#i wish it was more common because god it was so fucking good

[the-great-kraken]

one thing that really annoys me about a lot of les mis productions is their insistence on making the les amis de l'abc older than they are. i know it's partly a schematics thing with hiring younger actors, but to me so much of the tragedy behind the barricade comes from the fact they were kids. they were college students staring at a future they despised, desperate to change it, and they - and the hope they had for a kinder future - were slaughtered. i mean, hell, the musical talks about it! all the time! javert calls them schoolboys, turning is the mothers of paris staring at corpses of boys who could have been their sons, cosette eponine and marius are kids lost in their first loves. idk it seems like such a minor thing but to me it's so core to what makes this story so devastating

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

i can’t even celebrate the death of the queen because so many of the people doing that are cringe and i don’t want to be associated

[x-for-a-y]

god kebian should've won lr4m2. imagine if toby lost twice in a row. imagine if kebian's only loss was to alphagenos. imagine if- okay well losers' finals was going to be both contestants that lost to ag no matter what. i don't think they could've beat dubduo but just imagine

[familyvideostevie]

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed. 

You’ve only been open for two hours. 

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns. 

Your coffee shop. 

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it. 

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works. 

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure. 

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand. 

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him. 

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired. 

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter. 

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember. 

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint. 

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush. 

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks. 

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on. 

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize. 

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question. 

You laugh. Joel looks pleased. 

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders. 

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot. 

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee. 

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him? 

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

__

Joel stops by again. 

And again. 

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron. 

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting. 

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying. 

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning.  When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped. 

“I’m honored,” he says. 

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window. 

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash. 

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask. 

He smirks. “Miss me?” 

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy. 

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. 

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy. 

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise. 

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one. 

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw. 

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear. 

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him. 

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. 

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place. 

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says. 

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day. 

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags. 

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is. 

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.” 

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles. 

They both wave at you as they drive away. 

__

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted. 

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb. 

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing. 

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work. 

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk. 

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one. 

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus. 

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

__

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering. 

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you. 

And you still barely know him. But you want to. 

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime? 

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back. 

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back. 

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.” 

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says. 

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually. 

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?” 

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.” 

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting. 

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says. 

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables. 

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate. 

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe. 

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel. 

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light. 

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 3: toys with xiao from genshin impact

warnings: usage of toys, dacryphillia, sensitive xiao, overstimulation, praise and degrading, multiple orgasm

notes: aiyaaaaa someone send me horni ideas to turn into my kinktober ones or ones that i could brainrot and eventually turn into a fic one

xiao has always put his duties as a yaksha beforehand everything else. even his own needs and desires that rarely tend to show in the form of a small, barely noticeable bulge forming in his pants.

however, that problem had became more frequent lately and it’s all because of you, his one hell of a tease lover.

xiao had never thought of himself to ever be able to become turned on or horny as you put it. or even count himself as one to frequently palm his hardened cock through his pants where a small wet patch was growing slowly but steadily as he remembers how you fucked him so good the night before. or just recalling the words you muttered to him were enough to make his small cock stand up again as if begging for you.

the yaksha had also never thought of himself as the person to fall in love with an absolute pervert.

“darling~ guess what i bought today from that store?!”

ah yes. speak of the devil and they shall appear. never would have xiao thought of calling his lover the devil yet here you were, proudly holding up a bag of another sexual toys you’ve wanted to try on your inexperienced lover. you weren’t that much experienced either but you just loved to see the cruel and calculated yaksha turn into a common brothel whore.

two bullet vibrators taped to his hardened nipples, already on and turned to the lowest degree and yet he can already feel his chest feeling heavy as if about to lactate. xiao never tried such sexual activities before, he’s not used to such feelings or desires!

clenching his teeth again, xiao comes over the wand vibrator held over the drooling slit of his cock again for the nth time that night. gods, he felt so overstimulated. there were tears running down his cheeks, legs struggling to stay open the more you coo soft words of comfort and degrading nicknames as your hand twirls the vibrator around his cockhead, stimulating him more and more.

“guuhnn—! [na-name]!! slow—! unngya♡︎! slower!” the little yaksha in your hold arms squeals loudly like a girl, voice coming out all high-pitched and embarrassed. he said he wants the vibrator’s setting to be on the lower, but any lower and it would just turn off. and when you do comply to his wishes and turn it off, the immortal would keen loudly and buck his hips in your grasp with a fussy whine.

how unpredictable and… you would daresay, annoying.

“xiao-xiao… you need to be a good slut for me and keep it together! you can take a few more rounds. you’ve done it before” he can briefly hear your words in his mush of a brain. struggling to comprehend your words but when he does, he ends up cumming all over the vibrator again with a loud shrill moan.

“o-oohmp! okay!! okay♡︎ okayhhh—! i’ll… i’ll be a good slu-ungh! ungh! gcckk♡︎♡︎!!” nodding eagerly with a dumb slurred speech, xiao agrees to keep up with your sexual torture for longer.

he can do it. xiao can be your good slut. yours and no one else’s. he’s done it before, he had taken your many hours of vibrator torture before, he can do it now too!

by now, the yaksha had forgotten about everything except the feeling of the vibrators buzzing away on his sensitive places. duties of cleansing the land, hunting down remnants of old gods, his usually stoic nature. all of it were thrown out the window the moment the two small vibrators were taped to his chest, buzzing away and stimulating him.

poor xiao, unable to think. just moaning and squealing in delight as he comes over and over again. so many times to the point that now he was starting to shoot blanks on your hand.

such a sweet thing. not knowing that your little perverted games are only beginning.

[arlh0e]

I'm not sure if you're taking requests but I figured I'd try. I've had the idea of Hozier/Andrew finding out you have an oral fixation/kink and using against you until you're a brain dead mess. I came to Tumblr to see if I could find anything but it surprisingly doesn't have a ton of Hozier fics considering he's basically everyone's dream man.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading this!!

Moments silence (common tongue)

Oh my god I love this idea! Im so glad Ive been getting smut requests because Im relatively new to smut writing so I adore being able to practice. My apologies in advance if this is super awkward to read bc I was having trouble trying to figure out how to describe homies dick. It also may turn out to be a little long, I am a whore for sucking dick so pardon me if I get excited and carried away.

Rating: Hozier x reader, graphic smut, hard dom! Andrew, oral m! And fem! Receiving, face fucking, the sloppiest of sloppy blowjobs, oral fixation, smut under the cut, general filth, plotless smut, reassurance, begging, choking, help I need him

You were squirming beneath him, his tongue and fingers working their usual magic.

He loved going down on you, your pleasure was his top priority every time that he took you to bed, he absolutely loved making you feel good.

You hadn’t told him that you had a similar affinity with giving him the same pleasure. Of course, he knew you loved the act of giving, but to what extent he wasn’t fully aware of.

If you were honest, it was almost concerning how constantly you were thinking about the feeling of your mouth around him. It made you so wet that you had ruined more pairs of underwear than you were comfortable admitting. He made your mouth water and your mind go nearly completely blank with anything other than want for him.

You feel his fingers move from inside of you, his head lifting to meet your eyes. His pupils are dilated and you can see your arousal covering his lips. He looked utterly enchanting.

His hand moves toward your bottom lip, tapping it softly twice. “Open.” His voice is deeper than normal and his accent has thickened. You opened your mouth and let him push his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on his skin. You find yourself sucking gently on his fingers, moving your tongue across his digits, wishing it were his cock in your mouth instead.

You let out a moan as his fingers leave your mouth, not even processing the words you were saying. “If you don’t let me suck your dick right now I may just lose my mind.” Your voice was coming out in gasps and moans, you were desperate, bordering on feral.

He quirked a brow at you, smiling smugly down at you. “Oh, is that right?” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, pulling away just slightly so that you could still feel his breath across your face, your noses were still touching. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me about this little fixation you have with putting your mouth on me.” He chuckled darkly, looking at you through hooded eyes.

You couldn’t even say you were surprised at this revelation. Of course he knew. You expected nothing less, and honestly you hadn’t exactly been secretive about it, you hadn’t ever tried to hide it, so of course he knew.

He moved his head away from yours, his fingers coming to your chin, squeezing it gently. “I want you to beg.” His tone was serious, leaving no room to argue.

Your gaze shifted around the room, your eyes darting everywhere but his face as you felt the blush creep onto your face through your neck. You weren’t necessarily embarrassed, but you hadn’t ever told anyone about this particular interest of yours. The idea that he not only kew but was asking you to beg for it was entirely foreign to you. It made you squirm a bit beneath him.

“Ah ah.” He pulls a bit on your chin, forcing you to look back at him. “Eyes on me. Use your words.” His gaze was intense but encouraging, loving. He wanted to hear you ask nicely, but he also wanted you to feel comfortable. You knew he wouldn’t push you to do anything you didn’t want to.

“Please?” You looked up at him with wide eyes, batted your eyelashes just a little bit. “Pretty, pretty please?”

He chuckled a bit, smiling down at you, his mask cracking just a little bit. “With a cherry on top?” You loved the way he could go from this powerful, dominant being to his normal goofy self like this sometimes.

“Of a most delicious sundae.” You smile back at him, sticking your tongue out for a half second.

He just kept smiling down at you, his hold on your chin still firm. “Well I cant argue with that.” He stands, still clothed from the waist down, pulling you up to sit before him. Your hands stayed folded in your lap as you looked at him, standing before you, hands at his sides. “Go ahead, love.”

You slowly slip off the side of the bed and onto your knees in front of him. You could see the outline of his erection through his jeans, and you wondered for a second if that was uncomfortable. Surely it had to be.

You move your hands to fiddle with the button on his pants, frantically trying to undo the button and zipper. You always had a bit of trouble getting his hand pants all the way off of him, with how long his legs were, you couldn’t quite get them off, he always had to help you.

You took a moment to look at him, completely bare before you. He was beautiful, like a divine being come down to earth, and he was all yours.

You raise one hand to wrap it gently around his shaft while you used your tongue to wipe to bead of precum from his tip. The taste was salty and a bit bitter, but one you enjoyed nonetheless.

You carefully took him into your mouth, just a little bit at first, working up the nerve to try to go farther, moving slowly at first focusing on using your tongue to further his pleasure, hollowing your cheeks around him as you bobbed your head up and down along his length.

His hand flew to the back of your head, taking a fist full of your hair as his head leaned back and he let out a deep groan. He gently pushed on the back of your head, urging you to take him deeper and deeper.

You loved hearing the noises you could illicit from him, the way he gasped and tugged on your hair when you would moan in satisfaction around him, and you especially loved the louder sounds he would make for you, the way he would tell you how good you were doing and how good he felt. He was so vocal, and every word, noise, and gasp he made, pulled you in more.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good baby.” His voice was low and ever encouraging as he moved his hands through your hair, guiding your head along his cock at a relentless pace. You gagged, taking him farther than you had thought you were capable of.

You felt tears prickling your eyes as he kept bottoming out in the back of your throat, doing your best to keep your mouth closed but failing quite miserably as you continued gagging on him.

You found yourself struggling slightly to breathe between the saliva that was running down your chin and the pace at which he was hitting the back of your throat.

You moved your hand to tap frantically against his abdomen, wordlessly asking for a break to take a breath. After a few more thrusts, he backs away, his hands still in your hair, but granting you a break as he pulls gently on your hair to angle your head upward meeting his lips with yours.

You smile into the kiss, it was gentle, loving but urgent and nothing short of demanding. You moan into his lips, still smiling. As he pulls away, he makes a point out of observing the grin playing at your lips.

“So eager to please, darling.” He smiles darkly back at you, loosening his grip on your hair. He places another peck to your lips, then your forehead. “Do you want some more?” His gaze softened, looking down at you, smoothing your hair, a hint of concern in his eyes. He was making sure you were okay, checking in to make sure he wasn’t going too far or making you uncomfortable.

You nodded back at him, your smile not even faltering for a second. “Yes, please.” Your voice was raw, it felt like you had swallowed sand paper, and your voice cracked, but you didn’t even care. You wanted more of him. You wanted him to use you for his pleasure until you couldn’t speak or think or even breathe, and you were already halfway there.

You rose up higher on your knees, moving your hands to his hips, pulling him closer to you in an attempt to take him back into your mouth. You were met instead with a hand at the base of your neck, stopping you. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to let you have what you wanted.

He chuckled and moved his fingers to hold your chin once again, this time pulling you to your feet in front of him. “Uh uh. Lay down.” He removes his hand from your chin roughly, causing you to lose your balance and fall back onto the bed.

He makes his way around the bed to the side closest to your head, leaning over you, placing yet another kiss on your lips. “If you want me to stop, lap twice on my right thigh, alright?” You nod quickly, understanding where this is going, and quite eagerly scoot yourself to the end of the bed, your head dangling upside down over the side, your mouth falling open to welcome him.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, moving his hands to rest on either side of your shoulders, bending himself over you as he pushes himself back into your mouth, deeper than before.

You let out a moan as the same time you hear him groan from over you. “Jesus fucking christ, love.” He curses, thrusting his hips into your mouth once again, starting slow and gradually picking up the pace.

He moves his hands to wrap around your neck, feeling himself move inside your throat. You were breathless, gasping in between his thrusts, chocking on his cock as well as your own saliva, gagging as he used you. Your hands were holding the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer to you, but also to ground yourself.

You were loving every moment of this. Relishing in the moment and the fact that you could deliver pleasure to him this way. You were utterly enchanted by him, his sounds, the curses he let out, the feeling of him moving in and out of your throat, you couldn’t think of any reason as to why you hadn’t told him this earlier.

With every second you could feel him coming closer, you also felt yourself becoming less and less able to think of anything but him. You were all but mindless, unable to form a single coherent thought, only embellishing in the feeling of his muscles, tensing all as once and then relaxing.

You tasted that same, familiar salty taste as you heard him breathlessly curse one final time before pulling out of your mouth and kneeling down next to your head.

You swallowed before offering him a dopey smile, still not fully in your right mind, high off the feeling of being useful to him.

He smiles back, standing up once again, this time to move you toward the pillows at the head of the bed, before laying himself next to you and gathering you in his arms.

“I take it we’ll be doing that again?” He smiles down at you and places a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes. A lot.” You giggle as you curl up into his arms, closing your eyes and letting his arms completely encase your frame.

Dom Andrew is my favorite Andrew to write tbh. Thank you for the request, hope you enjoyed it <3

[katiexpunk]

Little Mouse | Pairing biker!Joel Miller X fem!Reader

Summary:  Date night. Your favorite. You're dressed up and ready for a good time, only to find out that your sleazeball boyfriend is really just a jerk. Stood up and now alone in a bar on the bad side of town, you quickly come to realize you shouldn’t be there for more reasons than one. An unexpected savior to your shit night, a masked motorcycle rider quite literally saves your life, not caring whose blood was on his hands as a result. His only ask as a token of your appreciation? That you go for a ride with him. What could ever possibly happen? Rating: 18+ Minors DNI, like seriously, this shit is dark AF. I say this with love -- GTFO. Word count: 10K (yeah, we know, wtf) Warnings: Implied cheating (fuck her boyfriend) mentions of being stalked, suggestion of sexual assault/rape (not by Joel!), murder, blood, alcohol (reader is tipsy), switchblades, motorcycles, prey/predator complex, dom/sub, use of ‘little mouse, little one, baby’ also ‘sir and daddy.’ Fingering, female stimulation, dub-con, collaring, leather kink, mask kink, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, painful sex, choking, reader crawling on her knees, unprotected sex, brat taming, p in v, cowgirl, size kink, creampie, ownership kink, breeding kink. Authors Note: I AM SCREAMING. This was such a treat to work on with the lovely and talented @josephquinnswhore. This is my first collaborative fic, and the whole time Tay and I were just crying at how much we wish this version of Joel was real. This was truly a labor of love. Whether this is a hit or a flop, it doesn't matter to me, as I was lucky to get a sexy new friend out of it. Tay -- ilysm. Thanks for working on this with me. P.S. to my U.S. followers, you get this earlier than Saturday because it's already Saturday across the world, so enjoy your Friday night smut sesh.

The thudding noise of your fingers tapping against the hardwood of the bar makes for an easy outlet for your anxiety, although the woman next to you gives you an irritating look, obviously annoyed by the vibrations rolling their way down to her elbows resting on the bar top. 

Twenty minutes. That’s how long you’ve been sitting at this miserable bar, the Cadillac Lounge.

It's quite a shit little dive – you had expected something fancier, but your boyfriend insists it’s ‘one of the best’, citing their famous hot wings and heavy pours. If it was truly one of the best, then shouldn’t he be here by now. Where the fuck is he? 

In the 20 minutes that have passed since you got here, not only are you getting uncomfortable sitting at the bar by yourself, dodging glances from questionable patrons, but you've come to the conclusion that not only is he late, but he’s also a cheap bastard, and probably doesn’t think you deserve anything fancier. 

Hell–you're dressed way too nice to be in a bar of this caliber in a sketchy part of town you’d never been to before. It's loud outside, and some people in the bar are too drunk—too rowdy, yet the man behind the bar stays silent as he passes you your second dirty martini. A marvel they even know how to make a martini. His silence makes you think it’s an all-common occurrence in this place; a pretty girl at the bar by herself, waiting for some shitbag guy to walk through the door. 

The dress that clings to your body is one you bought specifically for this occasion; specifically for him – a mid-thigh-black leather dress – hoping he’d take you out somewhere nicer than a run-down bar where the stool legs were uneven and the television hardly caught reception. The soft material hugs every inch of you perfectly, and the spaghetti straps allow for plenty of cleavage to be seen. Your wallet aches as you remind yourself of the price of your black red-bottom heels; the effort you’d put into getting your nails manicured, and eyelashes done.

The floor is mismatched, an ugly shade of dark red wood that hasn't been cleaned in god knows how long; by the way your heels stick to the floor with each step, you can only assume it's been months, maybe even years. The pool tables in the back of the bar are dimly lit, and the floor surrounding them is a dark crème colored carpet, although there are plenty of stains, deep red and mustard yellow from wine and beer spilled in the ‘no drinking zone.’

A ping from your phone alerts you of a text message, and you stop your anxious tapping on the bar, almost dropping your phone onto the floor you were fumbling so fast to see what message you’d received. The woman two seats down finally adverts her irritated gaze from you.

Hey, not gonna make it tonight – I'm going to give Ashley a ride home from work, sorry to leave you hanging.

Ashley, as in his former ex-girlfriend, Ashley. He’s skipping out on date night to give his ex-girlfriend a ride home? What the actual fuck. 

You blink stupidly, the longer you stare at the screen the blurrier the words become. Tears gather in your lash line, and the letters melt together to become large black shapes, eventually becoming unrecognizable, but it’s too late to forget them; they’re ingrained into the back of your eyelids, and when you finally close your eyes, a few tears fall from the outer corners. 

What an asshole. You’re done. This is the last straw. 

You begin to furiously tap out a response to him, leaving nothing but little click click click echos in the air as you do. Hot tears streaming down your face, no doubt ruining your mascara, you hit send on your response. 

You know what – if you’re gonna give Ashley a ride home from work and leave me in this absolute shitshow of a bar, by myself, on OUR date night, you can fuck right off. We’re done. 

Jerk.

You drop your phone back into your purse, and your fingers instinctively grip around the stem of the glass in front of you. You haven't even taken a sip from it until now; the vodka is sharp and bitter, but it slides down your throat with ease. You angrily slam the $15 cocktail, with a mission in your mind. Get drunk and forget your douchebag boyfriend, er, ex-boyfriend. 

“Another,” you say, signaling to the oddly quiet bartender. Seriously, what’s with this guy? He eyes you down before finally nodding, and reaching out his hand to swipe the empty glass from in front of you.

As you sit there waiting, you realize that everything about you stands out, suggesting the way you obviously don't belong here – not in this bar, in this part of town, not even in this dress, the one that clings so perfectly to your frame, hugging your tits just right. You shift in the stool under you, beginning to feel uncomfortable, leather sticking to your now too-warm skin, sticky from your tears and the flush spreading from each martini you’d greedily consumed. 

Mr. Silent I don’t say anything bartender places your third martini in front of you. You take a sip in silence, attempting to forget about the reality you are currently in. 

Suddenly the low hum of the bar’s ambiance is interrupted by an unwelcome interloper. A man, reeking of booze, staffers toward you, his leering, yellow-twinged, bloodshot eyes filled with inappropriate lust as they shamelessly gaze at your breasts. “Hey there hic gorgeous,” he began, his breath a foul mix of whiskey and cigarettes, “looking awful sad over here, ya hic need some company?”

You stiffen, fingers lightly clenched around the stem of your martini glass, and shoot him a withering look. 

This guy is a walking cliche of all things repulsive, like a welcome sign to the shitty part of town you were in. With him closer now, you’re able to really get a good look at him – his dirty and oversized clothes hanging loosely on his skeletal frame, a foul body odor clinging to the material, eyes hungry. The mostly gray and thinning hair that remains on his balding head indicates he’s too old to be interacting with someone your age, and his leathery and wrinkled skin clearly tells the story of a life spent mostly in the bottom of a bottle.

With his tone, you’re able to understand his intentions clearly. You take another sip of your drink and manage to squeak out a pathetic response, one that has no real bite or purpose, “sorry…’m not interested.” The man sits on the empty stool next to you anyway, leering eyes still painfully obviously drinking you in. You gaze at the bartender as if to say a little help here, but it’s useless, he’s not going to be of any more service than what’s required. 

The full realization of the situation you’re in begins to wash over you – you need to leave. Now. 

You slam the cocktail and let out a sputtering cough as the vodka begins to make its way back up your throat, now tinged with the flavor of bile. You grip the edge of the bar and your knuckles bleach white as you try and fend off the sudden wave of nausea that hits you like a freight truck. 

 Maybe drinking three martinis in the span of less than half an hour wasn’t your brightest idea. 

The man drops his forearms to the bartop in front of you and begins to lean into your personal space, before spitting out “pretty thing like you, I bet you taste real fuckin hic good,” he says with a coy, husky laugh, making you shudder. Shivers shoot down your spine in alarm, the hairs on the back of your neck standing in full salute, your instinctual response warning you of the looming threat.

His eyes are dark and his pupils are unnaturally dilated, the thought makes your skin crawl as you note he’s not only a drunk, but also probably under the influence of some kind of drug, which uproots the fear of this interchange turning violent; a dark scenario where your rejection makes him angry and unpredictable. 

The voice in your head shouts at you once more – LEAVE. 

You stand and push your rickety, uneven stool backward, not even bothering to pay for your drinks before you grab your purse and storm out of the building, fighting to move your shaky legs fast as the bottom of your heels stick to the floor once more. You ignore the shouts of the barman telling you to close your tab, but you ignore them. Now he says something. 

Once outside, the night air is brisk, but a welcome refreshment from the revolting encounter. You pause to take a look around at the world around you. The street practically screams danger to a young woman, let alone a drunk young woman. The dodgy streetlights that are functioning emit a hazy glow and don’t do much in the way of helping to light the path around you. 

You walk around the corner and steal a glance behind you before you rummage through your purse, opening the golden clasp, it’s cool on your fingertips and the sensation only adds to your growing anxiety. Your fingers fumble around in panicked haste to find your phone. Finally. You sigh a breath of relief as your fingers grasp the cold metal. You jab at the screen, but quickly find that it’s dead. Shit, shit, shit. Your last sliver of safety snuffed out, leaving you alone – you hope – in the unforgiving night. 

You think you might be sick as the wave of nausea returns. Your belly emits a low grumble and wait… fuck. No, you really are gonna be sick. Your pace begins to quicken as you scramble to find a place to throw up, away from the peering eyes of the residents who live on the wasteland streets that surround you. 

You stumble your way into the back alley of the bar, and the world begins to spin. Your heart pounds in sync with your dizzying head – the sickening laughter from the creep at the bar still ringing in your ears, deafening you to the life surrounding you. The grimy brick walls of the alley offer you little comfort, the rough texture of them leaving small indents on your hand as you lean into the wall for support, and empty your stomach onto the asphalt beneath you. You cough at the secondary burn of the alcohol that now sears your throat for a second time tonight. 

Although your stomach is empty, you continue to dry heave, bent over at your waist and staring at the rocks beneath you, when you hear the thud of loud footsteps behind you. Before you can register what’s happening, a grotesque shadow looms over you, and his smell hits you. 

Oh no. 

“Came out here to make it easy hic f’me, didn’t you, princess,” he snarls. “You knew what you were doin’, wearin’ this leather piece, didn’t ya babydoll?” He lurches out to grab you, but before he can, another figure materializes out of the darkness. His silhouette was hard and sharp against the pale light illuminating the alley, an unlikely savior in this hellish scene. Before you can even blink, he has the creep pinned up against the wall, his large forearm pressing against his throat. “You leave this nice girl alone, yeah?” he says, voice dark and menacing. He presses harder against the man's throat, “or I’ll make you fuckin’ regret it,” he threatens. Your savior spoke evenly, although there was an obvious underlying tone of threat muffled behind the black motorcycle helmet he wore.

“Chill out, man…was jus trying to have a good ti–” before he can even finish the thought consisting of violating you, your savior draws his head back and smashes it forward, the helmet connecting with a sickening crack against the creep's nose. A sharp, visceral sound reverbs through the alley, catching the attention of a few passers-by. They pause to look at what’s happening, but quickly keep moving, knowing better than to intervene. The now bloody man lets out a startled yelp, his hands reaching up instinctively to grab his now very broken nose. 

“What’d you just fuckin’ say t’me?” Your savior grumbles. “You do this often, huh? Come out here into back alleys, whip out your limp little cock, and try and show pretty ladies a good time,” he huffs. 

“I’ll show you a good time,” he says, snaking his free hand into his back pocket. There came a click, a sound as sharp and quick as a viper's bite, and the creep audibly whimpers, knowing what made it. There it was– a switchblade. 

The creep continues to gravel with the man holding him captive in his strong grasp, “listen, man, I was just messin’ around…I swear! I’ll leave her alone, you can have her, fuck, please just let me go! I promi–” before he can finish the sentence, the silver blade was already plunged up into his ribs. The sound of the gurgling man choking on his own blood catches your attention, a result of your savior's expert maneuver with the blade. Still holding the man flush against the wall with his broad upper body, he uses his free hand to open the visor of his helmet. Eyes glaring into the man’s now, he pushes the blade in deeper as says, “Oh, I will,” and a masked grin washes across his face as the crimson red blood begins to pour out onto his gloves and the ground below; your savior moving his feet as not to dirty his boots. 

With a swift movement, he releases the blade, and you watch in shock as the man thuds to the floor, sticky red blood stains his shirt and begins to pool on the pavement below, body limp, eyes glued open like he never saw it coming. 

Is this really fucking happening right now, you think to yourself, rationalizing you’re probably hallucinating or something.

You watch as the man reaches a gloved hand to pull his visor, a smear of blood left behind as he pulls it down, hiding what little identity he had revealed to the creep. He turns his frame to face you and begins to stride forward, little drops of crimson falling from his gloves onto the floor by his sides as he does. 

Eyes wide open like a deer about to be hit by a truck, you stare at him – your savior? You doubt it.

He just murdered a man in cold blood and told him he would have you. Surely that must mean you were going to succumb to the same fate or worse. Your fight or flight response kicks in, deciding on flight, and you begin to quickly back away from the man and the scene that just unfolded in front of you like a fucking horror film. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says, narrowing the gap between your bodies.

You don’t respond as you continue your trek backward, gait unsteady as you try and keep your heels and ankles steady in your six-inch stilettos. Scared, you step back until your body unexpectedly meets the cool, hard metal of a motorcycle, causing you to let out a small squeak.

His strides are large and it’s not long before he has you trapped against his body and the motorbike; leaving you nowhere to run. 

“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?” The man’s question is rhetorical and humorous. His large figure looks over you, a leather jacket clings to his broad shoulders, preventing you from looking anywhere but him. 

You sure feel like a little mouse – small and defenseless. He tilts his head, looking down at you curiously as if you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. 

And you are. 

“You – you – killed that man,” your heart was in your throat as you spoke, unsure if your whispered accusation traveled the short distance to his ears.

“Yeah, little mouse, I did. Creep like that – trust me, he had it coming,” he says, voice muffled but sure. 

His large palm begins to rise to your line of sight, and your heart sinks to your stomach as you stare at the blood now ever so close to your face. He pauses before he drops most of the bloody fingers into his fist, leaving but one clean finger out as if to point to something. He drags it over your cheek, down the razor edge of your jaw, and uses it to tilt your chin up to face him.

“You know, I probably saved your life – really should be thankin’ me,” he says, presumably gazing back at you, face still hidden from view by the helmet. 

“And you can start by comin' for a ride." 

You gasp. 

He’s got to be fucking joking. 

“I promise, you’re safe with me, alright?” He says, voice soft this time. 

Right. Safe with the dude who just murdered another dude in the alley behind some sleazeball bar. 

You can tell his words aren't a request.

Everything about his demeanor is commanding. 

He demands attention.

Your attention. 

Perhaps it was the heartache or the way he just saved your life, maybe even the three martinis you’d smashed in a short duration of time, your rational thoughts impaired from the alcohol content flowing through your blood, you internally agree to his demands. And for some unfathomable reason you can’t comprehend, his voice melts you like butter, his attention making you feel special.

A pang of arousal shoots through you.

“Okay…” you say, voice sweet like honey, but hesitant. If you’d kept him waiting long, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Good girl,” he says, nodding to the back of the bike. 

He knew you were an obedient one. He could tell. He reads your emotions like braille, it is as if he can feel every single thought running through your brain. 

You need a protector, a savior, someone to tell you what to do and care for you. Someone who would do anything for you. You need him. 

His hands hover over your waist, guiding you to the back of the bike, a safeguard, he would catch you if you slipped. As if he would ever let you fall. 

You swing your leg over the back of the seat, sending your already tight dress higher up onto your hips as you do. The motorcycle's leather seat is cold against your inner thighs, a welcomed reprieve from the growing heat there. His hungry eyes watch as you adjust yourself, slowly gazing at the bareness of your legs, now prickled with small goosebumps in anticipation and response to the chill in the air.  “Here little mouse, take this,” he says, wiping the bloody gloves onto his tight-fitting denim jeans before taking off his leather jacket and handing it to you, revealing a white mesh tank top that clings to his sun-kissed skin. You can’t help but notice that his shoulders are littered with freckles, all over his toned arms and shoulders, and the back of his neck. You find that small detail about such a harsh man a little endearing.

“Leather on leather,” he says, pausing to eye you up and down, “looks good on you,” he finishes. He places his hand on your bare thigh, his touch causing you to hold your breath, making sure you’re stable before he too mounts the bike. 

“Hold on to me real tight,” he commands. You follow his instructions, your arms wrapping firmly around his waist, your fingers coming to a clasp as you scoot forward, your breasts pressed firmly against his warm and inviting back. 

“Atta girl,” he praises.

Fuck. His words go straight to your already aroused core. 

He couldn’t be sure if it was a button from the jacket pressing against him, or your nipples, but he decided it was the latter considering how cold you’d been moments beforehand. 

The thought causes his cock to stir in his jeans. His mind can’t help but wonder, with your soft hands all over his toned body, rousing deep and vulgar thoughts in his head. 

Your sweet little palms, what would they feel like wrapped around his—

He pushes the thought down, adjusts himself slightly, and turns to look over his shoulder at you as the bike begins to rumble to life. He jabs the kickstands with his heel and faces forward once more, palms firmly grabbing the clutch and throttle on the handlebars. 

The loud sound of the engine and the rhythmic vibration it gives stimulate your now aching clit. The only barrier between your sopping cunt and the bike was the sheer lace panties that did nothing to stop your slick from leaking onto his leather seat.

With your body glued to his, you both tear through the inky black of the night. It was apparent that this side of town not only lacks security, but safety too, the buildings are all run down and cars seem to be left on cinder blocks, being stripped down for parts and left to rust. For the first time tonight, you’re grateful you’re not alone – grateful to be with him. 

It seems the government had also neglected the quality of the roads, loose gravel flings out of the crevices of the back tire of the motorbike, and you grasp on tight to avoid the giant potholes that have now become a major problem on this one street. Without much warning, although you could have predicted it would happen, the bike jerked violently beneath you, the rear tire hitting a pothole with an unforgiving thud. 

You gasp and your grip around his waist loosens in surprise. The sudden jolt sends your hand sliding down, and before you can correct it, your fingers brush against his already painfully stiff cock. He freezes in response. The feel of his hard bulge causes you’re already sticky folds to dampen further. You grazed the area for less than a few seconds, eventually finding your common sense and snatching your hand back up to grab your wrist, but the tension in his body tells you he felt you do it. That he liked it. You did, too. 

You have no idea where he’s taking you, and though the streets of the unfamiliar town were a labyrinth to you, he seemed to navigate them with ease. Not before after, the bike comes to a slow as he pulls up to a nondescript warehouse.

Once inside, you take in the smudge and the grime of the shop. There was a surprising order to the chaos around you. The walls, washed with a pea-like hue of green, were the perfect backdrop for the display of tools in every size and shape imaginable, arranged perfectly above the wooden workbench. The air stank of oil, sawdust, and metal, but there was a certain comfort to it, a testament to the hours of sweat and hard work spilled within its confines. 

With the two wheels of the bike are now stationary beneath you, he kills the engine. He swings his leg off to stand at the side of the bike. He offers his hand to steady you as you get off yourself, leaving a little wet spot on the seat from your slick as you do. 

You know you’re aroused, but you don’t seem to notice just how much, but he sure does, eyes glued to the mark of you. The sight makes him shift and he adjusts himself to accommodate for the shrinking amount of space.

Taking in the surroundings, you do a tiny circle, before stopping facing him. 

“Why – why, am I here?” you cautiously ask, not sure if you want the real answer. 

“To say thank you t’me, properly, little mouse,” he rasps, voice dripping with suggestion. 

You wonder what it means to thank him properly. A surge of desire courses through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity at the thought. 

He takes a step forward, and his overwhelming presence engulfs you, bringing with it the scent of musk, twinged with sweat and the sickly sweet copper smell of the blood left on his hands. 

It’s absolutely intoxicating. 

In your haze, your fingers reach out to touch the cool plastic of the black tinted helmet visor, curiosity gnawing at you for just a peek of the man that had you enthralled; you hadn’t even seen his face and yet you were completely dripping for him. 

Before you could catch a peek, his fingers gripped your hand tightly in warning.  He tilts his head to the side as if you’d really just tried that.

“What do ya think you’re doin’, little mouse?” The warning in his voice only made the need between your thighs that much stronger. 

“I—I just wanted to...” you whine pathetically, trailing off as your mind begins to fill with obscene thoughts, rendering you unable to finish even a single sentence. 

Although you can't directly see his face, you can feel his harsh stare burning you to your core. His firm grip around your wrist causes your nipples to harden in response to the touch. Everything in your vision blurs suddenly, the room nothing more but a mere haze, you almost don’t feel the right grip on your hips as he maneuvers your body, pushing your chest over his bike. A small noise of discomfort leaves your lips as the fuel cap of the bike digs into your breastbone. It hurts, but you don’t complain, not wanting this to end before it’s begun.

With his hard cock now pressed firmly against your ass, one hand grips your waist and the other holds the back of your neck. His fingers are cool and they send a shiver down your spine at his touch, his grip tightens on the back of your neck, holding you in place – trapped. 

He hadn’t ever let a woman touch his bike, let alone ride with him; you should be grateful. 

He was doing something for you.

“You’ll take what I give you, little mouse, not a sliver more, got it?” He growls. 

You mewl under him; your non-verbal response only adds to your lack of cooperation, in his eyes, you were challenging him to make you submit to him.

He leans down, chest now flush with the curve of your back. You don’t dare to look back at him, feeling your legs tremble as he pushes his hard erection further into the exposed skin of your ass. Your leather dress had ridden right up, making for easy access, which his thick fingers happily take advantage of as they trace the thin lace of your panties.  

He can hardly pry his eyes away from the now-drying stain your slick had left on his seat, and now here you were; pressed under him and fucking soaking for him. 

“Now listen here, little mouse. When I speak, I expect you to answer me, or this all stops. Got it?” he says. 

You tremble at his words and pout as he halts the small glide of his fingers along the lace between your folds. Caught up in the sensation, you don’t respond quickly enough.

“Answer me,” he commands while pulling his hand away and landing a swat over your pussy, the sensation on your clit sends a little shock through your body.

Senses returning to your head now, you nod frantically, eyes widening as you stutter, “Y-yes, sir. I understand.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your response, his fingers resume their tortuous motion of gliding over your still-clothed folds, only taking a moment to recover from the moment you called him sir. It serves a bigger purpose, a large part to play in your dynamic. He rests his helmet on your shoulder and lets out a husky sigh, his own need beginning to catch up with him. 

“How badly do you want it, little mouse?” He asks, a hint of challenge in his voice, hoping to get a ride out of you, and frustrate you further. 

“Fuck–ppp, please touch me…I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll do whatever you say,” you say, realizing your begging is no better than the creeps back in the alley.

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you, finally soothing the gnawing, aching need inside you. He traces his thick finger over the crease between your folds before he hooks the edge, and pushes the soiled fabric to the side. Your cunt has a visible sheen from the slick that’s spilled over from all of his teasing; a warm invitation for his fingers, your inviting hole sucks two of them in and clenches around him. 

“So wet for me already, little mouse, fuck–,” he trails off. You moan in response, knowing he’ll expect an answer to his comment. He grins as he skillfully curls his fingers inside you to meet the spongey soft texture of your g-spot. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, every prod stretching you, getting you ready for him. 

He can feel you crawling towards the cliff of your orgasm, but he's gonna take his time with you.

He knows you want to cum, that's obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come. 

“Stop thinkin’ so damn loud,” he gruff voice circulates inside your head and descends down to your core, sending you spiraling.

Your fingers struggle to find purchase on anything as he continues to drive you closer and closer to your release, fingers prodding in and out, only leaving periodically to circle your clit before going back to their home inside you. The line between pain and pleasure has blurred; being bent over the bike is starting to get uncomfortable, and your neck is starting to ache from his hard grip that keeps you from slouching over. The blood is beginning to rush to your head, the lack of circulating air in the building and your lust cause your skin to heat, and small beads of sweat begin to form on your chest and forehead. 

You're so, so close. When was he going to put a stop to this? 

As if to read your mind once more, he says, “I know, baby. Doing so good. Concentrate on me,” his words bring you back to your surroundings, drawing you away from your demented brain's imprisonment of unease.

Your legs tremble against his groin, and the sweet moans that leave your lips echo through the workshop. You think he might, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up, he doesn’t cover your mouth. The pretty little noises coming from your throat only urge him to ram his fingers into you at a quicker pace, as if it were his personal mission to make you finally come. 

Your mind goes foggy as your whole body stiffens. Your fingers find a tight grip on the leather seat of the bike and mindlessly, you dig your nails into the material, creating several crescent moon-shaped marks into the leather as you do. He rides out your orgasm with you and doesn’t stop until you totally soften under him, legs weak and shaking from overstimulation and pain from the position you’re in.

Now satisfied, you catch a glimpse of your handiwork on the seat. The once perfect material was now marked by your desperation. 

“Tsk, tsk, little mouse – markin’ up my bike left and right tonight,” he says, voice firm, “I ‘otta punish you for that,” he scolds.  

It was already too much, the position he had you in, his taunting and tormenting. What would a punishment look like? you wonder. 

“‘M sorry, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you sputter, head still dizzy from your release. 

Still inside you, he pushes his fingers aggressively deeper into your hole and he holds them there. The noise is obscene; the squelching of his fingers pushing into you, slick dripping down your legs, coating his fingers. It only made him hungry for more. Beneath the helmet, he licks his lips, clenching his teeth as his eyes roll into the back of his head. What he wouldn’t do for a taste of you. 

“You're gonna be,” he says. The emphasis on his promise he makes you tremble, anticipation eating you from the inside out. 

“Gonna come for me again, little mouse,” he orders. 

Fuck. No. “I–I can’t, it’s too much, I’m too sensitive, and my, fuck, my legs hurt like this,” you say. 

Your words fall on deaf ears, as he ignores your pleading. You were going to come again, and he was going to make sure of that. 

He inserts a third finger and continues to fuck into you. His thumb reaches out to your clit, the small amount of pressure has you lurch forward with a yelp, the nub already extremely sensitive from your first release. The hand that’s gripped the back of your neck jerks backward harshly, forcing you back into his body. He wouldn’t allow you to do that, try to escape him. 

Holding you into his chest, he reaches his free hand around and finds your clit once more. His fingers move antagonizing slowly as he makes soft circles around it, his pace decreasing, the overstimulation going with it. Your pain begins to flourish into something softer, and he once again has you crawling the stairs to your climax. You fight the temptation to jerk your hips, to fuck yourself stupid on his thick fingers, and make yourself come all over his already, soaked and pruned fingers. The added texture to his fingers adds to the sensations you’re experiencing.

“Bein’ such a good girl, there you go,” he sets a stable pace, murmuring to you, rubbing sweet circles onto your clit, and resuming fucking his fingers into you, “gonna give my mouse what she needs.” 

“P-please let me come,” the plea leaves your desperate lips like a need, a key factor to your survival, like if you didn’t come again you were sure to die. The coil inside of your lower stomach winds once more, and your legs continue to shake, the only thing keeping you upright was the strength of his arms and his fingers unraveling you. Each swipe of his thumb on your clit is calculated, like he’s figured your body out already. He knows you’re close, the way you’re trembling and babbling senselessly, the way your hole clenches around his fingers, contracting to tighten around him to keep him inside. 

“You can come, little mouse – come for me, baby, soak my fingers,” he says. 

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like you were nothing but a pool of gas ignited with a flame. Your knees buckle, and he holds you tight to his chest. His sticky fingers leave your hole and away from your swollen clit. 

“Such a good girl,” he praises in your ear. You revel in it, letting his words soak deep into you to your bones. He moves his slick-coated fingers up to your lips, “Now clean ‘em for me,” he commands, once again leaving no room for there to be a question about what he wants. You do as he orders. He presses his fingers into your inviting mouth, and you lap at your release and suck him dry.

He doesn’t give you but a minute to recover to catch your breath, now satisfied with your cleaning job, before he grabs a fistful of hair to spin you around, gently, but assertively. Your eyes drop down to his waist, and you see his hand on his leather belt. He begins to unbuckle it, the metal making a small clank as he releases its clasp, and yanks it off, leaving a whip sound in its wake. 

You watch in anticipation as he uses both hands to make a small loop in the belt. You swallow your anticipation as you realize what he’s doing. It’s not long before he has it perfectly sized to accommodate your head, and he slips it onto your crown, and begins to lower it around your neck. Once there he secures it tightly, leaving enough room for you to breathe, but tight enough to feel its presence before tugging at the makeshift collar and deeming it satisfactory. 

“Get on your knees, little mouse, he gruffs. “ Told you I’d punish ya for what you did to my bike,” he continues, voice lusty and low.  

You pause, slightly dumbstruck. 

Is he serious? 

The little voice that gnawed at you to leave the bar earlier in the night comes back in full force and tells you that he most definitely was and that you’d be wise to listen. 

You drop to the cold cement floor, knees meeting the harsh ground coated with little flecks of sawdust and grease. Your perky tits were practically spilling out of your leather dress at this point. You don’t care. You don’t even care about the bruises that were now forming from the position you were in; you want to be a good girl, give him what he wants – impress him. You were ready to worship at the altar of the man who had saved your life. 

He watches you and palms at his hard cock before turning on his heels to walk away. 

The fuck. Where’s he going?

He walks over to the side of the shop. This side was more empty than the primary workspace, but primarily occupied by a file cabinet in the corner and an aging bed, presumably only used for mid-workday naps. There’s an old rusted heater next to the bed, too close to the wall for comfort, you wonder how many cold late evenings this man had spent in this workshop, every little detail gave you some insight into his life, it felt familiar. Like you know him, that he was just an ordinary man; although you know he was far more intriguing.

He pauses by the grimy mattress. His fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans, and he slowly undoes them, letting them fall to the floor, finally releasing the giant cock that was restrained behind the denim fabric. He takes himself in hand, tilts his head down, and spits for lubrication. 

“Crawl to me, little mouse,” he says, dark gaze fixed on yours, “come get this cock,” he adds, stroking his length up and down, letting his weight lean onto the back wall of the shop as he gawks. 

Crawl to him. 

The words pierce you like a bullet, tearing through your flesh until you have no choice but to tend to the wound to stop the bleeding. You're his little pet, and you’ll do anything to make him happy.  

You tilt forward, placing both palms on the ground so you’re on all fours. Eyes transfixed on him, and god, his cock, you begin to move, slowly crawling the distance of the shop. The already barely secured fullness of your tits gives way with the change in angle, allowing them to spill completely out of your dress. The sensation of the cold ground under your hands and knees, the cool air drying the stickiness on your inner thighs, and the thickness of the makeshift collar on your throat spur you on. You begin to crawl faster, needing to get to him sooner, needing to taste him. 

Once in front of him, he pushes himself off the wall and comes to stand directly in front of you. He continues to stroke at his cock, and you salivate at the sight of his angry red tip weeping beads of pre-cum, veins boldening from the blood rushing through him. You want so badly to touch him, but you wait for him to give you the okay to do so, your palms patiently resting on your knees.

“You want this, little mouse,” he asks, already knowing the answer to his own question. “It’s all yours, come get it, baby,” he says, giving a nod of permission. 

You reach up to take the weight of his heavy cock in your hands, and you admire the way your fingers barely touch. You stroke his length a few times, mouth watering at how silky soft his skin feels and the warmth it exudes. You look up at him from under your lashes and playfully dart your tongue out. You flatten it and lick a teasing stripe up to the tip of him, maintaining his gaze as you do. 

“If you know what’s good for ya, little mouse, you won’t fucking tease me,” he says, the words still bite, but you can tell he’s losing his resolve. As much as he wants to pretend he’s in control, you’re the one with all the cards. 

You slide the tip of him into your waiting mouth, wrapping your lips around, feeling a slight sting in the corners as they stretch to accommodate him. You stay shallow on his length at first, working up to wet him with your spit. After a moment, you feel confident you have enough lubricant to fully take him.

You begin to pick up your pace, allowing his cock to glide down your throat, kissing the back of it as you bob up and down. He lets out a satisfied sound, and you hum in response, savoring the taste of salt and musk that dance over your tastebuds. 

Using the makeshift collar as leverage, he wraps the free material around his fist and pulls it taught, holding you with his cock stuffed down your windpipe. Your eyes begin to water, it’s so much, but you stay put. Spit begins to pool at the corners of your mouth, long dribbles of it spilling out over your lips and down your chin to your chest. 

“Fuck, little mouse – so good, baby. Being such a good hole for me,” he praises. 

His words encourage you to open wider, letting your jaw relax as you do. He pulls the leather strap tighter until you feel him deep in the back of your throat, your lips wrapped obscenely around the base of him, nose flush against his skin. He’s so deep you can hardly breathe. He holds you there a moment longer until you begin to tear up. 

He slightly retreats, allowing you to catch your breath, your lips resting just around the tip of his girth. You look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mascara smudged, and he smirks. He was fucking wrecking you, and he loves every second of it. 

He allows you a second to catch your breath, before he once again pulls at the belt, sending you right back down to the base of him. He lets out a deep, guttural groan in response. He could feel your heartbeat on the tip of him this deep, and it was almost too much. He pulls back and fully retreats out of you this time, bringing with him strings of saliva that fall onto you pristine but red-marked skin.

“Up,” he says, finally allowing you the opportunity to find relief from the cement that turned your  knees and shins cherry red. You do as he says, pausing momentarily to brush the debris from your flesh before looking up at him. He pauses momentarily to admire you before bringing both hands up to undo the buckle of the belt, releasing you from the collar. 

As you look up at him, you can’t help but feel distaste towards the helmet, wishing you could just see the man behind it. You had given yourself to him completely, submitting to this dangerous and exuberant man. Why wouldn’t he show his face? You whine loudly in response to his touch on your sensitive neck, the belt had left a thick plum-colored mark ingrained into your pretty skin, your entire body was sore from the events of the night and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. 

Through his pleasure, his moans and raspy breaths of exhale, each and every opportunity for you to hear him have been tainted, unfairly muffled by the thick plastic. The noises he makes are primal, deep, something you crave more of; he’d been giving you so much tonight, made you cum hard more than once, and fucked your throat raw, but it isn’t enough; you want more of him, all of him. 

You hadn’t been bashful the entire night, but suddenly you aren't confident enough to verbally ask him; multiple attempts have already been made to try and convince him to take it off, which he has quite harshly rejected. 

He seems to sense your shift in energy, the anxiety radiating off of you like a pungent smell. His fingers grip your chin, curling them underneath to make you look up at him. Your mind flashes back to when it did it earlier in the night, only this time his hand wasn’t covered in blood. You suppose you should have felt some sort of relief at that, but your unease only worsens. 

His masked figure continues to glare down at you, looking as if he might offer something sweet in his words, but he doesn’t; instead, he simply says, “ready for a different type of ride, little mouse?” 

His words go straight to your already wet and stretched cunt. He’s finally going to fuck you.

He puts one knee onto the mattress, causing the springs of the frame holding it to scream out, the squeak an alarm that the sheer weight of them might be too much for their rusty coils to handle. 

He pulls you flush against his chest and reaches his arms behind you to unzip your dress, and you're grateful, the leather fabric had pooled at your hips at this point and you were starting to sweat under the heavy folds. You sink into the warmth of him, the side of your face flush with the cool plastic of the helmet. As he works to release you from your cloth prison, the dress you were once so excited to put on, your gaze drops to the back of his neck, and you notice a patch of sweaty salt and pepper curls under the bottom edge of the helmet. You reach your arms up around him and intertwine your fingers around the locks. You had thought maybe he was older, but seeing the greying hair was the confirmation you needed. 

With him now so close, you take in the opportunity to smell him, and fuck it was absolutely invigorating – like fresh coffee in the morning, the smoke from a campfire, and wait…is that, patchouli? Fucking patchouli? Because of course, your masked, murderous savior would smell like patchouli. You take a deep inhale through your nose, and hold it at the top, as if to commit his scent to memory. 

He finishes with the dress, and you step out of it, also deciding to ditch the scrap of panties that no longer serve their intended purpose. Now bare, you stand in front of him innocently. You were nervous, unable to see his expression, unsure if he likes what he sees. 

It doesn’t take much for him to give you the confirmation you need that he in fact, does, his rock-hard cock practically staring at you, begging for something to bury into. His rough and calloused palm traces over your arm, leaving goosebumps as it trails down. He latches onto your wrist, pausing to gently trace the blue veins and feel your pulse. His gentleness causes you to melt. 

He takes a seat on the mattress, pulling you with him. 

For the entire evening, your body had been riding the line between pain and pleasure, and it had never been more blurred than right now. Your knees are shaking as they find the broken springs under the grimy mattress. 

It's almost too much, your knees ache with bruises forming on them from their assault on the cement. Straddling his hips, he reaches between your bodies to position himself at the entrance of your wet and waiting hole. You sink down onto his length halfway, eyes falling shut as you do. 

Fuck – he’s big. Almost too big.

His hard cock fills you so good; and he gives you a second to adjust, frozen in pleasure for a moment when he finally reaches the hilt of you, the tip of his cock nudges in a painful pinch. For a moment he’s panting and just holding you on top of him, hands tightening around the delicious flesh of your hips. He’s just using you to keep his cock warm until he can catch his breath. He can tell by your incessant squirming that you’ve never had something so big stuffed inside of your small frame, and he was here to change that; fill you up how you deserve to be. 

“Shit, baby – you’re a tight one, aint’cha,” he says, groaning breathlessly. 

You begin to find your pace on him, rolling your hips into his as you find a rhythm, gliding effortlessly over his thickness with the help of his praise, his filthy words encouraging you to fuck him harder. His hands are still firm on your hips, leaving little bruises at the fingertips, and he assists your rolls back and forth as you grind your clit against the thick black hair at the base of him, teasing your swollen clit with each move as you do. 

“I’m going to ruin you, little mouse, fuck you so good all you’ll ever think about is me. All you’ll ever feel is me.” His claim is arrogant, but rightfully so, the way he’s filling you to your ribs was something that couldn’t ever be competed with. 

He knows it, and you know it. You are doomed to be a prisoner to an approach to sex you’d never experienced. Addicted to every touch. 

The possessive nature of this man wouldn’t ever be matched with anyone else. 

They would all fall short. 

He had broken you to need him. 

His hands roughly grasp at your breasts, pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers, and an airy moan leaves your lips as he watches them bounce, he gives them a harsh slap, earning a yelp from your lips as the sensation. The sting lingers and the red mark it creates is more proof of what this man’s doing to you; creating evidence that you’d remember long after he was gone, the ghost of the touch you’d feel one night in the future when you needed someone, no one would ever compare. He was leaving his mark on you. 

His calloused fingers are thick, wrapping around your neck, applying a small amount of pressure to the side of your neck along your pulse point, until your vision goes a little fuzzy and you subsequently relax into his hands with the notion. 

With as much as he's taking you—he curses under his breath when you let out a whimper of pleasure, holding the position, slipping his thumb into your mouth which you greedily sucked on, he feels the hum of a muffled moan. 

“Such a good girl,” he moans, “squeezing my cock so fuckin’ tight, little mouse. This pussy was fucking made f’me,” he praises, his words practically dragging you over the edge, and you cream all over his cock as he continues to relentless thurst upwards inside of you, practically touching your lungs.

Your slick makes it easy for him to fuck into you right to the hilt, burying himself into the most sacred part of yourself. Greedily, you clench down onto him, sucking him back in when he tries to retract from your hole. In your delirium you swear you can feel him in your stomach, you’d never had someone so fucking deep inside of you before. Wet mewls escape your lips as you feel him drag his cock in and out of you, reaching places no other man had ever been. With the way your cunt greedily swallows his cock, he starts to feel a sense of infatuation, he would do anything to keep you.

“This pussy isn't goin’ to take too nicely to another cock, will she, little one? She likes me too much,” he says, but you find it hard to concentrate on words when there are so many things stimulating you – his cock, his hand around the column of your throat, the growing need budding in your clit, your intense desire to fucking look at his face. 

Before you can register what’s happening, loud moans leave your lips, when they do the saliva that had accumulated inside of your mouth falls, dripping down onto the visor of his helmet. A gruff moan leaves his lips, one of shock and pleasure, seeing you drool all over him on his cock was a sight that spurred him on. 

“Fuckin’ you so good you can’t even think properly, can you little mouse? S’alright, just let daddy make you feel good.”

Daddy.

You want so badly to cum. 

But there’s something holding you back. 

You need to see him. It's no longer a question or a curiosity. It's a non-negotiable. 

“Shi–-shit, I’m so close, ugh I need to see your face,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes, “Please let me look at you while I cum on your cock,” you beg. 

He ignores the request, your hips still grinding onto him, until you pout and beg once more, “Daddy, please!” 

He grips down tight onto your hips, urging you to come to a slow, and eventually a full stop. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. He releases his grip and reaches up to place both hands on the helmet – yes, yes, yes, take it off – he pauses with his palms on the sides, before using the strength of his arms to take the helmet completely off. 

The cool helmet now in his hands, he sets it off to the side on the mattress, and the inside rolls to face up. 

That’s when you notice it – a small label, curiously out of place. You focus your gaze and the small letters focus in view; it’s a name. 

His name. 

Joel Miller. 

You smile and decide to tuck the new knowledge away, for now, and turn your attention back to him. 

Oh my.

He’s fucking hot. 

Seeing him for the first time is jarring. 

Like you should’ve expected him to look exactly like this, perhaps you’d expected him not to be so fucking handsome. 

His wide brown eyes are watching you, the stare lingering on your face, the same stare you’d felt burning into your soul the entire evening. His pupils are dilated, a sentiment of his arousal for you. You want to take your time admiring him, in case he changes his mind and reverts back into the comfort of his helmet, but it’s too late for that; you’ve seen him. 

You’ll remember every detail of him until the day you die. The patchy facial hair, his full mustache trimmed neatly; a small heart shape on the left side made your heart swell, it's well-groomed but still simultaneously unruly. He's a man who looks after himself. On the right cheek, there is a single dimple; showcasing itself as he bites the inside of his cheek. 

It seems you finally had him like putty in your hands. He looks anxious, his eyes scanning your face frantically, searching for anything that would make you retreat from him, any sign of regret. 

Your hand reaches out slowly as if approaching a stray animal, your pleading eyes begging for this one thing, just one simple touch. He flinches slightly as if this kind of feeling of your skin on his was foreign to him, but he doesn’t move, nor resist your action. 

The pad of your soft thumb rubs over his lips, and you lean forward as if to kiss him. 

You don’t. 

Instead, you pause with your lips inches away from his, your hot breaths mingling together. A smirk washes over your face, and you flint your gaze up to his. 

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you whisper seductively. 

What the fuck.

You uttering his name catches him off guard, rendering him surprised and vulnerable. He looks at you like he just got stabbed; he wouldn’t be the only one tonight. Like a bear preparing for a fight, he growls, and bucks his hips up into you, beginning to fuck you again, hard. 

With his cock stuffed inside of you and the sight of his face, you’re close to your release. 

Eyes gazing into his for real for the first time tonight, you feel a wave of pleasure overcome you, and you spill over onto him like a broken yolk. You fall forward, body limp and sore, and he lets you lay there, his chest your strength. He pauses, letting you work through your orgasm. 

Once your shaking has subsided, he brings his hand up to your jaw. He smooshes your cheeks together, your lips puffing as he does. He stares at them for a moment, his expression mirroring your own, eyes dark with desire, before pulling them to his in a fiery kiss. His tongue explores the recesses of your mouth, and you welcome it with a moan that rumbles from the very core of your desire. Fuck, finally. You savor the taste of him, all salt with a hint of mint. 

His lips part from yours, and he begins to chase his own release once more, his cock resuming its relentless pace, fucking in and out of you. 

Seeing and feeling your orgasm already had him close. For the first time tonight, he finally got sips of fresh air, each breath filled with the sweet scent of all things you. He was absolutely ravenous. 

“Fuck–,” he gasps, his orgasm not far off, “Gonna come, little mouse, wanna shit–wanna fill you up, make you full of me,” he says, breath heavy and shallow with each thrust.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you pant, moans weak and timid. 

“Fuck, Joel, give me your cum, want it so bad” you beg, your walls pulsing and squeezing around him, your cunt crying to be filled. 

He gives you a few more shaky rolls of his hips, and then slows, balls deep inside you.

“You’re mine now, little mouse,” he says, shooting long, thick ropes of milky white release, painting your cervix with his seed. 

At that moment you realize you are his, nothing more than a little mouse caught in his trap – and he’ll never let you go. 

END

...or is it?

Tagging: @sydneyinacoma @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls and @toxicanonymity (our queen of dark fics and source of inspiration)

Oh hey! You made it to the end. Cool. Thanks for reading. Since you're here, I'll pass on a reminder that I'm just a horny little wannabe fic writer trying to make her way on this hell site and write things that make people turned on happy. Likes and comments are wonderful and much appreciated, but reblogs are really what counts in making people see this, especially for smaller blogs like mine. If you like this, please consider reblogging.

[succubusmunson]

Illict Affairs

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Something changed within Eddie and now he only has time to fuck you and dump you like you mean nothing.

Warnings: SMUT (MDNI), angst, hurt/no comfort, eddie using reader (being bit of a fuckboy), dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, begging, a little degradation, spanking, hair pulling, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink if you squint

WC: 3.7K

(after months it’s finally done! i hope you enjoy)

Remember to reblog and support the author!

Things were so simple before Eddie made new friends. The two of you would go out in public, hand in hand, lips pressed to your temples. One would never be seen without the other. 

It was common knowledge to know what the two of you had going on; the stolen kisses and even more behind closed doors. It was never an official thing between the two of you, but you always hoped it could be. 

That all quickly changed once he got more friends. It was now late-night calls, meeting in dimly lit parking lots so he could fuck in the back of his van and then drop you off back home before going to wherever it was that kept him from you.

Eddie used to be so gentle with you. Letting his friends know you were his girl, taking you on small dates. He was still like that, but you only saw that in private now. 

And as much as your heart broke being his fling, you couldn’t say no to him. Not when he treated you so well, doted on you, loved on you. Not when he made you smile so big your cheeks hurt. Not when the sex was so good that you could barely walk the next morning. 

Eddie said it was this way because he wasn’t good at love, that he could never give you what you truly wanted in life. But you knew that was all a lie. You saw how he loved and cared for you. His eyes were so full of it. You just wish he saw what you saw. 

That’s how you ended up where you are now, hurrying to get out the door after he had called you from a pay phone, telling you to meet you at the car shop parking lot for a quickie. You wanted this time to be the last. You even told yourself that as you passed on the perfume, knowing he would complain about the lingering smell once he was finished with you. 

Deep down in your mind, though, you know you’ll crave him the second he drives off your street. Your heart will ache, and you’ll repeat the same circle of getting hurt all over. 

Did he know how much you hurt being the second choice now? Did he know how much you yearned to go back to the way it was before everything had happened? Did he know your feelings for him?

You were so caught up in your feelings that you didn’t realize that you had made it to the parking lot. Eddie was sitting in the back of the van, his legs dangling as he held a lit cigarette between his lips when you spotted him.

“Finally! I was starting to think you blew me off.” He stepped down from the vehicle, quickly making his way to engulf you in his arms. 

That scent, his scent. It’s another thing you crave from him; lingering smoke, musk, a bit of sandalwood. It was the same old cologne that he borrowed from his uncle Wayne and you never got tired of it. You wish you could smell it forever, let it seep through your pores, and stay there. 

“No, you know I couldn’t blow you off.” God, how you wish you could. You want nothing more than to say no to him, but you can’t. He’ll always find another way to rope you in. 

“Well,” his hands dropped lower, gliding across the plump of your ass. “Now that you’re here…”

Eddie never wasted time.

The heat in your body felt like it had turned up 90 degrees just from having his hands on you. You wanted them everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

Slowly, you got out of his hold, crawling into the back of the van. You made sure to shake your ass, enticing him more. 

“Oh, so we’re playing that game.” Eddie spanks you, his ringed fingers making you gasp in pain and pleasure. “Remember you started this.”

“Who? Me?” You smiled at him as you laid on your back, watching as he shut the doors once he was inside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You felt hot and gross all at once. Why were you letting this go on? You could easily walk out those doors and never turn back, but you stayed put. You’re giving yourself whiplash with these thoughts. 

Eddie laid on you, his whole body now pressed against yours. You could feel his cock against your thigh, throbbing. “Mmm, I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” 

His hands ran up the back of your dress, exploring you and the soft fabric.

“I-I,” you felt so stupid. How did he have this much of a hold on you?

“W-what’s that?” Eddie mocked you. He dipped his head low, his lips pressed against your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

You tried to find the right words to say, but it was so hard when you could feel his hot breath against your skin. “I know nothing.” 

He chuckled against your skin before pulling away, a smirk plastered on his face. “You do know.” Eddie sat back on his calves and started to work on his belt, fingers moving fast to get to the point. “But we can continue to act like you don’t.”

Your mouth suddenly watered with need as he pulled down his pants, his cock throbbed in his boxers. You could even see the wet patch of the precum starting to form. 

Seeing that gave you hope, an ounce of it. Maybe he did feel something from you. Maybe that’s why he had this reaction to your body and kept you around for so long. 

“Close your mouth, pretty girl.” Eddie reached forward and ran his thumb around your plump bottom lip before sliding it into your mouth. You sucked on it, swirling your tongue around the bad of your finger. His eyes darkened even more than before. “Look at you, always needing something in that pretty mouth.”

“I prefer something other than your thumb.”

With one hand, he pulled his cock from his boxers. The tip was leaking with precum, almost dripping with it. “Come get it.” He moved beside you, leaning against the side of the van, “what are you waiting for?” 

The way his words echoed in your head made your legs clench, and your heart ache. Why were you doing this to yourself? Why was he doing this to you?

You turned yourself over and rested your upper body on his jean-clad thighs. Your fingers gently ran across his cock, making him quietly whine. “I gotta have my fun too, right?”

Your tongue darted out, catching a bead of precum that dribbled over your finger. The second the salty taste hit your tongue, you moaned. “You always taste so good.” 

“Fuuuck,” Eddie grabbed your hair, pulling your head to the side. “C’mon, don’t tease me like this, sweetheart. Let me feel that warm mouth, yeah?”

“Like this?” You wrapped your lips around the red, angry tip. 

“That’s fucking it, that’s my girl.” Eddie guided your head up and down his cock, thrusting his hips to make you gag around his cock. “Awe, is it too big for you?”

You moaned around his cock, him saying my girl shooting through your body and right to your cunt.

His cock felt so good in your mouth, sliding down your throat, and making your eyes water each time you gagged. This is how he likes (you wished it was love) you; his cock in your mouth and your eyes trained on him. 

Eddie looked down at you and thrust his hips, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat over and over again. “Such a good fucking girl with a pretty mouth. You love being used, don’t you?” 

No, you didn’t, but you’d never tell him that. It would ruin everything that this, whatever this was, the two of you had built. 

His cock was fully in your throat, your nose buried into the thick patch of curly hair at the base of it. Eddie's cum filled heavy balls pressed to your chin, your drool dribbling down his balls and between your cleavage. 

“Jesus- look at you.” Eddie held your head still as he kept thrusting in your mouth, making you gag until your lungs burned, and his eyes were rolling back. 

You were a sight, a sight that Eddie mewled over each time you swallowed around his thick cock.

You pulled your mouth from his cock slowly. Salvia strung from your swollen lips to his spit-soaked cock. Your lips trailed kisses on the underside of it, your tongue darting to lick here and there before you got to his balls. 

“O-oh shit.” The hand Eddie has in your hair pulled harder as you sucked his balls into your mouth, letting your tongue roll over the velvety skin. “You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

You hummed around the heavy sack. He had a certain way with words, always knowing what to say to turn you into putty for him. It never took much, though. 

“Fuck, fuck- shit.” He gasped as you brought a hand around the base of his cock to pump it slowly, swiping your thumb over the tip, as your mouth still played with his balls. The wet schlick sound echoed in the small van. 

You let your teeth barely graze his balls before sucking them both in your mouth, pulling on them. “Gonna make me cum already, sweetheart.”

All of your movements halted. He couldn’t cum yet, not when you had just met with him for the night. You wanted to prolong this meeting. 

“I wasn’t done.” Eddie sat up on his elbows and looked at you, in shock and cock achingly hard. “Just a bit more, sweetheart.” 

You wanted to roll your eyes and leave him with blue balls, but you couldn’t. Instead, you looked over at him with your big doe eyes and spread your legs. You had purposefully not worn any panties, your cunt already soaked and glistening in the van's light. “Is it my turn yet?” 

Eddie gawked at you, his eyes glued to where you dripped for him. He pushed you back with a hand, slotting his body between your thighs. His jeans rubbed roughly against your clit, and it was enough to have you keen for more. 

“God, I fucking love you like this.” 

There it is. There’s those stupid words that he always said, that made your stomach fill with butterflies and your heart pound in your chest. If only he truly meant it, if only he could see the love swim in your eyes each time he said it. 

“Do you?” You took his hand at your side and guided it up your legs between your thighs. “You feel what you do to me?” 

You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed when his fingers ghosted over your slit. He could feel how wet you were, the pad of his finger now covered in your slick.

“Who got you this wet?” Eddie kissed up your neck, stopping to nibble here and there. You were sure to see some scattered hickies tomorrow. 

He was pulling the most perfect whines from you. “Don’t go all shy on me now. Answer the question.”

You dropped your head down, not meeting his eyes. “Y-you did.” Your voice was barely a whisper. Not one part of you wanted to admit he did anything for you. You didn’t want to boost his ego. 

With a rough hand, Eddie grabbed at your cheeks. He gently pushed them together, causing you to pout. 

You now were looking directly into his eyes. The eyes that were so big and beautiful, filled with so much lust that he would probably burst at the seams if possible. 

“Speak up.” He licked at his bottom lip before smirking at you. “Who got you this wet?”

Your head rolled to the side, as closed as he kept his skilled fingers on your cunt, barely rubbing. “You, you got me this wet.” 

Eddie wanted it to always be this way. You were so quick to tell him that he got you this wet, but he wanted more. He wanted to call you his and hold your hand in public again, but things had changed within him. He didn’t deserve to be loved by you like that. 

Sex was the only way that he could let you in anymore, it was the only time that he let a part of him show his all to you. But in his eyes, it was better to hurt you this way than to let you have his heart fully and then rip it away from you. 

Everything in your body was betraying you; your cunt, your heart, your head. They all needed and wanted him. 

Eddie smirked proudly at you, his fingers circling your clit before dipping into your soaked cunt. “That’s a good girl. Keep it up, and I might let you cum.”

You couldn’t say anything, only whined as his fingers curled right into your g-spot immediately. Your fingers gripped at his arms, your face buried in his neck. “I-oh!” 

Your thighs shook around his arm, wanting to close around it so bad, but you knew he wouldn’t let you. He loved to see how much you shook and writhe because of him. Seeing it, seeing you like this boosted his ego beyond words. He felt like he could do everything and anything. 

You could hear how soaked you were, the sounds flooding your ears. “Fucking hell! Feels so good!”

“Yeah? You hear that? That’s all you, sweetheart.” The heel of Eddie’s head rubbed perfectly at your swollen clit each time he pumped his fingers. “You’re making such a mess, baby. You gonna clean my fingers when I’m done?” 

“Uhuh!” Your heart sped up, and you gasped loudly when he added a third finger, getting you nice and stretched open for his cock. “Oh my god, oh my god.” 

Eddie gently kissed your forehead as his fingers slid in and out of your faster, the soft squelch sounds echoing off the van walls. “I can be your god, sweetheart.”

If only he knew just how much you truly worshiped him.

“I- I’m so close,” you were clenching around his fingers, craving that orgasm you needed so badly. “Please, Eddie!” You looked up at him, your eyes full of tears from being so close to cumming.

But just before you could cum, before you could feel the euphoria, he slid his fingers out of you. “W-what the fuck?” 

When you opened your eyes to look at him, his dripping fingers were in front of your face. “Go on, clean up the mess.” 

Obediently, you slowly wrapped your lips around them. You tasted yourself and moaned, tongue sliding between his fingers to get every bit of the mess you made. 

“You follow orders so well. I might just keep you around.” 

Oh, how you wished he actually would, and not just for the nights when he was lonely. 

You got on your knees, making sure your ass was in there air. Eddie never wanted to see your face when the two of you fucked. Why? You don’t know, but maybe it made sense. Maybe it was better for you too. 

“Look at you,” he rubbed a rough hand over the globe of his ass before pulling your hips toward his. You could feel his throbbing cock rut between your bodies. “You already know just how I want you.” 

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” You wiggled your hips against him, silently begging.

You gripped at anything you could find when he nudged your cunt open with just the leaking tip of his cock, your eyes already rolling in the back of your head. 

“Better squeeze my cock the way you squeezed my fingers, pretty girl.” Within seconds, Eddie bottomed out. His balls were pressed against your clit, hips flushed with yours. “God damn- I won’t ever get used to how tight you are for me.”

You felt so full, his cock stretching you open with the most pleasurable sting. “Please… move.” 

“You sound so pretty when you beg for me.” Eddie pulled out, leaving only the tip inside your soaked cunt. “Do it again.”

“Eddie,” you turned your head to the side, looking into his brown eyes as much as possible. “I need you to fuck me, I-I need to feel you as deep as possible. Just-“ 

Before you could finish your sentence, Eddie had pulled all the way out and slammed back in. Your back arched and your head slumped forward against the floor of the van. “I love it when you say my name. Sounds so pretty falling from your lips.” 

With each hard snap of Eddie's hips against your own, you could feel yourself draw closer to an orgasm. Your toes curled and your back arched, the praises spewing out of Eddie’s mouth. 

“Such a tight pussy.” His rough hands pawed at your ass, spreading your cheeks so he could watch his cock get swallowed by your cunt. “Best pussy I’ve ever-jesus christ- had.” 

Eddie reached forward and grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling your back against his chest. “Say it. Say that this is my pussy.”

“I-It’s…” Your mind was foggy, not only from his cock pounding into the sweet spot that had you seeing stars, but from the fact that he was being so possessive over your body. 

“Fucking say it!” A rough hand came down in a harsh spank!, making your thighs shake and your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“It’s yours!” You bit your lip hard enough for the familiar taste of blood to hit your tongue. “It’s all yours, Eddie!” 

And it was. Every single part of you belongs to him, or yearned to. He just didn’t see it. 

“That’s fucking right.” Eddie shoved you back down to the floor and fucked you with fervor. “Gonna pump you so full of cum that on your way home, it’ll be dripping down your legs.”

You were sure there would be handprint shaped bruises for you to see and feel in the morning, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Please,” you arched your back, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten even more. “Please come inside me.”

He bunched the bottom of your dress around your hips and used it as leverage to drive his cock deeper into you. You squeezed your eyes shut as his cock pressed into your g-spot, making you see stars behind your eyelids.

All it took was one more hard, deep thrust and your body shook as your orgasm took over. Eddie’s name was a repeated prayer on your lips, your hands searching for anything to hold onto as every nerve ending in your body was set off. “Oh my- fuck, yes!” 

Your thighs shook and your nails scraped along the floor off the van as your orgasm took full control of you. All you could mutter was incoherent babbles as you soaked Eddie’s cock. 

The tightening of your pussy and the way his name sounded on your lips as you came was enough for Eddie to spill into you. “That’s it, take it fucking all!” His cock twitched inside you, emptying all he had to give. “My pretty girl, all full of my fucking cum.”

You felt the warmth of it flood your body as he held your hips against his, his cock twitching and giving you everything he had with labored breaths. 

“God damn- always cum so damn hard when it’s inside of you, sweetheart.” 

After pulling out and watching the mixture of cum leak from your used cunt, he laid his body over yours for a brief moment of actual intimacy. It barely took a second for you to feel that emptiness inside and out. That craving for him to come back and touch you taking over so quickly. 

And just as quickly as you answered his call and met him here, it was over. The time you spent together never lasted long anymore. It was long enough for him and you to come undone and then you were out the car door, left with the sulking feelings of hurt and emptiness.

It was quiet as the two of you got dressed, almost too quiet. You took this moment as an opportunity to talk to him, no matter how dumb you may sound after. 

“Eddie, can we talk?” Your voice was quiet, a bit hoarse from all the moaning you did just minutes prior.

He saw the glint in your eye when he turned around after adjusting himself back in his pants, he knew exactly what was on your mind. Even though it broke his heart to do this to you, he couldn’t let you in. It would never be like it used to be. 

“We’ve been over this before.” He gave you a soft smile before looking down at the time on his watch, “Plus, I have somewhere to be.” 

Of course, he does. Sex was the only time he had for you.

“I-I know, it’s just- it’s been a while since we have.” You reached for his hand, any ounce of intimacy to change his mind. 

Eddie let you hold his hand for barely a second before he pulled it away to open the back doors and let you out. You’d be walking home alone again.

He slowly shook his head before he helped you out of the van. “Look, you knew what was going to happen before we even started it.” The sound of the doors shutting made you jump. “You gonna go back on your word now, baby?” 

The guilt ate at Eddie as he put on this act that he didn’t care. 

And you were hurt. Hurt, annoyed, and mad, all at once. Yeah, you knew what this was, but you would think after months of doing the same thing over and over again, he would give you a smidge of something. You just wanted that small amount of hope that the two of you could be something different.

“Don’t,” you stepped away from him and the van. “Don’t call me baby.”

“What?” Eddie chuckled from behind you. “Is this how you’re going to be right now? Didn’t we just have a good time together?”

“A good time? We do the same thing every fucking time you call me up. Why don’t we go out and actually do something fun? We never do that anymore.” You started to look down at your feet, avoiding all eye contact with any part of him. 

You heard the jingle of Eddie’s keys as he pulled them out and walked in front of you, his body pressed into your side. “I’ll call you again tomorrow.” You could hear the slight smirk in his voice as he spoke against your ear. “You always answer the phone for me, baby.”

Before you could even speak up, the van had already started and moved out of the parking lot. You stood there, a mess all because of him. 

And he was right. You would go against yourself and do this all over again, no matter how many times you got hurt. You could never say no to him.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason’s 4 year old daughter gets sick and he takes care of her. Sick/comfort. Daddy/daughter moment hurt/comfort.

‘I can as soon as you called.’ Jason said as he barged into the room, roughly removing his red helmet and discarding it elsewhere, uncaring as to where it landed or whether it cracked upon impact.

‘What about-‘

‘Fuck patrol our babygirl is sick and besides Dick said he could handle it by himself.’ Jason replied as he rested his hands on either side of your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘You promised Dick that he could come visit Akira when she gets better didn’t you?’ You asked, smiling.

‘Yes i promised Dick that he could come visit Akira when she gets better.’ Jason signed, knowing that nothing gets past you.

You smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘You’re such a softly.’

Jason scoffs. ‘Yeah because god forbid I don’t treat you and Kira like you both aren’t the two most precious people to me. Now where’s Kira?’

‘Daddy?’ Kira’s voice could be heard from behind her bedroom door, catching Jason’s attention immediately. ‘Princess?’ He asks as he walks closer to the door, his hand laid ready on the doorknob. How are you feeling princess? Daddy heard that you’ve gotten sick lately.’

‘I feel icky and gross.’ Kira replied and Jason couldn’t help but feel bad for his precious little girl. ‘Daddy feels icky too when he gets sick.’ Jason says, hoping to make her feel better. ‘I’m going to come in now is that okay sweetheart?’ He then adds and as soon as he hears a small ‘yeah’ he’s already opening the door and going inside, whereas you stayed close to the doorway incase you were needed to grab anything for Kira.

‘Hi daddy.’ Kira said, smiling weakly upon seeing him, silently holding out a hand to him for him to hold and Jason immeditly crumpled and obeyed his daughters wish as he sat on the side of the bed, holding her hand in his much larger one. ‘Hi baby.’ He practically has to whisper as to not make her headache any worse. ‘I’m sick and I hate it daddy.’ Kira whines as she tries to move out from the covers. ‘I know peanut but you’ve got to stay in bed and rest.’ Jason stops her and readjusts the covers so that there tightly tucked under her chin.

‘Will you stay with me?’ Kira asked and Jason knew that this would become a common occurrence in the future but he also knew that he wouldn’t care because he knew he’d do anything for you or Kira within a heartbeat. ‘Of course I will silly girl, I’m not leaving until you get better and when you do, guess who’s coming to visit?’ Kira visibly brightened as she gripped Jason’s hand tighter. ‘Uncle Dick is coming?!’ She exclaimed and for a moment Jason thought that she had been miraculously cured of her minor cold by just the mere mention of Dick, a thought that made Jason pout.

‘Yes, but only if you get better.’ Jason said and Kira snuggled herslef deeper into the bed for warmth and looked up at Jason. ‘I’ll get better. Promise.’ She said and Jason couldn’t help but smile and press a kiss to her forehead, uncaring if he were to get sick afterwards because then he’ll get to stay home and spend it with his small family. ‘I know you will sweetheart, now let’s get you some medicine and then it’s off the bed with you. Deal?’ Jason extends his pinky towards his daughter, who smiles and links her pinky with his. ‘Deal.’ She said.

‘Good.’ Jason replied as he then looked to you, only to see that you were well equipped for the situation and handed over the medicine to him with a smile. ‘You give her this and I’ll go and get some more blankets for Kira.’ You told him, moving further into the room to press a kiss to his cheek and a kiss to Kira’s forehead, before having to leave the room to find some extra blankets and to give Jason and Kira more time together when you heard them laughing together. Yeah she’ll get better soon enough under Jason’s care.

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

1: Magic is a Metaphor < 2: Morgana is a Lesbian < 3: Merlin is Gay > 4: Arthur is Bi

Again with the whole metaphor thing, Merlin's entire character is about having to hide his identity and wishing that he could be free to be himself so that he wouldn't have to lie about how much Arthur means to him. So that's all very gay, but he's also just very queer-coded generally. There are so many jokes about him being more effeminate or wearing women's clothing, most notably in this episode where he dresses in full drag and then takes the opportunity to shamelessly flirt with Arthur. Unhinged.

Basically every other character seems to just assume that he's gay, at least towards the end, because Gaius and Arthur are in utter disbelief that Merlin would be 'seeing a girl'. And of course he isn't, he's actually sneaking around with that druid guy, leading Arthur to question how courting a girl would leave him 'walking with a limp.'

I also think it's very interesting how often Merlin has to pretend to be attracted to women to avoid people discovering his secret, like with Gwen in Series 1 or Morgana in Series 2. Or this scene, where Gwen and Merlin are the only people not affected by the Lamia's seduction charm and they're trying to figure out why. And Merlin says, 'it doesn't affect you because you're a woman'. And firstly, Gwen is like, 'so what?' So, bisexual queen. And then Merlin says, "it only affects men," and Gwen says, "so then why haven't you fallen under her spell?" And Merlin is just like, 'oh shit, I don't know. I can't think of any reason why I wouldn't be seduced by a woman.'

Now, you might be saying, "but Merlin is attracted to women! what about that one female love interest he had for literally one episode who immediately died?" Oh, you mean:

I'm sorry to all of the Freylin shippers out there, but this was so clearly just the writers' last-ditch attempt to make Merlin straight. If you think about it, Freya also 'has magic' if you catch my drift, and that is the only thing that she and Merlin have in common, and the only thing that they talk about. And if you look at their dialogue out of context, it really doesn't seem like it's magic that they're talking about. It's just gay/lesbian solidarity. Also, never forget when Colin Morgan accidentally referred to Merlin's potential love interests as "him or her." So who else could he have been thinking of?

Merlin definitely had a crush on Lancelot. From the moment that they first meet, he just keeps going on about, 'omg, isn't Lancelot so strong and brave and chivalrous? God, I hope he becomes a knight, he would look so good in a suit of armour.' And then he says to Gwen, completely unprompted, "so just for the sake of argument– Arthur or Lancelot?" Why are you thinking about that Merlin? Then that scene ends with Merlin and Lancelot getting drunk and stumbling home together and waking up the next morning having shared Merlin's single bed. So take from that what you will. I don't necessarily think that anything happened between them, not because I think Lancelot is straight, don't get it twisted, just because I think he's a fucking virgin.

But certified pansexual manwhore Gwaine on the other hand, oh they definitely fucked. And it's a very similar situation to Lancelot, Merlin's only flirting technique is just to find some buff guy who's just saved his life and be like, 'oh my god what can I possibly do to repay you? Maybe you could come back to my place and I could tend to your wounds and then we could go down to the tavern, have a few drinks'.

And it works. Merlin literally used his job as apprentice physician to the Knights of the Round Table as his own personal Grindr, and i love that for him. But, of course, these are just side hoes to Merlin's main bitch, Arthur.

You can deny everything else that I've said, but you cannot deny that Merlin was in love with Arthur. And don't even try to say, 'but it's just because it was his destiny'. Because, yeah, like that's any less gay. They're two sides of the same coin, destined to be together, Merlin 'uses magic only for Arthur'. Come on.

Also, it's pretty clear that Merlin cares about Arthur more than he cares about his destiny, throughout the entire show. But it culminates in this scene in series five where, because of very contrived plot reasons, Arthur has to choose between legalizing magic and saving the life of Mordred. And Merlin convinces Arthur not to legalise magic so that he will let Mordred die. He literally enables the genocide of his own people and condemns himself to a lifetime of suffering just on the off chance that he can spend a bit more time with Arthur.

And if that isn't heartbreaking enough, of course, every action that Merlin makes only confirms Arthur's fate. And after he very platonically dies in Merlin's arms, as dudebros do, what does Merlin do? does he go back to Camelot and live a full happy heterosexual life? Of course not. No, he spends the next one and a half thousand years just waiting at Arthur's resting place, waiting for the day that Arthur will be resurrected and they can be together again. What the fuck kind of Greek tragedy, Achilles and Patroclus level shit is that? That is fucking gay.

[lovings4turn]

★ sick, but never of you . . . (luke hughes)

— when you're feeling incredibly under the weather, your boyfriend is there to look after you the best he can (1.3k)

+ warnings for mentions of illness and feeling sick. yes this is incredibly self-indulgent but i'm currently ill so you have to let me off okay !!!! first time writing for luke so pls don't be too too harsh !! banner from benkeibear <3

luke knew it was bad the moment he woke to the sight of your shadowed outline sitting up in bed, your body hunched over as muffled sniffling broke the silence in the room.

you hadn't been feeling the greatest all day, plagued with an annoying cough and pounding headache, but you had insisted before you headed to bed that you were starting to feel a little better, even assuring him that a good night's sleep would cure everything.

unfortunately, it seemed that sheer wishful thinking alone wasn’t enough. 

something happened overnight, and you’d gone from bad to worse within a matter of hours. what had started out as a level of illness that was more of an annoyance than anything had spiralled to an obnoxious level of discomfort.

the blocked nose, the sharp scratch in your throat, the awful cough, and the pulsing headache would all be bad enough on their own, but experiencing them all in one sitting seemed like a level of torture that you definitely didn’t deserve. yet, here you were. and there was nothing you could really do about it. 

it took every last ounce of strength in you not to cry.

you were just so frustrated. nothing felt right, and sleep was definitely out of the question; you were left with no other option than to sit and feel sorry for yourself, and hell, who could blame you?

"babe?" luke asked, voice thick with a blend of sleep and concern that already worked to soothe you a little. it was like your own personal medicine, washing over your body and allowing your muscles to relax a fraction.

"sorry," you all but croaked, and luke winced at the sound. speaking had to be impossibly painful for you right now, there was no doubt about it. "y’can go back to sleep, 'm fine."

your attempt at lying was already pitiful, but it was truly ruined when, not even five seconds later, you promptly burst into tears. luke’s extension of care had broken the emotional dam you’d tried to build up, and the wave of upset quickly came crashing over you. 

luke swore that he could feel each individual crack splintering across his heart at the sight of you. how he was simply supposed to 'go back to sleep' right now, even if he wanted to, was a total mystery to him.

"hey, hey, c'mere," he mumbled, sounding more like he was addressing a wounded animal than his girlfriend.

without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you against him, his hand tracing circles on the small of your back as you sobbed into him. small ‘i know, i know’s passed his lips, and he hoped to any god that they sounded reassuring and not patronising.

a particularly rough coughing fit interrupted your crying, and you tore yourself away from him to cover your mouth. luke mourned the loss of your body against his, the warmth replaced by the telltale cold of losing your embrace.

"i feel like fucking shit."

your voice cracked at every word, even cutting out completely on some syllables, and the expression on your face confirmed that speaking was hell for you right now.

never had luke seen you so utterly broken, and it was killing him. he knew that if you were any more coherent, you would’ve kicked him out of your room instantly, not wanting to risk getting him sick.

he knew that, because it had happened many times before.

it was like clockwork, a dance you two had mastered over the years together. you’d get a slight cold, luke would offer to take care of you, and you’d shut him down immediately, not wanting your sniffles to be the reason the devils lost one of their defensemen for a game or two.

but this was far worse than a common cold, and no amount of convincing would be able to pull luke from your side.

luke sat for a moment, formulating a plan in his mind with a level of precision only otherwise reserved for his time on the ice. he gnawed at his bottom lip gently as he thought, a hand reaching out to brush the hot skin of your thigh to let you know he was still there.

after a minute, he spoke.

“alright, i’m gonna go grab some stuff for you and i’ll be right back okay?” luke promised, rising to his feet.

a stern, yet caring, look shot down your feeble attempt at arguing with him. nothing you could say or do right now would prevent him from looking after you.

“you just get y’self comfy, babe. i’ll be back before you know it.”

a kiss to your forehead sealed his goodbye, and the soft thump of his feet against the wood flooring became quieter as he made his way into the kitchen. you sniffled once more, wiping away the stray tears from your cheeks with the palms of your hands and propped yourself up against one of the pillows, sighing deeply. 

remnants of luke’s warmth seemed to bleed along the sheets, tingling underneath your skin to remind you that he was here, looking after you, and he was happy to do it. a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you held back from burying yourself into luke’s side of the bed despite your heart silently begging you to. 

as promised, luke returned not too long after, balancing a few objects in his hands. whilst one hand clasped a steaming mug of tea, the other contained some painkillers and medicine you had in your cabinet, along with a bottle of cold water. luke had apparently grabbed anything in sight that he thought would help you out, and cupid’s arrow snagged your heartstrings once more. 

within seconds your bedside table was decorated with his haul, and the mug of tea carefully handed to you with a warning that it would be hot. luke busied himself with figuring out how much of each medication you could take, making a mental note as to when you could have the next dose with furrowed brows.

his fingers stretched out to gently tap your palm twice, a silent request for you to hold out your unoccupied hand so he could drop the pills into them for you. the fact you had woken him up at god knows what time of night and his movements were laced more with love than exhaustion was truly a testament to how much he adored you, and it made you feel giddy despite your awful state.

a sympathetic sound left his mouth as he reached out a hand to cup your jaw, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone as though you were fine china, something delicate for him to cherish and admire. 

“drink some tea and then try and get some more sleep, baby,” he said in a hushed tone, pressing a gentle kiss to your clammy forehead. “know it sounds impossible, but the meds should make it a bit easier for you. ‘m not going anywhere either, so wake me up if you need me.”

you nodded, lifting the mug to your lips and taking a small sip of the hot liquid. the fact that luke had brewed the drink in your favourite mug didn’t go unnoticed, and you gave him a fond smile over the rim of the mug as the beverage eased the strain of your throat. 

as luke clambered back into bed next to you, pulling you into his side carefully so as not to spill your tea everywhere, your frustration began to fade, curling like the tendrils of steam coming from your mug and floating towards the ceiling. 

though your sickness wasn’t miraculously cured, the soft kisses luke repeatedly pressed to the top of your head and temple provoked small bursts of happiness to erupt in your mind, like fireflies carrying a golden glow that paled in comparison to that of the boy next to you. 

[tommysversion]

I know it is common belief for some that din is an absolute pussy wrecker, and while this is fantastic, i cannot even begin to express my love for a reluctant, eager, inexperienced din. A din that hasnt seen tits since he was 25, let alone TOUCHED THEM.

[ Anon, this idea sent me absolutely feral, because I, too, love over eager, extremely inexperienced Din Djarin, because, and I cannot stress this enough, fuck yes. ]

NSFW below the cut, MDNI pls

He doesn’t mean to be so inexperienced; it’s not that he hasn’t had the opportunity, either. Even though he doesn’t show his face, there’s never been a shortage of people that he could have slept with.

It’s not that he isn’t interested- he is, after all, a man - it just seems to complicate things whenever he gets involved with anyone. Feels too much like breaking one or more of the rules of the Creed.

His religion teaches him to be selfless, to be honourable and not to get attached. Casual flings seem, to him, to go against those rules.

And besides. Relationships and sexual dalliances don’t put food on the table, don’t bring in money that he can send back to the Covert to ensure the foundlings are fed.

You were an unplanned variable. It took him months to admit to himself that he wanted you, let alone to verbalise that to you.

Luckily you’re patient. You didn’t quite understand the complex and seemingly strict Creed he lives by, but you were willing to wait.

The first time he touches you he’s nervous; he’s in his early forties now, and he hasn’t touched a woman since his late twenties. He doesn’t regret that choice, but he almost wishes he had a little more experience to go by.

It turns out experience isn’t everything; once he’s touching you, he goes on instinct, but he’s so needy and eager that he’s almost embarrassed by it.

“It’s okay to want me,” you have to remind him, “take your time.”

Only once he starts he can’t stop touching you, leaving heated, sloppy kisses all over your body, cautious when he slides two fingers inside you. He doesn’t know much, but he knows he’s big, doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Is this okay?” Is probably the most common sentence out of his mouth for the first half of things, and while some people might find it off putting, you find it endearing.

This is a man with a reputation, but he’s so soft and nervous with you that it makes your heart ache.

When he’s finally inside you it’s like a dam breaks, whatever he was holding back for almost twenty years falls apart and he’s a mess, running his mouth like a goddamn virgin all over again but he doesn’t care because you feel so good and tight around him and it’s the best fucking feeling in the goddamn world.

He’d have his face buried in your shoulder, in your hair, making sounds that aren’t quite moans and aren’t quite whimpers, and there’s nothing sexier than a man with his sort of power and physique being brought to his knees.

He wants to say all sort of filthy things but they just come out as whimpers instead, his lips warm against your ear as he ruts desperately into you; mostly it’s just variants of “oh, god,” and “fuck, feel so good,” and “such a tight little pussy, gonna make me cum…” before he just trails off and starts moaning into your ear instead.

He doesn’t last long, to be honest, and he’s embarrassed about how quickly he cums, whether he pulls out of you or not (likely not, because he doesn’t have time to react, he’s so lost in your body that he’s filling you before he even realises it).

You don’t mind, you’re halfway through reassuring him and stroking his hair when he realises he’s half - hard again, having a lot of pent up energy that he needs to get out.

Turns out inexperience doesn’t mean anything when he’s got the stamina he does. Which means there’s plenty of time to teach him.

[buckyalpine]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon 💜 I have funny lil request if you are at all interested. So Bucky has a lil crush on the reader, and one day walks by their room and hears something that makes him a bit jealous. He hears the reader giggling, and saying stuff jokingly like "Stop Charlie, that tickles!" or "You're so handsome," and Bucky becomes sad because he thinks the reader has found someone. But then he later finds out that the reader was actually dog sitting for a friend. What happens next is up to you, and feel free to change anything to make it more interesting! I chose Charlie as a random dog name that's also human, but its just an example. If you find any inspiration from this, I encourage you to take it in absolutely any direction you want! (as long as it has a happy ending, bc Im a sucker for happy endings hehe)

okay what I find hilarious and amazing about this is I HAVE HAD THIS EXAAACT SAME IDEA, WHY DID I NEVER WRITE IT. THIS IS SO ADORABLE. This is a sign. From the universe.

The only thing I'm changing here is the name because I find it hilarious when dogs have more common people names. 

It started off with your sweet smiles, they’re so contagious, he can’t help but smile back. He starts to find his heart jumping a little whenever you’re around, he almost goes to Bruce to get a medical check up cause why is his heart doing that. Stop that. He can’t control the way you make him blush and he realizes he likes you. Likes you likes you. Its a cute little crush he has that he tries to keep a secret because its just a little crush, nothing to get worked up over. 

He’s too scared to ask you out, he gets tongue tied the second he tries to attempt anything. 

It all goes sideways he walks by your room one day. 

"Daniel, bubba you're too heavy to be lying on me like this!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. Maybe he heard wrong. 

"Baby, stop that tickles"

Baby? You never mentioned dating anyone before.

"Hey! You can't get away with that just because you're so handsome"

Bucky blinked, his jaw clenching, who the fuck was this Daniel, and why he with you. He wanted to know exactly how “handsome” this punk was, making you giggle and laugh, he should be the one doing that. 

"Hmmm, you know you're so handsome don't you baby"

Bucky shook his head, huffing to his room to pout, he had to find out who the hell this guy was. Or not. If was sure he’d probably punch the guy in the neck. 

Imagine his surprise when he over hears the team just casually talking to you about Daniel. 

With Sam

Sam: So how's Daniel doing? You: He's good, I'm going to see him later today if I have some time, we might go for a walk in the park

Sam: Aww, the weather’s supposed to be nice out, maybe you can even stop by the lake!

With Tony

You: Daniel's coming over later, is that okay?

Tony: Sure, just don't make a mess in the living room like last time

You: Sorry, I'll keep him in check

Tony: He’s great otherwise, you should bring him around more often

Bucky nearly saw stars with that conversation, the last thing he needed was more of you and Daniel. The final straw was when he heard you talking to Steve. 

Steve: You think I can steal Daniel from you

You: I’m sure he’d love that, he loves going on runs with you, I can’t keep up with his energy 

Steve: He’s great, wish he was around more often, let me know when he’s coming by next

Okay, stealing his crush was one thing, but Bucky drew the boundary at this clown moving in on his best friend too. 

*****

“Can you tell me what the hell is so great about Daniel” Bucky huffed, fidgeting with his fingers, sitting on the couch while Sam tinkered with redwing. 

“What do you mean what’s so great, he’s amazing! He’s friendly, he’s great with kids, he’s super sweet, gets along with everyone. You haven’t met him?” 

“No” Bucky rolled his eyes, every time he thought it was bad, it got worse. Now the guy was great with kids too. Fantastic. Before Sam could respond, Bucky hear you call for him. 

“Oh my God Bucky!! You have to meet Daniel!” You ran up to him, bouncing on your feet. Every time Daniel had come by, Bucky had either been called away on a mission or busy with something. You’d been dying for him to meet your favorite baby in the whole world. 

“I was busy y/n” Bucky tried to sound grumpy but he just couldn’t with you, pouting like a kicked puppy instead. He might as well meet the guy that seemed to have your heart. 

“You were just sitting with Sam, please?” You gave him your best pout and Bucky melted instantly, nodding while you ran back again to show your favorite soldier your best fur baby. 

Bucky’s eyes widened at the massive golden retriever that came bounding in, immediately pouncing on him and attacking him with kisses. 

“Daniel!!” You tried to pull him off but he wasn’t having it, trying to snuggle himself into Bucky, keeping him pinned on the floor. “Baby, get off him, I told you you’re too big!”

“This-this is Daniel?” Bucky blinked between getting his face licked, too stunned to say much else

“Yeah! Why, who did you think it was” 

“Your boyfriend” Sam snorted, watching the scene unfold in front of him, wiggling his eye brows at Bucky. 

“I-no-” Bucky blushed, while sitting up slightly, petting the fluffy baby behind the ears, allowing him to sit in his lap. 

“Man, shut up, just admit you were jealous over y/n 4 legged boyfriend” 

“Did you think Daniel was my boyfriend?” you giggled, sitting down beside him, your heart beating a little faster when he bit his lip. Did he like you back? “Were you jealous?” you whispered, inching a little closer to him, while he smiled softly not meeting your eyes. 

“Maybe a little” 

You both inched closer and closer until your hand was brushing his, his fingers hesitantly intertwining with yours while Daniel happily made himself comfortable across your laps, his head resting on Bucky’s thigh. Tony and Steve entered the living room looking pleased when they saw how close the two of you were sitting. 

“Ah, I see you met y/n’s boyfriend” Tony snorted while Bucky groaned, covering his face. “Cheating on Daniel now are we?” He nodded at your hand in Bucky’s while you laughed, kissing his cheek, making him blush more. 

“Hmm, Bucky doesn’t mind a little competition” 

“I hate all of you” 

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[secretsecretbunny]

idk if you do drabble requests but I love your writing so much! you really have a way with words so i was wondering if maybe you'd do a drabble about new!idol fem reader (can be solo or group w/e) who really looks up to and admires BTS and they meet her before watching her perform for the first time? also maybe there's some flirting? (idc which members I'm ot7) just one of my lil day dreams I wanna get out there 🥺 anyway! keep writing, you're genuinely really good 🫶🏻

I do now!! This sounded too cute to pass up 💕

Title: "Run."

Genre: drabble, one-shot, casual??? fluff??? idk how to describe this one lmao. I hope you enjoy!

Notes: y/s/n = "your stage name". Things that are underlined are links to the outfits described.

Your nerves had you literally shaking with anticipation as you waited behind the scenes of the show. So many incredible talents were performing today and here you were, an unknown newbie who was about to take the stage in front of a live audience. Why did they even want you to debut at this big of an event in the first place? Your manager reassured you it was because they believed in your talent and knew that taking a chance on you and letting your first performance be somewhere as prestigious as this would draw in fans, who would appreciate the unique sound you bring to the table. In particular, if the responses of other idols who are more famous and well-known were captured on camera and shared with their fanbase through broadcasts or similar media channels.

The way they styled you had you feeling nervous as well, with a form-fitting pink mini skirt that hugged your curves and a white button up top that was tucked in with a black and pink tie, adding a touch of elegance to your look. The cropped black blazer and black gogo boots with heels made you feel like you were going to fall at any moment, but the white leather garter with a chain on one of your thighs added a bold touch to your outfit. You felt a little exposed but you took a moment to be silently appreciative of the safety shorts you wore beneath your skirt.

You had always dreamed of being part of a group, working together towards a common goal. That's why you were initially brought on as a trainee for the company in the first place. However, after careful consideration and evaluation of your skills and strengths, it was ultimately decided that your talents would be best utilized flying solo. But you deeply wished you had people to lean on, members who could offer support and distract from your potential mistakes. You tugged at your skirt awkwardly as you stood around waiting for your time to perform. You still had nearly 30 minutes but you were too nervous to sit, instead you opted for watching the screen positioned on the wall, showing the current performers on stage.

You smiled at the screen at the talent being shown. BTS. You had a deep admiration for the group and enjoyed watching them perform their song DNA. The members exuded confidence and comfort on stage, making it seem like they never worried about mistakes at this point in their career. You watched as they moved fluidly across the stage, perfectly in sync with one another. 

A close up of Jimin had you grinning like an idiot. God he was pretty. Fuck, they all were. Hoseok with his vibrant smile, Namjoon with his unique features and buff build, Yoongi and his piercing eyes, Taehyung sporting the flirtiest looks you had ever seen, Jungkook somehow looking both innocent and dangerously delicious, and Jin with his world wide handsome face. And even more than their looks, they were so incredibly talented and hardworking.

You had heard the detailed story of how they rose to the top, overcoming numerous challenges and obstacles along the way. Their journey was filled with both good and bad experiences, but through it all, they showed great dedication and strength. And here you were, you hadn't even had your first performance yet and you had been ready to give up multiple times just during your 4 years of being a trainee. Working for the same label as the musicians who inspired you to pursue music in the first place left you feeling both grateful and slightly out of place, as if you hadn't earned your spot there yet.

You completely dismissed those thoughts and made your way towards the snack and beverage area, specifically designated for idols and staff members. You were in dire need of water and something sweet to give you an energy boost. As the boys finished their performance, the booming cheers from the crowd echoed through the air. You froze in surprise when you heard the seven of them laughing and panting out of breath as they entered the same room you were in. You attempted to seem nonchalant as they eagerly grabbed water bottles and snacks for themselves, while you discreetly tucked your hair behind your ear and reached for a water bottle too, all the while listening intently as Jungkook and Hoseok laughed uncontrollably about some unknown joke or incident.

In their fit of laughter Jungkook backed up into you, making you stumble back a bit. He whipped around suddenly "shit, sorry!" he apologized with a small bow. "Kookie you've gotta be more careful!" came a voice from behind you. The voice placed a hand on your shoulder. "You okay?" As you turned your head, you caught sight of Jimin with a gentle smile on his face. You quickly nodded in response, your eyes wide, causing him to let out a soft chuckle. "Hey! We making new friends?" Came Hoseok's voice as he reached his hand out to you. "I'm Hoseok. Or Hobi, J-Hope, whatever's fine." he said. His signature smile was contagious, spreading warmth to the pit of your stomach as he spoke. You took his hand lightly, stifling a giggle. "I uh, I know who you are. I'm y/n. Or y/s/n. Whatever's fine." You mimicked with a warm smile. He laughed. "Nice to meet you, y/n!" His hand was warm, and making your head swim, prompting you to let go.

"Wait, y/s/n?" Yoongi asked, stepping into the conversation. "The new girl? You're debuting today, right?" As you glanced in his direction, your nervousness was evident in the rapid nodding of your head. "Mhmm! In uh.." you checked the time on your phone. "shit.. 15 minutes actually." You said, taking a shaky breath in. "Nervous?" came Taehyung's voice from behind Yoongi.

You were now the center of attention for the seven boys, who were anxiously anticipating your next words. "Incredibly so.." you replied, making them all smile at you. "Hey I'm sure you're going to do great!" Namjoon chimed in "yeah, you're going to sound amazing!" Said Jin. They all nodded as you laughed

"you guys have never even heard me sing, how would you know?" You asked with a playful lilt in your voice. "Well, you're beautiful, so I'm sure your voice matches." God. Jimin was just as flirty as people described him, with a playful smile and a wink that could light up the room. You rolled your eyes with a laugh. "Smooth, pretty boy." You chuckled out, making him smirk. Jungkook looked you up and down for a moment "Your outfit looks great, your stylists did an amazing job." You took a moment to examine your outfit, making sure every piece was in its place and smoothing out any wrinkles on your skirt.

"Thanks, I actually had to beg them to add black into the theme. They originally wanted me in all pink and white and that's just... really not my vibe." This had Hoseok raising a brow. "What's not your vibe? ...sweet and innocent?" He asked with a smirk and the tilt of his head.

For just an instant, your eyes flickered with something that looked almost like mischief before settling back into their usual serenity; however fleeting this transformation may have been, its impact left ripples. Luckily you were saved by staff running up to you. "Y/n you have 10 minutes! Please come get your hair and makeup touched up!" The girl sounded almost panicked. You gave her a sweet smile. "Be right there!" You said, putting your sweet and shy persona back on. "I should run. Thanks for the pep talk, boys!" you said with a small bow. "You got this!" Namjoon said as you turned to leave. Jin's voice stopped you "would it make you more or less nervous if we said we'll be watching?" You paused for a moment in thought. "Hmm, well, I think I'd be more motivated not to fall on my ass if I knew THE Bangtan was watching my every move." This made them smirk. "We'll have our eyes glued to you then." Hoseok said with a subtle wink, his voice low. "You better." You replied amorously as you walked away.

With you fully out of earshot now, the boys spoke. "she's cute as hell."  Jungkook said. "Hm, she acts cute, but I think she's a little darker than that." Hoseok laughed. "Her and Jimin have the same vibes" Taehyung said playfully. "Oh, so I'm cute AND sexy? Thanks Taetae." Jimin retorted playfully, making the man roll his eyes. "Alright guys keep it in your pants." Yoongi commented. "Right, let's just go watch her performance like we promised, yeah?" Namjoon stated as they headed towards the changing room to switch outfits before returning to the audience.

As you stepped onto the stage, your nerves seemed to vanish into thin air as you effortlessly slipped into your performance persona. The song you performed was sultry, sassy, and sensual. Your manager referred to it as 'the triple S.' You found that you fell into the role easier than you thought you would since you discovered that with how bright the stage's colorful lights were, you could barely even see the crowd, but you could feel their energy and passion.

As your performance was coming to a close, one of your backup dancers suddenly fell near your feet. Despite knowing you needed to continue with the choreography, it felt wrong to simply step around her and ignore her situation. So, you decided to help her up while still singing and dancing, offering a reassuring smile and squeezing her hand gently when she looked panicked. She quickly fell back into the routine and the rest of the performance went on without another issue. 

As soon as you left the stage, you were immediately ushered off to change into more appropriate clothing for sitting in the audience with the other idols who either weren't performing or had already finished their performances. A simple long black dress with two high slits on either side, though you still wore a leather garter with a chain, this time in black though. Your seat was just a row behind the bts boys, you gave a small bow and a smile as you passed them. Once you sat down, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook all turned around to give you a thumbs up or small claps, telling you that you had done a good job. Despite your best efforts you couldn't fight the bright smile that took over your features.

No more than 2 hours later you were at the after party being reprimanded by your manager for stopping mid performance to help your backup dancer. "You know you're supposed to keep going in instances like that!" She barked out. "I technically did keep going! I wasn't just going to ignore her while she was struggling!" You spat back with an eye roll, arms crossed over your chest. She let out a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging in resignation.

However, before she could continue with whatever she was going to say, you abruptly turned and started walking away from her. Unfortunately for you though, your hasty retreat led you straight into the path of an oncoming person - or more specifically, their chest - resulting in a jarring impact that sent you stumbling backward several steps. "fuck! I mean, augh... sorry!" you bowed. "We're just always bumping into each other, huh? Now we're even." you looked up to see Jungkook with a couple of the boys not far behind. You let out a small laugh "I guess we are." as Hoseok walked up, he peeked around you for a moment, eyeing your manager as she huffed and stomped away.

"You get in trouble for something?" he asked. You nodded with another eye roll. "She's upset that I stopped to help my backup dancer when she fell." His eyebrows furrowed "she's mad at you for being a kind a decent human being?" You smiled "that's one way to put it I suppose." you replied. Jimin, hearing the conversation being had, pouted "I thought it made you look cool and likeable!" he said with a tilt of his head. You anxiously fiddled with your fingers, feeling a bit nervous. "Thanks guys, I appreciate it. I really hope it didn't ruin the performance." Hoseok shook his head. "Not at all! You were amazing up there!" Jungkook and Jimin nodded, agreeing. "Let me get you something to drink to get your mind off it, yeah?" He added. You smiled "sure, that'd be great."

As Jimin and Jungkook started mingling with the crowd, you and Hoseok headed towards the bar, located at the distant end of the room. The venue had arranged for an assortment of drinks to be served, and the bartender was busy filling orders.

He ordered you your drink of choice and something for himself as well. You two engaged in a casual conversation for nearly half an hour, exploring various topics and discovering shared interests such as music, movies, and hobbies. The ice in your second round of drinks had mostly melted, indicating they were nearing completion when he posed the question "you wanna get out of here?"

Halting your speech mid-sentence, you turned to face him with an inquiring gaze before your expression shifted into a sly grin that showed your true intentions. "Absolutely." You responded. He grinned widely as he grabbed your hand, his grip firm and confident, leading you towards the exit with purpose.

As you walked, he waved goodbye to his members, a gesture that seemed almost automatic. You spotted your manager heading towards you, her expression written in annoyance, causing your heart to race in anticipation. You gave Hoseok's hand a stern warning squeeze as your manager approached, making him raise an eyebrow at you in confusion. However, the mischievous grin spreading across your features told him everything he needed to know - you had no intention of being deterred by anyone.

"Run."

You said before pulling him into a dash towards the exit. You both burst into a fit of laughter as you rapidly made your way out of the building, the sound of your hurried footsteps on the hard floor growing fainter with each passing second until you were no longer in sight.

Tonight might be fun after all, you decided.

aaaa okay how was that? Thoughts? Critiques? Requests? Let me know what's up. Love you!! 🩷

[vlrspace]

essay, bakugou x reader

wc: 1K

cw: pure fluff

“read over my essay, great explosion murder god dynamight” you said as you threw your book on the table in front of him.

bakugou, who’s been minding his own business, looks up at you from where he sits, face blank for a second before he furrows his brows with a grimace. “why the fuck would i do that, especially for you? go ‘nd ask the extras” his tone is unbothered, though he doesn’t push your book away.

“momo’s on a date with shoto and tenya uses the sophisticated words he learned from middle school, every time. that’s how i know what sophisticated means” you start to explain, before using a little tactic on him “and you’d help me because you’re so smart and good at school, like i wish i was as smart as you” you compliment him in a pleading way, hoping if you stroke his ego a little bit then he’ll help you.

“nah, i see what yer trying to do, go ask the nerds. i ain’t got time for your shit” bakugou says after a few seconds of looking at you and while you somewhat expected him to react like that, doesn’t mean you weren’t prepared to come up with something else.

“okayy, i’ll ask izuku. i’m sure he’ll help me in a heartbeat” you beam at him as you reach for your book, however bakugou grabs it first and holds it away from you.

“‘right, i’ll fucking do it” he yells at you and a sly smirk makes its way to your cheeks as you cross your arms and the ash blond, quickly realising his actions, puts your book down with a huff. “i get better grades than that nerd ‘nyways” he mumbles while standing up with your book in his hand, completely dwarfing it with his larger ones.

ripping your eyes away from his hand before he could catch you staring, your smirk turns into a small smile. “you’re the best kats” you look up to him, his body slightly towering over yours as he looks down on you with a hint of softness and you can see his his lips curling up a little bit at the ends. “let me know if you’re done” you grin and turn to join the girls on the couch.

bakugou doesn’t have time to reply, he’s only looking after you for a few seconds before turning to leave and read over your essay in the comfort of his room.

katsuki: come over

came the message an hour later and you swiftly excuse yourself from the group, all of them wiggling their brows and teasing you as you emerge from the common room, knowing about your crush on the explosive boy. your face turned red from all the words and gestures and you decided to ignore them, hoping your cheeks calm down by the time you reach bakugou’s room.

bakugou opens his door a moment after you knock on it and lets you in. you take a seat on his bed, where he joins you a few seconds later, sitting next to you a few inches away.

“yer essay was fine, just stop repeating words and use different sentence structures. the built up was good, though not as interesting as mine. overall it was bosting” he explained to you, smirking at the end and you looked at him with eyes narrow, lips in a pout.

“you’re doing this on purpose i swear” shaking your head, you gently push against his shoulder with yours, knowing it won’t effect him at all from how muscular he is. “do you think it’ll give me a passing grade?” you ask unsurely, looking down at your hands.

“i know, you’ll get more than a passing grade” bakugou’s voice is rough, but his tone is soft and he wonders if you can sense the tenderness in his eyes, showing only for you.

“thank you for reading over it!” you say, a smile tugging at your lips as you stand up from his bed, already missing the warmth of him by your side, even if the two of you weren’t touching. “i should probably go, it’s nearly 8:30 and i don’t want to mess up your sleeping schedule” there is no teasing in your tone and bakugou feels his heart beating a little faster at that as he looks up at you and your breath hitched in your throat at the eye contact. bakugou looked up at you with care, completely different from an hour ago and the butterflies in your tummy are going wild.

before you could make a complete fool out of yourself, you take a step back before turning to walk towards his door and he follows you with your book still in his hand. you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you haven’t seen his hand reaching towards the doorknob before you, opening it a little as he murmured a quiet “here”, holding your book out for you with his other hand. you turn around and take your book away from him bashfully, mentally slapping yourself for forgetting the very thing you’re here for.

“thank you katsu, you’re such a sweetheart!” you quietly say, before standing on your tiptoes and kissing his cheek, surprising both you and him with your boldness and you feel bakugou’s body tense slightly before relaxing and you feel one of his hand softly brush against your lower back, rubbing against your shirt gently.

“‘s okay” he breaths against your hair after you pull back and with a final glance at each other you leave his room with a grin and he returns it.

later that night, it’s well past his bed time and bakugou is still up, thinking about your little encounter from earlier. he knows that he likes you and he also knows that he needs to make a move before someone snatches you away from him. he gets out of his bed, fully aware that it’s past curfew and as quietly as he can, he exits his room.

he feels his heart in his chest as he knocks on your door, fearing that you might be asleep already, but you open the door, still awake. bakugou utters out the words before he can stop them upon seeing you.

“go on a date with me”

[makethatelevenrings]

Day 12: Phone Sex w/ Roy Kent

Kinktober Masterlist

“Hi.”

You huffed out a laugh at the placid greeting and settled back against the pillows propped up against the headboard. The soft cotton of Roy’s old sweatshirt brushed against your skin and you relished in the enveloping scent of him.

“Hi big guy. Good game out there.”

“Fucking cold,” he grunted. “Pretty sure my dick had reverted and is fucking my lungs.”

A startled laugh escaped you and you shook your head. Such a poet.

“Well, you looked good. Wish I was there to warm you up.”

He sighed. “Fucking wish you were here too, love. This bed is too empty.”

“Only two more nights. We’ve survived longer than that.”

“I know. I’m still going to bitch about it.”

“I would be concerned if you didn’t.”

Silence met you, but you weren’t worried. It was common for the two of you to fall asleep with the phone line still open. After sleeping next to one another for so many years, even the presence of Roy over the crackly phone line settled something in your chest.

“What are you wearing?” His gruff voice had a hint of teasing to it and you chuckled, fingering the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Your old Sunderland crew,” you answered honestly. “And no pants.”

He groaned, low and deep and pleased. “Bet you look like a right fucking treat.”

“I look like a mess. I’ve been cleaning the house all afternoon.”

“What I’d give to be home right now. I’d bend you over the island and fuck you right there.”

Heat rushed through your veins at the thought and you hummed. “Yeah? The idea of me wearing your clothes gets you that hard?”

He chuckled. “Love, the idea of you wearing my clothes makes me want to hop onto the next flight.”

You parted your legs and slid your hand down your stomach, over the soft hair on your navel, and down, down, down to slide across the growing wet patch on your underwear. You whimpered at the light brush and Roy let out an appeasing grunt.

“Touching yourself, aren’t you? That’s it, sweet girl. You deserve this. Working so hard when I’m not home. Wish I was there to take care of you.”

“Roy…” You started to rub slow circles over your clit, your lips parting in a broken moan. “God, Roy. I wish you were here.”

His voice was further from the phone now and you suspected he had put you on speaker. The sound of a bottle opening met your ears and your breathing hitched as you realized what he was doing. What you would give to see him right now. A sheen of sweat clinging to his tanned skin, muscles flexing as he reached down to grasp his hard cock, and perfect hands stroking himself… the idea made your clit throb.

“I’d throw it all away if it meant staying at home with you forever,” he murmured. Roy inhaled deeply and you could hear the slick sound of his lube covered hand sliding along his shaft. “I’d give it all up if it meant seeing you everyday.”

“Come home, baby. I’ll meet you at the door and wear your old jersey. You’d like that, you possessive caveman. Your name, your ring, your cum on me.”

He groaned and you could hear his speed pick up. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. I’d cum all over those pretty little tits of yours. Lick it off of you and then fill up your pretty little cunt.”

You increased your pressure and whined. “Fill me up, Roy. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Such a dirty mouth on you. If you mouthed off, I’d have to gag you on my cock.”

“Yeah? You’d choke me on your big dick?”

His breathing hitched and he let out that rough whine you loved so much. You loved having this power over him. Roy gasped out a heaving breath and then finally spoke once more.

“I’d take you to our room and fuck you into the mattress until the only word you could say was my name.” You whimpered as the knot of pleasure in your gut started to tighten. “And then I’d draw you a bath and take care of you. Because you’re the love of my life, darling, and I find myself so lucky and grateful to be able to come home to a woman like you.”

Fuck. You should not be tearing up at the same time as your orgasm charged through you. A whiny exhale left you as pleasure washed over your muscles until the contractions stopped and you were able to relax against the mattress.

“I love you, Mr. Kent,” you whispered into the phone.

“I love you too, Mrs. Kent.”

“Two days.”

“Fuck that. I’m throwing the game and coming home to you right now.”

You barked out a laugh and shook your head. “No the fuck you are not. I’ve got money on you fuckers.”