#and i’m not saying it’s just a st problem

[hinasho]

I cannot find it but there was an analysis on here that said smthg along the lines of: in the era the Original Trilogy came out, audiences needed to see heroes that saved the day against all odds. “Despite your hardships, you can succeed.” In the era of the Prequel Trilogy, audiences needed to see what happens when said heroes do not receive the care and love they need and how they can easily become a villain. “Despite your success, you can still fall.” I cant find the post for my LIFE but it was really good and insightful.

It was on my mind while I was watching Andor last night. What kind of stories do we need in this time period right now? Not want, NEED. And I think this might be a big reason why so much recent SW content is controversial. No one can put into words what we need.

Before A New Hope came out, it was mocked and disregarded as some 50¢ film. Once it was released, and then ESB and ROTJ, it was widely praised and became a cult classic damn near overnight. Before The Phantom Menace, people were excited, ravenous for Darth Vader’s backstory. But when it came out, and then AOTC and ROTS, it was widely hated and deemed a monstrosity. That is, until recent audiences, even the same people who initially viewed it as garbage, took another look and deemed it a masterpiece ahead of its time.

And so I look at shows like Andor or The Mandalorian and movies like Rogue One. These are not stories people were itching for, but once they came out, they were quickly regarded as some of Star Wars’ best. Whereas shows like Kenobi seem to only be praised for their nostalgia, and movies like Solo or the entire Sequel Trilogy are deemed horrible at worst and controversial at best, media that was craved until met with cold applause.

For the audiences of this era, what do we want? Now what do we need? I feel like it’s on the tip of everyone’s tongue, but either no one can figure it out or no one will say it.

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Analysis of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - Introduction

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

I want to start this essay by admitting I’m actually embarrassed by its length. Why did I spend so much time on something I dislike? The truth is, I did not begin this with the intention of creating such an extensive, formal study of the Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing run and how it reflects the wider problems with DC’s handling of one of their most iconic characters. I was just trying to organize the thoughts that came up during discussions with other Dick Grayson fans. Before I knew it, I had enough material, enough desire to challenge myself, and enough frustrations to vent to properly create this monstrosity.

I did not begin this Nightwing run determined to hate it. In fact, I was ready to love it. As Taylor promoted the run before the first issue was officially released, I was so excited for it. As I read short interviews where he discussed Heartless, I could not wait to have a new, incredible villain. Foolishly, I believed Taylor when he said he loved Dick Grayson. 

Needless to say, I was disappointed. Then frustrated. Then angry. The beginning of any story is a period where writer and reader form an indirect bond, and as the story progresses, so do the highs and the lows of said relationship. As such, a reader’s tolerance for negative factors will either increase or decrease depending on their experience up until that point.

In other words, if the writer fails to earn the reader’s trust and instead takes their attention for granted, even seemingly insignificant details become irritating in a way they would not be if presented in a better story. In such scenarios, the reader can no longer overlook those minor moments because there’s little good to balance them out with. It is a death by a thousand cuts. 

In the case of Taylor and Redondo’s run, along with those thousand cuts are also broken bones, internal bleeding, head trauma, and severed limbs. A weak plot, simplistic morality that undermines the story’s stated themes, and, most importantly, a careless disregard for Dick Grayson and everything he stands for utterly destroyed my enjoyment of this series. 

It is still too early to tell what sort of impact Taylor’s (as of time of writing, still unfinished) run will have on Dick Grayson’s future portrayals. But just because we cannot predict its long term significance, it does not mean we cannot critique it. Currently, we simply lack the benefit of hindsight. 

If this essay were to have a thesis, then it is this: Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing not only fails to tell a compelling Nightwing story, but it also exemplifies a cynical, self-serving, and shallow approach to storytelling that prioritizes creating hollow viral moments to boost the creators’ own online popularity over crafting a good story, honoring the character in their care, and respecting his fans – fans who have, historically, often been women, queer folk, and other individuals who felt othered by a cisheteronormative patriarchal society. Taylor and Redondo’s thoughtless and superficial narrative not only undermine the socially progressive ideals they supposedly care for by propagating a cisheteronormative patriarchal worldview, but they also demonstrate a lack of love and understanding for the character in their care. At best, Taylor and Redondo have no interest in getting to know Dick Grayson, nor any respect for their predecessor and their contributions to this character. At worst, they despise Dick so much that they wish to reinvent him into something completely different, tossing away everything that was special to his fans in order to appeal to a readership that never cared about Dick Grayson. 

I structured this essay so that, hopefully, each part will build on the ones that came prior. Naturally, because all aspects of a story are interlaced, there will be overlaps between each of the sections. As it may have become obvious from this introduction, I’ll be focusing primarily on the writing of this run. That is not to say that I will not address the art, but writing is the field I know most about, and so it feels only fair to focus my critique on that. 

I hope that by the end of this essay, I will have successfully proved that this run’s mishandling of different narrative elements betray a cynical appropriation of progressive ideology and a disregard and disinterest in what makes Dick Grayson so special to so many people. This is an attitude that is present within DC Comics’ current ethos as a whole.

Now, who is this essay for? Honestly, it’s probably not for Tom Taylor fans. I do not believe I’ll be persuading anyone with my writing, and, to be quite honest, neither would I say I wish to do so. Taylor and Redondo’s run has won numerous awards and has many dedicated fans who adore it for what it is. If that is you, then I’m glad. I wish I could be among your numbers. I wish more than anything that I could love this story. But I do not, and I know many others agree with me, and it is to them, I think, that I’m speaking to. As Taylor’s run is praised to heaven and back, I needed a safe space to voice my thoughts. This essay became this safe space. And to others who also feel unseen by the constant praise this run is getting, I think this could speak to you, as well. To be cliche and cringe, this will hopefully let you know that you are not alone. 

Finally, I want to acknowledge some people whose thoughts greatly contributed to the creation of this essay. For around three years now I’ve been having wonderful interactions with other Dick Grayson’s fans, and those discussions were not only incredibly fun and cathartic, but also provided great insight into what needed to be included in this essay. My best friend especially gave me a space to vent when I got frustrated, and my original outline borrowed a lot from the messages I sent her, as well as notes I took for our discussions.  

I’ll also be directly quoting four different Dick Grayson fans (identified as Dick Grayson Fans A, B, and C in order to allow them to keep their anonymity). Their analyses were so critical to the formation of my thesis and for a lot of what will be addressed in this essay that I actually feel like they deserve co-credit in this essay. Dick Grayson Fan B especially deserves a shoutout in helping me track down a couple of pages used as supporting evidence, as I knew what pages I was looking for but was having a hard time remembering in which issue they were located. I’m quoting them with permission, and crediting their ideas and contributions whenever relevant. 

Now, without any further ado, let’s get started. 

[punks-never-die205]

Captured

fem!reader x Eustass Kid (+the whole crew)

6,705 words

Summary: You wanted to try consensual non-consent and decide to role-play having been captured by the crew. Poor helpless islander you is going to be the captain's meal - but not before the crew preps you.

CW: CNC (obviously), role-play, degradation - LOTS of degradation, cum play, oral given, fingering received, anal oral received, double penetration, spanking, begging, group sex, bondage, blind-fold, nipple clamps, forced orgasms, tickle torture, sex on the deck, toe-sucking, mdni

Captured.

Your hands and arms are bound with coarse rope, and the blindfold over your eyes is secured with more rope. Passed roughly between calloused hands, you can hear little more than lecherous jeers and japes. Tugged and tossed and shoved you barely knew which way was up.

Eventually your clothes could take no more and the first resounding rip was like blood in the water for a pack of sharks. Greedy hands tore more and more, and despite how you moved or how you begged they continued, until there was nothing left but shreds hanging from the ropes that held your arms snugly behind your back.

Hands steadied you as more forced your legs into a wide stance. When you brought your knees together the hands shifted, forcing your legs wide by your thighs and denying you any ability to hide your pussy.

“No!” You cry, trying to close your legs.

“Aw, what a sweet, shy thing you are.” Says a voice by your ear. “It’s a shame to hide such beauty.” A hand cups your face, tilting your sightless gaze back. “You should thank us.”

You shake your head, bucking against the hands holding you. “N-no! Let… let me go, please.” You say it in a small voice, the embarrassment of being expose already rushing blood through you.

“Certainly, sweet miss.” The voice by your ear promises. Rough hands on your side make you jump. “Once the captain shows you all the ways you’re beautiful, I promise.”

You can’t help the shiver that rolls through you and the men around you chuckle.

“Alright lads, prep this fresh whore for the cap’n!” The voice yells and you yelp as the greedy hands from earlier return.

You can’t track the number of hands on you, but they steer clear of your privates for a long while. Instead they seem content enough to rub and scratch your legs and thighs, making you jerk from fleeting ticklish sensations. The teasing takes a turn when you kick, someone’s fingers at the sole of your foot having tickled you.

“Oh, that’s how it is, eh?”

“No! No I’m sorry, it tickled, I didn’t-!” Your words shatter into a squeal as you are held firmly and tickled. Your screeching laughter overpowers the jeers of your captors, and you thrash uselessly as they tickle your feet, the backs of your legs, your sides, and your neck.

You can’t hardly breathe from laughter, and they give you only the barest moments to catch your breath enough that you don’t pass out. You can hear them teasing you, but it’s impossible to know what they’re saying over the sounds of your own gasping laughter.

“Listen to this bitch enjoying herself!” A harsh voice like gravel and velvet cuts through everything else and they grant you a moment to catch your breath. It must be the captain for them to calm down so much. You’re panting, sagged in the hands holding you, shivering from the anticipation of whatever is going to happen next.

“Already into it, new blood?” He questions and you know he’s addressing you even if you can’t see him.

You shake your head. “Please, please just…. Let me go.”

“Heh. We’re in the middle of the sea, little toy. You want me to throw you overboard?” His voice is quieter and you can feel him looming over you.

“Please, I -.” His laugh interrupts you and you bite your lower lip.

“Begging to be tossed.” His tone is incredulous. “Problem is, I don’t chuck fresh meat until I’ve had my fill.” You feel cold metal against your stomach and jerk from the sensation. He gives you a moment to settle before moving the cold metal digit up your stomach and between your breasts.

“Hmmm… Wire, eat this whore’s ass.”

“What?” You question, not sure you heard him right.

“Aye aye boss.”

“Bubblegum, you got long fingers, work that tight cunt, but just a little.” The captain grabs your face, at least you think it’s him, turning you this way and that. “I don’t want to split this mini roast in half, but I do want to hear her beg.”

“Happily, boss.”

He squeezes your face until you open your mouth, and then spits in it.

“Anyone who wants can keep tickling her while the others work. No reason for her not to enjoy the prep.” The dark chuckles skitter through the crew and you whimper.

“Once she cums or passes out, she’s mine.” He commands and you hear the heavy boot falls as he walks away.

You’re lifted into the air with ease.

“No! Wait, please, don’t-ahhmphgh!” Fingers in your mouth garble your words as you’re made to understand there’s no room for your protests. Hands hold you in position and a thick wet tongue licks a stripe along the curve of your ass. You buck and cry out before big hands grab your cheeks and spread them open.

You protest against the fingers in your mouth but there’s no stopping the tongue that presses against your asshole. Groaning, you whimper as you can’t stop him from pushing past the tight ring of muscles. Wet and slick and naturally tapered he pushes into your ass easily.

Saliva lubricates the way as he stretches you open. It feels so weird, and so good, you can’t muffle the pleasurable edges of the next garbled sound that leaves you. The noise is an invitation to the other one, and when fingers spread your labia you buck and try to move away.

Wire’s hands grab your thighs, pulling your legs wide and pressing you against his mouth. Other hands steadied you, but his grip made it impossible to get away from the finger teasing slow circles against the entrance of your vagina.

The fingers in your mouth press in deep, making you gag on them for a second before they ease up. Just as you’re able to clear your throat, one of Bubblegum’s fingers push into your pussy. You suck in a breath of surprise.

“Fuck, she’s soaked.” Comes, you think, Bubblegum’s voice. “Look at this, it’s practically a rope of slick.” He says, pulling his finger out.

There’s a scattered murmur of agreement among those gathered that you were the neediest fresh roast they’ve ever prepped for the boss’ meal.

“What a proper slut you’ll make.” Came the voice that spoke to you at the start. “Do it proper Bubblegum.”

“Of course, Killer.” He says, pressing to fingers against your sopping hole and slowly working them in. “Me an’ Wire will make her cream real good before she passes out.”

The hands on you tightened as his fingers pushed deeper and deeper. A rough hand on your hair has your head supported and immobile.

“Deep breath, little whore, we don’t want you to pass out too soon.” Killer instructs and you find yourself breathing deep. “There’s a good girl.”

Wire’s tongue makes you grunt at a surprising rush of pleasure, and Bubblegum’s fingers twist and scissor inside you, teasing sweet spots as he slowly eases you open. You’re already giggling, the pleasure is going to make it worse and you know it’s coming, and the nerves are already dancing through you.

You can’t do anything except tense when they start tickling you, so well are you held in place that all you can do is tense and scream. The first rush breaks and you’re laughing, gasping, and screaming for them to stop.

“Gods! Fucking no! Stop! Stop! Gods-dammit I - hahahahaha, no I can’t - hahahahaha!!” Bubblegum’s thumb presses against your clit and you moan loudly nearly cumming before devolving into laughter again. It’s everything you have to breathe, you can’t defend against the sensations slamming into you.

Someone grabs your left tit and there’s a sharp sting as a clamp is set on your nipple. You scream, but it’s more laughing pleasure than pain and then someone grabs your right tit roughly.

“No don’t!” You beg as the clamp is set on your other nipple. “Fffffffffuuuuuuuuuuck, hahahahhaha!”

Swears dot the laughter, and those are only broken by big gasping gulps of air as you breathe in desperately. Every time you think you’re going to finally peak and orgasm and end this, someone tugs on the nipple clamps and the jolt pulls you away from the edge.

Bubblegum is teasing your clit relentlessly, his fingers messing with the tender spots inside you as Wire seems intent on reaching your stomach with his tongue. You can’t comprehend how long it feels like it is, it has to be an impossible length. You can’t focus on either enough between the tickling and random tugs at your tits.

“When she cums I’m going to pull these off.”

“No!!”

“Oh she’s all for it,” comes the laughing response.

“No! Do-aaaaahahahahahaha-Don’t!”

“Oh but you’re so close.”

“No! Please, no I -.”

“She throbbed on my fingers when you said it,” Bubblegum says. “I bet she’s just being shy.”

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m - fuck, fuck!” You can’t feel the tickling as the orgasm has built up and pushed everything else aside. The edging had made the newest swell impossible to ignore. “No, no, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, no!” You cry as the inevitable pleasure crests and slams into you.

The guttural pleasure ripped from your lips turns into a bellow as the clamps are pulled off your nipples. The rush of blood back into them is all pins and needles and you’re sputtering and spitting as you cum through the prickling pain, your desperate pleasure splashing down Bubblegum’s arm.

“Fuck yeah, look at that.” He says, pulling his long fingers out of your trembling cunt. “She really liked it.”

You can’t do anything except sob as Wire’s tongue wiggles out of your ass. The entire thing was too much and you can’t even find the energy to deny Bubblegum’s words.

Hands move you, with a little more care than before, and you’re shuffled into someone’s arms. The din of the  crowd fades as you’re carried into a different area.

“Hey Little One,” Killer says softly and you realize you’re in the hall leading to the workshop. “How’re you holding up?”

“I think Wire was trying to reach my brains.” You reply quietly, a soft huff of laughter escaping you. “That was intense though.”

“Yeah, we didn’t hold back much. You good? Round two’s coming up.”

You nod. “Y-yeah. I’m good.”

Killer grunts. “Shivering in anticipation?”

“Lil’ fear.” You admit, licking your lips. “Bubbles made me squirt, and…”

“If he can do that, what’s Kid gonna do?” Killer hums and you nod.

You hear a door open and Killer’s tone changes. “Whatever the fuck he wants, whore.”

Killer tosses you, and you weren’t expecting it. You yelp in surprise, landing heavy on something soft. Soft was rare in the workshop, so either Killer had taken you to the captain’s quarters, or Kid had set up something for you.

Still bound and blindfolded the space was quiet after Killer left. You shifted, moving enough to sit yourself up. The soft thing you’d landed on was Kid’s coat, and the fact made you throb a bit. Getting such gentle treatment in the middle of such a rough session was a subtle reminder of how safe you really were.

No matter what was going to happen.

The silence dragged on, and for a moment you’re starting to wonder if you aren’t alone in the room. Kid often smells like the workshop, but as you’re currently in the shop it’s hard to say what’s it and what’s him. The heavy boot falls earlier were also for show.

Kid could be deadly quiet when he wanted.

On your knees, you start to stand and his voice halts you.

“Stay.” He grunts, and you do, kneeling back down on the coat. “Heh, the boys prepped you good. Doin’ as yer told all meek and shit.”

You can feel the blood rush through you, but arguing now would be useless.

“Spread those knees apart and lean your head back,” he commands. You hesitate, but just for a second, and spread your knees apart, tilting your head back so your nose is pointed toward the ceiling.

“Look it you being a good slut. Fuck that’s hot.” His flesh hand grips your hair roughly, holding you in place. “Open those cock-sucking lips, and take what I give you.”

You shake your head as much as you can in the tight grip. The bitter smear of precum coats your lips as his cock presses against your lips.

“Either I cum in your mouth, or I’m going to make sure it shoots up your nose. All you’ll smell and taste for a month is my cum.” He says it evenly, like he’s giving you a choice between cake or pie. “Your call.”

You consider pushing the line, but of the things you’re willing to risk, having cum instead of snot in your nose is not one of them. You open your mouth and hear Kid chuckle.

“Smart choice. Now stick out your tongue, I want to see you being eager for this.” He commands, a breathlessness to his voice.

You stick out your tongue and no sooner than you do he pushes the head of his cock into your mouth. He only pushes about halfway in before you start to choke, and he pulls back, letting you breathe before forcing it deeper. He pulls back again, letting you sputter and breathe before pushing in deep again. You’ve never deep throated him, but you’re getting a crash course. Once more and you can feel your nose get buried in his pubes.

He holds you there for a long moment, hissing a swear as you squirm and gag against the thick length. He lets you up enough that you can breathe and pulls you back down, slamming his cock down the back of your throat in a few dizzying pumps. It’s all you can do to breathe until he holds you against his pubic hair once more for a second.

He pulls you back again, pulling the blindfold off before cumming on your face while you’re still coughing and gasping. The blindfold is off, but with thick globs of cum on your face you can’t open your eyes. Even if he hadn’t done so, you could barely see through the thick tears from choking on his cock.

Kid smears all the tears, snot and cum on your face, before he leans down and kisses you. The kiss is heavy and demanding and you grunt and squirm, but he doesn’t relent until his tongue’s fucking your throat the way his cock had been a minute ago.

When he lets go you collapse into the coat, coughing and gasping. There’s no pleasure in the actions, but you’re still turned on by the rough treatment. You’d wanted him and the crew to honestly use you, and Killer was right - no one was holding back.

Especially not Kid.

“You’re a tough little cut of meat.” He muses, walking around the workshop. Your eyes are still gummy and you don’t want to force them open, so you’re not exactly where he is. “I think I’ll put you in the cradle.”

“… the what?” You had a sudden image of being forced into a diaper and you weren’t sure that was really something you were okay with in this context. He knew how to push you to the edges of your capacity, but this was maybe the wrong edge.

“A nice rig that will put your ankles above your head, but also cradle you so you can watch my cock split your sweet little cunt open.” You can hear the grin in his voice as he moves around. “Or maybe I’ll just fuck your ass until you’re shitting spooge for a week.”

You get to your feet slowly. There was no one to really go, but the tone in his voice made you want to run. It was objectively a bad idea - well, bad in the sense that once Kid caught you the tenor of the evening could shift.

A hand around your throat, and a body at your back nearly makes you screech. You had no sense of Kid being behind you, but he held you in place easily.

“Leaving already?” He questions and you can’t nod or shake your head. Instead you just stay still in his hold. His fingers tighten against your throat for a moment, before he leans you over and smacks your ass. You yelp, squirming as he lands a second smack on the other cheek. Crying out again you try to twist away from the sting.

Kid holds you in place easily, spanking each cheek with whip-like snaps of his hand over and over until your ass was hot, red, and swollen and you were begging him to stop.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Stop, please! I- hnnngh!” Kid’s thick finger presses into your vagina and your legs almost buckle.

“You really are a twisted little slut.” He muses, fucking his finger in and out of you a few times before he grabs the ropes at your arms and lifts you up.

Kid sets you in the rig he mentioned earlier. He’s fast, and you’re not going to give him a hard time with the fresh sting still throbbing against your ass, so it only takes a couple minutes for you to be secured in place. There’s a moment of quiet and then a warm rag on your face as he cleans up the mess around your eyes.

“I want you to see this,” he grins as you blink up at him blearily. Kid is fully clothed. All he’s missing are the belts, and his pants are open. He gives your eyes a moment to adjust before he taps his cock against your clit.

You feel your stomach drop. This is a session. It is one hundred percent sex with someone who you have already had sex with before. As much as you’d handed over your “rights” in this session, you weren’t actually captured by big bad evil terrible pirates.

And yet, somehow, Kid’s cock looked impossibly large. Whether you had sunk into the session itself too far to really hold onto the fact that you’d taken that beast before, or if you were simply nervous because of your current immobility, you weren’t sure.

“That’s - that’s not gonna fit.” You say it with enough conviction that Kid almost laughs.

Illustration of The Cradle

He rubs it against your slit, teasing your clit with the weight of it. “Oh, it’ll fit.” He leans in a little, spreading your labia and really rutting his cock into your folds. You can’t stifle the gasp of pleasure from the pressure against your clit.

“Needy whore like you, you’re gonna take it all.” He assures you.

“I’m not…” You bite your lip as your toes flex.

“Not what?” Kid’s finger is under your chin, pulling your gaze up to his eyes and away from the eldritch demon he’s rubbing into your clit.

“A.. A…” You can feel the heat rushing to your face, and the grin on Kid’s face says he can see the embarrassment radiating off you. “Needy whore.” You manage, but it feels like a lie, and you look away from him.

“Uh huh.” He scoffs, reaching out and teasing your nipples. You gasp, the cold from his metal hand catching you off-guard. His touch is so precise with his prosthetic that you often forget it’s cold as sin.

He plays with your tits until you’re panting, feet and toes squirming, arms shifting behind your back, making the ropes groan. You can’t move enough to get away from it, and Kid is exacting and relentless. Biting back a moan you stop yourself from begging - you can’t. You just got done saying you weren’t needy.

“I’ll believe you,” Kid says, rutting against your clit again while he keeps teasing your nipples. “If you can endure this without moaning like a needy whore.”

You start to speak, ready to accept his terms, but as soon as you open your mouth Kid twists your nipples and really grinds into your clit. He doesn’t twist them harshly, but the added stimulation is enough to shatter your word into a rough moan.

“Heh.”

You can feel the heat from your face down to your shoulders. This utter bastard.

“Don’t worry, mouse.” He says, causing you to look up at him. It’s the first time anyone’s used your usual nickname since the session started. “You’re my favorite needy whore.”

He puts his hands on your ankles, pressing the head of his cock against your cunt. He’s not pushing in enough to enter you, but it won’t take much. He presses in and eases off, letting the pressure tease you while he grins down at you.

“Mine.” He reiterates, shifting his eyes down before looking back at you. “Watch it.” He commands, and your eyes shift down to his cock pressed against you. “Keep your eyes on it, and watch how well you take all of me.” He huffs the words, pushing in with enough force to finally start entering you.

The stretch seems more than usual, and you remember that Bubblegum barely prepped you compared to how Kid usually did. Kid eases back a little when your breath starts coming out faster and then pushes in again, working himself in slowly.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “Fuck you’re tight. Little slut’s really into this, huh?”

You shake your head. “Yeah,” you moan and Kid laughs.

“Conflicted much?” He says it like a question, but he’s not expecting an answer, pushing in further. “Almost there. Told ya’.” Kid’s hands tighten against your ankles a little as he pushes completely inside you. Moaning he rolls his hips and presses into you, barely moving and just bullying his cock in as deep as he can.

“N-no, wait, wait - Kid!” You gasp, your body shaking as the pleasure rushes up inside you so unexpectedly you’re breaking character. “Cum! I’m gonna cum!”

Kid grins as he continues to do what he’s been doing, leaving you to shiver and gasp beneath him. The orgasm hits you hard and the whorish scream ripped from you devolves into a growl. He’s still pressing into you, making the same deep, slow movements that threw you over the edge so quickly, and it keeps sending jolts through you.

“Wai— wait! I’m gonna, you’re gonna- oh gods it won’t stooooop!” You cry, shuddering against the cradle as it keeps you securely in place.

“Gonna cum again?” He muses, keeping the same pace. “Let’s see how many times you can cum like this. Never tenderized a fresh piece like this before, I’m curious.”

“M’not — Nnnnngh! —  fresh!” You gasp, shaking your head as the second orgasm begins to claw it’s way into you. “Gods, fuck, oh hells, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You swear as you cum again, gasping and sucking in big heaving breaths.

“Oh you are for this.” Kid asserts, still not letting up. “Come on, sweetheart, one more. Just give me one more. I won’t force more than three out of you this time.”

“Can’t, I can’t,” you gasp, tears running down your cheeks. “Holy fuck hells,” you sob as Kid continues. Despite all your protesting and swearing you aren’t using your safe words, and his eyes are on you. He’s so focused on you that the ship could be sinking and Killer would need to bodily tackle him to get his attention.

“Yeah you can. One more,” he grins as you nod, managing little more than a babbled sob in response. “Good girl.”

You shake your head as your body goes taut again. Kid’s hands hold onto your feet, keeping your toes from curling as you cum, more immobile than you’ve ever been before. You make some incoherent and odd sounds, too addled from the back to back to back orgasms to manage anything else.

The pleasure is intense, addicting, and overwhelming. It’s his presence alone that makes it something you can be swept away by, instead of something to fear. Even if it overwhelms you, you know that Kid will keep you safe.

He has mercy as promised, and slowly pulls out of your trembling cunt. The empty feeling pulls a whimper from you and he grins, hand against the side of your face.

“Shhh, there you go. I got you.” His voice is soothing, and the caress is grounding. “You did good, mouse.”

“You… you didn’t,” your voice is shaky, the ropes against your skin are sending shivers through you, you’re still on edge so much.

“Hm? Oh, don’t worry.” He pats your face. “Take a moment, fresh meat, I’ll fill you up plenty.” He assures you, running his hands over your feet, legs and hips. “Need a change of position?”

You wiggle your toes and flex your fingers and take a moment to check on your pieces and parts as you slowly come down. You shake your head.

“I can stay like this.”

Kid’s smile turns devious and he grabs onto the cradle. “Good.” He steps on something and there’s a clunk that shakes the whole rig. He pushes and it starts rolling.

“What - wait, where are we going?”

“Back out on the deck. The crew did such a good job prepping you, little roast, they deserve to enjoy the feast.” He explains, opening the doors and pushing you out into the hall.

“I… I can’t take them all.” You’re back into your role, but you’re also being serious.

Kid only looks down at you and you swallow hard. You can use your word if you start to ache, and you don’t think he’d leave you to such an ordeal without keeping a close eye on you. You were, after all, just playing at being fresh meat.

You shift in the rig, struggling against the ropes. You’re not blindfolded anymore, you’re going to be able to see everyone watching you. It’s not going to be just the feel of the sun on you’re bare skin, but the heat of everyone’s desires on you.

The crew erupts in cheers when you come out onto the deck. Somehow their exuberance makes it more embarrassing.

“Seems a shame to let Wire’s hard work go to waste.” Kid says, catching something that Heat tosses him. “And I did just promise to fill your ass so full you’ll be shitting cum for a week.” He squirts thick lube onto his cock, before sticking the applicator in your ass and squeezing.

“Cold!” You gasp, squirming against the rig. Chuckles ripple through the crowd as Kid pushes into your ass with the crew all around. Even with the lube he works in carefully, and the consideration makes it feel good. You can’t keep quiet, between the stretch, the squelch, the pleasure and the attention, you’re too turned on.

“Listen to that whoresong.” You hear someone murmur.

“Ah, she tightened up at that.” Kid sneers, pressing his thumb into your clit. “Don’t try to hold back now.” He warns, rolling his thumb, teasing your clit as he works his way into your ass.

“Please!” You gasp, eyes darting around to the crew. Most had their cocks in their hands, eyes plastered to the show.

“Ah, right, you’re a needy whore.” Kid muses. “Killer, undo the cradle. Let’s get her hands free so she can show her appreciation for all our hard work.”

Killer cuts the ropes from your arms, and then unlatches the part of the rig keeping you facing Kid. He leans you back slowly after you unfold your arms, and now you’re laying on your back, your legs still tied in place as Kid pushes flush against your ass.

You moan sweetly from the sensations and two people grab your wrists. Wire and Killer put your hand on their hard cocks and you begin stroking them before they can even demand it of you. Killer calls you a good whore and Wire calls you a useful slut and you nearly cum from it. Heat comes up by your face and presses his cock against your cheek.

“Just lick it,” he says. “I’m sure a hungry thing like you wants to choke on it, but we wanna hear you moan.”

You lick, grateful to have something you can focus on while surrounded by the crew like this.

“The rules are simple!” Kid barks, addressing the crew. “Whether this whore gets you off or you handle it yer self, you cum on the meat. This fresh bitch is desperate to be properly dressed.”

“Aye, Aye Boss!!” Comes the resounding chorus.

Kid fucks your ass while you jerk off Killer and Wire, licking and kissing Heat’s cock. You can hear the musings and murmurs of the rest of the crew while you moan against Heat.

“Fuck, it’s too hot.” UK swears, coming over to you. Heat steps back and holds your head, making you watch as UK cums across your breasts.

“Say thank you-.” Kid begins to demand, but the entire situation crashes in on you and you moan loudly, cumming against Kid’s cock. He stutters and then slams into you roughly a couple times, cock twitching as he fills your ass. “Fucking hells,” he laughs, the rest of the crew sharing his amusement. “You really are a needy whore.”

“Thank you,” you sigh and hear a couple people call you a good girl.

“UK, get that strap for me.” Kid orders. You hear the words, but don’t really register them, too focused on sharing the warm haze of pleasure with those around you.

Wire cums next, coating your belly. He steps back and Reck takes his place at your hand. Heat doesn’t take much longer and he decides to have you swallow it. Kid says they can worry about stuffing you after you’re coated, but before someone can take Heat’s place UK comes back.

He hands Kid what looks like a strap on, and sure enough it is. Kid pulls out of your ass and puts it on. The strap is in the top position, and Heat helps you watch as Kid pushes back into you, the strap filling your cunt and Kid’s cock bullying back into your ass.

“Gods, fuck!” You swear as you’re filled up nicely. The strap is small, comparatively, but with both it and Kid in you, you feel intensely full. “Hnnngh, please, oh shit.”

“Heh, you don’t even know what your begging for.” Kid grins, setting a slow and steady pace, making you shiver and twitch.

Quincy comes up and takes Heat’s place. She straddles the rig with a little help from Killer, her dripping pussy over your face.

“You can scream into it,” she explains, before sitting on your face. Quincy holds onto your head and grinds into your mouth, easing up just often enough to let you breathe.

You can hear Kid saying something, and a moment later Killer leaves your hand and you feel the warmth of his cum splash against your stomach. Someone else’s cock is in your hand and you fall into a rhythm, stroking two cocks while you lick and nuzzle into Quincy’s cunt, all while Kid fucks you. The steady pace of his begins to pick up and you grunt into Quincy, moaning and gasping heavier when she lets you breathe.

She lifts up for a bit and tilts to look down at you.

“Deep breath, lil’ roast.” She commands and you take a deep breath. As soon as Quincy presses back into your face something presses against your clit and immediately vibrates.

Powerfully.

You scream into her pussy and she grinds into you. You can feel yourself heading toward your own orgasm, but Quincy gets there first. A rough grip of your hair and a satisfied swear are the only indications she’s cum on your face - you were already too covered and smeared with slick and juice to register a difference.

She leans back, a warm smile on her face, as she looks down at you. “Boss, I wanna stay here for a minute.”

“Heh, sure. Enjoy the front row seat while I make this bitch cream.”

Reck and the other crew member you can’t see with Quincy in the way, hold onto your hands and thrust into your palms, relieving you of the need to think about stroking them while you came closer and closer to your orgasm. Quincy ruts her pussy into your collarbone as you moan and whine.

“You’re so cute like this,” she grins, and you realize there’s a collection of crew mates gathered around, some with their cocks in their hands, but most just watching your face. “You were begging earlier, screaming from those clamps, but now it’s just gonna be pure pleasure.”

“Can’t wait to see all your different orgasm faces.” Boogie says, looking at you from over Quincy’s shoulder.

“Don’t, don’t look!” You gasp, trying to pull your hands away. Neither of them let go, and instead you’re trapped.

“Fuck she begs so good.”

“Quince,” Jaguar’s voice is heavy and husky. “I might get you.”

“S’alright, but let her cum first.”

“Y-yeah.” The large man stands nearby, stroking his cock with a glassy look on his face.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” you swear as the crescendo reaches its peak. Your body tenses and you hear Kid swear before he turns up the vibrator and slams heavily into you, shaking the rig. Your soundless expression shatters and you cry out. The sweet cry turns into a toe-curling moan as Kid forces you to ride it out, emptying another load into your ass.

“Fuckin’ hells.” Jaguar growls, unable to hold back. Quincy tells you to keep your eyes closed and a second later he cums on your face, the spend falling into your mouth as you’re still moaning from the orgasm. Kid moves the vibrator away and you start to come down from the high. You hear Reck swear and he coats your hand in cum before the other crew member pulls free and cums on your leg.

Quincy gets off you and Hip comes over and cleans the cum away from your eyes before grabbing your cheeks and kissing you. You have no idea whose cocks are in your hands, but they’re fucking your palms instead of expecting you to stroke them while Hip makes out with you.

“Hip that’s hot as hell.” Jaguar says as a few others chuckle.

“I wanna suck on her toes.” You aren’t sure whose asking, you’re too addled from all the orgasms since the session started.

“Sure. Anyone wants to suckle those sweet tits can too.” Kid says. He’s slowly moving his hips, taking a break as he recovers. “Kill, get House ready, Heat keep an eye on the lil’ roast. She might pass out from this, but I want to avoid that.”

“Aye boss.”

“We’re gonna break you, little roast.” Kid says, speaking loud enough to cut through your haze. Hip leans back, and makes sure you’re hearing the captain. “You won’t be able to find satisfaction anywhere else, once we’re done.”

“Oh gods,” you swear as someone’s lips wrap around your toes, their tongue licking everywhere. You want to pull your foot away, but your legs are tied to the rig.

“I’ll get the other foot.” Compo says, and you squirm.

“N-no, don’t - fuck, it feels so weird!” You cry as Compo’s lips wrap around your other set of toes. “It’s too much!”

Hop and Emma step up on either side of you, each grabbing a tit and holding it in place before leaning down and teasing your nipple. They kiss, lick, and nibble on the hard nub and the guys fucking into your hands have to work to hold you in place as you thrash against the stimulation.

“She’s so sensitive.” Hop muses before sucking on your tit and making you moan. “I’m kind of jealous.”

“Fuck she’s squirmin’ so much I don’t even hafta move.” Kid muses. “Bringing me back to life like you can’t live without my cock inside you, slut.”

“Can’t, I can’t!” you sob, letting out a musically salacious cry. “I need it, I need it - fuck - fuck me please, please! L-let me be you-you’re good whore, please!”

“That’s my girl!” Kid laughs, putting his hands on your hips and pulling almost completely out of you before thrusting back in harshly. You moan as he hilts inside you, and he repeats the action, ripping another heavy groan out of you.

He picks up his pace, slamming into your over and over, pushing the air and sense out of your body. You’re trembling from the bruising thrusts as much as you are the teasing of your tits and the splatter of cum across your neck. You’ve never been so soaked in spend like this before and the entire thing is deliriously hot.

Broken concepts dance in your mind, coherent thoughts shattered by the pleasure that fogs your very sense of self. You were his lover, his toy, his newest conquest, his slave, his best friend - everything from in and outside of the session mingled in your mind and all you were sure of was that you were nearly sated. All the hunger and need and curiosity and desire was coming to a head and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Heat cradles your head as you drool and babble.

“Don’t fight it,” you aren’t sure if he says the words or if you just understand the look on his face. “By the seas, you’re blissed the fuck out right now. Don’t hold back, let it rip you apart and pass through you.”

No one is in your hands as your fingers flex shut tightly. Tears stream down your face as you shake your head and sob. The pleasure is so overwhelming you’re almost afraid of it, but you’re surrounded by people who won’t let you stay drowned, no matter how much it pulls you under.

You relax into the crescendo and scream as the euphoria lights your body on fire. It’s a primal sound, something like a growl and the sort of groan that vibrates your ribs. In any other setting it would sound ridiculous, but now it just marks the lack of control you have as you’re forced to feel so much at once. The shiver in your limbs and the way your body roils despite being tied and held down were all involuntary - there was no control within your grasp.

You lost all sense of time in the thick swell of pleasure. You only know that if you did pass out it wasn’t for long, you could see Heat watching you, and there was no escape from the harsh euphoria as Kid made sure to fuck every twitch and whimper out of you before finally showing mercy.

Using the Cradle’s design, Heat raises the backboard up just enough to sit you up a little as Kid pulls free from your throbbing holes. There’s a proud smile on his face, and he caresses your cheek with his hand.

“Good job, Mouse.” He says, bringing your hazy gaze toward his eyes gently.

“Good job, Mouse.” You murmur in response. You want him to know you’re at least conscious, but you can’t think of any other words at the moment and so you just repeat what he’s said.

“You’re really out of it,” he says with a soft chuckle. Compo and someone else undo the binds at your ankles, rubbing your legs and slowly bringing them down.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of you.” Kid promises, pulling you into his arms and cradling you against his chest. “You did real good.”

“Did good.” You repeat, giving him an exhausted smile.

“Yeah.” He kisses your forehead moving away from the crew as they get to work cleaning and breaking down the session.

Kid took you to his private bath, cleaning you up carefully and checking in on you as you slowly came back to your senses. He reassured you that you weren’t just a piece of meat, and that he loved you in so many different ways.

Aftercare was the only time he used that word, and it was the only time you said it back.

[thatsdemko]

match point - c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: n

parings: Charles leclerc x gasly!fem!reader

warnings: nsfw + not intended for minors + mentions of nudity + mentions of oral (f receiving)

a/n: it needed to be done.. feedback is always appreciated xx

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

“you don’t even like tennis.”

he’s right, you don’t. but there’s something about the Monegasque man that you’ve been seeing, walk out his bedroom in a cream colored suit and matching drawstring pants, with a white button up that just makes you want to scream.

so yes, you’re fighting your disliking for the sport of tennis by wearing a loose midi sundress that hugs your curves and chest in the right places, it’s payback in some way. because when you walked out your room he nearly fell out of his chair, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“excuse me,” he makes an excuse to touch your leg, his finger tips brushing your bare skin as he pretends to adjust the knots of his tennis shoes. you roll your eyes under your sunglasses turning back to the match.

he’s situated between your brother, Pierre, and you with kika on the other end. the four of you watch the game, but there’s two of you that aren’t that interested in the rally back and forth. his hand keeps making dangerous placements on your leg, you’re sure your brother will catch one of them soon enough, but right now he’s engulfed in explaining the match to his girlfriend.

“did you have to do this to me?” he leans closer to your seat, he can see that you’re fighting to look away, but your eyes keep darting back between him and the match in front of you.

“I could say the same to you.” you whisper resting your hand on arm of the seat, his fingers give yours a squeeze, the metal that dresses his fingers are burning against your palms. you’d rather have that hand somewhere much more dangerous.

he scoffs moving his mouth closer to your ear so it’s just you that hears him, now that your brother is back to paying attention, “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

before you can get a word in he’s turning to Pierre, he wants to switch seats, says there’s a glare from the sun that’s reflecting off his suit and the two men switch leaving you to sit with your brother and kika to sit with Charles.

“what’s his problem?”

“I wish I knew.”

—

your seats have been upgraded, you’re now sitting next to kika right behind Charles. every so often he turns to tell your brother some gossip he knows about the tennis players, he knows how to reel you in, if you’re anything like Pierre, in which you are, you’ll tune in to any gossip.

“yeah I heard he some girl told him he just wasn’t big enough.”

“that’s disgusting, Charles.” you scoff shaking your head trying to turn back to the game, but you catch those green eyes staring at you. his sunglasses are tipped down the edge of his nose.

“cherie, I’m not talking to you.” he sasses before flipping back around instantly switching his language to Italian with joris. the two men laugh at whatever it was he said, you curse yourself for not taking the time to learn the language.

“does he hate you or what?” kika whispers, she’s seen the whole thing go down. the way he stared at you when you came out of your bedroom, the brief hand touching, etc. she’s seen it all go down and she knows something is up, but you won’t admit it here. not with Pierre around.

“I don’t even know what I did.” you say it loud enough for him to hear you. you know he wants to turn around, tell you what it is you’re doing to him and make you pay the punishment. it’s too bad this is too public of a place.

“must be a misunderstanding? I’m sure Pierre can get him to apologize.”

—

he does apologize, but it’s in private with a kiss. he says his behavior was uncalled for and he shouldn’t have snapped.

“I forgive you, but you don’t need to make me look like a fool in front of my brother and your family.” you lightly smack his arm, and he nods getting up off his bed where you lay still in your sundress.

“I think the sun burnt me good.” you say checking the tan lines of the spaghetti straps from your dress. you stand correct when you see the redness versus the pale thin lines.

“want me to take care of it?” he says with a playful smirk that only sends you laughing, butterflies warm his stomach watching your head tilt back. he could’ve sworn if you asked him years ago if he’d ever date you, it would be a hard no. now here you are all grown messing with his feelings in that sundress.

“I want you to take care of me,” you say motioning for him to move closer to the bed, he does so with no hesitation. you move your dress up your thigh revealing that all day you’ve sat with nothing on underneath, “such a shame you never got a taste.”

he’s sputtering to find words, his face flushes red in nervousness and slight embarrassment, he’s so kicking himself for his behavior to you publicly, “let me make it up to you?”

“well I don’t have all day.” you roll your eyes watching him climb onto the bed, his hands roll your sundress up your thighs exposing the bareness down there, he can’t believe all day long you were like this. what a fool he was.

he pushes your thighs open, the moisture glistening in the light, he wonders how long you’ve been like this. his index finger traces your folds gently, he watches your body twitch under his touch as you begin to relax against the mattress.

“I want you in me.” you demand, you don’t even care how or what he does, just something to take this edge off that you’ve been dealing with all day. he knows how to end this mess he’s started, so he allows his head to dip down in between your thighs his tongue laps your folds. the moisture that’s created down there tastes good against his lips, it’s sweet and earthy.

your finger tips find his long messy brown hair, you allow the groans and grunts to escape, there’s nobody in his house but the two of you.

his tongue nudges your entrance, it’s tight but he’s able to make room for himself, you nearly choke on his name feeling his tongue inside you.

he’s slow, each spot his tongue discovers he takes his time hearing his name grow louder out your lips. he loves it from you, the way your hands tug his hair and the incoherent stutters that come for you, he’s the best at knowing how to make you feel good.

“r-right there,” you whisper it’s not even close to your clit, but the spot feels so damn good you’re fighting with letting yourself come. he’s got a punishment for you, and if you know him well, you know you’ll have to hold off. he hasn’t even gotten to the good part.

he hums against you, you’re sputtering once more, he feels your legs shaking the bed, you’re trying to fight your intuition. your body is on the verge of coming, and when that tip of his tongue, barely, hits your clit it all comes pouring out.

he pulls away, getting a look at you. your chest visibly rising and falling, sweat glimmering across your forehead, and hair all over the mattress, “you’re such a good girl for me.” he moves up your body, lips beginning to trail up your chest all the way to your lips.

“you always know how to take care of me.” you say, he rolls off the bed and you watch the suit jacket fly off, he tosses it in the hamper and you watch him unbutton his top, you lick your lips feeling that same warmth come back. it seems to never go away with him.

“on your knees, gasly, we aren’t finished just yet.” you do as he demands, he complied to your wishes, it’s time for you to do the same.

his pants and boxers are casted off to the side, his finger tips push your chin upwards to face him, “did you know this is my favorite view of you?”

you just roll your eyes ever so badly wanting to flip him off, but you just take his tip in your mouth and begin to swirl your tongue around, doing everything he likes.

it’s his turn to be a mess. his legs shake, finger tips knot your perfectly done hair, your name rolls off his tongue while he begs for more. it’s so easy to get him like this.

“y-y/n,” his breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling this is the best he’s ever had, and if he could write home about it and scream about it at the top of his lungs he would.

it’s not much longer that you keep swirling your tongue until your mouth is met with his earthy cum. when you finally pull away you catch a glimpse of yourself in his mirror, your hair looks like a rats nest.

he helps you up from your knees, pressing sweet kisses to your knuckles,“come on, amour let’s shower. we still have dinner with your brother to make.”

“then dessert?” you ask bitting your bottom lip brushing some of the hairs that stuck to his sweaty forehead. he nods pressing a kiss to your lips.

“then dessert.”

[01zfan]

pretty girl discount | o. st

plug!shotaro x fem. reader | 4.9k words

please save me cocky drug dealer shotaro cocky drug dealer shotaro save me…loosely based on why’d you only call me when youre high by artic monkeys and overtime by schoolboy q.

contains: drug mention, pining shotaro, mentioning your ex, booty call under the guise of a drug deal, oral (m. receiving), doggy style, pull and pray method is used (dont be like them)

it was three in the morning when you woke up to your phone buzzing. your phone should’ve been on do not disturb, but something in the back of your head told you to deactivate it. you had posted yourself on your instagram story, something you wanted two people in your life to see. 

one of them was your ex boyfriend. it was recent, the wound was still fresh on your skin. it was your first serious relationship, the first time you went through the ups and downs of loving someone. it was for the better, you being alone. you found yourself getting easily annoyed with him and the spark you hear all the old married couple’s talk about was gone. you actually could’ve argued the spark was never there. he was boring and too shy for his own good, not sure of himself. it was cute at first, but you grew tired of seeking validation. you thought that if you waited long enough, he’d boldly talk to you the way you needed. you wasted half a year waiting for your ex to step up. you actually didn’t reach out to him for a long time after the breakup, but it was one of those days where you wanted nothing more than to lay next to him. you figured if you posted on the page you knew he was stalking you might get him to reach out to you. 

you convinced yourself you were only posting for your ex. solely to get attention from him, so you could fall asleep next to him. but in the back of your mind you were thinking about someone else. when you reached to your beside table to check all your notifications you found out that someone else was thinking about you too.

baby, i got a discount for you.

missed call

i miss your pretty face.

(2) missed call(s)

just say pull up and i will.

you couldn’t help but smile at your phone. it was almost crazy how easy it was to get shotaro’s attention. all you had to do was post yourself and he was groveling at your feet. you looked through your phone at the several emoji reactions and messages you received from him. 

any rational person would think that shotaro was crazy for bugging you. you have to admit in any other situation with any other person you definitely would’ve considered shotaro to be annoying, or blocked him a long time ago. but he was cute and gave you free weed. it didn’t hurt that he was a good flirter, always making you giggly with his kind words. you ex actually had a problem with shotaro, how he approached you. it got so bad that he would insist on getting you all of your weed. but now your man wasn’t you man anymore and shotaro seemed to be very available.

while you looked at the notifications on your phone, your screen was taken up from shotaro calling you once again. you sat up in your bed, and subconsciously fixed your appearance as if he was standing there before you. you cleared your throat and accepted the call.

“hey taro.” you said.

hey baby.

you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at his words. you liked how unashamed he was in his flirting, how it was present in not only his words but his tone as well. too many men were the doting type, hoping to woo girls by being a gentleman. but you liked the approach shotaro took with you. bold and not bashful, calling you gorgeous and other pet names even though you barely gave him time of day. the only time you reached out to him was to get a discount on weed.

“hey taro.” you said again.

you could hear him laugh on the other end of the line. he always had you shy and giggling, repeating your words like a nervous schoolgirl. 

what are you doing right now?

“i was sleeping, actually.”

right now, though?

you sighed.

“i’m not doing anything right now, shotaro.” 

you hear silence on the other end of the line. you bite your lip, suddenly hoping he’ll offer to come over.

okay well i got some new shit for you. can i come by?

you looked at the state of yourself and how you probably looked like you just woke up. seeing someone who is as flirtatious as shotaro this late at night is a bad idea. but the idea of being the first person to try his new shit sounds enticing. so you let out another sigh into the phone, trying to make it seem like you’re contemplating on saying no.

“you know where i live.” you say simply.

i’ll text you when i’m outside.

you can’t get a word out before he hangs up. you made your bed in a rush. you went into the motions of tidying yourself up, trying to find the perfect balance of intentional and unintentional. once you’re done, you move from your bed to your couch to wait for him. 

when it came to dealing with plugs, you never knew when they’d show up. so you’re sitting on the couch trying to contain your excitement. the best part was when you waited for him to come over, knowing that he was probably breaking all types of traffic laws to get to you faster. the anticipation of the night made butterflies form in your stomach. they ricochet off the walls and bumped into eachother, making you itch with adrenaline. you had to let your leg bounce to get rid of the restlessness you were feeling.

you are left waiting for only five minutes when you get the text.

outside pretty.

you are embarrassed to admit you got up from your couch as fast as you did. you walked to the door and opened it for shotaro.

he gave you that flirtatious smile that made you uncharacteristically shy. he had his backpack slung over one shoulder, with a beanie that was pulled all the way down to his eyebrows. his plaid shirt and gray sweatpants made you think that he just threw on whatever to get here as soon as possible. it thrilled you, the thought of shotaro tripping over himself just to come and serve you. he looked you up and down before tilting his head to the side.

“can i come in?” he said.

you opened your door and he walked past you, smelling like something musky. you trailed behind him as he walked through your house like he owned the place. 

shotaro placed his backpack next to the couch before sitting on it. he instantly sank into the couch getting comfortable while you stood in front of him. he manspread while looking you up and down again. you were in normal clothes, still looking half asleep but shotaro looked at you like you were the embodiment of sex. your tv was the only light source in the room, catching the side of shotaro’s face. his body casted a shadow of the wall next to the couch, and you saw yourself on the wall before he reached a hand towards you. you looked back at him, staring at the smirk that played on his lips.

you thought he was going to eat you alive when he beckoned to you.

“come here, pretty.” shotaro said, spreading out his legs a little bit more.

you obliged, sitting on the couch positioning your body to you were completely facing him. shotaro took off his beanie and ran his hand through his hair. he let his head rest back on the couch and turned his neck to look at you. you saw his adam’s apple, how it bobbed with each word he spoke. the light from the television perfectly lit up his face and neck. you were paying so much attention to every part of him, maybe you wanted to eat him alive, too. shotaro’s smirk turned into a different expression, one that was more serious.

“i missed you,” shotaro said. he touched your hand that rested in your lap. “you got another plug or something?”

shotaro knew you would never stop coming to him, but he did have competition. there were other drug dealers in your town, many that would be more than happy to give you a discount on their stuff. shotaro told himself that he gave you your weed for free purely from a business standpoint. he was all about customer service and customer loyalty. the money he lost from giving you weed for free he would just make up for it by overcharging stupid high school kids.

shotaro knew that you would never go to anyone else, but he still felt his chest swell with pride seeing how fast you shook your head.

“no. nobody else. i was just taking a tolerance break. i’m also going through s break up right now.” you said.

shotaro thought it was so cute seeing you run off at the mouth. you didn’t have to mention the tolerance break, or your stupid scrub boyfriend shotaro hated. you were rambling just because of the way shotaro was looking at you. he watched you pull your hand away to bring your arm up to the back of the couch. you let your head rest on your fist as you looked at him. 

your attempt to look relaxed was shattered when shotaro put a hand on your bare leg. 

“your man isn’t around anymore?” shotaro asked innocently. 

his smile was inviting and so was his hand. you shook your head.

“i broke up with him.” you said sheepishly.

“aw.” shotaro fake pouted. “wanna tell me why?”

“he was too shy.” you said.

suddenly couldn’t think of the reasons you broke up with your ex. all you could think about was shotaro’s hand on your knee and how the light from the tv made his eyes look so pretty. his fake pout turned into a smile as you shuffled slightly on the couch to get closer to him.

he slowly rubbed your knee and you cursed yourself for freezing underneath his touch. he looked at you teasingly, getting your heart rate to speed up.

“he should’ve been the most smug bastard on earth with you as his girlfriend.” shotaro said honestly. 

you look down at his hand on your knee to smile. you can hear shotaro laughing lowly as he returns to let his head rest on the back of the couch.

his hand still rests on your thigh. he’s so close to the line where your two thighs touch. you imagine shotaro squeezing his hand in between your two thighs. if he could show you how bold he can be. you forgotten what it felt like to be so close to someone who you knew without a doubt wanted you. 

shotaro rests his head on his other hand, copying your movement.

“your instagram story was cute, by the way.” shotaro says.

you look up from his hand to look at his chill expression from the couch. 

“thank you.” you say. his hand is so warm.

“who was it for?” shotaro asks.  

this catches you off guard. for the first time you see shotaro trying to feign emotions, pretending to not be bothered by the thought of you entertaining your ex. you gain some of you composure back, leaning into your fist with a smile.

“i didn’t have you pegged for the jealous type, shotaro.” you say it with a smirk, one shotaro gives back to you.

“just wanna know who you were missing more.” shotaro says. 

“i missed you.” you said quietly. 

“oh yeah?” shotaro said.

his hand that was touching your knee moved up to your mid thigh. you scooted closer to him so it was easier to let his hands roam your skin. something about how he touched you made you lightheaded. shotaro laughed dryly at your reaction to him. you were so reactive to everything he did. he already considered himself to be a cocky person, but the way he always had you by barely doing anything made his ego grow tenfold.

“yeah.” you sighed contently.

shotaro’s touch on your legs get a little heavier. they sneak up a little higher too. shotaro leans in closer to you, moving his hand to grab yours. shotaro looks at the way your thighs touch and rub together as he talks to you.

“how much did you miss me?” he asks. 

his voice gets lower, words dripping with honey as he wedges his hand between your thighs. you jump at the feeling of his knuckles crammed between your legs. you can feel his knuckles indent your pillowy skin. you’re so distracted you almost forget his question.

“alot.” you whisper.

shotaro hums in acknowledgment as he moves his fingers closer to you. shotaro’s finger finds your clothed heat. your squished thighs made it hard for him to move his hand, but he’s nothing if not determined. you are already feeling the effects of your arousal between your legs, and so can shotaro. he tsks at you when he withdraws his hands from in between your legs.

“oh i can tell.” he says knowingly.

you try to be nonchalant about the situation, looking down at shotaro’s lap. he’s all spread out for you looking as enticing as ever. you put a hand on his knee and shotaro follows your hand and up your arm, until he’s looking at your face.

“you getting bold, baby?“ shotaro said. 

he moved his leg slightly, letting your hand creep further up. you applied some pressure behind your hand. his thigh was solid underneath your touch. you looked to shotaro to gauge his reaction. his look egged you on, his head motioning for you to come closer. you listened, scooting so close your legs were touching now. shotaro used his hand to play with the thin strap of your shirt on your shoulder. he experimentally brought it to the end of your shoulder, resting on the rounded edge. one simple move would have the strap falling down your shoulder, revealing your chest. you thought about being exposed in front of shotaro, him being able to see the body he probably thought so much about.

“can you show me how much you missed me?” shotaro asks.

shotaro looks at you and you feel your lips gravitate towards his. they look glossy in the blue light from the tv, you wonder what they taste like. you missed him and his flirtatious comments, how confident he always makes you feel.

you nod your head and shotaro keep eye contact with you as he moves his hand back to between your thighs. you mirror hid movements, until you can feel his hardened length underneath the cotton fabric of his sweats. you squeeze his dick and his hand dips underneath your elastic waistband. 

you both gasp at the contact. feeling shotaro’s finger tease your clit makes you more eager to please him. you close your hand around his shaft repeatedly, reveling in the sounds he makes and feeling him twitch against your palm.

“i’ve needed you for so long.” shotaro says. “i thought you’d never breakup with that fucking loser.”

his normally even voice is whiny and desperate as he bucks his hips up into your hand. this entices you, giving you the gumption to put your hand in his sweatpants. he’s wearing no boxers, and when you take him in your hand you can feel precum that dribbled down from his shaft. you use your index finger to massage his tip and shotaro uses his hand that’s not touching your slit to bring you forward.

shotaro guides you forward, until you have one hand on his dick and the other clutching the armrest of your couch. your knees are still on the couch as shotaro brings his hand to your chin, guiding you in for a kiss. you follow his lead, and you move your hand from the armrest to his shoulder. you fist the fabric of his flannel and start stroking shotaro slowly to show him how much you really missed him. he shows you by bending his fingers inside of you after adding another one. your sloppy kisses are interrupted by moans and expletives. shotaro is the one that pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours. he pulls his fingers out of you to thumb the elastic on your waistband. you can feel his wet fingers make contact with your skin as he looks at you.

“can i see you take these off?” shotaro asks.

“can you take off yours too?” you ask, quieter than shotaro. 

he nods his head and he lifts his hips off the couch to unclothe himself. you look away on instinct, focusing on getting your own garment off. part of you didn’t want to look away, you wanted to see it all. you wanted to see shotaro free himself from the confines of his sweatpants and see his dick react to the air of your apartment. the thought of seeing shotaro get undressed seemed a little too intimate, so you instead just focused on the sound of his dick hitting his stomach with a small slap. your pants and camisole was off quickly. 

you found out that shotaro didn’t think it was too intimate at all to watch you get undressed. he focused on your boobs the most. you saw shotaro’s hand hesistate before reaching towards you.

“can i touch you, baby?”

you nod and shotaro’s hand goes to tweak your nipple. when you gasp shotaro looks at you and pinches a little harder. you keep eye contact as he keeps the pressure. the pain is almost unbearable, but shotaro releases the sensitive skin. as if he’s trying to apologize shotaro then takes your boob into his hand, massaging the skin. 

you go back to your previous position on the couch, leaning over him. he brings you in for a kiss and he tastes like mint and fruity candy. his spit mixes with yours and his tongue is almost as soft as his lips. he’s gentle but assertive with you, letting his tongue explore your mouth. 

when you grab shotaro’s dick, he almost bit your tongue off in surprise. he hisses into the kiss when you grip him a little tighter and pick up the speed. shotaro almost yells out loud when he sees you drop your head to his lap. 

“you don’t have to.” shotaro says.

you look up from his lap to give him a smug smile. shotaro’s chill plug facade almost breaks when you take his hard dick into your mouth.

“holy shit,” shotaro whines. “you’re so pretty. so sexy.” 

you want to tell him the same thing. you want to tell him about all the times you caught yourself staring at him, how many times you’ve thought about his pretty smile. you wanted to tell him about his pretty lips and pretty voice and the pretty sounds he making for you. even his dick is pretty, the perfect size for you to take all of him. shotaro bucks his hips and moans, praising you the whole time.

“i’ve thought about you everyday.” he sighs.

you position your mouth differently. the change causes shotaro’s tip to touch fuck your cheek instead of your mouth while you get used to him. you expected the position change to only last a second, but shotaro looked at your cheek. he used his hands to change your fast pace to a slow one. you could practically feel shotaro’s eyes burn a hole in your cheek when the skin of your cheek was being pulled taut by his dick. shotaro ran a quick hand over the protruding piece of your cheek. with a groan, shotaro leans his head back to rest against the couch. you look up to shotaro, watching his adam’s apple bob when you go back to taking him down your throat.

“fuck. even your mouth is pretty.” he says. 

you start letting out your own sounds when you feel shotaro’s hand grip your ass. he plays with it, kneading your supple skin. his hand travels to your slit, and he sticks a finger inside. you moan still with his sick in your mouth and he bucks his hips again. 

with the parts you can’t reach you use your hand. shotaro clears your hair out of your face but doesn’t guide your head anymore. he thinks watching you do your own thing is way better. watching you might become one of his favorite things. he lazily fingers you, he just needs to feel you around him. your sopping wet but the angle makes it hard for shotaro to pleasure you. when shotaro makes eye contact with you he has to pull himself out of your mouth before he finishes down your throat. 

“i’m gonna cum if you keep looking at me like that.” shotaro says.

you want to tell him it’s okay if he cums in your mouth but you’re too shy to request such a lewd thing. shotaro must see the thought cross your mind as he pushes his hair back with his hand.

“i don’t do stuff like that unless you ask for it.” shotaro says. 

when shotaro pulls his fingers out of your pussy he uses the same hand to bring your body that’s still laying across his legs back to the doggy position. he takes his hands from you mouth and he kisses you roughly. his lips are still soft, and you are out of your mind as you take his lips into your mouth and suck on them. you can still smell yourself on his fingers, wet as they hold your face. you pull away from him. a string of spit connecting your lips is broken as you speak.

“can you fuck me?” you say. 

your eyes are wide and blown out, mirroring shotaro’s as he nods his head.

“how do you want it?” he asks.

“put your ass in the air for me baby.” shotaro says as he gets up from the couch. 

you listen to his request, putting your face on the couch where shotaro was sitting to put your ass even higher in the air. 

you can feel the couch dip underneath his weight. shotaro uses gentle hands to perfect your form. a hand pushes down on your lower back to help with the arch, another hand spreading your thighs so he can slot between them. he uses his dig to slap your ass, teasing your slit with the tip. you both are holding your breaths, trying to grasp what’s about to happen. shotaro leans forward, so close until his abdomen is pressed against your back. you moan when you can feel his tip between your folds, collecting slick.

“ready?” shotaro asks.

you respond by pushing your hips back, shotaro goes upright to hold your hips in place. he starts off slow as he tried to comprehend how lucky he really is.

“i wish i could see your face, honey.” shotaro says after he bottoms out.

you moan as he puts his leg up, hitting something inside of you that you didn’t know existed.

“you gonna let me fuck you again so i can see that pretty face right?” shotaro asks. 

he picks up speed and a sound you didnt know you could make comes from the back of your throat. you forgot he asked you a question until he thrusts deep, you have to grip the armrest of the couch to stabilize yourself.

“right?” he asks again.

“yes.” you moan.

shotaro resumes his fast pace. he places a light smack to your ass, living for the recoil. 

“you feel so good.” shotaro says.

you have a vice grip on the couch and use your hold it to stabilize yourself. you use all your strength to push your hips back to meet shotaro’s he stills his movements and you look back to see shataro rests his hand on his hips and he watches you fuck yourself on him. he sees you looking back and smiles at you.

“just like that. must’ve really wanted this huh?”

you nod your head and continue to push your hips back, entranced on hitting that spot inside of you. shotaro puts his hands back on your ass as you start picking up the pace.

“giving me a show and everything baby.” shotaro says. 

his voice is getting a little whinier and his sentences are becoming rushed. shotaro knows your close by the way you clamp around him. he uses a hand to rub your clit and you completely stop, pleasure taking over everything. shotaro resumes the pace he had before, so hard and fast the sound of slapping skin overpowers the show playing on the television and overtakes your mind. you reach back and shotaro grabs it, pinning your hand to your back. he still rubs revolutions onto your clit as you completely come undone, yelling out his name. 

“love this ass,” shotaro says. “can i cum on it?”

“yes.” you yell.

shotaro pulls out and guides your hand that he holds to his dick. you get the hint quickly and stroke him as fast as he massages your clit, matching his pace. 

you and shotaro are both moaning as your orgasms are prolonged. shotaro shoots ropes over your ass and back, fucking himself in your hand. you can feel your own wetness as it coats shotaro’s hands. he puts in one finger and you leave your arch to sink lower and lower into the couch. you are on the edge of overstimulation when shotaro pulls his fingers out of you.

you are face down on the couch, breathing hard trying to catch your breath. you imagine shotaro is doing the same, leaning on the armrest as his chest heaves. 

you’re caught up in the comedown that you didn’t notice shotaro go into your kitchen. he wipes off your back and ass with some paper towels. he helps you sit up and he smiles at your dazed expression.

“everything alright?” he asks with a smile on his face. 

shotaro helps you put on your own clothes before he looks for his own. after you’re both dressed he sits on the couch and guides you to lay your head on his lap. he plays with your hands in complete silence. the atmosphere you two have created isn’t awkward, you just wish one of you would say something.

shotaro reaches for his backpack, upper half of his body leaning forward to grab it. his upper body comes so close to you that your nose almost touches his chest. you smell the same musky scent from when he first came into your apartment. you take it in, feeling like something has been ripped away from you when shotaro comes back up. a new smell fills your nose, but it’s familiar nonetheless.

“this is that new shit i was talking about. it’s a hybrid of that one strain you like.” shotaro says. 

he puts the baggie in your hands. it’s easily half an ounce, maybe even more than that.

“thanks shotaro. it’ll take me forever to get through all of this.”

“i hope you like it.” shotaro says.

you look up at him as he watches the television. it’s weird seeing him in this light. he seems softer, more shy than the man you were dealing with a few minutes ago. this shotaro hesitates to touch you, hands hovering over your hair that he wants to feel between his fingers. this shotaro plays with your hands and compares the sizes, humming contently when you thread your fingers in his. this shotaro also ignores his phone as it sits on the coffee table blowing up with notifications.

“i think someone is trying to talk to you taro.” you say.

“probably just someone seeing if i’m awake. don’t worry about it.” shotaro says. he’s unbothered as he plays with your hair and watching whatever show is playing on the television. you begin to nervously play with shotaro’s hand, moving it back and forth in a repeated motion to feel some comfort.

“i won’t be mad if you leave.”  you say quietly.

shotaro stops playing with your hair for a split second. you swear you can feel him stiffen underneath you, and the air in the room changes. shotaro only pauses for a second before he continues to play with your hair.

“you can just come back once you’re done, right?” you ask. 

you look up to see shotaro already looking down at you, smiling.

“really?” shotaro asks.

you nod your head and he squeezes your hand before bending down and kissing your forehead. it’s quick, but it’s a delicate kiss, soft like you are made of glass. when he pulls away you hand him his phone off the coffee table, trying to see who is messaging him.

“one of my regulars wants me to run some stuff to him. he only lives fifteen minutes away.” shotaro says.

you get up from the couch to find shotaro’s clothes that were randomly thrown around your living room. he thanks you for each article of clothing you find, and he is slow putting on his clothes, like he is trying to stall.

shotaro is slow all the way to your door. when you tell him to be back soon and drive safe he moves with a pep in his step.

he’s back to your door in thirty minutes, and you guys end the night cuddling in your bed.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 64

part 1 | part 63 | tumblr masterlist | ao3

cw: angst, big gooey feelings

—

When Steve gets back to the boathouse, Eddie’s shaking like a leaf; has to touch Steve like a blind man, pat his hands all over his face and down his arms and across his chest. “Know I’ve— got no right to a-ask this of you,” he says through chattering teeth, “but… would you—?”

…Goddammit.

“Get over here,” Steve says. He draws Eddie into him; squeezes as hard as he can, one arm around Eddie’s waist, the other cupping the back of his neck — skin to skin beneath a mess of matted hair.

He says nothing.

There are things he could say; probably should say right now — things like ‘you tried to kill me’ or ‘I almost let you,’ or ‘you just left without saying anything, Eddie, how could you do that?’ — but it feels like treating a wasp sting when someone else needs a tourniquet.

Eventually, the shivering stops.

Eddie pulls back with a bashful expression. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They move to sit down on the floor — side by side, shoulders touching, toes over the edge of the hole in the floorboards. The water moves like ink beneath them, and Eddie looks so beautiful it makes Steve want to die. His hands twitch at his sides, the small, lovesick part of him begging to know why they stopped touching; wants so desperately to press his fingers to the dark circles under Eddie’s eyes. To sink them into his hair and never let go again.

Even though Eddie doesn’t want that.

Even though he left.

Pain zips behind Steve’s eyelids like lightning, leaves the taste of copper on the back of his scorched tongue. He reaches up and pulls his hair — sharp at the root; needs the distraction. Can’t let himself think about his stupid heart right now.

Whatever, or whoever, this Vecna thing is, Steve knows it feeds on grief. Feasts on it; scents sadness in the water like a shark chasing blood. He can’t just swim into the ocean and cut himself for sport. Not unless he wants to end up like Chrissy.

Eddie opens his mouth and offers Steve another knife. “You can say it, you know.”

His tone is gentle; probing — eyes earnest, chin tucked.

“Say what?”

“Ohh, y’know.” Eddie puts his chin in his hand; clucks his tongue. “Whatever’s got you all, uh…” He furrows his brow and pokes his tongue into his cheek, licking back and forth over the smooth skin inside. “I can take it.”

Steve schools his expression. “What if I don’t want to say anything to you?” It’s quiet. Level. Less heat than he intended.

Eddie’s hand comes up to his heart. Chin dipping lower, psychic damage sincerity in his ridiculous Bambi eyes, he locks Steve into his gaze.

Holds him there.

Holds him; nearly makes him squirm.

“Then I’d say I deserve that, too.”

The faintest flicker of a smile; a spark of flint in a pitch black room.

Steve can’t help but catch the flame.

His lips land on Eddie’s with all the delicacy he can manage, hummingbird wings beating away inside his chest. The kiss is soft. Almost timid. Fucking perfect when Eddie starts kissing him back; just feels right; memory slotting into place after weeks of amnesia. Fervent noises, pressing harder, every movement like an oath, Steve pours himself into Eddie — gets his hands back under his hair, tangles his fingers behind his neck and nestles his thumbs in the hollows behind Eddie’s ears. Lets himself come home.

Eddie pulls back enough to whisper, “Jesus Christ, I missed you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

They both feel it — the bubble bursting. The prolonged whine of a balloon deflating to the floor.

Steve slips from the embrace, hugging his arms around his legs, listening to their harsh breaths in the stale hush that follows.

Eddie mirrors his pose. Taps his fist against the top of his other hand, rings clacking. “Shit, Steve,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so fucking sorry. For all of it. For everything.”

“It’s fine,” Steve lies.

It isn’t.

Nothing ever is, these days.

—

part 65

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[faeriekit]

Out on a Limb

phic phight prompt is from @bibliophilea

warnings for: lighthearted body horror, limb loss, limb...uh...movin' around

*~💚💚💚~*

When Danny said he could lend a hand, he didn't quite mean like this.

“UH,” said Tucker.

“UH,” said Danny.

Both of them watched his disembodied hand flop around on the shop class floor. It was kind of like watching a dead fish die, but…worse. Since. You know. It was Danny’s hand.

“I’m telling Mr. Richards,” Tucker declared, voice high and loud—and it took two tries to cover Tucker’s mouth his hand, because Danny had automatically reached out with his right but that was on the floor, and—look! It was fine! It was fine and no one needed to know!

“Tucker you can’t tell anyone,” Danny hissed, immediately, unable to draw Tucker closer to threaten him and silence him simultaneously so Danny might have been a little more under stress than usual. “Tucker, my hand’s not bleeding. Just…just put it back on!”

“What do you mean, put it back on?!” Tucker hissed, looking like he was about to cry. Danny felt so bad but also that was his hand! “Danny, what do you mean?!”

“It’ll work!” Danny lied as quietly as he could, casting wary glances around the shop. So far no one was looking at them, even though their table saw had gone quiet. Everyone else was carefully cutting wooden planks, as oblivious as they could be in their giant orange earmuffs. And, so maybe Danny wasn’t sure if this would work! But! They had to try! “Just stick it on!”

“You want me to touch your decapitated hand?!”

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” a voice asked from behind their assigned shop station.

Tucker and Danny froze.

Mr. Richards, an old man who taught shop class and wore exclusively plaid flannel, raised a grey eyebrow.

“…No,” Danny and Tucker lied simultaneously, if perhaps a little offbeat from each other. Danny quickly hid his remarkably raw stump behind his back.

The other eyebrow rose. “In that case, shall we get back to the task at hand? Those planks won’t size themselves, you know.”

Danny and Tucker mumbled something suitably contrite. Tucker wasn’t able to tear his too-wide eyes away from the flopping, writhing, finger-curling hand on the dirty shop floor—

And Danny ‘casually’ dropped a flat shop pencil onto the floor, giving Tucker the excuse to go get the thing. Tucker ducked down without a word.

Mr. Richards crossed his arms. Clicked his tongue. “I thought you of all kids would know to be careful in a workroom, Fenton. It’ll pay to be more careful; you never know if a machine will take something off while you’re not paying attention.”

“Yessir,” Danny squeaked, and shoved down the terrified laughter clawing away at his insides. It was only hysteria.

Something cold and wet slapped itself onto Danny’s stump. Danny flinched.

“Do you have your planks ready?”

Danny swallowed. Tucker stood, looking only slightly more traumatized than he had been when the hand first decided to make its grand departure from the rest of Danny’s body. “…Uh huh.”

“Good. Load them up onto the table for me, then. Show me your guide lines.”

Danny lifted and laid the planks with a shaking hand. Mr. Richards’ expression indicated how little he thought of that.

“Both hands.”

…Danny lifted a hand onto the board.

Mr. Richards stared. Tucker chewed on his lip.

…Danny lifted a second, twitching hand onto the board—hey, his hand?? Was back on?? Thank God for Tucker Foley.

But his hand was definitely not okay; even with the machine on, Danny had to jerk his writhing hand away from the serrated blade more than once. It looked, uh, bad. His hand looked bad. Grey. Taut. Kind of like it was seizing, or, you know…dying of blood loss.

“Fenton…” His shop teacher stared. “...Go to the nurse’s office.”

Tucker grinned with all his teeth, and grabbed Danny’s good hand before Danny could say anything in one way or another. “Great! I’ll walk him. Come on, Danny—if you’re not feeling well, we should go!”

Any excuse was a good excuse. “Yeah, oops. Sorry.” Danny didn’t stop making excuses for himself just in case, even as Tucker veritably shoved him through the shop class door. “Didn’t even notice I was getting muscle spasms; I should probably go get medication for it—“

Neither of them stopped moving until the door was slammed shut behind them.

Danny stared down at his writhing, if…properly attached hand. He tried to stretch his fingers.

The only wriggled worse. It felt like trying to attack worms his hands…only. You know. His worms were the hands. Or. Uh. His hands were the worms.

…Danny needed some water and 600 mg. ibuprofen. Stat.

“I,” Tucker started. And then he stopped. “I am never trusting your intangibility ever again.”

Danny stared at his self-possessed, wriggling hand. “Yeah, probably,” he agreed faintly.

[sturnioloshacker]

turning tables - a vinnie hacker short

a/n: requested by @tcvazq; lowercase intended

cw: swearing, jealous vinnie, vinnie being a dickhead, angry sex, unprotected sex, slight handjob, pussy eating, dirty talk, creampie, fluffy aftercare. this an nfsw short, everything written is fictional. interact or don’t, i’m not your mother

summary: trying to fuck the attitude out of an angry vinnie fails to work when he decides it’s better to fuck you dumb

“what the fuck was that guy’s problem?!”

“vin, it’s not that big of a deal! he was just being nice!”

“he was flirting with you! did you not see him staring at your lips? he wanted to kiss you!” 

“okay, now you’re being stupid. he was a nice boy who just wanted to chat.”

“god, you’re so fucking thick-headed!”

“excuse me? i’m thick-headed? okay, that’s fine.”

i storm off, unable to take any more of his attitude. i slam the door to our bedroom and into the bathroom, where i feel the tears spill from my eyes and down my cheeks. the house is silent, dead silent. like you could hear a pin drop it was that quiet. i break that silence by turning the tap on to wash my face. as i dry my face with a towel, i feel a pair of hands harshly grab my waistband of my shorts to rip them off. 

“vinnie what the fuck?! no! you don’t deserve this! if anything, i should fuck your nasty attitude out of you!”

“oh yeah? prove it then,” vinnie spat.

i push him out of the bathroom and shove him onto the bed with everything that i have. i spit on his cock and jerk him off super fast. hearing slight groans from his lips, i speed up my actions, my wrist feeling like it’s on fire from the rapid pace of me jerking him off. i feel my movements getting tired and sloppy, my wrist burning from trying to prove him that i can fuck his attitude out of him.

“give up princess?” he says, all cocky and confident in himself

“no. shut up.”

fucking dickhead. i straddle his waist and align myself over his cock. i sink down onto his cock, letting myself go all the way down until i reach the base as his tip hits my cervix. i moan at the way his cock stretches me out and the way it feels so deep and so full inside me. i start bouncing up and down really fast, trying to fuck the attitude of his him but once again, i’m met with light groans. twat. i’m growing tired of this, i give up.

“tired princess? you give up now?”

i shoot him the middle finger before i’m flipped over and thrown onto my back, legs spread and pussy out in the open air. 

“how about i fuck you dumb, maybe my attitude will go away.”

vinnie dips his head down and starts devouring me like an animal. licking, biting and sucking my clit and folds, the pleasure is too much. it feels so good, i hate it. but i love it too damn much. asshole. cute asshole. i hate him. oh fuck i love him, he’s unreal. i feel myself cumming all over his face, i wasn’t even ready to announce it yet! he wipes his mouth clean and begins jerking himself off. what a cocky bastard! he shoves his cock inside me, giving me no time to adjust as he pounds me into oblivion. 

i can’t help but moan, whine and cry out at the intense pleasure of it all. the way his cock glides through my wetness, the way his veins hit all the right spots and the way his tip hits my cervix, god it feels fucking amazing. i’m so close, i can feel my walls clench around vinnie’s cock, ready to explode all over him. 

“vinnie, i’m gonna cum, oh fuck right there don’t st- ah!”

i cum around vinnie’s cock, my juices coating him all the down to the base and down to his balls. Vinnie cums not long after, his warm load spurting inside me as it paints my walls white. he pulls out and helps me clean myself up. he sits me down on the toilet so i can do my business before helping me wash my hands, put my pyjamas on and tucking me into bed. he plays with my hair before we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

the next morning, i wake up, my head pounding and legs shaking. i think back to last night’s events and now i understand why. i go to get up out of bed but crawl back in because i can’t move. it hurts to walk. vinnie walks back in from the bathroom, smile on his face. 

“morning, princess. how’d you sleep?”

“fine. you hurt me.”

“what do you mean?”

“i can’t walk, idiot!”

“oh. sorry.”

“i guess i should apologise. i didn’t mean to make you angry. the poor guy wanted to talk.”

“no, i should apologise. i just got jealous seeing you talk to a guy that’s not me. sometimes i get scared that you’ll leave me for someone else.”

“vincent, no! i would never do that. don’t be silly! you’re mine and i’m yours.”

“good, cause now i want cuddles.”

“come here, you big goof!” i giggle, stretching my arms out for the boy in front of me.

we spend the rest of the morning cuddling, kissing and making up after last night. I think we both learnt our lessons. vinnie’s lesson being that he doesn’t have to be so jealous anymore as my eyes are on him and him only, and my lesson being don’t try and fuck the attitude out of my boyfriend as i’ll just get fucked dumb to the point where i can’t move a muscle downstairs. 

[blainesebastian]

safe

words: 7,823 ship: austin butler x female reader rating: R (for violence) summary: obviously inspo is coming from seeing bikeriders and this image and my extensive knowledge of sons of anarchy. you don't have to watch that show to read this, but it takes place in that sort of universe, with inspo from the show *u* just wanted biker austin x you notes: feel free to visit my austin masterlist warnings: none, but check the rating.

Every time Austin thinks he knows exactly who you are, you throw him through a wash cycle on steroids. You came back to Charming, a place you said you’d never step foot in again, for what? It’s certainly not for fucking him, that’s for damn sure. As much as he loves you, still after all this time, Austin knows you have to be running away from something…because running towards what you want with full abandon has never been your strong suit.

And you’re certainly not returning to St. Thomas for the great fucking medical plan.

“I just needed a change of scenery.” You tell him in those mint green scrubs that always highlight the perfect swell of your ass.

Austin rolls his eyes but doesn’t tell you that he thinks you’re full of shit.

Chicago’s too fast paced, maybe you’ll try New York—there’s a beautiful, hopeful smile on your face—like you don’t know that the minute you stepped foot back in Charming that you’d never leave. You’ll get sucked back into the black hole of this place and you’ll never be able to find your way out. Will probably die here.

Whatever—it’s really not Austin’s problem anymore, is it? You are not his girlfriend, he’s not responsible for your happiness or your decisions. That ship sailed a long time ago when you left straight out of high school—went to a fancy college, got your medical degree, and began a new life.

Without him.

And yet Austin also understands the utter pull of you, consistently keeping him directly in your orbit, your wants and needs incredibly important because they always have been. Which is why Austin doesn’t believe you when you say that you didn’t come back for any sort of reason.

He doesn’t believe this ‘change of scenery’ nonsense.

You patch up a split knuckle, dig out glass—Austin doesn’t even flinch, just watches you the whole time like he doesn’t have blood on his face. You have no idea what he’s gotten into lately—and you don’t want to know.

“Think I’m gonna make it doc?” He asks, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

You hum lightly, “Barely.” And pour the antiseptic without warning him.

You hate that you came back here, back home—but Austin’s always been your safe place.

--

“I think you’re scared.” Austin says one evening while dropping you off at your dad’s house, empty now, a living and breathing reminder of all the shit you went through in high school.

You never wanted to live here, in your drunken father’s home, always more satisfied with the concept of burning the thing down. Yet here you are, taking off Austin’s motorcycle helmet and handing it back to him, looking for your keys to get inside. You’re living here, attempting to reorganize and rebuild the place to make it your own.

“I think you don’t know me as well as you used to.” You throw back and there’s a hint of teasing there, like you don’t want to turn this conversation into something serious.

Austin rubs one of his eyebrows, itching for a cigarette but now’s not the time, he’s not staying long. “I think…I’m the only person who does know you.” He’s not afraid to admit that. You’ve done this dance so many times that you practically own the rights to the choreography.

You’ve proven time and time again that you’ve got nails and teeth sunk into one another, so wrapped up that you can’t unravel it as hard as you try. No matter how much time or distance passes between you two. It’s so beyond anything that Austin can put into words—he doesn’t really believe in soulmates or fate but, if he did, he thinks him and you could put a definition to that.

That’s why Austin knows that you’re never going to leave Charming, not really anyways.

You’ll be in love until it kills both of you, figuratively or quite literally.

“That’s the real reason you came back, isn’t it?”

You sigh softly—after a long day, your hair is a little unruly on the top of your head. You’re ready for a long hot shower and to get out of these scrubs. Austin only wishes he could assist with that. He lets his eyes travel over your form, purposely checking you out when you look at him. But you both know it’s more than just a sexual attraction here, that Austin defaults to that because it’s easier for him to work out in his head. While it’s very clear that there’s only one face he sees when he’s inside of someone, no one will ever know or understand him as you do.

That line of deeply knowing goes both ways.

“I told you why I came back here.”

Austin smiles a little and starts his bike. Fine, if you wants to play this game, he’s got nothing but time.

“Right,” He puts his helmet on, making sure it’s fastened. “I just don’t believe you.”

And he backs the bike out of the driveway and goes home.

--

Austin doesn’t figure out what’s going on until you ask for a ride home in the middle of the day. It’s a little weird, to say the least, he’s in the midst of things with the club, his club leader riding his ass about certain decisions he needs to uphold as Vice President. But literally, he couldn’t be bothered less, not having one iota of a regret driving his bike to the hospital to pick up you instead.

You seem a bit frazzled when you climb on the back of Austin’s bike, your arms squeezing around his waist just a little too tightly. Austin frowns, looking over his shoulder as he hands you the helmet to put on,

“You alright?” He asks.

You nod quickly, forcing a soft smile, “Yeah, just a long shift. M’tired.”

“You didn’t drive today?” Austin starts his bike—not that he’s complaining.

“Oh I did but the…it’s making a weird noise when I use the break.”

Austin raises his eyebrows, putting a pair of sunglasses on. “You know I work at a garage, right?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound fluttering Austin’s stomach even after all this time. “Just take me home.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He does a fake salute before pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

--

Austin’s got this wicked sense of observation mixed with paranoia—and he’s convinced this is why it makes him a decent V.P., being able to notice when things are off, when things appear altered than how they should. Sometimes catching tiny mistakes and misnomers are the difference between a good deal going sour, life and death.

So he instantly picks up on the fact that there’s a car following you both, all the way from the hospital to your house. Even though the vehicle doesn’t stop, it passes and parks a little further down, but it’s there, nonetheless.

You get off the bike, handing the helmet back to him, a soft coy smile on your face that makes Austin want to kiss you. Your hair is wild, cheeks a bit pink from the wind blowing, beautiful and stunning all at once.

“Thanks.” You say, adjusting your satchel from sitting on your back to your hip, “Think I’m finally getting used to this thing again.”

Austin hums a bit, parking it before he slips off the bike. He runs his hands through his hair, removing his riding gloves and pocketing them, before adjusting the leather cut that sits easily on his shoulders.

Easy and yet heavy sometimes, all at once.

“Yeah I never understood why you hated ridin’ it, I’m an excellent driver.” Which, alright, he’s a decent driver—he goes through turns too fast but he tries not to if you’re on with him.

You’re distracted though, not picking up the bait, glancing around your driveway as if you’re…looking for something, or someone. Austin licks his lips, putting the helmet on the back of the seat.

“Hey, this uneasiness that I’m sensin’ right now—have anythin’ to do with that car that followed us from the hospital?” He motions with his chin to the car he’s referring to idling down a few houses.

Your entire body suddenly goes rigid, eyes widening over Austin’s words. You follow Austin’s direction down the street and you look sick when your eyes land on the car. There’s this instinctual step back, like you’re afraid, and Austin moves closer to touch your arm.

He steadies you, squeezing gently, thumb running along the inside of your wrist, “Hey, what’s going on? Who is that?”

You sigh, running a shaking hand over your face. You swallow and finally bring your eyes to meet Austin’s, “His name is Rick—when I was in Chicago, I—I met him at a conference and we went out a few times. When I tried to end it, it got violent and he started stalking me,” You shake your head, embarrassment clear on your choked voice even though you have nothing to be ashamed for. “I tried getting a restraining order but you can see how well that worked out.”

Austin feels himself go cold, which is never a good sign. That’s how his rage works, like a slow ticking clock, never heated, never like an explosion of emotion. It sits on him calmly, like a wave lapping the shore of a beach. He straightens his shoulders, shaking his head as he goes to turn and address this fucking asshole who can’t take no for an answer.

“Austin, no,” You reach for him, managing to tug his arm to stop him from walking, “Rick’s—he’s an ATF agent and dangerous.”

Austin almost scoffs because so am I, but he knows what you mean. You know exactly what kind of business his club does and getting involved with an ATF agent will only bring trouble down upon everyone.

But Austin’s so fucking angry that he doesn’t care, he’s always felt like he’s had the uncanny ability to think in steps ahead, consider his future, but if you’re here? You’re a part of that future now. And he’s not going to let this Rick guy think he can just follow you here all the way from Chicago and threaten you.

“Go inside, Y/N.” Austin motions to the house, not looking back as he walks towards the car in question.

Rick, who has fucking binoculars, drops them quickly when he realizes Austin is approaching the car and not stopping. He also seems to get the point when Austin pulls his weapon of choice, a hunting knife, from the holster on his jeans and sticks right through the grill of Rick’s car.

Rick quickly gets out, his face red with pinched anger as the car begins to smoke. “Vandalism, deadly weapon.” He snaps and slams the car door closed. He’s shorter than Austin and a lot angrier, which is amusing to him, “That's six months in County, asshole.”

Austin can see what you maybe thought about this guy. He’s handsome with his strong jaw and cropped hair, eyes intense. Any member of law enforcement gives off a false aura of calm because they’re supposed to be people anyone can trust. It’s almost ironic that you feel safer with a criminal. Almost.

He throws shit right back at Rick as he takes his knife out of the grill, putting it back in the holster, “Violating a restraining order? You'll be in the cell next to mine.” He grins then, licking his lips as his eyes skitter over Rick’s body, “They reach how to suck dick in ATF school?”

Rick laughs, not even looking remotely interested but Austin doesn’t care. He’s trying to make him uncomfortable because clearly he doesn’t give a shit about doing the same to you. Besides, Austin knows that he’s not really angry about the car, or even about Austin approaching him per say, he’s pissed off that someone is getting in the way of him fucking around with you.

“Badass biker.” Rick tuts, shaking his head as he looks over Austin, like it would be a pleasure of his to ruin his life.

Austin is not fucking scared of this piece of shit, “You harassing Y/N? That ends here.” He tells him, “Or the next time it won't be this car that I'm drainin’ fluid from.” He goes to take a step back because regardless of the stance Rick is pulling, he can tell that he’s rattled him just a little bit.

All of this is probably a terrible idea given the situation that the club is in right now but he refuses to let you take the brunt of dealing with this asshole alone.

“You threatening a federal agent?” Rick snaps out, pissed off that he’s been made to look like an idiot. Which, Austin doesn’t think that’s too far of a stretch, really.

He turns, giving Rick a good once over before taking a few steps into his space. He purposely uses his height difference to look down at him when he speaks, “I'm threaten’ you. Go away—it's my last warning.”

As Austin walks away, he just hopes it’s enough.

--

Things slightly escalate from there. Rick does not fuck off like Austin hoped or intended but he supposes he shouldn’t exactly be surprised, either. He suspects that he might hang around, maybe show up at your work, but what he doesn’t expect is when Rick surprises him when Austin is attempting to run errands. And not just any type of errand, though most don’t know that, but he’s not really just visiting this deli because he enjoys the chipped ham.

Rick wanders in as Austin talks to the butcher, their conversation shifting to something safer because of the company.

One thing happens after another, Rick gets in his face and Austin can’t control his temper even though he knows he should—that this is one giant trap to catch him off guard. And yet he falls right into it because the minute Rick opens his mouth about you, Austin’s fist is flying through the air.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rick smirks, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stands by one of the display cases with meat inside, pretending to look interested. “Y/N and I have unfinished business…and I intend on talking that out with her, in bed, with her spread out beneath me.” It’s very much a whether you like it or not attitude and Austin hits Rick so fucking hard that he sails through the glass window of the deli.

Not his finest moment.

And yet he has zero regrets as he sits in a police interview room, icing his right fist as another ATF agent graces him with his presence. Greg Thornson with his bony-ass frame, closing the door with his foot because he’s knee-deep in a file that no doubt has every wrongdoing he’s ever committed since high school.

The usual dog and pony show that any of these police agents try to shake them up with.

Austin’s so used to this, he knows his expression screams ‘boredom’ and that for some reason makes Greg smile, putting the file down on the table. He sits across from him, regarding Austin for a moment and he bites his tongue on saying anything he might regret.

The point in all this is to get back to you, not to end up in a holding cell for the night. So he straightens his shoulders and looks right back at Greg, a challenging look to his eye.

The shorter smiles, “So, we’re not going to hold you—even though you assaulted a federal agent.”

Austin purses his lips and lightly shrugs his shoulders, not saying a goddamn word. He knows exactly what story Ronnie Peterson, the deli owner, gave to the police.

“Mr. Peterson corroborates your story that Rick Clarington came at you first.” Greg sounds not moved at the slightest by that but Austin doesn’t care.

He smiles, “Can I go now?”

Greg hums but before Austin can stand and leave, “Why does Clarington have a hard-on for you?”

“Who doesn't?” The corners of Austin’s mouth twitch up but then sighs—Thornson might enjoy a little game of distractions but Austin’s goal is to keep himself as much under the radar as possible. So he shifts gears, giving him a long look, “You know why.”

Greg smiles, closing the file in front of him. Austin obviously doesn’t know Greg very well, other than the briefest of introductions when he first walked in (just what he needs, another ATF agent up his ass), but he can tell that he’s in this job title for the ‘cat and mouse’ game of it all. Austin’s not a typical criminal, he doesn’t squirm, especially when he knows that that’s the goal Greg has with this conversation.

He’s digging, pulling at straws, anything to give him the upper hand.

“You're right, I do.” Greg taps the table with his fingertips, “Y/N L/N, the charming ingenue. High school sweethearts, right?”

Austin’s face gives nothing away but he does nod softly in confirmation, “Yeah.”

He can literally see the wheels turning in Greg’s head, the shorter making an impressed noise as he glances down at Austin’s bloody knuckles, “She fears for her life so she comes back home to the only man she knows loves her enough to protect her.”

His expression matches stone, unsure of what Greg wants out of this other than to just catch him off guard, but he’s literally got nothing to say as far as he and you are concerned. There’s also not that much to tell—he and you were dating in high school; it was one of the strongest connections he’s ever had to anyone. And that hasn’t changed—Austin doesn’t think it ever will.

“A guy…” Greg trails off for a moment, “who would have no problem punching a federal agent through a glass window.”

“The glass window part was an accident.”

Greg lets out a soft laugh, nodding, “So Ronnie the butcher says. Rick apparently pulled a weapon on you—made threats, you had no choice.” There’s practically disbelief hanging on every syllable.

Austin shrugs again, flexing his sore fingers against the ice pack, “Well, if that’s what Ronnie said.”

Greg licks his lips, glancing over his shoulder as the door opens up, another officer with paperwork to detail the statement Austin gave. He nods his head, knowing he’ll have to let him go soon, despite the sparring conversation.

“Beautiful, really, it is. I wish I had that kind of pull over for someone. You're a lucky man.”

Austin feels something ugly dig under his skin at the sentiment because he knows it’s not a compliment by any means. He refuses to give Greg the satisfaction that he obviously craves but a few thoughts do worm their way in the back of Austin’s mind: did you come back to Charming because of him? Because you knew what he’d do the moment Austin learned about Rick threatening you? Because you felt safe? Wanted? Loved here? Does any of that really matter since you’re back? Austin may feel slightly manipulated given the situation but…even if you only came back for this very reason, you’re still here, aren’t you?

Somehow, that’s all Austin cares about.

“You done?” Austin asks, a little steel to his voice.

Greg smiles and nods lightly, Austin getting up from the table and leaving the ice pack behind.

--

Austin leans against the back of your couch, watching the you pace for a few moments. He’s not trying to pressure you into talking or anything, he’s practically got the CliffsNotes of what’s happening anyways. In general, he’d just like to touch base with you because it’s been a week since Austin’s made threats at Rick and nothing has really happened (other than that lovely conversation with Thornson, time he’ll never get back, but he supposes that’s his fault for throwing a punch at a federal agent).

Austin suspects anything else is only a matter of time. Rick doesn’t seem like the type to respond to warnings well or go away quietly.

“I’m confused, what else did you want me to do?”

You stop pacing, looking up at Austin with an almost startled expression as you’re drawn out of your thoughts. You’re in a pair of blue jeans and a nice button-down sheer blouse—so different than the scrubs you usually wear but just as beautiful.

“I didn’t want you to do anything.”

Austin narrows his eyes, “Right, really?”

You give him a look as you slowly cross your arms over your chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He lets out a slow breath, leaning up from the couch. He doesn’t want to argue with you at any rate and maybe he is letting the conversation with Thornson get to him, but the longer Austin thinks about it, the more it starts to make sense.

Austin rubs the back of his neck, “I think you know exactly what it means.” He raises his eyebrows, taking a long look at you, someone he’s always known like the back of his hand and yet feels so distant to him within this conversation.

“Did you come here because you knew what I’d do to Rick?”

Your mouth opens and closes, “Know…what’d you do?” You scoff, “You—you haven’t done anything.” And there’s the slightest hesitancy in saying that, like there might be something you don’t know.

Austin shakes his head, confirming with a single, “No,” Then, “I haven’t. But push comes to shove, you know I would.”

It doesn’t take much for Austin to figure out how you feel, you practically wear all of your emotions directly on your face. And okay, given this reaction, maybe that’s not why you came home but are you really going to act like that’s not some sort of benefit?

“I didn’t come back for you.” You state and it’s not supposed to sound cruel—that’s not who you are. Meanwhile, Austin on the other hand makes it his mission to dig underneath people’s skin, to read them and know them to understand how to hurt them.

“I didn’t even know if you’d still be here.” You sigh, taking a step towards where Austin is standing, “But if you’re asking if I came back to the last place I felt…put together? Safe? Then yes. That’s why I came back.”

Austin smiles ever so softly, picking his hand up to cup the side of your head. There seems to be a distinct moment where you close your eyes, a rush of relief, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding being released from your chest. “And none of that has to do with me?”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head but you don’t pull away, even when Austin slips one of your loose strands of hair around your ear. You turn your head to press a kiss to Austin’s palm, his other hand moving to bracket the other side of your face. His fingers eventually slip down to hold the sides of your neck, rubbing along the skin soothingly.

“Maybe just a little bit to do with you.” You smile.

Austin licks his lips, smirking, pressing your foreheads together and leaving them to rest for a few long moments. There’s a familiarity there that pulls him in, keeps him treading water, keeping them connected in such a way where it’s hard to tell where you end and Austin begins. He’s never been so much a part of someone and vice versa.

“Regardless of what happens,” Austin says after a moment, “I’m not gonna let anythin’ happen to you, okay?”

You swallow and nod, your noses grazing as he tips your chin.

And that kiss you share feels like home.

--

It’s a pretty regular night at the clubhouse, another party in half swing where everyone is either piss drunk or on their way to being it. Some other members are playing pool or taking shots directly off of women’s chests, some practically fucking croweaters on the commune couches. Austin is so used to seeing this shit that, at this point, it’s just another Thursday night.

Sam, one of his club leader’s right-hand men, leans against the bar with a boyish grin that deflects from all the terrible things he’s done. The blood Austin has seen in that long blonde hair, the way his hands close around another man’s throat, the bullets he’s fired, the knives he’s cut with. It’s so ironic because you’d never think any of that just by looking at him,

“You don’t want to get in on this?” He asks, motioning to the intoxicating chaos.

Austin takes a brief look around, lifting his beer and taking a sip. “Even if there were half naked women practically throwing themselves at me? Nah,” He pauses, “Just not in the mood tonight.”

Austin’s known Sam nearly his whole life—they grew up together, been through all possible scenarios of the term ‘thick and thin’. Sam sticks around because he knows Austin will take this crown someday, will lead this club, take the reins, or whatever the fuck all this means. He didn’t know his father, not really, only through all the observations and stories and photographs from others.

How is he supposed to figure that shit out?

He doesn’t want it, inherited club royalty or not. Austin would be more satisfied with running away, with taking you out of this fucking place, far away from Charming where no one knows either of you. Starting over like a brand-new book, writing their own chapters.

Even though he knows how unrealistic that is. Doesn’t mean he wants it any less.

“Is this about Y/N?” Sam asks, breaking his concentration.

Austin blinks, considering the question as he takes a long sip of beer. Isn’t it always? Sam can read him far too well and of course knows all about you, what you mean to him—what you’ll always mean to him. He was there when you both first met, when this whole thing started, when you both clutched onto one another tight and refused to let go.

You coming back has just thrown him through an impossible loop.

“No,” He straightens his shoulders, putting a wall up between him and Sam with a grin that masks his face, “Just can’t find anyone who sucks dick as well as you do.”

Sam snorts out a laugh and grabs a bottle from behind the bar to pour shots, “It’s the lips.” He teases.

Austin takes a shot with his friend when he pours it and then decides he’s gotta get out of there before he ends up spending the night with a faceless nobody and a wave of regrets. It’s funny how he hasn’t really thought like that in a while and that definitely has to do with your influence in being back.

He takes a step outside and breathes in the cool Californian air, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Austin lights a cigarette, taking a long drag that puffs like fog into the atmosphere—he and you have not decided anything about one another. But he knows you, you and him can pick up right where you left off.

It’s hard not to.

His burner cell starts buzzing in his pocket and there’s a half smile on his lips as he sees your number—case in point.

Austin barely gets through a greeting when you are choking out I need you. He has no idea what’s going on and part of him doesn’t want to ask but the sound of your voice causes a sheet of ice to cover the entire inside of his chest as he throws down the cigarette and walks quickly to his bike.

“What happened?”

You sniffle over the line and sigh out syllables that make Austin’s blood run cold, “Rick. Please, can you just—”

“I’m on my way.” Austin hangs up the call, starting his motorcycle and pulling out of the garage parking lot with barely a second thought.

--

Austin has no idea what’s going on, no clue what he’s walking into but he doesn’t care either (which he may or may not regret later). He didn’t have you elaborate over the phone, wanting to concentrate on getting here faster instead. He parks his bike and rushes off the thing, nearly knocking it over as he goes to the front door of your father’s home and knocks.

You throw open the door, half dressed—bra, underwear, a long sweater barely over top, face with tear tracks on them and—and a gun hanging loosely in your fingertips.

“Jesus Christ,” Austin mumbles, eyes wide and confused as he takes a look at you and slowly closes the front door, “What the fuck happened?”

Though…based off the way you are dressed and the time of night—Austin swallows down a bout of anger as heavy as a cinder block to take care of what’s right in front of him.

“I couldn't stop him.” You shake your head, your entire face pinching. Austin sighs and wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, drawing you into your chest. He squeezes you, his hand working firm circles along your spine, “He came in-in through my back door and just—”

Austin shakes his head, holding you even tighter against him, his jaw working as he puts two and two together. You must have been getting ready for bed or something close to it and Rick put the drop on you.

“Did he—”

A whimpered noise leaves your lips and you press your face further into Austin’s neck. His one hand comes up and laces his fingers through your hair, shushing you gently. He pulls back after a moment—you both need to get ahead of this disaster, whatever is awaiting him, Austin will take care of it.

“Where is he?” He asks, cupping your cheek. He removes a tear track with his thumb.

You sniffle, “The bedroom—”

A short breath leaves Austin’s lips, glancing down at the gun that’s still in your hand. It must be your father’s because you never have been interested in weapons before, not even for means of protection. Whatever happened, it must have been bad enough that you needed to defend yourself.

“Give me that.” Austin takes the gun from you, walking down the long hallway that leads to the bedroom.

Nothing really prepares him for what he sees—the bedroom is a mess, sheets disheveled and Austin really fucking tries to not picture you struggling on top of them to push Rick off. A chair is overturned, broken glass from picture frames falling off the nightstand, and Rick on the ground in the corner—his pants are undone and he’s got his shirt off.

He’s currently holding onto his gut to keep his insides from pouring out, panting, face a sheet white and sweaty. And then he makes eye contact with Austin, a struggled laugh leaving his lips like, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“Oh you stupid bitch.” Rick spits, referring to you, “You called him?”

Austin does his best to assess the situation, figuring out what’s best for you with all of this. He’s used to putting himself in the line of fire at this point, at burying himself so deep that there’s not a way out. He could give a shit about Rick surviving or not—there’s only one person that needs to end up on the other side.

You are kind and good and leading a decent life beyond all of this and if Austin has one goal? It’s to make sure none of this pain, blood, or filth, sticks to you.

You tug on Austin’s sleeve, yanking him back into the hallway and away from the scene, “I didn’t know what to do, I shot him, Austin.” You try to explain, your hands shaking so bad as you run them through your hair. Austin shakes his head, wanting to tell you that he doesn’t have to clarify anything, “I had to. What do I—what do I do? What do we do?”

Austin runs his hand along your shoulder, squeezing, glancing back in to Rick because…there’s really only one of two things you could do. And he’ll give you the other option just in case you want to entertain it.

“Okay, okay,” Austin soothes, getting you to breathe for a moment before he continues, “We call this in—you're not going to get charged, he is.” There’s a choked laugh from Rick—the only saving grace is that you have that restraining order in place. Austin takes a long look at you, cupping your one cheek. He waits until your eyes meet his, wanting to make sure you understand what he’s saying.

“They're gonna patch him up, he'll do a few years for assault. But then he's gonna be out—free to do this again.”

He barely gets the last word out before there’s a visceral reaction from you, a choking sob where you grab Austin’s leather jacket and dig your fingers into it, “No,” You snap out, nearly pushing him away despite the fact that Austin only pulls you closer, “No, he can't do this again, Austin. Please.”

Austin rests his lips along your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he takes a steadying breath into his lungs. There’s only one thing to do then—because clearly, Rick is beyond reason or idle threats.

Not to mention that bullet wound in his side really complicates things. 

“Butler’s your solution?” Rick spits from the other room, making you hold onto Austin tighter.

“I can't do this.” You whisper against Austin’s neck, breath hot along his skin, “Please.”

If Austin was going to approach this with a cool head, all of that goes out the window when Rick opens his mouth again. The combination of you shaking against him, the heat of your body pressed along his own, the way your hands are pulling at his clothes in an attempt to ground yourself—and then Rick’s fucking mouth, spouting disgusting language towards you that he can’t accept in a levelheaded manner.

“You pathetic whore—”

Austin takes two long strides, aiming the gun right at Rick’s head and fires.

The blowback spatters blood all over the wallpaper in the bedroom and there’s a soft curl of smoke leaving the gun, metal hot to the touch. He can hear you yelling over the slight ringing in his ears. Austin lets out a sharp breath—this is not the first time he’s murdered someone in cold blood and it certainly won’t be the last.

At least this time it actually feels like it’s been paired with a purpose.

Austin stares at the blood for a long moment, watching it roll down the ugly wallpaper before backing up slowly. He puts the gun on the dresser and turns to where you are standing in the hallway, wide eyed like a deer in headlights, hands over your mouth.

Austin gently tugs you away, forces your sight off it and takes you back into the living room.

--

Austin takes a shallow breath and hands you a short glass of scotch, which you take with trembling fingers. You tip it back into your mouth quickly and almost choke on the swallow, coughing, but Austin figures you might need to take it like that. He motions to hold the glass out and when you do, he fills it up again.

You sniffle, shaking your head as you run a hand over your face. Austin knows how you’re feeling without you even needing to say anything. While this might have been the only choice, the right choice, you didn’t want Rick to meet an end like this. You continue to be a better person than him—Austin thinks he got exactly what he deserved.

And he regrets none of his actions here tonight, especially if this means you are safe.

Austin runs a hand along his jawline—it’s still dark out, if he’s going to clean this up, he needs to get started.

You glance up at him, wide eyes somehow a shade darker than he’s ever seen them. Austin tries to offer you the smallest of smiles, something comforting, even though it feels a bit strange on his face.

“I’ll take care of this.” He assures you.

You scoff out a choked noise— “What does that mean?”

Austin shakes his head, not giving you a verbal answer. Honestly, it’s better if you don’t know, just in case, so you can claim some kind of ignorance with all this. You seem to catch on within that moment, making a soft noise of discontent as you cover your face with both of your hands. There are so many things that Austin wants to say, to be able to tell you, but he doesn’t know where to start.

This nightmare is over though—it may not seem like it, but it is.

Austin turns to walk out of the kitchen and check your garage for supplies when he feels fingers wrap around his wrist. He stops, looking down at your hand, following it up your arm until he looks at you again. Austin watches you stand, taking a soft breath in, grounding yourself in the touch of his skin and your proximity.

This can’t be easy for you; Austin knows this is why you ran away from Charming in the first place—so you wouldn’t have to wonder what kind of terrible shit he was getting himself into with the club and Austin finding a way to apologize for it. Though, this ironically has nothing to do with the motorcycle club.

He moves his thumb to brush over the inside of your wrist, his high school sweetheart, the girl he’s loved since he was sixteen, his soulmate regardless of tragedy that most likely follows.

“Thank you,” You whisper and step into Austin’s space, “I love you.”

Austin hums softly and nods, leaning his head down to press your foreheads together. “I know.” He teases lightly and despite everything that’s happened, he can feel the hint of a smile on your lips as you kiss.

--

A week passes, and then two, and eventually Austin feels like he can draw oxygen into his lungs without looking over his shoulder. At this point, he knows how dispose of a body—an unfortunate byproduct of the work he does. The goal is to make it look like Rick’s just left, disappeared, with the threat of violating his restraining order, he decided it was best to fuck off out of Charming and you for good.

That should be a story that’s easily passible, since no one from Charming P.D. or that aggravating ATF agent have kicked down any doors demanding questioning of any sort.

Austin’s limited exposure about the whole thing, just him and you know, that way there can be no blowback on the club. Even then, Austin’s the only one who has details about the murder weapon (and where it is) and what truly happened to Rick (as in, where his body is buried). And it’s going to stay like that.

The man is exactly where he belongs.

Austin pauses in front of a freezer in the grocery store looking down at a set of steaks. He knows that it’s not exactly your favorite thing to eat but…he’s feeling weirdly celebratory and he can cook it in a way that you will enjoy it. Lots of pepper, garlic, onions—grilling it outside (maybe at his house instead of your father’s place), beer, mashed potatoes. You both can turn that into a good night, maybe even get back on a track that makes sense.

As long as you both avoid any more capital murder, should be just fine.

“Huh, never pictured you as a fillet kind of guy.”

Austin’s eyes roll back into his head as he turns to see Greg Thornson hovering nearby. Spoke too soon.

He doesn’t see any other agents milling around to make a grand arrest, or sirens and SWAT cars pulling up outside the grocery store windows. So he supposes that’s a bonus. And yet—

“Shouldn’t have to pound meat out for it to be tender.” He says wryly, dropping two steaks into his basket. Austin moves out and around Greg, who doesn’t even appear to be shopping—what, did he just track him down for a not-so-friendly chat?

Austin’s assuming that this isn’t an interrogation but Greg very much seems like the kind of agent that tries to catch you off guard and unaware. He’s probing just by being in his space, nonchalantly following him around the store, pretending to look at things he has no intention in buying.

“Putting a nice dinner together for Y/N?” Greg asks curiously, picking up a can of lima beans.

Austin sighs evenly, slowly making his way towards the front of the store. The quicker he cashes out, the faster he can leave this disaster behind. He glances over his shoulder at the indifferent question,

“Yeah—I know this might be a foreign concept to you, goin’ on dates.” Austin says with a smile to his face but it’s anything but kind. Greg’s eyes dart to Austin’s, fire burning along his irises, and then Austin adds a cushion to the blow – “Cause you know, you’re married to your work and all.”

Greg hums but his smile is all pinched, “I’m surprised Y/N’s even staying put.”

Austin moves to set his basket down near the conveyor belt, unpacking his groceries so that the cashier can ring him out. He offers a small smile at the girl, despite his annoyance with the ATF agent behind him. He slips his wallet out of his back pocket, glancing at Greg as he comes up into his line of vision,

“She’s a runner. Isn’t that why Y/N found herself in Chicago in the first place? Wanted to get out—find things this little pissant town couldn’t offer? Bigger dreams than what you’ve got here, Butler. Smart, beautiful women like Y/N? They get bored. They want more.”

Austin swallows, his hand that’s out of Greg’s line of sight is clenching his fingers into a fist. He refuses to give away that Greg’s words are hitting a particularly raw nerve. You did run away—because that’s what you do. When something gets too hard or real or intense, you make a run for it, that last time landing you in Chicago. And yeah, you ended up with a medical degree to show for it, but you also trailed back to Charming with a psycho ex.

He watches the cashier scan in his items, the muscle in Austin’s working. Despite the fact that Y/N’s seemingly tied to this place for the foreseeable future, Greg unfortunately has a point. And that digs under his skin more than anything else.

Austin pays the cashier and picks up his grocery bag, “Why don’t you let me worry about Y/N, yeah?” He throws back at Greg, moving to leave the store. He then pauses, a sudden thought occurring to him as he turns to look back at the ATF agent.

Greg’s decided to buy a pack of chips near the checkout aisle, pulling out a few ones from his wallet. 

“Hey,” Austin says, gaining Greg’s attention. The smile he gives him is slow and patient, somehow innocent on the edges like he’s about to talk about the weather. “You ever hear from Rick?”

It takes a moment for the question to settle on Greg’s face, the light somehow disappearing from his eyes, the silent conversation passing between the two men as Greg realizes Austin is asking this question for a very specific, deadly reason.

Austin licks his lips, shrugging his one shoulder, his gaze hardening, “Dangerous being a Fed.”

He slowly backs up, getting ready to turn out of the grocery store. He’s delivered more direct threats before but he is in public, and the look on Greg’s face still registers the same. Realization masking fear—makes it completely worth it. Austin clutches the grocery bag in his hand and puts his sunglasses on as he leaves the store to walk back to his truck.

They understand one another now.

--

Austin looks at you over his shoulder as he cooks dinner in the backyard of his home, in comfortable clothes that look a lot like jeans and a t-shirt, minus the leather cut. You’re leaning against the patio door, in a yellow sundress, watching Austin with a soft, fond expression, sipping on your beer.

Austin’s struck with the sudden thought that it could always be like this—warm, and safe, and comfortable, cooking dinner with beers and pretending his business doesn’t get him involved with unsavory people or situations.

Sometimes it feels like they can survive in that version of themselves, even though it’s all a lie.

You move into the yard and set your beer down, pressing into Austin’s side as he looks at the grill.

“You’re overcooking the steak.”

Austin crinkles his nose, peeking under the grill hood just a little, “No I’m not.” He opens it up all the way and while he doesn’t cook steak very often, they look perfectly fine. You use that opportunity to reach for the tongs and Austin playfully taps your wrist,

“I got it, they’re fine.”

“Oh you know how to handle meat, do you?” You tease, your hand resting on Austin’s waist instead.

Austin bites down on his lower lip as he grins, cupping your cheek to lean down and kiss you. “Class act, Y/N.” He pulls back after a moment, closing the grill lid after flipping the steaks once.

He moves to grab his own beer, taking a long sip. Despite everything you’ve been through, you seem to be doing okay. You don’t really bring up Rick at all and Austin doesn’t ask—maybe that’s a good thing, finally moving past that chapter in your life.

And even though Greg’s commentary in the grocery store rattled him a little bit, it does feel like you’re on solid ground now. That you’re not going anywhere—that they’re a team, no matter what might come their way.

Austin lets out a soft sigh, taking a step towards you. He rests his hand on your hip, angling you towards his body so he can look down at you. He waits until that gaze falls upon his own,

“No more running.”

You nod softly and press yourself on your toes to kiss the corner of Austin’s mouth, “No more running,” You agree. Austin leans down to press their foreheads together. “I’m here.”

And for better, or for worse, Austin believes you.

[peachhcs]

she's not her.

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will thinks the combine will help him get his mind off samy, but that completely backfires when he realizes she's everywhere with him.

3.2k words

hiii here's the first (new) installment of the new breakup timeline of the au!! (also so long wow) i'm writing four of the major points of the breakup into fics, but if you guys want smaller blurbs about any of it, send them to the inbox. cassidy is a completely fake character here, but zeev and james are real people! (i don't know the other boys too well, sorry!!)

au masterlist

“yeah, mom. it’s going great,” will hummed as he shuffled around his room searching for his keycard despite him already being ten minutes late. 

the boy could never keep his belongings straight whenever he stayed in a hotel room by himself. how did he even manage before? the answer hit will before he could even really think about it because you know who was always with him on these things? 

he knew who and he was not going to say her name. will promised himself he’d use this week to just forget about all of his problems and just enjoy getting to know the other guys here and that meant he was not going to say—

“samy’s mom called me earlier. she asked about you,” damn it. whatever his mom was saying before didn’t process in his brain because he snapped right back into reality as soon as the name left his mom’s lips. 

and why on earth was she referring to ellen as “samy’s mom.” will knew his mom always, always called her ellen. she probably read his mind or something knowing he was trying (and failing) to not think about her this week. 

“oh. okay,” will didn’t know what to say, so he continued searching for the stupid keycard. 

“i told her you were at the combine having fun. she told me samy’s at her sleepaway camp for the week too,” mrs. smith continued even though she knew will didn’t want to talk about samy at all. 

“mom, can you not?” the boy mumbled. 

“can i not what, will? she’s still a part of this family, so i am gonna ask about her and tell you because i know you still care,” colleen had a point and the blonde hated it because she was right. 

he did care. of course, he cared no matter how much he didn’t want to. that was the hardest part about all of this. 

“i gotta go. i’m already running a bit late. i’ll talk to you later, mom. love you,” they exchanged their goodbyes as soon as will found what he wanted under a pile of clothes in the corner. 

“thank god,” the boy mumbled as raced out of his room to where some of the guys he met were waiting down in the lobby. 

will felt so new to all of this—the media, the sudden popularity, the press. these guys seemed so used to it all yet he was so lost in it all still. he spotted his new friends in some of the chairs awaiting his presence, so he mustered up his best smile as he approached them. 

“there you are, smitty. where were you?” zeev spots the blonde first, his legs hung over the armrest of the chair. 

“sorry, i lost my keycard. i had to find it before i left,” will explained a bit embarrassingly. the other guys laughed him off though and that’s when the blonde noticed a few girls mixed into the group now. a few of them sent eyes his way, whispering things to one another which made will’s cheeks flush a slight pink color, but not in the blushing kind of way. 

“come on, i’m starving. those lines got me wanting anything,” cole muttered as the group pushed themselves to the door. the five of them plus the three new girls walked down the sidewalk chatting about anything in hopes of taking their minds off food until they found something. 

“hey, you’re will, right?” the new voice caught the blonde off guard. 

to his right was one of the new girls in the group he didn’t really know. her name was along the lines of cassidy, but he wasn’t 100% sure. “yeah, that’s me,” he laughed lightly. 

“nice to finally meet you. i’m cassidy, but everyone calls me cass,” she held her hand out with a big smile. will stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, his mind running in circles. 

this could be his chance to finally forget about samy. he said he needed an distraction and this seemed like the perfect one. plus, what was the harm in a little flirting? he took her hand a moment later. 

“nice to meet you, too. you play for minnesota, right?” will wondered, watching cass’s eyes light up that he even knew that about her. 

“yeah, i do!” 

“you guys had a real good season. i was impressed,” her smile continued growing with will’s words. 

“yeah, we did. i mean, you guys were incredible, too. you dominated the ice,” she gushed a little making will flush. he knew people watched his games from all over the place, but he never paid much attention to all of that. 

not when he was always thinking about samy watching the livestream from her dorm room while cheering him on. wait. no. 

no. there was no samy. 

“thanks. it wasn’t always easy, but the fans made it worth it,” the boy hummed. cass grinned again, letting their conversation die into comfortable silence as they followed their group into a restaurant someone chose. 

the young hockey player spotted rutger and some of his buddies at a nearby table making him stop in his tracks for a second. he knew rut would be here, but he just hoped he’d manage to avoid him because he knew the older boy probably hated him knowing what happened between him and samy. 

some of the guys behind him pushed will forward again. his eyes glued themselves to where rutger sat in a laughing fit over what someone at his table said. the older boy held his chest, violently shaking from laughter and finally looked in will’s direction. the two met each other’s gazes and in a surprise gesture, rutger nodded toward the younger boy. 

that threw will off guard. he studied rut for a second longer until someone pushed him forward again and he landed in his seat. 

“woah, careful smitty. you okay?” james laughed a little as he walked around to his seat. the others glanced will’s way. 

“yeah, sorry. got a little distracted,” the blonde excused himself, eyes diverting to the menu to get the attention off of him. the others shrugged, returning to their conversation while will’s eyes stayed right on his menu. 

“what’s your favorite food?” cass’s voice filled will’s ears again. he looked up, her eyes already on him where she sat in the seat next to his. 

“anything, really. i tend to eat anything,” the boy mumbled with an awkward smile. 

“hey, i’m the same way. i’ve never been too picky about my food,” she returned his smile. 

“my sister’s a big picky eater. our mom was always making three different meals for the family because we were all eating different things,” the blonde chuckled as some of the nerves he had earlier started subsiding. 

the two quickly hit it off, having their own little conversations throughout lunch. will’s smile was big when cass laughed at the things he said and he laughed right back at her own corny jokes. it felt refreshing for the blonde. he suddenly didn’t have this heavy feeling in his chest anymore that he’s had since the end of may. this felt really good. 

but what did they say about good things? they never lasted long? something like that. 

will’s gaze would bounce over to where rutger still was every so often. the older boy was never looking in his direction when will looked, too occupied with his own conversations, but rut did glance over at the younger blonde when he wasn’t looking too. 

rut only heard bits and pieces about the breakup, but he knew samy was really hurt from all of it and while the older hockey player wasn’t one to involve himself in things that he wasn’t a part of, he couldn’t but watch what looked like will laugh a little too hard with that girl. 

sure, will could do whatever he wanted and rutger didn’t care. the boy did care, however, about the fact that it looked like will was trying to talk up a new girl not even two weeks after breaking up with samy. that bothered rutger because he knew if ethan or mark were here, they wouldn’t be afraid to go over and bitch at will. 

rutger’s subtle glances finally caught will’s. the blonde was in the middle of a conversation with cass when he caught the glance from the corner of his eye. rut was looking right a him with a look on his face that will knew wasn’t good. 

“you good?” cass wondered when she noticed will’s attention shift. 

the boy’s attention immediately snapped back to hers, “yeah, sorry. my bad. what was i saying?” his words rushed out together making him come off a bit nervous. 

“something about…sumer on a boat or something?” cass reminded him. 

“right, yes. yeah. so, as i was saying,” will’s mind couldn’t stop thinking about rutger’s look. it felt like a warning or..disapproval? disappointment? 

why could he never escape samy no matter how hard he tried? it was like she was everywhere. 

“every summer my family and i go to this lakehouse in michigan. my best friend and i—well, used to be best best friend would always stay up super late to see how many planets we could count. whoever counted the most by the end of the summer would buy one another something the other really wanted,” will hummed, somehow always finding ways to talk about samy without even realizing it. a small smile was on his lips at that memory because he was the one buying samy things by the end of the summer every time. 

“huh, that sounds interesting. aren’t the same planets always coming out at night though so how does that work?” cass’s expression became puzzled. 

will’s gaze snapped to hers, his face flushing again. “i mean, yeah, but different ones will come out and go away as the summer goes on. it was just some little thing..” the boy’s voice trailed off as he slowly realized that game only really made sense to him and samy because they were the ones who came up with it when they were younger. 

cass didn’t look too impressed though. the blonde’s eyes swept over to rutger again who wasn’t looking at him this time, but will still couldn’t get that look out of his head nor the fact that he talked about samy without even trying after trying so hard to forget about her this week. 

it seemed like everything will did or said led him straight back to samy. shit. 

who was he kidding? he couldn’t flirt with someone. he didn’t even know how to flirt because he never really had to with samy. 

cass’s attention drifted away from the boy and no one else was really looking at him, so will took that as his chance to excuse himself. he needed air or something to just get out of his fucking head. the boy scrambled out of his seat in a rushed goodbye, hurrying off to the bathroom before anyone could really bat an eye. 

rutger’s gaze fell on the younger boy as he retreated further back into the restaurant. he saw will’s friends glancing around for a moment before letting him be. the older brunette gazed one more time before saying fuck it and going after will. 

the blonde stumbled into the bathroom suddenly feeling hot. his hand clutched his chest where his heart wouldn’t stop pounding a bruise on the spot while his other hand grabbed ahold of the edge of the counter, bending over the sink as if he was going to puke. will squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would slow his heart rate down, but it only heightened as his breathing picked up into heavy pants. 

“fuck, pull yourself together,” will mumbled to mostly himself. 

she’s not her. she’s not her. she’s not her. the stupid phrase replayed itself over and over in will’s mind. 

the bathroom door swung open with rutger rushing to will’s side when he saw the kid bent over the sink while panting. “jesus christ, will? are you okay?” the older brunette bent down to will’s level, trying to meet his eyes. 

“i can’t breathe,” will managed through his hyperventilating. 

rutger looked around, realizing no one else was in the bathroom with them. he wasn’t really an expert in this, never really having dealt with panic attacks before. 

“hey, yes you can. it’s okay. i’m here,” rutger tried his best, his attention back on will. 

“she’s not her,” now the blonde was crying. 

“what are you talking about?” the older hockey player grew confused. the heavy pants and now tears didn’t make it easy for him to understand what was being said. 

“she won’t ever be her. i fucked up, rut,” will got out a bit clearer this time. 

rutger quickly understood. 

“do you want me to call her? i can call her?” rut eased his tone, finishing for his phone in his pocket. 

“no, no. don’t,” will shook his head. he couldn’t call samy like this. plus, she didn’t want to speak to him ever again, making it very clear after blocking him on nearly everything. 

“will, i gotta call someone. you’re freaking me out,” the older boy said. 

“call gabe or ryan. i need to talk to them,” so rutger listened and searched his contacts until he landed on ryan’s number first. 

the phone rang three times until ryan finally answered. “rutger? what’s up?” the younger brunette sounded confused that the michigan hockey player was randomly calling him. 

“hey, sorry for the call. i-i’m with will. he’s..he’s having a panic attack i think. he wanted to talk to you,” rutger explained the situation, eyes on will who’s breathing began slowing down. 

“shit, is he okay?” ryan urged. 

“i-i think so? i don’t know. i’m not an expert in this,” rut held the phone out for will to take. 

the blonde’s shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear, “hey leno,” he managed weakly. 

“will? are you okay?” ryan’s voice was laced with concern. he never called will by his first name unless there was something serious going on. 

the guilt and shame quickly settled into will’s body. his eyes glanced to rutger standing beside him still and then his head fell. “i fucked up, ryan. i realize i fucked up now.” 

“what are you talking about?” ryan didn’t get it. 

“everything brings me back to her. no can be her no matter how hard i think they are or want them to be,” the blonde frowned deeply, especially because he was admitting this in front of one of samy’s closest guy friends. 

ryan didn’t need to ask twice who his friend was talking about while a pause came from his end as he digested will’s admission. rutger realized this seemed like a conversation he wasn’t a part of, so he just squeezed the blonde’s shoulder and nodded towards the door saying to just find him when will was done with his phone. 

“i’m gonna add gabe to the call, okay?” ryan finally said as will sunk down onto the ground. he didn’t care that the bathroom floor was incredibly disgusting because he could not go back out and face his friends out there without muttering some lame excuse about leaving. 

“uh, hey?” gabe connected a moment later, confused about why he was on a call with ryan and rutger mcgroarty. 

“hey, it’s me. will’s on the call with rutger’s phone,” ryan explained. 

“oh. is everything okay?” gabe wondered, still confused on what was happening. 

“i fucked up really bad. i know that now,” will said and gabe also didn’t have to ask twice about what his friend was talking about. 

“what made you finally come to this conclusion?” ryan asked, trying not to sound bitter. he knew will was having a hard time, but he would not forget samy showing up to his house in tears after their breakup. 

“i really, really thought i could just forget about her at the combine and just enjoy myself, but everytime i talk to someone, i always end up talking about her no matter how hard i try not to. she’s everywhere in my mind. i thought i could stupidly talk to this girl..be a distraction? i don’t know, but i think i just really wanted her to be samy instead,” will admitted sheepishly. 

“yeah..that happens after having such a history with someone,” gabe said. 

“i know i fucked up. you don’t need to keep telling me that. i feel like shit about it,” will scoffed, rolling his eyes a bit. 

“as much as i hate you for doing what you did and never wanting to see samy that hurt again, maybe you should talk to her,” ryan finally said, tone softening out. 

“i can’t talk to her even if i wanted to. she blocked me on everything almost immediately,” the blonde frowned. 

“look, we all make mistakes. it’s human nature. are you an asshole for hurting her? yes. am i still mad at you for it? yes. do i think you fucked up completely though? no. maybe give it some more time and then reach out. things are still fresh, emotions are still high. we all know samy and we know she doesn’t hold a grudge for that long,” gabe gave his two cents about it as well. 

“i wouldn’t blame her if she did hold a grudge for a while though,” ryan cut in. 

“jesus, shut up, leno. i get it,” the blonde rolled his eyes. 

“look, we’re always here for you, will. I’ll be in boston next, so i’ll see you and we can talk more, yeah?” gabe spoke again before ryan and will started fighting or something. 

“yeah, thanks. sorry for bothering you guys,” will frowned a bit. 

“don’t sweat it. love ya, smitty,” that made will smile again. 

“yeah, love you i guess. just try to have a good time for the rest of the week,” ryan said and will nodded even though they couldn’t see him. 

“thanks, love you guys too. talk later,” they hung up after that. 

will pushed himself back to his feet, splashing water on his face to hopefully get rid of his red and flushed cheeks. he carefully pushed the bathroom door back open, surveying the restaurant for rutger’s table. 

the boy made his way over, nudging rutger’s arm when he was closer. the older boy looked over, “thanks,” will said. 

“of course. you okay, now?” 

the blonde nodded. he glanced to his table where a few of the guys met his gaze, waving him over. he walked towards them, already having decided he wasn’t all that hungry anymore and just wanted to be alone for a bit. 

“there you are! you good?” zeev asked seeing his friend. 

“yeah, not feeling too well. i think i’m gonna head back. sorry,” will muttered out his excuse. 

“oh, okay. feel better man. text me,” zeev said and will nodded before making his exit. 

he didn’t even look cassidy’s way. the only girl on his mind was samy and it was gonna stay like that for a long time. 

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

TWST boys with a Diana! Reader?

The reader's a really and I mean REALLY popular and a captivating woman from Siodonna, many rumours were spreading of a beauty from Siodonna yet the TWST boys decided to ignore the rumours, taking them as only bluffs until they met the reader performing in the streets for the poor children. The boys quickly fell head over heels for they're kind nature, and alluring looks. The way those crystal like (Colour) eyes gaze into theirs sending their hearts pounding again their chest. Being lucky enough to marry the woman of their dreams was a big accomplishment but they're happiness was short lived when they found out the risk of the reader dying during childbirth, the TWST boys being selfish asked her to choose them over the child yet the reader didn't have the heart to do so and decided to give her life for the child, only doing as much as witnessing how they're child grew as a wandering spirit and visiting them in their dreams to interact with they're child. How would the guys react when their child(or children) mentioning they're mother's name when they've actually never met or heard of her?? <3

- M. Draconia ; V. Schoenheit ; R. Rosehearts ; L. Kingscholar ; I. Shroud ; L. Vanrouge

"I'm sorry for not choosing you, but I couldn't bare giving it up ( sacrificing an innocent life) either..."

- (Name)

SORRY IT'S BAD, I'M RUSHING THIS 😭😭

Mentioning Your Name | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Its an average day your child casually mentions some advice you gave. It takes them off guard and the problem with lovers as in love as they are suffering from your loss–this can be received very differently:

Malleus Draconia 

“What did you say?”

“I said (Y/n) told me I should try harder to talk to you because your socially immature.”

“....when…when did they say this?”

“In my dream last night, I asked how I was supposed to get you to smile at me and they told me to be ins-st-i-dent?”

He remembers what you said to comfort him before the birth

And honestly if it hadn’t been for that and this child having your smile

He would’ve smited him long ago

But to hear that you’re still here in some capacity

He smiles more 

Speaking into the quiet of the room 

Practically serenading your lingering spirit

“Thats…just like them…”

Vil Schoenheit 

“Wearing those two patterns is a travesty, we won’t be doing plaid with polka-dots–”

“Noooo! B-but I said I would!”

“...To who?”

“To (Y/n) of course I was telling them all about how I’d wear them-”

“Wait wait what did you say?”

He doesn’t believe that you’re meeting in their dreams

Its more than likely one of his close friends slipped up while babysitting

And now they’ve taken the name of their mother for some imaginary friend

Needless to say he’ll get to the bottom of this

Even if it takes a forceful kind of truth serum

“(Y/n)...my half is dead…so whoever they’re speaking to is something else.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“My RULE IS ABSOLUTE TO YOUR ROOM!” 

“(Y/n) would hate you so much!?”

“H-how do y-you–!”

“They said I should be free! That I should be allowed to play with others!”

“Where?! Where did you hear that?!”

He thought that he wouldn’t need to be hurt again

But here you were showing up in your child’s dreams 

But since you’ve left him…what do you words mean now

“You’re not appearing to me and you aren’t here to parent…therefore you’re words barely scrape the height of a suggestion.”

Leona Kingscholar 

“(Y/n) doesn’t think I’m weak!”

“WHAT?!”

“THEY said I’m plenty strong and that you don’t know everything!”

He’ll continue to lock the child away 

Scratching at his post some interloper as he thinks about what his child has said 

“Even across the grave you’re fighting me…can’t do much from where I’m at now can I?”

Idia Shroud 

“Papa I made my own drone…”

“Mmmm.”

“Uhm and uh (Y/n) says that you should maybe look at me when I show you mystuff so…”

“...”

Is floored

Since your departure he’s been torn with hating this child and eliminating anyone who interacts with them

So consumed with grief he shuts himself in his workshop and watches his child relentlessly

He knows them well in fact he’s sure he loves them 

but he can’t stand to speak to them without wanting to cry

So this is all the more painful to him and in his desire to reach out he might end up inventing something meant to capture your wandering spirit

“Just you wait (Y/n), I’ll have you soon.”

Lilia Vanrouge

“Just trust Papa on this you stay inside, my little bat.”

“(Y/n) says you should let me outside more.”

“Oh yeah they really–said…that?”

“Yeah! And that you need to properly comb out my hair you can’t leave it a tangled mess.”

“Hahaha yeah.”

He believes in ghosts, well he knows they exist

So he believes thats what that is about 

And if thats the case than maybe if he suggests somethings for your kid to recite

Maybe he can still reach out to you

“Hey! Hey! Maybe the next time you see them can you tell her how much Daddy loves her?”

[thebest-medicine]

The Harm in Trying

MHA - BakuDeku & the Bakusquad lee!Bakugo, lers!Izuku Kaminari Kirishima & Sero - [read on ao3]

Summary: Bakugo is put into a ticklish situation by Midoriya with the rest of his friends… and of course he denies he’s ticklish.

A/N: I am so weak for giggly smiley Kacchan…it’s a problem and I’m making it all of y’all’s problem now. On a fucking roll with these BNHA fics lately, sorry not sorry for my bkdk brainrot~.

Words: 2.3k

…

“Wait, no way! Kacchan! Are you still ticklish?” 

Bakugo can feel the heat of his blood burning across his face and ears with embarrassment. “The fuck? Of- of course not!” He dares a glance at Midoriya—and finds a knowing grin on his classmate’s face, instantly regretting the decision. “Don’t even think about trying—”

“Aw, why not? If you’re not ticklish~, then why does it matter?”

“Shut up, Deku!” Katsuki hisses. 

“No, no, Midoriya has a point.” Kirishima agrees, holding up a finger to get the attention of the rest of the group.

“Seriously, what’s the harm in trying~?” Kaminari grins.

Bakugo rolls his eyes at Izuku despite his prominent blush. “Look what you did. Damn it, nerd!” He cracks his knuckles and shifts his weight so he’s in a good place to spring up from his seat quickly if he needs to. “Hope you guys know, if you try this, I’m gonna kill—”

Sero is quick with his tape and has the advantage of being out of Bakugo’s line of sight. At the first sign of movement, explosions start to crackle off of his hands, and Katsuki leaps to a stand to put up a fight with his classmates. 

Instead of a fight, it’s over in moments, to Bakugo’s dismay, as tape wraps its way around his arms, legs, and whole body tightly. There’s a tug, and Bakugo feels himself tumbling backward, only to be caught short of the floor by Midoriya. 

Katsuki’s eyes flare with alarm as he realizes the brief battle has taken a severe turn out of his favor, and fast. He also notices Izuku looking down at him with.. Amusement? Concern? Interest? 

“What the hell?! You guys are seriously dead! Let me up! Now!” 

“…Sounds like something a ticklish person would say.” Kirishima smirks, moving closer.

Kaminari laughs, joining in. “Hehe yeah, you seem worried Bakugo… What’s wrong? Are you like reeaaaaally ticklish or something?”

“No you idiots! I just don’t like being jumped by my so-called friends! What the hell?!” 

Ignoring his barking, they reach in to help Midoriya lower Bakugo gently to the floor of the common room. Kaminari throws a leg over Bakugo’s legs while Kirishima untangles one of his arms and drags it up over his head, exposing his side. Sero sits down beside them. Katsuki’s other arm is taped against his side, and his legs are haphazardly wrapped together, meanwhile his idiot best friend now has one of his arms in a vice grip over his head. Kaminari settles into a spot just above Bakugo’s bound knees, holding him in place further. 

Midoriya leans in closer, shifting around the Bakugo’s side opposite Sero, clearly remembering the tickle fights they had gotten into as kids. “Uh oh, you’re in trouble Kacchan~.” 

All four of his classmates have excited grins on their faces. Fuck. Fuck. Red blooms across Katsuki’s face.

Kirishima brings a super wiggly teasing hand down slowly, frustratingly slowly, toward Bakugo’s exposed armpit, and he can’t help his eyes locking to it. “Seriously, cut this crap out!” 

“Not a chance!” Kirishima exclaims with a giddy smile.

Bakugo growls in frustration as the claw draws closer, just a few inches from his skin. Suddenly, it dips down faster, and a gasp fills the room just as quickly. 

Bakugo growls again when he realizes the trick… and his mistake. His attackers snicker with glee.

“Did you see his eyes just now?” Kaminari observes excitedly.

Sero chuckles along. “Yeah, oh man.” 

“You’re totally ticklish Bakubro.” Kirishima laughs, delighted, and continues his teasing descent.

“Bet you we can get him to giggle.” Kaminari suggests.

“I don’t fucking g-giggle.” Katsuki swallows, quick to stop talking as Kirishima’s fingers touch down, poking curiously. 

“Actually, Kacchan, I’m pretty sure you do have some giggle-spots.” Izuku chimes in, biting his lip to fight back his grin. 

“You’re gonna be the f-first to die, Deku!”

“Hey! That’s not very nice.” Izuku chuckles. “You’re not really in a good position to be rude right now.” He pokes his fingers into Kacchan’s tensed abdomen which jumps slightly under the touch. 

Bakugo’s skin is alight, his nerves tingling in anticipation. His focus is forced in on the points of contact his friends have with his underarm and stomach. “Don’t.” He grumbles weakly, energy focused on keeping his composure intact.

The hesitant yet curious fingers pick up pace, encouraged by his stonewalling. Kaminari joins in, pinching the tops of Bakugo’s thighs, and Sero starts poking at his exposed ribs. 

Katsuki twitches more and more under each touch, his chest starting to rattle a bit with held back laughter. This led him to the conclusion that he was absolutely, definitely, undeniably still ticklish. It was much worse than he remembered.

As his friends grow more and more confident by the moment, he finds it harder and harder not to laugh. A wide smile works its way onto his face and Katsuki curses himself internally. Soon, giggles are starting to slip through. He only wishes he could at least have a hand free to cover his ridiculous face. 

“It’s working! Look!” Kaminari concludes triumphantly, reaching up further to prod at Bakugo’s hip bones. 

“Ah! Stahahhop it—”

Kirishima and Sero grin in turn, encouraged, and start to tickle with more determination at their respective spots. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Katsuki’s laughter to begin leaking out.

“Nahahaha- idiots! Cuhuhuhut it out! Thihihis is stuhuhupid!” Bakugo complains, chuckling through his torment.

“It’s working, let’s get him worse!” Kirishima and Kaminari agree, suddenly tickling with fervor over their respective spots. 

“No!” Bakugo shouts, panic rising with his laughter as he realizes he can’t move.  

“Guys…” Izuku clears his throat for a moment. “Wait a second.”

They pause, turning to look at Midoriya.

“Let’s just… take it easy ok? I don’t think we should be too mean…” 

Kaminari shrugs. “I mean… He’s already gonna kill us all for this, regardless of what we do going forward.” 

“Yeah but.. I still think we should be...” Izuku pauses, drawing a lazy finger down Bakugo’s midsection, feeling the muscle tremble beneath it. Little protection is offered in the form of casual dorm clothes. “—well, try to be… nice. I think.” Izuku brings the rest of his fingers out into a spider-y crawl up to his ribs. “He always hated it if you went too hard, back then.” 

“Sh-shuhut the fuck up!” Katsuki growls between fading laughter. “Stop tahahalking about mehehe- while you’re—”

“Hey! He’s trying to stick up for you, bro.” Kirishima chastises, pinching Bakugo’s upper rib cage, sending his head back with a shout. He keeps up wiggling his fingers softly into the ribs.

“I don’t cahahahare! All of you shut uhuhuhup! Gehehet off already! It’s ahah- hahaha obviouslyhehehe not wohohohorking!” The fire of Katsuki’s embarrassed rage burns its way into the words, finding its way through despite the cackling laughter surrounding his words.

“Listen.” Kaminari leans in, trying to force eye contact with the flustered, angry blond. “Even though you’re being a big fat liar and a total jerk right now and you totally deserve to get it worse… We’re gonna listen to Midoriya and take it easy on you.” 

Part of Bakugo wants to scream, ‘don’t you dare take it easy on me! Ever!’ —but the ticklish part of his brain keeps that other part silent. He scoffs instead and tries again to kick his legs out unsuccessfully. “Whatever! Either get off or get whatever the hell you’re gonna do over with already!” 

Kirishima beams. “…That almost sounds like an invitation.”

“Shut up!”

“You need to work on your attitude, Kacchan~.” Kaminari snickers, poking a few times into Katsuki’s sides, and Bakugo tenses again, face still lit up with a warm blush. Midoriya continues to scribble gently at Bakugo’s stomach and up to his lower ribcage, searching for the perfect spot on his ribs that always made him.. Ah, there it was.

“Ehehehe, stahahaha— Deku d-dohohon’t!” Katsuki giggles.

“Are your feet ticklish too?” Sero asks, happy with his tape bonds and feeling a bit crowded with the other two up near Bakugo’s chest. 

Bakugo’s toes curl in his stupid, measly, unprotective slippers. “N-no! I told you— I’m not fucking tihihicklish!” He blatantly lies. “Sh-ahaha-shut up, stupid ehehextras!” 

Kirishima sighs dramatically over the sound of Bakugo giggling. “Sounds like we’re gonna be here a while guys…”

“That’s fine by me!” Kaminari adds gleefully, pinching at both of Bakugo’s hips every few seconds and watching him buck faintly at the touch.

Katsuki continues his mantra of cursing and denial, only encouraging his tormenting friends to push him, tickling and teasing with a greater boldness with each passing threat he makes. And well, damn if his own competitive steak isn’t to a fault — he can’t help the instinct that he doesn’t want to lose. He knows it’s stupid at this point to keep denying that he’s ticklish. And yet…

“Shuhuhut up! I’m nohohohot! I’m not! Ahahah- don’t! Shihihit-fuck you Deku! Hahaha nooo—”

“Ooh what’d you do?” Curious voices crowd Izuku, faces trying to catch on to what he did to attract Bakugo’s ire.

“Nothing—” Izuku lets out a little laugh. “Just—”

“Nothing!” Katsuki reiterates, interrupting and glaring up at Deku. 

Midoriya laughs awkwardly. “I think Kacchan would actually murder me if I showed you… sorry guys.”

They think for a moment, then shrug in agreement. “We’ll just have to keep doing this until we find whatever that spot was, then, I guess. Start a weekly tradition.” Kirishima says as though it’s a new chore they have to complete. 

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dahaHAHAhahare!”

“Wow, Bakugo, for someone who’s definitely not ticklish, you’re laughing a lot.” Kaminari teases. “What's so funny?” 

“Your stuhuhuhupid fahace!” Bakugo laughs back without missing a beat. 

Kaminari narrows his eyes, then pulls away his hands. He pulls his hand in close to examine it, flexes his fingers a few times; he rests his fingertips gently on his other forearm, watching thoughtfully. Electricity crackles, quiet enough to miss over Bakugo’s strangled laughter. With a grin, both of Kaminari’s hands are back, reaching down toward Bakugo’s middle, who groans with frustration. 

When Kaminari touches his stomach this time though, he pushes his hand under the shirt and against the bare skin. Bakugo tenses even further, his mind stumbling between a mixture of embarrassment, lightness, anger, laughter, and an overloading nervous system. 

“The fuhuhuhuck are yOU-HA! STAHAHA-NO! WHAHAT!? WHAahahaha whahahat iS THAHAT!?” Comes Katsuki’s increasingly frantic response to the feeling of tiny, popping electrical stimulations pulsing out from Kaminari’s nimble fingers. 

“Oh man, seriously what is that?” Kirishima asks with a grin.

“If you want us to stop, all you have to do is admit that you’re ticklish~.” Kaminari reminds a cackling Bakugo. He drags his fingers in light, slowly closing and widening circles along the skin he can reach under Bakugo’s shirt that isn’t fully closed off by tape. “It’s nothing really, just getting a little creative with my quirk.” He says casually to his friend as though there were not a writhing Bakugo between them.

“That’s so cool! How’d you come up with that? Is it easy to manage the minimal electrical output? Oh man, it seems like it tickles really bad! Poor Kacchan..” 

“Hey, if you want to try it out next…” Denki snickers.

Izuku holds his hands up, crossing and uncrossing them in front of his chest quickly. “No! No, I’m, heh, I’m already really ticklish so…” He blushes crimson with a nervous smile.

“Oh are you now?” Kaminari winks, grinning. “Maybe we’ll have to test that some time.” 

“N- uh. Heh.” Midoriya’s face is red as he stumbles over words and eventually just turns to focus on poking at Kacchan in front of him rather than his future possible victimhood.

Sero, meanwhile, tickles up and down Bakugo’s soles and pinches at his ankles and calves and shins, gaining him some suppressed kicks and jerking muscles.

When Midoriya returns to tickling along his ribs, Bakugo feels that he isn’t going to be able to take this much longer, with Kirishima on his underarm and occasionally neck, Sero on his feet, and Kaminari spreading his terrible little sparking tickles all over his sides and stomach now.

“Fuck! Stahahahahop- ehehehehenough already!” Bakugo growls through his increasingly desperate laughter. 

“You just have to admit it~.” Kirishima sing-song’s.

Bakugo shouts through his laughter, frustrated and nearly at wit’s end. He grapples with the few options he can think of right now, landing on nothing but the obvious out. Deku’s fingers start crawling back up toward his ribs and he panics, shouting out between laughs. “Fine! Fihihihine I’m ticklish! It fucking tihihihihihickles! Ahahahahhare you happy nahahahow? I am! Ahaha- haha is- is thihihis what you wahahahanted?!” 

Everyone slowly pulls their hands away, leaving a panting, flustered, still-giggling Bakugo taped up between them all. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard!” Kaminari laughs, starting to tug at the tape securing their friend. 

Bakugo flinches when he first reaches in, which makes everyone laugh again. Soon, everyone is helping, and Bakugo is quickly free enough to stand up and rip the rest off. He tries to glower, to stare them all down, but the red hasn’t left his cheeks yet, and the smile is still fighting its way onto his lips. 

“You’re all gonna fucking die. I hope you know.” Katsuki cracks his knuckles, then turns and points accusatorily. “Especially you, Deku!” 

“Wha- me?!” 

“Obviously! This was all your fault!” 

Midoriya squeaks, shrinking in on himself and putting distance between him and Kacchan. 

“I have better things to do right now. But you’re all gonna get yours.” Bakugo threatens as he heads toward his dorm to ‘do better things’ (totally not just take a nap because he’s exhausted from laughing so hard).

[outsideratheart]

Sweet Nothing (Alex Scott x reader)

You were a blue through and through. The whole world knew it, you were captain for heaven’s sake but that didn’t mean you were immune the charm of a red, a gunner and her name was Alex Scott. 

You were never one to mix business with pleasure which meant you didn’t pursue a relationship when she was still playing. At that point it was only a crush. Besides your were focused on forging your legacy at your childhood club. 

But everything changed the day Alex asked to interview you one on one for her documentary highlighting woman’s football and the role you played in it. That was almost 3 years ago and you could count on one hand the amount of people that knew about your relationship. 

First to find out besides your families was Fara. The Euros was one of the best nights of your life and no way was you going to do so without your girlfriend. Alex was up in the studio with the rest of the BBC team and even though she saw your ‘I’m coming to you’ text message she didn’t think you meant now. You locked the door to the dressing room or at least you thought you did. Fara’s face was priceless as she walked in to find Alex on top of the table, dress pulled up to her hips, legs wrapped around your waist kissing you as if the world is about to end and this was the last chance she’ll get to feel yours lips on hers. 

The two of you knew you needed to be more careful. 

“Alex I’m telling you that Leah knows” you said whilst brushing your teeth. 

Your girlfriend was at St George’s Park to cover how England are preparing for the Finalissima. Right now you are in her room at the Hilton on the grounds. 

“What could possibly give her the idea that we are dating?” Alex asked innocently as she leaned against the doorframe in nothing but a robe. 

“I have few ideas and the first one is that. You keep looking at me like that” you point at the knowing look that is plastered on her face “and then there’s the fact that you were ogling me during the photoshoot that you shouldn’t have been at in the first place and after you slapped my arse in the hallways when Leah was right behind you” 

Those three things happened in one day and would be the moments that started the suspicions of your relationship. Leah was like a dog on the hunt for a bone and luckily for you she only wanted to interrogate Alex. 

Your night to slip up came when Alex had been presenting SoccerAid. The dress she was wearing filled your head with less than innocent thoughts. It’s why you sent her a text demanding that she come to your apartment straight from the game and you made it crystal clear that she was not to get changed.

The problem came when Sam turned up at half time stating that she got bored at home and thought the two of you could watch the second half together. Your night turned into a military operation. You had to get Sam out of your apartment with enough time to tidy up before Alex arrived.  

The match ended and Sam was taking her time leaving. She suggested that you play a game of FIFA and after one check of your watch you knew you had time only one game turned into two and before you knew it you heard a knock on your door. 

Alex looked beautiful, more so than she did on the TV. She didn’t give you chance to say hello. Alex’s lips crashed into yours with a hunger that was shared. You pressed her against the door as your hands roamed her body. The tightness and thin material of the dress allowed you to feel every inch of her. She was intoxicating, it blurred your surroundings and for a moment you forgot that you weren’t alone in your apartment. 

“Well well well what do we have here?” Sam says rather smugly. 

You pull away abruptly. As you turn around Alex does her best to hide behind you, her hand covering her mouth due to the shock of being caught. 

“Sam” you wanted to explain what exactly your club team mate has just seen. 

“I was just leaving. You two have fun but not too much fun. Remember we have training tomorrow. Bye Alex” the smugness doesn’t leave until Sam does. 

You went straight back to what Sam had interrupted but Alex pushed you away. Your eyes widen because you didn’t understand what was going on. 

“Y/N”

A small chuckle escaped your lips but very quickly stooped as it became clear that Alex did not find it funny, not in slightest.

“It’s Sam. She won’t tell anyone. Look at Fara she has known for months and she hasn’t said a word” 

Your words weren’t enough to comfort Alex. She was worried about people finding out even though you both knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

“We need to be more careful. Remember what we said at the beginning lovers in private—“

“Friends is public. Alex take a look around, we are in my apartment which is basically our apartment at this point. This is private, it’s our home and I will kiss my girlfriend if I want to” you steal a quick kiss to prove your point.

After that night you were on your best behaviour as was Alex but it was getting harder and harder to hide your feelings for the older woman. You were reaching your anniversary and you loved her more now than you ever thought possible. Feelings that strong are impossible to hide. 

It was during the champions league trip to Barcelona when Alex told you that she didn’t want to hide your relationship but that she also wasn’t ready for the world to know. You were ok with this as it meant no more hiding in bathrooms when unexpected guests turned up at your homes and at events the two of you didn’t sit on opposite sides of the table, you sat side by side. Alex didn’t flinch or panic when she felt your hand on her thigh.

The night before the London Derby Alex laid in bed actively trying to wind you up about the following days game. She was confident that her mighty Arsenal would beat your blues. It wasn’t going to happen and when your girlfriend offered up a bet you knew that you would do everything you could on the pitch to make sure she lost. It’s safe to say when Chelsea won 4-0 you were more than happy to go do pitch side media. 

Alex, Fara and Karen stood analysing in the game when you snuck up behind them. You playfully pinch Alex’s waist. After greeting the other two presenters you take your place by your girlfriend’s side.

“And joining us now is Chelsea captain Y/N Y/L/N. I imagine you are happy with today’s result” Fara asks already knowing that you would be in an untouchable mood.

“More than happy. I think we showed today why we are running away with the league. It’s always a good day when we come away with three points. The fact it’s Arsenal who we took those points off make it that much better” you turn and she her shaking her head. “Alex?”

“London is blue” Erin comes in shouting with Millie, Sam and Guro not far behind her. 

“I can’t” Alex ignores the new company as her focus remains on you. Her eyes begging you not to make her do this live on TV.

“Are we missing something?” Millie asks. 

“Yes you are. You see Alex here was so confident that I would be beaten today that she made a very interesting bet, one which she now has to pay up”

You take the microphone out of her hands and place it on the table in front of you. The women around you watch and wait for the bet to be revealed. A huge hint comes as they see Alex taking off her coat and you taking of the rather sweaty match worn and winning Chelsea shirt.

“I made a bet with Y/N that Arsenal would win today and the bet was whoever lost has to wear the other team’s shirt”

“I wonder when this was made” Sam whispers behind you “Whilst she was in your bed, I think so” Her last comment earns her a elbow to the ribs.

“You can’t welsh on a bet Alex” you hand her your shirt and take her coat for her.

Your girlfriend smells your shirt and to anyone else the sweat might be enough to put them off but all Alex smells is your perfume. 

You cannot take your eyes of her as you watch her put on your shirt. She had worn your England shirt numerous times but seeing her in blue did things to you.

Once the shirt is on she makes grabby hands for her coat but you shake your head. She wasn’t allowed to cover the badge. Alex had to wear this shirt until the moment she walked through the door to your apartment where you would take it off her, that was the bet.

“The things I do for the woman I love” It slips out before Alex realises what she has said. Fully aware that she is live on TV she does everything she can not to react to her confession. Luckily she wasn’t holding a microphone so she hoped that her words wasn’t picked up.

The people watching at home may not have heard her but the 4 Chelsea players near you sure did. When the camera cut the two of you were subject to a hoard of questions, all you vowed to answer at training but on the one condition that they remain tight lipped and to your shock they did. 

This moment did make Alex realise that this luck wouldn’t always follow her and she asked if you would be happy for your friends to know, to which you said you were. 

The rest of the world didn’t find out till a couple of months later when the final whistle was blown at the World Cup final in Australia. Just as she was for the Euros, Alex was in the small studio within the stadium covering the game for the BBC. It was your mistake that lead to the Spain’s one and only goal, the one that would go on the win them the coveted trophy and the all important star on the shirt.

She was live on TV when she was shown you sat on the pitch refusing support from your team mates. She could tell that you were crying and it was confirmed when you pulled you shirt down from over your face. Your eyes were red and she could feel your pain.

The rest of the punditry team was talking about the game but Alex remained quiet as she watched the monitor, mentally begging someone to stay by your side and refuse to leave. Alex realised she is being spoken to when she hears your name get brought up.

“You know this team, you know Y/N. She’s the captain of this team. What do you think is going through her mind right now?” Jonas asks her.

“She will blame herself for this. Y/N comes across as this stoic player but she had the biggest heart and this will be killing her inside” Alex turns to look down at the pitch to see you all alone and even from a distance she can see your body is racking with sobs.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I need to go” Alex takes out her ear piece and hands it to one of the producers. 

Nobody asks any questions as the former Lionesses walks out of the studio without saying another word.

You couldn’t believe what you had done. You, the captain whose job it was the lead the team to victory, had cost the team and the country the greatest accomplishment a national team can achieve. They had been playing the goal on the screens so you got to see your mistake over and over again. You deserved it, it was your punishment. You were never an emotional player but this defeat hurt more than any other in your career. Once again you find yourself pulling your shirt up to hide your tears.

“Look at me” you know that voice.

“I can’t. I can’t look at you Alex” your hands cover the shirt that covered your eyes. 

“Please” Alex reaches for your hands expecting to be met with a fight but you didn’t have it in you. You had nothing left, no fight, no energy. 

When you see her you break again only this time Alex is there to hold you. She pulls your up and into her arms, holding you tightly as your tears soak the shoulder of her pink stripped blazer. She lets you have your moment before trying to talk to you.

“This isn’t on you Y/N. You girls are a team. You win as one and you lose as one”

“But—“

“No buts. You lead this team to a World Cup final and that isn’t something to look over just because the game didn’t end how you wanted. You” Alex gently pokes your chest “will use this moment and come back stronger”

“I will” you voice is quiet but there is a hint of conviction in what you are saying.

Alex leans in to kiss you but you stop her as discreetly as you can.

“Look around, don’t do this here just because we lost” you divert your eyes to cameras that are around you.

“Who cares Y/N. If I’m not here for you now then I don’t deserve to be with you at all”

You nod you head. The game had broken you and there wasn’t anyone else you wanted to put you back together. Alex was it for you, public be damned.

“We were never the best at hiding were we?” You asked.

“No Y/N we weren’t but maybe that was the point. We wanted the world to know, we just didn’t know it at the time. Now let’s go, there’s nothing left for you on this pitch”

Alex drapes her arm around you shoulder pulling you in close. Your head rests on her shoulder as the two of you leave the pitch and into the changing room. 

[gardenschedule]

Beatles defending each other ❤️

In 1965 [the Byrds] toured England and Paul invited us to his club, the Scotch of St James’s [sic]. He sent a limo to pick us up. He said he had been listening to our music. We were blown away. He took us for a ride through London in his Aston Martin, at great speed. He was really hip, he and John were so tight it was like one person at times. Unlike the Byrds, [where] Crosby would just leave you out to dry, the Beatles all defended each other to the hilt. If you criticised, say, George then they would all respond.

Roger McGuinn, in Paul McCartney: Now & Then, Tony Barrow and Robin Bextor

“They’re four very different people who together form a unit that is virtually impregnable. If, for instance, someone should find fault with anything one of them has done, the others rush to his defence. They close their ranks. They’re very close indeed. A lot closer than people think.”

George Martin, Disc and Music Echo (1967)

And actually, we’ve got the image of him all these years about criticising Paul – yeah, he did, but it’s like [when] you criticise your wife. “I can criticise her, but you can’t.” I was there once when some guy was saying that he didn’t think ‘Let It Be’ was such a great record, and he thought John would agree, and he didn’t.

November 10th, 2009: Journalist Ray Connolly

Q: How did Paul react [to “How Do You Sleep”]?

John: I don’t know because I never saw him, but I think he made a comment last year which was pretty spot-on which was ‘whatever I’m saying about him is my problem, or vice versa.’ The only regret I have about it is that it should never have been about Paul because everybody’s so bothered with who’s it about that they missed the track. That’s what bugged me. I’m entitled to call him what I want to, and vice versa. It’s in our family, but if somebody else calls him names I won’t take it. It’s our own business. And anyway, it’s like Dylan said about his stuff when he looked back on it, it was all about him.

Patrick Synder-Scrumpy with Jack Breschard, “Sometime in L.A., Lennon Plays It as It Lays.” Crawdaddy [March 1974]

"When John did 'How Do You Sleep?' I didn't want to get into a slinging match. Part of it was cowardice. John was a great wit, and I didn't want to go fencing with the rapier champion of East Cheam-- But it meant that I had to take shit--It meant that I had to take lines like 'All you ever did was Yesterday.' I always find myself wanting to excuse John's behavior, just because I loved him. It's like a child, sure he was a naughty child, but don't you call my child naughty. Even if it's me he's shitting on, don't you call him naughty. That's how I felt about this and still do. I don't have a grudge whatsoever against John. I think he knew exactly what he was doing, and, because we had been so intimate, he knew what would hurt me and used it to great effect. I thought, 'Keep your head down and time will tell,' and it did because in the 'Imagine' film (Imagine John Lennon, documentary), he says it was really all about himself."

Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

“Well the deal was, he could say that, but if you said that, if anybody said anything bad about Paul, John’d take a swing at you. He’d say “you can’t talk about Paul like that”, Paul was his best buddy. If you were talking to Paul and you said something derogatory about John, he’d get up and leave. Paul was more of a peaceful guy, but John had that hot head, and he’d say “you wanna talk about Paul? Let’s go”. You weren’t allowed to say anything bad about John or Paul to each one of them because they would defend each other to the nth degree, which I liked, because you could tell they were attached at the hip.

Alice Cooper Live and Uncut on the Kim Mitchell Show

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden. And he knew that his relationship with Paul was very important to him. But you know, like all great friendships, they’d grown apart and married different people and had different lives. He knew what he didn’t like about Paul, but he also knew what he liked about Paul.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

George didn’t mind slagging Paul off. But he HATED other people doing it.

Tom Petty

When I talk about George, sometimes I feel like I’m making him sound too much like he was a saint. By no means was the man a saint! Over the years with him and John, they could both be really brutal with Paul. I learned very early on that I couldn’t join them. They both on different occasions said, “We can say that, but you shouldn’t.” They were truly brothers who loved taking the piss out of each other, but they didn’t want anybody else doing it.

Jim Keltner on George Harrison

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Skin | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: mentions of assault/battery, canon violence, canon gore (take care of urselves bbies)

Word Count: 5826

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You and Dean didn’t talk about Toledo. You were back to not talking about much of anything. Your fights had become much less frequent, and when you did fight, it was more playful than malicious. For that, you were grateful. You felt incredibly conflicted about the fact that he was beginning to grow on you. 

‘Like a wart,’ you thought. ‘Or a blister, maybe.’

Whatever he was, he was beginning to chip through your hard exterior. You also found out he hadn’t told Sam what you’d told him about your family which you were surprised by. 

The three of you spent more time on the road than you did anywhere else. When you used to drive cross-country by yourself, you felt yourself beginning to go crazy a few hours into the drive. As much as you loved your alone time, you also craved the company of others. Now that you had it, you weren’t sure how you were going to leave these guys once you found John. 

Dean turned in his seat to face Sam. “Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” 

He didn’t respond.

“Sam wears women’s underwear.”

“I’ve been listenin’, I’m just busy,” he finally answered. 

“Busy doin’ what?” you placed your head on his shoulder over the top of the seat.

“Reading e-mails.” 

Dean had gotten out of the car and began pumping gas. “E-mails from who?”

“From my friends at Stanford.” Sam still seemed disinterested in conversation.

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?” Dean asked.

“Why not?” He still hadn’t turned his attention from his phone.

“Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

“I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.”

“And I couldn’t make my way into that lie?” you asked. 

“What do I tell ‘em, (Y/N/N)? That we picked up some chick in California and took her on the road with us?” he chuckled. “And I don’t lie to them. I just don’t tell ‘em… everything.”

“Yeah, that’s called lying,” you retorted. “I get it, though, the truth is much worse.”

“So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?”

His older brother shrugged.

“You’re serious?” Sam wasn’t really asking.

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period,” Dean responded.

“How many friends do I have, Sam?” you asked him.

“Me.”

“Exactly,” you giggled.

“You two are kind of anti-social, you know that?” He returned to scrolling through his emails.

“Eh, whatever.” You flopped back on the bench seat.

“God….” Sam trailed off.

“What?” you and Dean asked.

“In this e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.”

“Is she hot?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Dean—” 

Sam ignored the two of you. “I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

“Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with?” his brother questioned.

“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.”

“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.”

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’.”

“Look, sorry ‘bout your buddy, okay?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “But this does not sound like our kind of problem.”

Sam wasn’t having it. “It is our problem. They’re my friends.”

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Dean and Sam got into what you can only describe as a staring contest before Dean scoffed; seemingly admitting defeat. Next thing you knew, you were headed to St. Louis.

***

The massive door on the undoubtedly expensive house you’d arrived at opened to reveal a beautiful blonde girl. 

‘Damn all these pretty blonde bitches we keep running into,’ you thought.

“Oh my God, Sam!” she smiled, throwing her arms around her friend.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky,” Sam jested.

“You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.”

“I got your e-mail.” His tone had become somber.

“I didn’t think that you would come here,” she answered earnestly.

Dean shoved in front of Sam. “Dean. Older brother.”

‘He’s making his fucking voice deeper again.’

She shook his hand. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she smiled back.

“We’re here to help. Whatever we can do.” You peeked out from behind Sam. “I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Nice to meet you!” You were only mildly annoyed by how wonderful her disposition was. “Come in.”

“Nice place,” Dean commented, taking in his grandiose surroundings.

“It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free,” Becky explained.

“Where are your folks?” Sam asked.

“They live in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial.”

‘Of course, they fucking do.’

“Do you guys want a beer or something?” she asked politely.

Dean obviously did, but his brother stopped him. “No, thanks. So, tell us what happened.”

“Well, um, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Becky began to cry. 

‘She’s even pretty when she cries.’

“So, he called 911, and the police— they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police—they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight,” she relayed.

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.”

“We could,” Dean agreed, but you could tell he still wasn’t picking up where Sam was going with this.

“Why? I mean, what could you do?” the blonde asked.

“Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.” Sam patted his brother’s shoulder.

“Detective, actually,” Dean laughed.

“Really? Where?”

“Bisbee, Arizona. But I’m off-duty now.”

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just— I don’t know,” she said.

“Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent,” Sam replied.

“Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.”

“Oh, yeah, man, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends,” Dean mocked after Becky had walked down the hall.

“Look, Zack and Becky need our help,” Sam responded.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.”

“Two places at once? We’ve looked into less.”

Dean said nothing, clearly defeated.

***

“You’re sure this is okay?” Rebecca asked Dean as the four of you walked into Zack's house.

Dean clearly was having fun with the whole “cop” thing. “Yeah. I am an officer of the law.”

You hated how smug he could be. Rebecca came inside with you and informed you that Emily had let her attacker in. 

She then informed you about a recent incident that struck you as odd. “Um, there was something, about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes— Zack’s clothes. The police— they don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.” In the midst of her story, you could hear a dog barking angrily across the street. Dean peered out of the window, and Becca came up behind him. “You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.”

“What happened?” you asked her.

“He just changed.”

Dean turned over his shoulder to her. “Do you remember when he changed?”

“I guess around the time of the murder,” she shrugged. 

You found Sam staring at a picture of himself, another college-aged boy you assumed was Zack, and Rebecca that was framed in the hallway. 

Dean came up behind you soon after. “So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zack’s girlfriend was killed.”

“Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal,” Sam said.

“Yeah, maybe Fido saw somethin’.”

“So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

“Yeah, prob—” you started, only to be cut off by Dean.

“No. Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.”

You shot him a look. “The evidence is staring you in the face, and you still can’t admit you’re wrong.”

He shot a look back at you that said, ‘Don’t try me.’

Before you could push each other’s buttons any further, Rebecca came over to you, and Dean turned his attention to her. “So, the tape. The security footage— you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, ‘cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.”

How Becky was buying into Dean’s lie, you had no idea. He was really laying it on thick.

“I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop,” she giggled. “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

The three of you went back to Becky’s parents’ home to review the security footage. It was of Zack entering his house, but a strange glint on the film caught your eye.

“22:04,” Dean noted the time stamp, “that’s just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30.”

“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with,” Becky added.

“Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?” Sam asked. 

“Oh, sure,” she replied politely, turning to go to the kitchen.

“Maybe some sandwiches, too?” He was putting on the puppy dog eyes just a bit to convince her. 

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” she snarked.

“I wish,” Dean mumbled. 

“Can you focus, please?” you asked him.

“What are you, my mother?” Your banter was no longer filled with malice, just a hint of aggravation. 

“No, but frankly, the thought of you trying to bang someone makes me want to throw up in my mouth. I’d prefer not to watch it happen,” you replied playfully. “But look.” You rewound the tape an started it over. You caught the glint again, paused it, and realized Zack’s eyes were silver. “There!”

“Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare,” Dean shrugged.

“Does that look like any camera flare you’ve ever seen?” you asked rhetorically. 

He just looked away, defeated. 

“You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul,” Sam chimed in. “Remember that dog that was freaking out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack’s, something that looks like him but isn’t him.”

“Like a Doppelganger?” Your brow knitted together, mind trying to wrap around what you were dealing with.

“Yeah. It’d sure explain how he was in two places at once,” Sam said.

Despite the luxurious villa Sam’s friend called home, the three of you didn’t want to intrude on her privacy; opting for yet another shitty motel. Something about this case was bugging you, though, and you tossed and turned all night thinking about it. And then, it hit you.

You pulled on your jacket and boots and rushed over to the boys’ room. A sleepy Dean answered the door. You hated to admit it, but he and his fluffy, mussed up hair were adorable when he’d just woken up.

“Morning, sunshine,” you grinned.

He scratched his head. “(Y/N), what the fu—”

“We have to get to Zack’s house. I just thought of something. “

Sam appeared behind Dean, already dressed. “Whatcha got?”

Dean stepped back from the door, letting you into the room. 

“We saw ‘Zack’ go in, but never saw the killer leave,” you explained. “But of course, we didn’t. Why would the cops be looking for that when they nabbed Zack in his house with his dead girlfriend?” 

Sam was with you, nodding his head.

“Did you have to realize that before five in the morning?” Dean yawned, pulling a pair of pants on.

“Sorry,” you replied sheepishly. “Couldn’t sleep. But I figured that out, so that’s all that matters.”

Dean shook his head and yawned again. “Sam, you’re driving. I might crash my baby if I drive right now.”

***

“He must’ve gone out the back door,” Sam said. You and the brothers were walking toward Zack’s house. “So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.”

“I still don’t know what we’re doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning,” Dean grumbled.

“C’mon,” you groaned, dragging his arm to follow Sam around the back of Zack’s house. Sure enough, there was a dried, dark red substance smeared on a nearby telephone pole.

“Blood. Somebody came this way,” Sam noted.

“Yeah, but the trail ends,” Dean added from a few paces ahead. “I don’t see anything over here.”

Just as he finished speaking, an ambulance drove past the house with its sirens wailing. You and Sam looked at each other before hurrying back to Dean’s car. Dean followed the ambulance to its destination where a man was handcuffed and being shoved into the back of a police car.

“What happened?” Dean asked a bystander.

“He tried to kill his wife,” she responded with a hand to her chest. “Tied her up and beat her.”

“Really?” you asked.

“I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’d wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy.” She shook her head sorrowfully and watched as the police car drove away.

The three of you hung around the scene for a while until it had been completely cleared out. You regrouped while you snooped around.

“Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?” Dean asked as he approached you and Sam.

“Yeah,” his brother answered.

“Definitely our kind of problem.”

You gasped, feigning shock. “Mark it in the calendar, Dean Winchester admitted he was wrong!”

“Watch it, sweetheart,” he retorted.

“What’d you find out?” Sam asked.

“Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s story. Apparently the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked,” Dean explained.

“So, he was in two places at once, too.”

“Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house; police think he’s a nutjob.”

You paused for a moment, thinking. “You think it could be a shapeshifter?”

“Something that can make itself look like anyone? Sure,” Sam responded. “Every culture in the world has a shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men.”

“Right, skinwalkers, werewolves,” Dean added. “We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessin’ we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood.”

“Let me ask you this— in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?” the younger brother asked.

“Not that I know of.” You shook your head. “But someone ran out the back of his house and headed this way. And then… the trail just… ends. Just like at your friend’s house.” You gestured toward Sam.

“Well, there’s another way to go.” You followed Dean’s gaze down to a manhole.

“Ew, gross.” Your face scrunched up in disgust as Sam started to move the manhole cover. 

The three of you quickly climbed down so as to not be seen. 

“I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too,” Sam said as the three of you made your way down the tunnel. “The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.”

You were leading the group, and stopped suddenly when you noticed a pile of blood and skin on the ground. “Blegh, look!”

“Is this from his victims?” Sam looked equally as disgusted.

Dean pulled out his pocket knife and lifted a piece of the skin off the ground. “You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape, maybe it sheds.”

“That is sick,” you affirmed.

He dropped the skin back to the ground and turned to you to wipe his knife off on your jacket.

“Ew, dude!” you shoved his arm. “What the fuck?”

He just laughed in response.

You and the boys headed back up to the car to load up with some weapons.

“Well, one thing I learned from Dad—” Dean began, riffling through the weapons cavity, “—is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.”

“Silver bullet to the heart,” you chimed in.

He nodded and handed you a case of the bullets. 

Sam’s cell phone rang. “This is Sam… We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out… What are you talkin’ about?”

He seemed caught off-guard. You thought he was talking to Rebecca, but had no idea why she’d be upset with you. You eyed Dean who shrugged.

“Why would you do that?... Bec— We’re tryin’ to help… Bec, I’m sorry, but—” And then he clapped his phone shut, looking disappointed.

Dean found it an appropriate moment to be a bit of a dick. “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about. You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just—it’d be easier if—”

“If I was like you guys,” he replied quietly. 

“Sam, I’m not trying to be heartless, but Dean’s kinda right.” Both brothers seemed surprised you were agreeing with Dean for once. “We’re not like other people.” 

“But I’ll tell you one thing.” Dean’s lighthearted tone was back. “This whole gig— it ain’t without perks.” He held out a gun to Sam, whose face was still crestfallen.

You followed Sam and Dean back down the manhole, gun loaded with silver bullets. You carried the case of bullets Dean handed to you in your inner jacket pocket; just in case. After a few minutes of trudging through toxic sludge with baited breath, you noticed another pile of blood and skin on a pipe next to Sam’s head. “I think we’re close to its lair,” you told them.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asked. 

“Because there’s another puke-inducing pile next to your face,” you snickered. 

“Oh, God!” His face scrunched up in disgust.

There was another pile of clothing and rotting skin a few paces ahead of you. 

“Looks like it’s lived here for a while,” you heard Dean say from behind you.

You turned to face him as you spoke. “Who knows how many murders he’s gotten away— Fuck, Dean!” you cried, seeing the shapeshifter in the form of its last victim behind him. 

Dean wheeled around, only to be knocked to the ground by the smirking creature. You and Sam rushed to his side as the creature sped off. 

“Get the son of a bitch!” Dean commanded. 

The three of you sped down the tunnel and followed him out of the manhole. You couldn’t see where exactly he ended up, and you decided to split up. 

Under the cover of night, you headed down streets and alleyways with your gun hidden inside your jacket. You came to a stop at a dead end and wheeled around at the sound of footsteps behind you. The shapeshifter, still in the form of the businessman, knocked you out cold before you were even able to raise your gun at him. 

***

The next time you came to, you felt itchy bits of rope binding your hands, feet, and neck to a cold, metal post behind you. As your vision began to clear, you could see you were in some kind of a dark, dingy room. It seemed like a house, but you weren’t entirely convinced. You heard what sounded like the older brother’s voice coming from behind you.

“Dean?” you called.

“(Y/N), it’s not—” Sam shouted, but cut himself off with a groan.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” he smirked, leaning down to your eye level. He put a hand next to your head on the post. 

You turned your face away from him, straining against the rope. He even smelled like Dean. 

“You are one fucking trainwreck,” he said, searching your face. 

You eyed him curiously. He just laughed coldly in response. “The more I learn about you, the more fucked up you get.”

“What do you mean ‘learn’?” 

As if on cue, the shapeshifter held a hand to his temple, grunting in pain. After a moment had passed, he spoke again. “You made a big mistake telling him— I mean, me— about what you did to your family. If I wasn’t ready to get rid of you before, I sure as hell am now. I hope you’re tellin’ the truth about leaving the second we find Dad, ‘cause I don’t know how much longer I can put up with you. God, from your voice to your personality, you aggravate the livin’ crap outta me.” The shapeshifter leaned back down in front of your face, the two of you only inches away from one another.

“You’re a burden, (Y/N). You’re exhausting to be around. I constantly have to keep my guard up around you. I can’t trust you, not after what you told me in Toledo. How do I know you won’t turn on me and Sammy?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you kept them at bay. You instead reared back as much as you could and spat in his face. You had taken him by surprise, but his hand was around your throat in an instant. His lips were inches away from your ear and he squeezed your neck just tight enough to where you were beginning to see stars. “You fucking bitch. Y’know, take your voice and personality away, Dean would definitely wanna fuck you. He thought you were hot the first time he met you. Then he actually got to know you, and, eh, things changed. But I’m sure he’d have tons of fun with Sam’s little friend Becky.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “I think I’ll go pay her a visit.”

He released your throat and you sputtered and coughed when he did. He covered you up with a tarp moments later. You felt pathetic, but you let your tears flow freely now that he was gone, wiggling around to get the tarp off your head. 

“(Y/N), are you back there?” Dean called from somewhere you couldn’t see. 

You knew he hadn’t said those hurtful things to you, but it was still difficult to hear his voice. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here.” Your voice was still shaky from crying. “He went to Rebecca’s, lookin’ like you.”

“Well, he’s not stupid. He picked the handsome one,” Dean gibed at his brother.

You admired his ability to keep his snarky attitude and stupid jokes despite his circumstances. His confidence bewildered you at times.

You pulled at the ropes binding your hands, hissing when you felt the rope creating angry brush burns on your wrists. 

“Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you,” you heard Sam tell Dean.

“What do you mean?” the older brother asked.

“Yeah, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories,” you told him.

“You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?” 

You giggled. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us,” Sam added.

“Yeah, he probably needs to keep us alive. Some kind of psychic connection— ah,” you yelped at the feeling of the rope aggravating your wrists again. The shifter had bound you unbelievably tightly.

“(Y/N), stop, I’m coming to help you,” Dean instructed. 

“I’m a big girl,” you replied sassily. “I can do it.”

Dean had made his way over to you. “Do you have to fight me on everything?” He untied your hands with ease and began working on your neck. 

“Yes, but thank you,” you told him. You still couldn’t look him in the eyes after what the shifter had told you. You were doing your best to keep your exterior steely. You couldn’t deny, though, that his tight-fitting gray t-shirt over rippling muscle and the way he’d helped you were starting to break down your walls a little. 

“Come on, we gotta go,” you heard Sam order from behind you. “He’s probably at Rebecca’s already.”

Dean pushed a window out of the building you were kept in and the three of you climbed out. 

Sam started down the street. “Come on. We gotta find a phone, call the police.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dean stopped him. “You’re gonna put an APB out on me.”

His brother shrugged. “Sorry.”

“This way.” Dean led the three of you down the street. You ran shielded by the darkness until you reached a store window. There was a display wall of televisions in it, and the news was on. Conveniently, Dean was the breaking news.

“An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End—” the reporter stated, “—where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.”

Of course, Dean’s attitude was unwavering. “Man! That’s not even a good picture.”

You looked around nervously. 

“It’s good enough,” Sam said.

“Man!” Dean grumbled, following Sam down the street to an alleyway. 

“They said attempted murder,” you pointed out. “At least we know—”

“I didn’t kill her.”

You nodded.

“We’ll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she’s all right,” Sam said, looking over his shoulder.

“Alright, but first I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him.” 

‘He’s still as arrogant as ever.’

“We have no weapons, though. No silver bullets,” you countered. 

“Sweetheart, the guy’s walkin’ around with my face, okay, it’s a little personal, I wanna find him.” He turned to face you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I get it. We need guns, though.”

“The car?” Sam threw in. 

“I’m bettin’ he drove over to Rebecca’s.” Dean’s face began to heat up. You knew he was thinking about his precious Impala.

“The news said he fled on foot. I bet it’s still parked there.”

“The thought of him drivin’ my car—” he whined.

You shook your head. “Come on.”

“It’s killin’ me,” Dean whined again.

“Let it go,” you and Sam commanded over your shoulders.

The three of you rounded the corner along a tall hedge only to be greeted by the sight of the car.

“Oh, there she is! Finally, something went right tonight.” Dean’s joy was almost contagious.

His stupor was broken by a police car appearing down Rebecca’s street and blocking the end of the road. 

“Fuck.” You spun around the way you came, but another cop car appeared back down that street, too. 

“This way, this way,” Dean began leading you over to a fence and easily climbed atop it. 

“You guys go. I’ll hold ‘em off,” Sam told you.

“What are you talking about? They’ll catch you.” Dean turned into a seated position on top the fence.

“Look, they can’t hold me. Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca’s,” Sam quickly spoke. 

You and Dean hopped over multiple fences, fatiguing your limbs quickly. Several blocks from where you and the boys had run into the cops, the two of you stopped to catch your breath. You sat down on a street corner and tucked your knees into your chest.

Dean sat beside you. “What did he say to you?”

You turned to him. “Huh?”

“The shifter. What’d he say to you?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, it’s fine—”

“(Y/N), you haven’t looked at me once since we left that thing’s hideout. Tell me what he said.”

“Why can’t you drop it?” you spat, looking down at your boots.

“Because,” he protested. “I gave you a chance to explain in Toledo. At the very least, you owe me that.”

You sighed. “He said you think I’m annoying. And, um, a burden. He said you’re trying to find your dad so quick to get rid of me. And that you can’t trust me because of what I did to my family.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “Anything else?”

“He said everything about me aggravates you and that I exhaust you.”

He nodded. “Do you really believe that?” You could feel his gaze burning holes into the side of your face.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “You haven’t exactly proven otherwise to me.” You looked up at him for the first time in hours.

He seemed surprised by that answer.

“Don’t look at me like that. Aside from Toledo and a few seconds on that plane, all we’ve ever done is fight,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again. “But I don’t think those things about you. Honest.”

“I feel like I’m pulling teeth here, Dean,” you remarked. “What do you think of me?”

“I mean, you can be annoying.”

You scoffed, but a smile tugged at your lips. 

“And you’re way too stubborn.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And so are you.”

“And you’re too smart for your own good.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“Would you let me finish?” he deadpanned.

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You just… you intimidate me a little, honestly.” Now Dean was the one who couldn’t look at you.

You were shocked. “Really? Why?”

“Dammit, (Y/N), I’m not good at this,” he sighed. “I know you heard what I said to Haley about that being the most honest I’ve ever been with a woman.”

You giggled at the memory.

“This tops that by far,” he admitted.

You nodded. You’d have this conversation another time. You rose to your feet, and he followed suit. 

“Can we start over?” you asked him.

He eyed you curiously.

“As… acquaintances, I mean,” you explained. “We’re no closer to finding your dad than we were the day I met you, so I imagine I’ll be around for a little while longer. I’d rather us not fight the whole time. It’s getting exhausting, if I’m being honest.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess we can do that.”

“Okay, then.” You cleared your throat and stuck out your hand. “Hi. I’m (Y/N).”

Dean shook his head at your antics despite the smile pulling on his lips. “Dean.” This time, he actually shook your hand.

***

Later that morning, you and Dean had returned to the car for weapons. Thankfully, Dean still had some silver bullets left in the trunk. With guns in hand, the two of you headed back to the sewers. A few minutes into your walk, you came across a rancid pile of flesh, teeth, and fingernails.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Your face contorted in disgust. You looked up when you heard a rustling noise a little down the tunnel. You could see a dim glow from the place you’d heard the rustling. You tightened your grip on your gun and let Dean lead the way into the chamber. He nodded his head in the direction of the left side of a figure covered in a tarp at the back end of the chamber, indicating for you to go that way. You followed his instruction and crept up on the figure with him. He pulled the sheet away from the figure, only to reveal Rebecca.

“What happened?” you asked her. Her hands and feet were bound, her mouth was gagged, her hair was a mess, and her skin was littered with bruising and cuts. 

She was still shaking and crying as she spoke. “I was walking home, and everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay,” Dean told her. 

The two of you untied her and made sure she was able to walk before guiding her out of the sewers.

“We’ve gotta hurry,” Dean said. “Sam went to see you.”

When you got to Rebecca’s house, all you could hear was the grunting, furniture breaking, skin hitting skin, and bones cracking coming from the living room. And then, choking. You had no doubt it was Sam.

Dean seemed to pick up on that as well. He hurried into the den, shouting, “Hey!”

The shifter spotted Dean and got off of Sam. Dean shot twice, and with that, the shifter was dead. 

You rushed over to Sam and cradled his head in your lap. “Are you okay?” you asked him. 

He smiled painfully at you. “Peachy.”

You giggled at him. You looked up at Dean standing over… Dean… and watched as he ripped his necklace off the shifter.

You watched Rebecca say goodbye to Sam, and she waved at you and Dean who stood by the Impala. She turned to go back inside her house.

Sam approached the two of you.

“So, what about your friend, Zack?” Dean asked his brother.

“Cops are blamin’ this Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder,” Sam jested. “They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.” 

You giggled. Dean just rolled his eyes. 

“Get in the car, (Y/N),” he chastised you. For the first time since you met him, you knew he wasn’t trying to tear you down. It was refreshing to have an amicable relationship with him.

As Dean tore down the road, he turned to his brother. “Sorry, man.”

“About what?”

“I really wish things could be different, you know?” the older brother said earnestly. “I wish you could just be… Joe College.”

“No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in,” Sam admitted.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak,” Dean quipped.

You loved earnest moments between the two brothers. It made you feel normal; in a weird way.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam said dryly.

“Well, I’m a freak, too. I’m right there with ya, all the way.”

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam’s voice softened.

“You know, I gotta say. I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.” 

You felt one of Dean’s stupid jokes coming on. “Oh, here we go.”

He eyed you in the rearview mirror. 

“Miss what?” Sam asked.

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?” Dean smirked.

You shook your head. “And there it is.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle

[whitemancumslut]

please more dadrry i am begging you. literally on my knees right now. i need more he is genuinely the hottest man ever and i am delusional enough to believe i am married to him. PLEASE

LOVE ME LIKE YOU DO

SUMMARY Y/n and Harry have sex in the kitchen.

CONTENT WARNING, smut (Minors DNI), UNPROTECTED KITCHEN SEX, oral (fem receive), creamiepie

WORD COUNT 3,582 words

i don’t know if you want smut or fluff so i gave you heavy smut:) we all love dadrry! enjoy this till the next harry x angel is out.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” The small child apologizes softly with her voice full of innocence, when the small blue cup tips and the lemonade spills on her father’s grey t-shirt, immediately printing a dark patch on the fabric. Fortunately, Harry caught the cup before it could drop on the floor. Harry’s quick to give his child an assuring smile, shaking his head. The cool beverage sinking into his shirt, sticking against his skin uncomfortably, but he’s brushing it off, not wanting his baby to think they did wrong.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s not a big problem, just a little spill, alright?” The little girl nods then scoops up a spoon full of mac and cheese while her dad grabbed napkins for his shirt.

A curious Y/n walked out of the laundry room just to see her husband removing his t-shirt. As old as they were, the years they’ve been together, it never failed to make her heart skip a beat. The back muscles came into view. As if she was 18 all over again, seeing this beautiful tatted teen for the first time. His toned back and his tense muscles relax as he finally got the wet cotton off him.

When he turns to see his wife he nodded towards her, acknowledging her presence in the room.

“What’s going on in here?” Harry’s head swoons l to the warm chirp of his wife’s voice. She stands in her dark red pajama silk set, her hair tied up, the sight forming immediate heart eyes in his pupils.

Their son was first to speak out, “She spilled her juice on Daddy!” Maeve’s eyebrows knitted as she’s appalled her brother called her out. “No, no. It was an accident,” She whined, dropping her small spoon on her plate.

“It was an accident, darling. Don’t worry about it anymore. You two finish up soon.” Harry told his his daughter before looking up at Y/n asking, “Did you already throw in the load?” He asks, patting down the damp area, the smell of lemon reflecting off him. He walked closer to Y/n, who gave him a nod.

“Yes, but thankfully I didn’t start it yet. I came out when I heard… this.” She grinned, referring to his wet shirt. She steps closer to him taking the shirt from his hands saying, “I’ll take this. Can you get the plates in the sink and baths ready?”

“Yes and yes. Thank you, love,” he said, pressing an innocent kiss to his wife’s temple with an arm around the small of her back. Little did he know that started a fire in her.

Being in love for almost two decades now, had four kids, and he still turned her on. Not much has changed. Yes, he grew a little belly but the dad bod look on him turned her on more. Yes, he grew a bit grey but it was even hotter. He was still the sexiest man she’s ever met. This weekend resulted in two out of their four children being home. For the weekend, their thirteen-year-old daughter and fifteen-year-old son spent the night at their friends’ house. Fortunately, they’re together because the friends are also siblings and Y/n and Harry trusted their parents, Ruth and Austin, considering they have been friends for years. They missed the kids, greatly. But it wasn’t like they were fully free to do whatever. They still had the two youngest in the house, and usually, they are a handful when their older siblings are around to bother them. But now they don’t have anyone to both but each other.

Harry and Y/n’s sex life was probably better than the average married couple’s with four kids. Although, as the kids grew older and more to themselves, Harry found himself getting less private time with his wife. The teens became teens who stayed up past midnight, whether it’s listening to music, binging their favorite shows, playing a video game, or on FaceTime with their friends, they were up. The two parents didn’t completely lack a sex life because they were always willing to have each other— just depending on the circumstances.

The rest of the night she couldn’t help but have butterflies in her tummy whenever her husband would do something. He looked really hot. A little excited she got that familiar feeling of arousal in her core as much as it pained her all night.

But about 30 minutes after the kids baths, they were sleeping safe and sound. Just tucked in by their mommy, hugs and kisses from both mommy and daddy. Y/n finally was able to act of her arousal. Walking down the stairs to see Harry was scrubbing the plates, deciding it’ll be quicker if he hand washed. His wife watched as his hand moved with the soapy towel he scrubbed with.

Y/n walked behind him, the sudden hand on his back made him jump a bit. “It’s just me,” She chuckled. He smiled as she pecked his shoulder comfortably. The kids are sound asleep,” She told him.

“Yeah? Did you check on Lily and Eli yet?” Harry asked on the children who weren’t in the house at the moment. It was hard enough to let them hang out with friends let alone a sleepover. But as the kids got older it got a little more easier to be more trusting of them not the outside world. They were mature, honest, trusting teens. It made the couple feel a whole lot better since they became friends with two siblings and are with each other all the time. Every other hour, they would shoot out a text to one of the teens phones, just making sure they’re okay. Always a good morning and goodnight text.

Y/n hummed softly against his soft skin. “Yes. Ruth told me they ordered pizza tonight,” She watched as his veins that were in his hands poked out as the dish soap fell down his wrist. Her stomach churning and her head gone black for a second as he scrubbed Maeve’s plate. He smelt delightful, she couldn’t put a exactly a name to it though. But it was making her even more horny.

That’s when Y/n inhaled and exhaled deeply, her breaths making the hairs in Harry’s skin stand up. She called his name gently. The little nickname, H, making his ears grow to listen to whatever his love was to say next. The hand of the woman trails on his back and across his muscles. “What do you say you and I head back to the bedroom, hmm?” She questions sweetly, though her voice is seducing as she stroked his tatted arm, watching as he stopped scrubbing the pan and looked down at his wife. So beautiful. Her eyes gleaming up at him.

Then, Harry began to feel her touch grow less innocent.

Harry turned to take a peak up at the staircase like he expected two little feet to ruin what could’ve been/ what was about to happen. His brows raise, “Really? Right now?” Already growing excited in short anticipation. She nodded, “Please.” Harry’s hands let the plastic plate he was washing fall inside the sink, clashing with pans. Before she could make a complaint about the loud noise, he grabbed her face in his hands, closing her mouth shut. She’s quick to note the change of demeanor and the meaning in his eyes that soon turned lustful. His grasp on her face making her arousal release from her, unwillingly. Pressing their lips together, Harry kisses her passionately, swearing to not waste this moment.

His lips top hers as he took the breath she breathed out. Allowing him to take control of her and the kiss. Harry tilted his head as did his wife, their lips fitting together like puzzle pieces. A fuzzy-headed Y/n pulls away from the kiss, due to her lack of air, “Fuck, H,” She huffed out mid-kiss, the opening of her mouth allowing his tongue to hungrily sweep past her lips and lick inside her mouth. Hands now on her waist, moving her back until her bum hit the kitchen island.

They made out like they needed this. They made out like two horny teens who only see each other two days of week. They made out like they were desperate for each others touch. Her hands met the back of his head, gripping his curls, prying him away from her mouth. Her intentions were to tell him to take this to the bedroom but his eyes dart to the view of her neck and dive down to hungrily suck on the skin. Savoring her flavor, sucking feverishly on her skin. His hands finding anywhere on her body. Her hips, her ass, her thighs.

Y/n pulled back from the kiss, eyes locked on Harry’s swollen lips pink lips that were soon shining when he darted his tongue across. The breathtaking woman in front of him is about breathless. Wanting more of her, Harry pulled her closer going in for another kiss but she pulled back again. “Fuck, baby. Let’s take this to the bedroom,” She moaned, trying her hardest not to prop herself up on the counter and have him fuck her right then and there. But it’s like he read her mind. Harry says, “How about I take you right here?” He replies huskily against her skin causing her thighs to tremble, and voice to stutter. Before she knew it he’s muttering the word, jump, and she’s hoisted up in his arms, letting him slide her on the counter. She was too horny to turn down his idea.

Running her fingertips on his broad naked shoulders, flames traveling through him. His cock grows harder the more her hands are on him and the more she moans against him. “We gotta keep it really low,” He tells her, sinking down to his knees as his fingers hook on the waistband of her pajamas. Once they’re down to her ankles, Harry doesn’t bother finishing the job because once he sees the wet patch in her red underwear he loses it. He huffs out a low, fuck, and let’s his hands ride up her thick thighs.

Y/n peaks down at her husband, making heart clenching eye contact but it breaks when her eyes trail down to his lips. A wide smirk spreads. “Shit, you’re so wet, honey.” He chuckled, almost mockingly. No shit, she thought. “You’ve must’ve been like this all night all huh, baby?” His voice is in a cooing tone as if he was mocking the act of sympathy. He rises up to his feet, placing himself in between his love’s thighs. His palm gets hot as it finds it way against her clothed pussy. That sensitive area heated and aching for attention.

She sucks in a sharp breath as his fingers clamp and he grips her pussy. Huffing out a desperate, yes, her voice is low, afraid she’ll awake her sleeping children. Gripping in the counter, practically bruising her fingertips. “Can you fuck me please?”

Her husband completely dismisses her question before asking, “You like when I do that to your pussy, hmm, darling?” Receiving a nod from his wife, he pats her sensitive clothed cunt like a dog, an unholy moan slipping from her throat. She answers, “Yes I do.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve actually been in you huh? Bet you all tight and shit, huh?”

She nods mindlessly, mentally begging him to just fuck her but damn he was enjoying himself. “I am, Harry,” She whimpered hopelessly. Ending her sentence with a small, please, a whimper following, as she did a small grind with her hips against his hand.

At this point, Harry’s breaths are hitting Y/n’s face as he slid his hand inside the waistband of her underwear, making her breath hitch and her to grip the countertop. Immediately going to her clit, pressing down and rubbing softly. She moans, throwing her head back, hair falling back on the counter.

Harry discreetly slipped one finger her small hole, her hole so soaping wet he just slid in. Tight, she was. She lets out a raspy, fuck, grinding her bare bum against the counter.

Harry leans in, allowing her to grab onto his shoulders, soon wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh my fucking—” She digs her fingernails into the back of Harry’s neck as he slips in his ring finger.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re suffocating my fingers, baby.” He chuckles lightly, fingering her feverishly. “So. Fucking. Tight,” He purrs against her lips, licking into her agape mouth, finally locking their lips together after teasing her. He plunged his fingers inside her soapy, cock-deprived cunt. Crooking both fingers as she threw her head back at the toe curling sensation. She let out an unholy cry and mewl when her thighs tense as Harry finger fucks her so good.

Harry’s tongue plays with hers, getting all of her tastebuds. Savoring the taste of each other, the two moan as Y/n’s arousal trails down Harrys wrist. He continues the amazing pace and in and out—crooking motion with his fingers as she release a like of curse words when her first orgasm of the night is near. Repeatedly hitting her g-spot, Harry talks her through as he breathing gets out of rhythm. His words go muffled as her breathing and moans get louder.

The last words she heart before her orgasm were…

“Feels like forever since Ive been in you.”

“You’re going to come, babe? I know, I know.”

“Cum on my fingers, baby.”

His words are her confirmation. Her thighs shook, her feet banged gently against the lower cabinet as Harry’s eyes roll over her whole body. She trembled as her toes curled, her stomach churned, and eyes rolled back just as her cum slowly spills out onto Harry’s digits.

A high pitched moan crawls up her throat and out her mouth, she rides out her orgasm on the pads of his fingers. Her breaths are quick and uneven. Desperate to catch her breath. “There you go, so pretty. Fucking gorgeous,” He praised and guided his wife through it. Her around hooked around his neck lightened up and slid down his naked torso.

“Fuck,” Y/n heard the low groan causing her to look up to see her husband looking off her cum off his fingers. “So sweet,” He purrs. Harry looks down, making Y/n follow his gaze. His cock was fighting against the shackles of his sweatpants. “I’m not done yet, baby. My cock is so hard. Jus’ know it was jealous when it saw my fingers fucking you,” he smirks.

“Want you inside me. N-now,” She huffs, her cunt still desperate. “Please.” She watched as Harry began to pull down his sweats, peaking down as he did also began to pull down briefs. The skin of his cock is seen and she grows impatient. Her breathing just getting back to steady rhythm, her whines a little louder than before, muttering the word, hurry.

Harry shudders as the cool air of the kitchen hits his cock, that shoots up when he finally gets his pants down. Y/n whines, “God— H, please.” She doesn’t know the last time she seen his cock. Most likely last week for an early morning shag, but it was still so unfamiliar to her when she’s been with he kids and working all week.

“I know, baby. Lay back for me,” he commands politely. She does as her husband says and laid against the cold counter top, pussy on display. Her wet folds are aching with pleasure as is the rest of her body.

“Shit,” Harry jerked himself as he began to kneel. He didn’t want to take too much of her layers off in case a child was to come down the stairs but that’s why they kept quiet- so they wouldn’t wake them and so they could hear their little noises.

Harry began to kneel in front of her cunt that laid up on the counter top, head between her thighs. Y/n couldn’t see anything but the upside down living room that was set in front of her as her head was back and she awaited Harry’s affection. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to hungrily, rummage through her folds with his tongue, forcefully. Licking a wet stripe between her folds, tasting every bit of her pink pussy.

She mewls out, whining as his tongue plungers inside her wet hole. Letting out an exaggerated sob, Y/n wraps her legs around her husbands back as he kitty licked her cunt, his lips brushing past her sensitive parts. Fuckfuckfuck, she swarms on the counter, having Harry hold her thighs down as he pulls his tongue out and pressed it against her clit. Harry had his hand wrapped around his cock, moving it in a slow up and down motion. Jerking himself slowly, moaning hungrily against her sweet pussy, sending vibrations all throughout her body. Using his fingers to pull back the hood of her clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking feverishly. She cries lowly, gripping onto the tight curls that her husband determinedly grew. He growled and shook his head as the grip on his hair turned him on more and more.

He tugged on his cock, squeezing as the precum dripped down his palm. His other hand, was rubbing Y/n’s inner thigh, slowly crawling up to her clit. Pressing his thumb against her sensitive bud, his tongue dived inside her, curling up like his fingers previously did. Y/n’s cries grew louder, her body oversensitive after her first orgasm and now she’s riding his tongue, on to her second orgasm.

“Fuck. I need to be inside you right now,” He groaned as he stood up quickly. The lost of his tongue made Y/n gasp and cry out. But Harry doesn’t let her pussy go long without attention. He continues to rub her clit forcefully, before teasingly, slaps his heavy cock against her cunt, making her cry. As much as he wanted to be inside her, so so badly, her cries were fucking beautiful.

The tip of his cock pressed against her clit as it slipped down with her soapy mound. “Please, H, please.” Her quiet pleads deceive him as he finally slips his tip in, large soft hands lay on her hips as he tilts in. “Holy shit,” He curses under his breath.

His nails immediately stick inside her hips. Harry rolls his hips meeting with hers, their skin meeting and slapping. Their rhythm is slow at first. Enjoying the intimacy of the moment. His balls slap against the bottom of her folds as he fucks into her passionately.

“Oh my god,” She moans. She’s unable to keep her moans in as much as she’s like as Harry’s tipping inside her.

“Pleasepleaseplease, fuck!”

“Shh, shh. Baby come,” He whispered, pausing his thrust and tugging on her wrist. Pulling a tad, motioning for her to lift her upper body and meet him halfway. She does as he wants and swings herself up, unable to keep steady with the long heavy cock that’s stomach deep inside her. Just moving made her moan.

Harry held her lower back with his left hand, moving closer to her pressing his lips against hers. Kissing her softly, Harry rolled his hips back and forward, his cock hitting her g-spot perfectly now that she was angled up on the counter. “Argnnn, ple—” Y/n’s cries are covered by Harry’s enticing kiss, keeping her steady as they moved their hips rhythmically. His right hand moved on top of her clit, using his wide thumb to rub gently.

She whined against his lips, muffled moans, all of it satisfying him. “Jus’ like that baby. Stay quiet,” He muttered, keeping her lips on his. She would tremble in his arms whenever he hit that spot and he would groan whenever she’d tighten around him. Rocking in and out of her, the kitchen echoed with the soft sounds of their naked skin meeting.

Fuck, Harry was being nasty with it. One thing you loved about Harry was that he was great at multitasking. He licked inside her mouth, tongue finding hers as she submissively let him play inside her mouth. Their salivas mixing as Harry fucked into her cunt, their orgasms coming closer and closer. Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his cock enjoyed her soaked cunt hugging it tight, almost suffocating it.

She could feel him so deep inside her. In her guts, just about it.

A breathless Harry pulled away from the heated kiss and said, “Fuck, I’m so close.” His thigh muscles tightening and growing sore as did Y/n’s whole body. Her body began to feel numb as her eyes roll back again in ecstasy. “So so good, H. Baby fuck, I can’t. I’m cumming,” She warned him breathlessly.

She couldn’t feel her legs. “Me too, me too. Come on baby” His breath shuddered and cracked as his cock twitches inside her cunt, spurting his cum inside her. He moans into her ear lowly as she unravels as well, her moans are high pitched, harmonizing with him. It was hot, sweaty. Curses left their mouths as their breaths are lost in the air and the search for oxygen begins. “Holy fucking shit,” He muttered. His cock warms her for just a little bit more until he slips out making her feel immediately empty. She whines as her stretched hole leaks with cum of her own and her husbands.

“Did we really just have sex on the kitchen counter?” She exhales, shaking her head.

“Yes we did angel. How about I deep clean this counter while you get us a hot bath, hmm?”

She didn’t know how she managed to walk up the stairs and into the bathroom but she did. That night resulted in late night back rubs in a warm bath and another toe curling orgasm to end the night off right.

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