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horny-marbles · 1 month ago

Note

PLS DO MORE TOBY LIL FICS PLS PLS PLS I LOVED THE OBSESSED READER SHIZZ AND THE ENITRE PLOT wondering if you’ll write more of those bc I deadass loved that fic and everysingle writings you publish

babe... ask and you shall receive 🙏🏻 but thank you so much ahhhh!!! currently working on some requests but i have an extensive list of shit for toby that's clawing at my hands everytime i open my notes app lol THEY'RE COMING

ꋪꏂ꒯ ꒒ꋬꉔꏂ (Ticci Toby x F!Reader)

CW: stalking, home invasion, themes of obsession, creep behavior lol, feral drooling toby that curses like a sailor, degradation but in an adoring way, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), squirting, some mild biting and choking, a liiiittle anal play, creampie

summary: you're a regular ass chick that never looks twice over her shoulder because who the hell would stalk you? well...

word count 7k

It started on a night so cold the air cut. Winter didn’t feel like a season—it felt like punishment. Every breath stung lungs raw, wind bit through the alleyways like teeth and the snow—sharp-edged and crusted with ice—cracked under heavy boots. No one with a working brain was outside. No one except you.

You, and Toby.

You stormed down the sidewalk like it owed you money, diner work uniform half-tucked under a coat three sizes bigger, carrying a greasy bag of cold leftovers. The street was dead silent, a graveyard of snowplowed sludge and flickering streetlamps. You didn’t care. You never seemed to care.

“Fuckin’ hell—shit,” you grumbled as your foot skidded on a patch of black ice. “If I eat it and die out here, I hope someone loots my corpse.”

Your voice punched into the stillness like a brick through glass.

That was the moment.

Toby hadn’t been following you. He didn’t do that shit—didn’t have the patience, didn’t care enough about people to watch them. Stalking missions were the worst. All that sneaking around just to gut someone later anyway. Waste of time. He was just... out. He liked the cold. Couldn't feel it, but liked how it made the world shut up. No traffic, no people, just silence and sharp air.

But your voice cut through the air like you were the only thing alive. Sharp, pissed-off, no filter. Not afraid. Not aware.

From the dark between two alley dumpsters, his head tilted.

You looked like nobody. Plain. Tired. Lips cracked from the cold, hair stuffed under a beanie, boots scuffed to hell. The kind of girl people forgot after ten seconds. You smelled like fryer grease and cheap soap. You didn’t check over your shoulder once.

You didn’t give a fuck.

That was what made him follow.

You were pissed at the ground. That was your crime. The moment he saw your middle finger fly up at a mailbox when your elbow clipped it, something ugly flared up in his chest. You weren’t trying to be seen—but he couldn’t stop looking. There was something fucking wrong with the way you grabbed his attention like that. Like instinct. Like hunger.

He trailed you all the way back. A little closer than he should’ve, just to test if you’d notice.

You didn’t.

Inside, you moved like a creature in its habitat—half-unconscious, messy, private. You dropped your keys on the counter, kicked your shoes off, threw your snow damp coat across a chair without shutting the blinds. Your apartment lights made you glow from where he crouched across the street, barely breathing, pupils blown.

He thought about leaving. Just a glance. Just curiosity.

Then you started undressing.

Not slow. Not sexy. Just peeled your shirt off like it was suffocating you, tugged your bra straps down without a second thought, tits bouncing a little as you yanked the whole thing over your head. No hesitation. No audience.

Except him.

Toby’s breath caught hard in his throat.

You stood there, topless, scratching absently at your ribs, red, irritated bra dents across your back and shoulder blades. One hand shoved into your waistband to dig out the edge of your underwear. You kicked your pants off in a pile near the couch on your way to the kitchen, panties riding up the curve of your ass as you bent to adjust your sock. You didn’t even think about it.

Of course you didn’t. You didn’t think anyone watched you. Why would they? You were average. You felt average. Regular job, regular body, regular goddamn life. Who the fuck would waste their time stalking you?

You were wrong.

You were perfect.

Toby’s cock throbbed in his pants. Hard in an instant. Ugly hard. He hadn’t even realized he was touching himself until his hand stilled over the bulge in his jeans, breath fogging the air. Your body wasn’t a fantasy, wasn’t porn-polished—it was real. Unposed. Flawed. Soft in all the right places, limbs heavy with exhaustion, belly relaxed. You moved without self-consciousness, because you believed no one gave a shit.

And that was the first night he knew: you were his. You just didn’t know it yet.

The days that followed bled into weeks. Then months.

And you didn’t notice.

Why would you?

Your life had a shape—small, predictable, unremarkable. The kind that didn’t attract attention. You worked nights at a diner that smelled like stale grease and cheap cologne, mostly because the night shift came with extra tips and less people. You didn’t like people. Or maybe people didn’t like you. Either way, it worked out.

He watched it all.

From rooftops, alley shadows, behind dumpsters—he tracked your patterns like instinct, until he could map your movements by memory. You never deviated. Your world was contained within a few blocks: the diner, a 24/7 bodega you hit for shitty wine and paper towels, a laundromat where your socks disappeared two at a time, and your apartment—a one-bedroom shoebox you barely maintained, where the curtains stayed open just enough to tempt a demon.

You thought you were boring. You acted accordingly.

You stripped in front of open windows, sat in threadbare panties with one leg hanging off the edge of the bed, doomscrolling Reddit and Tumblr while scratching absently under your tits. Sometimes you’d read smut—illegible from where he sat, to his frustration—eyes glazed, one hand creeping down under your waistband, the other holding your phone like a vice. Sometimes you'd finish with a half-hearted gasp and slump sideways, scrolling again like nothing happened.

He watched the way your face changed when you touched yourself—disbelieving, desperate, as if you were grateful just to feel something.

Toby learned quickly how lonely you really were. You didn’t talk to anyone. Not really. The phone never rang unless it was a coworker begging you to cover a shift. You’d slam it down and bitch out loud like the walls were listening. No family visits. No best friends stopping by. No boyfriend. No one.

Just you. You in your weird little world, raw and cracked open and unaware that someone was eating you alive from the outside in.

And it made Toby fucking dizzy. You were starving. Not just for touch—for company. For care. For proof that someone saw you, that someone was just as hungry. And he was already full of teeth.

He started creeping closer. He couldn’t help it. It was a compulsion, like chewing, like scratching, like panting.

First time he broke in, it was almost boring.

The window slid open like an invitation. Not even locked. Not even latched. He stood there staring at the frame, muttering under his breath in disbelief. “What the f-fuck, bitch. Y-You don’t luh-lock your windows...?”

He was inside your room with both feet planted before his heart even finished beating once. You weren’t home. You wouldn’t be for hours. And still, he stood in your space like it was stolen.

It reeked of you.

Faint perfume. Sour sweat. Clean sheets with your warmth pressed into the fabric. Towel on the floor. Pajamas discarded over the bedpost. There was something obscene about how much life you left scattered around.

Toby’s knees hit the mattress fast. Face down. Deep breath. He buried himself in the covers like a dog in heat, nose first, groaning—groaning—at the flood of scent: shampoo and detergent and wet cunt and skin and something hopeless.

He pressed his palm into his dick through his jeans and rocked forward once, hasty.

Then again. Then with both hands—groping and grunting and rutting into his palms—getting off to the made up image of what you'd look like on top of him while he slammed up into you. Spread open, eyes rolled, tits bouncing in circles, fucked out and drooling.

He came messy, fast, gritting his teeth against your sheets, making no effort to stop the noise. It was gross. It was ugly. It felt like worship.

Next night, he came back.

Your drawer was half-open. Sloppy. Like you were in a rush that evening. His fingers dipped inside, careful. He shuffled through cotton and the occasional lace until he found the pair you always seemed to wear right after laundry day. Favorite ones, clearly. Faded black with a cute embroidered skull on the mound. Worn thin at the seams. He stuffed them in his jacket pocket and took one more long breath at the foot of your bed before slipping out again.

You noticed, eventually.

You reached into your drawer a couple nights later, half-asleep, hunting that comfort pair. They weren’t there. You checked the laundry, the hamper, the floor. Nothing.

“The fuck,” you mumbled. “Fucking laundromat probably ate ‘em too. Big and greedy, man."

Brushed it off. Moved on.

But Toby wasn’t finished.

Two nights later, you opened your drawer again—and froze.

Sitting neatly on top was a new pair. Not your style. Not your brand. A blood-red lace thong, crotchless, strappy, slutty, like it belonged in a porn photoshoot.

And resting on top, a torn scrap of receipt paper with something scribbled on it, looking like it was written by someone that hadn't been sober a day in their life.

Fuck those worn out panties, you'd look better in these. —T

Your face went pale. You backpedaled so hard you almost fell. Slammed the drawer shut. Yanked it open again. The note was still there.

You tore through the apartment. Checked the locks. Windows. Under the bed. Inside the closet. No sign of a break-in. Nothing disturbed.

Just that pair of panties. Just that note.

He stayed away for a week. Slipped back into the cold, into the dark, adrenaline still crackling in his bones. And for the first time in his life, Toby waited.

He thought he was fucked. Figured the cops would show up any day now, that you’d call, report a break-in, scream bloody murder about a pervert sniffing around your drawers. That the second he climbed back through your window, there’d be some twitchy beat cop waiting with a hand on the gun at his belt.

But it never came.

A day passed. Then two. Then five.

And the next time he slid up to your building, fingers twitching against the cold brick, he took his usual place by the window—careful not to fog the glass, careful not to make a single sound. He crouched low, eyes barely cresting the sill. Expecting quiet. Maybe the glow of your laptop, maybe you asleep in your usual tangled mess of sheets.

Instead, he found you spread out across the bed, glowing with sweat and heat and that particular, private kind of shame.

He blinked, breath leaving his lungs in one ragged, fuck me exhale.

You were wearing them. His gift, wrapped around your hips like a fucking ribbon. Thin red lace soaked through with slick and need and oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Cutting sharp into your ass, skimpy straps where the crotch should've been digging into the crease of your thighs, framing your puffy cunt like a work of art. One hand between your legs, soaked. The other gripping the pillow behind your head, fingers curled like claws.

You didn’t even look like you were breathing—just panting in short, stuttering bursts, lips bitten red and glossy, that look in your eyes like you were about to cry from how fucking badly you wanted it.

Toby stared and made the quietest, sickest sound in the back of his throat—half tic, half need—teeth clamping into his lip until it bled, muffling a groan. His goggles were shoved up into his hair, but the mouth guard stayed on—habit, maybe. Or maybe it was just the sick hope that, in case you were mentally deranged enough to let him fuck you—like he'd been dreaming about for months—his scars wouldn't freak you out right off the bat.

You didn’t stop.

You hadn’t even noticed him yet.

He watched your fingers work slow at first, hips twitching like you were trying to hold off—trying to edge yourself stupid. Your face was flushed. Brows drawn in tight. Little, messy curses spilling from your mouth as your eyes fluttered shut, back arching up off the mattress like it was too much to stay still.

His dick, heavy and aching, grinded against the seam like it was trying to break through and pull his entire body with it through the window.

It wasn’t just that you were touching yourself. It wasn’t just the panties. It was that you were doing it for him. You didn’t even know he was there—yet the evidence was everywhere.

He couldn’t hold it anymore. He moved to the glass and knocked—once, sharp. Not loud enough to wake the neighbors. Just loud enough for you.

You jumped.

Your head snapped toward the window, eyes wide and glassy, chest heaving. You didn’t scream. You didn’t move. Just froze with your hand still between your legs, blinking at the shape crouched just outside the glass. Face flushed, glistening with sweat. Thighs trembling.

He watched you recognize him—the shape of an intruder, the silhouette of danger. Watched your eyes dart to the goggles pushed up on his head, the mouthguard still in place, hiding the worst of the scar. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave.

Your heart was beating so loud it drowned out the world. A roaring drumline in your chest, crashing against your ribs so hard you swore he could hear it from the other side of the glass.

You’d only just barely started to breathe again. Your orgasm had been hanging on by a string—your body strung up and ready to snap—and then you looked up, and met brown eyes.

Brown, human eyes, burning through the glass, lit with something so famished it made your stomach drop clean through your pelvis. Fear, yes—but also heat, immediate and wet. A sick pulse between your legs that flickered sharp and electric, tangled in the panic like barbed wire. You didn’t mean to leave your hand there, still twitching on your clit, fingertips slippery with need—but the moment froze.

Your cunt was throbbing.

He just stared at you like you were meat—waiting, shoulders twitching ever so slightly, barely contained. But you didn’t pull your hand away.

And that’s when it hit him.

You wanted this. Maybe not in some clean, healthy way—but it was there. That need. That hunger. Just as fucked as his, simmering under your skin. You needed dick like your lungs needed air.

You still hadn’t moved. Just stared right back. But he saw it. The tiniest little twitch of your hips again. Just enough to rub against your palm. His mouth twitched under the mask, equal parts grin and snarl.

You were panting, dazed, wide-eyed—and something in you, deep in the filth of your loneliness and need, made your hand shift. Not down, not back to your clit—but up. A small wave. Shaky. Awkward. A little stupid. Half a question, half an invitation.

And that was all it took.

Toby moved before you could even finish the gesture. One hand slammed the window open with a sharp snap of the latch, and the other hauled him in with the kind of strength that wasn’t fair. He was inside before your gasp even fully left your lips, a blurred motion of boots and gloves and fogged-up goggles before his feet hit your floor like a warning shot.

You shrieked. A real sound, startled and breathless, hands flying to cover yourself—more out of instinctual panic than modesty. Because looked like he was about to fucking devour you.

He stood tall. Taller than you thought—broad-shouldered and twitching with leftover adrenaline, fog and icy air trailing in behind him. His clothes smelled like snow and smoke and him, sharp pine and something raw, and your legs squeezed together without your permission. Because fuck, even though part of you shamefully fantasized about a good looking, well built, kind-of-fucked-up-but-not-entirely-mental stalker, the reality was that it could've been anyone. Anything.

But it was him.

His eyes drank in the whole scene. The way you trembled, caught in the act, heat still clinging to your skin like a fever. The fear in your eyes contradicting your open legs. His jaw ticked under the strap of his mouthguard, and you saw his gloved fingers twitch like they were aching to grab you by the throat and tear you to shreds.

And then, voice low, raspy from the cold, dripping with filth that made your cunt clench, “you really di-didn’t call the c-cops, huh?”

He took a step closer.

“You just s-sat he—slut— here. In my f-fucking gift. Rubbing that p-pussy like I wasn’t about to show up and tuh-t-take it for myself.”

Your breath caught, mouth falling open in a strangled sound, some hybrid of embarrassment and arousal and holy fucking shit.

“You got off thinkin’ a-about me, didn’t you?” His eyes flicked down your body, then back up—slow and nasty. “Say it.”

Another step. “Tell me y-you came thinking about m-me breaking in. Tell me you were w-waiting f-for it.”

Your hand twitched again, almost moving back between your legs, and Toby noticed. His laugh was more like a scoff, crooked and giddy in the filth.

“Nasty b-bitch,” he muttered, almost to himself. “God, you’re sick.”

He didn't even lean forward—he lunged, like an animal that never learned the concept of anticipation.

Your wave—your invitation—hit him like a line of coke. He pounced, hands slamming down on the mattress, body dropping between your legs like gravity had lost all patience with him. The bed dipped hard, bounced, and you let out a startled gasp—but it didn’t matter. He was already there. On you. Over you. Caging you in like something that didn’t understand restraint.

Heat rolled off him in thick waves, despite the cold outside. His breath punched out through his mask, harsh and wet. He didn’t touch you—yet—but his hands trembled where they landed, planted beside your thighs like he needed them to keep from shaking apart. His goggles caught the light as his head jerked—sharp and sudden—and his gaze dropped, fixating on the gap in lace exposing your pussy like it was bait.

He made a sound. Low. Unfiltered. Somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

“Ff—fuck,” he rasped. “You were gonna m-make yourself cum in my panties, huh?”

The way he said it—like it physically hurt—made your thighs tense. You opened your mouth to explain, to deny, but nothing came out but breath. Heat and nerves and shame choking up in your throat.

Toby laughed, short and disbelieving. “Didn’t even know th-th-they were mine and you still—fffuckin’—humped ‘em?” His voice cracked awkwardly, every stutter slicing the words open and bleeding them raw. “G-God. Say it. S-Say it was me.”

You stammered, your voice caught halfway between a moan and a laugh, nervous and breathless and trapped. “I—y-yeah, I—fuck, I didn’t know—I mean I didn’t know it was you, but I—”

He groaned, loud and ruined, like your words were jerking him off.

“You didn’t know,” he gasped, licking his lips behind the mask. “Ffffuck, th-that’s worse. You didn’t even know and still—still touched yourself like a f-fucked up whore.”

“I didn’t—fuck, I wasn’t thinking, I just—needed something,” you whimpered, hands curling into the sheets, chest rising and falling like you couldn’t get enough air. “I—I thought maybe if I put them on it’d be like—like I was with someone—”

He surged forward like that simple explanation was enough to make him fold—face burying in the crook of your neck with a desperate, feral moan. His mask scraped your skin. The lenses of his goggles bumped your collarbone. His whole body jerked—tics dragging him forward, making him twitch and spasm like the sheer effort of not devouring you was pain.

“You don’t even know h-how fffucked that is,” he muttered, breath catching. “L-lonely little slut wh—who doesn’t even c-call the cops when some freak breaks in. Just wears the gift and j-jacks off. That it baby? Huh?”

Your hips shifted, trying to meet his, desperately seeking out friction, a gasp catching in your throat. “I didn’t know what to do. I just—”

He snarled against your throat. “You let me in.”

Your hands found his jacket, tugging, dragging him closer like you couldn’t stand not having him all over you. Your fingers fumbled at his zipper, clumsy and feverish.

“You—fuck, y-you want it off?” he asked, voice cracking into disbelief, like the very idea made his brain short-circuit. “You want me?”

You nodded, frantic, and layers hit the floor in seconds. Gloves flung. Jacket peeled off with shaking hands. His chest rose and fell in heaves, scars catching the light—long and pink and brutal, carved across lean muscle that jumped under your gaze.

Then his fingers went to the straps of his mask, and you froze.

Because you didn't know what you expected to be hidden underneath—shit, you barely realized something was even covering his face—but you weren't expecting a deep, torn chunk eaten right through the meat of his cheek, healed but violent, exposing teeth and a glimpse of raw gum.

But his mouth—fuck, his mouth was perfect. Wet. Parted. Red and bitten raw from chewing on it, tongue darting out to lick the corners like he couldn’t help himself.

He didn’t say a word. Just let you look, let you decide—like it made a difference.

And you did. Eyes flicking over the wound, the lips, down to his chest, the aching bulge suffocating under his zipper, back up. Your breath caught and your thighs squeezed together, still open, still on full display. You were fucking soaked.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I need your mouth. Now.”

That broke him wide open.

Toby whined—pitiful, breathless—and grabbed your thighs like they were the only thing keeping him alive. His nails bit in. His mouth twitched.

“Yeah? You w-want my fucking tongue on that messy little c-kh-cunt, huh?” he growled. “Gonna let me ruin it? Sit on my ffffuckin’ face? I’ll make you scream so loud I—I’ll get caught, and you won’t even care.”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, head dropping back. “Yes, fucking do it.”

“Beg for it.”

His hand slammed the mattress beside your head with a spasm sharp enough to shake the bedframe.

“Ff-fuckin’ beg.”

Your whisper cracked with desperation, soaked and shaking. “Please… please, I need your mouth—I’ll do anything, I’ll fucking beg, just—”

His eyes rolled back for a beat, chest shuddering as a ragged, broken groan tore up from deep in his lungs, like it hurt to hear how pretty you could beg. Like whatever pornographic sounds his mind conjured up paled in comparison.

He smashed his mouth to yours, hot and open and so fucking wet. It wasn’t a kiss, not really—he didn’t know how to kiss, he devoured. Tongue everywhere, spit and teeth, sucking your lips into his mouth like he needed to drink you. The sheer noise of it was obscene—slick, sloppy, breathless. Your knees bucked and trembled as he knocked them wider with his forearm, your hands clawing at his bare shoulders while he rutted against your thigh like he was holding back from humping you through his jeans.

“Ffffuckin’—say it again,” he gasped against your mouth, panting like a dog. His voice cracked, stuttered. “Say you want me. S-say you want your fuckin’—your s-s-sick psycho stalker.”

You whimpered, brain melted. “I do—I do—I want you, I want you so fucking bad—”

He snapped—body twitching as his hand flew down and yanked those two skimpy strands of fabric surrounding your pussy until they snapped. Two scarred fingers pressed into the heat of your cunt like they belonged there, spreading you open—and the second he felt how soaked you were, he choked.

“Holy sh-shit,” he breathed, like he was stunned. His jaw ticked. “You’re—you’re dripping, bitch. I haven’t even—I barely t-touched you and you’re drenched."

You moaned into his mouth, thighs clenching around his arm, head falling back to expose your throat—and he just stared down at you, trembling, breath shaking like he was holding in a laugh.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he whispered, and suddenly his voice was lower. Threatening. Talking more to himself than to you. “Goddamn lonely. Letting a freak like m-m-me in your room. I could k-kill you right now and you wouldn’t even get the chance to run.”

Your heart dropped. A real, shivering pulse of terror hit your gut. Your body locked up, breath caught, but two fingers pushed inside before you really had time to fully process his words.

And the panic dissolved into a whimper.

He groaned as he felt you clench around him, tight and wet and sucking him in like you were trying to pull his hand deeper, trembling around the stretch. Your hips jolted up into his palm, shame flushed red across your face as your hands clutched at his arms.

“Oh—f-fuck—”

“Yeah,” he growled, voice cracking, lips twitching in half snarl, half mocking grin. “Y-you like that? You sc-s-scared and still letting me fuck you with my fingers like a d-dog in heat?”

But that wasn’t what he wanted. His fingers slipped out with a wet pop and he groaned like he missed the feel of you already. But then he shoved those same fingers between his lips—sucking them deep, moaning around them like he was starving. Eyes fluttered half-shut as he tasted you, mouth shining with spit and slick.

You barely had time to breathe before he dove down.

Tongue first—hot, thick, flat and immediate, dragging a foul stripe from your hole to your clit. He groaned deep in his throat when you jolted, scarred cheek pressed against your thigh, drool mixing with slick in a way that made your eyes roll back and whatever survival instinct you still had vanish.

His mouth latched onto your clit and sucked, tongue flicking relentless and wet, twitching with little tics that only made it worse, better, crueler. His hands locked around your thighs—tight, bruising grip—and held you open like you belonged to him, nose scrunched against your mound and his spit running down to your ass in strings.

You could only kick your legs uselessly.

“Ffffuck—t-tastes like you missed me,” he slurred into your cunt, voice wrecked and broken and gleeful. His lips slipped against your soaked skin, words barely intelligible. “G-gonna fuckin' eat you alive, gonna—mmfuck—”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, hips rolling into his face, loud and shameless as your moans cracked into the quiet room.

“Wh-what the—fuck—oh my—”

He growled. His tongue jammed inside you, licking you open like he was trying to tunnel into your soul, then back up to your clit, where he sucked again hard, chin soaked, eyes wild.

“You gonna cum already?” he grinned into your pussy, teeth catching your clit ever so slightly with every lick. “G-gonna fuckin’ scream for the ff-freak who’s been jackin’ off with your panties under his p-pillow?”

You cried out. Loud. Raw. Helpless. You were right there, stomach tight, walls trembling, thighs shaking around his head when he popped his mouth off your clit, breath hot and sticky against your cunt, and shoved two fingers back inside with no ceremony. Curling them knuckle-deep like he was trying to hook behind your bones, dragging that spot so deep and tender it made your entire body jerk.

Then, with his lips brushing your slick, throbbing clit, he mouthed into you like a threat.

“Say my name, bitch.”

Your jaw dropped, a high, warbled moan catching in your throat as your hands grabbed at the sheets.

“I—I—I don’t—fuck—I don’t know it—”

And he ripped his fingers out, hand soaked to the wrist, only to bring it down across your cunt in a wet crack.

Your whole body seized, a strangled scream bursting from your mouth—shock, pain, heat flooding through you all at once. It stung like fire, too hard, too fast—like he had no clue how strong he was—but you didn’t even have time to reel before he leaned in and kissed your pussy where he’d hit it. Soft, messy, tender.

Didn’t help.

Didn’t matter.

“Toby. S-Say it.”

Your whole body jerked, cunt clenching around nothing as your eyes flew open, lips parting with a whimper so desperate it sounded like prayer.

"Toby—Toby, please, c'mon, just—”

“That’s it,” he hissed, voice warping at the edges with something animal. “K-Keep fuckin' sayin' it, baby.”

Satisfied, his fingers were back. Shoved in to the hilt, curling fast and relentless, fucking up into that sweet spot with punishing speed while his mouth latched onto your clit again like he was trying to suck your soul through it. His moans were shameless, loud and snarling, tongue flicking, chin soaked, breath shuddering through his nose as he devoured you.

Your body snapped with a gasp—froze—then convulsed, crying out his name as your cunt clenched and spasmed around his fingers. Your thighs shook, your hips bucked wildly, wet gushes spurting around his fingers and drenching the sheets under your ass, his arm, his mouth.

He groaned like it knocked the wind out of him.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, voice half gone, still licking through it like he was wringing you out. “Knew you'd be a f-filthy f-fucking slut for me."

You were left twitching, flat on your back, trembling all over and soaked in sweat and spit and squirt, one leg hanging off the bed and the other bent up from where he’d folded you open, pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks.

You barely even noticed him move. Just felt the scrape of his teeth on your thigh, the way he bit his way up to your knee with animal heat in his breath—eyes bugging and fixed on your face, chest heaving, hands tugging open his jeans so rough the zipper snapped open. He kicked them off clumsily and launched them halfway off the bed like they were a personal offense.

The wet, heavy smack of his cock hitting the mess between your legs snapped your attention back. Toby was leering down at you, eyes blown wide and hungry, lips parted, breath shaking as he pressed one of your thighs up, pinned it to the mattress with his palm, and threw your other leg over his shoulder to open you up and fold you like a beloved toy.

His cock—thick, flushed, leaking and twitching—dragged through the mess of your cunt, catching on your clit just enough to make your hips jerk.

"Y-you want it? Huh? You want this dick? After everything I fuckin’ did to you?”

Your breath caught, eyes wide and glassy. He leaned in over you, pressing his cock against your slit, grinding just enough to tease, enough to make your mouth drop open with a whine.

You nodded. Too fast. Too eager. “Y-yeah. Yeah—I want it—fuck—please, Toby, please—”

He pushed in, slow, inch by inch, teeth bared as your cunt gripped him—tight, soaked, vacuuming around him like you were trying to suck the meat off his dick. His arms shook, jaw clenched, eyes rolled back for a second as he bottomed out, torn between making this last—to savor every clench and throb after surviving off the thought of it for months—and needing to fuck you within an inch of your life.

“…God, you're just lettin’ me ff-fuck you? Just like that? Just—fuckin’—goddamn—” He breathed hard, nostrils flaring, his whole body trembling with restraint. “I could f-fuckin’ cry.”

He snapped his hips back and slammed forward, the first thrust knocking the wind out of your lungs. No rhythm, no warning—just piston-fire force, his hips crashing into you, bed screeching with every slam. One hand clamped down around your throat—just to hold you still, thumb brushing your chin as you moaned open-mouthed and raw.

Your hands clawed at his arms, his back, his hair, anything you could reach, mindless with the stretch, the pound of it, the filthy wet slap of skin on skin and the obnoxious slam of the headboard denting the wall behind.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d tuh-t-take it like this,” he grunted, drool on his lip, sweat dripping from his temples, eyes wild. “L-Lonely fuckin' skank… so fuckin’ desperate, you let your fuckin’ stalker in—let me eat you out, let me fuck you—sh-shit—”

Your cunt clamped around him.

“Ohhh my fuckin’ god—do that again—do that a-again and I’ll fuckin' b-break you—I’ll cum so deep you’ll be pissin’ m-me out tomorrow—”

The second your back arched up off the sheets, trying to keep up with the brutal rhythm of his thrusts, Toby’s hands were everywhere. Tits bouncing as he grabbed them in both hands, rough and greedy, mouth latching onto one nipple with a desperate, snarling suck, free palm slapping down over the other, squeezing so tight you whimpered, your legs kicking weakly beside his waist.

"Fuckin’—god, you’re perfect, you—ffuck, these tits, shit—” he slurred around your skin, drooling down your chest, tongue dragging across your tits while he humped against you.

He was losing it. Could barely finish his sentences, just panting and stuttering and grinding into you, overwhelmed. His whole body shaking with restraint he didn’t have, already teetering on the edge. But he couldn't have that. He couldn't end it now, when you were drooling and tearing up and his.

So he pulled out and moved—rough, hurried, no warning—with a snarl that tore through your daze like a serrated knife. Hands snatching at your waist, yanking you up like a ragdoll, flipping you onto your stomach and shoving your face into the pillows as he hauled your hips up with both hands.

You yelped—surprised, breathless, a little laugh punching out of you on instinct.

“W-Wait, give me a s—"

“Sh-shut up,” he barked, voice all gravel and desperation, slapping your ass so hard it rippled. “J-just—stay right there, fuck—stay like that—”

He climbed over you, thighs bracketing yours, one boot planting into the mattress next to your calf as he lifne hand hooked into your waist to keep you impaled, the other palming your ass, slapping it again, fingers pressing into the dip of your lower back to force the arch deeper. Then in your hair, yanking your head back so you had to look over your shoulder as he sank back in with a guttural groan.

“L-Look at me— Look at who's t-tuh-t-FUCK, tearing this pussy up."

The wall behind the bed didn't stand a fucking chance. Paint chipping and flying off like it was being hit with a hammer. His hips slapping into your ass, hand clutching your hair tight enough to burn your scalp as he rutted into you from behind like he was trying to climb inside. You were wailing into the sheets, jaw dropped, tongue out, drooling into the pillow while he made you take every inch over and over again.

“D-didn’t stalk you f-for months for some soft shit,” he grunted, cock buried to the hilt, “w-wanted this—wanted to see you like this, fuckin’ s-stupid, moaning on my dick like a f-f-fucked up nympho, all wet and messy and—fuckin’ m-mine. All m-mine.”

You couldn’t even answer, couldn't even think twice about what he said. Just babbled, breath hitching, tears streaking down your cheeks from how hard he hit that spot inside you, every thrust like a punch to the gut.

Toby whined when you clenched up—when your pussy milked him, fluttering around his cock like your body was begging to be bred—and his voice cracked when he hissed through his teeth. “Cum-cumming again, slut? Fffuck yes, come— Come on t-this fuckin' dick—”

It slammed into you like a fucking car crash.

No warning. No build. Just white-hot, bone-deep release that made your whole body seize and flutter, sobs punched out of you from the inside as your cunt clenched hard around his cock. You twitched—hard, full-body, legs buckling underneath you as he kept your hips up, kept pounding, riding you through the quake like some unchained beast.

And you were crying and grinning, in some fucked-up mix of bliss and madness—head spinning, tears in your eyes, drool on the pillow from how your mouth hung open, panting, trying to form a thought, any thought.

It'd been so long. So fucking long since someone touched you like this. Since someone made you feel like this. Your brain tried to hold onto it but your body was short-circuiting, curling in on itself, torn between wanting more and being too overwhelmed to take one more push.

That’s when his hand came down—slow, dragging from your waist to your head. His fingers swept your hair aside, thumb brushing your jaw, then slipped down until it found the corner of your mouth.

You blinked up at him over your shoulder, still gasping, tears glistening. His lip twitched in a snarl—eyes burning, chest heaving—and he shoved his thumb into your mouth, deep and filthy.

“Suck,” he rasped. His voice cracked. “Get it wet, baby—c'mon."

You whined around it, lips wrapping tight, suckling instinctively, hollowing your cheeks—and he moaned, hips stuttering. His thumb popped free, spit trailing off the knuckle, and he immediately slid it down between your ass cheeks.

You barely got out a breathless little “wait—!” before it was in, his thumb pressing past the rim of muscle—slippery with your spit, buried to the root in your ass—and your vision blurred. Your back arched, your body twitched, everything locking up all over again, cunt gushing around his cock with a sudden squirt.

He fucking lost it.

Toby let out a shattered, broken noise—half sob, half snarl—and his hips snapped forward one final time, so vicious it made you slide forward and knock your head into the headboard. Cock pulsing deep, balls tight, and you felt it flooding you—every rope of cum, every twitch, every grind.

And he collapsed. Heavy like his bones were made of tungsten, weight pressing you down, face smushed into the sweaty curve of your spine, mouth open against your back. You felt his tongue—lazily licking at the salt-slick skin there, huffing like he’d run a marathon, muttering breathless curses into your ribs. Basking in it.

“Fffuck—fuck, oh my God,” he groaned. “Y-you—you feel that, baby? Th-that’s mine, you’re mine, this pussy—fuck...”

You were twitching, still limp under him, breath fogging the pillow in short, shattered puffs. He hadn’t moved, not really, just laying there draped over you like a heat-struck dog, panting into the dip of your spine. His cock still pulsed, softening where it was buried deep inside, every flutter of your cunt making his breath hitch and grin against your skin.

He dragged his teeth across your shoulder—slow, blunt little scrapes that made you shiver—then pressed his mouth to the spot and kissed it sweet and wet. Down your spine, to the curve of your waist. Another bite. Another kiss.

"F-fuckin' beautiful," he muttered, more to himself than you, hands sliding over your ass, kneading where you were sore, where he'd gripped too hard.

He slipped out, and you gasped at the sudden emptiness—whined, actually—left slick and gaping and leaking. His cum, already dribbling down the backs of your thighs in thick strings, stretching between you before they broke.

"H-holy shit, baby," he breathed, sitting back on his haunches, hands spreading your ass cheeks open just to watch.

"Look at this shit," he murmured, voice dipping into a low purr, his grin vile.

He leaned in to kiss your lower back, trailing down to your ass, mouthing warm, lazy kisses across the bruises he’d left. You shuddered, overstimulated and dizzy, still pressed into the pillow, and he laughed—softly, like he adored you.

“Y'gonna m-miss me, angel? Hm?” he whispered, nosing along the swell of your hip, breath ghosting warm over spit-slick skin. “Gonna miss bein’ f-full like this?”

You gave a broken little sound—something between a whimper and a laugh—and he smiled against your skin, all teeth.

“Y-you’re not lonely anymore, baby,” he whispered. “M'not goin' anywhere."

782 notes · View notes

doll3scent · 5 months ago

Text

★ Pornstar 3 ★

John Price x Cam girl! reader

warnings- 18+-mdni, smut, age gap, cam girl reader, explicit language, video call sex.

wc. 5k

a/n i’m already halfway done with pt 4…i have a lot of free time…

2, 3, 4,

master list 𓂃۶ৎ

It had been a week, and Price couldn’t shake the knot of paranoia in his chest. Every time he saw your brother, he expected the conversation to turn, expected him to throw a punch or call him out for his disgusting actions. Price had barely slept, imagining the fallout: the disgust in your brother’s eyes, Ghost’s sharp judgment if he found out his captain was sneaking onto your streams.

But nothing had happened. Ghost remained oblivious and hadn’t acted any differently toward him. That only made it worse—because Price was certain you hadn’t forgotten. No, you had recognized him. You’d seen him.

And yet, you hadn’t said a word. The silence was eating him alive. Were you disgusted? Angry? Planning to expose him? The uncertainty was unbearable. He tried to keep his mind busy by burying himself in his work. But he was constantly plagued by the fear that he’d get a knock on his door, and it would be Ghost, ready to beat him within an inch of his life.

Price couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was maddening. Every quiet moment, every pause in the day, his thoughts drifted back to you—back to that call. The way you moved, the way your voice hitched when you spoke to him, and that soft gasp when you realized who he was.

He’d spent the entire week replaying it in his mind. How you’d looked, how you’d blushed when he praised you, and the way you scrambled to end the call when recognition dawned on your face. The memory made his chest tighten and his blood heat. He knew it was wrong—knew the lines he’d crossed—but that didn’t stop him. It only made the desire worse.

Nights were the hardest. Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, he could almost hear your voice again, soft and sweet, calling him “Daddy” in that timid little tone. He’d clench his fists, trying to shake the thought, but it never worked. He hated himself for it—wanted to convince himself that it was just the heat of the moment—but he knew better. You were under his skin now, and he couldn’t shake you loose.

He tried distracting himself with work. Paperwork, training schedules, anything to keep his hands busy. But every time he’d pass Ghost, that familiar pang of paranoia would hit him. What if he knows? What if you told him? It was a vicious cycle—work, worry, and want, all twisting together until he was a mess of frustration.

And then there were the quiet moments when his mind wandered without permission. He found himself wondering what you were doing now. Were you thinking about him too? Were you avoiding your streams, afraid he might appear again? Or worse—were you streaming, letting someone else watch you, hear you, make you blush like that? The thought made his jaw clench.

One night, he sat alone in his office, a glass of whiskey in hand, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. He pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over the app he’d used to find you. It would be so easy to look you up again, to click and see if you were live. But he stopped himself, setting the phone down with a growl. He couldn’t. Not again. But God, he wanted to.

For days, you stayed curled up in your pink, soft blankets, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. You should've been disgusted, horrified even, that your brother's captain—his boss-had been watching you like that. And yet, every time you thought about it, your cheeks burned for an entirely different reason.

You couldn't shake the way his deep, commanding voice had sent shivers down your spine. The way he praised you, so filthy and raw, had you plunging your fingers into your wet cunt again and again.

And the way he bossed you around, his tone laced with authority, had made your body ache in ways you didn't want to admit. You knew it was wrong-so, so wrong-but the thought of him, of how he wanted you, refused to leave your mind. It was dangerous, forbidden, and yet you couldn't stop yourself from wondering... what if it happened again?

You clutched the edge of your blanket, staring at the blank screen in front of you, your thoughts spiraling. He didn't know it was you-how could he? You'd always worn your mask, kept your identity hidden. To him, you were just another faceless streamer. Just someone he stumbled upon, nothing more. That thought gave you a strange sense of reassurance.

He couldn't possibly connect the dots. He didn't know you were his lieutenant's little sister. That made it... safe, didn't it? At least, that's what you kept telling yourself. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as your mind whispered dangerous thoughts.

Would it really be so wrong if it happened again? If you let him watch, let him command you? You reasoned it wasn't personal for him —it was just the thrill of the moment. But for you... the memory of his voice alone made your stomach twist in ways you couldn't ignore.

You bit your lip, a mixture of guilt and anticipation flooding your senses. One more time wouldn't hurt. He didn't know. He couldn't know. You conjured up an email, hoping he'd respond.

Hi! Price,

I just wanted to say how sorry I am for how our last call ended. Something personal came up, and I had to leave so suddenly... I really hope I didn't upset you.

As a way to make it up to you, l'd love to offer another video call, completely free, if you'd like. Just let me know what works best for you, and I'll make sure I'm all yours this time.

Thank you for being so understanding. I hope to hear from you soon!

Yours,

Angel

You stared at the screen, your finger hovering over the send button. The thought of him finding out it was you-your brother's captain, of all people-made your stomach flip with anxiety. What if he did recognize you? What if he went straight to your brother and told him what his little sister was doing?

The mere thought sent a chill down your spine. But... then again, what if he didn't find out? What it you were careful, kept everything just right, and he never connected the dots? Your heart raced with the risk, the thrill of the secrecy. If you could just keep your identity hidden a little longer, maybe you could let this dangerous game play out. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves. The desire to continue, to feel that rush again, gnawed at you. Your hands trembled as you clicked the send button.

John sat back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face. The past week had been a blur of tension, his thoughts plagued by that night. He couldn't stop thinking about the look on your face when the webcam shifted, the shock in your eyes as you recognized him.

He had barely slept since, half-expecting you to show up at his door or, worse, tell your brother what you'd seen. He opened his inbox absentmindedly, eyes scanning the subject line of a new email. It caught his attention-your name glowing back at him-and a pang of curiosity tugged at his chest. He clicked open the message and started reading, his brow furrowing as he processed your words.

"I'm so sorry how our last call ended..."

A wave of relief washed over him as he read further. You were apologizing for the way things had ended, offering to make it up to him. His fingers lingered over the screen as he reread the part about a free rescheduled call, and his heart raced. Were you serious? Or was this some sort of trap? Would your brother be on the other end of that call?

John leaned back, tension settling back into his shoulders. He could feel the heat of the situation creeping up on him again. The desire to see you, to hear you, to feel that connection again was almost too strong to resist.

John leaned back in his chair, trying to suppress the rush of emotions that flooded his chest as he remembered the way you had responded to him. The soft, breathy gasps, the way your body had moved in perfect sync with his words—it was like you had become his in that moment. He could still feel the tension in the air, how you had melted at his voice, obediently following his instructions without hesitation.

Your responses had been soft, shy, and yet there was something powerful in the way you surrendered to him, something that had stirred something deep inside him.

He hadn't expected you to listen so easily, to let go of your inhibitions like that. And the way your body had moved-slow, deliberate, responding to him like he was the only thing that mattered.

He bit his lip, remembering how he had commanded, how you had obeyed. His heart thumped in his chest as he realized just how much control he had over you, how much you had let him in. It made him want to take it further, push the limits, see just how far you'd go.

His thoughts drifted to the email now sitting in his inbox, a silent invitation from you. He couldn't stop the grin from tugging at his lips. He knew it was risky, but the temptation was too strong. He had to see you again, hear you again, and feel that same power dynamic build between you.

Dear Angel,

First off, no need to apologize-I completely understand that things can come up. That being said, Ive been thinking about our last call... and I have to admit, I haven't been able to shake the memory of it.

I'd definitely be interested in rescheduling, and I'll make sure we have a bit more time to really enjoy our time. How does tomorrow evening sound to you? I'm flexible, so just let me know what works for you.

Looking forward to it.

Best,

Price

You giggle softly, your cheeks flushing as you read his reply. The thought that he's been thinking about you too sends a thrill through you. You glance at his words about his flexibility and the teasing thought crosses your mind. You want to reply something cheeky, something bold like how you're flexible too, and how he can bend you however he wants. You could say it... something bold, something that would make him want you more.

But you bite your lip, hesitant. Instead, you type a more subtle response, keeping your playful nature intact, but holding back the risqué thoughts.

Price,

That sounds perfect. I'll make myself available, just let me know what time specifically works for you. Can't wait to talk again soon.

Yours,

Angel

You lie in bed, the soft sheets wrapped around you as your mind drifts, you can't help but imagine how you'll look on the next call-how you'll make sure every inch of you is perfect for him. You run your fingers through your hair, mentally picturing yourself in the right lighting, the right angle.

You want to be flawless, to catch his attention in a way that makes him crave you more. The thought of impressing him, of hearing his approval, fills you with anticipation.

You slip out of bed, the warmth of the blankets leaving you with a soft shiver. You know exactly what you need, and the idea of finding the perfect lingerie set for him sends a thrill through your body. You quickly get dressed, pulling on something comfortable, and head out to the nearest Victoria's Secret, your mind racing with anticipation.

As you walk through the store, your fingers graze the delicate fabrics, envisioning how it will look on you. You want it to be just right, so perfect for him.

A stunning pink lace lingerie set catches your eye. The corset is beautiful, hugging the waist in all the right places, cinching you in perfectly, making your curves pop. The lace details are delicate, almost fragile, and the tiny bows scattered along it only add to the allure.

Attached to the corset is a skirt made of the same soft pink lace, flowing gently around your hips, teasing just enough.

But it's the garters and thigh-high stockings that really seal the deal. The set is perfect-sexy, feminine, and exactly what you need to make an unforgettable impression. You bite your lip, already imagining how it'll look when you wear it, and you can't help but feel a little thrill run through you at the thought of what's to come.

The next day, you wake up with a flutter of nerves in your stomach, the excitement building as the time for your call draws near. You spend the entire morning getting ready, carefully setting the mood for what's about to unfold.

You start with a long, hot shower, letting the water relax your muscles as you shave every inch of your skin. The scent of your favorite body wash fills the air, and once you're done, you lotion every part of your body, making your skin soft and silky to the touch. You follow with a layer of oil, making sure you glow. You even powder lightly, giving yourself a flawless finish, as if you're preparing for a show, not just a call.

Even though he can't smell you through the screen, you spritz your best perfume- something light, fresh, and sweet-just for the touch of confidence it gives you. It's your little secret, and it makes you feel ready.

You curl your hair perfectly, each wave soft and bouncy, framing your face just the way you like it. When you step back and look at yourself in the mirror, you feel... different. You feel empowered, beautiful, ready. The lingerie set you picked out is waiting for you, laid neatly on your bed.

As the time ticks closer, you take one last glance around your room, making sure everything is just as you want it. Even your bed is perfectly made, the soft sheets and pillows arranged just so, setting the stage for the night ahead. Your heart races with anticipation, knowing every detail is about to fall into place.

You move toward your setup, carefully adjusting your webcam, making sure the angle captures just the right view. Then, you flick on your setup lights, but only direct them toward the bed. The soft glow they cast highlights the space perfectly, making the room feel inviting and intimate. With a deep breath, you switch off your bedroom lights, letting the cool darkness surround you. The only illumination now comes from the candles you've scattered around the room. Their dancing flames flicker softly, casting shadows that add an alluring, romantic vibe to the room. The air feels charged, the atmosphere thick with anticipation.

Everything is set. All that's left is the call. Your nerves mingle with excitement, knowing this is the moment you've been waiting for.

With a deep breath, you step into the lingerie, feeling the soft lace hug your body in all the right ways. The corset cinches your waist, accentuating your curves, while the delicate lace feels like a second skin. You pull on the matching panties, the fabric smooth and soft against your skin.

Carefully, you adjust the tiny skirt, letting it fall perfectly over your hips. It's light, teasing, and just enough to make the outfit feel complete. You attach the stockings to the garters, feeling the smooth fabric stretch over your legs, the garters snug against your thighs, holding them in place.

The set fits you perfectly, every detail just as it should be. You look at yourself in the mirror, feeling a mix of excitement and a little nervousness, knowing that everything is ready now. The candles flicker in the dim room, casting soft light over the delicate lace. You take a final breath, steeling yourself for the call that's about to begin.

You reach for your little white lace mask, your fingers brushing over the delicate fabric. It's the finishing touch. You tie it carefully behind your head, adjusting it so it sits perfectly, framing your eyes and cheeks.

You sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed delicately, hands resting in your lap as you try to calm your racing heart. The soft glow from the setup lights bathes you in a flattering hue, while the flickering candlelight creates an intimate ambiance around the room.

You glance at the screen, the little "connecting" symbol spinning as you wait for him to join. Every second feels like an eternity, your nerves buzzing with anticipation.

You adjust the tiny skirt once more, smoothing it down over your thighs, and take a slow, steadying breath. The moment the screen flickers to life, your heart skips a beat. His face appears, and you're immediately struck by the way his sharp features soften slightly as he takes you in. You can see his jaw tighten, his eyes scanning the screen, taking in every detail of you.

You bite your lip, your voice soft as you finally speak.

"Hi..."

The moment his face appears on the screen, he's completely silent. His dark eyes roam over you slowly, taking in every painstaking detail-the delicate pink lingerie hugging your body, the way your perfectly curled hair frames your face, the soft glow of your skin in the candlelight.

His gaze lingers, almost reverent, as though he's trying to memorize every inch of you. The corner of his mouth tugs upward into a faint smirk, but his silence speaks louder than any words could. It's in the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes darken with something raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick between you, his voice caught somewhere in his throat. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough, and thick with desire. "Christ... you're perfect."

You smile softly, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you let your eyes flicker down shyly for a moment before meeting his again. "Sorry about how I ended our last call...something came up" you say softly, forcing a polite smile. Your voice is steady, but inside, your heart is racing. You can still remember the moment you realized who he was, the rush of shock that made you end the call so abruptly. But you've convinced yourself that he doesn't know, that he couldn't possibly have pieced it together.

On the other side of the screen, his smirk twitches, subtle but unmistakable. His sharp eyes linger on you a little too long, and there's something in his expression —a flicker of amusement, maybe even satisfaction-that makes your stomach twist. He leans back slightly, his tone casual but laced with a knowing edge.

"Something came up, huh?" he repeats, almost like he's testing you. But he doesn't push, letting the moment hang between you.

You nod quickly, desperate to keep the air light, unaware that he already knows exactly why you ended the call-and that he's watching you closely, waiting for you to slip. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he says, leaning in just a little closer, his voice smooth, almost reassuring, "I understand. Things come up. We're good, yeah?"

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the awkwardness that lingers in the air. "So, how've you been?" you ask, your voice a little softer than usual, almost uncertain. You can't help the way your nerves spike, knowing exactly who he is-your brother's boss, a military captain in his 40s. And yet, here he is, sitting across from you on a video call, just another man on the other side of the screen. But it's not just any call-it's this call. This man, so authoritative in his world, is sitting here, watching you.

Price can't help but smile as you talk to him, he knows you're lying. He doesn't call you out on it, but he's enjoying the fact that you don't know that he knows. He can tell just by the sound of your voice alone that you're nervous, but you're trying to act polite.

"I've been good, darlin". Been missing you though", he responds with a soft chuckle. He tries not to sound too desperate or obvious, he wants to play along and see how long it'll take you to crack. You can't help but smile, the warmth spreading across your face as the sound of his voice lingers in your mind. You let out a little giggle, almost shy, but it escapes before you can stop it. "Really?" you ask.

Price can't help but smirk at your school girl giggle, the sound of which seems to go straight to his core. "Yes, really" he responds playfully. "I've been thinking about you a lot, doll" he adds, his voice low. You shift on your bed, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks. The way he's looking at you, the way his words hang in the air, makes your heart race and your stomach flutter. You can't help but feel giddy, your body betraying your attempt to stay composed.

“...Thinking about me how?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, and you can't quite bring yourself to meet his gaze. There's a pause on Price's end, a moment that seems to stretch on into eternity as he stares at you through the screen. "Oh, you want specific details, huh darling?" he asks lowly, his eyes roaming over you. He can barely keep his voice steady, his body is heating up just looking at you.

You nod softly, your fingers nervously playing with the fabric of your skirt, twisting and turning as you try to steady your breath. The quiet tension between you both feels like it's building with every second. You can't help but feel a little shy under his gaze, yet at the same time, the thrill of it all keeps you grounded, your curiosity pushing you to want to know more.

You glance up briefly, meeting his eyes for just a moment, the weight of the question hanging in the air. “..l want to know" you murmur, your voice soft but eager. Price's gaze is intense as he stares deeply into your eyes through the screen, taking in your every move.

Your shyness is only making Price want you even more, and the tension between you is growing. When you tell him you want to know his lips curve into a smirk, his eyes flickering over your body. He leans forward, the whiskey glass dangling loosely from his fingers, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Been thinking about that tight little cunt of yours, mostly. Fantasizing about bending you over every fucking surface I see"

Price's blunt words have a powerful effect on you, they make your mind go blank for an instance before a wave of heat washes over you, his voice alone is enough to drive you insane. He's watching you intensely through the screen, taking in your reaction to his filthily words.

"You like the sound of that, baby?" he asks with a smirk, his eyes roaming over you. Price's own words make his own mind start to wander, images of you writhing under him, bent over his desk flooding his mind. "I've been thinking about your soft little moans" he says in a low voice, his eyes roaming over you on the screen. "I've been thinking about how badly I want my hands on you"

Price notices the way your thighs clench in response to his words, and it ignites something in him. "Oh, darlin...are you getting excited?" he asks with a grin, his tone a little teasing. He sets the whiskey glass down, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches down to adjust his pants, making sure his growing erection is comfortable. "I can tell by the way you're squeezing those thighs together. You're fucking dripping for me, aren't vou. andel?"

Price can't help but admire you through the screen, his eyes darkened with intensity and desire. His hand reaches down to subtly adjust the growing bulge in his pants, trying to ignore the ache in his groin. Your legs are squeezing together, as if trying to find some sort of relief for the ache that's building between your legs.

Your face is flushed, your breathing is becoming more erratic, and you're struggling to keep your eyes on him without looking away out of shyness. Price's voice drops even lower, smooth and commanding, as his gaze locks onto yours.

"Call me daddy," he says, each word deliberate, like a challenge and a request all at once. He leans forward slightly, his tone thick with desire, as he adds, "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" You blush, the warmth creeping up your neck as you nod, your voice barely a whisper.

'Yes" you reply softly, the word slipping out almost shyly. Price's gaze sharpens, his lips curling into a small smirk. "I want to hear you say it," he commands gently, his tone firm but not unkind. "Say it for me, sweetheart." The room feels heavier with his words, the air thick with tension as he waits, his eyes never leaving you, eager for your response.

You whisper it, barely above a breath, the words almost lost in the quiet room “....Yes, daddy.." you murmur, your face flushed with warmth as you feel his gaze linger on you, intense and expectant. The way the words feel leaving your lips sends a wave of nervous excitement through you, making your heart race all over again.

Price's whole body almost shudders as he hears you call him that, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. It's almost too much, hearing you refer to him like that.It's a power dynamic that he never knew he craved, until he met you. He takes a moment to collect himself, taking a deep breath and trying to keep his own desire under control. "Good girl" he praises, watching you closely to see how you react to his words.

The soft whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, a sound so quiet, yet it doesn't go unnoticed.

Price's smirk deepens as he watches you, the shift in your demeanor not lost on him. He can see how his words are affecting you, how they make you tremble, and it only fuels the desire that's already burning inside him.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a lower, more possessive tone. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, the words like a caress. "Let me hear more of that." His eyes remain locked on yours, searching for every reaction, every tiny movement you make.

He smirks as he sees your reaction, clearly savoring the effect his words have on you. "Such a good girl, making those sweet little noises for Daddy." He leans back, purposely giving you a glimpse of his muscular frame through his partially unbuttoned shirt.

His voice drops to a commanding growl as his eyes rake hungrily over your image on the screen. "Strip for me, angel. Nice and slow. Let Daddy see that gorgeous body he's been jerking off to every fucking night."

“Yes, daddy" you slip off your panties, tossing them to the end of bed. "Leave the stockings on," he orders, his tone smooth and firm. You slide your fingers over the delicate lace of your lingerie, the fabric clinging to your body just enough to tease, before you begin to pull it away slowly, deliberately. The tension in the air grows thick as you reveal more of you skin, each inch of you body exposed with a careful, almost tantalizing slowness.

Your hands trail down your sides, feeling the smoothness of your skin as you slides the fabric down, the lace brushing against you hips before it slips completely off. You don't rush, letting each moment stretch out, letting the anticipation build. You let the lingerie drop to the floor with a soft flutter, you body now fully exposed, save for the stockings you've kept on, the lace clinging to your legs, a final piece of the puzzle that leaves just enough to the imagination. The room is heavy with your movements, the way your eyes flick up to meet his, revealing just how much you're willing to give in this moment.

He watches with bated breath as you slowly reveal your body, his heart pounding in his chest like a fucking war drum. Every inch of exposed skin makes his mouth water, his dick hardening further in his pants. "Fuck, look at you...like a goddamn wet dream." He reaches out, his finger hovering over the screen, as if he could touch you through it. "I want to see those stockings, angel. I want to see you stand up and let me see how they cling to those fucking perfect legs of yours."

You step off the bed, moving the webcam back as you stand. His eyes lock onto your legs, the black lace stockings clinging to your shapely thighs like a second skin. He swallows hard, his mind racing with images of running his hands up those silky legs. "Turn around"

You turn obediently facing your bed.

He drinks in the view of your back, the way the stockings disappear into the curve of your backside, leaving the rest of you bare. He can't help but notice the slight sway of your hips as you turn. "Bend over," he growls. You can hear him fumbling with something before the sound of a zipper being unzipped, you try to stand and turn to see him.

"Stay," he commands, his voice low and authoritative.

He wraps his fingers around his length, slowly stroking himself as he watches you bent over, the lace stockings hugging your thighs. You let out a frustrated whine "I wanna see you.."

"Not yet," he murmurs, his eyes glued to the screen as he continues to slowly stroke himself, the tip of his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head each time he reaches the top. "Please daddy?"

His hand pauses, his thumb hovering over the tip as he hears those words. He can feel his body tensing, ready to snap. "You calling me daddy isn't going to make me show you," he says gruffly. "Spread them wider," he orders, his voice low and demanding. He watches intently as you comply, the lace stockings stretching taut over your thighs as you widen your stance.

"Put your hand between your legs and rub your fucking cunt," he growls, his voice rough and commanding. He starts to stroke himself faster, watching with rapt attention as he waits for you to follow his orders.

"Slowly." You lift you upper half off the bed enough to slide your hand down to your dripping wet pussy. You let you a whine as you start to rub yourself painfully slow.

He watches intently, his cock throbbing in his hand as he sees your fingers disappear between your legs, moving languidly over your sex. The sight of your slow, teasing touches makes his teeth grind with barely restrained desire.* "Fuck, that's it..."

His eyes narrow as he sees you try to push your fingers inside. "Did I say you could fuck yourself with your fingers?" he snaps, his grip tightening around his cock.

"No, I told you to fucking rub, not shove your fingers in like a goddamn whore."

"Im sorry daddy.."

"You'd better be," he growls, his face contorting with anger and unsatisfied lust. "Now spread your legs wider and rub slower," he demands, his voice dripping with authority and unspent desire. "I want to see your fingers barely touching your little pink folds."

"No please-"

"Yes, because if you don't start fucking listening and doing exactly as I say, I'll hang up this call and leave you fucking spread open and desperate," he interrupts harshly. "So you'd better start rubbing that fucking pussy like I told you before I lose my patience."

"No! i'll listen I promise!"

He watches closely, his cock throbbing as he sees your fingers quiver against your mound, barely grazing the swollen flesh. Each feather-light stroke over your clit makes his breath hitch. "That's it... fuck," he growls approvingly, starting to stroke himself faster.

"You're doing so good being a good girl and listening," he praises softly, his tone deceivingly gentle as he continues to watch your slow, torturous rubs. "But you know what else I want?"

"What daddy?"

"I want to see you spread your lips open with your fingers," he orders, his voice low and thick with desire.

"Use your index and middle finger, spread them open wide so I can see that fucking pink hole." You moan into the bed as you comply.

His eyes widen as he sees your fingers part your lips, revealing the glistening pink interior of your pussy. He can see the head of your clit peeking out from between your folds, and the way your inner lips are slightly puffy and swollen. "Fuck... look at that,"

He continues stroking himself, faster now, his breathing heavier as he takes in the vulgar sight of your exposed sex. His cock throbs in his hand, leaking precum. "Keep holding yourself open," he commands,

"use your other hand and rub your fucking clit. Gentle.'

"Please daddy" your other hand goes down to rub your clit. His cock twitches as he watches you hesitantly start to rub your clit, your fingers moving in cautious circles. "Yeah, just like that," he encourages hoarsely, stroking himself in tandem with your movements. "Nice and slow, get yourself fucking wet."

He watches intently as your fingers circle faster, your breathing growing more labored with each passing second. The sight of your fingers glistening with arousal makes his cock ache with need. "Look at that fucking pussy, getting all wet for me," he murmurs approvingly.

"Please let me-"

He squeezes his throbbing cock harder, feeling a bead of precum trickle down the shaft as he imagines sliding into your slick heat. "Fuck, I wish I was there, burying myself deep in this tight little pussy"

"I need you-*

The conversation takes a subtle shift as Price leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his intense gaze locked on you through the screen. His voice, low and deliberate, cuts through the quiet hum of the call.

"You know, sweetheart," he starts, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, "this would be so much better if I were there in person." You stand up from the bed, turning to face the webcam.

The weight of his words makes your heart skip, and you pause, your hands stilling on the bedspread. He studies your reaction, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he already knows the effect he's having on you. "What do you say, doll?" he continues, his tone smooth and confident, laced with something deeper.

“I could come over... see you for real." He lets the suggestion hang in the air, watching as your eyes widen slightly, your cheeks flushing at the thought. "No cameras, no screens. Just you and me."

#Spotify #cod john price #john price #john price x reader #cod mw2 #cod smut #call of duty #smut #john price smut #age g4p #john price x reader smut #john price x you #captain price #captain price smut #price smut #doll3scentwrites!

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starkeymeow · 3 months ago

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WATCHER OR PLAYER?

watcher or player?

what are you?

on an app like nerve, you choose. watchers pay to see the chaos unfold. players take the dares, chasing money, fame, or just the rush of it all. the rules are simple. complete the dare, get paid. fail, and you lose everything.

the deeper you go, the higher the stakes. the watchers decide what comes next, pushing, prodding, testing how far you’re willing to go. and above all, you never back down.

now rafe cameron was loud, reckless, daunting, daring—of course he’d be on an app like nerve.

but he didn’t start out willing.

he was the type to throw the first punch, the type to speed down the cut with no headlights, the type to make a bad decision and double down on it. but nerve? that was a different kind of trouble. something calculated, something that dug its claws into you and never let go. he never wanted to play.

until you.

y/n . . . you were a name climbing the ranks. a flash of adrenaline in human form. no one knew where you came from, only that one night, you appeared on the leaderboard, and you never left.

maybe it was the way you played to the watchers, or maybe it was the way you never hesitated, not once. every dare was met with the same unwavering look, the same easy smirk. like you were untouchable. and you knew they were watching.

rafe never saw you coming that night.

the dare was simple. a test run. something to pull him in, just one move, one kiss, nothing more. but the second his name and yours flashed across the screen together, the watchers took notice. two players, both unpredictable, both reckless in their own ways.

the game saw an opportunity.

and now?

it wouldn’t let either of you go.

series coming soon. based on “nerve”.

authors note ; i wanted this to give off “if this was a film, the first movie would be rafe and some other girl maybe, but the second movie is rafes origin story (prequel) with the real person who taught him how to play and rank up (reader) that fans/readers would actually say is his true love obvi” and its like id imagine “they were supposed to be endgame” “BRING Y/N BACK” comments if this was real LOL

i still need to finish “forget me not” tho so ill get back to that!! do let me know if u want to be part of this tag list tho <3

main masterlist | *NEW* taglist request

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar

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studioeisa · 4 months ago

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because/despite 🎸 vernon x reader.

one fine day, you find a list.

★ vernon x rockstar!reader, a.k.a the catch you when i can couple. ★ word count: 1.5k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, romance, fluff. set after the events of part five; based on a headcanon from part four. ★ footnotes: happy 0218 day. couldn't let it pass without an ode to my darling couple. 🎸🐻‍❄️

It’s a lazy kind of day. The kind where neither of you have anywhere to be, no pressing schedules or urgent obligations. Just you, Vernon, and the sun filtering through the curtains, painting golden stripes over tangled limbs and soft sheets.

You can’t help the sound of protest that rises out from the back of your throat when Vernon tries to disentangle from you.

“No need to be so clingy,” he huffs, ruffling your hair as he rises from the bed. “I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach.”

“We were so comfortable,” you whine in protest.

You’re momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare back as he crosses the room, but even that is ripped away from you too soon. He pulls his shirt back on, and you grumble something under your breath. It sounds suspiciously like selfish bastard.

Your boyfriend pays you no heed. Go figure.

“Getting us snacks,” he announces. “Want anything?”

“You’re the only snack—”

Your shirt hits you squarely in the face.

“Hey!” you sputter in between laughter, ready to retaliate with a pitch of your own.

Vernon is already slipping out, though, leaving the door open a crack behind him. The sound of his chuckles carries over from the next room. It’s the type of moment you used to pray for, isn’t it?

You flop back down onto the bed. You should get up, but you realize there’s something you want— nay, need— to do. When you reach around the sheets, you’re less than pleased to not have your phone within reach.

Charging in the living room. Right.

Your fingers catch on Vernon’s phone, though, and you figure that’ll have to do.

“Borrowing your phone for a sec,” you holler out to your boyfriend.

It’s more of a cursory thing; there were no secrets between you and Vernon. His sound of approval from the kitchen is to be expected. Your mind supplies you with the image of what he must look like— barefoot, leaning into your refrigerator, rummaging through all the cans of soda in search for something somewhat substantial.

Man, the things you’d give up to have this forever.

You punch in his password and pull up Instagram. Your private, joint couple account has chronicled your relationship since day one, and this is a moment you want immortalized. The sun hitting the bed post just right. The mess of your hair; a product of his restless fingers. The domestic bliss of it all.

There’s a specific caption you want. Something about laundry and taxes. You let out a low ‘tsk’ as you try to recall it verbatim. It’s a good thing your boyfriend keeps a meticulous note of all his favorite movie quotes.

Later, you will swear up and down to Vernon that it was looking up at you. You hadn’t gravitated to his Notes app with the intention to pry! You just wanted to be sweet, to be cute. A girlfriend who could accurately quote Everything Everywhere All at Once.

It tempted you. A locked note, the title nothing but a rock guitar emoji.

You tilt your head. Interesting.

Of course, you try to open it.

It asks for a passcode, and you roll your eyes. Vernon is predictable, so you type in your birthday. Wrong. His birthday. Wrong.

The name of your secret couple’s Instagram account? 11203km. Bingo.

The note unlocks, and immediately, the screen floods with words. It takes a bit to load, like the note is bogged down by the sheer amount of content in it. That might be the case, really. After all— as you find out later— the note has been sitting snugly in his phone for years now.

It’s fairly straightforward. Bullet point after bullet point, all starting with the same four words. I love you because.

I love you because you hum when you’re tuning your guitar.

I love you because you let me steal your fries even though you pretend to complain.

I love you because my shirts are all a little bit big on you, and it makes you look cute.

You let out a stuttering breath. The entries are specific enough for you to know they’re about you, but general in a way that you wouldn’t know when or where they were written. It could’ve been on his plane ride here, could’ve been weeks ago, could’ve been just this morning.

You can’t help it. You keep scrolling, your eyes flitting over the big and small moments that your boyfriend has masterfully kept from you. A dragon hoarding its treasure. And then—

I love you because even when you said goodbye, I couldn’t stop loving you.

Your stomach drops. Suddenly, you’re taken back to the headlines, the time apart, the brief stint at being shitty exes. PLEDIS Confirms SEVENTEEN’s Vernon Has Broken Up With Rockstar Girlfriend. The whole breakup lasted only a couple of months, but it’d felt like the longest few months of your life.

If Vernon’s entries are anything to go by, then he felt the same.

I love you because I know you thought leaving was the best thing for me. But I wish you’d stayed.

I love you because you perform like you went through a wholeass divorce. Hot.

I love you. I don’t know how not to.

You swallow, the lump in your throat thick, threatening to spill over into something heavier— until a voice cuts through the silence.

“You fuckin’ snoop.”

Vernon stands over the side of your bed, watching you over your shoulder. Damn him and his uncanny ability to move in silence. He sets aside the plate of fruit he’d prepared before plucking the phone from your fingers.

Thankfully, he doesn’t look particularly displeased. The guilty-as-charged expression on your face must be enough for him, because your boyfriend only looks vaguely exasperated.

“First of all,” he says, “you cracked my passcode?”

You sit up, propping yourself up by your elbows. “You should really be more unpredictable.”

“Noted.” Vernon falls back into bed, one of his eyebrows quirking upward inquisitively. “How much did you read?”

You press your lips together, and instead of answering, you just look at him. Really look at him. He’s teasing, sure, but there’s something soft in his expression. Something open and raw, like he’s challenging you to be as honest as he’s been. You take him up on it.

“You kept writing,” you say, your voice small and disbelieving, “even when we weren’t together.”

His teasing edge fades, replaced by something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

The answer is so quintessentially him that you can’t help the half-laugh, half-groan that escapes you. His easy grin only widens a bit at your amusement— like your happiness is the only reason he does any of this.

Something in your chest tightens all over again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s warmth, pooling in your ribcage, spreading through every inch of you.

You roll over until you can rest your chin on his chest. Instinctively, Vernon wraps an arm around your waist, bracing you against him. He stares down at you with the smile of a man who has found reason after reason after reason to adore you, across the five years of this whole thing.

That’s what makes it easy for you, too, to blurt out, “I love you, even though you’re shit at peeling oranges.”

Vernon barks out a startled laugh. “What?”

It’s the first thing that came to mind; the fruit is peeled haphazardly and plated messily at your bedside, after all. You ignore his confusion, barrelling on. “I love you despite the fact you pet all stray cats, rabies be damned,” you say. “I love you even though it’s absolute hell to take photos of you because you have the same pose for everything.”

Realization seems to dawn on Vernon. He attempts to pinch your side, but the playful move only has you burrowing further into him.

“I love you despite your resting bitch fa— hey— ce!” Your words are punctuated by a squeal as Vernon ups his ante, his fingers skating over your sides.

“Don’t go stealing my gig,” he complains.

You thrash underneath his tickling, trying, still, to keep going in between breathless giggles. “I love— love’y— even though— even— Hansol!”

He laughs, unrelenting.

The fruit lays forgotten at your bedside. The sheets are crumpled, twisted between the two of you. The sun sinks; the world goes on without the two of you, just for today.

Vernon loves you because— you love him despite—

#vernon x reader #vernon fluff #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #vernon drabble #svt drabble #vernon fic #svt fic #seventeen fic #(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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What a Mess 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn't all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You punch the code into the keypad. The instructions are in the app, under the corresponding address. It took you sometime to find the building, then a little longer to figure out how to work the elevator. As it stopped on the right floor, the grated door struck you with a glimmer of panic.

Unlocked, you roll the door back to reveal the condo on the other side. Wow. It’s quite the place. Spacious. High ceilings, polished dark floors, tall counters. Well, everything is ‘big’ compared to you. The world is gargantuan in a way that makes you feel like a spec of dust.

You set down your kit and roll in your vacuum. It’s a haul and a half and you felt a bit silly dragging it all up the front steps of the building. You always feel a bit ridiculous. Like you don’t belong. Even in a city so big that you’re invisible.

You tap your earbud twice to turn the music up. You always keep one in to ward off the overstimulation of the New York chaos. It helps you through the hours of cleaning.

You check the notes in the app. It’s a long list. The work isn’t new, just the place. They chose to give some of your old clients to newer cleaners and you took on the more particular ones. Zuli said it’s because you know how to get in and out without any hint that you were ever there.

You start your cautious work. The client has included some very direct instructions. What you can and can’t touch. Alright, easy enough. You’re good with that. Details help.

You get to the spiral staircase that leads up to loft bedroom. The instructions say to dust the railings and sweep the steps. It doesn’t really look like they need it but it can’t hurt. You’re paid to do the job.

You start with the railings. Going top to bottom as you drag a microfibre cloth down the twisting ascent. You go back to the highest step with the broom, the task made awkward as the broom handle pokes through ceiling that would be the floor of the room above. It’s an interesting set up.

As you bring the bristles across the metal step, a shadow shifts over you. The windows are tall enough to let the sky in. You ignore it until a voice startles you from above. “Got an extra cloth?”

Your foot slips as a hand grabs the other end of the broom. You cling to the stick as another hand reaches to catch your arm. You squeak and look up at the man as he bends through the hatch door and keeps you from falling further.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you whittle out of your tight throat.

“Careful,” he steadies you on the step until you get your balance. He lets go and steps back, standing above you as he looks down through the open hatch. “So, a cloth?”

You tap your earbud to pause the music. You nod and give a wide blink. You turn and scurry down the spiral steps, dizzy by the bottom. You search your kit and take both the roll of paper towels and a microfibre cloth. You go back to him and offer both.

You bat your lashes as you peer up at him. You know him. Well, you recognise him. The hair, the beard, the bright blue eyes. It's Bucky Barnes. What really gives him away are the metal fingers twiddling by his jeans. He bends to take the paper towel.

“Thanks,” he rasps and walks away without another word.

You don’t move for a moment. Then you set back to your work. You’re not there to ogle the famed super soldier. You have your list of tasks. You remember the underlined point on the list. Do not enter the loft.

You make a slow descent down with the broom and gather the small cluster of dust in the pan. You dump it and begin on the lower floor. You get about halfway around the front room of the open-concept condo before the silence smacks you across the face.

You hit play on your earbud. That’s better. You finish up with the sweep and start with the mop. You’re sure to use the gentle, unscented, all natural cleaner as specified in the app. You suppose a place this nice requires extra care.

You bob as you clean, the rhythm of the music soothing your nerves. You can’t help by keep replaying your near disaster in your head. Imagine if you’d fallen down those stairs. That would have been painful and just as torturously humiliating.

As you finish up, packing up your kit and tie up the trash bag to take out, you sense something behind you. You turn as you wait for the elevator to rise up and blanch at Bucky as he stands at the foot of the metal stairs. How hadn’t you heard him?

He looks at you then around the apartment. You squirm, too tongue tied to speak. Better off that you don’t. Was that on the list? You can’t remember.

“Looks good,” he says.

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. His irises are a blue so bold and deep that they threaten to swallow you up like the sea. And the way he stands. His posture. He’s intimidating without trying. Or maybe you are a bit of a wuss.

You press on your earbud, once more silencing the music. You wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.

You hesitate and face the elevator again. Tension roils at your back as you hear the glass tingle followed by the hiss of a cap popping free. You push your shoulders up and lift your kit, hanging on tightly to the hose of the vacuum.

He must deal with enough leers, he surely doesn’t need that from a cleaner. The elevator doors open and you step inside. You roll the vacuum into the corner and go to close the gate.

Bucky appears at the threshold as he pulls it across himself. The whole time, his gaze doesn’t leave you. He hits the keypad on his side and the lock clicks before the outer doors roll across and block him from sight. You stay there, frozen, even as the elevator jolts into motion.

Did you overstep? Miss a check on the list? You hope you didn’t mess this up already. You really hate starting all over again. You prefer to know what to expect than to have to keep guessing.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #maid au #what a mess #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #au #drabble #series

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quietplace26 · 2 months ago

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Decided to post a list of MCs that I thought of for my Soulmate au and @arn9tails's Size Difference au. (Based off these posts: this, this, this, and this.) Though, this could also work without the Soulmate au too, if you want. These are just MC's for the Genshin characters to love.

Also, anyone is free to reblog this and add your own MCs. Keep the ball rolling. ☺️

Zhongli's MC: OG!MC. The most basic of MCs. Awkward College student who was originally not a Genshin fan but got curious and KABOOM, found her soulmate in the game

Also nearly cracked her head wide open trying to meet Zhongli, but hey, she now lives in Liyue and has her Soulmate and all of Liyue wrapped around her finger. Basically treated as a Goddess.

Currently is Immortal like Zhongli due to Soul bond.

Neuvillette's MC: Singer!MC. Average young adult woman who does YouTube with her Male!BF. Likes to record music and sing. Similar to OG!MC, she and Male!BF discovered their soulmates while playing Genshin.

Now lives in Fontaine and works part time with Male!BF in Furina's performance group, and the other half working as Neuvillette's assistant/wife. When he feels sad, when there's rain, Singer!MC comes it with a hug and kiss.

Also, immortal or long lived now.

Furina's MC: Male!BF. Best friends and roommates to Singer!MC. Likes music. Can play guitar. Oh, and originally hated his soulmate, but now he's a top tier Furina simp. This absolute dork will serenade Furina any chance he has.

Now lives in Fontaine and works with Singer!MC in Furina's performance group. He works full time with his wifey.

Shockingly, immortal as well. Unknown to him and Furina, despite her being essentially 'human', it seemed like her Oceanid roots hadn't completely disappeared... so she's still technically immortal like the other Archons.

Wriothesley's MC: Boxer!MC. Strong Earthling lady. She has muscles and is proud of them. Also, a proud mama to the adorable munchkin she adopted.

Now lives in Fontaine with her munchkin. Living in a nice little house near the fortress so Wriothesley could come and visit them whenever he was topside.

Boxer!MC also visits him down in the Fortress even though he thinks it's dangerous. Though, his fear was for nothing as he sees his Soul-Heart easily sucker punch an inmate that thought she was an easy target.

Alhaitham's MC: Sunshine!MC. Pure Golden retriever energy. She's literally the stereotypical bubbly blond... except she's not the stereotypical blond that's known for being dumb.

She's really, REALLY smart. Soaks up information like a sponge.

Also played Genshin Impact, which was how she discovered Alhaitham was her Soul-Heart.

Now lives in Sumeru with her best friend, Grumpy!MC. They literally live next door to Alhaitham and Kaveh.

Works as a teacher assistant at the Akidemiya and is the academy's biggest mystery cause how did this walking sunshine end up with a stoic man like Alhaitham?!

Kaveh's MC: Grumpy!MC. Goth. The dark to Sunshine!MC's light. Tsundere. Pure Grumpy Cat energy. She will hiss and claw at your eyes if irritated. ...Will also knock over shit while staring into your eyes.

Never played Genshin Impact, but while watching Sunshine!MC play, she discovered Kaveh was her Soul-Heart.

Now lives in Sumeru with Sunshine!MC, and lives next door to Alhaitham and Kaveh.

Doesn't have a job yet. Mostly follows Kaveh around while he's working, keeping him on his toes with his grumpy attitude. But one could say she works full time being Kaveh's personal cuddle buddy cause this guy was needy for his Soul-Heart.

~~My newest MCs!!!~~

Venti's MC: Free-spirited!MC. Has negative views on Soulmates. Comes from personal experiences in her family. Doesn't like the idea of being tied down just cause Fate decided it.

Played Genshin... for about a day. When she heard Venti's voice and learned he was her soulmate she deleted the app on the spot.

Now lives in Mondstadt, far from the city, however, as she couldn't stand the sight of people gaggling at her for being their God's Soul-Heart.

As for Venti, well... he was very understanding of his MC's feelings for freedom, since he embodied freedom himself. So, he respected her decision.

But that still didn't stop them from bonding with one another. Freedom gremlins.

Tsaritsa's MC: Ex-Spy!MC. Ice King. Cold and calculating. Was betrayed by the Earthling government he worked for years and sold to the Fatui just to get rid of him. No one suspected him to be the Cryo Archon's Soul-Heart!

Now works for the Tsaritsa and for the Fatui as way to get back at his betrayers.

He and the Tsaritsa has a strict work relationship. He was the Ice King, and she the Ice Queen. There was no time for love. Ex-Spy!MC didn't believe in it, and the Tsaritsa froze her heart long, long ago.

But even so... why did they feel warm around one another...

He's also immortal now.

Dottore's MC: Mad Scientist!MC. Psychopath Doctor 2.0. She's basically the Earthling equivalent of Dottore. Two peas in a pod.

Actually met Dottore while the mad Doctor had snuck into her Earthling nation to nab some Earthlings to experiment on. Happens upon her while she herself was experimenting on some poor soul.

Blood on her lab coat, and smile razor sharp, Mad Scientist!MC rambling about her goals as she waves around a bloody surgical knife... and Dottore is all 'Heart Eyes' before the bond even clicks into place

Now works as Dottore's partner, overseeing his many projects while also doing her own, which Dottore encourages! Crazy couple goals.

Pierro's MC: Ex-Handler!MC. Ex-Spy!MC's old boss. Older woman. Silver vixen. Izumi Curtis energy from FMA. Classified as RED by the Earthling government she worked for before retiring.

Retired. Extremely. Dangerous.

Hears her dumbass son- Apprentice had been thrown to the wolves and abandoned, and goes, "Fuck it, we ball." And returns to the field to rescue Ex-Spy!MC.

Easily manages to do the impossible despite her age, sneaking into Snezhnaya, breaking into the Tsarista's castle, easily sneaking around the Fatui, and finds Ex-Spy!MC... and then her own Soulmate.

Never considered ever finding her Soul-Heart due to both her old job and her age. So, she's rather delighted to acquire a silver fox of a Soul-Heart. Happily, accepts wife status.

"I'm just a normal housewife."

And she proceeds to punch someone out a window.

Is also immortal due to Pierro's curse, but it only stops her from aging, and nothing else, thankfully.

Childe's MC: Nurse!MC. Calm, collected, always smiling. The prefect Nurse to have taking care of all your needs. ...Also, may be a bit freaky and a proud Monsterf**ker with how much she adored Foul Legacy~

Played Genshin because she saw pictures of Foul Legacy. Didn't even know about Childe. Just saw cool Monster and went "Would." and downloaded the game. Childe was just a surprise bonus~

Met Childe after she and her neighbor, Ex-Soldier!MC had been kidnapped to Snezhnaya by some Noble prick, and she escaped, bumping into Childe.

Needless to say, that Noble ceased to exist afterwards.

Now happily works a nurse for injured Fatui operatives, waiting patiently for Childe to invite her back to his village so she could meet his family.

Capitano/Thrain's MC: Ex-Soldier!MC. Solem, quiet, but kind. Had to retire from service young due to injuries. Has a bad limp and her face is covered in scars. Is a bit... self-conscious, about her face.

Played Genshin as a way to keep her mind off her injuries while in the hospital. Nearly had a meltdown when her Soulmate mark reacted the moment Capitano was introduced. It only got worse when she sees him sacrifice himself to restore the lay lines. Her Soulmate mark BURNED-

Then she and Nurse!MC get kidnapped, saved by Childe, and now the two of them reside Snezhnaya.

Meanwhile as this happens, Capitano awakes in Natlan, very confused. Earth? Earthlings? What was happening?

Fast forward to a scenario where Ex-Soldier!MC is bickering with Nurse!MC over the idea of meeting Capitano for real, but Ex-Soldier!MC was against it cause she didn't want to lock the Captain to her Soul since all he wanted was to rest... not noticing Capitano had just arrived back to Snezhnaya and was standing right behind her.

The Soulmate Bond does click into place, and Ex-Solider!MC has a very awkward, but enamored Capi-Thrain on her hands, who calls her beautiful, scars and all.

She returns the favor easily when she sees his face, easily calling him handsome.

Also immortal due to his curse. Thankfully like Pierro's MC, the curse doesn't affect her much besides stopping her from aging.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #sdrgau #zhongli x reader #neuvillette x reader #furina x reader #wriothesely x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #tsaritsa x reader #pierro x reader #dottore x reader #childe x reader #capitano x reader

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all-the-fish · 1 year ago

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Oh, you know, just the usual internet browsing experience in the year of 2024

Some links and explanations since I figured it might be useful to some people, and writing down stuff is nice.

First of all, get Firefox. Yes, it has apps for Android/iOS too. It allows more extensions and customization (except the iOS version), it tracks less, the company has a less shitty attitude about things. Currently all the other alternatives are variations of Chromium, which means no matter how degoogled they supposedly are, Google has almost a monopoly on web browsing and that's not great. Basically they can introduce extremely user unfriendly updates and there's nothing forcing them to not do it, and nowhere for people to escape to. Current examples of their suggested updates are disabling/severly limiting adblocks in June 2024, and this great suggestion to force sites to verify "web environment integrity" ("oh you don't run a version of chromium we approve, such as the one that runs working adblocks? no web for you.").

uBlockOrigin - barely needs any explanation but yes, it works. You can whitelist whatever you want to support through displaying ads. You can also easily "adblock" site elements that annoy you. "Please log in" notice that won't go away? Important news tm sidebar that gives you sensory overload? Bye.

Dark Reader - a site you use has no dark mode? Now it has. Fairly customizable, also has some basic options for visually impaired people.

SponsorBlock for YouTube - highlights/skips (you choose) sponsored bits in the videos based on user submissions, and a few other things people often skip ("pls like and subscribe!"). A bit more controversial than normal adblock since the creators get some decent money from this, but also a lot of the big sponsors are kinda scummy and offer inferior product for superior price (or try to sell you a star jpg land ownership in Scotland to become a lord), so hearing an ad for that for the 20th time is kinda annoying. But also some creators make their sponsored segments hilarious.

Privacy Badger (and Ghostery I suppose) - I'm not actually sure how needed these are with uBlock and Firefox set to block any tracking it can, but that's basically what it does. Find someone more educated on this topic than me for more info.

Https Everywhere - I... can't actually find the extension anymore, also Firefox has this as an option in its settings now, so this is probably obsolete, whoops.

Facebook Container - also comes with Firefox by default I think. Keeps FB from snooping around outside of FB. It does that a lot, even if you don't have an account.

WebP / Avif image converter - have you ever saved an image and then discovered you can't view it, because it's WebP/Avif? You can now save it as a jpg.

YouTube Search Fixer - have you noticed that youtube search has been even worse than usual lately, with inserting all those unrelated videos into your search results? This fixes that. Also has an option to force shorts to play in the normal video window.

Consent-O-Matic - automatically rejects cookies/gdpr consent forms. While automated, you might still get a second or two of flashing popups being yeeted.

XKit Rewritten - current most up to date "variation "fork" of XKit I think? Has settings in extension settings instead of an extra tumblr button. As long as you get over the new dash layout current tumblr is kinda fine tbh, so this isn't as important as in the past, but still nice. I mostly use it to hide some visual bloat and mark posts on the dash I've already seen.

YouTube NonStop - do you want to punch youtube every time it pauses a video to check if you're still there? This saves your fists.

uBlacklist - blacklists sites from your search results. Obviously has a lot of different uses, but I use it to hide ai generated stuff from image search results. Here's a site list for that.

Redirect AMP to HTML - redirects links from their amp version to the normal version. Amp link is a version of a site made faster and more accessible for phones by Bing/Google. Good in theory, but lets search engines prefer some pages to others (that don't have an amp version), and afaik takes traffic from the original page too. Here's some more reading about why it's an issue, I don't think I can make a good tl;dr on this.

Also since I used this in the tags, here's some reading about enshittification and why the current mainstream internet/services kinda suck.

#modern internet is great #enshittification #internet browsing #idk how to tag this #but i hope it will help someone #personal #question mark

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spitefulsatanfics · 27 days ago

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❝ 𝐈𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧... ❞

by little devil 🕯️

pairing: Dean Winchester x She/Her Reader tone: soft domesticity, fluff, affirming, gentle comfort genre: headcanon list with short drabble-style scenes rating: PG, comforting cuddles and warm feelings themes: chronic pain, disability support, caretaking fluff, cozy love

🧸 𝐇𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐝

The second you start shifting uncomfortably on the motel bed, Dean’s already moving behind you like instinct. No questions, no dramatic sighs—just a solid wall of warmth pressing against your back as his arm snakes around your waist and his other hand gently rests on your hip.

“M’right here, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.” And when you wince? He tucks his chin on your shoulder and whispers: “We’ll fight your joints together, yeah?”

He’ll stay there until you fall asleep. Even if his arm goes numb. Even if his back hurts. You're hurting? He hurts with you.

💊 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

This man has a better pill schedule than your pharmacy app. He keeps spare meds in the glovebox of the Impala, two emergency stashes in Baby’s trunk, and one full travel pouch in his duffel marked “Y/N’s Battle Kit.”

“Did you take your afternoon dose yet?” “No, but I’m—” “Nope. Sit your cute ass down, I got water and the good snacks.”

He reads the label. Tracks the timing. Keeps a calendar. And never once makes you feel like a burden for needing it.

🛁 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥

If there’s a decent tub in your motel room? You best believe he’s lighting candles with a lighter he "definitely didn’t steal from a hunt" and pouring epsom salt like it’s a love language. He’s got soft music playing on his phone. He sets your towel in the dryer so it's warm when you come out. And yes—he’ll sit outside the tub, rubbing your calves gently and talking about the latest dumb ghost he punched.

“Don’t care how tough that vengeful spirit thought it was,” he says, smoothing your hair back with wet fingers. “I’m way more scared of you when you haven’t had a soak.”

🧺 𝐇𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

You could be standing just slightly wrong or shift your weight a little awkwardly, and Dean’s already at your side.

“Easy, baby. You lean, I catch.” And if you ever stumble on a flare-up day? He’s catching you before you hit the ground, murmuring, “You think I’m ever lettin’ you fall without me under you? Not a chance in hell.”

He makes you feel safe. Carried. Like even your worst days are ones he wants to share.

🧁 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐈𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

When you’ve had a hard night? Dean becomes a full-blown kitchen witch. He’ll sneak out to get your favorite snacks, make you grilled cheese just the way you like it (with the crust cut off and extra gooey), and always—always—finishes it off with dessert.

“I know it sucks, baby,” he says, balancing a tray on one hand like a professional. “But I made your comfort meal. And if food won’t fix it, I’ll just hold you until it does.”

💬 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 – “𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐗 𝐈𝐓”

You’re curled in bed, blanket pulled to your chin, blinking back frustrated tears after a long pain flare. Dean sits on the edge of the mattress, watching you like you’re made of spun glass.

“I wish I could fix it,” he murmurs. “I’d take it all if I could. Every ache.”

You catch his hand. Squeeze.

“I don’t need you to fix it, Dean.” “You don’t?” “No,” you whisper. “I just need you with me. And you always are.”

He leans down, presses the softest kiss to your temple.

“Then I’m doing something right.”

✨ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒 “𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔”

Dean never gets tired of reminding you:

“You’re not broken.” “You’re not a burden.” “You’re mine. And I don’t want a version of life that doesn’t have you in it, pain and all.”

He says it on flare days. On good days. On days when you feel like the pain is winning.

But with Dean?

You're always safe. You’re always seen. And you’re always, always loved.

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springsims1 · 5 months ago

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I've been going through the game and picking out my most used objects in The Sims 4 to add new recolors and modifications from various packs.

Some of the objects require certain packs, which I have listed below. I hope you all enjoy these items for your game!

Download on Pateron

custom thumbnails

custom color palette

Base Game

Gaming Console (Event Reward)

Pillow (Event Reward)

Punching Bag

Cats And Dogs

Knick Knack Shelf

I modified this by removing the original deco

added 11 new custom slots

Growing Together

Piano

Discover University

Ping Pong Table

Cassanova Cave Kit

Don's Couch

Use Code "SPRINGSIMS" at check out when purchasing any Sims 4 DLC on the EA App or TheSims.com

✨ Follow & support me here: YouTube / Twitch / Patreon / Instagram / Bluesky

#the sims 4 #springsims #sims 4 #ts4 #ts4cc #sims #maxis match #ts4mm #youtube #ts4 custom content #sims 4 cc #maxismatch #thesims4cc #the sims 4 cc #the sims 4 custom content #ts4 simblr

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nestforms · 20 days ago

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#Punch List Form #Punch List App #land survey app #mobile form app #offline survey app #quality control app #offline surveys #survey mobile app #collect mobile data #quality control checklist app #health and safety audits #forms mobile app

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screechcat · 7 months ago

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Just a big fat list of all my favorite stories/series/art on this app.

Chasing More Than Ghosts - WandaNat x Reader

Neon Lights - Nuts and Dolts comic series

A Love Lost - Natasha x Reader - Angst

Shielded 1-4 - Dimtrescu Sisters/Alcina series

You Have A Kid? - Maria Hill x Reader

A Love So Understanding - Sam Carpenter x Reader (I just have to add that this has to be one of my favorite series on this app)

Everyone But Her - Wednesday Addams x Reader (my other favorite series on this app)

New York, New Rules - Tara Carpenter x Reader

Tux/suit art help

@divinegrey Arcane Masterlist - Vanisher Series (Jinx x Reader) - Pop Rocks & Punches (Vi x Reader)

Note: I, honest to the Gods, think of both of these series multiple times throughout my year.

Road to Healing - Wanda x Reader

In Mourning - WandaNat x Reader

Can't Let Her Make That Sacrifice - Jinx x Reader (Should def read this while listening to What Have They Done to Us from season 2)

@thedemoninme141 Masterlist - Wednesday x Reader (Highly recommend, all of it is good)

Her Heartbeat Masterlist - Wednesday x Reader (Angst) ◇

In another, another universe - Arcane art

Healing Hands - Wanda x Reader ◇

The Ghost of Lovell Hill - Cairo Sweet x Reader

Always, I'm with you - Yelena Belova x Reader

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baby-you-you · 1 month ago

Note

Hi could you do a Cryptid related list?

Cryptid regressor theme !!!

👣 activities

Watching cryptid documentaries or cartoons (e.g., Gravity Falls, Scooby-Doo) Reading storybooks or being read folklore tales Drawing or coloring cryptids (Bigfoot, Mothman, etc.) Making "evidence folders" or journals of cryptid sightings Building pillow forts or “secret lairs” Collecting rocks, feathers, or "mystery" objects from nature walks Playing hide and seek as forest cryptids Crafts! Stargazing or moon-watching with binoculars Playing basic games; tag, red light green light, etc

👣 clothes

Oversized hoodies with cryptid prints (Mothman, Nessie) Footies! onesies (forest animal themed) Soft robes with spooky patches or glow-in-the-dark stars Beanies with ears/horns or hooded capes Character socks (Bigfoot toes, monster claws) Pajamas with bats, eyes, or forest prints T-shirts that say “Local Cryptid” or “Believe” (I have this bigfoot t-shirt from oklaholma (?)) Monster slippers or fuzzy boots Forest/camo patterns for stealth mode

👣 toys

Plush cryptids (Mothman, Flatwoods Monster, Chupacabra) Weighted or scented plush creatures Monster-shaped fidget toys or squishies DIY cryptid stuffed animal kits (you can buy these off of etsy) Build-a-bear with a homemade cryptid story Mini figures or statues of spooky creatures "Mystery bag" toys Nightlight projectors with stars/moons/eyeballs Custom-made “evidence kits” with tools and maps

👣 games

Coloring apps or drawing cryptids on tablet Cozy cryptid mobile games with supervision! Memory or matching games with creature cards Hide-and-seek as monsters/creatures Card games like Uno but cryptid-themed Hide-and-grawr (made up) ! make quiet grumbly noises when hiding and use that as your only hint <3 Roblox/Animal Crossing custom cryptid outfits/islands “Monster hunter” scavenger hunts

👣 foods/drinks

Gummy worms/snakes (aka cryptid bait!) (Haribo reccomended) Hot cocoa with marshmallow “eyeballs” PB&J shaped like footprints or monsters “Swamp water” (green punch or soda) Trail mix aka “forest snacks” for cryptid hikes Toast with spooky cookie cutter shapes Jell-O “slime cubes” or pudding “mud cups” Poprocks! Popsicles shaped like claws, bones, or stars

👣 nicknames <3

Bug/buggy (Mothman theme) Chuppy (Chupacabra theme) Lil Foot / Tinyfoot (Bigfoot theme) Little nightcrawler (Fresno nightcrawler theme) Spooky Bean Creech (Creature) Starling / Starlight Gobbie (goblin-theme) Wisp / Whisper (Will-o-wisp theme) Echo Shadowling Gremlin Jessy (Jersey devil theme)

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 4 months ago

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Infatuation - Chapter 3

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe's never had too much trouble adapting.

Warnings: NONE HERE.

My motivation hit a new low. I’m trying to find time for my projects, but it’s become increasingly difficult with what I can only assume to be a form of depression looming over my head. Despite it all, here is a new chapter that’s been sitting in my drafts!

My next shift at Anavrin is slow, long, and haunting. I attempted to occupy myself with a list of possible themes for future book displays, things that Calvin and, more importantly, Forty would approve of. With my phone, I scrolled through socials, observing new trends, watching what was and what could become the new popular fad with the mainstream crowd. I hated it.

My reprieve should’ve come in the form of our little app – the one I can snoop on your texts with – but you hadn’t messaged Love since yesterday. I assumed you’d called her back after I had left, but I didn’t have access to that nor to anything beyond your lacking exchange of messages. I looked about the store, watching an older woman as she perused the biography section with her basket of tangerines. As she slotted a book back into place, she smiled at me. I smiled in return, but quickly turned my attention back down to my phone. I hadn’t heard you come in – the bell on your bag a ghost to my ears – and lunch was well over.

“Can I get this wrapped?” I shut my phone off and pull it, along with my list, under the counter. I smile at the older woman as her shaky hands set down her selected book.

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua.

“We don’t gift wrap, but we do have gift bags. Is that alright?”

She smiles tightly and nods her head. I reach down and pull out a folded bag, alongside a single recyclable sheet of tissue paper. I scan the book and the bag. I never had to gift wrap anything at Mooney’s.

“I’m getting this for my daughter-in-law. She’s giving me a lovely grand daughter this month,” She beams. I don’t care. “Thought I’d get her a parenting book.”

“This book is a memoir, It’s not really meant to be followed as a parenting book.” I say, folding the paper over the book.

“Huh, well. Maybe she can learn something anyway. Life has lessons, too.”

I nod, slide the wrapped book into the bag, and ring her up. She pays with a tap, glancing my way every so often, but takes the bag from my hands and shuffles away a moment later. By the looks of it, she didn’t seem too happy with my response.

Before I pull my phone back into view, I catch sight of Love by the open kitchen window. She has her phone to her ear, pacing. Talking. She bites her lip when her mouth shuts. It seemed I caught the end of the conversation as she tears away from her phone, ending the call. Love taps away at the screen, biting her thumb. I quickly look down to my phone again, app open, but no ping. I feel my phone buzz and I open my own messages.

‘Dinner tonight?’

I look up again and catch Love smiling at me, warm, inviting, a hint of something more. She waves. I smile, delirious, hot, some bitter feeling creeping up. I wave back.

—

By the time we arrive at Love’s place, it’s late. Love drops her grocery bags onto the counter and I follow in tow. She stretches her arms to the sky, flexing her fingers. I take her purse from her shoulder and set it aside.

“Sooo… How was lunch today, Lovey?” I tease. Love gives me a pointed glare, a smile peeking through before she punches me in the arm. I feign a pained hiss, laughing when she rolls her eyes. She turns her attention to the groceries.

“You’re funny,” She says, humourlessly. “My lunch was fine. A little lonely, but fine.”

“Didn’t Y/N keep you company?”

“No, actually. She didn’t show. I called her and she told me she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Maybe I don’t know her too well, but it doesn’t really sound like her to cancel without warning.” I remember the app – no messages were exchanged.

“No, it’s… not like her at all. But it’s alright,” Love huffs. “She’s been stressed lately.”

“You wanna know what I think?” I ask as she hands me a bag of fruits.

“Mhm? Toss those in the freezer for me.”

I turn to put them away as I continue.

“I think you have a tendency to quite literally Love-bomb,” When I turn back around, Love looks at me unhappily. I laugh and raise my hands in defence of my point, gingerly stepping to her. “Heyy – She just came back to LA and you’ve been practically non-stop poking her for attention. Now, I’m not saying she hates it… I just think you need to ease up a little. Back up. That’s all.”

“I don’t know,” She tries. My fingers find her shoulders and glide down the sides of her arms. I slowly grasp her hands as she relaxes into the affectionate touch.

“But I do.” I reassured. She sighs.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Always am,” I arrogantly say. Love playfully jabs me in the arm and huffs. “Hey!”

“How about home made pizzas?” She suggests, turning back to the grocery bags and continuing to unpack them like she hadn’t just stabbed her finger into my shoulder. She doesn’t particularly enjoy being teased like this, but I can’t help it.

“Sounds good, Lovey.”

She gives me another pointed glare, but the creeping smile she attempts to suppress continues to say it all.

“Help me unpack, will ya?” I kiss her cheek and reach across to the bags.

“Anything for you, Lovey.” I whisper by her ear. Exhausted, she only huffs.

I take hold of the neck of a bottle and slide it out of a lone bag. Love watches me as she places a bag of naan on the counter.

“Artisanal vodka?” I ask, shifting the bottle in my hands as I read the label.

“Saw it at the store, thought I’d pick it up. It can go in the cupboard,” She lazily points behind her as she takes out the fresh bag of tomatoes. I make my way over to the cabinet, opening the door and placing it among partially drunk bottles of wine.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask.

“Well, seeing how Y/N is doing with everything, I wanted to get her something nice to encourage her.”

“Didn’t seem like the artisanal vodka type,”

“Oh she’s not, but I wanted to get something that could double as, you know? Decoration?” She laughs and I imagine the bottle sitting on a mantle, sticking out among cheap decor. I haven’t known many people to keep their full, unopened bottles of alcohol out as decoration. It’s something you see in rich households, and usually only ever in the movies. They’d more realistically find themselves collecting dust at the back of a cupboard, anyway. “Anyway…”

I turn back around as Love beckons me over, folding the now empty grocery bags.

“It’s late, so I don’t think I’ll make the dough tonight… we’ll use naan instead. Is that alright?”

“Love, it’s more than alright. It’s perfect.”

—

When I arrive at the apartment on my next day off, a moving truck is parked in front and the front door is wedged to be kept open. I decide not to hit the buzzer as I scoot on by, making room for the men carrying boxes and furniture up the stairs of the building. I hop up the steps eagerly, watching the movers march down to pick up more loot from the truck.

When I get to your door, I go to knock – but set my hand against the door handle in one last change of mind. I twist it open.

Inside, I spot you on your floor, fumbling with the dining table. It’s on its side, and you’re vocally sobbing as your hands work some screws – only to pull on the leg and find it hasn’t loosened one bit.

“Hey,” I say, and you jump. You turn to me and wipe your eyes. Your delicate features are red and heated by the crying. “Are you okay?”

“Will, I –” You sniff, turning back to the table. “Oh my god.”

“I think you have new neighbours moving in,” I say. “Everything good?”

“No,” You grunt, pushing the table back and running your fingers through messy strands. “I’m just trying to take apart this – this stupid Ikea table. It’s a nightmare.”

“Won’t it fit through the door regardless?”

“Thats not –” You hiccup. “That’s not the point. The buyer wanted it taken apart.”

“Yeah? And how much are they buying it for?”

“Thirty dollars.”

“That’s hardly a reasonable price for the labour. Hey – look at me. Put the screwdriver down.”

“But they won’t buy it unless I take the table apart first – I just want it out of here. Please.”

“I’ll help then. But you should know there are definitely people out there who would buy it the way it is. Putting together Ikea furniture can be pretty daunting.”

“And taking it apart is a pain in the fucking ass!”

“Definitely, but I’ll help. Here –” I take my boots off and make my way to you. I sit down with a grunt, not often finding myself seated on the floor. I reach my hand out and smile to you.

You drop the screwdriver into my awaiting palm, and try to smile back. You wipe your eyes again, sniffling.

I turn my attention onto the leg of the table you’d been trying to pry off.

“So… how are you feeling?,” I shift my position as I start screwing the legs off.

You scoff.

“Like shit.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” You start, and I keep quiet knowing you’ll fill the silence that follows with an answer. You sniff again, your nose stuffed. I hardly believe you’re only crying over a table. “I’m just… I’m feeling… I’m kind of sad.”

“Why’re you sad?”

“Jesus, Will. You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” I defend. “It’s not every day you find someone you know curled up on the floor and crying over an Ikea table.”

“Fair,” You huff in a similar fashion to Love, I think amusedly.

“So…?”

“It’s my mom,” You finally answer. Chewing on your lip as you watch me turn the table to deal with the next screw. “I feel like I never had a mom. But I’m still left cleaning up after her. She was real, you know? The amount of shit she hoarded – all the pictures – it proves it. But not… she’s not really my mom. I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“That’s okay, take your time.”

“Maybe I’m just being ungrateful.”

“You don’t owe your mom anything. Not even gratitude.”

“I know that, but… I just – It’s hard. I feel like my mom died years ago, but I didn’t cry then. I’m crying now.”

When the next screw falls into my hand, I place it with the others. I take a second to look at you, but you shrink away. Hiding. You don’t like when people stare, I can tell you feel transparent.

“Grief hits us all differently. I think you’re mourning the person she could’ve been. It’s sad to think, but some people aren’t built to appreciate the lives they had. They’re just like that,” You hide behind your hair. “They don’t always deserve their families,” Without thinking it through, my free hand finds your cheek, grazing my thumb across it and pushing straying tears out of the way. When all you do to react is look down, I allow my fingers to brush the hair out of your shyly hidden eyes. You gulp, and I watch the familiar bob of your throat. You look up to me, then. I burn hot at the close proximity, the intimate action becoming all too real the moment you set your eyes on me. You don’t say a word, and I tear my attention – and my hand – back to the table.

I hear you let out a deep breath, shaky almost.

“Thank you,” It comes out different. You wipe your tears away – or, rather, you wipe my touch right off your cheek. I don’t overthink it. I try not to. You lift yourself up a second too soon, and I immediately regret putting my hand on you. I feel shame flood my system, growing in a dark consuming pit. I grind my teeth and drop more screws onto the rolling pile. When you come back, you surprise me by sitting in the same spot you had left – maybe a tad bit closer.

“Do you want one?” You ask me, and I look over to find the familiar metal tin facing me; open and eager. The same number of cookies we’d left, minus the one in your free hand. You hadn’t had a cookie since you shared them with me last. The shame that attempted to overtake me a moment ago drains out as I reach in. I smile at the cookies, bringing one between my teeth.

#joe goldberg #joe goldberg x love quinn #joe goldberg x reader #love Quinn #love quinn x reader #x reader #you x reader #netflix you #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere joe goldberg #yandere love quinn

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swappedandtrapped · 8 months ago

Text

Rent Help - Part 3

As always, character consistency is hard for me. Just go with it.

I wake up again. Every time I wake up, I have about a minute of peace before my brain starts to boot and realizes where it is. That minute of bliss is what has kept me going recently. It's the only part of the day when I don't feel so… Wrong.

Waking up unwillingly, I go to the bathroom to wash my face. When I arrive, I realize it's been about a week after the car crash and I still can't get used to seeing Roy when I look in the mirror.

I study my new reflection. I stare at my skin blemishes on Roy's dark skin. My big Brown eyes underneath my thick eyebrows. My nose in the middle of the face that is now mine… When I open my mouth to brush my teeth, I see a crooked array of yellowish rectangles. I cringe realizing I'm actually tasting Roy's mouth and teeth 24/7. Roy didn't have a spare toothbrush, so I had to use his old one. Disgusting. I hate this so much. Why doesn't he take care of himself?

When I return to his room to get dressed, I sigh in frustration. During the last few days, I finally understood why Roy felt comfortable walking around without his shirt on. I was just too hot. ALL THE TIME. The meat and fat of his stocky body type kept the heat trapped within me. If I had a shirt on for more than 5 minutes I would start sweating and smell Roy's scent even more.

So just like he did, I elected to spend the day shirtless again. It's not like anyone would see me. Well except for… Me.

After trying to explain to Roy in my body what happened, he's gotten cold. I mean, I would too. I was practically begging him to remember, but when I'm in Roy's body, it's pretty hard to convince someone who he really is.

"I'm coming back late." He states in a premeditatedly cold intonation. "Ok," I reply in the same manner. I didn't see the point to initiate another argument. convincing him is impossible. "I might bring someone back with me. Please don't be weird when she's here." "Ok. I reply again. But missing any sense of my old self, I ask: "Someone I know?" "None of your business Roy." I cringe at the sound of that name. "And also, you don't know any of my friends. They're MY friends. Even if you… Think otherwise…" He goes out, leaving me alone in the flat.

Like a punch in the fucking gut.

Which reminded me, I'm hungry. I order an extra-large Pizza so Roy's stomach would leave me alone. Roy had an apatite I couldn't ignore easily. At first, I fought off his habits, unwilling to accept the new situation. But as the days went on, I gave in to most of Roy's habits. Like eating too much of this junk. I look at my body and feel shame as I admit I lost the battle against Roy's needs.

Later, I lay on the sofa, investigating Roy's phone. Thankfully, he locked his phone with Face ID, so I didn't have to guess any passwords and was able to unlock it. Every time I have some time off, I study his phone and learn a bit more about Roy's schedule and connections.

You see, I did swap bodies with him, but I didn't acquire his memories. So, I try to avoid all contact until I get the hang of whatever relationships he had in his life. "Yes, it's me. I'm Roy." I say to myself, trying to fake his tone. Even though I hear his voice, it still feels fake.

But today, after going through all his texts, I began looking through his notes app. I find there grocery lists, names of bands he wanted to check out, some foreign language I still can't read, and also something with the title… "Research"? What's this?

I open the file and my eyes widen. It's a long note, riddled with an assortment of semi-related bullet points regarding… "POWERS"!?

POWERS

possible timed cooldown? variable? Tested times: 5 days (17/05) 8 days (15/09) 6 days (12/11)

only post 24h mark???

ignore. no cooldown. instance of instant swap back. There's another condition.

Note the eye glow at optional swap time. Starts fading. Possible relation to condition?

Ignore. Doesn't fade.

Best swap triggers: visualize face, focus on identity

He was researching his swapping power. I guess Roy didn't receive a handbook with this ability, so he tried to mark the triggers and limitations he confirmed to be true. This was a goldmine. Maybe there's a limit on how long we can stay swapped?

Wait. If I'm Roy… I have his powers! I can swap us back!

I read the whole file, attempting to figure out exactly what conclusions Roy had and what I needed to do to return to my body. It looks like he could just will the swaps to make them happen, but there was some sort of condition that prevented swapping back at some times. Roy named it "The Condition", and going by his note, he didn't figure out what it was.

I immediately try to follow his technique and will the swap to come. I visualize my body, focus on my identity, but 20 minutes later, I'm still stuck in Roy's flesh. When I looked in the mirror, I still see his regular brown eyes. No glow or anything.

Does this 'condition' he mentioned apply to my situation? Am I just a moment away from retrieving my life back? I need to figure out what it is.

Going over Roy's notes I began piecing together a picture of Roy's swapping experiences. Some were willing, some were not. Some were functional, but some were for no reason at all other than to swap. But after a few hours of going over the cases, I started noticing a pattern.

While swaps were able to occur at any time, reverse swaps would never work on days of a full moon or new moon! That's the only explanation! It fits in every swap Roy documented in this file. This must be it!

But then I stop. Wait, today isn't a full or new moon. Why am I not able to swap us back?

A new fear rushes in as I hear the apartment door open. "Yeah, and then we… Oh, hey Roy," says Roy in my body accompanied by a girl I used to know. She waves politely at me with a certain reservation. I guess he warned her about me… "So it's the last door on the left." He points to the bathroom. "Thanks. It'll be just a minute." She says, closing the door after her.

Roy in my body leans silently on the wall, checking his phone for messages while he waits for her to finish. I look at him with envy.

But then I see it. His eyes. That Glow. It was subtle, but it was definitely there.

I don't have Roy's swapping power.

He does.

It swapped along with his body.

Tears start forming in my eyes as I realize the only hope I had of getting back was never an option. Roy looks up from his phone to me. Seeing my pathetic face in ruin. He makes an expression I can't decipher. Maybe empathy, but probably pity.

My friend exits the bathroom. "Hey," Roy turns to her. "Wait for me in the car, ok? I need to close a small thing with Roy. "Sure. Don't be long." She said going out the door. "I won't." He answers.

We look at each other for a few quiet moments. "Listen, are you gay or something?" "What?" I ask confused. Still in tears. "You want to be me. You cry when you see me with girls. I can add 2 plus 2 you know." "Fucking ass." I spit out. He duped me into this mess. He should rot in hell. "Don't be a bitch man. This can't-" "Bitch!??" I cut him off. "This is all your fault! I'm like this because of you!"

I charge towards him. I'm stuck like this because of him! I needed him to know how much I suffer because of his recklessness! But Roy was quick enough to get out of the way.

"Ok Roy. Fine. You started this." "Fuck off!"

I charge again, and Roy slips to the side again. I stumble and crash onto the living room floor and feel great pain in my back. I scream in pain and frustration. This fucking weight. I start sweating again and smell Roy's body stench, but I can't concentrate on it. I feel my body grounded by another body.

"That's IT Roy!" He yells at me from above. He prevents me from getting up. God dammit why didn't Roy ever go to the gym? "Get off of me!" I shout. "Say your name." He commands me as I struggle. "Say your name Roy." "I'm telling you! I'm not Roy!" I cry out. "It's the deal man, it's the swap deal!"

My face explodes with massive pain. Roy punched me in the fucking face.

"SAY YOUR NAME." "You can still have it! You can still swap us back! Please! Remember!"

Bam. Another one. I hear my nose crack and start feeling the blood.

"This is going to keep happening until you say your fucking name Roy." "You're hurting me! Please! Your eyes! I can tell you have your power!"

This time it was a punch from the right. My head is spinning.

"You know what? Even if I did have this power, I would never swap with you!" He shouts at me. "You are PATHETIC." Punch. "You stay to slob at home. You have no friends. You're an ugly motherfucker that can't even accept who he is!" Another punch.

But he's right. This is me now. I can say whatever I want but the fact remains. I'm in his body, and I'm here. Permanently. And even if he could swap us, he will never do it after this."

"For the last time. Say. Your. Name." "Roy." I whimper. "Louder." "Roy." "Now the whole sentence. Shithead" "My name is Roy."

He lifts me and pushes me in front of a full-length mirror.

"Now say it like you mean it. Tell it to yourself"

I look at my pathetic excuse for a body. I see a chubby guy with a bloody face. I see black hair all over covering a dark skin.

"My name is Roy Alamin." "And don't you fucking forget it."

#body swap #male body swap #male body switch

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