#Security bars and pins

[farmingtonctlocks-blog]

Upgrading Security: Innovative Lock Options for Sliding Glass Doors

Sliding glass doors, while aesthetically pleasing and functional, can pose security challenges due to their large glass panels. Traditional locks, such as basic latch mechanisms or keyed locks, may not provide adequate security against intruders. However, advancements in lock technology have led to the development of innovative solutions specifically designed for sliding glass doors.

In this article, we will explore some of the most innovative lock options available to homeowners seeking to upgrade the security of their sliding glass doors.

Traditional Locks vs. Innovative Solutions:

Traditional locks, such as simple latch mechanisms or basic keyed locks, may not offer sufficient security for sliding glass doors. Innovative lock options provide enhanced security features designed to deter intruders and protect homes and families. These innovative solutions offer homeowners peace of mind by adding an extra layer of security to their sliding glass doors.

Double-Bolt Locks:

Double-bolt locks are designed to reinforce sliding glass doors by adding an additional layer of security. These locks feature two bolts that extend into the door frame, making it more difficult for intruders to force the door open. Some double-bolt locks can be operated with a key from both inside and outside, providing added convenience and security for homeowners.

Smart Lock Systems:

Smart lock systems offer homeowners a high-tech solution for securing sliding glass doors. These locks can be controlled remotely via a smartphone app, allowing users to lock and unlock the door from anywhere. Many smart lock systems also offer features such as keyless entry, activity logs, and integration with home automation systems, providing homeowners with convenience and enhanced security.

Foot-Operated Locks:

Foot-operated locks are a simple yet effective solution for securing sliding glass doors. These locks are installed at the bottom of the door and can be engaged or disengaged by pressing down with your foot. Foot-operated locks are particularly useful for homeowners who want to secure their doors without the need for keys or complicated mechanisms.

Security Bars and Pins:

Security bars and pins are low-cost options for adding extra security to sliding glass doors. These devices are placed in the track of the door to prevent it from being forced open. Security bars and pins are easy to install and can provide an additional layer of protection against intruders.

Glass Break Sensors:

Glass break sensors are another innovative option for securing sliding glass doors. These sensors are installed on the glass panels of the door and detect vibrations caused by attempted break-ins. When triggered, the sensors send an alert to the homeowner’s smartphone or security system, allowing for a rapid response to potential threats.

Reinforced Glass:

Reinforced glass is a proactive security measure that can be installed in sliding glass doors to deter intruders. This type of glass is treated with a layer of film or laminate that makes it more resistant to breakage. Reinforced glass can help prevent forced entry and protect against accidents such as impacts from storms or debris.

Considerations for Choosing the Right Lock:

When selecting a lock for your sliding glass door, it’s essential to consider factors such as ease of use, level of security, and compatibility with your existing door hardware. It’s also important to choose a lock that complements the aesthetics of your home and meets any local building code requirements.

Upgrading the security of your sliding glass doors is crucial for protecting your home and family from intruders and other threats. With innovative lock options available, homeowners can choose the solution that best fits their needs and budget. Whether you opt for a double-bolt lock, a smart lock system, or another innovative solution, investing in enhanced security measures for your sliding glass doors will provide peace of mind and added protection for years to come.

Upgrade your sliding glass door security with Farmington CT Locksmith. From double-bolt locks to smart systems, we offer advanced solutions tailored to your needs. Contact us today for a consultation!

[whipped-cheese]

[click for quality]

My 6 Lil fellers!! ^u^

[fanficgirl429]

Bucky Barnes Fluff

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: After Y/N almost got seriously hurt during a mission, Bucky opens up to Y/N (fluff)

----

With another brutal kick, the Flag Smasher’s boot collided with Y/N’s chest, knocking the wind from her lungs and launching her off the top of the moving truck. The world spun wildly around her, but before the ground could meet her with unforgiving force, a pair of strong arms—one warm and human, the other cool and vibranium—caught her mid-air.

They tumbled through the tall grass, rolling together in a blur of limbs and adrenaline until they finally came to a stop, the momentum spent. Bucky landed above her, his body tense and protective, the weight of him pinning her gently against the earth. His vibranium hand was curled around her waist, fingers splayed possessively, like he still hadn’t registered she was safe.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low, rough from the fight—or maybe from the panic of almost losing her.

Y/N blinked up at him, heart still racing. “Yeah, I’m fine… you’re just really heavy,” she muttered, pressing her hands against his broad, solid chest, half to push him off, half to ground herself in the fact that they were both still breathing.

Bucky groaned and rolled onto his back beside her, flopping onto the grass with a grunt. “You didn’t say that last night when I was on top of you.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she turned her head to glare at him, lips twitching. “I hate you.”

A lazy, boyish chuckle escaped him, and before she could retaliate, Sam landed next to them in a swirl of wings and confusion, clearly oblivious to whatever this was between the two of them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes scanning her quickly for injuries.

Y/N pushed herself up, brushing grass from her clothes. “Never better,” she said with a grin, while Bucky smirked silently behind her.

As Sam checked her over, Bucky stood, brushing off his jacket, his usual scowl softening just slightly as he looked at Y/N. She caught it, of course—she always did—but played it cool, casually tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she gave Sam a thumbs up.

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated, though her ribs ached and her pride was a little bruised.

“Right,” Sam said slowly, glancing between her and Bucky. “We got our asses handed to us. We need to regroup and figure out a way to take them down…preferably without Walker and his sidekick.”

Y/N shot Bucky a pointed look.

“You need to practice working on your landing.” Bucky deadpanned. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.” 

Y/N scoffed, lightly elbowing him in the side. “You’re lucky you caught me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t let you fall,” he murmured, voice low enough only she could hear.

The tension that passed between them then was electric—familiar, dangerous, and far too obvious.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Okay, what am I missing here?”

“Nothing!” Y/N chirped too quickly, stepping away from Bucky. “Absolutely nothing.”

Bucky just gave a half-smile, smug and silent.

But as they turned back toward the mission, Y/N felt it—the way Bucky’s fingers brushed hers for just a second. A silent promise. A secret shared.

----

The safe house was quiet, tucked deep in the woods, far from the chaos of the mission. It was small but secure—just three bedrooms, creaky wooden floors, and a fire that crackled softly in the hearth downstairs. Sam had passed out hours ago on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, a half-eaten protein bar still clutched in his hand.

Y/N had tried to sleep. She’d changed into the soft cotton joggers and hoodie she always traveled with, curled under the too-thin blanket, and closed her eyes. But her ribs ached, her mind was too loud, and her body couldn’t quite forget the feeling of falling—or her boyfriend's arms that caught her.

Eventually, she gave up.

She padded barefoot down the dim hallway, quietly so that she didn’t wake Sam up. She did not feel like answering any of his questions as she paused outside Bucky’s door. She listened for any sound of movement before she turned the handle quietly and slipped inside. 

Bucky was stretched out on the bed, the soft cotton of his light blue t-shirt clinging to him in all the right places, his long legs tangled lazily in the sheets. The glow of his phone lit up his face, casting gentle shadows across his jaw. As soon as the door creaked open, he looked up—his dark hair a tousled mess, like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. His blue eyes found hers instantly, softening with that familiar warmth that never failed to make her breath hitch.

Y/N froze in the doorway, her heart skipping a beat, cheeks blooming with heat like it was the first time all over again. A whole year together, and still, one look from him had her stomach doing somersaults.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice rough from disuse but comforting all the same.

Y/N shook her head, closing the door behind her. “Too much adrenaline. And my side hurts,” she admitted, rubbing her ribs with a wince.

Bucky sat up a little, concern flickering across his features. “Come here.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. The bed dipped as she climbed in beside him, pulling the blanket over her legs before leaning into his side. He shifted easily, letting her settle against his chest, his vibranium arm curling gently around her back.

With a contented sigh, she nestled her head against his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—something clean and comforting—immediately soothing her. Without a word, her fingers sought his, intertwining with an ease that spoke of a thousand quiet moments just like this.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, muffled slightly against the fabric of his shirt.

A low, affectionate chuckle rumbled in his chest, and she felt it beneath her cheek, the sound wrapping around her like a hug. “Good,” he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of hers. “Means you’ll stay right here.”

She smiled at that, pressing a little closer.

They sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the wind outside rustle the trees, the faint pop of the fire from the other room. 

Then Bucky spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“I was scared today.”

Y/N blinked, lifting her head slightly to look at him. “You?”

He met her gaze, his eyes unusually open. Vulnerable. “Yeah. When I saw you go over the edge of that truck... I thought I was going to lose it. I’ve never had to worry about someone like that. Not in the middle of a mission.”

Her expression softened as she gently squeezed his hand. “You caught me.”

“I always will,” he said quietly, like a vow.

Y/N swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Thanks for worrying.”

“I’m always gonna worry about you, Y/N,” he murmured. “You’re... not just part of the mission anymore.”

Her heart thudded hard at that—but it was a good kind of thud. The kind that told her she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“I guess I’m stuck with you, huh?” she teased, nuzzling back into his chest.

“Damn right you are.”

And in the safety of that quiet room, wrapped in strong arms and steady heartbeats, Y/N finally drifted off to sleep.

[hawkinsbnbg]

O!Steve who ran away from his filthy rich parents after they tried to drug and force him into an arranged marriage with a man twice his dad's age.

During his time working at the night club as a bartender, he met Kas who was known to be the biggest fish around there. No one knew where the man came from, but one thing they could be 100% sure of was that Kas came from old money. The kind that could buy someone's life in a heartbeat.

Steve had been wary of Kas at first. All the rumors about Kas being ruthless and cold hearted was enough for him to keep his distance. He didn't need to get caught up in another lair of wolves when he'd just escaped one.

Even from afar, he could tell the man was an alpha. Six feet tall, sharp jawline, dark wild eyes, straight nose, and unkempt mane were his first impression of Kas. Against his better judgement, he couldn't help but watch Kas, observing, obsessing over every movement, every smile and smirk and grin that appeared on Kas' handsome face.

His little crush would've gone unnoticed if nothing happened.

But then one day, he was called to go serve a patron in the bar's private room.

"I'm not even a stripper!" He exclaimed in bewilderment.

"He asked for you," Billy said and leveled him with a serious look. "But if you don't want to do this job anymore, you can quit right now. Hand back your uniform and leave as you will."

Steve bit his lip until he tasted blood. He knew everything wasn't as simple. There were contracts and then the contractual indemnity that he could hardly afford in his current situation. Maybe if he was still a Harrington, which he hadn't been for a year now and he couldn't go back unless he wanted to be sent right into hell.

Billy smirked around the burning cigarette, icy blue eyes flashed smugly, and raised a brow at him.

Wordlessly, Steve sighed, squared his shoulders, and put on his game face before pushing the door to step inside.

"What can I do for you, sir?" He smiled, feeling how fake it was on his face, and tried to will his heart to stop jumping out of his chest because lounging on the couch was none other than Kas—his literal wet dream.

Since the lights in here were brighter than in the bar, he could see that Kas was wearing a black tank top with leather pants, combat boots that were left unlaced, chains and rings and silvers.

He gulped dryly at those tattooed corded arms that looked like they could crush his bones, at the thick thighs that were man spreading, at the intense gaze that focused on him. Although Kas was just sitting there—silent and still—Steve felt like he was preyed on by a lion.

And then there was Kas' scent. Apparently, this man didn't believe in the whole good manners go with good blockers, because the room was packed with earthy musk and sandalwood the second he entered the room and nearly knocked him off his feet.

Steve wasn't sure how long could he keep himself in check considering his panties were thoroughly slick and his pants were in a real danger of getting ruined.

"C'mere," Kas finally spoke, all lazy and laid back, but Steve wasn't fooled in the slightest.

When he stopped between those wide spread legs, his body was flushed with heat.

"Sit." Kas patted on his thigh and Steve, though complied, still let out an embarrassed noise as he straddled the alpha of his dream and felt a broad hand splay on his lower back to hold him secure.

While Steve was distracted by the toned muscles under his butt and how warm and big and good smelling Kas was, a ringed hand reached up to hold his chin and used it to tilted his head slightly, thumbing his split bottom lip gently.

"Who hurt you?"

Steve took in the heavy frown between Kas' brows, the grim line on Kas' mouth, the protectiveness that just oozed in waves from the older man, and felt his heart hiccup.

Oh no.

He blinked, and smiled his real smile despite knowing it was a bad idea.

"Me, sir."

Kas regarded him with an unreadable look, peeling off all of his layers and leaving him bare. It pinned Steve in place and for a brief mortifying second, he thought he was going into an early heat.

As if reading his mind, Kas released his chin and let that hand wandered down to his waist.

"Call me Eddie," the alpha said suddenly. "It's my real name. Eddie Munson."

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it. He knew Kas— no, Eddie was wealthy but the Munson? They weren't just rich, they were Rich. And they were also involved in a lot of shady businesses. Both from the government and the underworld. Which, as someone who didn't grew up in that kind of circle, Steve shouldn't know. But it was too late to pretend because his mask had slipped and Eddie had caught the flash of recognition on his face.

But instead of questioning his identity, Eddie just gazed at him softly and asked.

"Wanna go home with me?"

"I– What?" Steve stammered, nonplussed. "You mean–"

"Maybe when you're ready one day," Eddie said, which made him feel strangely disappointed. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I'll give you anything as long as you ask nicely, alright?" He smiled and continued when Steve nodded. "What I meant is for you to quit your job at this place and come live with me. I'll provide you with everything you need. Money, clothes, jewelry, cars, houses, lands. Just name it and it'll be yours."

Steve was rightfully confused at this point. And also terribly turned on. Sue him. He had a Thing for men who treated him nicely, okay? And yeah, it sounded like a scam. No one had seen what Eddie Munson looked like before. The man always hid behind a mask and never had his photos taken by anyone who weren't from the Munson family.

But Steve was also pretty sure that he felt a rather deep connection with this alpha, and it didn't help that he was already obsessed with the sandalwood scent. And still, before he said yes, he blurted out his only burning question.

"Why me?"

Eddie leaned in and nosed at the hinge of his jaw.

"Because, my little darlin', we are scent mates."

[thejukeboxzero]

@colorlessjay god bless lunch breaks for giving me the chance to write more of these shenanigans, enjoy

__________

“Dean, look.”

Dean looks down at Jack, who’s been dutifully trailing him around Sam’s ridiculously sized university campus for the better part of an hour, bee-themed bag bouncing on his back.

Jack waits until he’s sure Dean is looking then jumps up and down, the soles of his sneakers lighting up as they hit the sidewalk. When he’s done he looks up at Dean with a proud grin, like he knows he’s the coolest kid on the playground.

“I’m jealous.” Dean manages to respond before looking around the wide outdoor common space, “You sure you don’t know where your dad works?”

Dean had originally intended to just return Jack to the curb he accidentally kidnapped him from, but after waiting around for a few minutes he realized that Jack’s dad had probably already run off searching for the elementary schooler and that he should try and track the guy down, maybe apologize for the heart attack that comes with losing your kid.

“He works here.” Jack answers with a nod, “He teaches big kids about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Jack shrugs, now distracted by a potato bug crawling its way in front of him.

“Really helpful, kid…” Dean mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. They’ve had this conversation maybe a dozen times and the answers always remain the same.

He’s tried calling Sam, hoping he’d at least be able to show Dean where he can return this kid, maybe a front office or security booth? But the little shit hasn’t been answering, probably too busy shoving his nose in pre-law books to even realize he was supposed to be outside an hour and a half ago.

“Dean, Dean-” Jack's tugging on his coat now and Dean, ever so slightly, regrets telling Jack his name, “Dean-” 

“What’s up?”

“Where does your daddy work?”

‘Hell, hopefully’ Dean thinks, unable to stop the way the venomous thought snakes into his mind, “He’s uh- He doesn't work anymore.”

“Where do you work?”

“I work at a place called ‘The Roadhouse’.” He tries to be as vague as possible, not wanting to be the one who explains the concept of a bar to Jack.

Jack frowns and cocks his head to the side suspiciously, a weird little habit he keeps doing, “Roads don’t have houses.”

The child's words sound accusatory and Dean finds himself needing to defend himself, “Yeah well… This one does. We keep it at work as a pet.”

He expects Jack to call him a liar, or to cock his head more like the change in angle will help him interpret Dean’s words, but instead he just gasps and smiles widely, “You have a pet!? Wow! We don’t have any pets, I really want one though!”

Dean clutches the handle of Jack's bag and begins to lead him away, towards the north end of the campus where he’s like 10% sure Sam should be, “What kind of pet do you want?”

“A snake!”

The kid just keeps getting weirder.

“A snake huh, that’s…” He doesn't want to insult Jack but snakes are just plain creepy.

Jack doesn't seem to notice Dean's distaste, too busy peering back over his shoulder, probably still trying to look at that bug.

He gasps in delight, “Dean!”

Dean doesn't stop, he can’t, he needs to get this kid to someone so he can go grab Sam, go home, and sleep until he becomes one with his memory foam mattress.

“Yeah, kid?”

Jack grins widely at him, “I see my Dad!”

“Where?” Dean whips around, tightening his grip on Jack, ready to run after whoever Jack points at and give him back his kid.

It's weird though, at first he only sees Sam, standing stock still about ten yards away, his face a mixture of mortification and pure horror.

Then Dean's jaw lights up with a crack of pain, his vision going white for a moment, and he’s suddenly on his back, sprawled out on the sidewalk with a metallic taste in his mouth.

A furious face appears above him, electric blue eyes glaring down with murderous intent, and Dean feels what he’s pretty sure is a knee pressed painfully into his sternum, pinning him to the ground as he wheezes, trying to regain the wind that has been knocked out of him.

“Hi, Daddy!” Jack's delighted voice is barely audible over the ringing in Dean's ears.

“So you’re his Pops-” Dean grumbles to the furious man above him, turning to the side and spitting out a glob of blood, “Awesome.”

_____

<<First│<-Prev│Next ->

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Sabo’s muscles are hot. Even hotter when his cock is in you. That’s it, that’s the summary. ~3.1k words. This is pure, nasty, (extremely) uncreative smut. Enjoy!

CW: Afab reader, gendered pet names (“princess” and “pretty girl”), lots of throwing the reader around, teasing, dirty talk, like 3 diff sex positions, P in V.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

It’s late at night in the revolutionary base and you just finished eating your midnight snack. On your way back to your room, you hear footsteps behind you. You’re familiar with the sound and you can immediately tell who it is. As you begin to turn around, big hands grasp your waist and unexpectedly push you towards the wall.

You’re pinned and someone’s body flush is against yours. He’s caught you off guard and now he has you right where he wants you—just how he’s been fantasizing all day.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Obviously, it’s Sabo. You’re well acquainted with the feeling of those strong hands bracing your body while he does whatever he wants with you.

“Sabo, what are you doing?” Your tone is one of fake incredulity and you laugh because you can already tell he wants to rail you into oblivion. He’s feral for you. What’s new?

As his lips meet your shoulder and wander to your neck, he leaves soft licks and kisses. He takes a deep inhale.

“I missed you, baby.” Sabo murmurs in your ear and his voice is sugar-coated. You can feel something hard poking into your ass, slowly rutting into you. His grip around your waist tightens.  

You giggle and you roll your eyes. “It’s been six hours since you last saw me.”

He effortlessly flips you around so his chest is pressing into yours and he’s backing you against the wall yet again.

“Six hours is too long. C’mere. Can’t you help me let off some steam?” Sabo’s voice is lower than usual. It gets like this when he’s worked up, when his cock is hard and aching for you.

A hand leaves your waist and finds its place on your cheek, guiding your lips to his with surprising softness. Your arms wrap around his neck. They never fail to find their way there.

The kisses increase in desperation and he starts dry humping you so hard that it’s starting to hurt.

His large, warm hands slip under the hem of your shirt and squeeze your breasts, massaging and kneading them for a moment before he breaks your kisses and asks, “Can I pick you up?”

Your answer is an eager “mmhmm.”

Sabo loves to throw you around and you have no problem indulging him whenever he asks. He knows you love how strong he is. When you first started seeing each other, it took you some convincing to allow him to pick you up—was it a matter of self-confidence? Safety? Security? Not wanting him to drop you? It had been so long since then that you’ve forgotten your initial hesitance. Now, when he asks if he can pick you up, the answer is always a resounding yes.

Once he found out about your strength kink, he was borderline insufferable about it. When he lifts weights or does other workouts like pull-up bars or push-ups, he makes sure you can see. He doesn’t do it in a cringey way, rather, he’s being considerate. He knows you want a glance, and he complies. Sabo is tickled that you like it so much and he never knew that this would be the thing that got you going—so tickled that he loves to ruthlessly tease you about it.

He lifts you by your waist, sliding you up the wall. When you’re raised enough to his liking, his hands shift downwards to your thighs, supporting your weight enough for your legs to wrap around him.

It goes without saying, but he’s ripped. His arms feel sturdy—you’re not worried that he’s going to drop you, and when his rippling muscles press on your skin, you’re reminded of just how manly he is.

He doesn’t look overtly muscular at first glance. But the first time you saw Sabo training without a shirt, your jaw dropped. Everything about him was perfect—he looked like he was carved from marble, toned, beautiful, the abs, the v-line, the muscle definition, the golden hair, tanned skin… Fuck, he’s hot.

Sabo loves to use those muscles and his strength to contort you into any shape he wants and fuck you anywhere and anyhow he can imagine. He likes to pick you up and fuck you like that, being in total control, slinging you around like you’re a sack of flower (or a sex doll). And you can’t deny that it gets you off just as much as it gets him off.

When he has you wrapped around him, Sabo picks you up and carries you into his bedroom. His erection is rubbing you from below and it’s making your core tingle and throb.

He basically throws you onto the end bed. He takes off his clothes and you’re struck by the sight of his cock. You’ve seen it many times before, but the sight never got old. Like the rest of him, it’s big and pretty. Long, thick, veiny, dusted with colors of fleshy pink and inflamed reds.

You free yourself from your clothes too and look up at him. His expression is lust itself.

“God, I can’t wait to fuck you.” Sabo’s voice is husky. As you spread your legs for him, his cock jumps.

More manhandling. Sabo’s arms loop under your thighs and he literally yanks your knees over his shoulders. He’s pressing down into you so hard that his weight almost knocks the wind out of you. Your knees are up and pushed into your chest as much as is physically possible—it almost hurts, you’re certainly uncomfortable, but with the prospect of his cock, you can endure anything.

He takes in the moment, teasing himself and you by running the tip of his cock your clit and down through your folds. It makes your back arch and sparks of bliss flash in your eyes. He lets out a groan and does this for a few minutes, until you’re begging for it. You’re soaking wet in record time.

“Sabo, fuck. Stop teasing me. Put it in already.” You’re pouting.

“Don’t you wanna ask nicely?” He teases with a cocky grin. If you had more willpower right now, you’d reprimand him for making you wait when you’re this wet. But… you’re on the verge of throwing him on the bed and riding him.

“Sabo, please, baby.”

He knows you’re wet enough now that he can slide his cock in without any resistance or pain. So he does, and it feels absolutely amazing as his girth presses into your cunt inch by delicious inch.

His cock is so huge that it takes a moment for your walls to adjust. As Sabo stretches you out, a moan escapes your lips. He almost shivers from the sound. Vocal expressions of your pleasure always give him goosebumps. When you start making noises like that, he falls apart. He loses composure. No more teasing. He needs you now.

His hips start to roll into yours, as slow as he can muster. He wants to coax pleasure from you, to see your face twist in pleasure, to feel your walls clench around his shaft until he explodes inside of you.

One hand braces itself next to your head. He’s putting all his weight on top of you, and all that muscle makes him heavy. You have to make an extra effort to breathe because he’s practically squishing the air out of you with each thrust. You’d have it no other way.

As Sabo’s cock scrapes your throbbing walls, raging waves of pleasure start to crash over you. He can feel you clenching on his shaft. It spurs him on. He picks up the pace and you start to moan and writhe under him.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Sabo grunts out, inches away from your face. His eyes transform when he gets like this—the kindness is gone. Only desire and need can be discerned from his fiery gaze. “So fucking tight for me.”

Suddenly, and far too quickly, you’ve reached your limit. He’s fucking into you like it’s nothing, absolutely obliterating your g-spot so you feel like you’re floating. His hands are on your waist and he’s moving you back and forth on his cock, fucking you however he wants, like he’s just using you.

On full display, Sabo’s muscly arms pick you up with ease again. He maneuvers you, and you find yourself sinking onto his cock, straddling him in reverse cowgirl. He’s laying on the bed, propped up by pillows, grabbing fistfuls of your ass and spreading your cheeks apart. He watches his cock disappear into you, mesmerized.

“Ride me, pretty girl.”

You whimper and start to bounce up and down on his cock at his command. After a while, your legs start to hurt, so you collapse forward and brace yourself on your hands as your rock your hips back and forth.

“Just like that. Fuck, you ride me so well.” Sabo graces you with a satisfied groan and a hard smack on your ass. The pain sears, but it emphasizes your pleasure. He’s bucking his hips upwards in small jerks, driving himself deeper into your cunt. Your thighs are shaking and you’re whimpering at each press on your g-spot.

You’re riding him to completion—at least, that’s what you think. But he’s too familiar with your body and your moans. He can tell that you’re going to cum in a minute if you keep going. And he’s nowhere near finished with you.

“Ah ah ah, not yet baby. I’m not done with you.”

He pulls his cock out and you whine in protest. Why does he always have to make this so difficult?

Sabo throws you around some more. Next thing you know, he’s standing up, holding you, and his cock is inside of you. You wrap your legs around him. You know the drill.

Sabo pulls and pushes on your ass, bouncing you on his cock while you pull him tighter with your legs. He loves to fuck you standing up while he does all the work. Usually, this is how he prefers to cum in you.

He can go for hours like this. He’s that strong. And his arms won’t start to ache or shake.

But he won’t go for hours today���only for a little while longer. He gets you babbling and fucked out, dripping wet and pulsing around his cock, and then he pulls out of you again. You’re so frustrated that you almost cry.

“Oh, you thought I was gonna let you cum, sweetheart?” He laughs and kisses you with another cheeky grin plastered over his face. His blonde hair is ruffled and there’s a sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s getting close. He thinks that the next position will be the last one.

He slams you back on the bed again, unceremoniously, almost knocking the wind out of you. Fuck, it’s hot when he does that, and fuck, he’s so strong it’s crazy. You squeeze your thighs together when you’ve settled on the bed and he laughs because he knows you too well.

“God, you’re cute. You really like being thrown around that much?” Sabo stands and strokes his cock for a second while he stares down at your puppy-dog eyes.

His teasing is cruel. Can’t he just fuck you already?

“Sabo, please.”

He tuts and keeps stroking his cock, standing at the end of the bed. One of his hands is fisting as much precum as he can out of his slit, and the other is passing over his abs and pecs, teasing himself and you. He’s getting dangerously worked up and you’ve only been having sex for 20 minutes max. That might be a new low.

“Touch yourself for me, princess.”

You whine and open your legs for his greedy eyes. It’s already like mush between your legs, so wet that your thighs are messy and your cunt is throbbing. You pass two fingers down through your folds and hiss air in through your teeth at the sensation.

Returning your fingers up, you circle your own juices over your clit for a few moments before you’re arching your back again. You know that you can’t cum yet. In an effort to stave off the inevitable, your hands wander upwards to play with your chest—one hand squeezes your breast while the other plays with your sensitive bud.

“Sabo.” You moan his name and his heart flips. He knows you’re thinking about him while you touch yourself. It gets him off beyond belief.

You roll your nipple between your fingers and your other hand creeps down again to your core. As you slip your middle and ring fingers into your cunt, you begin to fuck yourself with them, going slow at first and angling to find that gooey sensitive spot inside.

It feels so good that your thighs are starting to seize up and your toes start to curl. “Fuck, Sabo. I need you.” You look at him with a tortured, needy face and he groans again. When you say his name like that with your fingers stuffed in your cunt, he has no choice but to fuck you so hard your eyes roll back in your head.

He pounces on you, pinning your hands above your head with one hand and pushing your thigh up with the other. When he plunges his cock into your folds, you know he means business.

His pace is fast and erratic. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he grunts as he grinds his cock on your deepest parts and squeezes the plush skin of your thigh. “You’re so fucking wet, babe. Fuuucckkkk.”

Through your half-lidded eyes and the haze of lust that’s taken over your mind, you manage to drink up the sight in front of you. Sabo’s pretty blonde hair is shifting back and forth, in time with his hips. His arms are flexed in all their glory—toned, not too big, muscly, and sexy. The same goes for his abs and pecs—he’s just breathtaking.

His happy trail snakes up his abdomen, and it’s a darker shade than his blonde locks; the wiry pattern thins out before his belly button. His abs are so solid that it’s ridiculous, but it isn’t too much. Everything about him fits his physique perfectly—every muscle is striking but not overwhelming, each is a bold statement of the strength that he works so hard for. His size and definition are perfect for his frame. You count your lucky stars that he uses that strength on you, doing whatever he pleases (or whatever you ask for).

He's too hot for his own good, and he knows it.

His hips roll into yours and you’re seeing stars by now, head lolling to the side as you’re barely cognizant of anything happening other than pleasure. Every squelching noise makes him grunt. He’s approaching orgasm, finally ready to let go inside of you.

“You gonna cum for me, angel? I know you’re getting close.”

When you whimper in response, he reaches a hand down and rubs his thumb on your clit. That sends you over the edge.

Your moans are deafening, and they go straight to his cock. He presses down on your clit harshly and you start to squirm, clawing into his biceps and throwing your head back in pleasure.

“Fuck, Sabo, ‘m cumming, fuck, fuck that feels good.” You convulse and spasm. When you tell him that he’s making you feel good, that’s what finally does it for him.

His last thrusts are haphazard, and his thumb draws circles agonizingly slow circles on your clit still. It’s almost too much now that you’re mid-orgasm.

“That’s it, gorgeous. Cream on my cock. Feels so—so f-fucking good.” Deep groans trickle from his pretty lips.

Sabo finally hits his limit at one strong clench from your walls around his cock. He seizes up and shoots his load into you, letting out a chorus of “fuck, babe,” and “feels so good,” and “you’re so fucking wet for me,�� etc.

When you’re both done with your respective mind-numbing waves of pleasure, Sabo pulls out of you and watches his cum drip out of your cunt. He smiles and then leans in for more kisses.

Sabo is very satisfied with himself. He just loves that you let him do whatever he wants to you, and the best part of it is making you cum every time.

When he’s smothered you with enough kisses, he picks you up again and carries you off to the bathroom attached to his suite. It’s nothing fancy, but he keeps it squeaky clean. It’s another one of his favorite spots to fuck you, other than his bed and when you’re leaned over the kitchen counter with your ass on display.

In the bathroom, he gets you all cleaned up. Frequently, you’ll end the night (or spend a few hours) in his bed together, naked under the covers. He kisses every part of you that he can, spoons you, pets your cheek or hair with his hand, or even tickles you when he wants to hear your cute giggles.

He’s manly and muscly, duh. But he really is such a sweetie pie. It’s literally heart melting and almost suffocating. But when you’re drowning in his affection, you can’t complain. He just loves you so much that he can’t keep it inside. That’s why going six hours in a day without seeing you (or fucking you) is so brutal for him. He’s like a dog for you.

That being said, you can just imagine how good the sex is and how needy he gets when he goes on multi-day missions without you. He tries to be as locked-in as he can, following the plan and staying as safe as possible, but sometimes he slips up, and frequently that’s because he’s musing on putting his cock in you and plowing you until you can’t speak anymore.

that’s all for this one. shoutout to the anon who suggested that i indulge in my strength kink for this prompt with sabo. goddamn that man is a rascal and i want him to ravage me… just thinking about his arms i gotta fan myself with my hand.... he wouldnt be TOO muscly either, i think he would be very ripped but not like a body builder or anything. just pretty and toned *chefs kiss*

but also this felt pretty mid so if you got this far, thanks for humoring me! much love <3

here’s my masterlist and here’s my october posting schedule.

i’m posting everyday from now to october 31!

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[ddejavvu]

I can’t stop thinking about being a suspect in a case and being interviewed by Hotch 😭 like being so nervous and him taking it as like “??? are you even gonna try hiding it??” and you’re not gonna be honest and be like “i’m not nervous because i’m guilty i’m nervous BC YOURE A HOT OLD MAN” because this is a serious case and serious situation so it’s just Hotch trying to coax it out of you, you being all flustered looking suspicious but actually like needy for this man, and the team who caught on like “oh wait no. shes just attracted to him. why do we have hot people on the team?”

SSA Hotchner's scrutinizing gaze studies your weak posture, your fidgeting fingers, your spotty eye contact, and he muses, "You're not very good at controlling your body language."

"What?" You look at him, eyes wide and round and full of nerves. You've never been questioned before, not even by a low level security officer, much less an FBI Agent. You suppose that's making you nervous, yes, but what's really wringing you out is the fact that the one they sent to your interrogation room is just plain hot.

He's gorgeous, all sharp features that are always angled towards you, and dark eyes you'd expect of a criminal, not its captor. His suit is crisp and his voice is low; he's the pinnacle of professionalism and he's making you squirm with his undivided, discerning attention.

"You're nervous," He accuses, and you let out a soft huff in the back of your throat.

Who wouldn't be?

"You're fidgeting, you can't look me in the eyes, you lean away from me," He lists, leaning forwards in his chair to watch you repel like a magnet, your back pressing into the metal bars behind you as he proves his point.

"I'd think someone with the criminal expertise to commit six murders without witnesses would have a better handle on their outward appearance."

"I'd think so, too," You manage, not without stammering, "Agent- Agent Hotchner, I- I'm not-"

"You're not guilty? You're the closest thing we have to a suspect," He doesn't let your stuttering deter him, leaning ever-closer until you're flattened against the back of your chair and he's still advancing. He rises from his seat, inching closer and closer as he continues, "You miraculously discovered the body at an odd hour of the night when you had no business being at the scene of the crime, you called it in, you told the police you knew nothing, you're telling me you know nothing, but still," He's inches away from you now, and every nerve in your body is aflame with mortification at the very unhelpful fantasies rushing through your head as he pins you to the chair.

"-You insist on your innocence, but I don't think you're innocent at all. I think you're trying to toy with us, but we don't play games, you won't win. Understand?" His dark eyes bore into your own and you're painfully attracted to them, biting the inside of your cheek to stop from begging him to back away before you lose control and surge forward to kiss him. He refuses to blink, but you're doing it enough for the both of you, lashes rapidly fluttering as you try calming your pounding heart. He watches you for one, two, three, four, five seconds, expecting a hurried confession at any moment, but the door clicks open before you can stammer something humiliating.

"Hotch," It's a dark-haired woman, and god, does the FBI recruit people based on attractiveness? She's stunning and she turns her beautiful eyes on you in sympathy, "Back off, Hotch. She's innocent."

He narrows his eyes at her almost imperceptibly, turning away from you, "You found the unsub?"

"No," She admits, "But it's not her. Okay? I just know."

"You just- Agent Prentiss," Agent Hotchner stands straight, "That's not protocol."

"I know," She gushes, but she strides confidently through the room to ease you upright and out of your chair, "Just- let me handle this, okay? Come on, honey, we'll talk somewhere private."

Agent Hotchner lets her take you away, and he must trust her, even if he's watching her with narrowed eyes. Maybe this is some interrogation tactic, maybe the woman leading you by the shoulder through the precinct is the good cop, and he was the bad one.

She leads you past a cluster of people all leaning against desks or hunching over files, and a slim blonde woman shoots you a knowing smile. What she knows, you're not sure, but you wish so badly that it were comforting.

The woman walking with you leads you straight to the front door, taking your purse from where they'd confiscated it earlier and handing it back to you.

"You're free to go," She smiles at you, eyes nothing but kind, "I'll tell him you proved your innocence."

"But- what," Your fingers are almost too limp to keep your bag in their grip, "I don't understand-"

"I do," She grins, "He's handsome, I get it. He tends to forget that."

Your cheeks sear with flames that you wish would turn you to ash right then and there, so that you could be carried away on the breeze and not have to answer for your embarrassing instincts.

"Don't worry about it," She laughs, clearly sympathetic to your panic, "Trust me, you're not the first person that's squirmed in their seat under the intense gaze of Aaron Hotchner. He's a smart man, but never smart enough to figure out when someone likes him. You're free to go, honey," She repeats, reaching out to squeeze your arm, "And if you ever get dragged into an investigation again - which I hope you don't," She grins, "I wish you a very ugly investigator."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

As I wind down the pines 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, grief, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Left alone after the death of your grandparents, you must survive the remote backwoods.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The sun peeks through the fluttering leaves, shadows rippling overhead. You shiver against the large oak knees bent, arms around your legs, woozy with the ache of your stomach. Those acorns only made you feel sick.

You need more than nuts and half-grown mushrooms. The trap you set didn't get you anything but a toad and you're second-guessing not boiling it up in a stew. You rub your eyes and let your head fall into your hands. The forest floor shifts. You can't stay out here much longer.

It takes a while to find your strength. You press your palms to the rough bark and slowly scale up to your feet. You sway and drag your feet through the twigs and soil. You stumble into a white birch.

You trail your fingers up and peel a strip off. You yank it and tumble into the dirt. Your fingers are raw from the effort. You can boil the bark and make a stew. Your grandmother would gather the same bark but used it more as seasoning or to bulk out a heartier mix.

You work at stripping away more bark. It won't be much but it's something. You tuck it into the loose pocket of your grandfather's jacket. He has no use of it anymore. You shouldn't need it out in the sun but you can't stop shivering.

You plod down the slant of the forest floor and stop. This is the wrong way. You blink and turn. You've never been lost in these woods before. You grew up here, you know it like you know your reflection, but you're lost. You close your eyes as you try to chase away the pulsing behind them.

Another deep breath. You think you know that elm. Right around to the east is the shell of Chester's mill. Your grandfather told you about the old man that once owned it. He called him a curmudgeon with too much to say.

There's the old fence post but it's no longer crooked or lonely. There are new slats hammered in next to it, secured with cross bars. You slip and dig your heels in. The old mill is not what you remember. The hanging door is back in place and the gate has been replaced with a stronger one. The shed shows signs of repairs in its mismatched boards and the mill house is surrounded in scaffolding.

The house looks best of all. The cracked windows are replaced and there's a lone chair on the porch, reinforced so it no longer dips. Someone's moved in but no one ever comes all the way up here. They only leave, in a coffin or otherwise. 

Change. Things aren't like they were. They won't be. They can't. 

There's a scent on the air that draws you. One you should have filling your nose in the mornings and simmering from the oven at night. The fresh, delectable waft of a tomato vine.

There isn't thought in your head as you advance across the long strands of glass. There is only the clenching in your stomach and the slickness on your tongue. You see no life as you approach. You stop at the gate and wait. 

The windows shine in sunlight but curtains within keep the haze without. You search through the fog of hunger for a threat. There's only a squirrel skittering along the top of the fence, likely on a mission for its own harvest.

You slip your hands between the high slats and feel around. You flip the inner latch and the hinges give. You ease the door inward and shuffle through. You leave it open without catch.

You sniff the air and follow your nose. The lush plateau of soil and greenery delight your vision and your starving stomach. You want to fall upon it and devour every leaf and seed.

Sense flickers and guilt boils in your guts. The work that went into all this and you look to plunder. That same work that did not bear much from your own dirt.

It doesn't matter. You can't hold yourself back. You need more than dry bark and boiled water. You will take only a little. They won't notice with all they have. Two tomatoes, a bright orange pepper, and a single potato.

You use the large pockets of the oversized jacket to store it all and retreat. You stop at the gate, waiting to be caught out, waiting for the holler or worse, the gun shot. Nothing. Just the sunlight and the scent of the garden.

You shut the gate and head for the trees. It's a far way home but the promise of a flavourful stew keep your feet moving. And after...

You'll have to figure that out.

🌳

The old house stands between two broad oaks, the roots extending into the foundation. The once white stained wood is chipped and splintered. Your grandmother's old basket planters are dried out and barren. Your grandfather's bench still stands but without anyone to sit on it.

You climb the steps, the rain spout creaking, the windows groaning. You try not to see the empty garden. The wilting leaves and the churned soil. First the rains flooded out the soil, then the sun dried it to dust, and the little that sprouted fed the family of rabbits who cared little for the bristles of your broom.

Calamity. Tragedy. You planted too early. You had that feeling, your grandfather's voice in your head, but you did not trust it. After the winter blew over the shed and smashed the years of preserves, you were too eager to have something. Anything.

Desperation is the eight deadly sin. Your grandparents always said. Patience, though, is the best of all the virtues.

The door clatters behind you. You get your pot and bring it to the stove. It's the old sort from more than a century ago. You open the little door and add a small log to the ash and remnants of the last burn.

Your hands shake as you light the fire. The flames do not come easy and your fingers are sore with the effort. You shut the door and leave the stove to warm as you unpack your wares...

Stolen goods. You take out a knife chop up half the pepper and one tomato, then half the potato. The rest You'll store in the cellar where the shelves have rotted away. They will keep at least a few days.

You put water onto boil. You add the veggies and use the mortar and pestle to crush up some of the birch. You season it and put a lid on.

As it steams around the brim, you sit on the drooping sofa and lean back into the cushions. You're so tired you're weak yet all you seem to do is sleep and look for food. You're in no short supply of the former.

🌳

The stew holds you over for a week. Maybe longer. The days are hard to track in the smear of anxiety and lingering hunger. You only eat a little, never gorging, never satisfied. 

Nuts. Half the shells you find have been emptied by squirrels and chipmunks. You choke down a handful of earthworms only to spew it up just as painfully. A dead bird tempts you but the diseased stench keeps you from that mistake. 

You chew on the birch and some leaves of mint. You stop at the river and put your feet in. It only makes you shiver more. It's summer. You shouldn't be shivering. Oh well. You just need to eat. That's all you can think about.

You trod on, stopping to gather what you can. If you can't get more, even just squirrel meat, you won't have the energy to walk so long. Once that happens...

Your grandparents would be disappointed. They taught you better. You did fine last year, the first without both of them, but this year is not last year.

As searing as the hunger is the loneliness. You miss them both terribly. They were your people. The only ones that ever looked after you. They taught you well because they wanted to take care of you always and you squandered it.

You crash down your rear in the dirt. You sit in the shade of the pines and stare at the mill house. You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. Once was more than too much.

Your head spins and you try to steady your vision as you grip the sides of your skull. Are you going insane? It sure feels like it.

You stand before you know what you're doing. The trek through the treeline and across the clearing isn't very far at all. It can't be. You're right there at the gate.

You feel along the slat like before, reaching, reaching, reaching. You flick the lock and swing inside. No one's there but you forgot to even check.

You walk cautiously over the grass to the plot of vegetables, even riper than the last time you came. The tomatoes are so big some have fallen off the vine. Carrots!

Not yours! Remember. What are you doing here?

The juice of the tomato floods your mouth as the answer drifts away. You don't care. You're starving. On your knees in the dirt, gnawing like a ravenous rodent.

You devour the tomato and reach for another. A knife flies into the red skin and splits the fruit in half, seeds and guts exploding onto you. You recoil and cry out. 

You wipe your face and look at the man at the end of the plot. His expression is as friendly as the knife that nearly sliced you. You blink and your lip trembles. You're pathetic. You're no better than the gluttonous squirrels.

"I'm... sorry. I... I... I..." you choke.

He comes forward. You stare as you take in all of him. Tall, broad, startlingly so from your vantage on the ground. 

His blue eyes bore into you as the muscles of his right exposed arm bulge. His other shoulder is blunted and his shirt pinned over it. His dark hair is past his shoulders, drawn back in by a tie as a few strands slip free. His beard is dense across his gritting jaw.

You wilt and accept your fate. It's quicker this way. He stops in front of you and bends to retrieve the knife. You watch him grip it and wait for him to aim the tip at you. He wipes it on his pant leg and slides it into his belt. 

He stands straight, towering over you as his hand goes to his hip. 

"That's two today." He says. "Plus two before, a potato, and a pepper."

You bat your lashes at him and sway. You gulp. You shake your head and show your hands.

"I'm hungry..." you croak. "I'm so hungry."

"You're a thief," he snarls. "You're gonna pay me back."

"I don't... I got nothing, mister. I'm sorry. Please," you shrink down and cover your face.

"You got two hands and a brain." He growls. "So get up and get to work."

You look up above your fingertips. The sun limns the man's silhouette like an otherwordly wraith. You snivel and nod. You have no other choice, not unless you want to see his knife again.

You plant your feet and slowly straighten your legs. You rock as he turns on his heel and marches off. You stare after him confused. Do you follow?

You stay as you are and peek down at the mangled tomato. You're hungry enough to pick it out of the dirt. You're kept from that as the man reappears with a round apple basket in hand.

You stagger back as he approaches. He shoves it at you and grows. "Fill that up. Don't eat them."

"Um..." you hug the basket as you gape at him.

"That'll even us out." He taps the top of the basket and you nearly topple.

"Yes, mister." You agree to keep him at bay. To hope he doesn't hurt you.

You back away and turn to the tomato vines. You bend first to gather the fruits off the ground. Your head feels heavy as you plunk down the basket. Your stomach mulches the quickly absconded tomato and adds to the sudden wave.

Your head pulses and silver stars speckle in your vision. You shake your head and set your feet. Dizziness swirls in your head and you lock your knees to stay up. Before you know it, the world is black and the world is only a memory.

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | Rafe Cameron | 01

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

Who knew Rafe Cameron is a blabbering drunk?

Working as a bartender on the docks, near Heyward's Seafood, you have your fair share of stories about the people who come in. Most of them are locals from The Cut, with the occasional tourists who wander the streets, settling for a clean place to eat.

But it's very rare to have a Kook.

It's been a visit for the past couple of weeks. You don't understand what caused him to come here. There's plenty of bars near Figure Eight—some of which you are sure caters specifically to the Camerons—but you don't question it. Lately, business has been slow, a couple of locals in and out, and with the majority of your income relying on tips, you take it.

Locals don't tip.

Rafe does, however. When he settled down and ordered the largest and most expensive liquor you had on hand, he slipped a fifty into your hands and asked for the bottle as a whole. You don't know if he doesn't have prior tipping etiquette—or because he tips extra for you to keep quiet about his presence—but you gladly take it. Sitting at the end of the counter, his hand cradles a half-empty glass he sips from.

Despite having the whole bottle set in front of him, he still makes you serve him.

Why?

Because he's an asshole.

"You know what he wants to do?" Rafe slurs from across the counter, his eyes flickering to find your presence behind the bar. "He wants to give the company to Sarah."

You hum in response, drying the washed glasses in your hands with a towel as you listen to his nondescript rambles. You knew most of the people he's referring to Sarah Cameron, Ward, and the occasional Pogue you don't know the name of. But, that's how Rafe sees the world: his family, the Kooks, and then everyone else.

"She's nineteen and going around OBX with her fucking Pogue boyfriend and he sees her as stable?" Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as he brings the edge of the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. "Fucking bitch."

Listening to drunk customers vent about their home lives is part of the job description. While it’s dark outside and Rafe is the only customer left, you are technically free to kick him out and make him go about his day elsewhere.

But, there's a rule in your family regarding business: don't go home until the last customer leaves. There's no such thing as kicking someone out at closing time; you were there to wait, serve, and hope they spend a couple more bucks on some more booze. It's a cheapshot of handling enterprise, but that's the way you need to do business and survive as a Pogue.

Rafe taps his empty cup in his hand, eyes pinned on you. "Refill," he mumbles, to which you resist the urge to roll your eyes, and walk over to do exactly as he asks. Lifting the bottle set in front of him to pour him another shot, he watches you as you watch.

"You think it's stupid, right?" He asks, his gaze lifting to study your face. "He thinks Sarah is more equipped to handle Cameron Development because of that Pogue. Because he ties her down. Is that some bullshit?"

His gaze is intense and you don't know whether to answer or not. While you don't know much of the story, of the background behind his persistent rambles, you pieced together enough that it's about Ward deciding to give Sarah the family company because of her stability as a person. Because she's reliable.

You shrug, "I don't know." Because you don't. You don't want to get involved in whatever problems Rafe is dealing with. You don't want to offer unsolicited opinions because who knows if it'll come back to bite you in the ass.

He scoffs, then releases a bitter laugh. "Of course you don't," he leans back against his seat, almost swaying against the backless stool, before shaking his head, disciplining himself. "You're a Pogue. I must be losing it if I'm talking to you."

You roll your eyes, turning away from the Kook and settling on the rest of your tasks. You're used to Kooks putting you down like that, seeing you as nothing more than the bottom of the chain because you don't have some fancy degree from UNC or because you aren't floating on a yacht somewhere.

Just as you're returning bottles back on the shelf, you hear Rafe mumbles to himself. "Does he want me to be tied down or something?"

You let out an abrupt laugh, before quickly stiffening the sound. However, it was too late. When you look back over, you see his blue eyes set on you, a hard expression on his face. "Sorry," you mumble, wishing you had better control over your tongue. "I thought I heard something funny."

You wished you could blame it on the TV, but unfortunately, you had turned that off a while ago.

"You laughing at me, sweetheart?"

"No," you clear your throat, but the look on Rafe's face makes it seem like he's in no mood to hear lies right now. You rectify the answer. "Yes."

"What's so funny?"

"The idea of you getting tied down," you answer slowly. You carefully study his expression to see if anything you say could trigger a bad reaction. "It just seems amusing to me."

Because it is. Rafe is known around Outer Banks as the reckless prince, the one who hosts parties, gets shit-faced drunk, and hooks up with every woman within his proximity. The idea of him losing all of that—the parties, the drinking, the women—was not something you could picture in your head.

"What about it?" He challenges, an edge to his tone. "You think I can't fucking do it?"

From your experience as a bartender, you know he's coming close to unraveling. What you say next could cause him to erupt or calm down, and while you would love to sell him some lies, to get him to back down and leave, something in you doesn't let it pass. All night, he's been nothing short of an asshole to you. To act like he's above you because you are nothing but a Pogue meant to serve him. Why would you pass up an opportunity to deliver some harsh reality?

"Look at yourself," you gesture to him, "you're here, drinking at my bar after an argument with your father. He's trying to tell you that you aren't dependable enough to rely on and the first thing you do is turn to your vices. What do you think?"

Even if you intended it to be harsh, you said it nicely.

He stares at you, hard. You don't like it. You heard the rumors of what happens when he gets pissed—where he throws chairs and smashed bottles. You don't want to be a recipient of that.

"Never mind," you shake your head, returning back to your task. "Just forget it. I'm misreading the situation."

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "You said it. Might as well own it with your chest. Dancing around it wouldn't make you anymore likable."

You clench your jaw. On top of being a blabbering drunk, Rafe is cruel.

Not answering him, you walk over to where he sits and take the glass from his hand, right as he's about to take another sip.

"What the fuck?"

"I think it's time for you to leave."

He scoffs, not moving from his position. "Just because I said I didn't like you?"

"No, because you're acting like an asshole and frankly, I don't want to put up with it anymore," you say, pouring the rest of the content down the sink. "You can take the bottle with you. But other than that, you need to leave."

Rafe stares at you for a few seconds, contemplating what to do, but he doesn't have any grounds here. He may be a Kook, but that means shit when he's in the south side of Outer Banks. When his opponent is a bartender. Instead of responding to you, he slides off the stool and grabs the booze by the handle.

Just as he's about to set out of the door, you shout behind him with a mock farewell, "'pleasure doing business with you!"

—

That day, you thought would be the last of your interactions with Rafe. After all, most people don't want to continue doing business with someone who calls them out on their bullshit and kicks them out of their shops.

But, a couple of days later, Rafe comes through the door of your family-owned pub.

You paid little attention to him. You were trying to log the tips into the cash register, not catering to some entitled prick who has no means being here. Plus, there's another bartender on hand who's more than willing to help Rafe with anything he needs.

You didn't care.

Your coworker can get his tips.

As you're filing in the last of the receipts, Miranda comes over to tap you on the shoulders.

"Rafe wants to talk to you."

You stare at her for a few seconds, as if she was speaking another language. You thought she did. Why in the world would he want to talk to you? You were unpleasant to him. You were nothing of the customer service attitude your parents drilled into you as a child. You thought it was clear grounds for him to look the other direction.

"I'm busy," you say to Miranda, who shifts uncomfortably in her stance, not leaving.

"He said he's willing to wait."

That means he was expecting you to say no.

You scoff. "Tell him I'm not going to be free until closing time."

"But..." Miranda starts again, and you are starting to lose your patience with her. "We don't have a closing time."

You smile at that. "Exactly."

Despite the harsh undertone, Miranda still relays the message back to Rafe. You watch as she does, his eyes briefly pans over to you as you offer him a forced smile with a wave of your fingers and his jaw visibly tense. You thought that would be the end of the conversation but, to be proven wrong again, he slides into the bar stool he previously occupied the other night and orders a drink.

Then another.

You did your best to avoid the area he occupied, but it was proven to be difficult as he spent his time right in front of you. You got busy, running around and assisting locals and tourists who came in to get a taste of the infamous and historical Sailor of Outer Banks. While you're running around, placing orders, making drinks, and trying to navigate the cramped space behind the bar—Rafe remains.

He remained until he was the very last customer.

You sigh as you glance at the clock. Miranda has since left and you're left carrying the shop ever since. All you want to do is go home and relax, but that will be proven impossible until Rafe leaves the establishment.

With a strong reluctance, you step forward to where Rafe sat, his eyes on the TV screen hung on the wall, while his hands occupied another glass.

"Fine," you sigh, causing Rafe to tear away from the screen. The corner of his lips lift into a self-satisfying smirk. "I'm here."

"You finally ready to talk to me?"

"You ready to stop being such a prick?" You quip back, just to see his expression broadens at your snark. You can't lie and say the movement didn't make him more attractive. "What do you want?"

For a moment, you thought he might be here to apologize for asking like an ass the other night.

But, you were too hopeful.

"I came up with a solution," he begins, his words a subtle slur that contrasts the intoxication of the other night.

"For what?" You entertain the conversation, crossing your arms over your chest.

"My dad." He answers. "He wants me to be stable."

"I remember."

"And from when he was talking about Sarah, one of the reasons he thinks he can rely on her is because she's with that Pogue." He explains, "that it somehow makes her dependable. I don't fucking know, the logic is flawed."

"And old-fashioned, but continue."

His blue eyes dart to your face, before he utters the next words. "That means I need a girlfriend."

You nod, glad to see that he came to his conclusion. You thought this was another one of his ramblings, a need to vent to someone he doesn't think matters in the long-run, just to get it off his chest. Now that it is, you're about to step back and turn around to start your night tasks before he holds out a hand.

"Wait," he commands, causing you to stop on your tracks. You raise a brow at him. "I want you to be my girlfriend."

You laugh. It truly is a bad habit of yours but the idea came out as total lunacy and shock. You thought he would join. But, when you look back to his face and have the striking realization that he is serious, you start to sober up. "You're serious."

"Yeah," he says, clenching his jaw, like the moment of wonderful ideas was truly something he was proud of and you struck it down like lightning.

"I'm sorry but," you shake your head, not having the ability to wrap your head around the suggestion. "You barely know me. Isn't there a line of other people who would love to become the next Mrs. Cameron?"

You know that's true. You also know if he had told Miranda this, she would've jumped to the idea before he concluded his brilliant plan. So, you can't, for the life of you, figure out why he's choosing you out of everyone else.

"Yes, but I don't want them." He answers with a shake of his head, leaning closer to the counter. You don't know why but something about that makes your chest warm. "I don't want a real girlfriend. I just need you to pretend to be."

Just like that, the feeling in your stomach dies.

"Pretend?" You repeat.

"Yes," he nods. "It's just like you said. I still have my vices. I don't want to give them up. I just want my dad to think I did."

"I still don't understand how this has anything to do with me," you furrow your brows together.

He sighs, out of frustration or impatience, you don't know. But, he goes to explain, "my dad once told me that John B was a reliable person. That he was a Pogue who was hard-working and determined. That's why he likes him for Sarah—because he hopes it would rub off on her too."

You nod slowly, connecting the dots as he continues. "You're a Pogue," he says with a huff, the title left his tongue with an ounce of disgust you were ready to throw him out of the bar again. "He likes to go on his good samaritan bullshit and employs people from The Cut for certain events. You were one of them."

It takes a second to remember what he was talking about. He's right. A couple of years ago, when you were eighteen, you got a catering job from the Camerons for some big business event. It was the most you made in your lifetime, from all the tips and drunk Kooks who wanted to give back to the poor.

But, he never employed you again.

"Do you see where I'm going now?"

You do, but you hate the attitude he's giving you. Like you were a Pogue who couldn't string together simple facts. Like you should've known what he's talking about.

"I do, but why the fuck you acting like I would've known the whole thing with John B?" You snap, and this surprises him for a moment. Taking a breath to cool the anger in your chest, you calm. "This doesn't explain why it has to be me."

His next statement comes off more nice. "My dad wants someone like that. I doubt he would approve of anyone else, and plus, I don't have to worry about you wanting something more. You clearly despise me."

That isn't true, but you do understand where he's coming from.

"So, let me get this straight." You start. "I'm basically an arm candy for you to parade around in front of your father while the rest of the time, you are free to drink and fuck whoever you want."

"I'm glad that Pogue brain of yours is catching up."

You glare at him, but say nothing else. Picking up the dirty rag off the counter, where you were planning on using to clean, you turn back to Rafe, "as much as I would love to play house with you, I don't have time. Unlike you, I have bills to pay and a job to do."

You turn your back to him but he stops you.

"I'll pay you."

You scoff. "It's not that," you say, because truly, it isn't. A few short-term payments for a couple of missed shifts isn't going to help you in the long-run. You're trying to revive Sailor, to make it a place where it can stand on its own. What is a couple of bucks going to do for that? "I'm sorry, but I don't have the time for it. You're going to have to find someone else."

"I don't want someone else."

He looks at you desperate, as if you would give in, and for a moment, you might. Perhaps it's because you're so used to helping others, or because you were raised to cater to people—to people like him—that your stomach cower at the thought of saying no. But, you have to stand firm on this. You don't have time to go out and party, much less spend your free-time parading around in his arms as some sort of trophy.

You were serious.

"I'm sorry, I truly am."

Your voice is filled with sympathy, and it softens him for a moment. But, that quickly passes as Rafe Cameron has to recoil with the idea that he didn't get what he wanted. Probably for the first time in his life.

With an annoyed huff, he slams the cash for the drinks he's been nursing and leaves.

You thought it would be the end of it.

Not knowing, by the end of this week, you will be known as Rafe's girlfriend.

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Navigation — Part 02

[hazelfoureyes]

Have you ever thought about the idea of a Clueless ace reader x ace alastor trying to figure out what all the fuss is about? Couple different ways it could go obviously but I feel like it would be a perfect comedy smut

Thank you for this meal. Okay I know this is LOOSELY based on your prompt, please forgive me. Can I add in that they be a little tipsy?

Part 2 After a few drinks, you and Alastor do your usual teasing and mimicking of the others dramatic displays of physical affection. But, unusually, Alastor seems to be really invested in the joke tonight…

Warnings/promises: light smut (fingering), wrong kind of haha, sconces, bad Angel accent, Under 1500 words

maybe the tag list? Works list: @ xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

Alastor list: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

.

Fuck Joke Around and Find Out

The evening started with drinks among the group gathered at the bar. Everyone talking, sipping, leaning into each other to be heard better. Vaggie’s fingers playing with Charlie’s, Angel inching closer and closer to Husk until he was quite literally on top of him, to Husk’s obvious embarrassment. At some point, Angel took Husker’s hand, the two slinking down the hallway. Soon after, Vaggie not-so-discreetly followed a bouncing Charlie to their top floor home.

After realizing the couples snuck off, you turned to Alastor and asked, already smiling, “Oh I guess it’s our turn?”

Your giggling slipped into mutual cackles, his brows rose and he asked, “Your room or mine?”

You threw your leg over Alastor’s lap and straddled him, mustering your best Angel Dust accent, “Pssst rooms are for squares, baby.”

Normally, especially when having a little to drink, the physical barrier between each other was thin and easily toppled. An unspoken understanding had formed some time ago, allowing you both to relax a little more than usual when in close proximity. He still attempted his touchy intrusions to fluster and bother people, but he knew that didn’t work quite as effectively on you.

“Squares? Oh, not us.” A smirk, his head somewhat dramatically shaking a reinforced ‘no’, making his bobbed hair sway left and right.

When you start a pitifully-motivated grinding against him, losing balance and tipping backward, Alastor’s large hands come to the dip of your hips and still you. A laughed, accent-less, “Thanks, trying to do it like he did,” fell sloppily from your mouth, your hands going to his shoulders for extra security. Your head bent down, stifling another nervous giggle from spilling out. “I think this is exactly how Angel had Husk pinned. Not a convincin’ portrayal, pookie?” Your accent was shit, but he smiled all the same. His ears were pressed down and to the side, resting a little more against his skull than usual, something that seemed to happen often when he had a couple glasses. It looked more relaxed than his normal way of wearing them, but you never asked him about it.

Alastor’s finger tipped your chin upward, pulling you in for a kiss against his grin. When you huffed, fighting the awkward laugh, he swiped his tongue over your lips and slid into your mouth. A hum, as you relaxed into it. What a long joke this is, you think somewhere a little up and to the left of your liquor softened mind.

When alone together, you’d occasionally play around. Just mimicking what ridiculous things the other sinners had done recently, laughing and moving on to general gossip and conversation. Maybe the alcohol was dragging out the bit.

His hands pulled you forward, your little hip movements actually making contact with his crotch now. You hear yourself moan into his mouth before you even realize you’d made the noise.

Thinking becoming a little fuzzy, you pull back from him, “Oops. Sorry. Got carried away.”

“No need to apologize. What’s a little joking around between pals?”

You nod before a surprised shriek is forced out of you, Alastor pulling your hips down and starting to sincerely grind against you.

“I didn’t expect you to remember all the moves, Alastor.” Your hand came to your mouth trying to still the tremble of your lips as you spoke. Other hand now gripping his shoulder to stay upright. You’d never have played around with any one else but him like this. Too much confusion to deal with after. But, Alastor’s “playing” was so convincing. You weren’t minding it, to your surprise, but you weren’t sure you understood the source material as well he did.

His head fell back with a roar, “Being an infrequent lover doesn’t mean I am a bad one.”

Oh. Was the blush on your face noticeable in the dingy light of the parlor? You had never heard him say that word before. His hips were still moving, but the laughing stopped. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact you found yourself sinking a little more, letting your weight settle fully. It earned you a sloppy half-smile from him. “That would make them experts, compared to us,” You motioned your head in the general direction of the stairs.

“You think so?”, he leaned up to kiss you, you leaned back a little, causing his lips to miss yours. A quick annoyed glare passed over his face before slipping back into a neutral stare, “Are you in the mood for a good joke tonight, dear? I wouldn’t be opposed to making you”, he grazed his nose against yours, “laugh.”

You let him capture your mouth with his, a surprisingly more intense kiss, before pulling away again when you caught another moan rising up, “I don’t mind a good laugh, now and then.” Did you-you say that or Angel-you?

The sofa cushions were pressing into your back before you could process what had happened. Alastor’s body was resting between your legs, which were spread open around him. His lips didn’t leave yours, one of his hands cradling your neck to trap you between him and his hungry mouth. The other was undoing the button of your pants and sliding under the band of your underwear.

His back was arched, his considerable height forcing him to bend over you if he wanted to continue the kiss, which he apparently did. Now on your back, you wiggled under him, awkward and uncertain what role you played anymore.

When his fingers slipped past your bottom lips and the mound of his hand ground into your clit, you pulled away from him and both hands shot to your mouth. You were aware you were in a public space but you couldn’t see anything past the sofa. Everything beyond him and the tattered chaise lounge was shadowy and lacking contrast. Even then, your heart was pounding.

When did the playing around shift? Was this—- did he think this was funny? His smile was strong against your neck still, but maybe not?

You splayed your fingers out to better hide yourself, embarrassed at how your hips rolled into his palm. Looking past your hands, you could see him staring down at you now, wide shoulders hiding you from the light of the sconces above. He had the same look as always in his eyes, nothing out of place. Cooly, he asked without actually wanting an answer, “Do you think this is what they’re doing now? Or is everyone already…”

A finger slipped down and into you, your legs clenching around his hips. You heard him sigh, before a second finger began to push in. Your hips lifted off the sofa and angled into his hand, welcoming the way he was pressing down and into you.

Oh, yeah, no.

A pent up moan tumbled past your lips when his fingers crooked up and pressed into the soft bundle of nerves just inside your entrance.

“What a curious laugh you have, my dear. Are my jokes that good?” He buried his face into the crook of your neck again when a voice stopped him from leaving the little marks he had been set on.

“I thought jokes were supposed to be funny. When is the funny part going to happen?”

Alastor’s ears were pin-straight into the air, hair stiff and sharp, as his face slowly turned to the side to see Niffty sitting at the bar.

”Oh, was I suppose to leave when everyone else did?” His hand slipped out of you and then in turn, your pants.

“No, Niffty, dear. That’s quite alright.”, Ears faced back and down, eyes half lidded and smile clearly forced, “We were just— playing around.”

“Really? Cuz it kinda looked like you guys were gonna fuck.” She hopped off the bar stool and scurried down the hall, “Please don’t dirty the sofa, sir.” echoing behind her.

You patted his shoulder, lifting yourself up on your elbows, “Can I be Husk next?”

I wrote this while washing dishes— the dishes aren’t very clean but neither am I

༻Masterlist༺

[bxllydxnnabxtch]

Unapologetic

Simon Riley x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: I wish there was one, but this is just smut. 

Explicit content ahead!

Warnings: swearing, manhandling, choking, edging, overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, bondage, sadism, spanking, pussy slapping, dirty talk, hair pulling, He throws you around frfr.

Your legs wrapped around his waist securely, pulling him into you harder, the want to have him on your body dragging you to run your hands through his hair hastily. He slammed you against the white penthouse wall, the pictures rattling with the force, mouths slotted together in a frenzied mess of tongue and staggered breaths. The fleeting pressure of his tongue left yours, the brief moment of vacancy being filled with the rustling of clothes before both of your shirts were off. The action barely being registered in your yearning state. His mouth was on yours again, hands roaming the expanse of your hips and up your sides, before rounding your back. He unclipped your bra, the material slipping down your arms before you tugged it off and let it fall to the floor. He let out an amused breath, his lips falling from yours, trailing down your jaw to your neck. His lips latching onto the skin, sucking hickeys onto your neck, painting it with an array of blues and reds.

A breathless moan escaped you, echoing across the empty penthouse under Ghost’s ministrations. His hips rolled against yours, steadily grinding against you and you twitched in his hold, the sudden pressure making you gasp. His lips dethatched from your neck, confusion momentarily replacing the lust clouding your mind before the fingers of his left hand wrapped around your throat, leaving you to be pinned between the wall and his body, thighs supporting your weight effortlessly. The hand around your throat constricted ever so slightly, the pressure making a whimper leave your lips as you begun to feel light headed. “You’re practically falling apart and I haven’t even done anything yet.” He teased, face dangerously close to where his hand met your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

You couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, the hand wrapped snuggly around your neck keeping you from doing so. Your hands wrapped around his wrist at his words, your thighs clenching around where they still rested around his waist, to which he smirked. You tried to grind your hips into his pathetically -key word tried- but his right hand tightened on your waist, other hand tightening around your neck dangerously, and his eyes narrowed- a warning. Your face knitted into a desperate expression, and the man in front of you laughed at the sight. Fuck. You needed something, anything.

Before you could even attempt to say anything more, his hand unravelled from around your throat, both hands picking you up again and carrying you across the penthouse. You were momentarily disoriented, the sudden blood rush to your head making you feel dizzy, and you felt your cheeks flush harder under the sudden high. His steps were fast, carrying him with purpose while you were still trying to get your barring’s. You felt your weight shift, and you were flung onto a soft surface, snapping out of your haze as Simon crawled over you. He straddled you, rest on his knees as he undid his belt over you.

“Your safeword is red.”

“Red?” You asked, slightly dazed.

“Yep.”

He undid his belt and pulled it from his belt loops with a quick tug, before he grabbed both your wrists, hiking them above your head and wrapping the leather around it. You got a view as he was over you, you looked down, eyes tracing over his toned stomach, leading down to a defined V-line. You nearly drooled at the sight, but chose to look back up to his face, your eyes caught on his arms and the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he tied you. You took in the sight, but the longer your eyes trailed over his body the more needy you became, but you decided against doing anything to relieve the pressure due to his earlier warning.

He pulled the belt tight, making sure it was secure, and you winced at the slight pain that jolted through your wrists.

“Don’t move around too much, the belt will leave burns.” He said coyly, before moving down to tug your pants off. You moved your hands to help him, you were still able to help him since you could move your-

You yelped when he pushed you back down, slamming your hands back down on the mattress as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Keep them right fucking there. Or I might have to tie them to the headboard.”

His previous words didn’t have that much of an effect on you. But this, this. You could feel the dominance radiating off him, silently daring you to try anything. A shiver ran down your spine, cold air hitting your legs and bare cunt as he pulled your pants off along with your panties.

He slipped his pants and boxers off as well; the pants having been undid with what was used for the bindings against your straining wrists. His hands gripped your thighs hard, the slight pinch making you wince yet again, the action only made Ghost’s smirk wider. “Fuck.” You hissed, the pain from his nails digging in to your skin shot through you. His smirk faded at that, replaced by a slight frown. “You might wanna tidy up that potty mouth. Act like a whore and you’ll get treated like one.” This time it was your turn to smirk. “Says the military man, who knows what kinda shit you spew on the daily.” You instantly regretted the words, the aura around him suddenly becoming suffocating. His eyes narrowed into slits, his demeanor becoming more threatening.

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” Was all he said before his hand slipped between your thighs, running down your slit as you mewled lowly. His thumb came up to rub your clit in small, torturous circles as you whined and struggled against the belt. The sudden relief to your needy clit making you clench around nothing. The feeling of being so utterly empty made you squirm below him, your hands struggling against the belt. He pushed a finger inside you, a satisfied moan fell from your lips as he slowly pumped it in and out of your sloppy cunt. It felt so good, so fucking good, but it wasn’t enough, and he knew that all too well, watching you writhe in needy agony below him only fed his arousal. He hit a spot that made your breath hitch, and he quickly slipped another finger into you, pinpointing and abusing the spot deep inside you. Your moans stuttered, and you screwed your eyes shut, the slow drag of his fingers inside you was driving you crazy, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Simon!! I- ah!”

You squealed loudly when a harsh slap came down to meet your clit, the overwhelming sensation making you reel and squirm away from his touch, the pain entwined with the pleasure making your thighs shake slightly. You clenched hard on his fingers despite your attempts at fleeing, he only pulled you down back on his hand harder, making his fingers reach deeper inside you while he sped up his movements, meeting your unspoken request.

“Talkative little bitch, aren’t you? You’re so messy, creaming all over my fingers like this.”

A choked moan was ripped from your throat at his words, your back arching at the increased intensity of his fingers dragging along your walls. Your nails dug into your palms, your last attempt of gripping onto reality as your sanity started to slip, the coil in your abdomen getting impossibly tight at his words. Simon noticed your struggles, the smirk crawling onto his face once more at your pitiful attempt to stabilize yourself. “Aww, you having a hard time there hun?” He asked mockingly, pressing down on your bundle of nerves just as your eyes rolled back, causing your thighs to shake violently. You could feel yourself about to tip off the edge, focusing on nothing other than how he toyed with your soaked cunt.

Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, clenching hard around the digits as you teetered over the edge. He pulled his fingers out at the last second, making you cry out at the sudden loss and effectively ripping your release away from you. The pain of it flooding through your system for a fleeting moment before you felt your clit throb desperately. “No, no- why? Fuck!” You felt your orgasm fade away from you, becoming frustratingly out of reach for you, and you sobbed at your needy state. You cried out in frustration and sheer helplessness, looking up at Ghost as he stared down at you with a shit eating grin.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

“The worst thing in this room is your ego.”

His eyebrows raised at that, the expression of shock painting over his features before it morphed into something more carnal. His eyes darkened, and he let out a laugh, but the laugh was different, no light hearted chuckle or a sadistic ring of sick pleasure, it was something malicious. “You want to cum then? Fine. I’ll fuck you until you’re a braindead little bitch. Fucking slut.” He grabbed your hips and roughly turned you over, lifting your hips up to position himself before bottoming out all at once. You grabbed the sheets below you and choked on a whine at the stretch, the burning sensation making small whimpers settle in your chest.

He pulled you back to meet his thrusts, his cock dragging along your sweet spots so effortlessly it made your head spin. The noises you made were unholy, your cries and wails echoing through the room along with the sound of skin on skin. His hand came down on your ass, the smack resounding through the room as you yelped, colours starting to bloom along the skin from the impact. Your whole body trembled, the proof of your arousal clinging to your thighs as you looked down to see the mess you made. You clenched around him when you saw how he was plunging into you, your tight pussy stretching to accommodate his size.

“You’re sucking me in like a bitch in heat, am I fucking you that good?” You couldn’t formulate an answer, so many thoughts running through your brain. You were full- so full. All you could do was watch as he fucked you into the mattress and listen as the lewd squelches echoed around the empty room. You could feel the coil in your gut wind up again, the pressure becoming intense as you moaned out.

You felt fingers interlace in your hair and pull you up, being lifted off the mattress as you were pressed into Simon’s chest. “You don’t know when to shut up do you? Noisy slut.” You could feel the vibration from when he spoke, the words only pushing you further towards your release. His pace never let up, fucking into you fast a hard from behind, hand still in your hair making you back arch almost painfully against his chest. Two of his fingers invaded your mouth, his palm holding your chin as he pressed down on your tongue with the digits, making you gag and saliva pool in your mouth. Your thighs shook violently, the exertion on your body causing your legs to feel almost numb. Before your legs could give out, Ghost released his grip on your hair and wrapped his arm around your waist as he supported your weight easily.

“Going dumb on my cock already? Can’t even hold yourself up.” He muttered into your ear, the arm around your waist dipping down lower to rub circles on your clit. The coil in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm hit you like a truck as you gushed around Simon’s cock. Your eyes rolled back as euphoric pleasure washed over you, the feeling overtaking you while you trembled violently. A string of moans rang out that were muffled by Simon’s fingers, and you could here him hiss behind you from how tight you were clamping down on him. Ghost made sure to fuck you through it, his fingers never letting up on your throbbing clit even when you started twitching from overstimulation. His thrust never slowing down even as your cunt clenched and fluttered around him.

His thrusts never let up even as you came down from your high, still fucking in to your messy pussy as overstimulation began to set in and you squirmed in his hold. Your senses heightened, every sensation becoming so much, your mind still clouded in post orgasmic bliss that you never had a chance to come down from. He took his fingers out of your mouth, ignoring how your drool dripped down his hand and down your chin.

“Simon! I- hnngh- S’ t-too much- please! - fuck”

“Do you remember your safeword?”

“Y-yes!”

“You can call it at any time.”

He wrapped his fingers around your neck again, squeezing lightly as he placed open mouthed kissed up your throat. You felt the arm around your waist tighten, pulling you closer to him, and you laid your head against his shoulder, sputtering as you tried to catch your breath. Simon groaned against your neck, his thrusts becoming uneven as he chased his high. He sped the movements up on your clit and you cried out, the oversensitivity sending you hurling towards another orgasm. You clenched your fists tighter, the coil in your stomach coming on much more intense due to your heightened sensitivity. He pressed down on your clit, the action being the last straw to make you come undone yet again, falling over the edge as you cried out his name. He moaned at the feeling of you clamping down on him, making him come undone as well, filling you up as his hips stuttered.

You both sat there for a minute, taking a moment to regulate your breathing before Ghost took his hands off your throat and clit. He pulled out, and a mixture of cum dripped out of you and down your thighs. You ached everywhere, your blissed out state covering up the soreness for now, but would be a refute to deal with later. Simon untied your hands, your wrists were rubbed raw from the struggle against the leather, leaving angry marks across your skin. He brought them up to his lips before kissing them both gently, rubbing them sweetly to hopefully get rid of some of the pain.

“You ok? Are you hurt anywhere besides your wrists?” He asked, looking you over. “I��m fine, and no, not that I know of now at least.” You answered, your eyelids feeling heavy with exhaustion. Ghost helped you lay down, guiding you to rest your head on the pillows. “Just give me a second and I’ll be back with a rag and some water.” He said, brushing your hair out of your face.

He left the room, only coming back a few minutes later now in sweats with some water and a rag in hand. He walked over to you and handed you the glass, watching you drink it down before taking the glass and setting it on the nightstand. You reached your hand out for the cloth, but he shook his head. “Nope, let me.” He said, already easing your legs apart so he could clean up his mess.

Once you were all cleaned up, he climbed into bed with you, climbing under the sheets and wrapping a hand around your waist. “Get some sleep, ok princess?” he asked while tracing patterns into your hip. You hummed in approval, your voice coming out weak from exhaustion, but he got the jest. He cuddled in beside you and you let your breathing even out before letting yourself drift off to sleep, nearing 6AM.

That was the most peaceful you felt in a long time.

[brandyoxo]

(18+ warning, nsfw, Fuck buddy Levi x you)

detail warning: slightly angry, jealous sex

You haven't seen Levi at the bar in two weeks.

But in fact, it can say you deliberately didn't see him. The last time you two met, you two had agreed to have sex that night, however, he got a phone call so he pulled up his pants and left.

He explained after that, that his sister—He regarded her as his biological sister, but she was not—drunk on a party, as a brother he went to help.

Alright. You shrugged to him.

Then, you two haven’t talked for two weeks, although you know when you lean on the bar to flirt with the bartender, he sit behind you around just several meters away.

You enjoy this situation, you two are waiting patiently, and don’t want to lose this stupid game first.

The first person to surrender is acknowledging that there is something more than this fucking partnership.

And you avoid thinking about your feelings.

Today is Friday night. After working for five full days, you finally have time to raise your glass and lie down in the arms of a tall and strong man.

The man’s arm wraps around your waist. You raise your chin and look in his eyes.

Special green eyes….

He smiles to you, the arm tightened.

“My pleasure to have a beauty in my chest.”

You can feel his breath around your ear, closing your eyes, you want to feel the intimacy that you haven’t felt in two weeks…..

As his arm tightened, you get closer to him. You can feel his tender body, the warm touch, traveling up to your neck.

Shit.

Neck is your weakness, you don’t like someone touches here——

The man leans down, he holds the back of your neck, forcing you raise your head. He presses his lips against yours, the kiss is uncomfortable for some reason, you frowned.

He smells like shit, like cheap tobacco……

Levi will never smell like this.

You push this man away.

The man frowns to you, and wants to pull you back. You shook his hand off.

As you turned around, a pair of cold grey eyes look in your eyes straightly, like they’re about to burn.

You smile.

Levi sit at the same place like he usually does, grabbing a whiskey and looking at you.

You approach him.

“Long time no see——“

Levi drinks up his whiskey, doesn’t say anything, standing up and grabbing your arms.

He pulls you out the crowd.

“Slower….” You wear high heels, Levi turns his head and looks at your feet.

“TCH.”

He slows down.

The night is cool, the street is a little dark here. But the man in front of you, wearing a white shirt and tie, holding a coat in his arm, gives you an unexpected sense of security.

The first night you two had sex, he was as gentle as now. Maybe being a friend-with-benefits with a gentleman is this difficult.

Is difficult to forget, is difficult not to fall….

Levi takes you to a hotel nearby. He doesn’t say anything in the way, you bite your lower lip, he’s getting sexier when he looks like this.

He slams the door shut behind.

You smile to him, ready to joke——

Levi throws his coat on the ground, pinning you on the wall next to the door.

One of his hand puts under your throat.

Another hand holds your waist, hard.

Your smile gets wider.

“Miss me?”

His lips collided with yours with great force, at the same time his hand on your neck tightened, and you unconsciously opened your lips, entwining your tongue with his.

You can feel your saliva running down the corners of your mouth. You want to breathe, to break free, but he pushes your restless hands against the wall.

He’s mad as hell.

Why?

You smile in your heart.

You win this game, this shitty game.

You kiss another man, and Levi is angry.

Lifting your right leg, you wrap that around his waist. Levi grabs your inner thigh and holds it tight around him.

He leaves your lips, his thin lips travel to your ear.

“You don’t let me fuck you for two weeks, want to change your taste?” His grey eyes are more beautiful than any other no matter green or blue, “Eat something good.”

You moan slightly, when his hand unbuttons your mini skirt.

The skirt is pushed up to your waist, his fingers slide to your soaked panties.

“You’re wet? This quick?” Levi kisses your neck, the place that only he can make you feel comfortable, his voice husks.

You close your eyes.

“Then why didn’t you come to me? You’re mad at me because i left you alone that night?”

Levi push’s your panties aside, his fingers slide into your folds.

You raise your head because the pleasure.

Levi’s breath is around your ear, he smells so good, just his scent can make you horny.

You open your eyes, and you find out he’s looking into your eyes at the same time.

He’s so handsome.

He’s so sexy.

He wants you, as always.

You smile and cup his face.

His fingers inside you start to pound into you, your hum in pleasure.

“Yes, I want to change my taste…but other men smell so bad.”

His fingers move faster. He narrows his eyes.

“We had sex.”

“I fucked you. So many times.”

“You called me daddy.”

“And now you say you want to be with someone else? For a try ?”

You moan because he starts to rub your clit, and the fingers touch the spot.

Levi bites your collarbone.

Fingers’ move gets intense.

“Ah……..yes….i miss you…happy now?” You whisper in his ear.

He holds your body, lets you leave the ground, and then throws you in the bed. Not that rude, but sexy enough.

You fall on the bed on your stomach, you want to turn around, but he grabs your waist and lets you stay like that.

The long fingers slide in again.

“Levi….”

You turn your head, the pleading eyes make his dick hurt.

“I want more…..thicker….”

His eyes darken. A slap on your butt, he lets you turn around, laying on your back.

He undos your mini skirt and upper clothes while you strip his clothes off.

He spreads your legs by holding your inner thigh. The way he opens you makes you water, you can even feel fluid slide down to the bedsheet.

As he positions himself between your thighs, you hug his muscular muscles, feel his breath around your neck, and his dick stretches your walls.

“Shit…..”

Your legs wrap around his waist, and when he pulls out and slide in again, the strength makes you barely hang your legs on him.

“Oh…fuck…you’re so thick…”

“Shut up. Take it.”

Levi moved faster and deeper. He is still mad, when he recalls the scene you kissed another man, his movements get more intense.

You clench your wall, you want to tease him, challenge him, you like to see him go crazy for you.

Yes, just fuck you like this, hear the water pounding sound, hear your own messy breath and moan, hear his low hum.

Feel his dick pounds in the deepest in your body, hitting the spot that makes you arch your back.

His hot cock slams into you again and again, you open your lips and pant.

“Ah…fuck…Levi…no…no…you’re too fast…”

“Too fast?”

Levi gets faster. He looks in your eyes, hold your hands above your head when your try to grip the bedsheet.

“Too…too deep….oh..shit! Levi——“

Levi bites your nipples, licking your breast.

“Make you call me daddy, didn’t mean I’m your dad, just stand there and look at you flirt with others—“

He clenches his chin and fucks you harder again.

You almost scream his name. You can’t even open your eyes, your thighs are so sore, you can’t put your legs around him anymore.

“Shit….still, such a good pussy to me…this is mine, hear me?”

His dick pounds into you in a frantic rhythm, the sound and the hit makes your tears drop bc huge pleasure, you grip his fingers that holds your hands.

“Ah….ah….ahhh…”

You moan with the rhythm he fucks into you.

“fuck…I’m cumming….please…Levi…”

He leans down and presses his lips on yours.

His movements keep going, he’s so hungry, thirsty for this pussy, wants to deep in your body.

“This dick is yours, cum on it, good girl.”

Levi’s breath is messy too, he can barely think, all he wants to do is make you scream out his name. Want to cum inside you.

You cry out and cum, while he moan. Blank in your mind as he releases himself deep inside you.

When you can finally feel yourself again, Levi presses you on the bed again and kisses you intensely. It’s more gentle, but still full of possessive.

But you respond his kiss.

You can’t live without Levi.

That’s the last thought when he flips you around and his dick slams into you again.

[moonstruckme]

May I request a dr Remus scolding reader for ignoring a broken toe?

I know it’s nothing major (which is nice sometimes). I often break my toe and just ignore it until it hurts a lot.

I think Remus would give a good little speech about taking care of things he love (reader)

Thank you!

I'm sorry, often??? Uhh hope you're doing okay lovely, thanks for requesting <3

cw: broken toe, no description

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 730 words

“Don’t touch it,” you hiss.

Remus looks over from where he’s holding your foot in his lap with a sardonic expression. “I thought it didn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t when you’re not touching it!” 

“Dove.” He wraps a hand around your ankle when you try to pull away, his touch one part soothing and two parts stern. “I’m going to have to touch it some, okay? Just breathe and let me know where it hurts.” 

You sit back against the couch cushions and try not to sulk. This is entrapment. Your know-it-all boyfriend hid the pain relievers just so you’d have to fess up to needing them when he caught you ransacking the bathroom, and now he’s making you submit to his know-it-all exam so you can have them. Entrapment and bribery. You should look into whether you can sue him for malpractice. 

“Ah!” You suck in a gasp. “There, it hurts there.” 

Remus stops touching your injured toe. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the bottom of your foot consolingly. “I hate to tell you, but this isn’t a sprain. Sprains don’t hurt to the touch like this.” 

Oh, you’ll bet he hates to tell you. Told-you-so are Remus’ favorite words. 

“But it’s so much easier if it’s a sprain,” you whine. “It could still just be bruised. I read online that those feel almost indistinguishable from breaks.” 

“Oh, you read it online, did you?” Remus manages to get enough eye-roll into his voice that he doesn’t even need to follow through on the action. You must look even poutier than you intend, because he cracks, grinning at you indulgently. He beckons with a hand. “Give me your other foot.” 

You blink. Raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you want with it? I think you have enough of my feet there already.” 

“It’s for comparison, dove.” 

“Sure it is.” You lift your other foot onto his lap. “Pervert.” 

Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek, suppressing a different sort of grin. He grasps your good foot and digs his thumb into the ticklish part cruelly, making you squeal and kick at him. “You’re the pervert,” he says placidly, pinning your foot until you settle down. “Look here, see?” 

You lean forward tentatively, the end of a giggle still fizzing in your chest. 

“The toe on this foot is a little curved, but that one’s definitely worse.” He tugs on your good toe as if to demonstrate. “They were probably the same before you broke it.” 

You sigh, resigned. “I don’t want it to be broken, though. Then it’s, like, a whole thing.” 

Remus makes a sorry face at you. He lifts your injured foot, kissing the side. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

“Well,” you say, eyeing him, “at least you can stop touching my feet now.” 

“This one, yes.” He unhands your good foot. “But this one, I think I need to keep an eye on.” 

You cross your arms, suspicious. Never mind that his lap is a very comfortable footrest. “And why’s that?” 

“Because I take care of the things that are important to me.” He cuts a look your way. “Some of us don’t seem to do the same.” 

“Ugh,” you laugh, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks, “you’re the worst, you know that?” 

“Yeah, dovey, I know.” He smiles down at his phone, keeping one hand wrapped securely around your ankle while the other thumbs something into the search bar. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Making you an appointment for tomorrow morning. We have a podiatrist at my work, I’ll go with you.” 

You frown. “Do I really have to go to your office so someone else can tell me what you just did?” 

This time, Remus does roll his eyes. You poke him with your good foot to let him know you saw. “Yes, you do. They could help it heal faster, and I know you’ll listen better if they tell you to rest it than if I tell you.” 

“I listen to you.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He looks over at you interestedly. “I told you to rest it when you hurt it two days ago. How’s it feeling now?” 

You look away from his gaze. “Coddled,” you mutter. 

Remus chuckles. He leans sideways, bumping your nose with his until you oblige him with a kiss. “If that’s what it takes, sweetheart,” he says, “I’m happy to coddle you.”

[click4rainy]

Imagine…

👽: RAHH ITS LIKE 6:30 AM!!! Had a dream about him and…enjoy.

❌:NOT Proof Read

🖇️: The WORST Wolverine x Reader

⚠️: very spicy.

📖: Imagine you’re backed up against the freezing brick wall of some random dive bar alley. Neon flickering and buzzing overhead. Logan’s hands and lips all over you…

★ Your neck, jawline, nipping at your earlobe. His hands pulling at the hem of your shirt, slipping under and grazing your skin. You can feel the cool air, making goosebumps in his wake. And can pick up the faint scent of whiskey on his breath, his eyes sharp, heated. And they read ‘complete trouble…’

★ “Mmh…t-this is a bad idea,” you whisper, cheeks flushed from the alcohol still dancing in your system, breath hitching as his calloused hands slowly, deliberately trace every curve and contour beneath your top. All ten fingertips testing, teasing. terrible…

★ “Hon, I’ll be the best ‘bad idea’ you ever had in your life.” Logan hums into the nape of your neck, sucking a hickey into the flesh, making you squirm. He only smirked against your skin before coaxing another soft mewl from you with a light nip.

★ Then, without warning, his mouth crashes into yours. Sudden, very sudden, despite anticipating it for the last ten minutes here against this wall, he took your breath away. Teeth clanking against each other, that fruity drink from earlier still lingering on your tongue, mixing a heady concoction with his much harsher flavor.

★ His hands are greedy, unapologetically so. Pulling you impossibly closer, he kicks your feet apart, hands moving to reach for your wrists, pinning them above your head effortlessly. He secures them with one large hand, his free one continuing to explore, to seek out. His hips begin to slowly grind against yours, letting you feel exactly what you do to him while he simply pops open your bottoms with a bit too much ease. Groaning, he shoves past your underwear, wasting no time to show you how ‘bad’ of an idea this truly is.

★ And you let him, knowing full well he’s awful for you—but damn if he doesn’t make awful feel so fucking amazing…

👽: I’m so DOWN BAD UGHH RAHHHHH REAUGHHHHH!!!!!

[enrichment-time-in-my-enclosure]

18+ MDNI!!!!

NSFW under the cut

Soft Sex with Dabi

Dabi is not the most… open with his emotions.

He loves you, he knows it and so do you. He shows it in his own way.

He loves feeling like your protector, swears he’d kill anyone who would even dare to look at you wrong. He’s proven it before too, having burnt multiple guys who have tried hitting on you to ash.

He loves to show you off, having you sat comfortably in his lap during League meetings (much to Shigarakis displeasure) and making sure you’re securely in his arms when the league is lounging in the bar. They all need to know you’re his.

Most of all, he loves fucking you into his bed so hard that your makeup stays on his pillow and you can barely walk for days. That’s how he expresses his love the most. He’s rough and unforgiving, leaving marks and handprints on your body and bruising your cervix with every thrust.

Don’t get it twisted, you love when he does that too. You love him in all ways, but your expression tends to be much softer.

You care for the man who never got the attention he deserved and so desperately craved. In quiet moments you run your fingers through his box-dyed hair and massage his scalp until he eventually falls asleep against your chest, his relaxed expression almost giving him an innocent boyish look despite all his hardships.

You make sure he eats after missions, making him food so he can come home and relax, not having to think about his next meal.

You let him talk to you for hours about his life before he was “Dabi.” You’re the only one he wants to tell about it. He vents about his family, how they wronged him, how much he actually misses his mother.

You love him purely, in the softest way you possibly can, because you know he needs it.

So one night, when Dabi starts to slide his hands up your thighs and under your skirt in the middle of the bar, and the two of you get to making out on his bed, you make a proposition to him:

“Can I take care of you tonight, love?”

He lets out a little scoff at your statement before realizing that you’re serious. He’s not used to relinquishing control, and he’s definitely not accustomed to doing anything gentle.

“Babe, you know how I am. I’m gonna get restless the second you start to tease and you’ll end up pinned-“

“Just let me baby, I wanna try something…”

His eyes widen at your insistence. Never have you been so persistent at getting what you want in bed before. Every time before now had consisted of you giving yourself to him completely, letting him make a mess of you and claim you as his own.

“Jus’ wanna show you how much I love you, Dabi…”

He can’t say no to you. Not when you’re pleading this way. Looking down at him so sweetly from your place on his lap. Professing your love for him.

“Sure, doll, go ahead. But if I decide it’s not my style you’re getting flipped straight onto your stomach.”

You giggle at his “threat” and he thinks it’s the most angelic sound he’s ever heard.

Slowly but surely you begin to kiss down the scars on his neck, making your way to his collarbone and the bit of chest that his low cut shirt exposed.

You slide your hands under his shirt to feel his marred chest. Soft skin meeting rough scars with only a haphazardly placed row of staples patch it together.

A soft gasp leaves his lips as you grind softly down on his painfully hard bulge.

“You’re killin’ me doll face. Can’t just tease like this…”

“You’re really pretty, Touya.”

He stops in his tracks and stares into your eyes at the mention of that name. You’ve only called him that a few times before, never in bed, only ever when he was having one of his rare vulnerable moments.

You wanted to see him. All of him. Raw and unmasked and at your mercy. Not that you wanted to take advantage of him, no, quite the opposite.

You slowly lift his shirt above his head and push on his chest until his back meets the admittedly worn out mattress.

He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that could ever save him. Like you could forgive every sin he’s ever committed.

You kiss down his chest until you reach the button of his jeans. Instead of unbuttoning it and touching him where he needs you most, you reach to interlace your fingers with his.

He pauses before locking his digits in yours, reciprocating the incredibly soft action.

This isn’t his style. Not at all. Something in him aches at the gentleness. It almost feels like guilt.

He can’t seem to get a word out.

“Is this okay Touya?”

“Mmhm- keep goin doll…”

If he spoke just a word more he might have choked on it. You remove your dominant hand from his, still holding the other, and skillfully unbutton his jeans with one hand. Reluctantly he releases your other hand so you can pull his pants and boxers down.

“I’m not gonna suck you off, not just yet. Wanna be close to you love. Need to feel you inside of me…”

All he can do is nod as you straddle his hips and line him up with your entrance. As you slowly sink down onto him, you guide his hands to your waist.

“Hold onto me, grab me, squeeze me, whatever you want baby, just let me take care of you right now.”

For the first time in his relationship with you he feels like he has no clue what to do.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

He’s felt clueless about how to be a good boyfriend before. He never thought he could ever make someone happy, never thought he could be enough for someone to call him their love, their everything.

He felt clueless the first time you kissed him, before he even asked you to be his girl. It had never felt like that before. You had poured every ounce of care and compassion you had for him into that kiss and he could feel it all. The only thing he knew after that was that you had to be his. One way or another.

But he has never felt clueless when it came to you wrapped around him, taking him so sweetly. Not until now. Now he had no control, and that left him without any knowledge of what to do.

You lean down to kiss his forehead as you reach the base of his aching cock.

“You feel so good baby, always feel so good.”

Your breathing is heavy now and he can tell you’re losing your composure. A small smirk appears on his face as he guides his hands up your torso to softly squeeze your breasts.

“Can ya move now doll? Please?”

Never has Dabi begged. He swore off begging that day at Sekoto peak.

But he’d do anything for you.

You begin to slowly ride him, laying your chest against his while he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. Your speed increases as he kisses the top of your head.

“Fuck baby. Just like that doll. Please don’t stop… feels so good… I-“

“You’re so— ngh- fucking perfect Touya. Amazing. I love you so much.”

He can’t help but let a tear slip from his eye at your words. Given the context it shouldn’t be making him feel so sensitive.

But he is loved. You love him. Someone out there loves him. And that someone is giving every part of themself to him in this moment.

And consuming every part of him in the process.

“Fuck… y/n…I love you too.”

With that you clench around him, reaching your high and spurring on his release as well. You collapse against his chest to catch your breath.

You feel something wet fall onto your head.

“M’ sorry doll, don’t mean to get all fuckin’ soft on you n’ shit-“

“Don’t apologize. I love you. I mean it. Just wanted you to feel it.”

Dabi is crying, something you’ve never seen him do before, yet he smiles softly down at you.

“I dunno what I did to deserve ya doll.”

“You don’t have to do anything. You’re perfect how you are.”

You’re tearing up now too. He chuckles softly, wiping your tears with his thumb.

“Well shit. Now I’ve made you cry too. We should get cleaned up hm?”

You nod at his suggestion and kiss his wet cheeks.

“Wanna stay here for just a moment longer. Let me love on my man.”

His hand runs through your sweaty hair.

“I really do love you doll.”

“I love you too, but you already know that.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 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: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn't help me resist this beast, I blame you.

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 ❤️

"Five thousand." The man slaps his card down and flicks it through the slot of the plastic window.

"Five thousand," you repeat.

"In cash. Hundreds, sweetheart. Oh, actually, do about five hundred in ones," he winks.

You don't humour him by reacting. Your skin crawls nonetheless. The implication of the last part of his request is clear. You merely stare back at him. He's not unusual. Executives strut in all the time with their demands. It's never a request, no please, no thank you. They only tell you what to do.

"Yes, sir. I would need your ID," you take his card from the counter and feel the embossed letters on the matte black plastic.

He scoffs, "my ID? I gave you my damn card."

You don't flinch. Not for him. You've worked this desk long enough not to even feel his anger. He's just another spoiled brat in an overpriced suit. The metropolitan bank is an ocean swimming with the likes of him; hair slicked with smelly pomade, feet bedecked in tacky designer loafers, and jackets lined with silk. You couldn't pick him out of a batch of your usual clientele.

"It is procedure, sir. For security. We must confirm your identity and make note of the large transaction--"

"Large transaction? It's pennies," he scoffs.

"Sir, I'm only following protocol. For your safety." You insist.

He snarls as you remain placid. Your lack of reaction doesn't please him. He jabs his finger onto the marble ledge on the other side of the plastic window. "Manager. Now." He pokes again. "Get me your manager."

"Yes, sir, a moment," you slide forward in the chair and step onto the lower bar of the tall legs.

"While you're at it, why don't you crack a smile?" He snipes.

You climb down without response, his card still in hand, and turn to find Veronique. You've been told to do so many a time. You don't give in. It's not that you don't smile, you just prefer to have a reason for that. You're not grim by any measure, just reserved. You don't believe in exhuberance.

As you cross the floor, you look down at the card in your hand. You can just make out the plastic letters; Lloyd M. Hansen. The name might be familiar, you may have even helped him before, but you can't recall.

You long-legged supervisor with her auburn red hair, waved to compliment her long oval face, stands with Gianni, giggling at the Account Manager as he postures. You approach and steel yourself for the interaction. She doesn't notice you as you stand right by her elbow.

You clear your throat, "Excuse me."

"Oh, pardon me, Gianni," she peers over at you, "what is it, dear?"

"A customer is unhappy. He does not want to show his ID." You say.

"Oh, gosh, forgive me, Gianni," she looks back to the manager and preens. "Gotta make sure everyone's happy, don't I?" She spins and nudges you away from the man in his pin-striped arrogance. She lowers her voice as she stomps in her heels, "do I have to do everything around here?"

"I tried--"

"Zip it," she warns and looks ahead. "Bonjour, Mr. Hansen, comment ca va?" She puts her on her faux French accent.

Your chest hollows out. Of course, she would know him. You already know how this goes.

"Well, Ronnie, this pinch-faced brat you got working for you won't give me my money," he crosses his arms and leans them against the ledge. Brat? You're probably not that much younger than him, and likely more mature.

"Oh, my, I'm so sorry. Forgive me, monsieur," she trills and rears on you, "go get his money."

You blink, "yes, ma'am."

Her lip curls slightly. She doesn't like that. It makes her feel old. It's as much rebellion as you have in you. Subtlety always does better.

You turn and go to the safe. You put the bills through the counting machine, taking your time, then return to your desk. As you approach, Veronique lets out another of her high-pitched giggles.

The man on the other side, Hansen, stands straight, his arms still folded, and coughs. It's nothing in his throat, you know what it is. You push his card through the slot then climb up calmly into your chair.

You count the bills by hand as Veronique hovers like a hawk. You record the withdrawal as you pause.

"Once again, Monsieur Hansen, we apologise," she fawns, "it is only that she did not recognise you." She lowers her voice and leans into the window, hiding her mouth even though you can obviously hear her, "we think her hearing is going a bit."

You continue to count and state the total evenly as you slide it under the window, "five thousand, sir."

"Great," he checks his watch, "only took ten minutes out of my day to do what could be done in ten seconds."

He clamps his hand over the money and shakes his head. You close out of his account as Veronique lingers.

"I will be sure this does not happen again," she avows. "I hope you have a wonderful day."

He grumbles and says nothing else. He catches your gaze and his eyes narrow. You calmly reach for your pen and turn back to your computer. The next client steps forward and blocks him out.

"How can I help you today?" You ask, moving onto the next without another thought. It's just another day. Always the same. Good and bad.