.” He pulls away the slightest amount before his eyes scan over your features once more in an attempt to read you.

“’s not taking advantage if I want it,” you tell him, surprised at how easily you’re both playing into this.

He presses his lips against your forehead, the twitch against your skin indicating that he’s smirking. He allows for the tender moment to linger — perhaps for longer than he should.

“You’re drunk,” he repeats, a reminder to himself more than anything.

“‘m not that drunk,” you tell him, almost as though you’re a petulant child.

“You’ll regret it in the morning,” he responds.

“What if I won’t?” you press.

He ponders for a moment because fuck he wants this so bad, too. You’re his best friend and he doesn’t want to ruin your existing relationship but he’s aching for you; desperate to have you in every aspect of his life as something more; but despite his longing for you, he wants the sober version of yourself to make a conscious decision. He sighs heavily, his thumbs skimming your cheeks. You whimper at his affectionate gesture and wrap your hands around his wrists, holding them in place.

“Then if you still want me, you can have me,” he speaks with conviction. “Can ‘ave me, darlin’. Can ��ave all of me.”

342 notes · View notes

eddiebabygirldiaz · 10 months

Note

Hello Beloved 💙💙

1 and/or 28 for the soft prompts if it sparks joy ✨️

The soft, sultry croon of Dizzy Gillespie’s trumpet filters through the kitchen, its gentle and heartrending notes caressing the floor and cabinets and every inch of Buck’s skin.

Buck hums along as best he can, letting the vibrations settle in his bones and sweep him away, the combination of sounds turning into a collection of sparkling orange and deep maroon and rose gold inside his chest, painting his flesh with the same feeling and colors of the setting sun, whose final touches spill through the window above the sink.

He never feels more settled or peaceful than when he is here in Eddie’s kitchen, preparing food for his boys and listening to the jazz playlist he reserves solely for cooking.

Buck isn't sure why, but the syncopated rhythms, husky timbres, sharp pitch changes, and the raspy voices of jazz artists like Dizzy Gillespie, Ella Fitzgerald, and Miles Davis, always heighten the cooking experience for him. The sounds of it rattle pleasantly through the room and his veins, grounding him and allowing him to focus solely on the task at hand.

He joins in with Gillespie’s crooning, softly singing, “Swing love, sweet cadillac, comin’ for to carry me home,” repeatedly under his breath as he brings the edge of the knife down swiftly, slicing through pieces of carrot, potatoe, bell peppers, and squash in a steady, soothing rhythm.

The music carries him through each movement, weaving into his muscles like vibrating threads that tug him from place to place, his hips swaying with the beat and feet gliding across the floor as he deposits the chopped vegetables into the chicken stock simmering on the stove.

A soft laugh breaks through the music, skittering through the air, reaching out for Buck like the winding tendrils of a plant’s roots or the final rays of sunshine that kiss the horizon. It’s a sound Buck cherishes, the dips and valleys of it tattooed on his heart, held dearly in the very center of him. A sound that at times was hard won, only breaking past gritted, bloody teeth when Buck reached inside and yanked it out, but now it falls easily from lips curved in the shape of love and fondness, spilling out freely and genuinely like pure, clear water from a spring.

Buck turns around, guided by the sound of that laugh and the thread that connects him to the person it comes from.

Eddie is leaning against the frame of the entryway, arms and legs crossed, his body angled in a slant that has no right being as hypnotizing as it is. The lines of him are long and lean and strong, his legs lengthened by his position and the breadth of his shoulders wide, pulling at the seams of his white t-shirt in a way that makes Buck’s mouth go dry. He’s had his hands and teeth and lips and tongue all over every inch of those legs and shoulders, but it’s never enough.

He’ll never get enough of Eddie for as long as he lives.

Eddie looks like he’s been there for a while, comfortably settled against the wooden frame, his eyes dark and hooded, a lazy smile stretched across his face.

Buck huffs and leans back against the counter, eyes narrowing at Eddie’s form. “How long have you been standing there?”

Eddie hums and shrugs, tilting his head to the side and resting it against the frame. The corner of his lips twitch and his bottom lip pokes out a little bit, tell-tale signs that he is fighting off a smirk. “Long enough.”

“Well, you could have come in and helped me,” Buck grumbles.

That laugh flows out of Eddie again, light and breathless, not weighed down by anger or hurt. He pushes himself off of the entryway’s frame and strides over to Buck. “Sorry, babe,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all, “I just love watching you like this.”

Buck levels Eddie with an unimpressed look as he slots himself along Buck’s side, hand landing hot and heavy on Buck’s hip, thumb automatically dipping beneath the edge of Buck’s hoodie to stroke over his skin. A shiver runs through him, tiny trembles sparking in his cells beneath Eddie’s touch and spreading along his entire nervous system.

Eddie grins, wild and pleased.

Buck nudges him in the chest with his elbow. “What exactly do you love watching? Me slaving away in your kitchen? Doing my very best to provide you and your son with a hearty meal after a long day? You got a housewife kink I need to know about, Eddie?”

A sharp pinch to his hip makes Buck jump and yelp.

Brown eyes shine with mirth, a glittering darkness that is more dazzling than the night sky, as Eddie laughs bright and loud. Buck smiles because Eddie’s joy is the sweetest thing he knows, but he still slaps at Eddie’s chest in admonition. Eddie catches his hand and holds it against his chest, flesh and bone fluttering beneath their hands as his laugh dies down.

“You’re such a little shit,” Eddie says, his nose scrunching the way it does when he’s equal parts amused and exasperated. “Though, the thought of you in a little dress and dainty apron is rather compelling.”

“Mmm, yeah?” Buck steps in a little closer to Eddie wraps his arms around his shoulders, linking his hands together behind Eddie’s neck. “I’d look good in any dress, but definitely in a little one.”

Eddie’s hand slips from Buck’s hip to the small of his back, settling into the slight groove there with an intimate familiarity, his fingers curling into the fabric of Buck’s hoodie. Buck’s soul sighs in relief and sings with the first sparks of pleasure as Eddie presses against Buck’s back, exerting just enough force to pull Buck into Eddie until there’s only a few inches separating them.

“I don’t doubt it.” Eddie leans in and nudges Buck’s nose with his own, a sweet brush of skin, a kiss so serene and intimate that it makes Buck’s knees weak. “You look good in anything, baby.”

Buck slides his nose along Eddie’s then shifts his head until he’s nosing at Eddie’s cheek, giggling a little at the scratch of stubble. He kisses that beautiful curve and feels the slow smile that spreads across Eddie’s face, blooming underneath Buck’s lips like a flower coming to life on the first day of spring.

“You keep flattering me like that and I’ll go find the daintest, laciest apron I can find and wear nothing underneath. Really make those housewife dreams come true.”

Eddie huffs and shakes his head, dislodging Buck’s lips which were dragging across his cheek and jaw.

When Buck pulls away to look at Eddie, happiness is painted across his face bright and vivid, but there’s an edge of seriousness that makes Buck pause.

Eddie sighs softly and gives Buck a crooked smile. “Not housewife. But husband sounds pretty good.”

Buck’s breath hitches in his chest, the air that keeps him alive rattling around in between his heart and breastbone, fluttering around like hummingbird wings.

“W-what? Eddie, are you–”

“Not yet,” Eddie rushes to say. “But, would you–I mean, is that something you would be interested in?” A tiny grimace pulls at his face and even though awe is dripping through Buck like spiced honey, he can’t help but laugh and drop his head so that their foreheads are pressed together.

“Is that something I’m interested in?” Buck parrots back.

Eddie groans. “Shut up. I’m not great at this.”

“No, no,” Buck reassures, dropping a quick kiss to Eddie’s lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs.

Eddie hums and pulls Buck into a deeper kiss, licking into Buck’s mouth quick enough to grab a taste, but not staying long. Buck whines into Eddie’s mouth as he pulls away, pushing his lip out in a small pout just to hear Eddie’s laugh, but also because he’s a little disappointed that the kiss didn’t last longer. Kissing Eddie is one of his top five favorite things to do and if he had his way, at least twenty-two hours of the day would be spent doing just that.

A sweet peck is placed upon Buck’s pouting lips as Eddie places both of his hands on Buck’s hips and moves them away from the counter, guiding them into a gentle swaying motion set to the slow rhythm of the music still playing in the background.

Buck tightens his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and shuffles along with him, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck as they dance through the kitchen.

“So that’s a yes?” Eddie asks quietly.

The sultry jazz music spilling from Buck’s phone has nothing on the lilting melody taking residence in his chest, something bright like the sun and sweet like honey and bubbly like champagne beating in his blood and marrow, all of it blending together to sing Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“Yes,” Buck murmurs against the skin of Eddie’s neck before planting a kiss there. “That is a yes to you eventually asking me to marry you.”

Eddie’s laugh is quiet this time. Buck doesn’t hear it but he feels it rumble through his own chest, a piece of Eddie’s joy sinking into him, and he hopes it weaves itself into his DNA, a part of Eddie forever held inside Buck, more beautiful than the music they are dancing to and more colorful than the sunlight bathing them in its warmth.

soft prompts

also on AO3

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #soft prompt #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 #ryan writes #MUAH ILY RO

157 notes · View notes

hey-kae · 1 year

Note

hi bestie! i’ve been MIA from requests for like a month because of my mental health and i was feeling so bad. can i request a comfort fic with pierre and charles? (the reader dating pierre pls) 🥺👉🏻👈🏻🥺

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x female reader

Warnings: nothing i think

a/n: i hope you’re feeling better and i’m sorry it took so long to write this for you🫶🏻

It was already night when Pierre’s flight home touched down in the city that would reunite him with the person he loved, eleven in the evening to be exact. Usually, you’d be the one waiting for him impatiently at the gate but this time, he insisted you wait at home. He didn’t want you to drive the long road to the airport alone at this time. Therefore, he dragged himself into a taxi, choosing one driven by an elderly woman to reduce the chances of being recognized. He was simply too drained for any unnecessary interaction.

An hour later, the silver car came to a stop in front of the apartment complex and as he paid the lady, retrieved his luggage and stepped out of the car without any suspicious remarks from his ride home, he could deem his plan as successful.

Soft and repetitive elevator music kept him company as he pressed the floor’s number, leaned against the wall behind him and shut his exhausted eyes for the few seconds it took for the elevator to come to a stop.

Pierre’s hand dug through the deep pockets of his sweatpants, grabbing the metal object he recognized as his key while he marched down the hallway, the low rattling of his suitcases’ wheels echoing against the walls until it was joined by the jiggle of keys and the click of them turning in the keyhole.

His foot pushed open the door and his luggage was immediately disposed of by the entrance, his jacket also being abandoned on the back of a couch as he made his way inside of the quiet and dark apartment.

He flicked on a flight and watched it flicker to life, faintly illuminating the living room in front of him. Deep down, he expected you to be on one of the couches but there was still no sight of you.

“Baby…” He called as he started looking for you, “Je suis arrivé. T’es ou?” I’m here. Where are you? His voiced echoes around the room, toured the house, and came back with nothing but utter silence.

Even seconds later and after yet another call to you, he received no replies and that is when he knew to head straight for the bedroom since you were probably asleep.

Pierre creaked the wooden door open and poked his head into the pitch dark room, the only light source being the singular ray of street light that penetrated through a miniature opening between the curtain but even that wasn’t enough for him to get any insight about whether or not you were in the room. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight on the lowest setting, using it to guide him to the button of the small lamp on the vanity in the corner, the soft warm light immediately flooding the space with enough luminescence for his eyes to be able to see you hair poking out from under a pile of blankets and pillows.

“There you are.” He whispered to himself, now leaving his phone aside and getting rid of his shoes.

“Bébé… » He cooed as he crouched down by your side of the bed, his hands putting themselves to work, pushing away the thick duvet so he could see your face. Your hair was tied in a loose, messy bun that defeated its entire purpose since strands of it were draped over your features. Pierre also pushed those away before calling your name a few times, attempting to wake you up.

Usually, you were rather a light sleeper. Anything would wake you up, sometimes even Pierre moving in bed while asleep so it was quite weird the fact that you were still asleep. It must mean that you were quite exhausted.

While attempting to wake you up, Pierre allowed his eyes to scan the room. It was rather messy but he wasn’t exactly entitled to judge. However, it did concern him, the amount of empty coffee cups and energy drink cans. It was no secret that you enjoyed caffeine but he also knew you to drink it moderately.

It was ironic, though. Despite all those caffeinated drinks, he was struggling to interrupt your heavy sleep.

“Hey, baby.” He softly caressed you cheek. “I’m home. You told me to wake you up when I arrive.” Pierre tried talking to you but to no avail.

“Chérie, tu m’inquiètes.” Darling, you’re worrying me. He said while lightly tapping your cheek, “Allez… Lève-toi.” C’mon… Get up.

All he received in return was a groan and a frown as you attempted to turn to the other side, only to be stunned by a strong arm preventing you from doing so.

You fluttered your eyes open, vision still unclear and tried to understand what was happening. For a second there, you were scared because as far as you can recall, you had fallen asleep alone in the apartment and now, as you were waking up hours later, there was someone preventing you from moving about freely in the bed. It took a moment to register that Pierre would be home tonight and while your mind rediscovered that fact, your boyfriend was staring at your confused expression, waiting for you to realize what was happening.

He also continued to watch as you sprang up into a sitting position, you hand flying to your mouth in what seemed to be horror and now, it was his turn to be confuse because he didn’t quite understand your reaction to his presence, especially when you knew he was coming home.

“Shit, shit…” He heard you repeatedly whisper to yourself, making it even harder for him to understand what was happening right now.

Before he knew it, you were trying to get out of bed in a hurry like you were taken back by his presence.

“Hey, hey… Relax, it’s just me.” His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he felt how tense you were in his hold. Therefore, it was practically instinctual, the way his hands began tracing comforting and soothing patterns on your back.

“What wrong, bébé?” He asked with a soft, low voice and you couldn’t help the way your shoulders dropped in surrender, the tears already welling up in your eyes.

Amidst all the chaos in your mind the past few days, between all the conflicting thoughts and emotions and messes of ideas, the important detail of Pierre arriving home tonight completely slipped your mind, hence why you were in deep sleep. Guilt was tugging at your heart as you thought of Pierre coming into the apartment to find it dark, cold, messy, and pretty much lifeless.

All throughout your relationship with him, one thing you always made sure to do was to make sure he had something to look forward to when returning from a trip abroad. Sometimes, it was as simple as you waiting for him with his favorite food ready and sometimes you went all out, but the bottom line was that he never came home to nothing, not even a hug.

Your arms wrapped tightly around him, his scent already invading your senses, easing up the hell that was the past few days, your head nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Your behavior was really starting to worry him, sparking a little fear in his heart, but it wasn’t much time later when he felt a tear run down onto his skin. Only then, Pierre realized you were crying.

“Tu pleurs?” You’re crying? He pulled back, “Are you okay, baby? What’s wrong?” He asked, his tone heavy with concern, his hands moving to cup your face delicately, his thumbs swiping over your burning cheeks, wiping away the rolling tears that he hated seeing so much.

“I’m sorry… I forgot.” You sobbed, your lips quivering as you pushed out the words, “Fuck, how did I forget?”

Lately, this was an often repeated sequence of events. It would all start with a tear or two then quickly escalate into a sob session that you had no idea how to control, let alone stop.

This episode of your life was hectic and difficult. The job you were currently in felt like being trapped and every other vacancy you applied to hadn’t worked out. Your closest friend that you always confided in had left the country with no plans to return and now the time difference made it incredibly difficult to have a proper conversation. The small things were majorly affecting your mood, like dropping your metal straw when putting it in your cup and the clatter it produced against the floor, your favorite series being taken off Netflix, the internet lagging while you were sending out a message… All these things had put tears in your eyes when they happened. To top it all off, you were spiraling down that road of countless unread texts on your phone that you saw but never bothered opening, irregular sleep times, excessive caffeine in all the ways you could get it, bad nutrition, forcing yourself to do things as simple as brushing your teeth, aking the bed or sometimes even charging your phone.

You knew that gray area and state of living. You revisited that dark chamber every once in a while, every few months when everything would feel overwhelming, when you felt like nothing was going your way, that you weren’t getting anywhere anyway, like all your efforts were practically useless.

“You forgot?” Pierre’s confusion snapped you out of your reminiscent thoughts, “You forgot what, baby?”

It felt wrong when you imagined telling him the actual truth but what were you gonna say instead?

“I forgot that you come home today... I’m sorry.” You clarified while refusing to meet his eyes, and as the words slipped out, you came to the realization that this wasn’t the only forgotten memo. Charles was supposed to come along with him, accompany him home so the three of you could hang out together for the first time in a while for old times’ sake.

The three of you were lifelong friends. You met when you were all really young and instantly became friends. Karting was one of your hobbies and even though you saw it as nothing more than that while they saw it as a future and a dream to pursue, you, Pierre, and Charles bonded over it. Eventually, a tight-knit, honest friendship formed and grew up with you.

“That’s it? That’s all?” Pierre asked with a small, comforting smile while his eyes watched you nod.

“Cherie, you’re human. It’s normal to forget things sometimes. It doesn’t upset me.” He reassured and climbed into bed beside you, instantly holding you close.

He expected for things to get better from that point on. He really did; but you were sniffling into his side, sobbing and gasping for air within seconds. Your hands were clinging onto his shirt and your tears were dripping onto his neck as you sheltered your face in the crook of his neck.

You absolutely loved being in his arms but it was so comforting that the contrast between how you felt now and how you’ve been feeling recently was shattering you completely. Maybe, atop of everything, you missed the warmth of having someone you loved and trusted around, within reach.

Before you knew it, Pierre was sat up against the headboard, pulling you with him and cuddling you into his chest, letting you cry it all out, more than willing to comfort you through whatever it was that was bugging you.

“I’m right here for you. Tu peux me parler de n’importe quoi.” You can talk to me about anything. Pierre reassured and you instinctively held him closer.

“It’s just a few bad days. I’m overreacting a little.” You straggled, struggling to speak without gasping for air between the words.

“Don’t say that. It’s okay to be upset.” He soothed, his hands rubbing up and down your back as he softly kissed your temples, “Tu veux m’en parler?” You wanna tell me about it?

Right then, the words came flowing out as if you had been craving letting them out. You told him about everything all while he comforted you through the conversation. You told him about the hatred you had for the job, about the declined applications, the distance causing you and your bestfriend to drift apart, the mood swings and the tendency to get overwhelmed and irritated quickly… He listened to everything you had to say with meticulous attention, delivering occasional kisses to your forehead.

“I just hate it so much. I feel like a whiny kid sometimes when I cry over stupid shit that I would easily breeze past on a normal day and I hate how suffocating everything feels. I don’t know what to do.” You fumbled for words, fidgeting with your fingers as you spoke.

“Let’s start step by step, okay?” Pierre pulled you back to him, taking the hairtie out of your hair and brushing through the locks with his fingers, “Tomorrow, Charles is getting here so we can spend time with him. I’ll call in sick for you, tell them you lost your voice or something, we’ll spend the day just relaxing and recharging, then maybe you could take a small vacation? We could go visit your bestfriend and I could meet her and when we’re back and after you’ve distanced yourself from your job a little, you’d be able to know if you actually wanna quit it, and if you do and be right there helping you apply to other jobs and sending your resume.” He smiled at you, “Ça marche?” Okay?

You hesitated for a second there then nodded.

“Perfect.” Pierre grinned and briefly kissed your lips, “For now, what do you want to do?”

Your eyes teared up again, “Just wanna hug you. I missed you so much.”

“Oh, baby. We could cuddle for as long as you want. Tu m’as manqué tellement aussi.” I missed you so much too.

Following that, Pierre quickly slipped out of bed, changed into something more comfortable then eagerly came back to you, joining you under the sheets and holding you protectively while you continued crying. It was undeniable that he absolutely despised seeing you in this state, but he was well aware you needed to let it out and as long as he had you between his arms, comforting you, he would bear with the pulls on his heartstrings he would feel with every sob of yours,

“Let it all out. Je serras toujours là, à tes cotes, chérie.” I’ll always be by your side, darling. He made sure to reassure you.

“Je t’aime, Pierre.” I love you, Pierre. You replied, your tone showing thankfulness.

“Je t’aime aussi, bébé.” I love you too, baby.

The morning came and with it came noises originating from the living room. Checking your phone for the time, you realized that you had slept in.

You dragged yourself out of the empty bed, into the room alive with the two voices you recognized as Pierre’s and Charles’. Pierre probably picked him up at the airport earlier while you were still asleep. Quite frankly, you were glad he didn’t wake you up since that was the best sleep you had gotten in a while

“C’étaient quelques jours difficiles pour elle. Je veux qu’elle se sent mieux alors j’ai organisé quelques choses pour qu’on fait aujourd’hui. J’ai aussi acheté ses snacks préfères.” These were a few difficult days for her. I want her to feel better so I organised a few things for us to do today. I also bought her favourite snacks. You heard Pierre explain with a strict tone.

“Ouais, ça roule. Tu sais bien que c’est n’est pas un problème de ma part. Je suis toujours prêt pour aider.” Okay, that works. You know i have no problem with that. I’m always ready to help. You could hear Charles’ tone change, “Quand t’es devenus un petit lover-boy?” When did you become a little lover-boy? And just like that, he was teasing Pierre.

That’s when you stepped into the room, greeting them with a simple “bonjour”. Both their heads snapped towards you, bright smiles on their faces.

Pierre got up and gave you a quick kiss then Charles hugged you briefly, telling you that’s it’s been too long.

“You slept well?” Pierre asked with concern when you took a seat next to him.

You nodded and gave him a genuine smile, your eyes shifting to the center table that was filled with bags and a box of what looked like donuts.

“Donuts?” You asked with delight and raised brows.

“Yes.” Charles beamed and handed the box to Pierre who immediately put himself to work, practically ripping off the frail lid before putting the box in front of you for you to pick first.

If anything, that was a perfect description of how Charles’ stay played out: him and Pierre being the dream team in getting you out of the bad mood you had been in.

Practically all your favorite movies were played at least once. Chocolate, ice cream, noodles, pasta, pizza… all your favorite foods were involved. At some point, a racing competition on the sim came up, what was extremely reminiscent of the karting days and the battles the three of you would have over a prize that, at most, was a few euros or a candy bar.

You were grateful for their company and how good they knew you.

A few days, after Charles left, you and Pierre took off to go visit your best friend and as the days of the trip sequenced, you realized how lucky you were to have Pierre as your boyfriend, simply because it was safe to say he knew you enough to know the key to making you feel better and loved you more than enough to make sure you were feeling your best.

It was becoming clear to you that as long as he’s by your side, supporting you, you’d always be safe and sound.

#pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly oneshots #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly drabble #pierre gasly oneshot #f1 x you #f1 fluff #f1 oneshots #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

421 notes · View notes

the-cat-and-the-birdie · 8 months

Text

Hobie Brown's Living Room on the S.S Anne Ark

Hobie's living room on the houseboat complete with graffiti, boatcats, and a juke box he's customed himself.

(In depth explainer below - click for higher rez)

Diane took this photo early in the morning while Hobie was still sleeping upstairs. It seems like Moto the cat is already up. [Light mentions of my Spidersona Disco-Spider Diane below] The S.S Anne Ark (get it- AnArch?) is Hobie's home, and arguably his favorite place in the world.

Gifted to him by an old geezer Hobie used to work for, he's been living on Anne for 4 years now - since he was 16.

And this is his living room.

Hobie is by no means a homebody, but when he is home, he spends most of his time here - reading, writing songs, and listening to music.

The Living Area -

Feel free to imagine a LOT more junk here. The living room floor is always covered with his projects - songbooks, or patches, zines - whatever art he's making then. Cause Hobie is always making art. His couch might as well be older than him - and he found it on a curb in Tower Hamlets, called a few favors, and somehow got it in here. But it's the most comfortable thing you'll ever sit on.

The Music/Recording Area -

Almost every song Hobie has recorded or written in the past 4 years has been here. Hobie keeps most of his music equipment in the wooden cabinet and the good stuff that can't fit gets put on display. There's a microphone rigged to the ceiling and mixing equipment for recording. Hobie's motto is the louder the better, and it's a good thing the windows are re-enforced, because his speakers are loud enough to make the glass rattle. There's also a vintage jukebox that Hobie had bartered for a couple years back. Now, he loves tickering with it. He's swapped out the old 50's songs for something more his taste tho.

The Kitchen Area -

Hobie can cook, and he loves it, but being a street kid for so long, he's hardly ever gotten in the habit of doing it. Hobie's kitchen is sparce, partly because the boat is off the grid. His cupboards are mainly full of books and shoes, and his oven is rarely used. However, he has a grill on the back deck - and that's where he does most of his cooking. Once Gwendy came around, Hobie got a lot more into cooking, the kid seemed like she needed a homecooked meal. Hobie mainly eats cheap street food - street kid habits -frequenting fish n' chip places and kebab shops, and yeah, he calls the dude behind the counter 'boss' or something. He also eats a lot of food from convivence stores, like packaged sandwiches and cold pastas. Because they're easy to carry, and when he was younger, they were (literal) life-savers. The taste gives him nostalgia. The thing he makes most in the kitchen is beans on toast. Diane finds it disgusting, which Hobie finds hilarious.

The BoatCats

Hobie is a man of many cats. He looks after the dock and alley cats, catching fish on early mornings (yes, he fishes) to give to them before he has breakfast. All of them have names, and none of them have collars. And Hobie loves them all. Those that are a bit older, weaker, or just want to - get to come live with him as BoatCats. Pictured here: Left - Moto (Personality: Feisty, Calm, Curious) Right - Pierogi, also known as Rogi (Personality: Cuddly, Talkative, Friendly) Hobie does not care much for their genders, and doesn't check.

More about The S.S Anne Ark (I'll be posting an explainer with the outside, layout, etc)

The S.S Anne Ark is a modified wide-beam canal boat. Completely off-the-grid, and DIY'd by him, it's Hobie's pride and joy. The Anne Ark is three levels tall - a 'ground' floor, and upstairs, and a locked basement below the deck. Pictured is the living room. To the left - beside the windows - there is a hallway that leads to Hobie's workshop and the basement Hobie choses to firmly keep private. Not even Gwen, Pavi or Diane have been down there. To the right behind the cat tree is the stairs up to Hobie's bedroom. (You walk up those stairs, hit the landing, turn and go up again.) The Anne Ark has two 'bedrooms' and one 'bathroom'. Hobie's bedroom is what was once the control room, gutted and converted. The second bedroom was once a small equipment space. The small bathroom is up there as well - but it's more of a wet room, with a shower and toilet. There's a sink to wash your hands on the second floor outdoor deck, but it's either that or the kitchen sink.

But that's Anne Ark! And after years of squatting and homelessness as a streetkid, Hobie considers Anne his forever home. And he takes pride in that.

He tries pride in opening Anne's doors for others too - kids in the same spot he was, who just need a little help.

Other little facts about Anne Ark:

Hobie's leather jacket is on the couch. He has multiple, he can't be walking around in the same jacket as Spiderpunk 24/7, right? He has a couple, and the ones he stops wearing, he donates. He usually starts a new one when the last is too cover in patches to continue.

The Anne Ark changes colors.

Diane throws rager after-parties on Anne Ark after the band's shows. She has her own apartment she loves to death, and doesn't sleep over often - maybe staying a weekend or two a month, or crashing after a party. In turn, Hobie hardly ever sleeps at hers. Mainly because her place is merticulously pink, and she says he messes up her throw pillows. He disagrees with the idea of unusable pillows. And with her own crib and bed a portal jump away, they don't feel the need to bunk together. Non-conventional relationship and all that. [Insert scene of Barbie being like 'why would you wanna stay over?? :) This is MY dreamhouse lol <3 ]

________________________________________

So uhhhhh, that's his living room.

I tried to get it as genuinely close how it looks in me paracosm (i JUST learned that word), based on how Diane sees it. All of this is based off of headcanon and I see it when I'm in the space.

Some things may be left out for sake of space and simplicity - but this is mainly it - as accurately as I could reasonably get it.

If you read this far, THANK YOU - I really appreciate it and it genuinely means a lot! As usual, you will take this photo of Hobie, and pretend this is normal behavior.

Bye.

102 notes · View notes

thevillainswhore · 7 months

Text

A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing

Pairing: Dark!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: It was an art - one that took many years and many sacrifices to perfect, and Steve had managed to become a master at it. There was just one thing he would not fully commit to sacrificing, at least not the important parts that kept life essence flowing: you.

Warnings: THIS IS A DARK FIC - PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - dead dove, kidnapping, mentions of smut (p in v), fingering and oral (fem receiving), implied non-con, degradation, restraints, physical abuse (face slapping), cannibalism (it’s Steve kemp what did you expect?), force feeding, hints of Stockholm syndrome?

A/N: Unbeta’d | dividers created by @rookthorne thank you for also helping me with the summary my love 🥰 | this oneshot was inspired by the lovely @smutconnoisseur who made me this absolutely stunning moodboard 😭 I just knew I had to write something as soon as I saw it. Thank you so much sweetie, loves you the most 🥹

“Let me go, you fucking psycho!”

Steve merely kept on humming to himself, happily slicing the meat in front of him into finely cut pieces. It took severe attention to detail to finesse the glide of the knife just right, cutting through as smooth as butter.

It had taken quite a long time to get his craft on the line of perfection - years in the making - and now that he’d finally mastered the art, it was as easy as riding a bike. The rush of adrenaline spiking his nerves gave him a hit unlike anything else in his life. This was what he was meant for. He’d wasted so much time not giving in before.

Wooden screeching against the floor snapped him out of his inner musings, eyes lifting up to see you fidgeting in your chair - presumably trying to escape, but the chains attached to your feet would keep you rooted.

Steve couldn’t help but notice how the glow of the candlelight surrounding you on the dinner table highlighted the beauty in the features of your face. Sunset orange dancing among the shadows, defining your cheekbones and your shoulders decorated in the straps of a pretty dress.

You were so beautiful. Perfect for him.

Placing the meat onto a skillet to cook, Steve wiped his hands and rounded the corner of the kitchen island to join you, the sudden bravado you had earlier evaporating while terror took over your body. His cock shouldn’t have gotten hard seeing the tears gathering on your lash line, but those glassy eyes reminded him of a deer in fright, ready to run. And fuck, would he love the chase.

“Bambi… join me.”

It was haunting, the kind smile Steve let loose as he held out his hand to you after arriving by your side. No wasn’t an answer, and you did well to stand up on your shaky legs - from still recovering or fear, he wasn’t sure - quietly proud of you either way.

Flashbacks of you clumsily tripping over the bed to go relieve yourself on the toilet crossed his mind as he brought you to the middle of the living room. After fucking you three times in one night, leaving you screaming his name and begging for more each time, he couldn’t help be prideful watching you stumble your way out of the room. Just like a doe learning to walk for the first time.

Of course, the chains rattling with each step you took while limping weren’t part of the memory. The heavy breaths were familiar though, smirk crawling onto his face as he imagined your adorable squeaks while he ate your cunt like he was man starved.

Once Steve had directed you into the middle of the living room rug, he brought you closer to him, slipping his arm over your waist as you flinched, and grabbing your other hand to hold as he began to slowly dance. He was thoughtful enough to keep his steps light and be extra careful with you.

Deciding it was too much of a distraction for you a long time ago, Steve had decided to forego music in the house - it let your mind switch off and he wanted your brain alert… in the present. Solely on him and every move he made. So, he graced you with his singing voice instead, whispering the lyrics to ‘Restless Heart’ in your ear.

Steve felt the shaking of your chest before your uncontrollable sobs cut through his singing. He’d be offended had he no clue how scared his Bambi was.

“What’s wrong, Bambi? Huh? Don’t you like it here with me?”

“I w-want to go h-home.” You stuttered.

Steve sighed and lifted your head up with his palms, kissing your forehead and leaning down to your watery eyeline to speak to you directly.

“Oh, baby…” his condescending tone gave away his faux concern for you, “you know I can’t let you do that.”

You began to heave, breaths coming in fast and heavy with panic - Steve almost felt a crack in his heart. Almost.

Truth be told, Steve knew you were it for him. Ever since he first saw you from the corner of his eye walking down the fruit and vegetable aisle, he’d been bewitched.

Youthful, tight skin, good looking.

You ticked all the boxes for him… and the rest of his client base.

He’d caught other women before - gorgeous, just the right amount of meat on their thighs to keep the buyers happy.

They were good. However, they didn’t compare to you.

Normally, Steve would be excited to find new prey. The cat and mouse play of picking out women to cut up and sell. But, you were different. Steve wanted you all for himself.

See, you weren’t just a pretty face, you were witty, funny, intelligent - maybe not smart enough to see what was coming, but he didn’t hold that against you, he was just too conniving after all.

And those goddamn dates he took you on, paving the path for his plan to come to fruition, when he found himself enjoying your company. Steve wanted to spend all of his time with you, willingly.

That was when he decided he didn’t want to go along with his usual plans. Instead, he wanted to date you. See where this relationship could go.

So, he took you to his house tucked away in a secluded area - the excuse of wanting a weekend without the modern world bothering you in disguise of your questioning to the lack of signal or Wi-Fi.

Honestly, he didn’t initially plan to drug you. The opportunity just… sprung onto him. Too tempting to not listen to his base instincts and ignore the spiked wine hidden in the alcohol cabinet.

A voice in the back of his head told him he shouldn’t be doing that, he vividly remembered it. The urge to get a kick out of his charades with someone as good as you overpowered it, though.

Steve wasn’t proud of himself afterwards, but how could he be blamed? He’d worked out a successful routine before he stumbled on you. Wooing girls fitting his mental meat quality checklist and eventually luring them into his second home. It was only natural to follow his instincts, what he’d made of himself.

You especially weren’t happy when you found yourself on his home operating table, opening your eyes to realise your boyfriend was taking your ass.

Weirdly, he didn’t find guilt in the thrill he took from that - that seemed to sicken you the most. He remembered how you lunged for him, screaming about the insanity of his pleasures when you woke up after the surgery to find him sitting in your caged prison. Cutting into your delicate skin to watch the stream of blood flow down your rump to then hearing him laughing to himself as he showed you the flesh stolen away from your body had your head spinning - dangling it from his fingers in front of your face.

It wasn’t too long after that you passed out from overexertion. If only you knew the way he used you to take care of himself after that.

It may have been confusing to understand, but Steve genuinely thought the world of you. Those few months of dating spent together changed his mind on whether he’d find a companion ever again.

Finding love alongside Steve’s hobby had been difficult to put it lightly. His first wife knew of his side activities coinciding with his doctoral career. That was why he settled being with her, someone who was accepting of who he was. But, although she may have put up with what he was doing, she didn’t initiate that spark within Steve - that buried, deep seated fire that begged to be set free. Steve wanted to be seen, to be loved in his entirety.

There was no shame in that.

That was what led to the downfall of his marriage, Steve was no longer interested in the farce of keeping up appearances with a woman who didn’t truly understand him. Which is why she had to go. Just divorcing wasn’t an option, she knew too much.

Then came along you. His pretty doe, who captured his heart from a glance.

As your hysteria whittled on, Steve hugged you tight to his chest.

He’d kept you here for a month in total now. Four glorious weeks of spending time with you alone, bonding together. Your feistiness only made his cock grow in his slacks whenever you put up a fight.

His little doe didn’t put out easy - just how he liked it.

As your tears continued to soak his dress shirt further, he shushed your cries, keeping you close and he swayed side to side in comfort.

The beeping of the oven hob, interrupted Steve’s attempt at soothing you. The meat was cooked and it was time to plate up the dinner he’d made for the two of you.

Bringing you away from his chest, Steve smoothed your hair behind your ears, wiping his thumbs under your swollen eyes to get rid of your tears. Holding your arm, he again directed you back towards the table to sit down, clamped your hands back into the cuffs attached before walking towards the kitchen.

Peaking over, Steve noticed you had calmed down and collected yourself by the time he was adding the peppermint sauce over the mashed potatoes and meat.

He had high hopes on your opinion of his cooking, what you thought mattered to him, believe it or not. It was his real passion beside becoming a plastic surgeon, and he wanted you of all people to like it.

Gracefully, Steve walked on over with his finished plates and set one on each placemat. Your head was bowed, eyes set on the meal set in front of you.

“What is it?”

Your mousy voice spoke up and had Steve looking down at you, lifting your chin up with two fingers so he could see your face.

“Your favourite, sweetheart. Steak and mashed potato.”

A shudder racked through your body as Steve smirked, dropping your face and grabbing the large napkin to fan out over your thighs. He smoothed the material over your legs and traced the tips of his fingers along your bare skin. The sight of you inching away didn’t sit well with Steve, pinching you to hear that familiar yelp he loved so much.

He began to get settled in his seat, combing his styled hair back with his fingers before beginning to cut up the meat on his plate.

“You remember our dinner date don't you, baby? You ordered the exact same thing when the waiter asked. Poor boy couldn’t keep his eyes to himself when I made you speak as I fucked you with my fingers.”

Steve knows you didn’t want him to hear the gasp that couldn’t be kept in. Adorable. You were still so shy around him.

But he didn’t appreciate how long your silence lingered, looking up to see you still staring down at your food, untouched.

The knife clashing down on the plate made you jump in your seat. You didn’t want to eat, no bother. Steve would help you.

Stabbing a cut of meat with his fork, Steve carefully leaned over the table to hold the steak up to your mouth for you to take a bite.

“Open up, my little doe.”

Steve saw your mouth opening up, happy to see you were cooperating with his request. You were finally making progress. Only for you to suddenly move your head to the side as he got close and bite down onto his hand, hard.

The fury built up in Steve as he snatched his hand away, fork scattering onto the table as he released it. In instant retaliation, Steve backhanded you across the face, sending your head whipping over to the side as blood spurted out your mouth.

“Bad girl.”

Blood from the force of his hit trickled down the corner of your mouth. You hadn’t moved from your spot for a second before Steve grabbed the front of your neck, bringing you closer over the table and ignoring your squeak of pain.

“Now, eat what I so graciously cooked you before I fucking force it down your throat.” His spit from the anger of his voice shot out onto your face. Steve shoved you back before slumping into his own seat once again.

His hot and cold nature always had you on edge, but you were used to it by now. Is that what he really deserved after being so thoughtful to you?

Steve observed you closely. Watching your every move should you try something like that again. Only would you get away with something like that once.

You picked up the fork dropped, meat still intact on the silverware and inspected it thoroughly. He knew you were looking for hints of poison or something that indicated he’d drugged you. He threatened it enough times for you to be wary.

He wasn’t sure what you would have preferred once you found out.

Opening your mouth, you placed the meat tenderly onto your tongue and closed to begin eating.

Steve waited until you had swallowed. Intently watching you chew before you were finished with your bite. He gave it a second before sitting back up, taking the fork from you and stabbing another piece, ready to start his meal.

Not before letting you in on his secret ingredient. “I always said you tasted good, didn’t I, Bambi?”

Cold dread visibly washed over your face as you went deadly quiet. Your hands began to abnormally shake. Steve just sat there and watched as your body went into emotional turmoil.

There wasn’t much you could have done, chained to the table, hyperventilating. It wasn’t even as if you could have stuck your fingers down your throat to throw it back up, fingers too far out of reach to even try. It didn’t stop you from dry heaving over the side of the table, retching loudly.

Eventually, the panic your body sent you in, along with your howling cries from despair allowed you to get worked up enough to throw up. Regurgitated meat mixed with bile landing on the carpet as Steve carried on eating - unfazed.

It took you a while for your body to finally relax, for your mind to comprehend what Steve just made you do. Sweat dripped down your face as you forced your body back upright, too weak to fully keep your eyes open as you hoarsely spoke.

“Why are you doing this?”

You looked defeated, body slumped with dark circles under your eyes, shivering like Steve hadn’t cranked the heating up.

Steve wiped his mouth. He understood you were an acquired taste, not for the lightheaded - you’d get used to it eventually though. He thought you were delicious, cleaning up his plate entirely.

He looked directly into your eyes after he finished eating, voice devoid of emotion. “Isn’t it obvious? I love you.”

Your reply is instant “No, you don’t.”

Darkness blackered his pupils. Body still and uptight as he went still. Steve pushed his plate away and leaned his forearms onto the table, never stopping staring as you squirmed in your seat.

“Don’t you ever question my love for you again. Do you hear me?”

You swallowed the presumed lump in your throat.

Steve couldn’t understand how you didn’t know how much he cared for you. You were here, eating in his dining room. He’d sacrificed customer sales by keeping you to himself. He loved you. You’d understand one day though. He’d make sure of it.

“Give it time, Bambi. I know you’ll learn to love me back.”

“And if I don’t?” There was one last inch of life in your eyes, a thin thread of hope holding on for dear life. Steve could see it clear as day, the embers in your irises dying out with each moment he took to answer.

He knew he had you then, the gut punch of his response blowing out the flame once and for all.

“Funny… you think you have a choice.”

#steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x female reader #steve kemp x f!reader #steve kemp smut #dark!steve kemp #dark!steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x y/n #Steve kemp x reader smut #dark!Steve kemp x f!reader #dark!steve kemp x y/n #dark!steve kemp x reader smut #dark Steve kemp #Steve kemp x you

111 notes · View notes